A/N: Hello beautiful humans! Sorry for the delay - it was a long day, uni's been a bitch and I've only just come home. Regardless, as always I hope you enjoy this chapter and a humongous thank you to everyone for your kind, kind words x

CHAPTER 14 – Regina – Dated

After an extremely unproductive afternoon, during which the Disney Squad and I had kept researching until our migraines had become unbearable, I found myself freaking out.

I had taken a shower to relax and forget about Henry's words, convincing myself that he was somehow talking about something entirely different than what I had assumed, and I was now sitting in front of my suitcase, at the mansion, with my hands pulling at my hair out of desperation.

I had no idea what to wear.

I had never been the kind of person who cared about other people's opinions, especially regarding my physical appearance, nor the type who would ponder too much on clothing. Yes, I did like to look good, and I also preferred elegant, designer clothes rather than plain jeans and an anonymous shirt, but that wasn't based on other people's liking – I did it purely for myself.

But now, after Emma had gone back to the loft with her parents and Henry had retired to his room to do his homework, I was more uncertain as to what I was going to wear that night than ever before.

First things first, I wasn't sure whether Emma and I were going on an actual date or not – hence, I had no idea if I should try to impress her or not. Secondly, I didn't know what type of dress code the place we were going to entailed. She said it was called 'The Rabbit Hole', but that's as far as my knowledge on the location went. Was it a restaurant? A bar? If everyone was going to be dressed casually, I had no intention of making a fool of myself and wear a fancy dress – or vice versa.

The fact that I had no one who could give me their own opinion on the matter, like a friend or a sibling, surely didn't help. I mean, I did have a sister, but, at the moment, I could barely consider her an acquaintance. I also had a very limited amount of clothes, seeing that I had prepared to stay in Storybrooke for no longer than a week.

And then it hit me: I was at my house. Despite the fact that it was fairly unfamiliar to me and that I could barely remember where the bathroom was, I used to live there, before that self-induced amnesia of mine: surely I had more clothes there. I most likely didn't bring all of them to New York with me, when I left after my curse.

I stood up and strode to the walk-in closet, happy to find it full of very tasteful items. I was also slightly impressed – but definitely not surprised – that said items were sorted by occasion, going from casual, on the left, to fancy, on the right. Thankfully, that arrangement speeded up my quest for an appropriate look for the evening: it only took me one hour.

I eventually opted for a white dress with scoop back that was slightly shorter than what I would typically wear, but still not indecent. High heels were a must, of course.

Finding an appropriate outfit, however, didn't help my nerves. I really wanted to impress Emma. Why, you ask? Well, that's a great question, isn't it?

Eventually, I stopped overthinking maniacally every single thing I was doing and retired to the lounge: there were no mirrors there, ergo there was no way for me to find something else faulty or out of place in the way I looked.

To my surprise, Henry was there, with his nose buried into one of the books we hadn't had enough time to study earlier that day. He looked up when he heard my stilettos clicking on the hardwood floor, mild perplexity dominating his features as he saw my particularly neat looks.

"Are you going on a date?" he asked straight out.

I tensed up. "Can you tell?" I asked, slightly panicking.

"I've seen ma get ready for dates when we were back in New York, and you sorta remind me of how she used to behave," he explained.

Of course I had told him I was going out, but I didn't specify the occasion. We had already had dinner – which had been surprisingly pleasant, devoid of any much-feared awkwardness – so he was going to be asleep for most of the time I would be out, but I obviously had to inform him I was going to leave regardless. I had made sure he knew that my phone was going to be on all the time, so if he needed anything he could call me and I would be back in the blink of an eye. I had also ordered him to go to bed by eleven at the latest, but I had a feeling he wasn't going to listen.

Anyhow, his words didn't help my already-on-edge mental situation: if Henry could tell I was going on a date, then Emma would too; and if she didn't mean for it to be a date, then I would totally embarrass myself.

"So, who's the lucky guy?" he asked with a smirk.

Damn it. I didn't think this part through. What if he wasn't okay with me and Emma going out? Or, even worse: what if he was?!

"Uhm…" I stuttered, unsure of how to articulate an answer in the best way possible. "Actually, I'm not going out with a man…"

My hesitation confused him: he probably wasn't used to seeing his mother so insecure about something – especially if her wavering was triggered by a trivial occurrence such as a mere 'date'.

"I don't even know if it is a date," I continued, taking a seat next to him on the couch. I figured maybe talking to Henry would help.

"Okay, what did she say, exactly?" he questioned, twisting his body so that he was now facing me, his attention completely directed towards me. His determined expression made me smile a little, and I noticed how he didn't even blink at the admission that I was going out with a woman.

"She asked me to go out with her, saying that she would offer me a drink and pick me up at nine."

He squinted his eyes and nodded knowingly, before confirming, "It's a date."

I didn't know whether that information made me feel better or not. Either way, I didn't have much time to meditate on which reaction to have because the doorbell rang, causing me to jump up from the sofa.

"Oh, gods. Okay, remember the rules? No videogames after ten, stay clear off the candy cupboard and eyes closed by eleven. Clear?" I commanded, and by the faint grin on his face I could tell he was used to this kind of behavior from me.

"Crystal," he replied. With a cheeky wink, he added, "Good luck."

I considered for a moment the option of kissing him on the forehead as a goodbye, but eventually settled for a small smile and an uncombfortable wave.

I put my coat on, took a deep breath and, in a thrust of courage, I opened the door.

Emma had been wearing a long, black overcoat when I had walked outside, and that, added to the very limited amount of lighting, was the reason why I was only now shamelessly gaping at her.

We had arrived at the Rabbit Hole, and she had just taken her coat off, revealing a very tight and very red dress, and all I could think of, as of that moment, was her body. That dress – or, rather, those legs and that décolleté – was directing my thoughts to a very dangerous territory, and the fact that I had already seen what was underneath the thin layer of fabric certainly didn't help. Any trace of composure completely forgotten, it was unbelievably hard for me to stop contemplating what was, without the shadow of a doubt, the best view in Storybrooke.

"Stop objectifying me." Emma's amused voice made me snap back to reality.

I tried to shoot her an annoyed look in response – my breath hitched when I noticed, in the dim light of the entrance of the pub, that her smug grin was decorated by red lipstick. Needless to say, my attempt miserably failed.

Proceeding to take off my own coat, still vexed that she was so incredibly good looking, I noticed how her reaction to my own body comically resembled mine. Finally happy with my choice of clothes, I teasingly sashayed over to the main room, enjoying the effect I was having on her.

The pub was somewhat basic, there was nothing special about it: a few tables, a bar counter and a pool table were the main occupants of the space. There was also a fireplace on the furthest corner from the entrance, which looked slightly out of place, but I appreciated the warmth it spread throughout the whole room.

Luckily, there weren't many people there: a few loud drunkards waiting for the next drink, a group of younger girls playing pool, a random loner here and there and, of course, a half-bored-half-frustrated bartender who was, very stereotypically, rubbing a tumbler with a cloth. Most of them looked at us with curious attention, probably because they all knew who we were and found it interesting that the former Mayor and the Sheriff had decided to do something normal such as enjoying a night out on a Saturday.

Ignoring their stares, I followed my companion and sat on a counter stool next to her, ordering an Appletini for me and a beer for Emma as soon as the barman approached us. While her attention was focused on her phone, which had just signaled an incoming text message, I allowed myself a second to take in all of the details of her face, which I was finding more and more beautiful as each day passed. She was wearing more makeup than usual, but it didn't hide her normally stunning features, rather enhancing them: her eyes seemed greener than usual, her cheekbones higher, and those lips…

Luckily, she interrupted my train of thoughts before it could reach that off-limit zone: it certainly wasn't the right time or place for hormonal-teenager-like fantasies.

"Hey, you told Henry you were going on a date?" she asked me.

Shit.

If there ever were a moment, in my life, when I wished the ground would swallow me up, that was undoubtedly it.

Now she was going to ridicule me, laugh in my face and send me off to New York so that I could spend the rest of my life submerged by shame and utter embarrassment. What could I possibly say to fix that situation? I was thinking fast, but my fear for her reaction was making the whole process much harder than usual.

She showed me her phone, where laid open a text conversation between her and Henry.

From: Kid Mom's going out on a date. Do you know who she's going with? Is she a respectable human being who would treat her right and never hurt her? I need to know. Operation Caterpillar is on.

A fond smile spread through my face as I took in the protectiveness of Henry's concern. How cute of him, worrying so much about his mother. Although I didn't quite understand the 'Operation Caterpillar' part…

"You never tell our son that you're going out with someone. He gets all freaky and protective and he stalks your date on Facebook until he's got a well-developed opinion about them, and then he tells you if they're worthy of your heart or not. It's usually the second," she explained. I mentally let out a relieved sigh, as I understood the reason why she had pointed out what I had told Henry. "And as much as I think it's extremely cute, I also believe it would be dangerous if he found out who you're currently on a date with."

Her light grin, accompanied by a slightly raised brow, changed into a polite smile as she accepted the drinks the bartender was handing us.

"How do you think he would react, if he found out about… 'this'?" I asked her, referring to the very unclear relationship between us.

"I think we should define what 'this' is before worrying about other people's responses," she précised, and I had to admit she was right. By the way she stopped looking at me, however, suddenly finding the neck of her beer bottle extremely interesting, I deduced that she didn't want to 'define' anything – at least, not yet – and I agreed with her.

Moving the conversation to a lighter topic (apparently her brother took his first steps earlier that night), we enjoyed the rest of the evening, happy to have our mind free from any actual worry for a second. I was left alone for a brief moment, while Emma excused herself to go to the restroom, and I ordered a second round of drinks for us both in the meantime.

However, a very slurred and very revolting voice interrupted that otherwise perfect night.

"Hello there, sweetheart." One of the drunkards that had been sitting on the furthest side of the counter approached me, taking the seat that had been occupied by Emma up until that moment. The difference between the two of them was almost comical: this man, balding and smelling of tequila, scruffy beard and small, watery, out-of-focus eyes, couldn't be more different than Emma, beautiful, charming, elegant (well, at least tonight she was) and, overall, simply perfect.

I jumped as he raised a hand to caress my arm, abruptly retreating from the touch as a strong sense of nausea and fuming anger filled me. I glared at him, hoping all of my disgust towards this man was showing.

"A babe like you shouldn't be sitting here all alone. I know a place where I could keep you company," he said, unfazed by my reaction to his behavior.

"I'm not alone and I'm most certainly not interested," I retorted, curtly, turning away as I hoped he wouldn't endure his very useless attempt to seduce me.

"Ah, playing hard to get, are ya'?" the man continued, to my – continuously increasing – repugnance. He placed a hand over my shoulder and my Appletini immediately caught fire, but he didn't seem to notice. He was testing my self-control, and I wasn't very motivated to be patient, at the moment. "Come on honey, I really want to see what you look like without this dress…"

"She said she's not interested." Emma's harsh voice stuck out from the others, and the relief that filled me was almost overwhelming. I really didn't want to make a scene and resort to extreme measures to get this guy the hell out of my face. "Get out."

The man looked at Emma with confusion, probably too drunk to recognize the actual Sheriff (he didn't even recognize me, so go figure), only to then adopt a challenging look.

He turned back towards me and, with a mocking tone, he said, "Who's this bitch, your girlfriend?"

I didn't have the time to fully process his words and let my fury out because, all of a sudden, every glass in the pub flew over and threw its contents on his face.

"Yes she is, you dickhead!" Emma's words were accompanied by a rage that perfectly mirrored my own, and I was extremely thankful that her control over magic was more accurate than my own.

I stood up, ignoring the implications of Emma's words while she threw a twenty-dollar bill on the counter, wanting to get out of that place before the drunkard recovered from the shock – or dried up from the drinks that had been poured onto him. Unfortunately, he was quicker than I had hoped, and after calling her a 'Fucking dyke', I didn't think twice before I punched him square in the face, shutting his mouth once and for all. Ignoring the stares from all of the other clients and, especially, Emma's dumbfounded – yet also admiring – one, I made my way out. I didn't need magic to handle some drunken prick.

Thanks to the adrenaline rush that moment had caused me, I didn't notice the pain in my right hand until Emma and I had arrived at the mansion. Still lucid enough to take our heels off in order to not wake Henry with their clicks on the hardwood floor, we went over to the kitchen, where she grabbed a handful of ice cubes from the freezer and wrapped them in a cloth, gently pressing it against my knuckles to ease the pain. Despite the supposed help of the ice, I couldn't stop myself from thinking that the fact that Emma was holding my hand, sending shivers of magic all through my arm, was the best analgesic in the world.

Then I noticed that she had actually been healing my hand with her magic, which made the whole situation much less poetic, but she didn't let go of it, and the tingle of our magic persisted.

Although she seemed to have cooled off, anger was still boiling up inside me.

"Sorry this evening didn't turn out the way you planned it," she murmured, her eyes fixed on our hands.

I immediately relented at her words: of course she would feel guilty for something she hadn't caused.

"Hey," I murmured, using my free hand to lift her chin up and look at her in the eyes, "it's not your fault some misogynistic and homophobic asshole was there."

She smiled lightly, barely relieved by my words.

"Besides," I continued, after a pause, "I don't think this night was a complete disaster."

I had walked closer to her, our bodies now brushing against each other, and I was running a finger up her thigh, my feathery touch following the curve of her backside and then her spine, titillating her neck as I felt her shiver under my caress.

"You are still the most gorgeous sight in Storybrooke…" I lowered one of the straps of her dress as I talked, "… and I'm still planning on taking this off of you, tonight."

Her lips captured mine and, once again, we gave in to lust.