"Emma?"
She groans at the sound of her name, and yanks a pillow over her head in response. Only trouble is, moving the pillow causes a dull thud and a grunt from someone else.
"Emma?" The voice is louder, booming in fact, and Emma reluctantly recognizes that it's her father.
"Hnnng," is her only response, and it's not enough to stop the thumping footsteps on the stairs.
"Emma, you need to get up," he's saying as the door creaks open, and it gives her just enough time to pull the sheets back up-and Jesus, how drunk was she that she just fell into bed naked, anyway?-"Henry just came to our house, and..."
The sudden pause is what finally makes Emma open her eyes and face the music. Her father looks much as he always does, like a advertisement brought to life, only this morning his cheeks are flushed a kind of burning red, and his mouth is hanging open just like Emma's was the first time she ever saw real magic performed.
She's just opening her mouth to say "hey, David," when someone else interrupts.
"Charming," Regina drawls. "Didn't anyone ever teach you it's impolite to stare? Well, you know what they say: once a peasant, always a peasant."
Well, shit.
Emma closes her eyes again, praying for the ground to open and swallow her up, or at least for a gallon of water to drink, while Regina casually slips back under the covers from where Emma unceremoniously dumped her on the floor.
"I can explain," Emma rasps after an uncomfortable minute.
"Not necessary," her father barks. "I was simply coming to tell you that Henry woke up alone at Regina's and came all the way across town to find us. Now we all know why."
"Wait!" Emma calls out as David turns away, clearly disgusted, and storms off down the stairs. She rolls out of bed without even looking at Regina, grabbing her fluffy bathrobe that was a Christmas gift from Mary Margaret, and chases after her angry father. This, at least, Emma has experience of from all her years in the system: trying to appease people who are disgusted with her.
"I don't think we should talk now," David says when she catches up to him, right by the apartment's front door. "I have a habit of saying things I regret."
"You and me both," Emma blurts out. "Listen, I really can explain..."
"I don't think you can," David says, rounding on her with ever-present threat of tears in his eyes. His denim jacket is pulled taut across his shoulders as he flexes his hands over and over, letting Emma see for the first time where that little habit comes from. "It's bad enough that it's... do I even need to start on why Regina is... but you are a princess, Emma. You have responsibilities, and there are expectations of you."
"What?" Emma demands, her own ire provoked by the idea that bedding a murderer isn't, apparently, the biggest problem.
"We're all going home someday," David says. "And when we do, we'll expect you to seek a suitable match with a prince or nobleman."
"But no princesses, is that what you're saying?" Emma asks. "Of course, I should have figured all that true love and understanding only applies to the cutie pie boy-girl crap. Nothing else about your stupid stories is fair or inclusive."
"They're not stories!" David roars. "They are our lives, and you should pay us some respect, young lady."
"How long have you been waiting to say that, hmm?" Emma is furious now, ready to lash out with her fists as much as her mouth. "You just keep giving me reasons to never, ever go back there."
"If your mother and I ask it of you, you will come with us. Or-"
"Or what?" Emma taunts. "You'll put me in a fucking wardrobe and abandon me again? I don't owe you shit."
"Like it or not, Emma, you are subject to our rule, too," David warns her. "We only want what's best for you."
"Your rule?" she fires back. "Aren't you some kind of sheep chaser? Come on, this is the real world."
"And this is why I should never have started this discussion," David says, hiding his face in his big hands. "Henry is fine. You can come and collect him later."
"That won't be necessary," Regina says from where she's standing on the stairs. Emma doesn't stop to wonder how much she overheard, because knowing Regina the answer will be 'every word'. "I'll collect Henry now and apologize for falling asleep here."
"Like hell you will!" David turns on Regina now, eyes blazing again.
"He is my son," Regina says quite calmly. "And need I remind you that both of us can safely cross the town boundary? If you want to continue to see your grandson, you'll stop testing my patience, not to mention my perfectly legal custody of him."
Regina miraculously looks put together again, her makeup scrubbed off and leaving her fresh-faced, with her ripped blouse carefully tucked into her skirt in a way that hides the damage. Emma pulls her robe a little tighter around her body in a sudden bout of insecurity, acutely aware of the crusted mascara on her lashes and the greasy residue of yesterday's foundation that feels awful against her skin now.
"To hell with legal custody," David starts to argue, but Emma cuts him off.
"Regina's right," Emma snaps. "And what the hell do I know about being a parent, anyway?"
"Emma!" David looks even more disappointed in her now. "You can't just give in to her. Our family fights for each other."
"Henry isn't my family," Emma sighs, feeling the past few months of uneasy responsibility finally start to shift. "I gave him up. And just because he needed my help for a little while, doesn't mean I want to take him back."
"Well, it's about time." Regina says, smugness dripping from the words. It's almost enough to make Emma reconsider, but there's no fight in her this morning.
"I'm going to talk to your mother about this," David says, opening the door at last.
"I'll come with you," Regina says. "Take Henry home for breakfast."
"I'll bring him to you," David argues, and then he's gone, door slamming behind him.
Regina chuckles quietly to herself, and Emma turns away in disgust, the taste of beer in her mouth now stale and disgusting, but it's nothing compared to the revulsion she feels at herself for falling into bed with Regina again.
"Well, don't let me hold you up," Emma says after an awkward silence descends. Regina makes her way down into the kitchen, strolling around like she owns the place, despite apparently never having been in the apartment before last night. Oh, except for planting evidence, Emma amends, unless she had Sidney do that for her too. "If Henry gives you any crap, just let me know, I guess."
"I can deal with his 'crap'," Regina reminds her, pouring a glass of juice from the bottle in the fridge, finishing it off without offering Emma any.
"You mess with him again," Emma warns. "And I'll take him back so fast your head will spin."
"If I upset Henry, I think we both know he'll come looking for you," Regina says wistfully. "Unless you lie to him again."
"And I suppose we're not talking about-"
"What do you think?" Regina snaps. "I've had quite enough embarrassment for one morning, thank you."
"Hey," Emma says, trying to make light of the situation. "And you were pretty cool about Charming discovering you in the nude, at least."
"Well, we've had a few near misses," Regina says, a cruel gleam in her eye as Emma's stomach roils.
"Please tell me you haven't..."
"A lady never tells," Regina mocks, placing her empty glass in the sink.
"And if I've learned anything in the past couple of weeks it's that you may be a Queen, but you sure as hell ain't a lady," Emma accuses. "You could try giving me a straight answer for once."
"Where's the fun in that?" Regina asks, pulling on her blazer and striding towards the door. "You should take some aspirin; you look like hell."
Emma replays the conversation carefully, willing her brain not to go where it absolutely must not. It's weird enough even having parents, and acknowledging that they still have sex with each other. But Prince Charming hooking up with the Evil Queen is gross for about twenty different reasons before Emma includes her own family tree, even if a very dark, hopefully easy-to-ignore part of her mind is already thinking about how it could have happened.
"Hey!" Emma calls out after her, hoping to distract herself and fast. "Is there a magic way to just... delete a hangover? I mean, I have magic, right?"
"All magic comes with a price," Regina says, and it doesn't sound like she's teasing. "So if you want a teacher, you'll have to look elsewhere."
"Fine," Emma grunts, already raiding the drawers for aspirin. "Should have known better than to expect you to do something for anyone other than yourself."
Regina hesitates, the barbs obviously ready on her tongue, but she thinks better of it and strides out into the hallway, slamming the door just as Charming did before her.
Emma really, really hopes that slamming doors is all the two have in common.
Between the shower to scrub herself clean and the flurry of hot water, disinfectant and cloths to scrub the apartment clean-even the dark corners that Emma wouldn't usually bother with-she feels much better by the time dinner rolls around.
Henry texts around six, asking if she's eaten, and Emma tries to smile at the concern. Unfortunately it feels more like Mary Margaret's tendency to nagging has skipped a generation, leaving Emma to get it in the neck from every direction.
Just heading out for Granny's mac and cheese. Emma replies. Sorry about last night.
He doesn't reply, the silent judgment statement enough. Pulling on her cleanest jeans and a loose sweater, Emma starts out on the short walk to the diner, wondering how the hell she started understanding what it feels like to be Regina.
There's just no avoiding people in a town this small. Emma has more tricks up her sleeve than most, but even she can't throw her parents off her trail for long. It buys her two unplanned days of sobriety, avoiding the bars and liquor stores that will probably be their first points of call. She even tells herself she feels better for it, despite the shaking hands and the hours of puking at the end of the first day. If she didn't feel much like seeing them before, she's close to hating their breathing guts by the time David and Mary Margaret come knocking on her door, bringing Tupperware filled with food and an obnoxious cloud of judgment.
"What?" Emma snaps after they bustle around her kitchen for five whole minutes, ignoring where she's flopped out on the sofa, not quite watching a Top Model rerun.
"Your father and I-" Mary Margaret begins, and Emma feels her blood begin to boil. She can't do this, she absolutely can't. They're so intent on parenting her that she feels like a bitch for pointing out it's at least a decade too late. Maybe she is wrong, but then she's not the one shoving family members into unsuspecting furniture, so if there is a moral high ground here perhaps Emma is the one who has it.
"I haven't had a drink in a few days," Emma sighs, rounding up to make it sound just a little better. "Not that I drink every day, anyway, but you want to act like I do."
"Emma, that's great," her father says, and Mary Margaret stops mid-stacking of the fridge to turn around and smile in encouragement; it leaves Emma cold.
"I have a job," she reminds them. "I have no intention of being a full-time single mom. And what I choose to do in the privacy of my own home is none of your business."
"That, we need to talk about," Mary Margaret corrects, moving across the living room to sit on the couch beside Emma, who grudgingly moves her legs to make room. "I know that you don't understand our land, Emma, but there are certain things we just can't take back from this world."
"I'm beginning to mix up the Enchanted Forest with Alabama," Emma says. "Besides, I'm a private person. Nobody is gonna care what I do. In a few months they'll forget the Savior crap anyway."
"It's not just about being the Savior," David replies. "As a member of the Royal Family, you have a duty towards the lineage, the succession."
"I really don't," Emma explains. "My obligation to care about anything like that ended when I landed on the side of a freeway."
"And speaking of family obligations," Mary Margaret continues, as though Emma hadn't even spoken. "Regina? Leaving aside the attempted murder and ruining all our lives with a curse, the woman is practically my mother. Do you know what that makes her to you?"
"Nothing," Emma answers, quite honestly. "The only way she could be any kind of family to me is if you'd raised me, with her still around. And since we all know you haven't been related since your father died-"
"Since she killed him, Emma," Mary Margaret pleads. "That's who she is."
"Doesn't change the fact that I was never a part of that family," Emma snaps. "So thanks for the food, but I have an early shift tomorrow."
"Don't do this," her father warns. "Regina is a poisonous presence in anyone's life, Emma. If she's convinced you somehow-maybe through magic-to act this way..."
"I have magic of my own," Emma reminds him. "But tell me, is that how she got you?"
"What do you mean?" David demands, but he's already blushing which all but confirms Emma's fears.
"I don't think I'm the first Charming family member to find something attractive about Regina," Emma accuses, not daring to meet her mother's eye as she watches her father squirm.
"Charming?" Mary Margaret asks, her voice trembling. "What is Emma talking about?"
"Nothing ever happened," David says, his voice steady even though Emma can see the lie written across his face as plain as day. "You know our love is true, Snow."
"Then why would you say that, Emma?" Mary Margaret grabs Emma's sleeve, not letting her squirm away from the confrontation. Looking at her mother, Emma sees something she hasn't seen on that sweet face before: pure anger. "I understand you're having a tough time, but causing trouble between your father and me isn't the answer."
Emma feels her stomach sink, an old and familiar nausea rising that she thought she'd never have to deal with again. She's back in the memories of her foster homes, learning over and over that accusations get her nowhere, that telling the truth doesn't matter, that nobody will ever, ever take her side.
"Perhaps it's time to grow up," David suggests, offering a hand to Snow, who stands beside him and accepts the possessive weight of his arm around her shoulders. They are a unit, united against everyone, including their own child.
"I did my growing up!" Emma yells, her tolerance reaching its breaking point in that instant. "When you have to learn 'we don't want you' at three years old, you grow up pretty damn fast."
"How long are you going to blame us for that?" Mary Margaret demands. "We have apologized. You know we had no choice."
"It seems like you had a lot of choice," Emma argues. "What about magic beans and all the other ways people have come to this world? You acted for weeks like it was almost impossible, but it turns out I've been stalked by fairytale characters for most of my life. It couldn't have been that hard."
"You're clearly very angry," Mary Margaret says, and while she's aiming for soothing, it comes off as straight up patronizing. "I think you should make some time to talk with Archie."
"Therapy with a bug, I'll get right on that," Emma mocks, turning the volume on the television all the way back up. "You can see yourselves out."
"You sound just like her," Mary Margaret says, barely holding back tears.
"Yeah, well," Emma replies, waving them towards the door. "And he's lying, for what it's worth."
"Emma!" David shouts.
"Enough," Snow says, her face hardening as she turns to look at Emma again. "We'll see you another time, Emma. Perhaps when you've stopped making up these lies."
They close the door quietly enough when they leave, and Emma tries to stop the reaction, considers counting to ten or punching a cushion, but she's far too angry for that.
The remote sails through the air in a perfect, forceful arc, and the television screen implodes with a muted crack and flash of blue light that is somehow enough to calm her down.
Emma grabs her keys and wallet from the coffee table, and she's halfway to the liquor store before her breathing starts to calm.
She's half a blink from finally falling asleep when she hears the footsteps behind her. Some tiny part of her brain that can still function makes her scramble to her feet, but it's too late.
Strong arms wrap around her waist, pulling her the rest of the way up even as Emma flails out with arms and legs alike, trying desperately to land a blow and meeting nothing but air or the occasional brushing of fabric.
"Put. Me. Down," she yells, hoping to draw some attention from the street. Sure, it's embarrassing as the Sheriff to be getting her ass kicked by some stranger in a parking lot, but Emma has bigger problems than her pride right now.
"Why?" A gruff voice asks. "It's not like you can stand right now, judging by the whiff of Scotch coming off you."
The lilt is familiar and maddening, and Emma starts kicking all the harder, her heel connecting with a shin this time.
"Hook! I warned you," she grunts, wriggling in his infuriatingly strong grip. "You're only even allowed in this town because-"
"Because I helped you overthrow Cora. A fact you might remember when kicking me in the sensitive parts, princess."
"What happened to your quiet life down by the docks?" Emma gasps, and then he finally lets her go, letting her fall back onto the hood of her own car.
"A man has needs," Hook responds, the same suggestion underlying his words. "But I see you've already drunk the town dry."
"Go to hell," Emma grouses, reaching around the car, stumbling as she aims for the driver's door.
"I don't think so," Hook says, coming up behind her and lifting her bodily off the ground again. "I never did get the hang of these cars of yours, but even I know someone unfit to steer a ship."
"You're an idiot," Emma says, and the sleepy feeling washes over her like a tidal wave, and she feels weightless as Hook carries her in his arms.
"So you keep telling me," Hook replies, quite unaffected by her continued insults. He smells like spicy cologne and leather, it's as close as Emma has to comfort. "Now, where to? I'm not the biggest fan of your parents, truth be told, but if you want-"
"No!" Emma manages to instruct. "Not there."
"You shouldn't be left alone," he continues. "That booze is coming back up, sometime soon. And my modest ship has just the one big bed-"
"Hell no," Emma mumbles.
"Well, you're not much of a dead weight, but I can't carry you indefinitely," Hook complains, bouncing her in his arms to mime the feeling of being dropped. That forces Emma to give some kind of instruction, if only so he'll let her pass out in peace.
"R'gina," she mutters, and lets the world fade quickly to black.
"Absolutely not."
"Come on, your Majesty."
"What do you think this is? Some kind of halfway house?"
"Just give me a surface to put her on."
"Emma?"
Not again. Why can't anyone just let her sleep when she goddamned wants to?
"Go away," she mumbles, and the effort of those two words send her stumbling from the bed in search of somewhere to throw up. The bed is actually a lot more comfortable than usual, and when she rolls off the side it feels like a much bigger drop, too.
"Oh for the love of-" Emma hears, before slender but strong arms slip under her armpits and pull her up to kneeling, which is about as far as her head wants her to go.
"I don't feel very well," she mumbles, hot tears spilling down her cheeks, because really this whole situation can't get much more mortifying anyway.
"Oh, you poor baby," Regina's voice is a lot clearer now, sharper for being right by Emma's ear. For a split second she almost believes it, almost leans into the comfort as a last act of desperation, but Regina doesn't allow time for Emma to embarrass herself any further. "You probably have alcohol poisoning, you pathetic child."
"Leave me alone," Emma pleads. "I don't know why I'm here."
"Your boyfriend brought you," Regina huffs, practically dragging Emma over the fluffy carpet towards the bathroom.
"I don't have a boyfriend," Emma mutters, confused. "If I did, you'd have tried to fuck him by now."
"You can't possibly still be bitter about Graham," Regina muses, turning on the faucet in the bath to full. "Hot or cold?"
"Are you crazy?" Emma asks, from where she's slumped by the sink. "Hot. I don't want to die."
"It might finish the job of sobering you up," Regina explains, considering for a moment before dumping something flowery and expensive-smelling in the water. Emma wrinkles her nose in distaste. It's bad enough being here, without leaving smelling like some fancy hooker the way Regina does.
"Don't worry," Emma says, pulling at her clothes. No need for modesty when Regina's seen her naked, after all. "If I get too sober you can always share your stash again."
She's too distracted by pulling her shirt over her head to see Regina coming, but Emma sure as hell feels it when those bony fingers wrap around her throat, slamming her head back against the ceramic bowl of the sink.
"You shut your mouth," Regina spits. "Of all the things I can't stand about you, the fact that you have your mother's gift for running your mouth off whenever you please is by far the worst."
"I'm nothing like her," Emma gasps. "And she doesn't like it when the stories are about her, either."
"What do you mean?" Regina pounces, curiosity evident in her dark eyes. "Which stories?"
"I told her about you and David," Emma says, smiling weakly in victory. "So I guess you have one less ace up your sleeve."
Regina releases her grip then, and Emma coughs at the sudden intake of air.
"Here," Regina says, passing Emma a toothbrush, still in its packaging, from next to the sink. "You should clean up that idiotic mouth of yours."
"What?" Emma demands, as she hauls herself up to standing and reaches gratefully for the toothpaste.
"Just like your selfish bitch of a mother, you ran around telling tales without having all the facts," Regina explains, and she's behind Emma now as she rinses her mouth, pressing her against the sink. Their eyes meet in the mirror, and Emma has the sense to feel at least a little scared. "I can only hope," Regina continues. "That you've caused as much damage for her as she did for me."
"Uh... the bath?" Emma is floundering, not sure which fact to deal with first. It doesn't help that her stupid body is lighting up all over from the contact with Regina's, however unfriendly it might have been.
Regina rolls her eyes, but goes to turn the faucet off anyway. She fetches towels from a closet in the corner of the room, and nods for Emma to get on with it.
"I'm not in the habit of providing free shows," Emma challenges, feeling just a little bit more like herself as the hangover starts to recede. "So if you're staying, you're stripping too. House rules."
"It's my house," Regina points out, clearly past the end of her patience by now.
"Come on," Emma insists, because everyone else has turned away from her and it will piss Regina off beyond all measure to be the one who turns back. "I've always wanted to see what all the fuss was about."
"What fuss?" Regina snaps, hands on her hips as she stands there, every bit the impatient single mom in her black jeans and simple red sweater.
"About dunking witches," Emma says, quite solemnly. "You know, if you can stop assaulting me and comparing me to my parents long enough."
"I should have told Hook to take you somewhere else," Regina replies, but her fingers flicker just an inch or so towards the hem of her sweater. She's considering it.
"What about Henry?" Emma asks.
"He's too old to take a bath with either one of us," Regina mocks. "But since you finally remembered he exists, he called your father to pick him up once I mentioned you were here."
Emma doesn't fight the sinking feeling in her chest, nor does she ignore the wicked glee on Regina's face at Emma being the one so easily rejected this time. She strips her clothes off roughly, not caring about whether Regina's enjoying the view, and steps into the warm water with even less than her usual lack of grace. At least she avoids falling and cracking her head on the smooth surfaces.
"Fine," Regina huffs, yanking her sweater over her head to show off lingerie too fancy for lounging around the house on a weekend. "But only because you're like one of those children raised by wild animals, and probably don't know how to bathe yourself correctly."
"Go to hell," Emma fires back, but she watches intently as Regina sheds the rest of her clothing and steps forward.
"This doesn't mean you're welcome here," Regina reminds her, before slipping into the water and letting wet skin slide against wet skin, her back to Emma.
"And I don't ever want to be," Emma replies.