August Booth was a tall man with a proportional build. At six feet even, his thick arms and long legs sprouted from him like accessories. Famous for his casual work dress, the journalist would often come into the office in jeans and a leather, motorcycle jacket with faded breast pockets and slightly ripped elbow patches. Beneath his heavy coat was nothing more than a white tee-shirt. Short, brown-sugar cropped hair, a scruffy bear of the same color, and devilish blue orbs, the man was known for being the biggest flirt. Missing a wedding ring (divorced), and quiet about his son, August was a womanizer. It was difficult to find any redeeming qualities about the guy.
As Regina told Emma and Henry, Mr. Booth was indeed one of the paper's most influential and important members. He took stories no one else wanted, providing it "spoke to him." August had seniority amongst his other workers, having been there for exactly 10 years. He started out as an intern, little to none college experience, and rather hard to tame; he'd just left his own foster home, which he rarely talked about. This aspect of his life was the only reason Regina had any respect for the fellow. If he never mentioned his time before becoming a big name, she knew wherever he'd been placed must have been awful. It was a code within survivors of the system— if you don't talk about it, it might as well never have existed, which was preferable.
It was also for this reason, that Regina wasn't particularly looking forward to serving punishment. She'd thought long and hard about how August should pay for the sins of his son, and while she wasn't proud of her spiteful attitude, she was also more concerned for Henry's well-being. From what her child had said, it wasn't the first time August's kid had tormented him— intentional or not.
When the elevator dinged and the light flickered, Regina waited for the doors to part and stepped onto the drab, navy carpeting. The frantic sounds of the office she'd reveled in leaving behind were reactivated as soon as she returned. Papers were piling up on the printers, people were shoveling in their lunches in order to get back to work, trapped in their cubicles, and it would seem that the majority of the writers were on the phone with someone. Dozens of voices blended together in a pitchy chorus, one that caused Regina to cringed inwardly.
However, she didn't have time to dwell on the hectic environment. Regina had a mission: Operation Justice, a little thing she'd picked up from Henry. Whenever he needed to get something done, the boy made it some sort of secret mission. On rare occasions, Regina would do just the same. This was one of those rare occasions.
Strolling down the never-ending aisle, everything passed by Regina as if it were on high speed. She was the only thing moving at a normal rate, her arms swung at her sides, while her black heels were muted by the soft ground. Her hips swayed naturally, though hidden beneath her gray power suit. A white shirt tucked into her waist band, the much-respected-slash-feared supervisor was a force to be reckoned with. Anyone who'd been with the paper for more than six months could tell you what that look in her eyes meant: all business, no play.
August was sitting on top of his crowded desk, his feet on his chair, relaying some adventure to several other curious co-workers. His scratchy voice filled the atmosphere, garnering gasps and "oohs" and "aahs" from the crowd that circled around him. None of them saw Regina coming, and all of them would soon regret their careless mistakes. "Mr. Booth, kindly removed your dirt-covered shoes from the company chair," the brunette instructed, lowering her own voice until she sounded like Bea Arthur. As soon as she spoke, everyone cleared a path and fled form the scene, back to their despair-ridden nooks and hung their heads low.
After the last person left, it was just August and Regina. He let his legs dangle over the floor as he continued to sit on the only clearing his table could offer. The rest of it was filthy, covered in fast food wrappers and empty coffee cups. File cabinets were overflowing with older editions of his work, the computer hadn't even been turned on since he arrived that morning, and the remnants of— what could only be described as— a peanut butter and jelly sandwich were in a tight ball, stuffed in a plastic bag. It was repulsive.
Watching as Regina took in his man-cave, August put on a playful smirk and shimmied off the desk until he towered over the woman. Puffing his chest out with grandiosity and tightening his biceps, the bearded man peered down at his boss coyly. "Regina Mills. Now, something must be up if you're mingling with the peasants. A good story, maybe? One that only the best of the best can cover?"
"Stand down, dear," Regina responded thoughtfully. August's coffee breath assaulted her nose, though she kept her composure. His blatant entitlement and presumptuous nature sent a chill down Regina's spine every time they interacted. Sometimes, it was a battle between August Booth and Sydney Glass for the most disgusting of the male species. Maintaing her ground, Regina glanced around to see who else was listening. The more witnesses, the better. "You're correct in assuming the opportunity for a piece, however, you were not the first choice for this… particular event."
August's pompous facade was dented, but he did his best to mend it swiftly. His jaw slackened for a millisecond, but he wasn't so easily deterred. With several feet of room between them, August took one step closer, still careful not to trigger the mildly alarming authority figure. "Why you don't you let me be the judge of that? What's the story?"
Gradually guiding him into the trap she was setting, Regina let go of her conscience and allowed her scheming side to take the reigns. "There's been talk of nuclear missiles in…" she quickly racked her brain for somewhere believable, "Russia. Every other paper is already on the scene and we were going to send Sidney out on Monday—"
"Sidney? The man who's older than Moses?" August asked incredulously, momentarily chipping his own wall.
"He may be older than most, but he's also the most experienced," Regina reasoned.
"Bull crap! I've been here longer than he has!"
Making every effort not to take delight in August's jealously, the regal professional cocked her head to the side as if to drag out his agony. Then, acting as though she were really rethinking it and taking pity on the man, she sighed dramatically. "I suppose you do have a valid point. I'll tell you what; the story is yours, providing that you have the ability to leave tonight. If you are unable to accomplish this—"
"I'm already gone," August cut Regina off smoothly, having regained his control. Gathering his backpack and his keys, the political correspondent that had been praised on numerous occasions for his thorough interviews, dashed off into the stairwell and let the door slam behind him.
No one dared make eye-contact with Regina, as they were all fairly certain of what had just taken place. If anyone had the courage to call her out on it, they must've been out sick, because absolutely none of the other journalists stepped in.
Satisfied with her efforts, though at the same time slightly ashamed, Regina returned to her own office. She passed Belle leisurely and tossed over her shoulder, "August Booth is leaving for Russia tonight to cover the missile crisis. Can you make a note of that for me?"
The only person on the entire floor who wasn't afraid of Regina, Belle set her plastic bowl of salad down and frowned at the woman. "What missile crisis?"
Smiling smugly to herself, Regina merely said, "Make one up."
Henry had only ever been to Emma's place of employment once in his entire life. He had just turned seven, and Regina had an emergency at work, so she couldn't pick him up from school. Emma, on the other hand, was already in the area and snagged the kid by the loop on his knapsack like a puppy. Just taller than her belly button, Henry waddled into the mysterious space with an overactive imagination. Emma hadn't told him exactly what she did, only that she worked with the goody guys—that she saved the bad ones from themselves. That was all Henry had to know.
At almost 11, now, Henry wasn't as easily convinced of Emma's true job. The dimly lit structure with two floors, eight desks on each, didn't look like it belonged near the pizza joint and nail salon. It was grungy in the inside, heavy with the stench of cigarette smoke and spoiled milk. The fans on the ceiling spun in a slow circle, though there was no breeze to bask in. The blades just twirled aimlessly, like a stranger in the desert.
Mr. Gold's door was shut and most of the first floor was vacant except for the man. Everyone else was either on a case or had been let go due to their own twists of fate. The entire building felt like a prison to Henry. There were only two windows, the walls were painted cloud-white with no colorful stripes or patterns, and there was no music radiating through the halls. It was too adult-like for the kid.
"Come on," Emma beckoned the boy, pulling him up the narrow staircase. "It's your lucky day. You get to see how the other half live, which means… paperwork."
"That doesn't sound very fun," Henry chimed quietly, taking deliberate steps up the steep passageway. He'd once tripped down the stairs to the lobby in his apartment and received a nasty gash on his sensitive calf, which resulted in six stitches in the ER. Regina was scared, but calm, as always. However, Emma had been cornering every doctor and nurse she could find, barking at them to help her "friend's kid." Henry ended up holding Regina's hand and listening to Emma's jokes when his cut was sewn up. He never questioned anything about that night.
The upstairs was only slightly less depressing than downstairs. There were two posters, one on each end of the room. Ruby had her headphones in and the music cranked up, and she danced in her chair next to the Nirvana banner above her desk. Her table was shoved against the hard surface and the brown-haired woman had the pleasure of staring at the wall all day.
The other poster was parallel to Ruby, next to Emma's place; it depicted animated versions of the Beatles— cartoon figures. The blonde's base of operations was nothing like Regina's. Her forms and applications weren't even in folders; they were all strewn across the countertop, as well as on the floor. A crumpled, cardboard box of kleenex sat in the corner of the faux wooden desk, its white flag drawn in surrender. The back of Emma's chair had several coats hung one over the other, as if she'd forgotten to take them home. Candy a casings and pens that were out of ink, but that she'd let gather in a bunch, engulfed what should have been a peaceful environment.
Hastily knocking excess materials away and pulling up a seat for Henry, Emma tossed a balled piece of paper at the back of Ruby's head and waited for her friend to turn around. "Henry, this is Ruby. Ruby, meet the kid."
Pushing aside her annoyance at Emma, the woman with scarlet highlights beamed at the small person who's slim legs swung innocently. "Hey kiddo," she greeted politely. "Congratulations."
"O- on what?" Henry stammered.
"Being the first innocent person to step foot this place," Ruby explained. "Most of the folks that pass through here are—" Emma was waving a hand across her neck, as if to say "Shut up!" Luckily for the blonde, Ruby was quick on her feet. "Most of the folks who pass through here are really old, like 30, and like to rob Petcos," she joked.
Feeling as if she'd dodged a bullet, Emma flopped in her chair that no longer wheeled around. The plastic pieces had broken a long time ago, and she'd just never gotten around to getting them fixed. While Ruby returned to her tunes, Emma studied Henry and the way he absorbed his surroundings. He was like a sponge, that kid. Every detail, every minuscule item that many people would overlook, Henry caught. He made note of the chipped paint on the windowsill, the spiderwebs in the open vents, and the less-faded spot on the wall next to the light switches. Something must've been there before; it was shaped like a rectangle, possibly a picture frame.
Emma followed his gaze and soon understood his curiosity. "It was like that when I started here," she piped. "Our boss never told us what it was." Now that she had some time alone with Henry, which was rare, she figured she might as well make the best of it. "Ok, Kid, honesty hour…" The boy went rigid, petrifying like a statue; he ceased all movements, including breathing. "Why didn't you tell us who was messing with you? We coulda fixed it by now."
"I'm sorry," Henry mumbled without missing a beat. His neck went limp and he hung his head in humiliation, mild panic shot through his nervous system. He wasn't sure whether to look at Emma when she spoke like he did with Regina, though he knew his aunt wasn't as commandeering as his mother could be. Emma had a soft side that she only let Henry see. And, while Regina had her own ways of being the "good cop," Henry still came out feeling… misunderstood after some of their conversations.
"It's not your fault," Emma corrected brusquely, realizing that her statement must've implied blame. "It's just… here's the thing; I know it can be bad and I know saying something can make it worse, but it can also make it better." Reading Henry's apprehensive posture, she opened the top drawer on the left and removed a back of Skittles she kept for emergencies. She placed it on the only cleared spot of her desk, right in front of the kid, and gestured for him to take some.
Henry reached out a quarter of an inch before retracting his hand and shaking his head modestly. "Mom says bad behavior shouldn't be rewarded."
"But that's the point, Kid. You didn't do anything wrong," Emma said.
Confused, Henry pinched his eyebrows together. "But I thought you said I should have told you sooner?"
Realizing that this wasn't going to be as easy as she had hoped, Emma sighed heavily and stared at the boy she'd carried for nine months. It was moments like these when she wanted to shed the lies they'd all been feeding him for 11 years and be totally transparent with him. She wanted to admit the truth, to help him as his mother, not just an "aunt." However, in the grand scheme of things, Emma knew she couldn't drop that sort of bombshell on him. Henry was an intelligent, happy, mature kid. Just because she wanted to tell him, didn't mean he'd be able to handle such a deep-rooted confession.
Setting aside her own desires, Emma lifted the candy and waved held it out in front of him enticingly. "This isn't a reward and you did the right thing. Better late than never. Now come on, just have a few; rot your teeth and get a sugar high. I promise, it'll take your mind off things."
Not without great hesitation, Henry curled his fingers around the small, spacecraft-shaped items. He separated them by color in his palm and ate one of each, chewing exactly four times before moving onto the next, and repeating the same pattern as he sat there beside Emma. The woman wondered if he didn't have some sort of OCD, which would have been understandable knowing Regina. And so, without making Henry feel like the object of scrutiny because of his ritual, Emma turned back to her mountains of late work and forged a trail between the stacks. It was going to be a long day.
Regina arrived home at precisely 6:30. Living in the city for most of her life, she'd learned the ins and outs of navigating through the constantly-busy roads. Unlike many residents in her complex, Regina did not own a vehicle. Of course, she used to; her former mode of transportation took the form of a black Mercedes that she eventually realized was a waste of money. She hardly ever drove it, parking was a nightmare in her neighborhood, and it was too much of a hassle to maintain. So, like the rest of New Yorkers, Regina became a master of the subway station. And, she fit right into the diverse masses of people all cramming together on one car. She in her formal attire, others in their religious garb, and folks in casual street clothes.
The newspaper editor had just set her briefcase on the counter and removed her jacket when the front door swung open, revealing a red-faced Emma; she was carrying a comatose Henry in her arms. Regina immediately dropped what she was doing and rushed over to catch her son, who was cuddle into Emma's hold.
"Scratch the movie tonight," Emma panted as Regina opened a clear trail down the hallway. "He's totally knocked out."
The brunette opened Henry's room, where the lights were already off, and moved out of Emma's way. The strong blonde woman gently laid the boy on top of his blankets and the adults proceeded to remove Henry's shoes, which Emma put in the same shelf that they went into every night. Regina brushed the hair from her son's forehead, readjusted the pillow behind him, and kissed his cheek tenderly. Emma wished she could do the same, but instead pat Henry's shoulder simply. It didn't feel right to perform such an act of affection in front of Regina— Henry's real mom. At least, that's how the bail bondswoman saw it.
Leaving Henry alone in his own dreamland, Emma and Regina migrated to the dining room. "I know he's growing and all, but isn't he kinda old for such an early bedtime?" Emma wondered as she leaned over the bar, the small hairs on her arms rising at the freezing touch of the surface.
Regina filled two glasses with water, one for her and one for her friend, and found an odd amount of comfort in the sound of the running water. "Nonsense, Emma. He's not asleep for the night. I'm sure you remember how much we cherished nap times," she teased. She found Emma's naivety somewhat amusing, though at the same time, she felt a small amount of guilt. "He'll be up again soon, ready plow through the rest of his day."
"There won't be any more to plow through, Gina," Emma rolled her eyes. Quietly slurping the refreshing liquid, she fell into one of the chairs by the glass table and shrugged off her leather coat. Secretly desiring a stronger beverage, she politely finished what she'd been served without complaints. Regina joined her, taking the seat directly across from her, and crossed one leg over the other. Her always-shining brown hair fell slightly over her face, something that always made Emma smile for some reason. "You were right earlier, you know." Regina frowned slightly, mildly bewildered. Licking her lips nervously and fidgeting with the circular pendant on her neck, Emma rephrased, "It's not like when we were kids. Henry doesn't know how to handle this kind of stuff."
"Neither did we," Regina mused evenly, a hint of melancholy beneath her words. She kept her gaze on the bubbles in her water, the way they floated to the surface but didn't pop just yet.
"But we learned how to and we fought back."
"Correction, dear: you fought back. I merely waited for it to end. Speaking of which, I talked with August earlier. I don't know how much help it will be, but it was… sinfully delightful."
"Good. But if it happens again, I swear to God I'm going to the principal or the headmistress or whatever she is." Leaning against the wooden backing, Emma pulled her hair into a bunch and let it drape over her right shoulder. In that moment, it was as if she and Regina couldn't have looked more different. Emma was never one to wear "creme-colored shells" and perfectly ironed slacks. If she could help it, she never dressed up at all. She only played princess when she wanted to bust someone; the more feminine she looked, the better chance her targets that were attracted to women were receptive. But right now, in her jeans and plain tee shirt, Emma Swan noticed just how separate the lives she and Regina lead. Mrs. Mills always looked so professional, so formidable. Her makeup was never botched, her nails were trimmed and painted neatly, and her skin couldn't have been smoother. And yet, underneath all of Regina's beautiful outer features, there was a sorrow to the woman that very few people would be able to detect.
Removing an envelope from her back pocket, Emma offered it to its addressed recipient. Scrawly cursive had Regina's name printed on it, and she already knew exactly what it was. "You don't have to open it," Emma reminded. "It's not like they'll know if you open their card or not."
Delicately unsealing the flap, Regina ignored Emma's comments. She knew she didn't have to open it, but something inside of her wanted to read it. She wanted to see how many people had been fooled by the woman who raised her. Discarding the excess paper, Regina brushed the raised image of a rose on the cover. Dark green stems and vibrant red petals bore into her soul, taunting her. Inhaling slowly, she read aloud, "Our deepest condolences to you and your family. Cora Mills was a lovely woman and an amazing mother. May she rest in peace." Using every bit of willpower that she had, Regina resisted the crushing urge to crumple the card, stomp on it, and set it on fire. In a strained voice, she asked, "Did Henry say anything about…?"
"No," Emma said, reading Regina's mind. "He didn't talk about her."
"Well, I suppose that's… Yes, that's good," the brunette corrected herself. "His life is stressful enough, he doesn't need to hear false tales."
"What about you? How're you holding up?"
"You asked me that last night. I'm fine, Emma. Please, I'd rather not discuss this." Tossing the ill-fitting sentiments as far away from her as possible, Regina crossed her arms over chest and embraced herself. "I take it you two had a pleasant day," she added nonchalantly.
Chuckling softly, Emma nodded with a fond smile. "Yeah, I guess you could say that… Thanks again for, you know, letting us hang out."
"No thanks needed," Regina replied instantly. After all, you did give birth to him, she thought.
Although it wasn't terribly late at night, Emma decided it was time for her to go home. Henry was sound asleep and Regina looked as if she could use some space for herself. Through the window, she could see the lights from all of the businesses illuminating the streets; from afar, it was like a carnival. Excited sounds and cars vrooming by all permeated through the glass barrier and traveled to Emma's ear. She always did have good hearing. "Look, I think I'll leave you guys to it. Maybe we can do something tomorrow…?"
"I don't see why not," Regina responded, anxiously shifted her attention between Emma and the card at the other end of the table. When Emma stood up, so did Regina, but it wasn't as graceful as her movements usually were; it was staggered and lacking the confidence she normally possessed. Still distracted, she lead Emma to the front door.
"Gina, you know I'm here if you need anything. Just say the word." Emma didn't feel comfortable with leaving Regina to wallow in her own grief, regardless if it was a "process." But, she knew the woman; Regina didn't like people making a fuss.
"Yes, of course. Thank you." Regina leaned against the wall and absentmindedly watched as Emma traveled down the corridor. It wasn't until she'd gotten to the staircase that Regina snapped out of her daze. "Emma." The business woman strode over to her former bodyguard and lifelong ally. Emma peered over at Regina and read all of the signs of an impending breakdown. However, Regina maintained her facade and simply hugged the figure in red. "Thanks," she said with more sincerity.
As if wasn't already obvious, Emma half-smirked at Regina knowingly. "Anytime."
Closing off their apartment, Regina listened to make sure Henry was still unconscious. She didn't want him to watch her moment of vulnerability. Taking the card and a book of matches, Regina moved to the metal sink. She plucked out a small stick with a green head and struck it against the strip on the cover. An orange flame ignited and burned bright, reflecting in her eyes. What was a sign of danger for most people was a symbol of freedom for Regina. She wasn't a pyromaniac, she didn't take pleasure in setting fires. But in this instance, she didn't mind it. Holding up the piece of mail, Regina lit a corner and let the inferno spread as far as her finger tips at the top. When it was just an inch away, she dropped the last corner into the basin and let it lay there with its sibling ashes until there was nothing left. The handwriting was illegible, the paper was charred, and the lies had been destroyed. Unfortunately for Regina, there was an entire box beneath her bed, its contents awaiting the same fate.
A/N - Hello dearies, thanks for the follows! I'm glad you're enjoying this story. I mean to update a few days ago, but I was out of town and didn't have a computer. Hopefully, I'll make up for that :-) Hope you liked this chapter! Emma & Regina's past will be explored more in the next few chapters. Let me know what you all think! Reviews are much appreciated!
