A/N - Trigger warning for unwanted flirting in the workplace!


Emma awoke with a violent start, her alarm screaming at her bedside. The neon-red numbers flickered on and off as the firetruck-like cry blasted through the tiny holes that served as speakers. A small pool of drool had collected by the blonde's half-open mouth and created a dark circle four inches in circumference. Raising a heavy hand, Emma slammed the snooze button and the meddlesome noise ceased.

As she rolled from her stomach onto her back, the sleepy woman groaned and stretched her limbs as far as they could go. The tips of her toes reached the end of her bed and her tips of her fingers brushed the wall above her cushions. Her eyes still closed, she had yet to be greeted by the early morning sunlight. She could, however, hear the aggravated shouting and belligerent squawking of New Yorkers outside of her window. Nothing said Monday like listening to a fight on the streets.

Having spent Sunday on her own, completely unplugged and disconnected from all things social, Emma had time to be with herself— something she hadn't been able to do in a while. She learned from an early age that solitude could either be an amazing gift or a sinister curse. The older she got, the easier it was to recognize the difference. As an adult, she could do things she couldn't have done as a child. Nearly 30 years-old, Emma was no longer bound to a hellish home or to sadistic humans; she had the ability to go for a walk whenever she wished or to get drunk, should she choose that route.

This Sunday, however, was used reading a book she'd started three months before, but had forgotten about during the springtime bustle. She ordered Chinese takeout and ate on the couch with wooden chopsticks. She did a load of laundry with her headphones blasting "No Diggity." And she cleaned up the living room. In those acts alone, she felt rather accomplished in her household duties.

With the air conditioner whirring through the ventilation system, Emma was tempted to drift back to sleep. Had it not been for the nightmares, she probably would have. The emergence of another week, Emma felt her system gradually come back to life. Her heart beat a little faster, her intake of oxygen lost its comatose rhythm, and her neck cracked when she tilted her head. As if pinched suddenly, Emma's eyelids shot open and all that she saw was the white ceiling above her.

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed and steadying her feet on the carpet, she pushed herself into a standing position. The day had officially begun.


By nine o'clock, Henry had already been dropped off at school and Regina had been in the office for about half an hour. Her plum-purple suit and matching heels, mixed with her excellently conditioned locks and magenta lipstick were all factors of her power over her subordinates. She was indeed the ruler of the paper.

Belle arrived just moments after her boss and wasted no time relaying messages for Regina. One such voicemail was from a Mr. August Booth. When Belle handed Ms. Mills the transcript, Regina picked up her own phone and listened to the journalist hiss through the mouthpiece.

As she sat across from her window and gazed out upon the skyline, Regina only semi-paid attention. "Dammnit, Mills!" August growled angrily. "I spent hours trying to get a plane here, took three buses to the address you emailed, spent an entire day searching for a source, and nothing! You gave me a bogus lead!"

After calling her a name unfit for such a mature individual, Regina simply put the phone back on the hook and resumed her usual tasks. She was sure she'd hear about her "mistake" later on, but right now, that was the last thing she was concerned with. The rest of her weekend had been consumed with questions about Emma, mostly from Henry, and worry that the woman had disappeared. And, if Emma had indeed left, even for a little while, Regina knew it would have been by the blonde's own choice. By no means had it been a restful two days.

Finally settling into her desk, Regina forwarded the obituary to the head of the personal's department— the one that she only finished the night before. After countless hours of struggling to create a tactful and uncontroversial piece, the brunette had managed to put something together. She proof-read it once more, though she'd already done that four times, and clicked the "send" button as she held her breath. Now, the real work began.


When Emma got to work, she went straight for her mess of a desk. Still on probation, she had almost nothing to do but stamp files and sign papers. For someone as active as Emma, this was absolute torture. Of course, it could have been worse; she could have been put on leave all-together. But, right then— right when she needed an adrenaline rush the most— she didn't see the bright side.

In the middle of Emma's pity party, there was a slight scuffling down stairs. A hard object was being slammed against the floor and that could only mean one thing…

"Swan!" he accented man shouted up the short stairwell.

"What?" Emma replied sharply, stamping the bottom of a long-overdue packet of notes.

"Come down here!" Gold grumped, unable to forge the nine steps with his cane.

Sighing like an annoyed teenager, Emma trudged down to the first floor and crossed her arms with a dry look on her face. "What?" she repeated with extra emphasis.

In a charcoal and white-striped business suit, Mr. Gold twisted the head of his walking device and talked with one hand. "You're in luck, dearie," he chirped. "The man you failed to capture has eluded our friend Ruby. Like you, she lost track of him last night. Since this was a rare occurrence, I decided to grant a favor and reinstate you."

Squinting at the sneaky figure, Emma wasn't biting. "What's the catch?"

"Ah, what does any favor entail? Another one in return," Mr. Gold smirked. His capped tooth made it hard for Emma to maintain her rugged exterior, as she never knew how he got it. "Well? Do we have a deal?"

As though she were truly debating the man's cryptic offer, she played out a long pause and held it for eight counts. She felt Gold's impatiently beating vessel and for the first time in her working career, she felt as if she had the upper hand against him. No matter how experienced he may have been in the art of trickery and keeping secrets, his desire for this favor burned in his sharp, brown eyes. Had she been asked to do this a week ago, Emma might have been more apt to obtain more details. But, considering her rocky few days, the blonde gallantly accepted his plea. "Deal." With a nod of satisfaction, Gold revealed a thin, white envelope from his inner-breast pocket, a red seal on the flap. Before passing it to his most successful employee, he held onto the package with a reverence Emma had only ever witnessed once before— in fact, she'd experienced it. There was a glint of sorrow in Gold's manner, as if he were suddenly having second thoughts about this mysterious new job. However, that glint disappeared as soon as it had appeared and Emma's boss was his former self: hardened, rather cold, and distant. With a steady hand, Mr. Gold offered the secret information to the blonde; Emma accepted it seriously, no jokes, no jabs. "Who's the target?" she questioned.

As she delicately opened the parcel, she unfolded several pieces of paper that had been stapled together. None of them were original, all of them were copies of some sort. Barely legible scribbles covered the pages, but it was the picture paper-clipped at the top that caught Emma off-guard. Those brown eyes, those endearing laugh-lines, that toothy grin. She knew before Gold even had to say it, but his admission was far more jarring than anything she'd ever heard before. After a heavy sigh, the older man spoke in an even tone. "My son."


Deep in concentration, Regina sat hunched over a stack of horrendous rough drafts, some of which the writers had the nerve to call "final." Articles about game scores were loaded with inaccuracies, while the personal's ads were chalk-full of unsuitable material. Whoever had initially cleared these pieces had either been blind, or an awfully inexperienced intern; at least, that was what Regina was assuming. However, as she continued through the atrocious entries, she was unable to give herself fully to the editing process. Her tired eyes watered behind her thin-framed reading glasses and her hand was cramped from holding the red pen so tightly; a pink indentation on her middle finger was evidence of her stiff grasp.

Placing the cap back on the utensil and removing her spectacles, Regina Mills massaged her neck and straightened her spine, just as she' been taught to do; A proper woman never hunches forward. She rotated her chair until she was facing her favorite window and gazed out at the magnificent scenery. It was like her own, personal portrait of New York, one others could only wish for.

Amidst her moment of meditation, Regina's cell phone buzzed in her purse. Hoisting herself onto her feet, she lifted her bag off of the metal hook, pressed the green button, and held the receiver to her ear. "Regina Mills," she answered formally. "Yes, hi, how are you?" A few seconds transpired as the brunette listened to the other voice. "She did? Yes, of course. It's no trouble. Yes. I'll see to it that everything is taken care of. Sure. You're welcome. Goodbye." Letting the device fall back into the leather holder, Regina quickly packed up her things, swiped every single draft dispersed around her desk, scribbled a note, and taped it on her door. She felt Belle's questioning frown over her shoulder and briefly said, "I've, erm… There's some business…"

"Don't worry. I hope Henry feels better," the adept Aussie nodded when she noted her superior's apparent struggle; her dark, red braid hung in the middle of her back and her computer monitor shone in her blue eyes.

Regina gave Belle a small smile of gratitude before zipping down the gray corridor, her painfully high heels thumping against the padded floor. Her coat thrown over her arm and her keys dangling in her hand, the chief editor was not to be approached for anything. Everyone noticed her fierce grimace and her hasty-walk, and no one dared to get in her way. That is, except for a certain journalist.

The older man stepped out from his cubicle and arrogantly blocked Regina's way. Fitted in his usual pin-striped suit and shiny black shoes, Sydney Glass grinned at the younger woman until all of his teeth were exposed. "Well, Ms. Mills, don't you look radiant," he complimented.

Impatient and in a rush, Regina had no time for his games. "Not now, Glass," she grunted as she tried to push past him.

But Sydney was a persistent fellow. He'd met Regina's mother once before, and although they were of the same generation, it was Regina who had caught his eye. "Is there something I can help you with?" he pried. "I'm at your service," he added with an uncomfortable bow. "I sure did miss seeing you every morning."

Resisting the urge to knee him in the groin, and with more and more employees stopping to watch, Regina merely let out a slow exhale. She shifted her items from one hand to the other and put on her most convincing smile, the one that told any other sane person they'd better watch their step. "Mr. Glass," she began slowly, "I understand that your week away from the office may have been a much-needed rest. And I understand that you've recently taken on a rather heavy load here at the paper. However, let me remind you," she closed the gap between them, but only for effect, "you work for me. That means I am in charge, which means I am your authority. As such, I'm instructing you to remove yourself from this hallway, return to your station, and get back to work. Are we clear?"

Fixing his polka-dot tie, the balding corespondent tilted his chin in recognition. "Yes ma'am. My apologies." And just like that, Mr. Glass scurried away like frightened kitten. He wasn't accustomed to such a reaction from Regina; usually, she just ignored him or returned his advances with sarcasm. Today was very different.

"That goes for the rest of you," Regina announced through the short nooks, knowing full well that although she could not see them, other journalists had been eavesdropping. "Back to work."


Emma had taken a cab back to her apartment, an extravagance she rarely indulged in. The agency wasn't far from home, but she wasn't in any state to walk. A car ride allowed her the freedom to zone in and out as she pleased without having to worry about walking into a busy intersection. Of course, because she lived so close to her office, she only received 10 minutes of a trip down memory lane.

After plodding up the stairs and causing her muscles to ache, she absentmindedly entered her loft with a blank stare. Tossing her messenger bag onto the floor and sliding out of her shoes, Emma stripped down to just her jeans and spaghetti-strap tank top; she only ever wore it in the comfort of her own home. She had too many scars she wanted hidden from the rest of the world.

Grabbing a cold beer from the fridge, the blonde tenant flopped onto the stained futon. She guzzled down half of the bottle before her pupils returned to their previous size and she came back to life. It wasn't as if she'd forgotten about it, but more, she'd been trying not to think about it. The second that she saw His picture, everything came flooding back. That night 11 years ago flashed before her eyes like a horror film she couldn't escape. Emma felt as if she'd been transported through time: she could smell the gasoline again, taste the metallic liquid on her tongue, hear the sirens blaring around them, see the blinking headlights, and feel the sharp pain in her abdomen. But, most of all, she could see Him sitting beside her, eyes closed, limp body, relaxed face… Emma was trapped in the car once more, and no matter how loud she screamed, nothing happened.

And then, as if jolted by electricity, Gold's voice had pulled her back to earth. "Who's the target?" she'd wanted to know.

"My son."

The more she lingered on the topic, the angrier Emma got. His words repeated over and over again, like a song on loop that she wanted to skip. Louder and louder, deeper and deeper, Gold's confession rattled Emma and reignited the grief she'd packed away all those years ago. As she fumed over the situation, she never noticed her arm reaching back and launching her container at the wall; the glass shattered with a loud "csssh!" and alcohol spilled onto her carpet. Emma remained on the couch, though, nervously pulling her curls back into a ponytail she would never tie. Goosebumps rose on her forearms and the hairs stuck straight up. It was as though she were seeing Him again and again, hearing his laugh as if he were right there.

Before Emma could completely drown in the ocean of sorrow she'd been thrust into, a sharp knocking on the door commenced and she felt herself land back onto her feet. At first, she thought she'd made it up, that her mind was playing tricks on her still. But, then, the invisible visitor shouted, "Emma?" and she knew who it was.

"Gina," she sighed in relief, comforted by the fact that Regina was real. Wiping away the tears that had begun to form, Emma unlocked the only wall between herself and the rest of the world— secretly wishing it was that easy— and practically dragged the brunette inside. Without warning, the blonde threw her arms around her friend and let the pent-up heartbreak escape.

Taken aback by the unexpected affection, even more by the sudden sobs that vibrated through Emma's throat, Regina intuitively hugged her back. Almost instantly, she let go of her usual reserved manner and relaxed considerably. "Emma? What's wrong? Your mother called me and said you cancelled lunch, that you sounded upset?" When Emma was unable to gather enough strength to respond, Regina peeled away from her, took her hand, and guided her back to the only piece of furniture. She all but pushed Emma onto the futon before taking a seat next to her. "Breathe," Regina instructed as she so often had done when Henry had nightmares. "Emma, you have to breathe," she repeated. Right then, as she witnessed Emma's breakdown, it was as if the conflict between them had been silently resolved.

Like a child recovering from an emotional misfortune, there were hiccups. Emma's tear-streaked cheeks were rosy red and her nose ran like an Olympic sprinter. It took several attempts, but eventually, she was able to fill her lungs with clean air once more. "It's Him," she choked out in a barely audible murmur.

"What is?" Regina asked calmly as she rubbed Emma's shoulder.

"Gold," Emma squawked, as if that was it— the entire story.

"What about him?"

As a surge of new misery pumped through her system, Emma stood up and made a bee-line for her coat. She ransacked the pockets until she located the envelope Mr. Gold had given her, carried to Regina as if it were the Queen's crown, and shook it frantically for the brunette to open. Sensing the urgency, Regina sifted through the papers, and just like Emma, she stopped when she got to the photograph. A gasp of shock escaped from the woman as she glanced from Emma to the picture. "Is this…?" Emma nodded morosely; that was all she could do. "I don't understand," Regina shook her head. "What is all of this? Why do you have it?"

"Gold," Emma said again, though this time, slightly louder and slightly clearer. Pinching the skin on her wrist, she made herself speak. "He told me he needed me to find someone— his son. Then he gave me this." Her voice weak and insecure, Emma hadn't felt so unsure in years.

"His son? You mean…?" Regina's jaw detached an inch as the realization hit her like a ton of bricks. Emma's intense pain suddenly made sense, even more so than before. Almost as though she'd forgotten about her own loss, Regina found herself comforting the blonde. "Emma," she whispered as she wrapped the woman in a soothing embrace.

"I'm sorry," Emma whimpered as surrendered to the overwhelming agony she'd fought so hard to leave behind. She was afraid to let go of Regina, for fear of floating away again.

"Don't be ridiculous," Ms. Mills chastised, her ear pressed against Emma's. She could feel the woman shaking under her touch, the pure anguish that was trying to consume her friend. "You have nothing to apologize for," she asserted. She let Emma hold onto her and cry the way Regina knew she needed to. That had always been a concern of hers, what with Emma living alone. On rough days like these, or rough nights, who would be there to console her? After a few minutes of lingering, hugging, and crying passed, Regina was the first to let go. She snatched several tissues from her purse and gave them to Emma, one of which she used for herself. When it seemed as if Ms. Swan was stable enough to stand on her own, Regina did a visual sweep of the space around them. "What do you say to this: I'll buy us something to eat, bring it back here, and we can talk about… things? Is that all right with you?"

"Gina, I can't pull you away from work because I had a bad day," Emma refused, somewhat embarrassed for the scene she just caused. "It's not right." Secretly, she wanted nothing more than for the brunette to stay with her, a feeling she'd always struggled with. She didn't like having to lean on anyone, but if she had to, she'd rather it be her best friend.

"Emma, I'm disappointed in you," Regina rebuked. "You of all people know that I don't do anything unless I choose to do it." That was the last thing she said before fetching her wallet out of her bag and leaving for food. She didn't stay long enough for Emma to complain or protest. In less than 15 minutes, she'd be back with lunch for the both of them.

As she traveled down the stairs, Regina was struck with this image of the two of them sitting on the couch across from one another, legs crossed pretzel-style, napkins tucked into their shirts, and revealing their deepest secrets to each other… just like they used to. Except, that was 22 years ago. They weren't children anymore. Emma and Regina weren't who they used to be— a fact that Regina was reminded of every-damn-day of their lives. Today was the ultimate reality check. There would be no hair-braiding or blithe giggling, no blushing or playing make-believe. Most likely, their conversation would consist of repressed memories and at least two more meltdowns. But, Regina was prepared for that. Not just because it distracted her from her own woes, but because she was one of the only people who would understand Emma and where she was coming from. And although this wasn't how she'd imagined this Monday to unfold, there was nowhere else she'd rather be; Henry was safe at school and she had all of her work with her. For the first time in a long time, Regina was going to take care of Emma the way Emma used to take care of her.


A/N - Dearies! I'm sorry it's been so long since I've updated this one. I had a lot written down, but I didn't like how it sounded, so I tried again... and again... and again. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! And, I hope to be able to post some more after mid-terms, but I can't make any promises. Only a few weeks left of this summer program, and I'll have a small chunk of free-time. Hang in there, dear followers! Thanks!