Although they lived in one of the most flourishing cities in the United States, finding sustenance always proved to be somewhat of a challenge. Between vendors on every corner selling something different, restaurants and diners just feet away from one another, and the occasional market with fresh produce, Regina had her work cut out for her. Emma could be a picky eater when she wanted to be, whilst the brunette had a rather refined pallet. Then again, this was a situation that required comfort food, not escargot or eggplant parmesan. No, something more along the lines of New York pizza seemed fitting.

With sore arches and an aching back thanks to her four-inch heels, Regina marched down the sidewalk with a box of a pound of cheese melted on garlic crust. The grease bled through the cardboard and stained the bottom of the container, which normally would have horrified the woman, but not today. This was an emergency; nothing else mattered in an emergency. Smoke rose from metal carts, all serving a dish representative of the city. The scents of hot dogs, knishes, and burritos combined into one aroma that danced through the crowds. Grumbling from the underground subways sent shockwaves through Regina's legs, but she never faltered. She was determined to return to Emma's apartment unscathed; that went for the pizza as well.

In the rush of her decision, Regina had forgotten to grab a spare key for the front door. She had to wait an extra 13 seconds before she could enter the complex, not to mention the three minutes it took to the climb the stairs; the blasted elevator was under maintenance. Needless to say, Regina was a bit tired when she finally made it to apartment four A.

During Regina's absence, Emma had scurried to her room and tossed on a real shirt— one that covered her scars. She told herself that Regina didn't care, but she'd felt the brunette's gaze fall upon her shoulder, even just briefly. It was a nasty reminder for the both of them the hell that Emma had survived while Regina was safe in a cushy, five bedroom mansion with maids and a butler.

"Emma?" Regina called out as she set the box on the counter. Her crowded keychain jangled noisily as she tossed it in her bag carelessly. Turning her cellphone on silent, Regina washed her hands in the curiously-empty sink. Not even a spoon sat in the basin; proof that Emma had only been living off of takeout.

Making sure all of her marks were hidden, Emma appeared from her room with her hair tied into a scraggly ponytail. The knit sweater her mother had given her that previous Christmas hung over her torso as loosely as a parka, but as long as it did its job, Emma didn't care. "Hey," she greeted meekly. Her nose picked up the tasty smell of high fat and 500 calories, and she flocked to the pizza as if there was magnetic pull between them. "You didn't have to do this," she chided, though secretly glad to have something for late lunch-slash-early dinner.

"Nonsense," Regina dismissed as she wiped her hands on a brown napkin, no doubt from a fast food establishment. She opened the cupboard in the hopes of finding plates, but she was unpleasantly surprised by the vacant shelves. There had to have been something, even paper plates. But, after searching high and low, Regina soon realized how little Emma really owned.

Noting the individual's struggle, and possible dismay, Emma blushed and looked away. "Ya know, eating it out of the box isn't so bad," she commented.

Picking up on Emma's hint instantly, Ms. Mills turned around and shrugged lightly. "Well, there's always a first for everything," she mused. "Shall we sit at the table or do you prefer the couch?" She was only joking and was rather taken aback by Emma's side-glance towards the sofa. "Couch it is," she declared. Gathering up the few napkins that were left, she placed them on the lid of the container and carried it all towards the futon. Had they been at Regina's place, she would have insisted that they acted like adults. What else were dining room tables for? Decoration?

"You don't have to do this, Gina," Emma said, a sliver of impatience made its way into her voice, too sneaky for her to catch. "Seriously, I appreciate the thought, but you don't have to stay here. You should be with the kid."

Lifting a single slice into the air, the cheese stretching for miles, Regina pursed her lips together. "I've never understood your fascination with seclusion, Emma Swan. Not in the all of the time we've been friends has it made a bit of sense to me." Once the cheese split from its neighbor, Regina passed it to the blonde and waited for her to accept. "Anyway, Henry is quite all right with a babysitter for one night; Gods know it rarely happens." She attempted to sound as flippant as possible about it, although she rather detested leaving her son with someone else. If she could help it, she preferred being with Henry whenever possible. She didn't want to make the same mistakes Cora had made.

Her stomach growling in desperation, Emma brushed off her hunger and refused to take the first bite. "Seriously, Gina, I'm fine. I just… I freaked out for a sec, but I'm good now, ok? So," she set her portion back in the box and flicked the oil off of her fingers, "really, you can leave." There was a forcefulness to her, so-called, "assurance."

What was meant to convey the stability of Emma's emotional state only made Regina worry even more. She knew that stubbornness; she'd seen it get Emma into trouble countless times in their past. That pig-headed attitude, the one that told everyone else that the blonde didn't need any help, only resulted in the opposite. Her parents didn't fall for it and Regina sure as hell wasn't going to. "Are you kicking me out?" she questioned in that voice that made Emma cringe.

Her ears turning a pink as her scars had once been, the bail bondswoman rolled her eyes with a loud huff. "No," she griped. "I just… I don't want you to—"

"Then I'm staying," Regina asserted.

Emma was rapidly becoming more annoyed with every second that passed, every second that she had her own babysitter right in front of her. "Gina," she grunted. "I don't need—"

"What? You don't need to what, Emma?" Regina challenged, a dangerous move on her part. "I'm sure that whatever it is you 'don't need,' you couldn't be more wrong."

Leaping out of her seat and into a standing position, Emma drifted towards the window that outlooked trees upon trees. The cries of firetruck sirens traveled through the neighborhood as if they were playing through loudspeakers. An orange haze fell upon her strip of land as the sun shifted up above and white puffs were spread sparsely over the blue atmosphere. Emma could tell by just one glimpse that it was even hotter than it had been before; she could see the ripples of heat that hung over the skyscrapers, the ones that always made her think her eyes were watering. Folding her arms over her chest, as if she were closing herself off from any potential contact, she shook her head morosely. "D'you remember the first time we met— what you told me?"

Sitting on the edge of the fading, folded mattress, her gaze fixed on Emma, Regina dug deep for the slightest recollection. "We were eight years-old, Emma. It's been decades—"

"You told me that you believed everything happened for a reason. Eight years-old and you already had a fucking philosophy on life," the blonde scoffed. "I asked you why you thought that and you just said, 'Because.'"

As if the picture was becoming clearer to her, the brunette allowed herself to lean back against the cushion and released herself to the memory. She fidgeted with the buttons on her shirt, the weight of that day almost too much to bear considering everything that had occurred since then. "I read it on a sign in the subway," she said. "It was written in big, blue letters, the biggest I'd ever seen. It was the first thing I saw when I stepped off of the train."

Emma had heard the story of how Regina came into the foster care system numerous times before; that wasn't what she was looking for now. "Do you still believe that?" she wondered. "You still think everything happens for a reason?"

Regina had received many hard questions in her nearly- 31 years. Cora had grilled her like a drill sergeant on more than one occasion. Henry was at an age where natural curiosity was beginning to take over and his mind stretched beyond his pre-teen age. People at work often had problems that needed to be resolved on the spot. And yet, Emma's inquiry was perhaps one of the hardest question Regina ever had to come up with an answer for. In fact, she wasn't even sure she had an answer. The Woman of Words was at a loss for the right ones. Instead, she used the tactic she was taught in one of her journalism classes at New York University: she turned the tables. "Do you think so?"

Without missing a beat, Emma turned back around with a stare so empty, Regina shivered. Her shoulders squared and her jaw set, Emma didn't even blink. "I never have."


"Mom?" a hesitant young person asked into the speaker.

Her cellphone buried beneath her hair, Regina stood in the quasi-kitchen, still keeping surveillance on the figure by the window; Emma hadn't budged an inch. The television was on mute and the CNN news anchors' lips moved soundlessly as they reported the latest on the Royal Wedding. "Hi, dear," Regina half-whispered. "How is everything going?" She had to call him, to get a status report.

"Fine," her son chirped. "When are you coming home?" Henry never wasted any time jumping right in. He knew what he wanted and he went for it, just like his mom. Both of them.

Peeking over at the somber woman in winter gear, Regina's forehead creased as her brow knit together. "Soon, Henry," she promised. "Have you had your supper?"

"Yeah. Mallory made grilled cheese. And she made me eat the broccoli," Henry added, a bit regretfully.

Resisting the laughter that bubbled in her chest, Regina merely smiled to herself. "Good," she said. "You'll thank us one day, dear." With one last look at Emma's broody self, she cupped her mouth and mumbled into the phone, "Henry, I'll be on my way shortly. If I'm not there within the next hour and half, and if you're homework is finished, you have my permission to watch some television."

"Really?!" Henry whooped.

"Really. Now, I've got to go. I love you."

"Love you!" And with that, Henry clicked the red button on the other line and the signal was gone. The wonders of modern-day technology never ceased to amaze the mother.

Tucking her phone back into the outside pocket of her purse, Regina smoothed the front of her shirt and breathed in slowly. It had been a fruitless afternoon with Emma; she hadn't said anything in hours. She just stood there, frozen. The pizza had gone cold, as neither of them and touched it. Both women had been starving when Regina brought it back, but both women were too uncomfortable do anything but stew. "Emma, for Gods' sake, would you please eat something?" the brunette begged. "I'll microwave the entire thing if you just take a bite." Regina placed herself in front of the blonde, hoping she'd get some sort of response other than "hm."

Contrary to what Regina may have assumed, Emma was neither angry at her, nor was she particularly irritated by her presence. All right, to be fair, she had been initially. Of course she was! Emma always processed things better on her own, without the constant supervision of another person. However, as the day progressed, and as she sunk deeper into the hole beneath her, Emma was quietly relieved to have someone care enough to hover over her. It was much better than having no one even bother to call her or send her a text. If there was one thing the system had taught her, it was to never take anything or anyone for granted.

Emma'd been glued to the rectangular aperture, unable to break away from the view. It hardly compared to the one in Regina's office, and Emma sure as hell didn't feel like a queen, but there was something so enchanting about the scenery. It was as if it were calling her name, pleading with her to keep it company. In exchange, the trees provided a tiny piece of consolation to her as well. "What time is it?" she asked absentmindedly before biting her thumbnail.

Checking her watch, Regina was somewhat shocked herself at how long she'd been with the blonde. The silver gears churned as the second hand fell on the six and the minute hand on the four. "It's four thirty," she relayed passively. For over three hours, Regina had been stuck to the couch. In the midst of Emma's silence, she'd been flipping through the very few TV channels $20 a month could buy Emma. CNN, FOX sports, Christian Gospel, and cartoons were her only choices. In the end, she'd sampled a little bit of each. But enough was enough. Regina clicked the monitor off and thoughtfully placed a hand on Emma's shoulder. The blonde flinched instinctively, but she didn't move away, not like before. "Emma," Regina sighed. "Talk to me."

Immediately, Emma was shoved into another unwanted memory— one she hoped had gotten lost in the shuffle….

"So, how is it?" the fifteen year-old asked excitedly, more so to mask her own jealousy. "What's it like in Glen Cove?"

Twirling the curly telephone chord, in her navy blue dress and black flats, a ribbon tied in her hair, Regina chewed on her bottom lip anxiously. Howard, one of the doormen stood with his gloved-hands behind his back at the entrance to the study. A balding fellow in his late 50's, he was actually a kind gentleman. Regina wasn't technically supposed to be on the phone right then, and he was keeping guard for Cora. Unlike his co-workers, he genuinely cared for the young one."I don't like it," Regina hissed, her chin quivering.

Still in the bedroom she shared with 13 other kids, Emma was wearing one of the six shirts she owned. Her socks had a hole on the bottom of each, right by the soles. Her coarse hair fell down to her waist, and she had no one keeping watch for her. There was no one else she was afraid of. Not at the orphanage. "What's wrong?" she demanded, the mere hint of fright in Regina's voice fueled her impulse to protect her.

Sweeping the enormous room for any sign of her adoptive mother, although Howard would've said something, Regina crossed her legs on the leather couch. A hand painted portrait of Cora hung above the fireplace and stared at Regina, as if minoring her every move; needless to say, it creeped her out. "She's a witch," the girl replied. "She's always picking on me, telling me what to do and when to do it. She— she acts like she owns me, like I'm just… nothing."

The envy Emma felt just seconds before melted away as she listened to her friend. The heartache in Regina's retelling served as fuel for Emma's pent up rage. But, for her friend's sake, she bottled it up even tighter and tucked it away. "Gina, it's only been a month. Things'll get better."

"No they won't! It hasn't changed since I got here. Emma, she didn't even let me send you a birthday card!"

Dropping the plastic communicator so that the receiver was pressed against her chest, the tomboy closed her eyes and counted to 10. "Look," she started, "just give it a chance, ok? She can't be that bad. You've had worse." We've had worse, she thought to herself. "Just remember what you did before: don't fight it, and it'll be ok." Although she was still a teenager, Emma knew damn well how horrible that advice was. But, that single rule had prevented incidents even worse than the ones they'd survived, scarily enough. "Gina? Talk to me, Gina."

"Ok," the young woman conceded. "But, Emma, I—" Just then, there was a sharp gasp from her end as she heard footsteps coming down the wooden floors. "I have to go!" she panted. Without saying goodbye, Regina slammed the phone on the hook and toppled to her feet at attention. She could already smell Cora's perfume wafting through the corridor; the sickening scent of cinnamon apples. What used to be a calming aroma had become a warning signal, a flare that told Regina to brace herself for impact.

"Em?" Regina tested tentatively, still holding onto her arm.

Slowly reeling from her trance, Emma finally peeled herself away from the window and took a seat on the couch, her hands stuffed between her knees to keep them from shaking. "I don't know what to do, Gina. I… I've got no fucking idea." Resuming her spot on the sofa, the spot she'd already spent hours resting upon, Regina lent a sympathetic ear. She said nothing, as it wasn't her turn to speak. She simply waited for her friend to express the thoughts she'd been holding back. "If I tell him," Emma continued, "he could lose his mind. If I don't tell him… if I don't tell him that his son is dead, he'll find out somehow and it'll be my ass." The 270 minutes she'd spent staring at the lawn had only resulted in static worries, jagged pieces that didn't fit together no matter how hard she forced them. What had been hours for Regina, had felt like mere seconds for Emma— seconds filled with nothing but agonizing contemplation. "He told me his parents died."

"What?"

"Neal," Emma grumbled. "He told me he lost them in a car crash… and I believed him," she added, as if she were disappointed in herself for falling for such a cliche. "That bastard looked me in the eye and lied straight to my face. The one time my power didn't work." Falling against the lumpy backing, she pulled her knees to her chest, the same way she had when she was a kid. In some respects, she felt as if she were a child again: she no longer had a firm grasp on reality, as the one she had been attached was dissolving, leaving nothing to hold onto.

As if she'd been shoved into a time machine, Regina was also experiencing deja vu. They'd been in the exact same positions so often in their youth, comforting each other, exchanging advice. But now, it would seem that Emma and Regina had traded places: the optimist had become the cynic, and the cynic the optimist. "When you love someone," Regina began, somewhat hoarse, "you miss the signs of their infidelities. Even if the clues are marked with red X's, you take them to be signs of hope, rather than doom." Although she sounded knowledgable on the subject, in truth, Regina had very few personal anecdotes. The only man she'd ever truly considered, Daniel, never knew of her affections. Her mother put an end to it before it even began; another act that Regina would never forgive her for.

"Look, it's… it's been a long day. I think… I think I just need a little while by myself to, you know, make any decisions. I figure I've got at least a week before Gold starts asking me questions." This was Emma's polite way of asking Regina to go; she'd learned from her previous mistake not to be so blunt.

Regina was no fool. She read Emma's message loud and clear. And, as much as she hated to leave the woman, just as they'd broken ground, the pain in Emma's voice was like nails on a chalkboard: blatant and cringe-worthy. In an act of consideration for Emma's wishes, Regina gathered her belongings, much to her own dismay, and walked to the front door. "Will you stop by tonight? For Henry?" For me, she secretly wished. She needed some sort of reassurance that the blonde was going to be ok.

"Um," the host hummed as she shifted her weight from hip to hip, "m- maybe… I don't know. We'll see." As if Regina needed another hint, Emma twisted the bronze doorknob and opened her apartment up to the hallway. She wasn't proud of her cold nature right then, but she simply had nothing left inside to be warm. When the brunette nodded, tight-lipped and discouraged, Emma stopped her before it was too late. "Gina… thank you for coming over. I know it doesn't seem like it, but… I am grateful."

Giving Emma the best smile she could summon at the moment, which was rather weak, Regina softened just a bit. "It's nothing you haven't done for me." And with that parting farewell, Ms. Mills vanished from Ms. Swan's home, down the four flights of stairs, and out towards the street. As much as she wanted to ring the doorbell, just to say a proper goodbye, Regina took off in the direction of the nest she shared with her son. She just had to trust that Emma could handle being alone for the night.

Shortly after Regina left, the normally-courageous individual turned off all of the lights, put away all of the food, changed out of the hideous sweater, and curled into a ball beneath the blankets on her bed. Barely five in the evening, and Emma was ready for bed. While her body wasn't tired just yet, her mind was exhausted. She stretched the muscles in her brain as far as they could reach, until they could be stretched no more. Emma needed a break from it all. Sleep just happened to be the most welcoming option. And this time, the nightmares took pity on her.