NOW
Regina sighs, scanning the grocery stores selection of wine, trying to figure out what a princess might drink. The part of her that's her mother's daughter keeps saying go expensive but the part of her that's practical thinks that any nineteen year old girl can't tell the difference between Stag's Leap and Barefoot regardless if she's royalty or not.
She picks up a bottle of merlot because a basic merlot always works, before turning away then back again, throwing another, more expensive white blend in for good measure (who knows? Maybe Emma will surprise her again. She already surprised her by calling in the first place. Doesn't she have girlfriends who live in her dorm who can throw on Dirty Dancing and let her cry it out?)
She shifts her grocery basket into her right hand and heads for the potato chips, grateful for Daddy's Amex in her wallet.
Regina isn't shocked easily – growing up with her mother conditioned that right out of her – but everything that's happened tonight has rattled her nerves and makes her want more than the wine: a shot of whiskey, a cigarette, and a good fuck, in that order, would be sufficient. And that's what her night would have entailed, celebrating with Robin and tumbling into bed together, just on that edge of tipsy where no one has ever been a better lover and no sex has ever been better. But instead, she's going to have to make do with not one but two sob stories, Skinny Pop, and a moody princess.
It's Regina's own fault for picking up the phone, but Emma sounded so desperate and it just hit too close to home, the sound of her voice panicked and pleading for Regina to come and get her, I don't feel okay here (Regina remembers feeling the same way once, feeling like she couldn't stay in her parent's house any longer because she didn't feel okay but there was no one to take her away then, no one to make her feel okay after Daniel, and this – Regina can be better. She can do better than let a nineteen year old girl continue to feel lost and alone).
And so she's trying, leaving Robin to handle Killian and rolling up to the parking lot of Emma's dorm still trying to process the events of the past hour (Killian as an anarchist is a new and slightly sexy image that she's actually okay with) and when she lowered the window and told Emma to get in and that they were going to get junk food, she pretty much cemented her plans for the rest of the evening.
When Regina rounds the corner to the frozen food aisle, where she deposited Emma not five minutes before, the girl is still zoned out, staring into the freezer case. Her steps slow down when Emma turns to look at her because Regina knows that look of utter and total devastation, has been there before, and so she smiles weakly at the princess and pushes back the memories that linger in the corners of her vision.
"Ready?" she asks, and Emma nods. "Yeah - sorry. I just made up my mind." She opens the door and pulls out two cartons which she clutches to her chest nervously. Regina knows that the girl hasn't made up her mind at all, that she's grabbing for whatever cartons are within reach, but she just nods.
"No apologies necessary," Regina says as they start up the aisle. "I'm going to go to the cashier – use self-checkout and I'll meet you up front." When Emma looks confused, Regina adds, "because they'll card you otherwise. They card the whole party, savages in this college town."
She watches Emma head to the self-checkout while she does the same - she's bought enough booze for underage DJs that she's learned this game pretty well, but she still keeps an eye on the other girl because she feels responsible for her in a way she never did before. The look on Emma's face when she arrived at the dorm is still burned in her brain, and she doesn't think she'll ever forget how utterly stricken she had looked and how much it reminded her of her own face when she retreated to her room and slammed the door - mascara smeared, eyes red, completed devastated and completely alone.
It's not until they're both in Regina's car that she even broaches the topic of why they're buying junk food at 6pm on a Tuesday. As usual, it comes out harsher than Regina means it to sound (there's rough edges around Regina that even Robin's love can't completely get rid of, edges created when Daniel broke her all those years ago).
"Just so you know, princess, I'm giving up quality time with my boyfriend to help you deal with yours," she says, pulling out of the store parking lot. She glances over to see that Emma is reacting to her words by wrapping her arms tighter around herself, becoming smaller (if that's even possible – she's a wisp of a thing to begin with).
"Killian's not my boyfriend," she protests angrily, but Regina simply shrugs, trying to shake the feeling that she's just helping Emma build more walls.
"Call it what you will, but I spent over an hour losing my buzz and listening to his side of the story. At some point tonight, you're going to need to tell me your side." Regina sighs, struggling to find the right words. "Think of it as payment for this rescue because trust me, I am not a hero."
She can hear Emma's deep inhale and slow exhale – did she seriously not think that Regina was going to inquire as to why Emma asked her to pick her up? Did Emma really think that a frantic, sobbing phone call was going to result in everything being ignored? Maybe that's how they do it in Emma's family, the polite lies, but Regina's family always revels in rubbing salt in open wounds -not that she's trying to do that, but she needs to know both sides so she can sort out her own complicated thoughts (she can still hear Cora saying do you really think I'd let you marry that boy? do you really think that boy was good enough? like it was yesterday and not years ago).
Regina's known Killian since Robin brought him to a station pizza/recruitment party two years ago. He signed up to become a DJ that night and his show isn't bad – a little too heavy on mopey lofi singer-songwriters for Regina's tastes – but he always made his shifts, never needed a sub. He is reliable, and overall very nice, albeit slightly quiet, and she's asked Robin on more than one occasion what's his deal.
"Everyone has their story, Regina," he would tell her, "and it's up to them to let us read it."
"Don't give me your stoner platitudes – give me the details," she would be him, but he would distract her with his kisses and his hands (and that man has very talented hands), and she would let it go.
As it turns out, Killian's story is nothing that she would have thought it could be – she figured something like he was secretly a pyro or a trust fund kid slumming it at State U. But then again, as Regina is realizing, nothing is as it could be, because it's not every day that someone starts to date a bonafide princess like Killian did, or have it be the princess whose family he worships and whose country he came from and where he cannot return.
The Crown Princess stews in silence and Regina lets her, shooting sideways glances as they make their way back to Regina's apartment. When she first walked in on Emma and Killian in the studio, she was shocked because how often do you mean royalty? Never, that's how often, but the last few hours have taught Regina that nothing is ever predictable. Or mundane. Or easy.
Regina knows enough about royalty; she follows the royal watcher blogs and pays more attention to royalty than she should, because it's insane to care about these European monarchs living where she does, but there's something about the idea that a normal girl like Maxima or Letizia could become Queen that appeals to the romantic side of her that she tries so hard to hide under layers of eyeliner. Emma's kingdom of Eira is a small landlocked one with mountains and forests but Regina still knows about her mother and father – and now she knows more about the tense political situation that apparently is hiding under all of the tiaras and state dinners.
They reach Regina's apartment, climbing the two flights of stairs to the top in silence. It's not until they're in the apartment that Emma speaks again.
"This isn't what I expected," Emma announces as Regina closes the door behind them. Regina suppresses a surge of annoyance and tries to keep her voice light, because any of the (admittedly few) people that actually are invited over to Regina's apartment don't expect it either and she can't say it doesn't sting a little – that the opinion people have of her is so different than who she really is or wants to be.
"You're not the first to be surprised that I'm not a vampire," Regina remarks, brushing past Emma to head into the kitchen. She deposits the bag of food on the counter, puts the white wine in the fridge. When she looks up, Emma leans against the doorframe, holding out the ice cream.
"Not that," she tells Regina. "I'm sorry – I just thought your apartment would be more… monochromatic."
Regina laughs as she closes the freezer door. "So does everyone." In reality, her apartment is a mix of old furniture given to her by her parents when they moved into the penthouse and Cora redecorated. Regina has balanced out the heavy wooden tables and chairs with color and texture wherever she could, but when Emma adds, "it reminds me of home," she feels better.
"My mother likes to pride herself on her expensive taste," Regina remarks. She grabs a corkscrew out of the drawer and opens the bottle of merlot, pouring both of them full glasses. Emma takes it and, Skinny Pop in hand, they head to what counts as Regina's living room.
"I never said thank you." Emma has placed her wine on the coffee table and is fiddling with a string on the cuff of her oversized sweatshirt. Her legs are tucked up under her on the couch, and she doesn't meet Regina's eyes. "Thanks. I'm sorry I sounded a bit dramatic."
"I think that we're allowed to be a little bit dramatic when we have our heart broken," Regina admits. Emma looks up at those words, and shakes her head.
"I don't know if he broke my heart," she says. "Destroyed my trust, maybe, but I don't know about my heart."
Regina smiles. She takes a sip of wine but remains silent – Emma is a tough nut to crack, apparently, and she's learning that not talking to her gets more in the long run.
(It takes Regina five sips of wine and three handfuls of popcorn before Emma starts talking.)
…
THEN
"Get out."
The words are out of her mouth before Emma is even aware that she's speaking, but she's frozen in place. She can't look at him right now, not after everything he's said to her, can't even do anything because her mind is spinning and -
"Emma – "
"Get out." She finally glances up at him and what she sees makes her look away before she changes her mind: his blue eyes are wide, unshed tears glistening in the corners and she bites her lip, looks back at the floor. She doesn't say anything else, just waits, feeling like her body is turning to stone, to ice, she's so cold, every bit of her reacting violently to the news that Killian just told her.
She hears the rustle of clothing, and the door closes behind him, and she finally unclenches her hands.
How did this happen?
Because you actually thought you'd have true love like your parents the small bitter part of her screams, because she's always wanted it, wanted something so easy and nothing is ever easy is it?
Certainly not this. Certainly not Killian.
Emma sits down in Graham's desk chair slowly, wrapping her arms around herself because if she doesn't, she feels like she will shatter. Her brain has been working in overdrive since Graham brought her here, and since Killian started to tell his story and –
Oh god, what will her mother think? Getting involved with an anarchist? Someone who was dishonorably charged from the Army? Someone who lied to her about who he was? Someone who may be seeking retribution on her and her family, her mother –
And they've all known – Graham and Leroy, they've known about her and Killian (have they followed her? Cased his apartment? Bugged it (listening to her come undone in his arms, oh god what has she done, she's so humiliated - )
Her breathing becomes erratic and she stares at the part of the carpet that's worn away – a small hole, create by Graham or someone else, she doesn't know, she just stares and she keeps thinking that she should have walked away all those weeks ago, not let herself fall for him, not let him into her life, just walked away when he lied to her the first time about where he was from –
"Emma."
She snaps her head up, slightly light-headed, to find Graham crouching on the floor in front of her. Concern is etched all over his face and his hands hover above her arms, like he was going to shake her out of her trance. She blinks her eyes slowly.
"I take it things didn't go so well," he says softly. Emma hugs herself tighter.
"How long have you known?" she asks. And then, softly, adds, "does my mother know?"
"Since you told Belle," Graham admits. "Your mother has no idea that you're seeing anyone. It hasn't gone beyond Leroy."
When she opens her mouth to protest, he holds up a hand. "Emma, Leroy is going to kill me for this, but I think you need to know the entire story."
Her heart speeds up because how can there possibly be more? She pulls her legs up, wraps her arms around them and rests her chin on her knees. She feels better this way- like she can hold herself together better when she's small.
Graham clears his throat, tries to collect himself – Emma can tell that whatever he is about to say is not going to be pretty, and she's not sure that she really wants to hear it after all – before looking up at her with sad eyes.
"You're not here because you wanted to come here – you're here because your parents wanted to keep you safe." Graham sighs, leans forward, steepling his hands in front of him. "There's been talk of Prime Minister Cassidy trying to overthrow your parents – "
"There's been talk about that for years," Emma protests, and Graham nods.
"There has, but this time it's real. There's a reason I left the military and joined your parent's household service – Cassidy has all but bribed every military officer to do his bidding. I wasn't going to betray my honor, or my queen, by accepting a bribe and neither was Captain Liam Jones – Killian's brother." Graham takes a deep breath, looks down at the floor. "I don't think Killian is that far off to think his brother was killed because he refused to take a bribe."
"What happens to my parents?" she asks, voice sounding so small. "Are they safe?"
Graham's face changes, growing sadder if possible.
"You know what happens when a monarchy is overthrown, Emma," he tells her, and she remembers all of the training she's had not just in protocol but in weaponry – how to fire a gun, how to handle herself if she's been kidnapped, how to survive if she must run.
"Am I running now?" she asks. Her blood runs cold when she realizes that her parents have prepared her for what they must think is the inevitable, what they must fear will happen sooner rather than later, and they are home and she is here, alone, without them. Her lip quivers and she bites down to stop it. Her entire world is falling apart – she can't as well.
Graham shakes his head. "No – but if something does happen to your parents, you'll be granted asylum. You'll be safe here."
Emma's mind is spinning from all of this and she cannot process the fact that her parents are in trouble, her parents might be killed –
"You said you knew since Belle told you. What does Belle have to do with this?"
"You don't really think your mother would let you go without a bodyguard," Graham tells her quietly.
Like that, things click into place – Belle's constant help, her continual and steady presence, not just a girl from back home but someone trained to keep Emma safe at all costs. Belle was the first to know – really know - about Killian, and this violation of privacy feels like another punch to the gut. Emma feels open and vulnerable now in a way that she hasn't before, because she hasn't ever been lied to by quite so many people all at once, and certainly not by everyone she trusted.
"Belle told you about Killian," Emma says, processing how things worked out. "And you knew who he was but you still let me see him."
"I trust him to keep you safe when we can't," Graham admits. "He cares about you Emma – "
"He lied to me!" The words explode from her body, launching across the room and Graham visibly recoils. "You all lied to me. You – Leroy – Belle – " she struggles to says his name, "Killian. Were you all in it together? Was he sent to protect me as well? Did you all plan to make me like him? Was it all fake?"
"No! It wasn't until Belle told us that I even knew he was in town. I really did know him from my Army days, Emma, I swear – and I swear we didn't know until then."
Her veins feel cold, her skin feels like it is crawling – there is no part of her that cannot feel something, from her head to her heart to her toes. She feels every bit of every single betrayal like a burn, making her want to recoil. Were they all playing at something, not telling her why she is here, not telling her about their true selves? Did they not trust her to keep herself safe? She's the fucking Crown Princess, she knows how to protect herself (and her heart) like she would her kingdom. It has been her responsibility since birth to know how.
She deserves more than their lies.
Her phone buzzes in her backpack and she reaches for it, ready to break the tension in the room, to not see Graham looking at her with pity. It is Ariel, asking about dinner plans and if she wanted to go get food in an hour.
"My roommates," Emma asks. "Were they –"
"They're innocent," Graham admits. "Just Belle. And me. And Leroy."
"And Killian." Her skin is crawling the longer she stays in this room, in this dorm, where everything reminds her of afternoons spent here lying to Graham, throwing him off the trail of her dalliance, then talking to Belle in their room.
She needs air.
"I'm going for a walk," she tells him, "don't follow me." And as she reaches the door, she throws over her shoulder (for good measure), "You won't need to, right? Because you're already tracking me on GPS on my phone." Which is the truth, she realizes slowly – that she's being monitored more closely than she's ever thought, that she's been watching more carefully and with more scrutiny by nearly everyone in her life.
She sees it now. She's so very very young and so very very stupid.
She takes her time walking through campus, past all the dorms and in the opposite direction of Killian's apartment, on paths she normally doesn't take. It's just beginning to get cold and it's just beginning to get dark, and Emma knows it's not safe for her to be out here alone, GPS tracking or not. But she doesn't want to go home, doesn't want to look Belle in the eye (she has to know by now, surely Graham has told her everything that went down this afternoon), doesn't want to explain to Ariel or Ruby why she never texted back, doesn't –
But there is one person who might be able to help her – someone who might understand what it's like to have everyone try to dictate your life for you. She doesn't know Regina well but she's all that Emma has – the only person who doesn't live on or near campus, the only person with a car, the only person outside of her roommates who has been screened by her security team (she is angry at them but she will not cause them more grief, because that would not bode well for her in the end).
As she pulls out her phone, she's well aware of the fact that Regina might turn her down, might ignore the call, might not want to help the – ex-girlfriend? Fling? Whatever she was? – of her boyfriend's roommate.
But, like her mother always tells her, there's always hope.
She calls Regina, and on the third try, the other girl answers.
…
NOW
"So what are you more upset about? Killian or your posse?" Regina asks as she opens the bottle of white (they killed the merlot during Emma's story, and for the second time that night, Regina's ordered a pizza).
"Both," Emma says, sounding slightly tipsy already but still drinking. "I'm mad at my 'posse' for not telling me the truth, and Killian for not telling me the truth. I shouldn't be lied to."
"No one should," Regina agrees, "but one of these is not like the other, girlie. Your security crew doing their best to keep you safe? That's a completely different story from Killian not telling you his past." Regina stops, thinks it over for a second. "Actually, is it? Seems like everyone here wants to keep you safe."
Emma sighs. "By not letting me know? Maybe you're right – maybe it was better not knowing about Belle, but I still – she knew about Killian. She helped sneak him into the dorm." She shivers visibly. "She knew what I was doing with him."
Regina raises an eyebrow but says nothing, merely leans back into her chair because this is fascinating and sad and so very familiar that it hurts.
"But Killian…" Emma continues. "He hid things from me – things he should have told me."
Regina has been debating about Killian's deep dark secret for the better part of the evening, and the wine has loosened her tongue and made her bold. Secrets may be no fun, and secrets hurt someone, but secrets exist for a reason, and that reason isn't always bad.
"And when he did tell you," she asks, "did you listen to him?"
"I heard – " Emma says with a frown.
"I didn't ask if you heard the words coming out of his mouth, I asked if you listened to him." Regina purses her lips. "I'm guessing you didn't. Your girlfriends probably told you some half-baked Cosmo bullshit about how men shouldn't lie and how you should lose them the minute they do, but nothing about actually listening to your man when he needs you. If they did, you would be with him right now, comforting him after he shared the story about how a megalomaniac hell-bent on bringing down your family also murdered both his brother and his first love." Regina shrugs. "Instead, you're here eating Chunky Monkey on my couch."
"He lied to me," Emma protests. "He didn't tell me any of that. He didn't tell me anything about the army or his brother or –"she stumbles over the last work, finally biting out, "or Milah. He never told me anything about any of that."
"And that was not okay, and he should have been up front with you – that I am not disputing," Regina tells her. "But do you tell everyone all of your hopes and dreams and fears? The things you most regret? How exactly did you start that conversation? Did you even tell your roommates your secret identity?" Regina cocks her head to the side. "Well?"
"He was an anarchist." Emma frowns, folding her hands in her lap.
"He was a broken man. He just lost his brother." Regina sighs. "I have an older sister and she's the wicked bitch of the west, but I'd still be upset if anything happened to her. I can't even imagine losing a sibling I loved as much as Killian did his brother." Regina holds up her hands. "I'm not excusing his behavior, your highness. I'm just saying that you may be missing the bigger picture here."
Emma huffs. "And what is that, exactly, Regina?" she asks sarcastically.
"That you both have a common enemy – this Gold douchebag already did to Killian what he's threatening to do to your own family. That Killian didn't tell you his dark past, but can you blame him? You're a Crown Princess of Eira – you're part of the royal family that he pledged his loyalty or fealty or whatever to when he joined the military. Imagine how he feels. "
Emma looks at her sharply and if looks could kill, Regina would be six feet under.
"And you know what? It sucks that he wasn't honest with you and that he didn't tell you but in the grand scheme of life, can you blame him for not wanting you to know what a hot mess his life was? You've only been dating a few weeks. What would you have had him do exactly? If I was him, I'd totally be embarrassed at all the shit I did when I was drunk and depressed. I am embarrassed at all the shit I do when I'm drunk, and I don't have family death on top of it."
"He should have told me," Emma whispers, and Regina sighs. She's been there, nineteen and stupid (and it's not like at twenty-two she's any better) but Emma is stubborn and so Regina sighs again. Maybe, if reason doesn't work with the princess, then perhaps a story will. She didn't plan to share this, but she sees too much of herself in Emma right now to not say anything.
She closes her eyes first, collecting herself and her anger and as she does, she remembers Daniel's eyes – soft brown, and the way that his hair fell over his forehead because he always insisted on growing it long (never any longer than the collar of his shirt – his dad was a teacher but not even teachers kids got away with anything at Prep). She likes to remember him like that, because it's easier than remembering any of the disappointment or the pain.
"I know what it's like to be lied to, Emma," Regina says softly, finishing up her wine and pouring more into her glass – she's really going to need it to get this out. "Daniel was my high school sweetheart. We were going to get married, have a family, grow old together. But Daniel's family was poor – his dad taught at the school, mom was dead. He didn't have the social connections that my mother wanted for her daughters. I thought everything was fine when he first met my parents – but it wasn't."
She can still remember how kind Cora was to Daniel, how readily Zelena welcomed him into the family, how they all were so polite and outgoing.
At first.
The snide comments started later: remarks about his future, comments about his father or the gift he gave that one Christmas, bought after months of working at Sears. Regina still has the cubic zirconia pendant in her dresser, hidden in a box under all of her socks, because even though Zelena disparaged it, and Cora reminded her that a boy like Daniel would only hold someone as bright and talented as Regina back…she can't part with it. She doesn't think she'll ever part with it.
"We were supposed to come here together. I could have gone to any school, but Daniel…" Regina hesitates, "his grades weren't as good as mine –he had to work to help his dad and I, well…" Regina swallows. "My mother wanted the best for her daughters – private tutors, extra help, things that Daniel's dad couldn't afford. He wanted to do ROTC but there are quotas and GPA requirements and State was the only place he got into, but with no scholarship…he didn't want loans. So he thought he'd enlist, go into the Marines, use the GI Bill." Regina rolls her eyes. "That went over well with my mother."
"So your mother's overprotective too?" Emma asks. Regina tries to not laugh and fails miserably.
"Overprotective would be the understatement of the year where Cora's concerned." She looks over at Emma, studying her intently. "I know it's all the rage to marry for love where you're from, but you know that most royal marriages were – and are – political in nature. It's much the same for the wealthy elite here – marry with the hope of maintaining or bettering your status quo, and making sure you produce blue-blooded babies that will eventually toddle off to the Ivies. Cora might have been an up-jumped farmer's daughter who married a moderately wealthy guy and invested well in hotels, but she wanted more for me." Regina leans her head back against the cushion of the chair. "She wanted Harvard Law and vacations in the Mediterranean. She wanted wealth and power and prestige for me and, vicariously, for her."
She remembers it well: Cora telling her over dinner that State wasn't her first choice for Regina because she could do better; Cora telling her that she didn't want to see Regina languish on some military base when she had so much potential; Cora telling her that she expected great things out of someone as pretty and talented and bright as Regina, always in that same calm voice, the honeyed tones that made anyone feel like they were valued, liked they mattered, even if they didn't.
(Sometimes, Regina wonders if anything her mother ever said to her was real.)
She takes another gulp of wine, steadies herself because she hasn't told this story, well, ever, to anyone save Robin. "And then there was prom. He was supposed to come and pick me up but he didn't. Cora had scared him away, I think – I don't really know what happened, just that the doorbell rang and when I came down to meet him, he wasn't there." Cora was fretting about Regina needed a new date and she knew just the one – the son of a member of her Junior League vice-president, on his way to Princeton in the fall. "I don't think I'll ever know what happened while I was upstairs getting dressed." (But she can guess, knowing Cora, what happened – that she had said something, convinced him to leave her, let her go – no texts, no emails, nothing.)
She takes a deep breath. "My mother never said anything, and graduation was a blur and then nothing. Ever again."
"What happened?" Emma asks. Regina swallows.
"He died. And it wasn't until he was dead and gone that my mother told that she always knew Daniel would leave me a widow, would go and get himself killed – "
Her voice cracks because she can still remember feeling so broken that no one could fix her when she found out he was killed in combat – and that calm look on Cora's face through it all. It was a hot day in May and she was home for the summer and Cora was trying once again to get her to transfer to an Ivy, trying to get her to change her makeup "to something more becoming of someone as pretty" as Regina, trying to get her to stop wearing so much black. She remembers how she screamed herself hoarse, shouting at her mother until finally Cora snapped and just said, simply, I knew he would never be good enough for you, Regina, and I told that to him on your prom night. I'm just glad he agreed – the one decent thing he ever did for you.
"Regina, I'm sorry – "Emma starts but Regina shakes her head, takes a deep breath.
"Just know, Emma, that there is a fine line between people who keep the truth from you to protect you, and people who keep the truth from you to protect themselves."
"And where you do think Killian falls?" Emma asks. Regina doesn't even look at her as she stands up.
"I think Killian wanted you to know him – not the man he was, but the man he is now. I think he cares a lot about you and Eira, and given how up close and personal he got with that bottle of Captain Morgan's the minute he got home, I know it hurts him that he did what he did." Regina finishes her wine. This is way too personal and she needs some space. "I need a cigarette."
As she grabs her pack and lighter and heads to the balcony door, Emma says nothing, stares into her wine glass like it holds the meaning of life.
Regina isn't on the balcony for very long - she's barely through her cigarette – before Emma joins her, closing the glass door behind them and standing next to her. It's cold tonight, but it'll get colder in a few weeks and Regina feels flushed and warm from the wine, from her confession. She takes a drag, then another, before Emma speaks.
"I'm sorry about Daniel," Emma says.
"Me too," Regina replies.
Regina watches Emma's fingers trace the wear and tear on the wrought iron balcony. "I need to get out of here for a few days. If I cleared it with my team – if I made sure that everything was okay with school – would you take me to your parent's condo?"
Regina laughs, watching her exhale of smoke fade into the night. "Do you really think your security team is going to just let you pack up and head out of town?"
"They might. They already approved Thanksgiving."
"They were going to send somebody to follow you, I'm sure," Regina says, avoiding the truth: that the younger security guy was supposed to come discretely and stay in another apartment, that all of this had to be coordinated without Emma's knowledge, that forces were at work beyond the princess's control. Lying to protect her is different, Regina reminds herself. "Which one is the one that actually 'fessed up?"
"Graham?"
"Is he the one with the beard? Eye-candy? Bring him." She stubs out her cigarette on the railing, puts it in a discarded soda can on the porch. "If you want to go, my parents are still in Boca – if you and your fancy royal connections can get me out of class, I'll drive you tomorrow."
Emma's eyes light up, and she looks relieved. "Thank you Regina – thanks," she says, before opening the door (no doubt to call Sergeant Hottie or whatever his name is – Graham?). Regina pulls her phone out of her pocket, texts Sidney to run the station meeting without her, and after she glances inside to see Emma occupied, calls Robin.
"Hey." He picks up on the second ring, breathless and eager. "What's going on with Emma?"
"She's angry and confused," Regina tells him. "Stubborn too. She wants me to take her to my parents' place –which I'm down with if she gets me out of class for a few days."
"Lucky. Are you going to go?"
Regina sighs. "I think so. I hope that maybe if I talk to her a bit more she might not feel the way that she does about Killian right now."
"He should have told her."
"I agree – but there are bigger issues in her life right now than her reputation if she dates a rebel with a cause. I've seen them together – she likes him."
"And he loves her."
"Is he still awake?" Regina glances back inside, watching Emma move about the apartment, still deep in conversation on her phone.
"Just passed out. I've got him propped over the garbage can."
"He's going to hate himself in the morning."
"He did that most days anyway – before Emma, at least." She hears Robin sigh, can picture him wiping his hand over his face. "She was good for him."
"And he might have been good for her." Regina sighs. "I'll text you if I go."
"Okay." Robin pauses. "Good night, my love," he tells her in a ridiculous voice (but she knows he means it).
Regina rolls her eyes. "Goodnight," she tells him, and when she re-enters the apartment, there is a smile on her face. What happened with Daniel makes her even more grateful for Robin being in her life. Even though she doesn't know Emma that well, she still think everyone deserves a chance at happiness, and she's got a feeling that Killian just might be to Emma what Robin is for her.
…
Regina is waiting in the car while Emma enters the residence hall. Its morning, Emma's head is throbbing from the wine last night, her neck from sleeping on Regina's couch, and her stomach still hurts from all of the mess of the day before. She's grateful – more grateful than she could possibly say – that Regina not only picked her up last night, but gave her food, wine, a place to sleep, and the opportunity to leave town. The advice she gave is still digesting, slowly, bit by bit.
She wants to believe that Killian's intentions were true – that there was residual embarrassment from his past, that he didn't want her to know – but it still bothers her that he didn't think he could tell her. That he didn't think she had a right to know. Her anger has decreased slightly, but her frustration at him hasn't, and she thinks that time away may help her get over this (a small part wonders if it will help her get over him).
(She doesn't want to get over him.)
Graham meets her at the elevators, hands her the bag that Ruby packed without question when she texted her last night (she can't risk seeing Belle right now because she doesn't know how she would react, how she would handle that situation). Graham is easier to deal with because at least he had the decency to tell her.
"How are you feeling?" he asks. Emma shrugs, digging in her bag for her sunglasses (it's too bright in this hallway).
"Like I can't wait to get out of here," she responds, sliding them on. Graham grimaces.
"Emma – "
"It's okay. I know you did what you had to do to keep me safe. I'm not mad at you – or Leroy, and maybe not Belle – at least, not forever." She shifts the bag onto her shoulder. "Ready to go?"
Graham follows her silently to the car, opening the back door for her and allowing her to slip inside. Regina looks up from her phone. "So I'm a chauffer now?" she asks, but the minute Graham slides in front, she smiles.
"Hello, Eye Candy. Don't worry, I'm a taken woman – I'll look but I won't touch," Regina practically purrs, and from where Emma's seeing, Graham doesn't look too offended.
"She has a thing for beards," Emma mock-whispers.
"Noted," Graham responds. Regina starts the car, pulls out of the dorm parking lot. She turns some music on, and her and Graham start chatting about the band – apparently they're both fans.
Emma checks her phone. Killian hasn't messaged her once (she should be much more satisfied about that, but all she can feel is a bone-weary sadness).
"Who wants breakfast?" Regina asks as they drive past campus towards the commercial part of town. They stop at a Sonic, and as they hit the highway, drinking cherry limeades and eating tater-tots, Emma watches the acres of farmland pass by. It'll be a few hours until they reach the city, and Emma has enough on her mind to pass the time.