Here ye be, Lovelies! Also, for those asking for a twitter account to pick apart all my weird and random thoughts in 165 characters or less… the handle is AmberwritesWV and my pen name Amber Bennett.

Thanks for the follows and reviews. I'm not going to be insane and post a chapter a day like usual because I'm working 80 hours a week at the moment and working on original stuffs so my grad school adviser doesn't get creative with ways to get away with my murder.

Enjoy!

Song: Holding out for a Hero by Ella Mae Bowen

Regina inhaled deeply once more, eyes closing with the action. Her campaign manager prattled on and on, more politician than she. Loud cologne wafted into her face as he passed in front of her desk. She swallowed a gag and pressed the middle and forefinger of each hand into her temples. No wonder the poor man destroyed every relationship he attempted; his scent singed all of their brain cells, leaving nothing but mindless bimbos with crispy grey matter. Had he even bothered to buy more than one suit or just seven of the same color and style? He might have been attractive as a younger man, with his dark skin and athletic physique. She'd felt his arms and they absolutely atoned for the pock-marked cheeks.

"Regina, are you listening?"

"No," she answered honestly, not bothering to cover the irritation in her raspy voice.

He laid his hands flat on the cool marble of her desktop and leaned forward, about to divulge a secret but no one else occupied her office, rarely ever had. It was her sanctuary. All meetings took place in a conference room down the hall. Only Sydney and her loyal and very quiet secretary ever breached the elegant double doors that shielded her from the rest of the world, always leaving behind the aroma of whatever scent he'd decided to douse upon his body that day. They hardly lived up to the rumors of wild quickies during strategy meetings. She only tolerated him as a person and employee because he tolerated her and proved invaluable regarding public relations.

"Regina, this girl, as much as you would like to rip out her spine and beat her with it, could be the extra push you need to get back on top in the polls. She's obviously homeless and in need of a little charity," he pleaded his case once more.

"I've already donated a considerable amount of my own money to the convent and the extracurricular activities committee at the high school. I've met my charity quota for the season." She pushed back from the desk and raised her knee over the other smooth thigh, partially to escape the oppressive scent and mostly because he made her feel trapped when he became physically aggressive. He'd never deign to lay a finger on her, but the threat still lingered in her mind. She cleared her throat, bounced her eyes from one dark hand to the other before hitting his gaze head-on. He pushed his boundaries, and she slapped him down as she always had. "I'm the reason our horrid marching band has new uniforms in time for the Founder's Day parade."

Sydney took the hint and straightened his spine, crossing his arms. "You know as well as I that donating money will never get you where you need to be. People want to know the personal details. Human interest stories are very big right now. Show her some compassion, pay her medical bills. Anything to prove that you're not soulless, though we both might make a different case."

"Perhaps opening a women's crisis center would achieve the same results," she suggested. Anything would have done. Anything to avoid those observant green eyes that made her heart flutter. Emma Swan came from an entirely different walk of life, the type of life that attracted her – a gypsy existence of anonymity. The type of life that nearly caused a scandal so big in her family that Regina ran 1000 miles away where no one could possibly ever have evoked such feelings in her again. That hadn't been the case when she reached Storybrooke nearly 10 years prior, and since then, she'd kept her heart locked away, an untouchable, unyielding black dot in a crystalline tomb where no woman might ever warm it again.

Yet, here she was, brazen and beautiful and clearly staying for a while.

"Do you honestly think you can successfully complete such a feat in less than a month? Elections are five weeks away."

Regina clicked her tongue, but the sound lacked its usual bite and condescension. She hated him when he used logic he knew she couldn't combat with grand ideas. An idealist, he called her. Pressing fingers into her left temple again, she conceded, "How do you propose I convince this cretin to accept my assistance?"

Sydney smiled and slipped his hands into his trouser pockets, satisfied that he'd worn the stubborn woman down after three days of pestering. "You might actually have to be nice."

"Because I've honed such a talent."

"You might even like it."

Regina chuckled. "I sincerely doubt the plausibility of that statement, Mr. Glass."

"We'll see," he murmured over his shoulder, quieter than the door closing behind him.

And that conversation, after clearing her head of his horrible scent and swallowing a couple pills for good measures, brought her into the cold, soggy October day where she wrung her hands and adjusted her scarf a dozen times at the head of the walk that led to Granny's. She exercised no patience for people. That very reason kept Sydney on retainer year round to run interference between her and the masses. Everyone knew her the best candidate for the job, but unfortunately, political elections looked more and more like a high school vote for prom queen and king every year. The most popular won, and in a pageant, she very much knew her shortcomings. Never mind that she'd singlehandedly taken a town at risk of bankruptcy and turned it into a thriving tourist and fishing community, reduced unemployment from 5.6 percent to only 2.1by planting and harvesting a thriving apple orchard. Of course, the profit came back to her, but she donated it to the city-funded programs the original meager budget couldn't support until the town got its feet beneath it once more.

Only image mattered, and the vagabond herself might have won if that were the case.

She wasn't soulless. She wasn't. Ignorant of many social cues and confounded by human emotion in general, absolutely, but she felt sad and lonely and guilty and love. Couldn't a human being feel without being made to express it openly? During her entire childhood, her mother berated her tendency to notice details and objects more than people. 'Behave as everyone else, dear, or you will be punished. Gestation periods of larvae are not appropriate dinner conversation. Try not to be an embarrassment tonight if you can manage such a task.' Her mother's voice raked across her heart, reminding her why she needed Emma Swan. Failure hurt worse than rejection. It wasn't her fault if everything looked different, sounded different, smelled different than it should have, but losing the election fell on her conscience. She needed to win or watch everything she'd worked for swirl and gurgle down the drain.

Squaring her shoulders, Regina locked down the most pleasant expression manageable and marched up the walk. A few weeks of tolerating the little tramp in exchange for maintaining the hard work she'd put into her town seemed a fair bargain, especially with sweet Astrid, nun-turned-councilwoman, and wise Spencer, savvy financial manager, running against her. The quaint little bell jingled. Her heart bristled up like a porcupine at the jolly sound, but she almost felt certain her face remained relaxed. She thought it had. If it hadn't, the warmth and comforting cinnamon-filled air certainly helped it reach that level of humanity in only a moment. She actually loved Granny's, no matter how often she cursed the food and the woman who created it. That establishment embodied everything she tried to erect during her reign – community, friendship, strength.

She only imagined herself as the center of that community, but saving the town from ruin simply hadn't been enough.

Instead, she'd been reduced to skulking back to Granny's with her tail tucked to make nice with the little trollop who should have been tossed into jail the night she arrived. Not even Elizabeth's scrumptious apple pie made that go down with any sort of pleasantness. The old woman studied her from behind the counter, the other eye on the young woman sweeping the floor and bouncing to a beat flowing from the earbuds stuck in her head.

"To what do we owe the pleasure of your presence, Madame Mayor?" Granny asked. Every single word dripped with sarcasm and a tinge of sadness. They'd been close once. She'd taken Regina in as one of her strays nearly ten years ago, freshly out of college and running from the demons her family created. Not quite the drowned rat as Emma Swan, Granny still provided the much-needed maternal guidance she desperately sought. Her trust fund gave her everything else with plenty to spare. She'd played with Ruby as a clumsy five-year-old tripping behind her like the little sister she'd never had, big brown eyes full of wonder. Maybe she should have stepped up when Ruby's mother had been killed instead of distancing herself to save her political career. Too late now.

Emma sensed the sudden tension in the previously empty diner and pulled a bud from her ear, awaiting the answer to the question she'd not heard. Regina readjusted her shoulders. She'd become accustomed to the feeling of being unwanted. She preferred it after a few years, realizing how easily she protected herself when she stopped trying and people stopped caring.

"I've come to inquire about Miss Swan's health," she explained. Not exactly misleading.

"Peachy keen, your majesty," Emma answered with a sweeping bow that looked more like a retarded duck trying to pluck a feather with her belly rubbing her thighs. Regina almost smiled at the positively ridiculous display.

"I wasn't aware I'd ascended to royalty." Maybe she could do this. That almost sounded like a joke. Somehow, Emma's devil-may-care attitude evoked an urge to verbally spar with the quick-witted tramp. The surprise and confusion that came flying from the older and younger woman told her that she'd successfully practiced levity… or at least enough to show she tried.

Emma laughed first and leaned against the broom handle. "Mayor Tight Tits has a sense of humor. Who knew?"

Regina raised an eyebrow at the new title and sat at a stool at the end of the bar nearest the door. "I've been dethroned already?" Her heart fluttered as the girl poked and wiggled, planting her roots in barren soil. Regina swatted the fanciful organ with blood red nails.

Rather than smile, the skin around Emma's eyes tightened. "What the hell do you want? I know you didn't come to make corny jokes, so just get it over with." The kid read people well, Regina gave her that much.

A muscle in her neck jumped, but she held Emma's suspicious gaze. "I've come to inquire about your health."

"Right," Emma muttered and shoved the earbud back into her ear.

Regina glanced helplessly at Granny who shrugged and returned to swiping the counter with a wet towel. Rather than address the rejection, the mayor opened her purse and removed a platinum card. Plastic snapped on the counter, and a stormy green eye shot towards her, confirming her suspicion that Emma actually listened to nothing. She stood without meeting the girl's gaze. "There is a 5,000 dollar limit on that card. I'd like to assist with your medical bills and any other expense you may acquire during your stay. We started on bad terms, and I'd like to correct the trajectory of our relationship, Miss Swan."

"So, you're not above buying people?"

"I'm buying nothing. I'm offering assistance without expectation. I meant what I said about finding your frozen body. Yes, it is an election year, but I'd much rather your child receive the care you've obviously never had." Regina almost felt bad for saying all the right trigger words to worm into the young woman's mind. Her mother taught her very few skills, but manipulating people definitely developed early and with bulging veins. The act itself, however, generally left a chalky residue on her tongue.

"What the hell do you know about me? I can take care of myself." Chin raised in fake bravado, Emma dared the pretentious woman to contradict the declaration.

"I have no doubt," Regina agreed. She really hadn't doubted Emma's ability. The girl obviously possessed street smarts and a resilient spirit, the two most essential attributes of a survivor when they had no financial means. "Consider my offer."

Those calculating green eyes studied her, sized up the situation, ran a risk analysis of trusting her. Regina held her purse strap in front of her hips with both hands and waited. They'd reached a stalemate. Regina knew she wanted to accept, but no one ever gave anything for free, except maybe Granny. Emma pulled the wire at her throat, dislodging both earbuds, and leaned on her broom again.

"So, you help me and I pretend to like you so that everyone else will? Is that the game you're playing?"

Granny grunted in amusement. Regina certainly picked the wrong girl to dupe into a political race. Emma revealed very little about her past, but the wisdom in her eyes spoke of a life filled with one bad situation after another. Regina had that same hardness in her eyes when she'd first arrived. It became loneliness over time. Now, those brown eyes looked to hers once more for guidance. She nodded once, throwing the socially inept woman a bone. Tell the truth, the only way to Emma's trust.

"You aren't even required to like me," Regina gave up the ruse.

"If I accept, I want to stay here. Is a room covered in this agreement?" Regina inclined her head.

"Money is no object, Miss Swan. Consider your demands carefully and call me." She pulled a business card from her purse and laid it atop the plastic. "My offer expires at noon tomorrow. If the true nature of our relationship leaves this room, my offer expires. If I discover you've ingested anything beyond proper food while pregnant, my offer expires and you will be indicted for child endangerment. Am I clear?"

"Yeah. Hurry the hell up, don't tell anyone, and don't get stoned or shitfaced. Got it, your highness."

"Elegantly stated." Regina rolled her eyes at the deep bow that followed. A part of her hoped Emma refused simply to remain distanced from the young woman. Her entire nature set Regina's on edge. The closest Storybrooke came to a delinquent was Ruby, and everyone knew her heart too big and pure to actually harm anyone. If she stole, no doubt the victim would find a teary-eyed Little Red at their doorstep returning every single item within an hour.

"Should you be working during this stage of your pregnancy? Will exertion harm the baby?" A swell of genuine concern slipped into the withered cracks of Regina's cold heart, warming her chest from the inside. Caramel eyes caressed Emma's belly, something she'd never experience though she adored children. They were innocent and quick to hug – and honest, so very honest. With a swallow and flush of embarrassment, Regina raised her eyes, already feeling that turbulent green gaze picking apart the unplanned and uncalculated reaction of actually appreciating Emma's condition, maybe even envying it.

"You're not required to like me either, Madame Mayor," she snapped, more uncomfortable with the attention than who gave it. The softness in Regina's eyes smoldered, ignited.

Emma watched her leave without preamble and glanced at Granny. The old woman shrugged. "Girl's always run out without saying goodbye."

"What's her deal, anyway?"

Granny waddled away, and Emma increased the distance by crossing to the door. Her forehead touched the clammy glass, the uncomfortable clench of guilt in her belly. Steam jumped up, receded, jumped again from her shallow breaths. Regina braced against the cold wind, arms crossed tightly, and Emma watched until she turned the corner toward Town Hall. At the last second, she glanced over her shoulder and caught Emma's gaze through the glass, like she'd felt those green eyes upon her back. Emma touched the window with three fingertips. Had she actually attempted to show genuine compassion and concern only to be spurned by someone who already rubbed her the wrong way? What thoughts banged around behind that soulless façade? Everyone had a story, and no one acted that way because they'd never experienced pain. People eventually became who they pretended to be, but Emma had never met someone who acted so callous who wasn't protecting a deeply emotional soul. A puff of wind blew black hair over her eyes, and the fussy woman tossed it away before putting her head down and charging back to the safety of her office.

"Hold my calls, Stacy." The quiet reflection in her voice caused the young woman's head to raise from whatever budget report she fixed before sending it on to her boss. Regina never held her calls, not even raging like gasoline on a hot fire in a swift wind.

"Ma'am?"

Regina strode past without explanation and locked herself behind the large white double doors. The leather purse thumped where she tossed it on the table to the far right of the door. The light switch remained untouched, leaving the shadows of the coming storm to wiggle and dance over the white and black marble floors. Strange, the place she'd designed to feel cold and unrepentant should be the warmest to her, the most comfortable. She'd meant to remind herself to rule without emotion, to make the hard decisions that brought uproars from the rabble for the betterment of the community, like when she'd spent half their budget planting an orchard that nearly a tenth of the city worked now. They misunderstood her methods, criticized her with every signature, and reaped the benefits of her foresight and wisdom. The youngest mayor ever appointed in Storybrooke's history, she'd created her own legacy, void of her family's filthy fingers and influence.

Why must she also be kind?

Because masses lacked the wisdom to know that leading was difficult.

Regina sighed and sank into the plush, black leather of her well-worn chair. It'd taken nearly a year to break the damn thing in to her specifications. Now, the padding lumped in funny directions and the wheels caught sometimes, nearly tipping her out if she pushed back from the desk too quickly. Perhaps she'd reward herself with another once she dominated the election. Fingers pale from the cold touched the marble top on the massive wooden desk, loving each scratch and divot made from years of laborious hours hunched over budget reports, committee requests, and meeting minutes to ensure each person had been heard with an equal amount of attention and care.

She'd been reduced to practically begging a perfect stranger to take her money to seal her seat for the next term. She hated politics, that's why she'd come to the smallest town possible as far from her family as the sun to the moon. She'd avoided them by carefully staying away from the news and social media, hiding like a common criminal.

"Madame Mayor?" Stacy's soft voice eased through the intercom on her phone.

Irritated, she punched the button with her thumb. "What part of hold my calls did you not understand, Ms. Cochran?"

A long pause. "I was wondering if you needed anything else before I go home. It's 5:30, Ma'am."

Regina twisted her wrist and glanced at her watch. Two hours had passed since she returned. "Damn it." She'd done nothing. "Apologies, Stacy. There will be nothing else. Thank you."

Another long pause. "Are you okay, Mayor Mills?" She'd always been such a quiet worker, punctual and efficient. Regina couldn't remember if she'd ever given her a day off or even a stupid pen for Christmas.

"That will be all, Stacy," Regina repeated, avoiding the question. "Please leave the budget report on your desk. I'll be working from home this evening."

"Yes, Ma'am. Goodnight."

"Goodnight." She released the button, punched it again. "Stacy, would you care to accompany me for lunch tomorrow?" The words bunched together, and Regina wondered if she even understood them.

"Is there a lunch meeting I missed, Ma'am? I'm so sorry, I synced our PDA's. I'm not sure how…"

"Stacy." She'd not missed a meeting or appointment date and time in three years, not since the first and last time. "I was inviting you to have lunch with me. A personal lunch."

"Oh." Silence. Scratching of Stacy shifting in her chair. "Are you alright, Mayor Mills?"

"Forget it. I'll see you tomorrow. Goodnight, Ms. Cochran."

"Goodnight, Ma'am."

Rejection stung, and Regina angrily tugged her skirt and blazer in place, shoved files and folders and loose papers into her shoulder bag beside her unopened laptop. No one wanted to spend more time with her than required, so why force their hands. Stacy managed to look genuinely guilty when she stomped out of her office. The anxious redhead extended the budget report file with a shaking hand, and Regina snatched it away to add to the never-ending pile of paperwork. She said nothing else just watched her boss practically run away from her. Regina had always been kind to her, paid her a fair salary with regular raises, but they'd never crossed the professional boundary into friendship. Stacy's family preferred it that way and only allowed her to have the job in the first place was because it was the highest paying general labor position in Storybrooke.

Regina glared at the storm approaching, black thunderheads looming and rolling. A growl rumbled in the distance. Even the weather hated her this year, fussing and grouching well past the appropriate month. Surely, there were other towns where she might have made an impact, but she loved Storybrooke. She almost gave herself to the urge to cry, gripping the steering wheel of her Mercedes. She'd not give any of them the satisfaction of seeing her tears.

If they wanted a raging bitch, she'd sure as hell send the monsters under their beds scampering. The likelihood of Enma accepting her offer dimmed with each passing minute, her last hope of securing another term. She'd never have admitted it to Sydney, but his idea produced the only thin sliver of hope she'd seen since Astrid joined the race. She made a mental note to cancel that card at noon. Maybe report it as stolen, save herself the hassle of running the defiant child out of town. She certainly wasn't the only runaway to find her way to Storybrooke, but only Emma Swan looked her directly in the eye, challenged her authority instead of breaking like a rotten tree in a squall.

By the time Regina hit the stoop of the mayoral mansion on Mifflin Street, full outrage at the newcomer eclipsed every thought in her mind. Who was she to defy her? Who was she to demand when she offered her far more than anyone else in her life? The door of the microwave slammed, encasing the frozen meal for one.

Pre-cooked chicken alfredo, she almost threw it out and ordered a pizza. A longing gaze fell over her dark kitchen, unused since the day she moved into the gigantic house. Of all the things she missed most, eating with other people etched into the first slot of the stone sarcophagus around her shriveled heart. She dwelled for only a moment and then left the space untouched and opened her laptop on a large red oak desk and organized her files in the few minutes required to heat the food-like substance.

She poured a glass of Pinot Noir, brought the bottle into her home office along with the cardboard box holding the gelled gunk intended for ingestion. A typical night in the Mills mansion. Two pages into Stacy's budget corrections and a glass of wine later, the hunger for human contact dissipated. Work always soothed the ache, numbers made sense.

Two glasses in, the black blazer found itself on the back of her chair. Half of the third opened all of the buttons down her stomach for better ventilation of the artificial warmth alcohol created. She drained the last maroon drops into the stained glass and set the bottle carefully beside the empty food carton, unsure of the control she still possessed over her motor skills.

Only a swallow remained. Two stilettos clattered onto the hardwood floor. The screen blurred in and out of focus. Regina stood on wobbly legs and retrieved her phone. 'Stacy, please move all morning appointments to afternoon.' Satisfied she'd not misspelled any of the words in the text, she sent it and staggered to the kitchen for another bottle.