Title: Butterfly Effect

Author: misscanteloupe

Rating: M

Summary: In her final year of college, Emma finds she has more to account for than the extra credits she needs in order to graduate. Only... she doesn't expect it to come in the form of her newest instructor, Professor Regina Mills. AU Swan Queen

A/N: I don't know why I keep writing these long ass chapters. Like I have a beginning and an end, and then everything in between just goes on and on and I never know when to stop. Also, sorry again for the wait. I'm trying my hardest to have this completed as it was supposed to be a short story to play with, while I work on a bigger one I've had saved for several months now. But ugh

Anyway, thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed so far. I haven't proof read through this one yet, since it's like four am right now. I'll get to that later.

ooo

The thing is, Emma is usually good at finding a job.

Emphasis on 'usually.'

It's just… she'd learned from an early age that the more people you know, the easier it'd be to get on with your life. Her first job had been as a babysitter, and that's only because the Johnsons had a son with the hots for her. Either way, she had been fourteen, moving on from her fifth set of foster parents, and earning enough money to buy herself a new bike all because Billy Jonhson couldn't keep his eyes off her ass.

In high school she'd managed to scrape up a couple of shifts at the local café from where she lived, having saved the manager's cat from a tree, and as a result talked her way into the customers' good graces in the hopes of making some connections.

It's how she found half the jobs she'd been driven to take that didn't involve her neighbor's pervy son eyeballing her the entire way.

It's how she survived; survival of the fittest and all.

Now that she had dropped her waitressing position at Granny's, her luck seems to be running out. There isn't a whole lot to look into when a good portion of the jobs available around campus are already occupied by college students, not to mention she's running low on the last of her savings.

It's probably why she had been desperate enough to ask Ruby for a little more guidance.

"Emma?" a voice snaps her out of her thoughts. "Are you even listening?"

Belle gives her a stern look when all Emma can offer is a sheepish grin, one that falters as soon as the brunette hands her a list of the upcoming projects. Its length conjures up a defeated groan that she quickly stifles in order to avoid another scolding. Maybe not from Belle, but definitely from Ruby.

When Emma had asked for help in finding another job, she hadn't exactly expected, well, this. A used bookstore of all places.

It's not that she doesn't appreciate Belle's kindness, when her willingness to pull some strings to get Emma this job had allowed her the opportunity to prove herself in the first place. She's just… never been a huge fan of books. And she's starting to realize maybe waitressing has at least some perks.

Taking the paper from Belle's hand, Emma smiles weakly in return, only it turns out to be more of a grimace instead. "Got it," she answers in the affirmative, and tries to salvage what's left of her grin when Belle simply quirks an eyebrow at her. "Everything's color coordinated. Red labels go with the hardcovers, blue for paperback, and yellow for schoolbooks. Oh, and no more Fifty Shades of Grey. Did I miss anything?"

"Only everything I've been talking about for the last five minutes," Belle practically deadpans, her accent thick and noticeably less controlled now that the formalities are done with. "Seriously, Emma?"

At least Emma has the decency to look ashamed, face flushed as she ducks her head and reluctantly admits, "Alright. So maybe I wasn't listening."

"Ruby told me you were working at the diner before you started looking for another job," Belle explains after a moment of shared silence, in which Emma awkwardly shifts on her feet. "Why don't you just keep working there if this isn't your thing?"

"It's… complicated," Emma says with some hesitancy, not wanting to go into full detail on her financial affairs when her current situation is humiliating enough. "Let's just say the pay wasn't all that great."

"It's not much better here," Belle points out, smiling at Emma's knowing look.

"Yeah, well." Emma merely shrugs before casting a long look around the store, dingy in its appearance and resembles more of a pawnshop than an actual bookstore. "Where do I start?"

"There's a pile over there that still needs to be sorted," Belle gestures, pointing to a stack of books that appears to have been abandoned before it could be properly shelved. "It's mostly fiction. So you know, alphabetize by author and all that."

At her nod of comprehension, Emma shuffles to the back of the room and begins sorting through the pile – a compilation of old, mostly worn out books that Emma's never seen or heard of. It makes her wonder whether she had missed out on a proper childhood when she had decided she had a severe case of dyslexia.

After several minutes of doing this – arranging in a comfortable silence and an otherwise dead setting – Emma hesitates briefly before deciding she can't stand the quiet for much longer.

"Belle," Emma starts, and lowers the book she has in her hand as Belle looks up from her place behind the register. "Look, I know it seems like I don't appreciate this, but I can't thank you enough –"

"Don't worry about it, Emma. Believe me, I'm more than happy to help," Belle assures gently, smiling in a way that sweeps the tension from Emma's shoulders. "Besides, you should probably be thanking Alexander."

At that, Emma raises her brow in suspicion, blindly reaching out for another book. "Who?"

"Oh, um," Belle falters slightly, her face garnering a pink tint before she adds, "Mr. Gold."

"President Gold?" Emma emphasizes in subtle disbelief, narrowing her eyes when Belle blushes even more, if that's even possible. A bout of unease settles in her stomach when she recalls the university president – who she'd only met once in her college career and preferably for the last time. Judging by Belle's reaction, she really doesn't want to know.

"So… what? Does he, like, own the store or something?"

"Something like that," Belle responds cryptically, hiding her still slightly flushed cheeks behind a curtain of hair as she continues, "Most people know he's rather… well off. He's one of the top contributors in the school's funding. I don't think half the student-run businesses would still be open if it weren't for him. Or the Mills for that matter."

Emma pauses for a split second, the name catching her so off guard she drops the book she'd been holding and allows her eyes to flicker to Belle's unknowing form. She doesn't know what to expect when she nibbles her lip tentatively and asks, "The Mills?"

Visibly more relaxed now that the subject of Gold is out of the way, Belle is all too happy to comply. "Henry Mills," she elaborates, not that that eases Emma's confusion in any way. "He used to be the school's Dean back in ninety-eight, up until Leopold White replaced him. The Mills are generally known for their wealth and generous donations."

"Let me guess," Emma adds after a moment, brow creasing as she bends down to pick up the fallen book. "Any relation to Regina Mills?"

"Father," Belle confirms with a nod, and Emma wonders if there's some other long lost family member she might've missed when she had done her research. "Professor Mills actually donated a large sum to the local animal shelter just the other day; kept it from closing down. I honestly don't see why people talk about her the way they do. She's really rather kind."

Emma's gaze is drawn to her shoes as she murmurs a quiet, "Yeah," before clearing her throat. Thinking of Regina now as she has been for the last several weeks, Emma wouldn't go so far as to call her kind, but… misunderstood.

On the other hand, maybe 'kind' isn't entirely off either.

"What happened to her father?" Emma asks after a long moment, realizing that while she has some knowledge on Regina's family history, Henry Mills had been nothing but a blank page in the library's archive.

"From what I know, he was the president for two years before he was placed under permanent leave," Belle explains with some uncertainty, her lip twitching into a soft frown when she says, "Died of a heart attack, I think."

"Oh," Emma breathes in response, because if she had been expecting anything drastic, it definitely hadn't been that.

"Yes," Belle agrees solemnly, nodding her head. "Tragic, isn't it? He seemed like a good man."

Emma doesn't answer, and instead shrugs her shoulders in a way that can easily be taken as disinterest, when really she can't stop thinking about how young Regina must have been when it all happened. She can't claim to know what it feels like to lose a parent – Emma had gotten so used to growing up without one that the feeling now leaves her with an empty void in her chest whenever she thinks what if. Her last set of foster parents had been far more genuine than any of the others she's had in her lifetime. Still are, considering they've kept in touch with even after she had dropped out of high school.

But she wouldn't exactly call them family.

So to have that in your grasp and lose it so suddenly… Emma can't imagine what that feels like. Only… in a way she does, if the parents that had replaced her with their own kid when she was only three is anything to go by. But that's a different story.

The thought continues to plague her as she's reminded of Regina's normally scornful demeanor, whose scowl could turn pierce through anyone's barriers with a single look. Had she always been like that? Would she still be if Emma hadn't made the efforts to call a truce for –

Whatever they have going so far?

Emma's silently mulling over the notion when she finally places the book she had dropped back onto the cart. It's thick and heavy and if she hadn't bothered to glance at the tattered spine, she wouldn't have noticed the title scrawled over the binding in faded gold ink.

Emma's face unconsciously lights up as she flips through the worn out pages, and she doesn't think twice before lifting her head.

"Hey, Belle?" she calls, waiting until the other girl peers up at her as Emma takes this as her chance to raise the book in the air.

"How much for this one?"

The final days of January are cold and bitter, quickly morphing into February before Emma takes the time to realize she's an entire month into the new semester, and no closer to getting over her infatuation for Regina than she had been… a month ago.

If anything, it's gotten worst.

It's easy to tell when she finds herself staring again during class, her eyes permanently latched onto Regina's face even when her mind can't keep up with anything the older woman is saying. She tends to lose focus when a lecture runs for over twenty minutes, and this one has been going for well over an hour.

It doesn't help that Regina's voice might as well be oozing with sex, either.

Sighing into her palm, Emma's latest attempts to wrench her gaze away fails when Regina suddenly meets her eye, mask of indifference firmly in place as she continues on with her speech without a hitch. But if there's anything Emma's learned in the last several weeks, it's how to read this woman's expressions even in the blankest of looks. And it's hard to miss the amused twinkle in dark eyes when Regina holds her gaze for a fleeting moment, or the smirk threatening to break loose as she looks away.

By the time the bell rings, Emma's nerves are jumping every which way, her chest tight with anticipation as she slowly begins to pack her things. Ignoring Killian's blatant leering aimed her way, she pretends to rummage through her bag for the next several minutes until, finally, the last student closes the door behind him, leaving Emma alone with Professor Mills.

She's at her desk, her stare fixed on her laptop and doesn't offer Emma a second glance when she says, "Careful, dear. Any more of these pseudo help sessions and I'll be prone to believe you enjoy my company."

It's not the only time Emma had stayed after class, standing before Regina only to have a full-fledged conversation with the other woman. She had made the excuse of needing some help with the next debate assignment the first time, except she had blanked out and made a complete fool of herself in the process.

Luckily for her Regina doesn't think she's a total idiot. Just… an idiot.

"Maybe," Emma offers with feigned confidence, leaning back into the edge of the table as she faces Regina. "And if I do?"

Regina looks up at this, an odd mix of… something flashing over her eyes before she stands and stares at Emma expectantly. "It would certainly be a surprise when I can hardly get you to pay attention in class."

"I pay attention," Emma counters quickly. "I just… get distracted easily."

"Really now?" Regina utters in that tone that suggests she's far more amused than impressed. "I suppose this 'distraction' could be resolved if you spent more time focusing on your work, rather than my face."

Emma's eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets before she hastily says, "I don't –" only to cut herself off with a flush. "You can't seriously blame me for that."

Regina arches an eyebrow, arms folded across her chest. "Oh?"

"Yes," Emma declares somewhat hotly, maybe because her face feels like it's on fire and she's angry at herself for falling into this. "I mean – no. Just… have you even seen yourself? You're like, crazy beautiful."

And ho-ly shit. She's flirting with disaster.

Emma immediately clamps her mouth shut, so tightly that she's pretty sure she can taste her own blood from where she'd accidently nipped her cheek. She pushes aside the sharp pain to stand still for a long minute, wondering whether she had actually said that out loud, because as far as flirting goes, her advances had always been subtle; never enough to conjure any suspicion or panic. It was harmless and fun and this just makes everything more real than it should be.

And apparently Regina notices it, too, if her wide-eyed look of astonishment is any indication. But it doesn't contain the disgust Emma expects, or even discomfort. Instead she licks her lips and watches Emma closely with barely veiled interest, her initial surprise slowly turning… coy?

Nah. There's definitely some smugness in there.

"Uh…" Emma trails off hesitantly.

"Ever the charmer," Regina quietly teases, still watching her with an expression that causes Emma's heart to surge straight to her throat. "Frankly I didn't think you were capable of compliments."

"I could say the same about you," Emma grunts back, even though she can all but feel the back of her neck burning in embarrassment.

"Oh, believe me, dear. I know how to pay a good compliment," Regina informs offhandedly. "That is, if it's well deserved."

"Must not come up that often, then."

"Ideally, no," Regina agrees in humor, before stating, "But I'll make an exception. Take you, for example." Emma feels her shoulders stiffen, instantly growing wary when Regina leans forward over her desk and pins her with a studious look.

"You're incredibly stubborn," Regina continues, lips curved upward when Emma simply cuts her a confused frown. "It can certainly work out in your favor, however. It shows how self-sufficient you are, whereas most people back down the second a problem arises. You're exceptionally bright if your work ethics are anything to go by. Intuitive. Passionate. Amicable… when it suits you, and if we're going by physical attributes, attractive."

Emma fights back a shiver as Regina pauses, her eyes trailing down Emma's body, presumably drinking in the sight of her standard skinny jeans and leather jacket. She suppresses the urge to fold her jacket in place, as she hadn't been able to do laundry this week and a black bra doesn't exactly mesh well with a white tank top. But Regina's gaze lingers nonetheless over her chest, almost as though she were checking her –

Oh.

"Very much so," Regina adds as an afterthought, dark eyes flicking back to Emma's face. And if Emma wasn't so stunned she might've been thrilled by this new aspect.

The warmth in her chest begins to pool lower, though, a wave of heat surging through her stomach and she tries hard not to think about what any of this means; what it would mean if somehow, some way Regina is attracted to her, too, and if she would mind if Emma were to cross the distance between them now and hike up that skirt she's wearing and fuck her against the –

"I got you something," Emma practically squeaks, clearing her throat through all the taunting visuals in her head that are leaving her flustered and… uncomfortably aroused.

Face flushed, she digs through her bag and takes out the large, battered book she'd found at the bookstore, the words Once Upon a Time catching her eye beneath the overhead light before she timidly slides it over the desk.

At Regina's questionable gaze, Emma hastily explains, "You told the class once that you were into the Brothers Grimm at one point." Understanding doesn't seem to dawn on Regina, and Emma sighs. "It's a compilation of dark fairytales from around the world. I figured you might like it, since… it's your birthday, right?"

Regina's eyes widen a fraction in response, her brow furrowing in bewilderment as she asks, "How did you –"

"Lucky guess," Emma fibs and smiles tightly. She hadn't thought that part through to be honest, and there's no way she's going to admit that the only reason she knows is because she'd been stalking Regina over the internet.

"So… happy birthday."

Regina doesn't say anything. There's a crease over her forehead from where her confusion is still apparent, though Emma guesses it's for a different reason if she's being stared at like she has two heads. The resulting silence has her swaying on her feet and feeling slightly queasy under Regina's scrutiny.

She totally fucked this up, didn't she?

"I'm sorry," Emma blurts out suddenly, unable to stand the silence any longer. "I can take it back. I just thought –"

"That won't be necessary, dear," Regina interjects in a voice that's strangely hoarse. She runs a hand over the book, steering her gaze away from Emma, and Emma can't tell if she's imagining the way Regina's eyes seem to glaze over as she adds, "This was… very kind of you."

And then, so softly she almost misses it altogether, Regina smiles warmly at her and says, "Thank you, Emma."

It's the combination of that smile and the use of her first name that sends Emma's heart reeling in her chest, her skin tingling in the aftermath of seeing Regina smile at her like that and she might just be a little drunk off all the nauseating emotion.

Biting her lip, Emma returns the gesture with a goofy grin of her own. "You're welcome."

The grin stays plastered on when Emma's eyes remained locked on Regina's, neither of them looking away. There's an intense pull in Emma's chest that she half-heartedly dodges by being the first to break the gaze, short of breath, before lifting her bag over her shoulder and taking a small step back.

"I guess I should… you know."

"Leaving so soon?" Regina inquires, somehow managing to sound both disinterested and, if Emma didn't know any better, disappointed.

"Um… yeah," Emma shrugs as casually as she can, though inwardly she's brimming with nerves she fails to hide in her fumbling hands. "It's supposed to snow today. I've gotta walk back home before the storm hits."

"I see," Regina observes noncommittally, drawing out the words with a pensive glance towards her desk and Emma has no idea what that's supposed to mean. Finally she stands tall, looking regal and disturbingly seductive with her next words.

"Care to join me for lunch?"

Once Emma is able to get over her initial reaction – ok, so yeah. She'd been stunned speechless by the invitation – lunch goes surprisingly… well. They forgo Granny's in favor of a small deli just outside of campus grounds, for reasons Emma guesses has everything to do with the awkward situation that would manifest if they were to be seen by other students, and less to do with the diner's 'repulsively fattening burgers.'

The little deli seems to appease Regina enough to stop the complaints, though, luckily for Emma, even if everything on the menu seems to be nutritional and definitely not in Emma's tastes. She decides to leave that begrudging aspect out for now and settles for watching Regina study the menu.

"How old are you, anyway?" Emma asks out of the blue, mentally slapping herself for the stupid question. Like she doesn't already know.

Peering up from the list, Regina arches a perfectly shaped brow, lips pursed in an unimpressed fashion. "Didn't your mother ever tell you never to ask that of your elders?"

"I wouldn't know," Emma says dryly, taking a sip of her beer. "Foster kid, remember?"

Regina's lips part momentarily in what Emma assumes is shame, clearly only just remembering their conversation the last time they were 'dining' out, except the circumstances right now are entirely too different to compare. It's the easygoing atmosphere and that look of apologetic acknowledgement that relieves the tension off Emma's shoulders.

"Besides," she begins again, this time calculating her response carefully. "I wouldn't call you an elder. You're not that old."

"I'm only thirty, dear," Regina says nonchalantly, and to Emma's surprise doesn't admonish her for prying. "The prime of one's life, for most people. I never said I was old. Certainly more so than you, however."

"Only by eight years," Emma points out, a little defensively. Regina simply stares at her. "I'm twenty-two."

"Yes," Regina drawls, rolling her eyes, but there's a weird edge to her tone that Emma can't quite decipher. "I know how to count, dear. Would you like a big girl's hat to go with the alcohol as well?"

"I think I'm good," Emma deadpans, though it doesn't stop the visible smile she has breaking over her face, because fuck if she doesn't actually enjoy this teasing side over Regina's normally stony demeanor. "How did you get into teaching?"

The question seems to startle Regina, either due to the random change of topic or simply because she hadn't been expecting it. Either way her eyes narrow in on Emma as she says, "If this is you trying to start some juvenile game of twenty questions –"

"I'm curious," Emma replies as a foothold. She doesn't dare add that that might've been exactly what she'd been going for. "Seriously. I mean, since I've been here, most of the professors are either old or some type of deranged. That's pretty much why Doctor Whale supposedly 'retired,' isn't it? But you…"

"Really, dear," Regina argues lightly. "I don't see how that's any of your business."

"I'll tell you something about myself."

"And what makes you think I'd care to know?"

But Emma merely shrugs. "Worth a shot," she states with a cheeky grin, one that instantly sobers at Regina's expression; entirely too straight-faced to be considered amused. Staring down at her lap, Emma takes a long sip from her drink and sighs.

"I never graduated high school."

It's obvious to her that Regina hadn't been expecting that. Slightly widened eyes shoot up to meet Emma's from across the table, but otherwise doesn't regard her with the same look of judgmental concern that most people grant her when she gives in to questioning – not that she normally does. But Regina's gentle curiosity is nowhere nearing probing or critical, like she's just waiting for Emma to continue without the assumptions. Like she knows what it's like.

And Emma can never be more grateful.

"I dropped out right before my senior year," she elaborates, nervously twirling a napkin between her fingers while completely avoiding Regina's gaze. "At the time I was with my current foster parents. They're nice people, you know. Nicer than any of other ones I had, but they were also kind of… suffocating. My whole life I've always felt that way, like I never really belonged, which, I mean, makes sense when I'd been moving around a lot. So one day I decided I had enough, and the summer before my senior year I ran away."

Emma pauses briefly to gather her bearings, her gaze incidentally flickering up to find Regina's. While the eye contact is admittedly terrifying as it is, the small smile Regina sends her way eases Emma's nerves enough to continue.

"I hung around Rhode Island for a bit, spent some time in Boston," Emma carries on. "Eventually I got into it with the law and… I guess you could say that's where the inspiration for criminal justice comes in. I took my GED when I was nineteen, applied to a couple of places until one of them finally accepted me. And now I'm here."

The last part is stated through a shrug of nonchalance, except Emma's not really sure how to proceed now that she has that out in the open and Regina is still regarding her with that gentle look of understanding.

"And now you're here," Regina repeats kindly, smiling a little.

"And now I'm here," Emma agrees, matching Regina's smile with her own. "Can't say I regret any of it."

She doesn't receive a response that time, which Emma half anticipates when Regina appears to be lost in her own thoughts, a long but not uncomfortable silence drifting between them. Emma settles back into her seat and waits; for what, she doesn't really know. But the answer comes fairly quickly with Regina's next statement.

"Teaching had never been something I considered doing with my life," she says, her eyes gathering that glaze-like shine Emma had already seen once today. "Or particularly enjoyed. When I was younger I had dreams of becoming something… of my own tastes. A writer, perhaps. A simple life tending to the horses on my land."

"So why do it?" Emma asks before she can stop herself.

Regina falters and looks away, and this time Emma really does consider slapping herself, or at least ramming her fist in her mouth because damn it, she needs to learn when to shut the hell up. But she does neither, and again waits patiently for Regina's response.

"Family has a tendency of holding you back," is all Regina says.

Emma blinks in confusion, but doesn't comment on the remark or question its significance. Judging by the solemn shift in the air, it's time for a change of subject.

She holds out her beer bottle in offering. "Want some?"

Regina's face automatically scrunches up in distaste, though the lingering flash of relief that passes her expression is hard to miss. "I don't do beer."

Emma leans back in shock. "Like, at all?"

"Why would I?" Regina counters, in that haughty tone of hers that would've driven Emma mad a few weeks ago. Now it's just sort of… cute. "They all taste the same. Bitter and awful."

"I'll have you know it's an acquired taste," Emma shoots back, tipping the bottle over with a wide grin. "And I bet you've never even had this one. Come on. Try it."

"Absolutely not."

"Please?" It slips out before Emma has the sense to clamp her lips shut, serving as an even greater embarrassment when she tries to counteract the display with a pleading pout. She can't even remember the last time she acted this childish.

Regina stares at her with an unreadable expression, her gaze flicking to the pout formed over Emma's lips before snapping back up. Finally she sighs.

"Very well," she murmurs, reluctantly accepting the bottle in her hand with absolutely no intention of hiding her disgust. Emma observes the scene in amusement, the way Regina crinkles her nose upon taking a whiff.

"It's not going to drink itself."

Flashing her a dark look, Regina scoffs and tilts the bottle back, taking a graceful but surprisingly large sip.

And promptly coughs it right back up.

"Oh," she gasps, her face taking on a look of complete outrage. "That is vile."

Emma can't hold it in any longer – the sight of Regina spewing out the drink like it's poison is permanently marred in her brain, and bubbles in her stomach as she throws her head back and laughs. It echoes loudly in the small room, causing the few other patrons nearby to whirl around and pin her with irate glares. But she doesn't care. She honest to god doesn't, because it's the first time in a long time she's ever felt this… free.

"Are you quite done?" she hears Regina ask somewhere in the midst of her dying snickers, in time to see the older woman quirk an eyebrow at her.

She doesn't look annoyed, which is definitely a relief. In fact, the annoyance Emma had expected to see is replaced by a sense of mirth, as reserved as it is. Her eyes are alight, watching Emma closely with a sort of tenderness she'd never seen before, and Emma has the distinct feeling that she's holding in her own laughter.

"If you're no longer trying to poison me, perhaps we can finally place our order."

But Emma just snorts, shaking her head before gesturing to the bottle. "Are you going to finish the rest of that beer?"

It starts snowing that afternoon, and the rest of the days following lunch with Regina. While Emma enjoys the cold weather, she manages to find a ride to and from campus with Mary Margaret's help, occasionally Ruby's, and in the even rarer occasion, Regina's.

And, for what it's worth, Emma doesn't have the slightest clue what any of it means.

Since the impromptu luncheon, she's developed the habit of staying after class, finding ways to converse with the other woman in any way that she can. She can't help but think that it has to mean something that the brunette would willingly extend this olive branch between them into something resembling friendship. She's found herself dangling on a thin thread between many different notions; two of which include common sense, a concept she hasn't seemed to grasp yet when participating in dangerous levels of flirtation with your professor, and that feeling in her gut she likes to call human nature.

Because there's a difference between harboring a crush for someone, knowing nothing would come of it, and developing genuine feelings for that same someone, and debating on the risks of actually pursuing it. It'd be stupid of her to try. Hence the common sense.

It isn't like she knows for sure Regina is concealing anything besides a potential mild attraction, if that.

But then there's that tug in her chest, the desire that resurfaces every time she so much as looks at Regina. And it's driving her fucking insane.

"Emma," Mary Margaret's voice drifts by without acknowledgment on Emma's part, though that might be because she hasn't been paying attention; still isn't, actually.

She's sitting by the window sill in her apartment, waiting for the snow to slow down enough so she can shovel through the driveway. Her neighbor is an elderly lady named Betty, whose dying wish is to finish off her final years with a college degree, something she hadn't had the chance to do when she was younger. Emma had promised she'd clear the parking lot for her in case she has trouble getting her car to move through the heavy snowfall.

"Emma," she hears again, this time right by her ear, and Emma startles briefly before turning her attention to her roommate. Mary Margaret's wide-eyed gaze softens in concern. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Emma says quickly, blinking through the haze muddling her thoughts. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You've been staring at the window for over an hour."

Emma's brows furrow as she turns back to the window. Had it seriously been that long?

"Do you want to talk about it?" Mary Margaret asks after a moment, when Emma doesn't respond. Her tone is soft and hesitant, but firm in the way it usually is when she's adamant about something. "I'm always here to listen."

Emma shakes her head, the words 'I'm fine' hanging off the edge of her tongue until she purses her lips, because, really, she's not fine. Not even close. And maybe getting the truth out of her chest will help.

Well… partial truth, anyway.

"What do you do," Emma begins tentatively, as she isn't too sure how to phrase the question, or what to ask for that matter, "when you're attracted to someone who's… unattainable?"

Mary Margaret's expression doesn't change in the slightest, though there's a thoughtful crease just above her brow as she takes a seat on the opposite end of the window sill.

"Is this about you?"

Emma bites her lip. "Say… a friend."

Her roommate doesn't look convinced, but doesn't call Emma out on her bullshit either. "Okay," she mutters. "So this… friend. Do they have feelings for someone who's already taken? Because, as you know, David was dating Kathyrn before we ever got together."

"That's different, MM," Emma points out. "David was already in love with you way before any of that happened. And… just, the situation here's not the same."

"Oh," Mary Margaret mutters, forehead creasing. "So he's single?"

Emma only stares at her as she ponders over her next response. "She."

The brunette doesn't bother hiding her surprise as she all but gasps, "You're gay?"

"Seriously?" Emma grits out. "That's the first thing you get out of any of this?"

"No, Emma," Mary Margaret rushes out, taking Emma's hands into her own. "I didn't mean anything by it. It's just, when Ruby said –" And then she pauses, brown eyes losing focus for a moment until the second her face lights up in realization. "Oh my god," she breathes, following Emma's puzzled gaze with astonishment. "This is about your professor, isn't it?"

"What the hell did Ruby tell you?"

"Nothing more than you need to be worried about," Mary Margaret softly assures, her hands never leaving Emma's even as the blonde tries to wrench them away. Her roommate squeezes them then, pulls them forth into her lap and in an even quieter voice, says, "You could've told me. You know I would never judge you."

"I don't want to talk about it," Emma whispers, allowing the small comfort in the form of her roommate's hand wrapped warmly around her own. She's almost glad the brunette hadn't tried to pull her into a full body hug, as she's typically known for in moments kind of like these. As welcoming as they (sometimes) are, Emma isn't in the mood to be pitied.

"Please, MM."

Mary Margaret observes her for a long minute, eyes darting back and forth across Emma's face in a manner that appears to understand the pleading edge in her voice. Slowly, she nods and releases Emma's hands from her grasp before standing up.

"I know you probably don't want my advice," she starts, putting a hand up when Emma gets ready to interrupt, "But whether she feels the same way or not, think about the repercussions. There's more on the line here than an unrequited attraction. Her career is, too."

Squeezing Emma's shoulder, she then adds, "Just be careful, Emma."

And with that, she turns around and closes the door behind her, leaving Emma to her own devices.

And feeling more conflicted than ever before.

"I hope you realize the folders go inside the cabinet, not the other way around."

Emma pauses her movements to glance up, her gaze snagging onto Regina's from across the room, who's sitting behind her desk with a nonchalant casualness about her demeanor and it's kind of grating on Emma's nerves. But she refuses to back down even as the older woman eyes her up.

"I'm getting there," Emma huffs, though not in the unpleasant way, like she would if either of them was serious. "This whole thing would go by a lot faster if I had some help, you know."

"And relieve you of your misery?" Regina chides playfully, tilting her chin forward into her clasped hands. "Now where would be the fun in that?"

Emma rolls her eyes, managing to contain her scowl in place for effects, when inwardly she's smiling at the jesting Regina takes on. Turning back to the papers she has scattered all over the floor, most of which still need to be filed in their appropriate cabinet, she frowns.

Fifty done, two hundred more to go.

The rest of the week had passed by in a blur, much faster than Emma had anticipated when it feels like only yesterday that she had that conversation with Mary Margaret. It closed in on her so quickly that by Friday afternoon, she's not entirely sure how she's ended up in Regina's office.

Except that she wanted to.

"You are allowed to take a break, dear," Regina assures from the side, sounding significantly more sincere than she had a minute ago. "I won't have you burning holes into the paperwork if you're going to insist on glaring at it all afternoon."

"Right," Emma murmurs, more to herself. The thing is, she'd been hell-bent on using the paperwork to distract herself from Regina's domineering presence. Now it seems like she can't concentrate on anything but.

From her peripheral, she can make out Regina's form as she stands and makes her way around her desk, stopping in front of the wooden cabinet. "Would you like something to drink?" she inquires over the sound of glasses clanking over one another. "You look like you could use it."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Emma asks, straining to keep her gaze settled on the spot above Regina's head, and not over the older woman's form. She's wearing a dress today; the gray one Emma had immediately dubbed as her favorite because of the way it clings to her hips, and Emma finds it even harder to ignore the shivers accompanying the spike of arousal curling in her belly as she pointedly looks away.

Digging through her bag, she takes out the spare jacket she keeps tucked away in a pocket and shrugs it on. Better warm than cold.

"It means," Regina drawls, back still turned, "That you have been rather tense all week."

"No I haven't," Emma instantly denies.

"You forget, Miss Swan, that I'm much more perceptive than most people think," Regina surmises, and with one final clank of glass, she puts the bottle down and turns around. "Granted, you're also a terrible liar."

Just as Emma is about to retort, Regina stops short midway across the room and openly stares at her; or rather, stares at her jacket, like it's the strangest thing in the world that she's wearing it of all things. And maybe there's a certain degree of… worry?

Puzzled, Emma chances a peek at her attire, and closes her eyes in her own stupidity when it dawns on her that this isn't her jacket, but Graham's, from that night all those weeks ago and she's never bothered to return it. For obvious reasons. The campus security logo, imprinted clearly below the collar along with the word Humbert, makes it glaringly noticeable.

Regina appears to shake out of her reverie, and doesn't mention the jacket as she steps forward and hands Emma her glass. Her movements are stiff though, Emma notices, her smile strained when their fingers accidently brush together.

"I hope you like cider."

"Never tried it," Emma answers honestly, but takes a large gulp of the drink nonetheless. It doesn't burn her throat like the others do, the fruity tang making it more sweet than bitter, but it's also not nearly as strong as she wants it.

"There's whiskey in the second cabinet if you prefer," Regina states, apparently having taken Emma's facial contortion as displeasure. "Would you like me to –"

"No," Emma insists, and practically flings herself off her seat to the cabinet Regina had referred to. "I've got it."

Mary Margaret's words continue to plague her thoughts as she gulps down the rest of the cider, as well as Graham's, whose jacket now seems to serve as a physical reminder of all the shit she's had to process for the last month.

Think about the repercussions.

Emma swallows hard and tries to cast away the doubt flooding her system, except the level of trepidation rushing through her veins has her fingers shaking as she grabs the bottle of whiskey from the top shelf.

There's more on the line here than an unrequited attraction.

Her career is, too.

She's about halfway into pouring her glass when the bottle slips from her fingers, causing the entire thing to tilt back and land roughly on the wooden cabinet. A thick stream of the amber colored liquid gushes out and slides along the countertop, and Emma hastily tries to keep it from running off the edge with the hem of her sleeve.

"Just leave it," she hears a velvety voice behind her say, and Emma watches in embarrassment as the whiskey trickles off the edge and onto the floor. "I'll have the janitor clean it up tonight."

Regina is right beside her this time, something Emma notices immediately when the sudden warmth against her back has the blonde leaning into it. "Unless you plan on destroying the rest of my office."

Emma winces. "I'm –"

"It's a joke, dear," Regina proclaims softly, too close for comfort. Emma can still sense the other woman's presence behind her and the effects it's having on her body. "And only whiskey."

The next thing Emma feels is a slim figure drawing closer than it was before. Emma tenses in spite of the goose bumps prickling her skin, sensing the way Regina steps closer until they're barely touching. And then Regina leans forward until they are touching, the gentle curves of her breasts pressing faintly into Emma's back. Emma's breath quickens as she watches Regina grab a different bottle from the cabinet.

"Besides," she continues in a husky voice. Sliding down Emma's body and evenly onto her feet, Regina sits the bottle down onto the counter. "I believe this is what you were looking for."

Emma scans the whiskey bottle from the corner of her eye, only vaguely aware of its contents being far more potent than the one she'd retrieved minutes ago. Shakily, Emma loosens her grip on the edge of the counter and turns to face Regina, close enough that she can see the speckles of brown in Regina's eyes within the inches of space between them. She wonders if the older woman can hear her heart thundering around in her chest.

Regina, on the other hand, is studying her with the most pensive, concentrated frown on her face. Her eyes, much darker than Emma can ever recall them being, scan the blonde's face for many long moments, and it makes Emma grow antsy and excited and absolutely fucking terrified.

Just when Emma thinks she can't take the wait any longer, Regina draws back, putting some distance between them as she reaches over for the glass on the countertop and pours herself a drink. Emma watches the scene with slightly parted lips, mouth dry and a newfound warmth simmering low in her belly, swelling in her chest, and she just doesn't know what the hell to do. She can still hear Mary Margaret's voice echoing loudly in her head, can still feel the heat of Regina's body pressed up against her own, and just – fuck. Fuck. FUCK.

Fuck it.

Regina turns around to face her again, glass in hand. "Think you can manage not to drop th –"

Maybe it's the alcohol lingering in her system, or the fact that Emma knows that all of this can't possibly be in her head. Either way she finds herself reaching for those few extra inches, grabbing blindly for the side of Regina's face.

And Emma kisses her.

Her lips press hard against Regina's, one hand cupped around her cheek, the other finding the counter just around the brunette's waist. Regina immediately freezes, her body going rigid and hard, and Emma can feel rather than hear the sharp gasp of surprise hitching against her throat.

For several seconds neither of them makes a move. Emma's mouth is still pressed firmly over Regina's lips, her heart seizing in panic when she feels a hand curl around her shirt, ready to push her away. Instead the unthinkable happens.

Regina kisses her back.

The hand she had clenched around her shirt grips Emma tighter, sliding up to cup the back of her neck and pull her closer. It's that unexpected movement that has Emma breathing out her own gasp of surprise, which is quickly muffled by Regina's lips moving hungrily against her own. Her body lurches and arches into Emma's as Regina's back collides with the countertop. Their bodies press together, causing a low moan to erupt from Regina's throat and vibrate against Emma's tongue.

The sound of it sends waves of unbearable heat cascading down Emma's spine and pooling between her legs. Inching her hand away from Regina's face, Emma allows it to settle over the fabric of Regina's curves, her breath snagging roughly in her throat when Regina suddenly grasps at Emma's waist and whirls them around.

Her backside hits the cabinet with a loud thud, emitting a pained hiss through Emma's teeth that is quickly drowned by Regina's mouth. She feels her hips being shoved further against the edge, pinning her in place as Regina molds herself into Emma's heat. Her hands dart out to curl around blond hair, sweeping across the back of her neck briefly before Regina slides them down Emma's sides, around her thighs and over the soft swell of Emma's ass as Regina squeezes it through the jean's fabric.

The resulting moan that echoes through Emma's mouth is almost carnal, and is cut off too quickly to be considered real. Because all too soon Emma's eyes flutter open as the warmth of Regina's body leaves hers.

Breathing heavily, Emma looks up and takes in the sight of Regina's tense face several feet away, her eyes clenched shut and lips, while red and swollen, turned down in a scowl of sheer frustration. The momentary panic that sweeps over Emma dissipates as she notices the rise and fall of Regina's chest; fast and short, like Emma's racing heartbeat.

She takes a step forward. "Regina?"

When Regina doesn't respond, Emma hesitates and takes another step forward. "Professor Mills?"

That seems to catch Regina's attention. Brown eyes shoot upward and latch onto Emma's in a piercing stare, one so fierce that Emma nearly staggers back.

"You need to leave," Regina finally grinds out, voice hoarse and dripping with the magnitude of her anger. Whether it's being aimed at her indirectly, Emma doesn't know. But the panic immediately settles back in.

Emma blinks over the sheen of wetness in her eyes. "I –"

"I said," Regina grits out, rounding on Emma in a mask of pure fury, "Leave!"

This time Emma really does stagger back, her backside coming into contact with that stupid cabinet until she comes to her senses. Blood rushes into her ears, and it takes every ounce of her willpower to shove her confusion aside and let her fear take over. She rushes to the other side of the office, grabs her bag, and without a second glance flees the room in her haste to get away from Regina's seething glare and kiss-swollen lips.

She never looks back.