Next Thursday, Emma came back. Whatever Regina had forgotten, she remembered Emma's blanket statement that it was a weekly occurrence, this… thing. It wasn't that long ago that Emma would've taken a steel-toed boot to the ribs over seeing Regina on a guaranteed weekly basis, but now it seemed almost fitting to ingratiate herself so. Like penance or something.
Not knowing what else to do, she fell back on college etiquette. Bring over some movies and get high. Not that she'd believe Regina, or at least this Regina, would light anything but a candle in a hundred years. But the movie part was sound.
"'Kill Bill'," Regina read, staring at the DVD case like a martinet searching for a spot of dust. "What a memorable title. And by Quentin Tarantino. A memorable auteur as well."
"You hate Tarantino," Emma not-quite-asked.
"I don't find spewing profanity and high school boy banter to be the height of dialogue. Any decent playwright gets that out of their system by the second play. Do you think Pinter would have his characters go on about some self-indulgent trivia?"
Emma almost giggled. Stripped of context—quite forcibly, in this case—Regina's domineering nature and perfectionist attitude was almost endearing. A pain in her ass, but apply it to something as silly as a kung-fu movie and it was hilarious. Regina probably had a scathing dismissal of Pogs stored somewhere in her hard drive.
"Give it a chance. For me."
Emma bit her lip, realizing what she'd done, wondering when she'd ever become such a good liar that she could bring up some nonexistent friendship just like that. Regina seemed to be having similar thoughts, her own doubts about Emma, but in the end, she was an any-port-in-a-storm girl.
"Twenty minutes, Sheriff Swan. And if I don't like it, we'll watch one of my films. I have a stunningly clear recording of a Russian ballet troupe ordered from PBS…"
Twenty minutes in and Regina surely noticed the time, but she left the remote squarely in Emma's hands. She had her legs folded, a pita chip neatly situated between her fingers, ready to make the trip from its bag to Regina's mouth when the woman dedicated she'd burnt away the calories of the last one. Emma should've brought popcorn; of course Regina didn't have any.
She herself sat at the opposite end of the couch, feet up on the coffee table. If Regina was judging her for it, she did so silently. They kept watching, the only noise besides filmed conversation about kung-fu movies being Regina's pita chips disappearing.
Then the ending.
Emma never had been great at school. Things slipped her mind. She had a great head for ex-cons and informants, not literature, and things like who exactly had killed Julius Caesar took a permanent vacation long before tests came along. So while Emma remembered the scene of the Bride hacking through a hundred hopefully-well-paid stuntmen, she'd forgotten the ending. Where it was revealed that Bill had taken the Bride's daughter and raised her as his own.
"I'd like to watch the next one," Regina said evenly, the credits rolling.
"Yeah. Sure. I've got it in my car."
When Emma came back, Regina was still sitting there, kneading the empty bag of pita chips into a small, small ball.
"Would you like a pizza?"
"Huh?"
"A pizza." Regina looked at Emma. "I'm told they're quite popular. We could order one and eat while we watch 'Volume Two'."
"Yeah, okay. I'll call."
The pizza came and Emma paid for it, hustling the delivery boy away before he could get a look at the big bad witch. Regina ate daintily, but cleaned her plate. She even had some of the breadsticks Emma had sprung for. And they watched Beatrix Kiddo get her bloody satisfaction.
After, the DVD menu looped on the TV, the pizza box sat empty on the coffee table, numerous wadded up napkins littered the floor, and Regina was casting longing looks at the cupboard where she kept the Hefty bags. But she was far too comfortable to move.
"That was enjoyable," Regina stated, like Emma was supposed to write her opinion down as law. "No one talking about comic book characters' sex lives."
"Do you think Quentin Tarantino is Kevin Smith? Is that it? He won an Oscar."
"So did Marisa Tomei." Regina stretched and yawned. "How'd you know I'd like it? Don't tell me I forgot turning into a Tarantino fangirl."
"I thought you might have a zeal for justice."
"Is that the most diplomatic way you could come up with of calling me a spiteful bitch?"
"Come off it. You know I don't mean it like that."
"You should." Regina abruptly stood, turning away from Emma to hide an embarrassing marinara stain. "I've been meaning to apologize to you. The last few days, I've been going over what little I can remember. And I haven't been as gracious as I pride myself on being—not toward you."
Emma should've felt weakened, sitting down while Regina stood over her, but at the moment, Regina was anything but imposing. Rounded shoulders. Head downcast. She looked like a parishioner at a fire and brimstone sermon.
"It was a… pretty stressful situation," Emma said, surprised at the pity she felt, even now. When had writing Regina off as a bitch become so hard? "Your kid ran away and then he came back, dragging a… replacement mommy. That's, you know… not exactly something Dr. Spock covers."
"Still, things could've gone smoother. The person I try to be would've made them go smoother; the person I am didn't." Regina tilted her head to the side, seemingly at the perfect sense this made. "I just had this… fury towards you. Like you were trying to steal Henry." Emma felt a stab of guilt. Since she actually had tried, once or twice. "And somehow, that anger's just gone now. Maybe with Henry away, I don't feel so possessive. It's a horrible thing, a mother feeling possessive toward a child. As if that's some kind of love."
"I wouldn't know," Emma said in a small voice.
"I just want you to understand that I'm sorry for the way I acted and I hope that from here on out, we can be friends."
"Of course." Emma helped her smile along, making it a little wider than the one she felt. "We already are friends, Regina."
"Good. I'm glad to hear that. That's good." Regina's hands mated, fiddling together for dear life. "I should go get some bleach on this stain. If I let it set, this blouse will be ruined."
She hastened off. With her gone, Emma handled the clean-up, knowing how Regina would hate a spot in her spotless house. Sure, maybe she would've have just swept the crumbs under the sofa, but what Regina didn't know—
"Emma?" Regina asked from the doorway, now wearing a white T-shirt with an esoteric art logo—buncha squiggly lines—over the stomach. Her black bra glared through it, contrasting with creamy skin, and Emma tried not to stare. Weird, seeing Regina Mills so… human-y.
"Yeah?"
"The next time you talk to Henry, let him know… I would appreciate it if you passed on that I'm thinking about him. And I hope he's doing well in his studies and that if he needs anything he can tell you and you'll pass it on to me and—" Regina bunched her hand in her mouth. Emma had the impression of tears. Then Regina gathered herself and it was like flipping past a TV channel without lingering, just a blip of image and sound. "Tell Henry I miss him. If you don't think that will trouble him."
"Sure," Emma said. "Right. Is it alright if I," Emma jerked her thumb at the door. "I mean, should I stay? Or something?"
"No, no, I have things." Regina nodded. "Online things."
"Good. Okay. Thanks for the pizza."
"Thank you for the movie," Regina said politely, and nodded her head slightly. "Don't forget to take it with you."
Emma remembered. Otherwise, she'd have to come back to Regina's. She'd hate that so much.
Henry was parked in front of the TV when Emma got home, Mary-Margaret's apartment, David's apartment. The family's apartment.
"I already finished my homework," Henry said, not looking away from his cartoons. He was still operating on Regina-rules, expecting the law to get laid down if he had a toe out of line. And yet he got good grades, his teachers loved him, his friends were good kids… Emma knew he hadn't gotten that from her.
She went to him and hugged him tightly, tight enough to shut out the noisy world and hear his tiny heart pumping soundly.
"What was that for?" he asked afterward, not quite ready to go back to Nickelodeon.
"Nothing," Emma said. She'd have to practice lying somehow. She was going back to Regina's house in one week.