That night, Emma laid in bed with Henry, reading him the stories from his book, helping him write down the happy endings he'd added. She ran her fingers through his hair and tried to believe this. If nothing else, she was self-aware. She knew she was a barely functional lout with deep-seated personal issues and some profound moral failings. She wasn't like Regina; she remembered all the bad decisions she'd made, all the stupid short-sighted idiocy, all her crappy life.
And yet, here was Henry. This little person, all curious and smart and kind, who'd just detached from her like a plane breaking formation or something. It was like whatever shred of goodness she'd had left after the foster system and, yack, high school had crystallized into this one tiny guy and then jumped ship, leaving her as rotten as ever. And now they were back together and he was like an organ transplant, making her a full human being. It hurt sometimes, wondering what else she could've gotten right if she'd done this good more than once.
They finished a chapter. Kathryn was reunited with Frederick. So Emma set aside the book and massaged her writing hand.
"Henry, you know your mother loves you, right?"
"Yeah, of course you do," he answered smartly. "You spoil me, like, rotten."
It was a little truer than Emma would've liked to admit. By her reasoning, she had a lot of birthdays to make up for and it wasn't like there were any good concert tickets in Storybrooke to spend her money on instead. Besides, Mary-Margaret and David couldn't be counted on to spoil him—they thought a good present was, like, a bow.
"Not me," Emma said. "Regina."
"Oh." Henry sounded dismal. "Yeah, I guess." Like if you wanna get technical about it.
"Maybe you could come with me to see her sometime, if you feel up to it."
"Mom, Regina's the Evil Queen, okay? Why would I want to see her?"
"She's changed," Emma argued. "She's not the person she used to be."
"It doesn't count if it's not her choice."
"You know it's more complicated than that. You're my son and I would never let anything bad happen to you… but Regina is my friend. And maybe it would do you both some good if… you know what, forget it. She's not your mother. You don't have to see her if you don't want to."
Emma picked up the book again. When she opened it, Henry watched the pages fly by, all the happily ever afters blurring together.
"She's alright, though?"
"Regina's fine. She's just trying to figure out who she is." Emma looked down at Henry. "She's had a lot of people telling her that over the years. For her, it's weird not hearing them."
"You're gonna tell me she's good and she's not. I know she's not. You went to see her and you came home all beat up. I know she did that to you, so why are you defending her?"
"Because I started the fight."
Regina was sitting up on the porch when Emma came over, already wearing a cyclist's outfit, helmet in her lap, sunglasses low on her nose. "Sheriff Swan."
Emma popped the trunk of her car and wrestled her bike out, trying not to let on that she'd bought if for just such an occasion. She was sure she'd packed a nice mountain bike before moving, but maybe she'd actually donated it one Christmas on account of not needing a half-measure between walking and driving.
"Go easy on me, alright?" Emma asked in her sweatsuit and tennis shoes, looking like an MMA trainee next to an Olympic hopeful when she took her place by Regina. "I haven't done this in a while."
"I'll be gentle," Regina cooed, bringing up her kickstand. "Just try and keep up; moan pathetically if you need me to slow down."
"I was just going to say 'gasp, you're so much faster than me,' but if you want me to moan, that's fine."
They took off, Regina mercilessly hitting the afterburner. Emma was hard-pressed to keep up, but to her surprise, she managed to get neck and neck with Regina. They kept on like that, bent over their handlebars like galley slaves, the wind rushing by, not slowing down until they had to take the toll bridge. Regina eased off long enough to drink from a water bottle attached to her bike's frame. Some of it spilled over her throat. Lower.
"How is it I'm the one who feels overdressed?" Emma asked, looking her over. The spandex left little enough to the imagination.
"I just have one of those bodies that make people feel perpetually overdressed." Regina handed the bottle over as they lazily caught their breaths. "Don't fret. I already paid for it in high school."
"Oh, were you a cheerleader?"
"School slut, depending on who you asked—me or anyone else. Really seemed to surprise them when I ended up valedictorian." Regina grinned to herself. "I went commando on-stage, just to mess with them."
"Oh my God… Regina Mills: The College Years."
"We should write Sweet Valley Twin books together." Regina narrated dramatically "When the brilliant Regina Mills went to Maine's most exclusive prep school, she never expected to meet the roguish Emma Swan."
"Roguish… that is such a nice way to put it."
"I'd hoped you would like it."
They reached the other side of the bridge. It stopped threatening them with its grumbling and they took off again.
"I should've fixed that while I was in office," Regina mused. "I had no idea this was such a hot spot."
"I'm pretty sure we have it all to ourselves."
"Great. More danger for us."
Emma pumped her fist, then played at cutting Regina off with her bike. "Safe is no fun."
"Prove it," Regina dared, and took off. Emma tried following, but it didn't take long to realize Regina had been going easy on her. She kept sight of Regina's back as they raced at breakneck speed over the trail, around curves, between trees, almost out of control, not quite.
She lost sight of Regina and caught her again, bike parked at the lake the creek fed into. Regina was standing as Emma pedaled up, drinking from her bottle like it was the Holy Grail.
"Good work-out," Regina said.
"Because you won."
"I'm competitive."
"You like to win. There's a difference."
"Oh?" Regina tossed the bottle high in the air so Emma had to reach to catch it. "What's that?"
"I think one has to do with proving something to yourself, and the other has to do with proving something to everyone else. I read that. I think." Emma drank. "It might've been in a movie."
"Well, you're the only one here. What am I trying to prove to you?"
"Maybe you just need me to prove something to yourself."
"You were a joy in debate club, weren't you?"
"So that's what those kids who smoked with me under the bleachers called themselves. They never really introduced themselves…"
Regina regarded Emma with a half-smile as she undid her suit's shoulder straps and eased the material down her body.
"Uh, Mills? I didn't know this was a clothing-optional bike club."
"Relax. I'm not going commando today." She rolled the spandex down over her bra. K-mart white and sweaty as hell. Still, there was only so much a bra could do not to flatter those.
"Shame. I was planning on giving you a diploma. Honorary degree from the School of Hard Knocks."
"I could finally prove to people I was hardcore," Regina mourned sarcastically as she helped the suit down her legs. Matching panties. Emma looked up quickly.
"I really could use an explanation for the nudity before more banter."
"I'm going swimming," Regina said, taking her shoes off.
"Uh-huh." Emma would ask if she'd been hit on the head recently but, well…
"I loved swimming as a little girl. I had those floating Transformers that turn into jet skis and everything. But I can't remember the last time I went for a swim. Literally. Maybe I'm just that uptight. Couldn't let the hoi polloi see me in a bathing suit. Well, you won't tell them about my tattoo, will you?"
"What tattoo, where-?" Emma looked over Regina's body—holy shit—before meeting her eyes. Full grin. "Oh. Now you're being sarcastic."
"Are you joining me or playing lifeguard?"
"What if I'm not wearing underwear?"
"That's a chance I'm willing to take, Sheriff."