This Game We Play

by kirkmills

A Murder. A Visitation. A Family Dinner. When the citizens of Storybrooke are shaken by a mysterious but deadly invite, Emma finds herself heading up the investigation on a seemingly unsolvable case. Though the Sheriff of Storybrooke would probably rather face the strange spirits invading her town than the toubles of her own personal life. SQBB April 2014.

2. The Masquerade

"What is it with people and motherfucking kids?"

"I thought you were going to get some therapy?" Regina quips, walking out of the kitchen with an amused smirk on her face.

The blonde startles, looking up in shock at the elegantly dressed woman in front of her – taking in the brunette's amused expression and the large knife in her hand. "Why?" she asks, a strange mix of incredulous and infuriated at this unexpected invasion. "Why are you here?"

The brunette rolls her eyes and disappears back into the kitchen, not waiting to see if Emma will follow. She does, of course she does.

"I take it people are still raving about how adorable the little visitors were, are they?" Regina asks, though Emma doesn't reply.

"Why are there grocery bags on my counter?" she asks instead, voice full of suspicion.

"Because according to Henry the only food you had in was pizza and ice cream – which, incidentally, he was right about," she adds before Emma can protest

"Okay, I happen to know for a fact that pizza is your favorite food – on top of which your donut obsession is like a whole other level," Emma challenges and Regina coughs awkwardly.

"My eating habits aren't what's relevant right now."

"They are when you're being a hypocrite," the blonde quips back. "You eat pizza so why shouldn't I?"

"Because I have other things in my kitchen besides pizza," Regina counters.

"Hey, it's not like that's all I ever have! I've just been kinda busy recently – if you hadn't noticed. Anyway what does it matter to you?" Emma asks defensively.

"Emma, whilst, a mere few months ago, I might have delighted at the idea of you eating nothing but greasy, fatty, ready meals and dying of a well-deserved heart attack – these days I must begrudgingly admit that your presence in my life is not only unavoidable, but somewhat tolerable – and that consequently I feel a small sense of duty to keep you alive at least a little longer than your pathetic gene pool might otherwise allow."

Emma feels a playful grin spreading across her face. "Oh my god, are you actually looking out for my health?"

Regina rolls her eyes as she turns her attention to slicing up a carrot into thin sticks. "Oh please, don't go getting grandiose ideas about your own importance. This is really more for Henry's benefit than yours."

"Oh?" Emma asks, far too innocently.

"I agreed to co-parent with you, not to let my son get scurvy."

"Oh are we back to 'my son' now? You bleed me with your cutting words."

Regina twirls the kitchen knife nimbly between her fingers. "I'll bleed you with my cutting knife in a minute," she threatens.

Emma takes on an expression of mock outrage, "Seriously? You come into my home and try to feed me green things – and then you threaten to murder me? What kind of friend are you?"

"The kind who cursed an entire kingdom," Regina raises an eyebrow suggestively, "So if I tell you that you and Henry are going to start eating green things – then you're going to start eating green things – or there are much worse things I could do to you."

"Touché."

"Besides which carrots aren't even green. Now go put your groceries away, I'm not your house slave."

"Not my house slave, not my magic slave. Weird, because I'm sure that chains were meant to factor into our relationship one way or another," Emma stops somewhat abruptly on the last word, mind jumping immediately to the gutter and realizing the implications of what she's said. She swallows nervously – maybe Regina didn't pick up on it. Her eyes dart to the other woman, whose attention is fixed quite pointedly on the carrot beneath her – a light brush of pink coloring her cheeks. Yeah, right, of course she picked up on it. Apparently they both have filthy minds.

"Right, so, erm – groceries," Emma says awkwardly, "s'pose I should sort them out then."

And with that she picks up a paper bag and scurries over to the fridge, leaving Regina to chop furiously at the remaining vegetables.

SQ*SQ*SQ

Camilla 'Milla' Wasakova had never had much family to speak of. In Fairytale land she'd been a simple farmer's daughter. Until that farmer had been called away to the Ogre Wars and left her on her own – she'd only been fifteen at the time.

Though she couldn't remember them, the two years between losing her father and the casting of the curse had helped her to become incredibly apt at caring for things in the 28 years she'd lived, cursed, in Storybrooke – she had had a whole farm to take care of, after all.

So when the curse broke and she finally began ageing again, there was nothing she felt more like doing than staying on at the orphanage and helping to look after the children who'd become her family.

Even Obie had grinned at the news she wouldn't be leaving them after all.

Milla sighs, pausing in her action of hanging laundry out in the orphanage's large garden. Obie. The kid who she'd honest to god loved like a little brother was gone. Just like that.

She swipes a hand at her eyes to try and stop the tears that are forming there – but it's little use – Obie's dead. Murdered. For what, she can't even begin to imagine – the kid was fifteen.

Milla lowers herself to the ground slowly, cradling her head in her hands as the tears begin to flow faster.

She looks across the dull green of the garden, remembering the way a perpetually 13-year-old Obadiah had scampered through it pretending to be everything from Cowboy to Indian. Her eyes drift to where the tree line begins, the garden turning swiftly back into the forest it was stolen from, and she smiles despite herself at the memory of Obie constantly scrabbling his way up through the forbidden branches.

She's jogged from her memories by the sight of a figure standing in that very tree line, staring at her.

"Hello?" she calls, willing her voice not to shake. She can't really make out much, there's something blurry about the figure – like they're not quite there. There's a black coat, perhaps with jeans underneath it – but much else is impossible to distinguish.

"Hello, Milla," they respond, walking forwards slowly. Milla feels her skin crawling and starts to back away – but the blurry figure throws up a hand, palm towards her in supplication. "I'm not here to hurt you, Milla," the figure says, "I'm simply here to give you some advice."

Milla frowns, though she's stopped backing away. "Advice on what?" she asks.

"Life," the figure replies, a note of amusement in the indistinguishable voice.

"The universe, and everything?" Milla asks quickly, giving a shaky laugh.

The figure just scoffs. "Funny girl," it says "Obadiah was funny too."

Milla's eyes widen in horror. "How did you know, Obie?" she asks shakily, resuming her careful stepping back towards the orphanage.

"I caught him in the act of doing something he shouldn't have," the figure replies evenly but Milla shakes her head.

"What? No. Obie's a...he was a good boy. You can't have found him doing anything that bad!"

The figure clucks their tongue. "Not criminal, no. Perhaps frowned upon would be a better way to phrase it. Anyway – that's not what I'm here to discuss."

"What are you here discuss?" Milla asks shakily – though with a touch of steel in her voice – as she steps carefully around the swing set and continues her slow backwards progression to the building.

"You," the figure says, almost gently. "I fear you're dealing with your loss all wrong."

Milla frowns, "What the hell are you talking about?"

"A fifteen year old boy died, just like that. No explanation or anything. Surely that should encourage you to seize the day? Instead you seem to be seizing the chores, more fervently than ever."

"Well, I –" Milla pauses. The thing is – the mysterious figure does sort of have a point.

"Yes?" the figure asks.

"Well," she swallows nervously, "I suppose I haven't...been living as vicariously as one could these past few days – but I…I'm still grieving, Obie's not even been buried yet!"

"And when is he getting buried?"

"The, erm, on the 1st...of December."

"Excellent! Well then – you have a date on which to start living properly. Isn't that what Obie would want?"

She opens her mouth and closes it again, because yes, that is exactly what Obie would want. He would want her to go and seize the day and get laid and generally have some fun.

"You see? Well, Milla, there's plenty of things that happen in December – once our dear Obadiah is indeed departed, I suggest you try and make it to some of them."

With that the figure turns and heads back to the tree line, stopping as they get there to turn around once more, "Oh, and one more thing – be careful out there. Wouldn't want you to go and get yourself hurt too now, would we?"

And Milla feels herself shivering – because even though it sounds like a warning, it feels like a threat.

SQ*SQ*SQ

"Henry! Dinner's ready!"

There's the scrambling sound of movement from the boy's room, and then footsteps scampering towards the kitchen.

"Hi Emma," he smiles as he sits himself at table. "How was work?"

Emma frowns and sits down opposite him. "Regina," she calls, "table – now."

The brunette appears from the kitchen looking far too innocent, bowl of carrot sticks in her hand.

"Sit," Emma instructs and for once in her life Regina obeys.

"Something wrong?"

"Something wro –" Emma scoffs, shaking her head in disbelief. "Yes there's something wrong! I want to know what the hell you two are up to!"

"Up to?" Regina says, raising an eyebrow. "Why on earth would you assume we're up to anything?"

"Because," Emma says with a deep steadying breath, "There's fresh groceries in my kitchen, you cooked dinner," she says accusingly to Regina, "and because the kid asked me how my day was."

"I always ask you how your day was!" Henry protests.

"Not in that tone, you don't," Emma shoots back. "So spill. Both of you."

Regina looks down at the bowl of carrot sticks, guilt clouding her features.

"We just wanted to make sure you were all set up here."

"Before...?" Emma prompts her.

Regina clenches her jaw. "Henry's going to be staying with me for a while."

"What?"

"Emma it's not –" Henry starts, but Emma's not looking at him – she's staring right at Regina, heart in her throat.

"What d'you mean Henry's going to be staying with you for a while?"

"What I mean," the brunette sighs, "is that Henry and I discussed it and between the fact that there's a murderer running around town, that you're out twenty three hours a day currently trying to catch said murderer, and that your house is a fifteen minute drive from civilization – that it would be easier and safer for Henry to just be with me for a while."

"Oh," Emma says, relief flooding through her. She didn't know what she was expecting, but given her reaction it seems it was something bad.

"Not to mention I have, you know, the magic," Regina gives her a tiny wry smile.

"Right," she nods. "No, I guess that makes sense."

She doesn't just guess, it does make sense. Only she wishes that she could have been a part of the conversation.

"Could you not have discussed that with me first?" she asks defensively, "I know we all like to joke that I'm an idiot but I'm still a part of this whole decision making team…thing," she waves a hand around the table, indicating the three of them.

"Do you have a better idea?" Regina asks carefully.

"Well – no, I mean, this is… I agree it's probably the best option, I just –"

"Exactly – see? We knew you'd agree and you don't have the time for this kind of thing right now. It's not like we weren't going to tell you, you just weren't essential to the decision making process."

The blonde opens her mouth and closes it.

"So the food is…"

"We weren't sure how much we'd be seeing you over the next few days," Henry supplies. "And I said to mom how you haven't had time to get any food in and we decided to get you some stuff to make sure that you're eating good food because then you'll have more energy and it might be easier to catch the killer," he finished stumbling over his explanation. "It was my idea," he adds a touch defensively.

Emma smiles gently at him. "It was a lovely idea – thank you, Henry."

He looks up at her and smiles shyly. "So you're not angry that I'm leaving you?"

She shakes her head and chuckles. "No, I'm not angry. Your mom's right, it's a good idea. We wanna keep you safe – even if you're not in direct danger," she adds, in case he's worried.

"So you won't be lonely?"

Emma laughs. "Henry, I live alone half the week anyway – and I did for a good ten years before now. Pretty sure I'll be fine."

"And you promise to eat properly? Mom said that she wouldn't be surprised if you clogged up your arteries with nothing but pastry and coffee with no one but yourself to feed all week."

The brunette coughs uncomfortably as Emma shoots her an accusatory glance.

"Yes, thank you, Henry," she replies stiffly.

Emma just stares at her, shaking her head. "Nice to know you have so much faith in me, donut lover."

Regina rolls her eyes and stands. "At least I eat vegetables," she replies. "Now come and help get dinner on the table."

Emma grumbles but stands, following Regina into the kitchen and mumbling about hypocrisy. She doesn't miss the feel of Henry's sharp gaze on her back as she does so.
.

.

.
It doesn't take long to bundle Henry and his stuff into Regina's black Mercedes, and before Emma knows it they're ready to go and leave her to the silence of the empty house.

"Emma?" Regina's standing behind her in the living room, gaze soft.

"Yeah?"

"You are…okay with this, right?"

The blonde nods quickly. "Yeah, yeah, of course! You're right, it makes sense. I mean, I'd probably just be asking you to take him anyway so it's easier to do it like this."

Regina nods. "Okay then. Good," she turns to leave, but then she turns back again. "It's not like you won't be able to come over and see him or –"

"Regina," Emma cuts her off, "really, it's fine."

The brunette gives her a small smile and begins to turn, pausing briefly and opening her mouth – as if she wants to say something else – but then she shakes her head and walks through the door without another word.

It's not like she hasn't spent most of her life living by herself, but listening to the sound of the Mercedes drive away, Emma can't help the feeling of loneliness creeping in around her. She stands there in silence for a minute before there's a knock at her door and she feels a smile tugging at her mouth.

She heads for the front door and pulls it open. "Miss me alre…" she trails off, frowning. There's no one there.

Her eyes shift to the floor, and her frown deepens. There, sitting innocently on her doorstep, is a small, painted china, garden gnome.

SQ*SQ*SQ

The week goes by achingly slowly. Emma supposes it would go quicker if she actually had something to do – but there's very little evidence to go on and consequently she and everyone else at the Sheriff's department just get increasingly agitated.

It doesn't help that they all know what's coming the following Monday. Obie's funeral is looming over them all like a dark shadow – mainly because they're not actually done with the poor kid's body yet – but also because they haven't managed to procure him or his adoptive family any kind of closure.

"We heard from Whale yet?" Emma asks Thomas for about the fiftieth time that day.

"Not since you asked me five minutes ago, no," he replies, giving her a forced smile she doesn't feel she deserves.

"Sorry," she replies. "It's just…the funeral is meant to be –"

"Two days," he interrupts with an understanding look. "I know."

The blonde goes back to tapping her fingers against her desk for a few minutes.

"So people really weren't freaked by the children, huh?" she asks and Thomas rolls his eyes.

"For the millionth time – the ones who saw them said they were adorable, came in, stayed a little while and then skipped merrily off again. The people who didn't, either think there's something in the water or that they were some strange kind of blessing to show danger's passed."

Emma nods. "Right, yeah, okay."

She drums her fingers against the wood for another minute and then opens her mouth, but Thomas beats her to it. "And no, no one who saw them was attacked, traumatized or in fact hurt in any way. The children appeared to be no threat and, yes, everyone except the nuns was so distracted from their presence, coupled with your mother's brilliant public speaking skills – shame you missed that by the way – that they have calmed down remarkably well from Obadiah Jenkins' murder. None of that has changed in the last half hour or so since we last went through it."

Emma huffs but doesn't reply, instead turning her attention to the ever-increasing length of her paper clip chain.

Another few minutes pass in total silence whilst Thomas works quietly through reports until she opens her mouth once again and is joined by Thomas' voice as well.

"What the fuck is going on?"

"I don't know what the fuck is going on!"

They shout at each other, wide eyed, confusion marring their brows. The both of them collapse onto their arms on their desks, Thomas losing his previous allusion of cool.

"I'm a fucking bounty hunter not a homicide detective."

Thomas scoffs. "You can talk – I'm a fucking Disney prince."

The blonde laughs, shaking her head. "Tom, this is so fucked up."

"Tell me about it."

"First off there's the absolutely untraceable invites, then the weird ritualistic murder there was no time for, then there was the goddamn day in the life of Midwich townsfolk." Thomas frowns at the reference. "It's a book, try reading sometime."

"I work for you full time and have a two and a half year old child," he replies blank-faced. "More to the point – you read?"

"Of course I read, you idiot," Emma says – why everyone has this impression she's a moron, she doesn't know. Petty thievery and a life of other past crimes does not automatically cancel out intelligence.

"No, but I mean you read read. Like, random obscure literature."

The blonde shrugs. "It's not that obscure."

"I haven't heard of it," Thomas says.

"You lived in a frozen town for twenty eight years, you weren't exactly getting things fresh of the New York Times' best seller list."

"Was it on the New York Times' best seller list?"

"How the hell should I know?"

"Well, you're the one that's read it!" Thomas argues back.

"I've read lots of shit – libraries are a very useful place to hide out if you haven't got anywhere else to go."

Thomas' face softens, the playful mocking dropping out of it. "Oh. Sorry, dude, that must have sucked."

Emma shrugs again. "It did sometimes – but turns out books can pretty fun."

The young man smiles. "Lots of fantasy lands to escape to?"

"Well yeah," she nods. "Also if you rip them up and use the pages to line your coat it keeps you so much warmer overnight."

Thomas makes a little choking noise in the back of his throat. "And that right there is why I assumed you weren't a book lover."

"On the contrary," Emma grins. "I love books very much – especially when they're keeping me toasty warm."

He rolls his eyes. "Anyway – back to the matter at hand."

"Right, yeah," Emma nods. "The matter at hand being that we don't have anything that matters in our hands."

"I can help you out with that."

They both turn to see Jefferson striding over to them, looking full of himself – not that that's anything unusual. "Jefferson," Emma greets with an eye roll. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"Can it, Emma, or I won't help you out," he snaps in response.

"I'm your Sheriff and you're my deputy, it is your sworn duty to help me out," she says in mock sincerity.

"Part-time deputy," Jefferson points out with a wicked little smirk. "I can stop helping you whenever I want to."

Emma scoffs, not about to get played by Jefferson. "Then be my guest, I didn't ask you to come over here. Just know that if you leave now the deaths of countless people will rest on your shoulders – I hope you can deal with that."

"Oh for Christ's sake – d'you want to hear what I've got to say or not?" The blonde grins at him and makes a little sweeping 'go on' gesture with her arm.

"I stopped by the hospital to see how it was going over there."

Emma and Thomas perk up simultaneously, looking eagerly at the hatter.

"You got something?" the blonde asks.

"I fucking hope not – mind you, with all those patients coughing everywhere I wouldn't be surprised. Fucking inconsiderate assholes."

"They're sick, you jerk."

"And I'm healthy – and would very much like to keep it that way, thank you very much."

Emma lets out a breath of exasperation. "We meant did you find anything?"

"Apart from the disgusting case of rot they've got going on downstairs?"

"Jefferson."

"Sorry, sorry," he says throwing his hands up in submission. "Yes is the answer, I went to see Whale and found something very interesting."

There's a small pause after which Emma lifts her eyebrows. "Which was…" she prompts.

Jefferson takes a long, dramatic breath and then turns on her. "That you are an asshole."

Emma blinks in surprise. "What?"

"Kathryn Nolan," Jefferson says by way of explanation and Emma flinches. Right, that. She coughs awkwardly. "What about her?"

"What abou – Emma you had her sectioned," Jefferson says and Thomas' eyebrows skyrocket behind him.

"You did what?"

"I did not have her sectioned!" Emma defends herself. "I asked Doctor Whale to take her to the hospital and keep her under observation – at least until we've caught the murderer."

"Why?" Thomas asks, looking a little scandalized. "What's wrong with her?"

Emma looks from one man to the other. "Have either of you talked to her recently? The woman's gone completely mental."

"In this town? What a surprise!" Jefferson snarks back.

"No – really," Emma says. "She was jabbering at me about burning children."

Jefferson's interest seems to pique, Emma tries not to find it morbid. "The noun or the verb?"

"The verb."

The man gives a low whistle. "Wow, you weren't kidding."

"See? Completely batshit – and with everything that's going on, I decided that she was a threat both to herself and others. Once this is all over, we can try help her out, but until then, I don't have the time to babysit my dad's possibly pyromaniacal ex-wife."

Jefferson gives a little tip of his head which would appear to be agreement, then dips a hand into his pocket, drawing out a small bag.

"Right, well, since we've established that you're actually no more of an asshole than normal – I guess it's only fair I show you what Whale gave to me," he shrugs.

Emma whacks him on the arm. "You could have got to the fucking point."

He merely shrugs. "I found the Kathryn situation far more interesting than trace evidence I don't give a shit about."

"Well, you should give a shit about it," Emma replies, irritation coloring her tone. "Now hand it over."

Jefferson obliges and hands over the small plastic airlock bag. There's a tiny amount of black powder at the bottom of it. Emma brings the bag closer to her face, squinting at it, before turning back to the man expectantly.

"So?" she asks. "What did Whale say?"

.

.

.

"Died of a coronary yet, dear?" Regina's voice greets her on the other end of the phone.

"I spoke to you two days ago."

"Yes, well, cholesterol works quickly."

Emma rolls her eyes. "Suppose you and the donuts would know, wouldn't you? Tell me, how are your blood vessels doing?" she asks, staunchly pretending that she's not grinning into the phone.

"Not as badly as yours, I'm sure."

"Shut up."

"You're the one who rang me."

She coughs. "Yeah I, erm, I need to ask you some questions about the case."

There's a silence on the other end of the phone that Emma takes as startled. "Er – Regina?"

"I'm here."

"Okay, so can I ask some stuff?" Emma frowns, confused by Regina's reaction.

"Go ahead," she sounds colder, more aloof than when she first answered the phone.

"Right, well, we heard back from Whale and there was some weird stuff on the body. First off, there was a little herb bag shoved down his throat – and Whale says the substance in that was yew – like the tree?"

"Go on."

"Erm, yeah, so then he said that there were traces of wormwood, lavender, and dittany on the body," she lists off the things that Jefferson had repeated to her. "Also they found that he'd ingested sandalwood when they checked his stomach contents."

There's an intake of breath on the other end of the phone. "Shit."

The blonde blinks in surprise – Regina never swears – this can't be good.

"Regina?" she asks.

"Shit," she repeats.

"What is it?"

"Emma, was there a mark on his body? Like a burn or a –"

"Brand?" Emma finishes for her and Regina lets out a breathy groan.

"We're in trouble."

Emma gulps. "How much trouble – what is all that stuff? What does it mean?"

"Emma, those ingredients – dittany, sandalwood, yew – they're… they're ingredients for a summoning ritual."

The blonde feels her eyes bulge in her head. "Ingredients for a what now?"

Regina sighs. "A summoning ritual – the kind of thing you might find those idiot Wiccans using to summon a spirit on Halloween."

Emma chews on her lip. "Look, I'm no expert – but from what I know of all that séance crap – it doesn't usually involve murder."

Regina makes a little hum of disagreement on the other end of the phone. "It's not a murder," she says and Emma's mouth falls open.

"I'm pretty fucking sure that killing someone without their express permission is murder – I know you're a little blurry on the subject, but that's the general idea."

She doesn't need to see her to feel Regina's eye roll. "It's normally murder, yes – unless it's something else."

"Something else being…?"

"A sacrifice."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me?" Emma groans. "Someone sacrificed him?"

"Not all sacrifices involve virgins on altars."

"Well –" Emma starts.

"Well what?"

"Did you ever see the kid? I'd say it's a pretty safe bet he was a virgin," she shrugs.

"Emma."

"Hey! I'm just trying to be helpful," she defends. "Anyway – you were saying?"

"I was saying, that there's a whole load of different summonings and sacrifice rituals out there, and I don't know the half of them," Regina replies, tone implying she's rapidly losing her temper.

"You don't?"

"Not really my brand of witchcraft, Emma."

"It isn't?" she asks, half confused half genuinely interested. Not that she'd admit that.

"Tell me something – have you ever seen me standing over a cauldron?" Regina asks snippily.

"Well – no," Emma admits, "but I always figured you kept that in your dungeon along with all your other toys."

There's silence on the other end of the phone and Emma swears inwardly. She's got to stop fucking doing that. Honestly, these things always sound perfectly innocent in her head and then when they're said aloud to Regina they suddenly sound obscene. It's really not deliberate – not completely at least.

"I don't waste my time playing with herbs," is what Regina eventually replies, getting the conversation back on track.

"How'd you know about them then?"

"I, er, did a lot of reading."

Emma nods, sighing. "Yeah well, that I can relate to."

She hears Regina open her mouth to say something but interrupts before she can. "Don't even start."

SQ*SQ*SQ

"Henry asleep?"

Regina nods, stepping aside to let Emma in the door. "Sorry."

"Nah, s'cool. Don't want him to see me like this anyway," Emma replies, only a little slurred.

"What happened?" Regina's voice is soft as she leads Emma towards her office.

"Nothing," she shrugs as she sits a little ungracefully on the soft couch. "Guess that's just the problem, isn't it?"

Regina merely raises an eyebrow.

"He was dead. Now he's buried and maybe… maybe we know why now. But we don't know who. Without who, there's no closure there's no…no…"

"Justice?" the brunette supplies, sitting herself down opposite her.

Emma grunts in agreement.

It hadn't been much of a leap for them, when they picked up on their conversation the previous day, to link together the apparent happening of some sort of summoning and the arrival of Storybrooke's strange visitors the following day. What they hadn't been able to rationalize, was why the children hadn't done anything. Emma had suggested maybe the summoning had been done wrong – caused the wrong things to appear. Regina was wondering more along the lines of someone rationalizing a sacrifice as acceptable if the result was for the greater good – and the strange children had managed to bring a sense of peace to the townsfolk. Emma had been quick to point out that that theory wouldn't explain Murderer – and that left them both a little stumped.

"It's gonna happen again, isn't it?" Emma asks after another long moment of silence, and Regina sighs.

"I think that's very likely, yes."

Emma bangs her head against the couch and wipes a hand roughly across her face. "God, this is so fucking confusing."

Regina hums in agreement. "I can't argue with you there."

"Why didn't they do anything, Regina?" she asks, trying to ignore the note of desperation in her ever-so-slightly slurred voice. "You know I would get it – I would understand if he'd been killed and a giant hoard of evil murdering zombies had been unleashed on us, but they…they just came and went. I mean, what's the fucking point? Why summon some creepy children only for them to not do anything?"

Regina shakes her head tiredly. "Your guess is as good as mine."

Emma groans. "You're meant to know this magic shit."

"I already told you – this is not my brand of expertise," Regina says, voice slightly too soft for it to be chastising – Emma appreciates it, she's not in the mood for a lecture right now.

She still lets out an irritated little huff. "Where's Gold when you need him?"

The brunette gives a short chuckle at that. "If my company isn't satisfactory to you then please, feel free to hop onto a boat to Neverland and leave all your troubles behind."

"Oh shush," Emma waves a hand vaguely in her direction. "I'm just saying that at least he might have a clue what Murderer's playing at."

"Don't call them that," Regina snaps

"What? Why?" Emma frowns. "That's the name they've given themselves."

"Exactly," Regina nods. "They want you to call them that – it's just another way to control you. We've already discussed that they like to be in control."

Emma nods, but doesn't answer, flushing pink as she remembers the conversation they had sitting on the floor outside her room. The conversation she spent in her underwear.

"Fine, I won't call them that," she lies. She needs something to call them, and Murderer's the easiest thing there is.

"It must have just gone wrong," she muses to herself quietly, staring up at the ceiling. "They must have planned for something else and then just did it wrong. That's why we didn't get attacked with –"

"Evil murdering zombies?" Regina asks, smirking.

Emma nods. "Right."

"Maybe you're right," she says, looking thoughtful, "but even if you are – that would imply they'll try again."

"So that the evil murdering zombies are what turns up instead?" the blonde asks, beginning to feel distinctly fuzzy.

"Exactly."

"Knew it," she mumbles, eyes fluttering closed and snuggling into the soft fabric of the couch.

"Emma?"

"Hmm?"

"I think you need to go to sleep," Regina's voice is devastatingly soft. So different to how Emma ever thought it could have sounded.

"'m 'sleep," she mumbles.

"I meant in a bed."

"That 'n inv'tatoin?" She feels Regina's body freeze where the woman has come to stand by the couch.

Regina swallows loudly, and even in her sleepy, slightly-inebriated state Emma could swear she hears her breathing hitch and speed up.

"Ever heard of a thing called a guest bedroom?" she asks, though the biting sarcasm isn't quite as biting as usual.

Emma's not paying much attention though, instead she's focusing on snuggling as deeply into the couch as possible. It's just so soft.

She hears Regina sigh and then she's being tugged gently in an upwards direction until she feels completely weightless.

"What you doin'?" she asks blurrily.

"If you think I'm going to drag you up the stairs when a simple levitation spell can do the trick quite nicely, then you're drunker than you appear."

The blonde moans in response and curls in on herself, she likes the feeling of floating. It's comfy.

As is the big white bed that Regina eventually deposits her on. She vaguely notes the woman removing her boots before turning the light off and pulling the door shut behind her but – honestly – she's so tired that it doesn't really register that much. All she cares about is snuggling down into the fluffy white mountain of pillows beneath her.

SQ*SQ*SQ

Emma's awoken early by the buzzing of her phone against her thigh. She tugs it out of her pocket and pulls it to her ear, sitting up and rubbing a hand across her eyes.

"Sheriff Swan?" she answers around a yawn.

"Sheriff?" the voice that meets her sounds pained, scared. "Sheriff, it's Hannah."

She stiffens, a terrible sense of déjà vu flooding through her. "Hannah? What's up?"

"I don't…I don't know," the girl replies shakily. "I just feel…I feel bad, really bad."

"What kind of bad? Hannah?"

There's a panting wheeze on the other end of the phone that has Emma standing and pulling her boots towards her, holding the phone to her ear with one shoulder.

"I don't know. I don't know," she says. "I just feel so bad – and my dad's busy at the bakery. I didn't know who to call, I'm sorry."

"It's fine. I'm gonna come get you okay, Hannah?"

There's a rustling sound on the other end of the phone that Emma takes as a nodding head.

"Okay, I'll be there in like ten minutes, okay? Tops."

"Okay," the girl says weakly, and Emma hangs up the phone, shoving it roughly back in her pocket.

She finishes sorting the laces on her boots and then springs off the bed, striding out of the room and down the stairs at a jog. She doesn't see any sign of life within the house and, when she looks at the big clock in the hall, she sees why – it's only quarter to six.

She groans. It's unnatural to be awake at this time.

Nevertheless she pulls open the front door and runs out into the brisk, morning air – grumbling internally that December has to be so goddamn cold.

She'd left the bug outside Granny's, so there's no point going to fetch it. Instead she turns right at the end of Mifflin Street and makes the shortcut to the parade of stores between the docks and the ever encompassing forest – where the Montague Bakery is located.

It takes her just under ten minutes to run there, by which time she's panting and out of breath, wishing that she had gone to fetch the bug after all – however pointless it might have seemed. She jogs past the bakery and to the tiny house next door, knocking loudly.

There's no answer, and when she tries it she finds it's open – unsurprisingly – no one locks their doors in this goddamn town.

"Hannah?" she calls out as she steps into the narrow hallway. "You here?"

There's a plaintive groan that sounds like it's coming from the room to her right, so Emma follows it – stopping short when she enters.

Hannah's curled up in the corner by a table, an old-fashioned cord telephone clasped in her hand. The girl looks like death warmed over – her already pale skin a disturbing light gray-ish color, fair hair plastered to her face by the sweat that appears to have formed a thin sheen across her freckled body.

"Hannah," Emma breathes. She wasn't expecting this – doesn't know how to deal with it. She's not a doctor, she's not even first aid trained.

A thought occurs to her quickly and she whips her cell out again. She might not be first aid trained, but she knows someone who is, someone who luckily works about two minutes away.

The phone rings four times before there's an answer.

"Em?" Lilly asks in her gentle voice "What the hell are you doing up at this time? I didn't think you even knew six am was a thing which existed," she jokes.

Emma doesn't have it in her to laugh – Hannah's curling further in on herself, making these awful whimpering noises.

"Em? What's wrong?"

"Lil, are you at work?" she asks shakily.

"Yeah – just got in. I've got an 8am class and some of the boats need a bit of work beforehand because I've got a ripped sail and a loose boom and why do I get the impression that you really don't care about any of that right now?"

The blonde winces. "Sorry, Lil, it's just I – I need some help. Pretty urgently."

"Where are you?"

"Montague's house," Emma replies.

"Next to the bakery?" Lilly asks

"Yeah."

"There in two," she replies quickly and hangs up. Emma puts her phone away again and then walks carefully towards Hannah.

"Hannah?" she asks gently. "Hannah, what happened. Did you eat something?" It's a stupid question, she knows that. She's had food poisoning – one of the many rewards of dumpster diving – and this is definitely not food poisoning. She doesn't really know what else she can ask though, she needs to know if the girl's come in contact with anything that might be poisonous.

Hannah just shakes her head and groans, burrowing further into her corner as her body is racked with a violent shiver. Emma hears the front door opening and Lilly's voice calling out. "Emma? You there?"

"In here," she replies, and turns to see Lilly appearing in the doorway – flushed from the cold air, a crease between her brows.

"Holy shit," she lets out a low breath, "what's wrong with her?" she asks and Emma shakes her head desperately.

"I was kinda hoping you could tell me – you have a considerable amount more first aid type knowledge than I do."

Lilly nods, and Emma practically sees the teacher hat go on. The redhead moves forward and crouches beside Hannah's shaking body, placing a hand on the girl's knee.

"Hannah? Hey, sweetie, you know me – right?"

The girl nods, "Miss Bana – from sailing."

Lilly smiles and rubs a reassuring circle on Hannah's knee with her thumb "Good. Okay Hannah, can you tell me if you've taken anything – or drunk anything? Anything you shouldn't have?"

Hannah shakes her head, groaning as the movement puts her in a beam of rising sunlight. "I haven't taken anything. I don't do drugs, I don't even drink."

Lilly nods with a calmness that Emma does not feel, moving a hand to feel the girls' forehead. She keeps her hand there for a minute before angling her head back in Emma's direction.

"Call an ambulance," she says, voice too calm for it to be genuine, "now."

She obliges, and then steps forward so she can crouch next to Lilly.

Hannah's moved her head so it's resting against the wall behind her, eyes closed.

"What is it?" she asks. "What's wrong with her?"

Lilly looks panicked, the facade gone now the ambulance is on its way. "I don't know. But she's running a fever like I've never seen before – she's lethargic, and looks like she's photosensitive as well. Then there's the color she's turning," she adds, taking in the girl's unhealthy gray pallor. She turns to look back up at Emma.

"I don't know what it is, Em, but I don't think it's good."

Emma swallows heavily, breathing a tiny sigh of relief when she hears the ambulance arriving. The sense of relief she's feeling dissipates, however, when the EMTs barge in, take one look at the scene before them, and turn to each other with looks as panicked as Lilly's.

One of them turns to stare at his colleagues, worry clouding his features, jaw tight.

"Looks like we've got another one, guys."

.

.

.

"Why do we have to stay in here again?" Emma asks, agitation level rising by the minute.

"Because," Lilly replies calmly. "It's possible we were exposed to some kind of virus – and they have to make sure we're not sick so we can't go and infect everyone else. It's basic disease control," she shrugs.

"It's basic idiocy," Emma bites back, but Lilly just rolls her eyes.

They sit in silence for another few minutes until Emma breaks it, "Did they have to take my leather jacket, though?" she whines.

Lilly just chuckles and Emma grumbles, playing with the hem of the pale blue scrubs they'd been provided to change into after they showered.

"They're not gonna burn it, are they?" she asks.

"Depends on what they find about the infection," Lilly says, spectacularly unhelpful.

"How are you so calm about this?" the blonde snaps, and the redhead comes to sit beside her, putting a gentle arm around her shoulder.

"Because," she shrugs, "not much point getting worked up about it. For all we know – Hannah's just got, like, a really bad case of the flu – we'll be fine, and you'll get your jacket back. There's no point worrying until we're sure what exactly is going on."

Emma opens her mouth to respond, except that that was surprisingly reassuring – and she finds she doesn't have much else to say.

They're in there for another half an hour before the door slides open and Regina, of all people, walks in with a look on her face that says Emma is in serious trouble – evidence, however, suggests that it's not of the deadly virus kind.

"You," the woman snaps, apparently not caring about Lilly's presence, "are a complete, and utter idiot."

An awkward silence falls upon the room.

"Good morning, Lilly," she adds finally, giving a tiny nod towards the redhead.

"Hi, Regina," she smiles brightly, "I take it we're all good to go then?"

The brunette nods curtly. "There's a nurse outside with your things."

Lilly smiles and hops off the table they'd been perched on. "Sorry, Em, but I got a class to get to. See ya later." She walks past Regina and shoots Emma a sympathetic smile.

Regina pays no attention to the other woman as she passes by, instead keeping her furious gaze focused on the blonde.

"I take it from your presence that I'm not about to drop dead of the black plague or anything," Emma says carefully.

Regina does nothing but narrow her gaze in a way that makes Emma feel like she may be about to drop dead anyway.

Emma nods her head awkwardly in the silence. "So…" she starts, "I take it you didn't tell Henry."

Regina explodes. "Of course I didn't fucking tell Henry." Holy shit, she's in trouble. She's never heard Regina speak like that. Ever.

"You really think I was going to wake up our son and tell him his mother was being held in quarantine at the hospital for possible exposure to a virus? Or perhaps you thought I'd slip it in over his morning cereal?"

The woman is absolutely seething. Emma doesn't blame her really. On reflection, it probably wasn't the wisest idea to answer a random call to a sick girl and stick around close enough that they were breathing the same air when she had no idea what was wrong with her. Other than she looked deader than most corpses.

"Sorry?" she says, carefully. There's not much else she can say.

Regina scoffs. "You know when you do eventually get yourself killed by your own stupidity, I'm going to bring you back as a ghost so you can explain to that child exactly how big of an idiot you were to get yourself killed."

Emma nods guiltily. "Yeah, I would…say that's fair."

Regina huffs in irritation, but says nothing else.

"So," Emma says after a few minutes, "what's my punishment for this then?"

A wicked smirk breaks across Regina's furious expression, and Emma gulps nervously.

"Oh I would have thought that one would be obvious, dear."

"Oh?" Emma asks, the sound a little strangled.

Regina's smirks widens into a devilish grin. "Your mother."

.

.

.

Emma never would have thought, ever, that she'd see her mother and Regina united on something – but apparently she has special uniting abilities. Special 'let's shout at Emma' kind of uniting abilities.

"What would Regina have told Henry, Emma? Really?" her mother asks, for about the thousandth time in twenty minutes. Regina's standing just behind her, shoulder to shoulder with David – of all people – a self-satisfied smirk on her face.

"Okay, look, this is totally unfair," Emma groans, under the combined glare of all three of them. "There's nothing actually wrong with me – I'm fine."

"Emma, that is completely not the point," Snow says. "The point is that you might not have been."

The blonde throws her head back in frustration. "Oh my God! Okay! I get it – I'm irresponsible, and awful, and generally a cause of concern for all your sanities. I apologize, deeply, but can we maybe stop arguing over my hypothetical demise and focus on the subject at hand."

Snow and Regina narrow their eyes almost simultaneously in a move that Emma can only describe as profoundly creepy, but David starts to nod his head.

"She has a point – we do have more important things to discuss."

Snow splutters, turning on him, "More import…more important than your daughter's welfare?"

"Considering that her welfare is perfectly well, yes, more important."

Emma feels a sudden, unexpected rush of affection towards her father and gives him a small, grateful smile.

Snow shakes her head angrily and sighs. "Fine – but this conversation is not over. You need to take better care of yourself, Emma." The blonde gives her mother a tiny reassuring nod and the woman finally turns for the door.

"I have to go to school but just…David, keep an eye on her will you?"

He nods in the affirmative to his wife and the rush of affection she was feeling dissipates with a vengeance.

"Great, now does someone want to tell me how we know I'm not dying?" she asks, looking from David to Regina.

Both their faces darken slightly and they share a look that makes her distinctly uncomfortable. Just the idea of the two of them sharing looks anything other than antagonistic in nature makes her uncomfortable, in fact.

"Okay, what was that about?" she asks. "What's going on?"

"Emma," Regina says carefully, "as you already know – Hannah wasn't the only person admitted to the hospital with similar symptoms today."

She raises her eyebrows at her, encouraging her to go on.

"In fact, she wasn't the only person this week – Whale said they've been coming in since the weekend."

"And?"

"And," David picks up from the brunette, "something became clear. It was Thomas who saw it, actually, and when we checked, it all lined up."

"Checked what?" Emma asks agitatedly, not liking the way they're dancing around the point.

"Everyone displaying symptoms…" Regina says, and Emma wonders idly if these two practiced this little dance. "Emma, they're the same people who reported seeing the children, or, more accurately – they're people who've said they touched the children."

Emma's mouth falls open in shock. "Shit," she breathes.

"Yeah," David agrees, rubbing his jaw in a way she's begun to notice he does when he's anxious. Regina lowers herself to sit in the chair opposite Emma, no longer towering over her.

"I think it's possible… we may have had some evil murdering zombies after all," she says, almost apologetically.

Emma nods absently.

Yeah. Well. Shit.

SQ*SQ*SQ

"How's Hannah?" Regina asks as she answers the phone, and Emma stares at the unmoving form of the girl on the bed in front of her.

"Worse," she says, not caring that her voice sounds choked and hoarse," she just keeps getting worse."

Regina makes a little hum of sympathy, and there's a bang from the other end that sounds a bit like a door.

"What you doing?" Emma asks absently, eyes fixed on Hannah's face.

"Cooking," Regina replies. "I'm having Grace to stay as well – Jefferson said you needed his help with something over there."

"Oh, yeah, right. Forgot about Grace," Emma says, voice still pretty emotionless.

Regina sighs, and Emma imagines she's probably rolling her eyes, but says nothing.

"I need everyone out searching," she says, even though the other woman didn't ask. "We think we've got pretty much everyone, but we want to keep this as quiet as possible – we can't risk anyone stumbling on one of them."

There's a pause, then Regina's voice asks, confused, "Why?"

The blonde lets her head drop into her spare hand "Look, I'm sorry I know you have the kids coming over – but I need you to get down here."

"Now?"

"Now."

"Do you think your mother would mind –"

"I'll call her," Emma says. "I'm sure she won't."

"Okay, I'll be right there," she says quietly.

"Thank you," Emma replies before hanging up, though it's quiet enough to be barely audible. Then she presses speed dial three and waits as her mother's phone rings.

"Emma, honey, I'm in class right now."

"I know," she apologizes. "I know, I'm sorry it's just – can you take Henry and Grace home with you after school? I need Regina."

"You what?"

"…s help. I need Regina's help," she corrects herself quickly. "I don't know how long it'll take – but she might be able to swing by and pick them up later on. That okay?"

Her mother hums an agreement. "Leave it to me."

The blonde sighs in relief. This is the side of having a mother that she likes – the helping, having her back side. She only wishes it would emerge more frequently.

"Thanks," she says, and hangs up before she can ask any questions. That's a side she's not sure she'll ever get used to.

She puts her phone away and then turns her attention back to the teenage girl lying in the hospital bed.

.

.

.

"Hey Emma what is i…oh my god," Regina interrupts herself as her brown gaze falls on Hannah's still form.

"See why I needed you?" Emma asks – and then winces internally. She's got to stop phrasing it like that. Is there a different way to phrase it? Maybe she should have put the word 'help' in there, that would have made it less, well, just less.

Regina coughs awkwardly but walks towards the bed. "I feel like you've been leaving out valuable information from conversations," she deadpans, eyes roaming across Hannah's body. "Tell me, were you planning on mentioning this at any point?"

Emma doesn't meet Regina's gaze as it shifts to her. "I called you, didn't I?"

"Emma, what's going on here?" the brunette asks, ignoring her reply.

She sighs angrily. "I don't know, that's why I called you."

"Have you seen her?" Regina looks between Emma and Hannah again, a look of panic on her face as she takes in the girl's gray skin and the way it's clinging to her bones.

"I'm looking right at her aren't I?"

"Then are you blind?"

"What?" She frowns.

"Sorry but they're the only explanations I can think of for the fact that you waited this long to call me," Regina bites back, eyes returning immediately to Hannah when she's finished speaking.

"I've been kind of busy," Emma grits out angrily. "Hannah's not the only person in this state – and almost all of them have family. Between organizing the search for any other victims and covering up what's going on maybe you can understand why I haven't been able to stop for a chat."

Regina raises an eyebrow at her, it's her 'You think you can speak to me like that and live?' eyebrow, but Emma's not in the mood to be intimidated.

"Oh, get your fucking eyebrow down and just examine her, will you – I need to know what's happening to her."

Regina stares daggers at her but moves to stand at Hannah's side. "If you needed her examined so urgently," she says, voice smooth and dangerous, "then maybe you should have called me earlier."

Emma clenches her jaw. "This is a recent development, until now Doctor Whale and his team have been monitoring them and running tests."

"Really?" Regina scoffs. "You mean it's taken you this long to realize they're not suffering from a touch of the flu?" she asks, sarcasm biting in her tone.

"For God's sakes Regina, of course we knew whatever it was wasn't normal. That didn't mean there was nothing the actual doctors could do about it! They had symptoms which were treatable so we treated them."

Regina frowns, a small amount of the anger in her eyes dropping out. "Emma, you're speaking in the past tense," she observes.

Emma groans, and buries her face in her hands.

"Oh," she hears Regina let out a breath, before taking a seat on the other side of the bed. "So that's why you called me then."

Emma looks up from her hands, aware that she probably looks a little desperate – but she doesn't care. "We're out of options," she murmurs, voice pained. "Their bodies are shutting down faster than the doctors can do anything about it now. They're dying, Regina – and we can't stop it."

Regina nods solemnly. "I'll see if there's anything I can do."

Emma simply nods herself in response, eyes drifting back to Hannah's limp form. "Thank you."

.

.

.

"There's nothing you can do, is there?" Emma asks before Regina can speak. She'd heard the woman coming up behind her, heard the tentative movement in her step.

"No," she says bluntly. "No. There's nothing I can do either."

Emma bobs her head in some sort of imitation of a nod. "Right," she coughs awkwardly. "Well then," she turns but avoids Regina's gaze.

"Emma, I'm sorry."

"No, no, I know. It's fine. I didn't have my hopes up anyway," she says quickly, before brushing past Regina.

"Emma…"

"Henry and Grace are at Mary Margaret's, you should probably pick them up," the blonde replies, without looking at her, as she steps back into Hannah's room, shutting the door behind her.

SQ*SQ*SQ

Her hands are bleeding when she finally knocks on Regina's door, sometime well past midnight. To her surprise it swings upon almost immediately. There's concern all over Regina's face, concern which only deepens when she sees her hands.

"Emma what did you do?" she breathes, pulling the blonde inside and locking the door behind her.

"I lost my temper," she admits, embarrassed.

"What at?"

"The Bug."

"Thank heaven for small mercies," Regina mutters under her breath.

"Hey!" Emma replies. "What has everyone got against the Bug?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of at least it wasn't a person who bloodied your fist…but now you mention it, that car is disgraceful."

Emma says nothing, which is probably a mistake since Regina never misses anything.

"It wasn't a person, was it?" she asks, eyes narrowing. "Emma, tell me you, the Sheriff, did not beat a person to the point where your hands bled."

"What? No! It was the Bug," she says quickly.

"Then why did you pause?" the brunette asks suspiciously as she leads Emma towards the kitchen.

"I didn't hit anyone," she says shrugging, Regina's clever enough to work out the end of that sentence.

The brunette stops walking, turning back to look at her, expression unreadable. "Someone hit you?"

Emma shrugs. "Probably deserved it. Gonna have a bitch of a black eye in the morning though."

Regina's nostrils flare but she schools herself quickly – not so quickly that Emma didn't see the movement though. "Who hit you?" she asks, voice steady and emotionless.

"It doesn't matter," Emma replies, shaking her head. "You got any ice?" she adds, waving her hands in front of Regina's face.

The other woman rolls her eyes but turns back around and continues walking into the kitchen.

"Sit," she instructs without turning around as she heads for a cupboard in the corner, pulling things out off of various shelves. Emma watches her warily.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting things."

"What things?"

"First aid things," she sighs, coming back to the table and sitting down. "Give me your hands."

"I just need some ice."

"You punched the Bug," Regina replies flatly.

"Well, yeah."

"Where did you punch the Bug?" she asks carefully.

"Erm, through the window," the blonde answers sheepishly and Regina's eyes fall close for a moment, head giving the tiniest shake.

"Exactly. Hands – now."

Emma slides them across the table wordlessly.

Regina sets about cleaning the blood off just as silently, picking up a pair of tweezers and pulling out shards of glass one by one. Emma watches her work, appreciating the silence. She's not really ready to talk about it yet.

They sit quietly for a long time, the only sounds those of the glass shards tinkling as Regina places them on a small plate. Once she's finished pulling the glass out and cleaning Emma's knuckles up, she wraps them carefully in gauze, and then gets up to put everything away. The blonde watches her as she slots everything back in its place, pouring the shards of glass into the trash and then finally coming to sit down again. They stay sitting silently. Regina doesn't push.

Finally though, the blonde takes a deep breath.

"Hannah's dead," she murmurs. "She died."

Saying it helps a little, but not enough to stop the twisting ball of guilt in her stomach.

"She…" Emma squeezes her eyes shut, shaking her head. "She just sorta… gave out. All at once. One minute she was there – barely – but hanging on, you know? Then the next minute everything just… she just stopped."

She opens her eyes to meet Regina's gaze, pretending not to notice the way her eyes feel damp.

"And then she sorta…well, I mean, she… she almost looked shriveled?" she says it like a question, not sure if it's the best descriptor. It wasn't that she'd looked like a mummy, more like someone who'd been starving themselves for, well, years. The girl's skin had been a wholly unnatural gray color, her skin so tight it looked like it had been stretched around her skeleton alone. There'd been no light left in her, no hint of energy or feeling. The only sign she'd been alive had been the shaky rise and fall of her chest. Until that had finally stopped too.

"The person who hit you…" Regina starts gently.

"Her dad," Emma nods, knowing that's where she was going. "Told you I deserved it."

"You didn't deserve it," the brunette says firmly. "This wasn't your fault."

Emma turns to her, green eyes stricken. "Then whose fault was it? I'm the Sheriff, I'm meant to protect people."

"You didn't know this would happen," Regina sounds so calm.

"But I did though, didn't I? I said so. I said there was something about those kids and I didn't like that they didn't do anything. I knew there had to be more to it and I did nothing," she rubs angrily at the wetness in her eyes, determined not to let tears escape.

"Emma, you couldn't have prevented this."

"Yes," she says, anger seeping into her voice. "Yes, I could. If Obie hadn't been killed in the first place then –"

"Someone else would have been," Regina finishes. "Whoever did this wouldn't have been stopped by you taking a minute to have a chat with a teenage boy. This is bigger than you, bigger than either of us. I'd bet my life that whoever's behind this isn't nearly done yet, Emma."

The blonde just looks at her sadly, green eyes meeting brown.

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

Regina laughs. "I'm beating peasants in my down time to make up for this excess of nicety."

Emma rolls her eyes. "You're lucky I know you're joking."

"I'm not," Regina says completely straight-faced, her only give away the slight twinkle in her dark eyes.

The blonde fights the tiny grin that pulls at her mouth. "You realize it's stuff like that that makes people still think you're gonna murder them in their beds."

"Who says I'm not?"

"Regina!"

"Sorry," she shrugs, smirking slightly in a way that makes Emma certain she's not, even a little. They descend back into silence, and Emma feels the moment of amusement leaving her.

It doesn't matter whether it's her fault or not in the end. What matters is that everything that's happened, it's happened on her watch.

Apparently Regina can sense she's slipping back again and, hesitantly, reaches out a hand and places it over the blonde's.

Emma looks up to meet her gaze, breath hitching in her throat at the touch.

"How many did you lose today?" she asks.

"Twenty six," she chokes out, grateful for the chance to let it out. "Hannah was the latest."

"How many people have showed up with symptoms so far?"

"Thirty three."

"And how long do you think they'll –"

"Hours," she cuts her off, shaking her head, "Whale says at this rate he can't see the rest of them making it to tomorrow night."

"It's not your fault, Emma," Regina says again. She doesn't even know how the other woman knows that it's all she needs to hear right now.

Because it is. It's too late to hope that any of them will make it. Too late to wish Obadiah hadn't been murdered – sacrificed – whatever. Too late to wish she'd been able to track the sender of those invitations and cut this whole thing off at the source. It's too late to wish any of the things that have happened hadn't happened, because they have. So now all she needs is to know that it's not her fault, that she couldn't have prevented it – even if she'd wanted to. She needs the reassurance of knowing that she hasn't failed, not completely at least.

"You're doing your best, everyone knows that."

Emma squeezes her eyes shut. Maybe it's selfish, but she just wants to sit here and soak in Regina's gentle reassurances. She doesn't want to go back out and face the world in the morning. She doesn't want to face having to tell everybody what's going on, dealing with another panic.

"You should get some sleep – you can use the guest room," Regina brushes a thumb across the back of her hand, and Emma opens her eyes again.

She looks at Regina for a long moment. There's a sudden desire within the blonde to tell her. To tell Regina how much she likes that they're like this, how much she appreciates that they're friends now. How her support somehow, maybe crazily, means the world to her. How she doesn't see the Evil Queen that so many people still seem to be afraid of, how she never honestly has. The woman can be a complete bitch, sure, but she doesn't think she's ever seen evil in her – no matter what her parents say. She wants to tell Regina how these days when she's stressed all it takes is looking into her beautiful brown eyes and a part of her begins to relax. That's probably weird though, and definitely inappropriate – no matter how true it might all be.

So instead she just mutters, "Good idea, thanks," and rises from the table, dragging her hand away from the warmth of Regina's.

SQ*SQ*SQ

For once her mother is happy to step up and take some responsibility off of her shoulders, and apparently when it's a 'delicate situation' she doesn't mind taking over speech duties. The discussion of what people should actually be told, though, is not nearly as easy as shifting the responsibility of deliverance.

Snow wants to tell everyone the truth, the absolute truth and nothing but the truth. Regina, whose presence at the discussion Snow questions every two minutes or so, wants to lie outright. Emma's left standing somewhere awkwardly in the middle, thinking that maybe a fudging of the truth is the best way to go. David – who Emma decides really can't be as stupid as Regina likes to joke if his decision is anything to go by – stays well out of it.

Eventually, with Ruby called in as a tie-breaker, they decide to tell everyone that the people died because they contracted something from the children, leaving out any and all connections between the children and Obadiah's murder.

The threat of something else happening seems imminent, but if they're to stop it they can't have everyone running around in flat out panic.

Emma stands nervously behind her mother as she addresses the townsfolk, shrinking as far into her woolen scarf as she possibly can. They all seem to swallow the lie remarkably well though, and Emma has a sneaking suspicion it's due to the self-preservation instincts that kick in and inform them that at least they themselves are not in danger.

After that, things seem to slip back into an almost-normal. The initiated – her deputies, her parents, and Regina – spend the days looking for any lead as to who the culprit is, to how and when they might strike next. Outside of their circle, though, they pretend like everything is fine. And slowly, at least the people not involved, seem to forget about the whole thing. Emma still feels like the nuns are being un-characteristically icy around her – as are some of the older kids from the orphanage. The family of the people who died grieve, but leave her out of their grief. If they feel any rage, they don't direct it at her.

December continues to pass quietly. Around them excitement for Christmas builds, blotting out even the sadness of all the bereaved. Emma's sure this isn't over, sure that Murderer, whoever they are, is going to strike again – but with absolutely no movement either from them or the case – and the Christmas spirit flourishing around them, it gets increasingly difficult not to relax a little.

.

.

.

"Tell me we're not actually doing this," Regina says tightly as Emma moves around her to put the last knife out on the table. "Tell me that this is just some terrible nightmare I'm having and I'm going to wake up soon?"

Emma smirks, reaching behind where the other woman is standing stock still and grabbing a pile of forks. "You know I really wish I could. But I can't. You're the one who suggested it anyway."

Regina's mouth falls open at the accusation. "Suggest it? I did not suggest it, I merely relayed the request."

The blonde shrugs. "Kinda the same thing though, isn't it?"

Regina's eyes narrow. "No. No it really isn't."

Emma laughs, shaking her head. "If you say so – hand me the spoons."

The brunette grabs stiffly at the bundle of spoons on the dresser behind her and slams them into Emma's hand with a lot more force than necessary. "I will throttle you in your sleep."

She rolls her eyes, taking the spoons and starting to place them out. "You realize I'm dreading this just as much as you are, right?"

"Then why are we doing it?" Regina asks, and Emma takes great satisfaction that there's something almost resembling pleading in her eyes.

"You know why," Emma replies, and they both look up simultaneously as there's a thump from upstairs.

"Henry," they agree.

The blonde finishes with the spoons and makes her way back towards the kitchen. "Look," she says before she disappears, "just be thankful we're not dating or anything – that would make it like ten times worse."

Regina freezes up, staring at her, and she curses internally.

Shit. Why did I say that? That was really weird.

Emma licks her lips nervously, "I just… I just meant that, you know, that would make it almost like a meet the parents type thing and that would be… I didn't mean that dating you would be ten times worse – not that I think that dating you would be good!" she chokes out, eyes widening. "I mean, no I mean, I'm sure you're lovely to date, I just meant… I mean… I don't wanna date you… obviously. I was just saying that… you know… if we were… dating, I mean…then, erm, that would… be awkward?"

Regina just continues to stare at her for a long moment.

"Emma?"

"Yes?" she asks, a little desperately.

"Go and get the bread."

"Right."

.

.

.

Dinner is pretty painfully awkward anyway. Between the fact that Regina hasn't quite been looking her in the eye since her jabbered whatever-that-was, and the fact that the brunette can hardly let a phrase leave either of Emma's parents' mouths without giving a snarky response, she's left feeling like she wants to bang her head against the table every few minutes or so.

"So, er, Henry – did you tell Emma what you learnt in class today?" Snow asks, desperately trying to fill the awkward silence that's descended upon them.

"Oh, yeah!" he replies, blissfully unaware of the tension between the adults at the table – or if he is, choosing to ignore it. "It was so cool, we learnt how to do all these different bird calls."

"A skill which will no doubt be invaluable later in life," Regina mutters into her spoonful of cheesecake. Snow puts her spoon down a little more aggressively than necessary on her plate, causing it to clatter loudly.

"Actually bird calls can be a very useful survival technique," she says defensively.

"Oh, of course, forgive me dear – I forgot you liked to spend your time conversing with aves," she replies bitingly.

Snow, David, and Henry all frown in confusion.

"Birds," Emma supplies shaking her head and giving a tiny sigh. She doesn't miss the shocked glances that, however briefly, are most definitely thrown in her direction.

Snow turns her attention back to Regina, "I do not spend my time conversing with birds!"

"Your curriculum would beg otherwise, dear."

"It's not my fault if some of the things I teach aren't exactly regular, my training wasn't exactly regular either."

"Training?" Regina scoffs "And where did you get that?"

"Cursed Teachers R Us," Snow snaps back, eyes hard.

"Really, dear? I heard Enchanted Educators was so much better," Regina says with a wicked little smirk. Snow flushes red in anger, apparently angry that her comeback didn't fluster the other woman as she might have hoped.

"This cheesecake's great, Regina, where did you get it?" Emma says, trying to divert the conversation before either woman starts trying to rip the other's head off.

Regina turns as if to answer and then something flashes in her eyes and she shuts her mouth quickly. Henry frowns at his mother's sudden silence.

"We got it at the Montague Bakery, didn't we mom?" he answers and Emma finds her jaw clenching around her spoon.

Regina's eyes have softened and she's watching Emma carefully, as if she's a bomb that might go off. She finishes her mouthful and swallows slowly. "Oh," she breathes "well, it's… it's really good."

Silence falls over everyone for a minute, a minute in which Emma feels Regina's eyes burning into the side of her face, and she just keeps her eyes fixed pointedly on the remainder of the cheesecake – pushing it around her plate with her spoon.

By the time the minute's up Henry's looking between them, eager to know what it is he's missing. When it appears no one's going to ante-up any information, though, he sighs and turns with renewed excitement to Regina.

"Hey, mom?"

"Yes, Henry?" she asks quietly.

"Did I tell you Grams is buying me a sword for Christmas?"

.

.

.

"So, are you just a bird fan or do you make a habit of knowing scientific names for things?"

"Really?" Emma asks, unamused. "That's really all you have to say?"

Regina keeps her eyes fixed on her task of loading plates into the dishwasher. "What would you like me to say, dear?"

Emma folds her arms across her chest leaning one hip against the counter. "Oh I don't know – sorry might be a good start."

The brunette straightens up and turns, finally meeting her gaze. "I don't see how that's really necessary."

"Don't see that –" Emma splutters. "Regina, you turned my dad into a squirrel!"

"Temporarily."

"A squirrel!" Emma shouts but Regina just rolls her eyes, turning back to the dishwasher.

"I felt it would be an interesting learning experience for him," she shrugs as she bends to continue stacking plates.

"An interesting…" Emma gapes at her. "How could that possibly serve as an interesting learning experience?"

Regina shrugs, but doesn't turn back. "He learnt to not be an irresponsible grandparent to Henry, or else he'll be turned into a furry woodland creature."

Emma opens her mouth and closes it again, staring at Regina's back as she grasps for something to say.

"That's…"

"Wise?" the brunette supplies, standing again and turning back to her with a smirk on her face.

"I was thinking kinda the opposite actually," Emma says, readjusting her arms. "What d'you think will happen if people hear you're going around turning people into animals?"

"Oh, for goodness' sake, Emma. It was a perfectly harmless enchantment, with a fix so easy even you could do it."

Emma stiffens then. They don't talk about her magic, not really. Her parents had encouraged her to explore it, with the nuns' guidance, so that she might control it – so that she might use it for good. She doesn't feel the same way though. Magic can be useful, yes, without it they never would have succeeded in Neverland – but Neverland was Neverland. It was special circumstances. She used magic because she had to when, in all truth, it scares her to death. She knows how badly it can corrupt, the prices it comes with – Regina's warned her as much. She knows she's not un-corruptible. The way she's sees it, her life is fine just now without her using magic. There's little point in changing that.

Regina looks at her carefully, expression sobering. "Or maybe not," she adds quietly and Emma gives her a tiny smile in response.

The brunette straightens, pushing the dishwasher closed and pressing buttons until the gentle hum of the cycle starting fills the otherwise silent kitchen.

"So," she asks, leaning a hip against the counter in a mirror of Emma's own positioning, "aves?"

Emma rolls her eyes. "You know, contrary to popular belief, I'm not actually an idiot, Regina."

"Debatable," she shoots back so fast that the blonde wonders if she doesn't have some kind of Emma insulting reflex. "Though," the other woman adds quietly, and Emma lets her lips quirk upwards

"Go on."

Regina shifts, refusing to meet Emma's gaze, "Recent evidence might suggest… that you're not quite as stupid as your ridiculous father."

Emma's smile widens into a shit-eating grin and Regina lets out a little huff of irritation "Oh don't get cocky, that's hardly a compliment – we all know your father is a complete imbecile."

The blonde shrugs. "Still a compliment."

Regina shakes her head and turns to reach into a cupboard behind her, pulling a bottle of wine out.

"Drink?" she asks, sounding a little grudging "And you can tell me all about how you managed to feign some sense of intelligence for five minutes."

Emma's grin doesn't falter "Well, well we are just full of compliments today aren't we, Regina?"

The brunette scoffs, pulling down two glasses and pouring dark red liquid into both.

"As I said," she says, handing a glass to Emma "don't get cocky."
"Never," Emma grins, taking a sip and going to sit at the table with the other woman.

Regina takes a long breath and sighs "Go on then – tell me all about your secret genius."

Emma laughs nervously, suddenly feeling self-conscious. It was different spilling it out quickly to Thomas – he probably hadn't even been paying that much attention – and she hadn't really gone into that much detail. Now though – Regina's really asking, really wants to know – and she's never really talked that much about it before.

"I was homeless," she says quickly, like ripping off a band-aid. Quick, done, now it's out there.

Regina's face falls slightly "What?"

Emma shifts in her seat, staring down into her wine glass "You know I was in the system for most of my childhood, right?"

The other woman nods.

"Well…there was a short period, when I was fifteen, when I got real sick of it. So I ran away," she shrugs "One day after school I just, I picked up my backpack and I started walking and it took me like twenty minutes to realize that I wasn't walking home."

"Where did you go?" Regina asks.

"Some town about twenty miles away," she says, looking up briefly to see Regina's understandably confused frown.

"I knew there'd be people looking for me but I didn't…I found that I really didn't want to be found. So I got on a bus to the furthest place I could get it to before anyone knew I was gone, but when I got there I realized it would be fairly easy to trace me. So I took another bus to another town, then I walked for a bit – stopped off to buy a hotdog because I was pretty damn hungry by that stage – walked until I reached another town that I figured it'd be hard to trace me to. Then I went and found the public library there."

"The library?" Emma can't quite define Regina's expression, but there's something encouraging in her brown eyes, so she continues.

"Well I needed to go someplace where I wouldn't have to pay to be there – so not like a coffee shop or anything. Libraries are free, and there's plenty of places to hide in them. So I went and holed up in the young adult literature section and tried to look inconspicuous.

"I'd slept whilst on the buses but I knew that I'd have to spend the night on the street so I'd need to keep warm – and I remembered this thing from biology about insulation so I…" she trails off, looking up guiltily, "I checked out a few books and when I got outside I…ripped them up."

"Typical, destroying quality literature," Regina jokes though the biting note in her voice is not as strong as it usually is.

"Regina I'm pretty sure most of them were tween romance novels," Emma says defensively.

"I still fail to see how this explains the bird thing."

"I'm getting there," Emma tells her, rolling her eyes, "anyway…I used the pages to line my jacket and… well I mean the night was cold and pretty much sucked all round, but it probably sucked less because I was a bit more insulated. I had nowhere to go the next day so I went back to the library and I actually ended up getting pretty caught up reading. I read the whole day, and when they closed I went and used some of the last of the money I had to buy a hot drink and some food. Then I went back the next day and read more.

"The nights totally sucked, and I didn't have much to eat but that week…I still kinda had fun. Reading was cool. I realized that I wouldn't be able to go back once the books were due though, so I decided I needed to leave for a different town. I used the last of my money to get one more bus to a much bigger town where I knew there'd be a food truck and stuff. Then I found the library and settled in."

"You spent the days reading?" Regina asks, and Emma nods.

"Couple of days a week I'd change it up and go to museum, learn history and science and stuff…and then if there were things I wanted to know more about I could go read about them at the library."

"What did you do for food?" the brunette asks, sounding a little amazed.

Emma shrugs. "There were plenty of food trucks and stuff – it was a big town. Dumpster diving's not always so bad – not if you choose the right spots…and I mean I begged a bit as well."

"You begged?" Regina sounds appalled.

"Yeah – one day this guy in a suit chucked me a twenty by accident but he couldn't exactly take it back so I treated myself and some of my friends to donuts," she grins at the memory, the way they'd all laughed and tried to cover each other in powdered sugar.

"On the street?" Regina continues, staring at her.

Emma chuckles. "Yes, Regina, that is where people tend to beg."

"But…you could have…you had a foster family why would you –"

"Why would I want to spend nights on the street and rely on strangers for food when there was a warm bed and a hot meal waiting for me somewhere?" she asks and Regina shuts her mouth in surprise, but watches her expectantly for an answer.

"I asked myself that a lot," she says quietly, "why didn't I go back, why didn't I go find a policeman – because there had to be missing person's report on me by then."

"Well?" Regina asks, voice uncharacteristically soft. "Why didn't you?"

"Because I was free," she admits, voice barely above a whisper. "The foster home I ran away from – they had three kids of their own, four foster kids including me. Breakfast, dinner, homework, bath time, chores – they were regimented. There were seven kids in that house and we were disciplined like soldiers. It wasn't even a big house – there was no privacy. When you're a fifteen year old girl that's…I'm sure you don't need me to tell you that that's a totally shit situation to be in."

Regina just nods, a tiny understanding smile on her face.

"And when I was away…yeah I spent nights on the streets or in shelters but," she sighs contendedly at the memory, "I spent my days on adventures, ya know? I could go to the library, read a book, and immediately I'd be in some distant land away from the life I was living."

"Like a fairy tale land?" Regina asks, raising an eyebrow at her and Emma gives a little self-deprecating laugh.

"Sometimes," she admits, "or sometimes I'd be fighting pirates on the high seas, or orcs in Middle Earth. Or even I'd just sit and read a science textbook and imagine that one day maybe I'd be some famous genius who'd invent the cure for cancer. It was probably stupid, and irresponsible, but at the time that didn't matter to me. What mattered was that I was –"

"Free," Regina breathes, examining her with this strange look of awe.

"Well, yeah."

"So I guess you actually are pretty knowledgeable then?" she asks.

"I did try to tell you," Emma grins but Regina shakes her head in apparent amazement. "Ever since that I've always liked reading. I don't often have time anymore – even before I came to Storybrooke I was normally too busy – but I never forgot anything that I read… and that helped I guess."

"What happened?" Regina asks then and Emma frowns.

"After all that," she clarifies, "I'm assuming you didn't spend the rest of your life in a public library," she smirks.

"I got found," Emma takes a sip of her wine and leans back in her chair, "about 8 months after I first ran away I ran into the wrong cop – apparently he'd transferred from a town closer to mine and he recognized me from the posters. The family I'd left didn't want me in case I ran again so I went back into care until they found someone else for me."

"You didn't run away again?"

She shakes her head. "Not like that. My money got carefully controlled so I'd never be able to get far enough. I did skip though…used to go to the library or the museum during health class."

Regina's mouth twists up into a smirk. "And that would explain Henry then."

Emma laughs. "Hey I already knew everything they were gonna teach me anyway."

"Apparently not, considering you got knocked up at eighteen."

"Seventeen," Emma corrects automatically, "I was seventeen."

"That's really not something to be proud of," Regina says, amusement clear in her tone

"I was just saying," she replies, taking another sip of wine, "getting your facts straight and everything."

"Emma, believe me, I am really not concerned with the exact age you got yourself accidentally impregnated."

Emma rolls her eyes but says nothing, and they sit in silence for a while.

"So," Regina says finally, "you're really not stupid then."

"Did you really think I was?" Emma asks, looking over at the other woman, whose eyes are fixed on her own wine glass.

"I was certainly curious as to the effects of inter-dimensional tree travel on the infant brain, yes."

"Regina."

"No," she replies immediately, and when she looks up her brown eyes are serious, honest, "I've never thought you were stupid, Emma. I didn't realize you were quite so…educated, but I've never thought you were stupid."

Emma smiles. It feels good, having told someone, having told Regina. It feels good to know that someone else knows she's at least tried – even if her upbringing wasn't one that leant itself to brilliance.

"Does this mean you're gonna stop calling me an idiot, then?" she asks.

"That depends," Regina replies, mouth curling back into a smirk.

"On what?"

"On how much of an idiot you act."

SQ*SQ*SQ

The rest of December passes quickly, and before she knows it it's already Christmas. Emma's Christmas Eve is quiet, filled with egg nog and cheesy Christmas movies. She and Regina had organized it so Regina would have Christmas with Henry on Christmas Eve, and then Emma would take Henry to her parents for Christmas Day. She'd been a bit worried about the logistics to start with – considering this was their first Christmas officially, amicably co-parenting the kid – but Regina had been surprisingly gracious about the whole thing. As long as she got a Christmas Day with Henry for all their traditional Christmas things then she was happy. Emma had suggested jokingly that they should alternate – that next year she'd have Christmas Eve and Regina could have Christmas Day – then she'd looked into the other woman's eyes and it suddenly hit her that this was her life now. Amicably working out how to share holidays between them, each year, every year for the rest of their lives. Like some kind of divorced couple. It was a bit ridiculous really – a bit sad.

In that moment Emma had almost wondered what it would take for them get to spend holidays together, the three of them. Maybe it would be weird but, hell, it surely wouldn't seem so damned lonely.

She spends the evening finishing wrapping presents in front of Elf, laughing at the idea that without the curse and all the fake memories it implanted, the citizens of Storybrooke would have reacted to the real world with somewhat of the same enthusiasm as Buddy. By the time the evening is over and she's finished a whole carton of eggnog she can't un-see mental images of her parents excitedly downing platefuls of spaghetti covered in maple syrup.

She turns in early with a happy smile on her face, part thanks to rum and part thanks, honestly, to the idea of Regina in an elf costume.
.

.

.
Emma pulls up outside Regina's house just before ten. There's a tiny covering of snow on the ground, the flakes glistening as they catch the slowly-rising winter sun. It's quiet, but it's that magical excited silence one always feels on Christmas morning, and Emma finds herself standing on the doorstep drinking it in, blinking as light begins to reflect off the bright snow.

"MERRY CHRISTMAS EMMA!"

Emma jumps, spinning on her heel and blinking in startled, sleepy surprise as the door to 108 Mifflin Street is flung open and a still pajama clad Henry bounces up at her.

"Wow, erm, yeah Merry Christmas, Henry," she replies.

"Come on you've gotta see all the stuff that mom got me it's great!" he grabs her by the sleeve and pulls her inside, waiting only a second for her to shut the door before dragging her excitedly into the living room. Emma can't help but grin at the kid's excitement – she's never gotten to see him like this, after all. Last Christmas she was in Fairytale Land – and the one before she and Regina were not exactly on speaking terms.

When they get into the living room he drops her sleeve and bounces over to the ornately decorated tree in the corner, dressing gown flapping behind him. He looks like an excited little puppy – or perhaps a baby rabbit, given the bouncing – not a kid on the cusp of puberty, and she's suddenly deeply grateful that even if it's just this year, even if next year he's a moody teenager who doesn't give a fuck about Santa, at least she's got to see him like this. Like an excited little bunny bouncing around the tree and gathering things up in his arms – clearly intent on showing her everything.

"Pretty special, isn't it?"

Emma turns to see Regina leaning against the doorframe, a small smile on her face, and she gives a tiny awed laugh in response, shaking her head in amazement as she turns back to their son. The other woman walks forward and takes a seat beside her, watching with an expression filled with absolute adoration as Henry continues to search throughpiles of torn wrapping paper.

"You could have warned me," Emma says in mock scolding.

Regina turns to her and smirks, "And rob you of the surprise? Even I'm not that evil."

Emma turns to look at Henry and then back to Regina. "He's like a freaking puppy."

The brunette chuckles, "I always saw it more as rabbit, what with all the bouncing he does," Emma opens her mouth in shock at the shared thought but says nothing.

"I can't believe you never told me about this," she breathes instead, shaking her head again.

"Aren't you glad I didn't, though?"

"So glad," Emma laughs as Henry finally seems to stabilize the giant pile in his arms and comes scampering over.

"Okay so," he starts off, nudging a box at the top of the pile with his chin, "this one here's a Luke Skywalker figurine, special edition from like the 80s, mint in package and everything seriously oh my god Grace is gonna be so jealous! Anyway and this one's Han Solo, they go together like a matching set – look they've got lightsabers that light up and everything. Not that you're gonna see them light up because I mean they're mint in package obviously but the point is that they do light up and it's the principal that counts really and..."

Emma's eyes widen in awe as he rambles on about action figures and Blu-Rays and cast commentaries, looking up to meet Regina's amused gaze.

'Coffee?' the brunette mouths at her, and Emma looks from her to Henry – who has descended into an in depth explanation of the evolution of the Empire and the importance of Jedi training – and back again. Then she nods vigorously.

.

.

.
"I spawned a nerd," Emma says, feeling a little wiped after being told in detail about the intricacies of how the Sith rose to power.

"A very cute nerd though," Regina replies.

"How am I ever going to face the neighbors?" Emma jokes and Regina shakes her head in something she can only conclude is fondness.

"Did you have a good day yesterday?" the blonde asks, turning serious.

"It was strange," Regina says pensively, eyes on her coffee mug, "but yes, it was good thank you."

"Good," Emma nods awkwardly, eyes on her own mug, "that's good."

There's a slightly ominous crashing sound upstairs and both of them half-rise from their seats, before Henry's voice comes shouting down to them.

"It's fine! I'm fine! Just got attacked by the Millennium Falcon we're all good!"

"You bought him a falcon?" Emma asks Regina incredulously. The woman turned her father into a squirrel for getting him a sword – but a bird of prey is alright?

"The Millennium Falcon is a spaceship, Emma," the brunette says, unimpressed.

"Oh, yeah, course it is," she says and turns back to her coffee.

"Wait you got him a spaceship?"

"It's a model, Emma," Regina deadpans.

"Right."

"Spaceships don't exist."

"Hey, I spent twenty eight years thinking fairy tales didn't exist but turns out I'm actually Snow White's daughter and my friends now consist of Little Red Riding Hood, the Mad Hatter, and the Evil Queen," she says pointedly, "don't tell me that Starfleet doesn't exist somewhere out there."

Regina simply rolls her eyes. "Keep dreaming, dear."

"It's common sense," she replies firmly, staring Regina down.

"It might be common but it's certainly not sense."

Emma huffs and takes another sip of coffee. "You're no fun."

"I'm all sorts of fun, dear, but the fun I have is much more sophisticated," Regina shoots back, raising an eyebrow. Emma wonders if the caffeine is going to her head or if there really is something infinitely suggestive about the gesture.

"I bet," she says quietly in response, keeping her eyes fixed on Regina's. They hold each other's gaze for a long moment, a strange sort of challenge hanging in the air between them.

Then Henry crashes into the room, backpack hanging off one shoulder, bundled pile of wrapped presents balanced precariously in the crook of his other arm – and the moment, whatever kind of moment it was, is gone.

"Hey there, kiddo, d'you need another bag?" Emma asks, standing, and hears Regina's chair scrape against the tile behind her.

"Erm, yeah, actually. That'd probably help," he affirms, letting his backpack fall to the floor and bringing the other arm round to balance the pile.

"I'll get you one, Henry," Regina says, and promptly fishes one out from beneath the sink.

"Mom don't forget the thing for, Emma," he says excitedly as he shoves the differing shaped boxes into the plastic bag that Regina's now holding open for him.

"Thing for Emma?" the blonde asks, interesting piquing. "What thing for me – you have a thing for me?"

Their eyes meet briefly, Emma's accidental question not lost on either of them.

"Yeah, quick, go get it," Henry orders, breaking the moment once again.

"Right, yes," Regina hums in response, straightening herself out. "Consider it a favor."

Emma raises an eyebrow, suspicious, "What kind of favor?"

"One you'll be in my eternal debt for," the brunette replies, heading out of the kitchen. "Come with me," she adds, not bothering to check whether Emma's following.

The blonde's eyes shift to Henry, who looks like he's trying to hide a grin, and then follows after Regina. The other woman leads her up the stairs and towards her – wait. Emma's eyes widen involuntarily.

"Erm, Regina?" she asks, "Why're we going to your bedroom?"

"Because I never murder people in the kitchen, it's unsanitary," she replies without missing a beat, not even turning. The blonde rolls her eyes but follows tentatively.

She's never been in Regina's room before – she could have figured most of what it looked like from the décor of the rest of the house – but there are certain touches around the place that make her lips pull into a tiny smile.

The bed's made neatly, white sheets tucked carefully under the mattress like a professional had done it, and there's not a piece of clothing anywhere on the floor (unlike in her own room) – but the top of the vanity is littered with all sorts of odds and ends. There's make up scattered here and there, a near empty bottle of black nail polish. There's a hairbrush, an up-ended bottle of hairspray, various bits of jewelry strewn around seemingly carelessly, a small pile of coins with an eyelash curler sitting on top of it. There's a picture of Henry there too, looking pudgy, with his front teeth missing – and hanging off one corner of the frame is a gaudy bracelet made of plastic beads, obviously made by him for Regina.

The book case isn't as big as the one in Regina's study, but it's a fair size, and Emma feels her fingers twitch slightly as she looks at all the leather bound volumes sitting on it. Since her love of reading had been a secret, she'd managed to do a pretty good job of not drooling over Regina's impressive collections around the house; but now it's out there and the other woman knows, she's finding it harder to pretend like she doesn't want to hole up there as if it were her own personal library. There's more to the bookcase than that though. One shelf is full of little brightly colored books, clearly meant for children, and there's another photo frame sitting at one end – this time with a picture of both Henry and Regina in it. Henry looks younger and, though she knows that it's technically not possible, so does Regina. There's a light in her eyes, a happiness that Emma's rarely seen, it makes her heart ache somewhat inexplicably.

"Emma?"

"Hmm?" she snaps her head around to see Regina staring at her from the entrance to her – oh for Christ's sake is that a walk-in wardrobe? Really?

"It's not polite to snoop, dear," Regina reprimands her, crossing her arms across her chest, and Emma feels her cheeks flush slightly in embarrassment.

"I wasn't –"

Regina rolls her eyes. "Don't fret about it, we've already established your manners are somewhat non-existent," she says, disappearing inside the closet. Emma doesn't bother arguing – she's accepted this is not a fight she's going to win – and follows the woman inside the closet.

She lets out a low whistle as she enters. "Jesus, Regina, how many clothes do you need?"

"I believe we've already discussed our varying tastes in fashion as well," she quips, "more specifically, your lack of one."

"There's nothing wrong with leather," Emma grits out.

"Not in moderation, no. Sadly though, my dear, I think you may be solely responsible for the decreasing bovine population."

The blonde's mouth quirks upwards. "You totally just said that because you knew I'd understand you."

Regina gives a little half shrug. "I won't deny that I'm somewhat enjoying being able to speak to you at above a fifth grade level."

Emma opens her mouth to respond but Regina shoots her a look that clearly states she was joking, and she shuts it again.

"So, did you have a reason for bringing me up here? Or were you luring me under false pretenses?" she asks instead, raising an eyebrow at the other woman.

"I told you, I'm doing you a favor," Regina replies unhelpfully, moving over to a cupboard in the corner (and Emma rolls her eyes at the fact that there are closets within the closet) and rifling through things.

"And that favor would be?"

Regina stands up again, a large box in her hands. "Do you have a dress for tomorrow?"

Emma startles slightly – that wasn't what she was expecting. Not that she knows what she was expecting.

"I, erm…yeah, yeah Mary Margaret said she'd get me one," she replies.

"And you trust your mother's dress sense enough to be seen wearing whatever's she's bought you?" Regina asks skeptically.

"Well…I dunno it can't be that bad, can it?" Emma shrugs. She would have got one herself, only she's been a bit busy lately – not to mention she's not really sure exactly what kind of dress Storybrooke's Boxing Day Masquerade Ball requires, considering she's never been to one before. She's never been to a ball before. There's probably some irony in that somewhere, considering she's Snow White and Prince Charming's daughter.

Regina chuckles darkly under her breath. "Emma, believe me, I've been to twenty seven of these things with her – whatever she thinks is appropriate is not going to be something you want to be seen dead in. I promise you."

Emma groans. "I shouldn't have let her buy my dress, should I?"

"You most assuredly should not have," Regina agrees, smirking, "and I advise more forethought in future."

"Shit. What am I gonna do?"

"Favor," Regina says simply, holding out her arms towards the blonde, and Emma finally takes stock of the box in them. She eyes it suspiciously.

"What's that?"

"That is your favor. Don't bother opening it now – but I expect grateful thanks tomorrow. Maybe some groveling," Regina shrugs, a wicked glint in her eyes.

Emma looks from the box that Regina has now placed in her hands to the woman and back again.

"Should I be worried about what's in here?" she asks carefully.

"No, dear, you should be worried about what's in the one your mother will give you," Regina says, ushering Emma out of the closet and back down the stairs.

Henry's waiting at the bottom, backpack on and bag of presents clutched in his hands.

"Did you give it to her?" he asks excitedly, and Emma turns to look at Regina, who's smirking.

"Why do I feel there's a conspiracy going on?" she asks, feeling a mixture of bemusement and discomfort at the way Henry and his other mother are exchanging glances.

"No conspiracy," Regina shrugs innocently, "merely helpfulness."

Emma narrows her eyes at her, letting Henry take her by the elbow and lead her to the front door without taking her eyes off the other woman.

"Oh you can wipe that expression off your face," Regina says, rolling her eyes, "I told you – I'm doing you a favor."

"Ahuh," Emma mumbles, unconvinced. She keeps her eyes narrowed at the other woman all the way out the door, shooting her one last suspicious look once she's bundled Henry into the car.

"Favor," Regina calls to her, smirking.

"Sure," Emma replies, jumping into the driving seat and rolling her eyes. Henry's sitting in the passenger seat, grinning like he knows something, and she cuffs him around the ear.

"Shut up."

He just grins.

.

.

.

Emma doesn't get a chance to look at what's in the box all day. By the time she's got Henry home and they've done their presents to each other they're already running late for lunch and they have to change hurriedly and rush out the door.

When they get to her parents they're both grinning inanely, like something off a Christmas card. Snow (it could only have been Snow) has the two of them in matching Christmas sweaters. Unsurprisingly, she has two for Emma and Henry as well.

She puts up a fuss – her pride and dignity depend upon it – but secretly, as they sit to table in their ridiculous, cheesy yuletide attire, a little part of her is jumping around like a giddy little schoolgirl.

She's spent a long time wishing for this, dreaming of it. She's spent a long time dreaming of a family that does ridiculous, clichéd things on holidays. That are so ordinary and perfect it's sickening. She's spent a long time dreaming of a family. Full stop. Okay so what she got were far from ordinary, and the sickening perfection is not the kind she was going for – it's the kind that generally makes her want to tear her hair out on a daily basis – but they're still family. And they're hers.

She's still angry about Neverland. Hell, she's still angry about the goddamn magical wardrobe incident. She's angry, and every time her father picks Henry up or wrestles with him, every time her mother comforts someone with gentle hands and soothing words, she wants to scream. She wants to scream out of jealousy, out of hurt, out of the pain it causes her to see her parents parenting, parenting someone that's not her – the pain of knowing they're actually good at it. They would have been good parents, she thinks, and she could have had a happy childhood. But she can't change that, no matter how much she wants to. So even though she's not finished being angry about it, even though there are still conversations they need to have, even though the tension is still in the air between her and her mother – it's Christmas. And they're wearing matching sweaters. And pulling crackers and telling stupid jokes at each other. So even if it is just for the day, she decides to stop being angry with them for a little while, and to just be their kid. She decides to have a family Christmas dinner and enjoy it, instead of letting the bitterness she feels ruin it.

It works, mostly. For one day she manages to put aside all the hurt she still feels relating to her parents, and she's just a single mother with her son at Christmas dinner with her parents. It almost feels natural.

Except, as the day wares on, there's a growing part of it that doesn't feel natural. Not because of the anger she feels towards her parents – she's a grown woman, she can compartmentalize easy enough – but because she's not just a single mother. Her son has another parent, another mother, and there's a rather large part of her that recognizes you really can't have family dinner if the whole family isn't there. And the whole family isn't there. Regina isn't there.

It's fun, the matching sweaters and the crackers and the stupid jokes. It's fun being a family and doing Christmas like people are meant to – but it doesn't feel complete. It doesn't feel like everyone's there, because everyone isn't, and there's an ache in Emma's chest that tells her this isn't right. That they never should have worked out the stupid time-share and they should all have just had Christmas together. Even if it meant Regina turning David into a pine vole or something. Because she was wrong before, when she'd said they weren't a family. Sure, they're not exactly normal. Or functional. Dinner had been hellish - but it had still felt more natural than this.

By the time people are coming over for drinks in the evening, Emma's feeling positively awful, and once her parents are both properly distracted she sneaks off outside, phone in hand.

"If the question is 'Will I help you hide your parents' bodies' then I would be delighted," Regina greets her after three rings.

Emma laughs. "It hasn't actually been that bad," she admits.

"Vodka?" Regina asks calmly, and Emma rolls her eyes.

"I'm not drunk – it's actually been kinda nice."

"You're wearing a Christmas sweater, aren't you?"

Emma's mouth falls open in shock. "How did you – I mean, no! What?"

Regina chuckles, "I should have known the Christmas fairy would get to you. You never had a chance."

"Regina, what are you talking about?" she huffs.

"Your mother is Christmas personified – I'm surprised you hadn't noticed already," Regina replies.

"Been a little busy," Emma shoots back.

"Admittedly she has been a little less obnoxious about the carol singing this year. But trust me I've had twenty seven years of Christmases with her – there was one year when I was honest to God the only resident of this town who escaped the dreaded Christmas sweater."

Emma chokes on a laugh. "You're not serious?"

"Deadly."

"You mean to tell me that being un-cursed and rediscovering her roots as a fairy tale character has mellowed her?"

"For Christmas related things, certainly," Regina says serenely, and Emma shakes her head in disbelief.

"Jesus."

"It's his birthday, Emma, can't you even spend today without using his name in vain?" Regina sighs.

"Jesus was born in March," Emma shrugs, leaning back against the wall, "besides, I didn't know you held such affection for him."

"I don't, particularly."

"Then why d'you care?" she asks, smirking.

There's a pause, in which Emma imagines the other woman is rolling her eyes. Then she speaks again.

"Emma was there actually a point to this phone call?"

The blonde blinks, a little startled. Was there? No. Not really.

"I…yes?"

"You don't sound sure."

"I'm not," she says, voice guilty, "I just wanted to, you know, check in and stuff."

"Why?"

And there's that bloody question again. Why.

She doesn't know why. She just…wanted to. Also she didn't feel like the family was complete without Regina and wished she'd been there but there's absolutely no way in hell that she's going tell her that.

"To say Merry Christmas," she settles on eventually, "because I didn't…this morning. I don't think I ever said it so I just…I just figured I…should," she frowns. Way to be cool, Swan.

"So, yeah, Merry Christmas!" she says quickly, wincing at herself.

Regina sighs, and Emma imagines she's rolling her eyes again, but when she speaks there's something in her voice that, if she didn't know better, could almost certainly be mistaken for happiness.

"Merry Christmas, Emma."

SQ*SQ*SQ

Regina had been telling the truth about her mother's dress choosing abilities. After everyone had cleared out for the evening, and she and Henry had been on the brink of departing themselves, Snow had called her over and, beaming, handed her a dress box.

Uninclined to ruin the mood, Emma had taken in the yards of gauzy baby blue material with a smile plastered on her face, and had thanked her mother profusely. They'd barely made it to the car before Henry had burst out laughing.

Needless to say, she hadn't been impressed.

When they'd got home, though, she'd been too tired to do anything about it – and she and Henry had both fallen into bed fairly promptly after one last Christmas film.

Boxing Day dawns with another fresh coating of snow, this one deep enough to bury the blades of grass that had been hopefully peeking out from the flakes that had fallen on Christmas. Emma and Henry spend the morning fairly lazily – Henry playing with his presents, and Emma switching between watching him in rapt fascination, and reading.

They eat some of the leftovers her parents had insisted upon them for lunch, and before she knows it Jefferson's at her door ready to pick him up.

"So the nuns really don't mind?" Emma asks, as she and Jefferson stand watching Henry proudly show off his presents to Grace.

Jefferson shrugs. "They might, but this is just how it's always gone. Everyone old enough wants to go to the Masquerade – it's the biggest event in the Storybrooke calendar."

"Yeah I'd figured that," Emma grumbles.

Excitement for the ball had been buzzing since way back in September. With everything that had been going in on in Storybrooke, there hadn't really been opportunity for the annual event to take place since the curse broke – and when it was announced that the tradition would finally be resumed this year she'd thought people were going to pass out from anticipation.

"They do rotate you know – some nuns go some years, some go others," Jefferson adds. "They've all been. But that way there's always people around to look after the kids."

Ruby had laughed at Emma when she'd asked if she knew anyone who'd be able to babysit Ball Night. It was a strictly 18+ event, and everyone over that age was always absolutely sure to be there. Apparently there was never a responsible adult to be had on Boxing Day evening, so the nuns had started having all the towns' children over to the orphanage for one massive sleepover. If Henry and Grace's excitement level is anything to go by – Emma reckons that the adults are the ones truly missing out on the party.

"I guess it'll be busier this year," Emma says pensively, eyes fixed on the way Henry's grinning as he explains his Star Wars figurines are mint in package.

"How would you know, you've never been," Jefferson points out.

"Yeah, but the curse has broken – kids are ageing. There must be some new eighteen year olds who've spent like thirty years just a couple of years away from old enough."

"Oh," the man replies, frowning, "yeah I guess you're right." He laughs then "Wow that must have sucked."

"Agreed," Emma nods. "Imagine being permanently just too young for the biggest event of the year."

.

.

.

Milla can't quite stop shaking, she's so excited. She'd spent so long just a year too young to go to the Masquerade, and when she'd finally hit eighteen there hadn't been one. She'd been so panicked they wouldn't throw another one that when they'd announced they were, she'd almost feinted from excitement. It had always been her favorite event of the year.

The sleepover for the kids was fun, sure, but she'd used to sit and watch all the grown-ups in their posh suits and beautiful dresses, faces hidden by fancy masks, and longed for the day she'd get to go.

After Obie she'd been so upset she'd practically forgotten about it – but then, of course, a mysterious figure had shown up out of nowhere and told her to stop moping and start enjoying life like Obie would want her to. And, okay, maybe that was a little strange – but Obie would certainly want her to go to the Ball.

She stares into the bathroom mirror, adjusting her hair for the thousandth time, smoothing an eyebrow with a shaky finger and glancing down at her midnight gown. She wants to look beautiful. She wants to look as sophisticated as the adults she used to watch with wistful brown eyes every Boxing Day for twenty-odd years. She wants to look like a grown-up. Not least of all because grown-ups get to drink, and this last month she's discovered she really quite likes drinking.

She wants to be noticed, she doesn't want to be invisible anymore. She'd thought being invisible was good – but Obie was pretty invisible – and it never did him any good. The figure in the garden had been right, living was so much more fun. Enjoying yourself was so much more fun.

She's been trying to stop being invisible, trying to enjoy herself as best as possible since the murder – but tonight, tonight she's determined. Tonight, she's finally really going to have some fun.

.

.

.

Emma fidgets nervously, examining herself in the full length mirror in her wardrobe door. Regina also hadn't been lying about doing her a favor. Whilst, objectively, the dress Snow bought her is pretty - its baby blue coloring and layers of lace, chiffon and god-only-knows-what just really aren't her scene. Dresses in general aren't always necessarily her scene. She wore them when she was on jobs, she wore them – occasionally – when she was on dates. She hasn't worn one in a while though, and she doesn't often wear them for pleasure.

The dress Regina's given her though – well if she were gonna wear a dress.

The floor length gown is jet black, made of a silky material that clings to her figure in just the right way. It's strapless, with laces up the back – and Jefferson had taken disgusting pleasure in lacing it so tightly she could barely breathe. It's jeweled, but not gaudily so. The crystals that scatter across the bodice and down it are also black, tiny, and under dim light she gives the illusion of twinkling like stars. It's cut low enough, and laced tight enough, that it gives her an amount of cleavage which she's somewhat equally fascinated and delighted by.

It looks good, if she says so herself. Certainly much better than a fluffy baby blue thing. Regina's definitely earned a little bit of grateful groveling – even if Emma's a little loathe to admit it – the woman's kinda saved her life. Or at least her dignity.

When she'd opened the box – desperately and warily – she'd laughed at the fact Henry and Regina had managed to psych her out about nothing. She doesn't know if that was the whole joke, but she hopes it was. If the dress is enchanted to turn pastel pink in the middle of the evening or something she will not be impressed.

She turns, inspecting herself carefully for about the hundredth time. She doesn't know why she's obsessing quite so much – she doesn't generally care so much about what she looks like – but tonight she finds she really does want to look good.

She's twisted her hair up into a bun, letting a few stray waves out of it here and there as well as a couple to frame her face – and for once she's made a real effort with her makeup, putting on more eyeliner than usual and whacking on some red lipstick. She's even curled her eyelashes.

"Oh for god's sake, yes, you look hot – can we please go?" Jefferson asks, holding out her jacket for her and raising his eyebrows expectantly.

"I look hot?" she asks, raising an eyebrow at him questioningly.

"Infinitely fuckable," he replies sarcastically and she smacks him around the head.

"You're disgusting."

"And you're late," he replies.

"If I'm late, you're late," she shrugs, grinning.

"Yes but I'm not meeting a date there."

Emma stares at him. "What?"

"Emma, come on," he smirks.

She frowns. "No, really, what?"

He rolls his eyes. "Fine, fine, deny it if you want – but Ruby told me. So I know."

"Know what?" she asks, frustrated. "Why does everyone suddenly know all this stuff about me?"

Jefferson looks at her for a moment, then his own brow creases. "Wait you really have no idea what I'm talking about do you?"

"No!"

"Oh. Well, erm, just forget I said anything then," he shrugs, and heads for the door.

"Jefferson!" she shouts, running after him as best she can in her four and a half inch heels. "What the hell were you talking about?"

He opens the car door for her, shrugging again. "Nothing, Emma, don't worry about it," he smirks, and she lets out a tiny little scream of frustration.

"You're all fucking insane," she grumbles as he slides into the driver's seat.

Jefferson turns to her, one eyebrow raised, "Didn't you get the memo? I'm the mad hatter, 'course I'm insane."

Emma just sighs, exasperated, and turns to stare moodily out of the window.

"You're such a child," he says, turning the key in the ignition.

"And you're such an asshole, now fucking drive – we've got a Masquerade to get to."

.

.

.

By the time they get there Emma is feeling inexplicably nervous. There's butterflies in her stomach that have no reason being there, and she's sweating slightly. She feels stupid. Her lipstick's too bright, her dress too low cut, and her cleavage is really impressive. Really excessive.

She feels over-dressed, over-exposed. She doesn't want an excess of attention on her – she's never liked being the center of attention – but this is the kind of outfit that's sure to get her some.

Jefferson huffs, killing the ignition. "Okay, Emma, what is it?"

She turns to him, noticing for the first time that she's been drumming her fingers noisily against her clutch. "I...nothing I just…I dunno."

"Emma there's no one else here – and no one else is going to ask you tonight because they'll all be too distracted to deal with your little problems. So if it's something you need to talk about then just tell me. Now."

She shifts uncomfortably. "I just – I dunno," she shrugs, "I feel weird. I don't do stuff like this."

"Like what?" he frowns.

"Dances. Balls. Fancy events!" she retorts, voice betraying her panic.

"Wait," Jefferson laughs, incredulous, "you're not telling me that big bad Sheriff Swan is afraid of a little dance?"

"No!" she exclaims, "Only…yeah, kinda," she bites on her lip and glances at him warily.

"Emma that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," he replies.

"Well maybe it is, but you guys have been to twenty seven of these things – and I never even went to prom."

Jefferson's looking at her like she's crazy.

"This is stupid isn't it?"

"So stupid," he grins, bewilderment in his expression, and she lets out a little laugh.

"Sorry, I dunno what got into me," she states, shaking her head.

"Nerves," Jefferson supplies simply.

"What reason do I have to be nervous?"

The man looks at her for a very long moment, like he did back at the house, then shakes his head, sighing.

"You really don't know, do you?" he asks and she gives a frustrated huff.

"Know what?"

"Oh, Emma," he smirks, "you really are an idiot."

She opens her mouth to protest, but he's pulling her into his side with one arm and pressing a kiss the side of her head in a gesture so warm and brotherly she can't really stay angry at him.

"Just chill. It's all gonna be fine, okay? And if you get really sick of it then, you know – I'm sure Lil won't mind taking you home."

She pulls back and smacks him around the arm.

"What?" he asks. "It's ball night – I have a reputation to uphold."

Emma's mouth turns up in disgust. "Do I want to know?"

"Probably not," he shrugs, smirking, "but let's just say it's a good job Grace is out of the house."

Emma rolls her eyes. "You're an ass."

"And you're an idiot, so we're even."

"Oh just shut up and hand me my goddamn mask."

.

.

.

Emma has to stop and take in a startled breath as she enters the hall. She's not one to get gushy over interior design but, damn, if she didn't just walk into winter wonderland.

"Well, shit, I guess a little fairy dust really helps with decorating duties," Jefferson says as he stands behind her, taking in the large room before them.

Apparently the nun's had also always been responsible for doing up Storybrooke's own personal ballroom, but even without Jefferson's slightly awed exclamation – she'd have doubted that it ever looked this good in Storybrooke's pre-magic days.

The floor looks smooth and white, glittering like snow in moonlight. The walls are hidden by images of completely snow covered mountains – not any she recognizes and she wonders idly if they're mountains from Fairy Tale Land. There are huge Christmas trees every few meters or so down around the walls. Tall, dark spruces covered almost completely by glistening colored ornaments. Each tree alternates – half the trees draped in reds and golds, the other half in silvers and blues. All topped off with layers of fake snow. The tables are laid perfectly, not a silver spoon out of place, and each holds its own centerpiece of greenery. Holy, ivy, mistletoe, all bundled together in silver and gold ribbons, and sprinkled with glittery white snowflakes.

Perhaps the greatest (or cheesiest, a little part of her whispers) touch is the way that snow appears to be sifting gently down from the ceiling. The whole thing is a little overwhelming.

"I think the nuns have been watching too much Harry Potter," Jefferson says distastefully, wiping a stray flake from his shoulder.

"Says the man whose Star Wars addiction is responsible for the nerdification of two perfectly innocent children," Emma shoots back, deciding not to let Jefferson being a grumpy old man ruin anything for her.

Because okay, yeah, maybe the whole thing is a little over the top – but she's never seen anything quite as amazing or elaborate in her life. She's pretty sure this beats prom by a mile.

Except for the fact that at prom you tend to have a date – and all she's got is Jefferson. And even that's only until he can find his unwitting victim for the evening.

"Nerdification isn't a word," he replies, sneering as someone pushes past them – resulting in them backing into a tree – and he ends up with glitter on his tux.

"Oh shut up and stop being bitter," she casts another glance around the room – taking in the way the low lighting is causing everything to glisten and shimmer gently – and turns back to him with a grin on her face, "you gotta admit this is pretty awesome."

He rolls his eyes. "You've changed your tune."

"Yeah, well." She takes a look at the people pouring in through the door, all immaculate tuxes and beautiful gowns in every color and style you could think of. "Sitting in the car surrounded by old chip packets and Grace's muddy soccer shoes – I was feeling a little overdressed. Now I feel less like I'm going to stick out like a saw thumb."

Jefferson raises his eyebrows behind his jeweled black mask, but says nothing.

"Oh come on, let's just go get a drink," Emma sighs, grabbing him by the arm and leading him over to the bar she can see set into one wall.

The girl on the bar is pretty and blonde, and Emma notices that Jefferson perks up again as he sees her. She rolls her eyes. "Go on then," she nudges him, "wouldn't want you to damage you reputation or anything."

He flashes her a wicked grin, then affects a disarmingly charming smile which, to her, seems a little overkill – but the bartender flushes as he walks up to her so Emma just gives him his space and waits by a tree until he comes back and places a vodka martini in her hand.

"Go forth and conquer," he says, waving an arm out at the room.

"And what do you plan to do?" she asks, taking a large sip of her drink.

"Go behind the bar and score,"

"With her?" Emma asks, unimpressed. "Really?"

"Then who do you suggest?"

Emma hums, turning to survey the room, sipping at the vodka martini in her hands. She smirks, zeroing in on a target. "Her," she says, nodding her head towards a woman loitering by the buffet tables, "she's totally looking to score tonight."

"How can you tell?"

"She's hanging around and trying to catch the eye of any man that passes her whilst totally ignoring the women, believe me, she wants action." She tilts her head to one side slightly. "Also she's got a great ass."

"And having a great ass automatically means you want to score?" he asks.

"No but it's an added bonus."

Jefferson rolls his eyes. "You're unbelievable."

"What?"

"Nothing," he mumbles, "So what kind of drink d'you reckon she likes?"

Emma scans her eyes up and down the woman briefly – taking in the nice jewelry and slightly superior expression, despite the attempt to catch people's eyes. "White wine," she settles on, "try white wine."

"Dry or sweet?"

Emma makes a face at him. "What am I – psychic? I don't know!"

"Well you're the one who said white wine!" he argues, throwing his hands up in the air defensively.

"Yeah because she's rich and snooty, any idiot could see that."

"I…am not going to dignify that with a response," Jefferson sighs, shaking his head, "I'm gonna go try get laid now."

"I'd tell you you're disgusting but I'm pretty sure you already know that."

"And I'd tell you you're frustrated and could do with some action yourself – but I'm pretty sure you already know that," he smirks.

Emma opens her mouth to deny it but then shuts it again. He's not completely wrong.

"Told ya," he whispers into her ear as he turns back to the bar, "now stop hanging around like a single girl at prom and go have a little fun – for me."

"Yeah, yeah whatever," she rolls her eyes, but moves away anyway. She has no desire to be Jefferson's wingman all evening, and if he strikes out with rich-and-snooty-but-available then she just knows he'll try to rope her in to playing 'Who can Jefferson fuck?' and she really has no desire to spend her evening like that.

She almost wishes she'd stuck with him, though, when she turns around and almost spills vodka all over herself and her mother.

"Mary Margaret!"

"Emma!" her mother looks shocked, then looks her up and down and frowns. "What are you wearing?"

Emma looks down at herself, at the tight black satin gown that's sparkling in the dim light of the ballroom, then back to her mother. "A dress?" she says, though it comes out more like a question.

The creases in Snow's brow simply deepen. "That's not the dress I bought you?"

She looks at her questioningly and Emma fidgets under her gaze, taking a large gulp of her drink. "No, erm, no it isn't."

"Why aren't you wearing the dress I got you?" the other woman asks.

"I…I…" Emma stammers. Shit. Okay, so she hadn't really got so far as coming up with an explanation for that.

Snow raises an eyebrow expectantly.

"Well I –"

"Come, come, Snow dear I'm sure you've noticed by now that your daughter is one of the clumsier idiots any of us have had the misfortune of meeting," Emma whips around to see Regina standing just behind her, glass of wine in her hand, and smug smile on her face.

And holy shit does the woman look incredible.

Regina's dress is deep, blood red. It's tight and form-fitting – despite the fact that it looks like it's made from yards of fabric, all folded around each other. The material's satiny like in her own dress, though not as shiny, and whereas her own is almost straight around the top, with just a slight dip between the cups – the neckline of Regina's plunges half-way down her chest.

It does not leave much to the imagination.

The bodice – what there is of it – is covered in elaborate embroidery, tiny black crystals sewn into the black flowers to make it sparkle like Emma's. The design weaves down and thins out slowly, glittering black vines disappearing into the folds of material in the skirt. As the woman takes a few paces forwards she sees the back is very different in design to hers too. Hers laces up at the back, the large black ribbons weaving over more black material, covering her. Regina's, though, is totally open; thin pieces of deep red ribbon criss-crossing from each side over totally exposed flesh, the material only meeting again in a 'v' at the base of her spine.

Regina's hair is swept mainly to one side, piled in messy waves that frame the side of her face, her eye makeup elaborate and smoky. If she has a mask with her she's not wearing it - for which Emma finds herself strangely grateful. The woman looks beautiful, not to mention dangerous. From the way Emma's parents are looking at her, pale faced and a little stunned – from the way Regina's looking at them, smirking, eyes glittering in challenge – the blonde wonders if the other woman might just be channeling her Evil Queen days.

"Regina," her mother says tightly, "how nice to see you." There's a little inflection on the word 'see' that implies she's not just talking about Regina's presence in their immediate vicinity. It's true there isn't an awful lot to the top half of her dress, but it's not something Emma minds. Apart from the fact that it's inexplicably distracting to her. She takes another big sip of her martini.

"Likewise, Snow dear," Regina smiles in mock sweetness.

Snow frowns, shifting uncomfortably before looking back to Emma again. "So why aren't you wearing the dress I bought you, Emma?"

Emma opens her mouth to answer but Regina cuts her off again, "As I said – your daughter is a clumsy fool," she responds, "lucky for her that when she ruined her first dress, I had a spare I could lend her."

Snow's eyebrows rise a fraction. "You're…wearing Regina's dress?" she asks. Emma takes another drink as Regina turns to look at her expectantly, expression serene.

"Yes. I…I spilt wine all over the other one – accidentally!" she adds quickly, and Regina rolls her eyes at her apparent lack of calm. "It was…an accident," she finishes on a mumble.

"Oh," Snow says simply, but her eyes are flicking from Emma to Regina and back again with an emotion that the blonde can't quite place, "well…okay then."

They all stand in awkward silence for a moment, Regina and Snow almost but not quite staring each other down. Then there's a flash of color to her right and Emma feels an arm slip into hers.

"Hey, Em! You look great," Lilly grins, leaning in to hug her.

"Oh, wow, hi Lil," she mumbles back in surprise. "Thanks."

Lilly herself is dressed in a modest but elegant turquoise dress, the aqua tones complimenting her red hair prettily.

"Hey, everyone," the redhead then says to the other three. Charming offers her a grin from behind Snow's shoulder, and Snow herself smiles softly.

"Hi Lilly – you look beautiful."

Lilly blushes, eyes dropping to her feet. "Thank you," she mutters, clearly a little embarrassed.

"Hi Regina," she adds, since the other woman still hasn't acknowledged her.

"Lilly," she offers the woman a tiny smile – even Regina can't dislike Lilly.

"Hey, Em, look I'm sorry to drag you away – but Freddie's dying to see you."

Emma closes her eyes in a silent prayer of thanks. "No problem – I'd love to see him. I'll see you guys later, okay?" she says over her shoulder to the others as Lilly drags her eagerly away by the arm.

"Thank you thank you thank you," Emma breathes once they're far enough away and Lilly laughs.

"It looked like things were pretty icy over there – thought I'd liberate you."

Emma swipes a glass of champagne off a travelling waiter and hands it to the other woman. "You are a truly fantastic friend," she grins, as Lilly takes the proffered drink thankfully.

"I'm sure Freddie would genuinely like to see you," she says as she veers them through gaps in the brightly colored, masked crowd, "but honestly I haven't got a clue where he is right now."

The blonde shrugs, allowing herself to be led, taking the occasional sip of her martini and trying not to trip over her dress.

Lilly leads them out of a door Emma wouldn't even have known was there if the other woman hadn't opened it.

"Erm, Lil? Where we going?" she asks.

"Outside," she grins, "I take it you've never been here before?"

"Haven't really had time for sightseeing – what with all the curses and wraiths and murders and shit since I rocked up into town."

Lilly presses her lips together and gives a single nod. "Right, yeah, didn't really think of that."

There's a waiter with a tray of drinks just heading back inside and Lilly grabs one – handing it over to Emma.

"Figured you could use that," she says, with a glance down to the now empty glass in Emma's hand.

"Thanks."

"No problem," Lilly smiles, taking a sip of her champagne, as Emma pulls off her glittering black mask.

"So would you like to explain why we're going outside in the freezing cold in dresses that offer no protection from it?" Emma asks, but shuts her mouth promptly as they walk out onto the terrace.

Okay, that might by why.

The terrace itself is decorated just as lavishly as the ballroom, Christmas trees and all, but beyond that stretches a long expanse of carefully tended garden – full of perfectly pruned bushes and flowers she's sure should not look so bright and happy in December.

"Where the hell did this come from?" she asks, voice breathy in her shock. Lilly grins at her.

"It's always been here – granted it wasn't this, erm, vibrant before the curse broke – but it's always been here."

Wow. Okay so the ballroom might be all the way on the other side of town – and it's not like Emma has ever had much time to explore – but she'd have thought someone would warn her how grand it all was out here.

"And this place is just used for the Masquerade – that's it?" she asks incredulously, and the redhead shrugs.

"Pretty much. I reckon it was sorta the curses recognition of where everyone came from."

Emma shoots her a questioning look.

"You know, like this place is the little piece of the Enchanted Forest that got brought with us – not that I'd know since I've never been there."

The blonde nods in absent agreement – that would make sense after all – then stops.

"Wait – you're not from Fairytale Land?"

Lilly shakes her head. "Wonderland, that's me," she smiles.

Emma turns to look at her. "Wonderland? Seriously?"

The other woman nods her head a little sheepishly. "Mushrooms and caterpillars and all – although that caterpillar was a complete asshole, I hope the curse left him behind."

"Wait some of you guys are from Wonderland. Seriously?"

"Seriously, Emma," Lilly laughs. "Where d'you think Jefferson's from?"

Emma opens her mouth and closes it again, frowning. "But…he was from the Enchanted Forest he was just in Wonderland at the time."

Lilly shrugs. "Apparently the curse didn't discriminate – Fred and I aren't the only Wonderland nationals I've seen wandering around this place."

"Oh," Emma's frown deepens. "I can't believe I never knew you were from Wonderland," she says guiltily, but Lilly just elbows her gently in the ribs.

"Oh lighten up, would you? I don't know where you spent half your life, why should you know where I spent mine?"

Emma gives Lilly a quick smile. "Guess you're right," she says, "anyway, yeah, beautiful secret Storybrooke garden. Thanks for the tour."

"Thank me for the rescue," Lilly grins at her.

"Well, yeah, that too."

"It should be fairly safe for you to hang out here for a while if you want to keep avoiding them – most people tend to stay inside because it's too cold. D'you mind if I try go find Fred?"

Emma shakes her head. "No you go," she smiles, as Lilly heads back towards the door, "maybe bring him out here once you have – I still haven't had a chance to tell him I'm sorry about Jake."

Lilly frowns. "What about Jake?"

The blonde's eyes widen fractionally. "Shit – do you not know?"

The redhead freezes. "Know what?"

She hesitates, torn. On the one hand Lilly and Fred are her friends – they deserve to know the truth, on the other Lilly and Fred are her friends and Fred's still heartbroken about the breakup – telling a guy his ex was killed by freaky zombie children was probably not beneficial to mental health. The truth is good, but protection is what Emma does – and has been failing spectacularly at lately. Maybe if she can keep Fred from finding out until he's a little more stable emotionally, he'll take the news better.

"Well," Emma stammers, coughing awkwardly to hide it, "they broke up, didn't they?"

Lilly just looks confused. "Yeah – I told you that."

"Right," Emma shakes her head. "Course you did it's just – I heard Jake's been pretty bummed about it too, ya know? But I guess you've gotta be on Fred's side in all this," she lies, not too smoothly – but Lilly's a fairly trusting person.

"Oh." Her forehead relaxes slightly, and instead she just looks sad. "Yeah I sorta do – sisterly duty and all. I'm sorry Jake's upset though."

Emma shrugs. "Break ups – they suck for everyone."

Lilly shoots her a little rueful smile. "That they do. Right, I'm gonna go find my useless brother – I'll bring him out when I do, okay?"

"See ya, Lil," Emma smiles.

She pulls the door open, noise and light flooding out through the gap onto the snow-dusted terrace "Stay out of trouble," Lilly grins, then disappears inside, letting the door slam shut behind her.

Emma sighs, taking a sip of her drink. She's not one hundred percent sure that was the right thing to do – but Fred's such a sweet person – she can't be the one to devastate him with Jake's death. She's been the bad news bringer for too many people already this month.

She wanders across the terrace, taking sips of the drink Lilly snagged for her, and leans against the snowy, stone railing – staring out at the garden beyond. The nuns – fairies – have clearly enchanted it as well, though whether the plants are genuinely blooming or whether they've just been magically enhanced Emma doesn't know.

She stares down at her own hands, wondering idly if she'd be able to do something like that – if she practiced of course. She's scared of magic – of all the dark things she's seen done with it – but tonight, the way the nuns have made everything look amazing, it makes her unable not to wonder if she'd be able to just do good things like that. She's never really thought of magic being something that could create beauty before – but the garden, the ballroom – she can't see any way that could be construed as bad magic. She certainly can't see what so-called price a little interior decorating could bring.

She's so lost in thought she doesn't hear the sound of the door opening and closing behind her, nor the sound of slightly unsteady footsteps across the terrace. She doesn't even notice anyone else is there until someone's leaning on the railing next to her.

"Sheriff."

She snaps her head to the side and frowns – there's a girl next to her, young and pretty, with large dark eyes that remind her of someone's, and beautifully curled brown hair. Emma frowns – she recognizes her – then a second later her eyes widen slightly as she remembers.

"Milla?" she asks.

The girl gives a breath-taking smile. "Hi."

"I, er, didn't think I'd see you here," Emma mutters guiltily, turning to face her but avoiding looking the girl in the eye.

Milla shrugs. "I've decided not to let life pass me by," she states, "Obie had his whole life ahead of him and now he's gone and it just proves that you can't take life for granted. So I'm having fun – he'd want me to," she sounds a little defensive on the last part – not to mention a little slurred, and Emma drops her gaze to the half-empty glass in her hand. She's having fun alright.

"That's," she hesitates – something about her begs that the girl isn't entirely stable, though that could just be the alcohol – but she did just lose her surrogate brother, and honestly moving on and living life is much healthier than sinking into a hole of grief and despair. "That's great," she asserts, looking up and smiling at her, "that's great that you're moving on."

Milla smiles again, "I'm pleased you think so."

"Although," Emma says, getting a strong waft of alcohol off her, "I am the Sheriff and you aren't twenty one yet – might want to lay off on the booze a little bit." She reaches out and plucks the glass out of the girl's hand.

"Oh but Sheriff," she says, "it's ball night. Give a girl a break."

The blonde fixes her with a hard glare, before finally scrunching up her nose in defeat and handing the glass back to her. "You can finish this one – then that's it, no more. And you're sticking with Blue for the rest of the night and going back to the orphanage with her, understood?"

She grins, taking the proffered beverage. "Thank you."

Emma chuckles, "But only because it's ball night."

"And because the closest thing I had to a little brother died?" she adds bluntly, and Emma's gaze snaps up to meet hers. "It's okay, everyone's been treating me different since it happened – you're actually being surprising normal."

She examines the girl carefully – her drunken levity isn't quite enough to hide the sadness in her – and it half reminds Emma of her at that age. She'd just had a baby in jail after being abandoned by someone she thought she loved – but she imagines the feelings of loneliness weren't hugely dissimilar, even though Milla's is probably magnified.

"Milla I…" she trails off, biting the inside of her cheek. This is awkward. Knowing that she's in part responsible for Obie's death makes it difficult to look the girl in the eyes and says she's sorry – to offer her any kind of sympathy or apology at all, in fact. But she should, it's really the least she can do. "I am so sorry about Obie."

Milla turns to her, eyes flitting across her face and then turning back out onto the garden beyond them. "Thank you, but it's okay."

Emma turns to look at her, brow creasing. That was not the response she was expecting.

"I mean it's not okay," she clarifies, and Emma keeps her mouth shut, turning to stare out at the greenery beyond them too, letting the girl talk. "It sucks. And no matter what I do it doesn't stop sucking. It's kind of like there's a part of me missing, and I keep expecting him to be there but he's not," she sniffs, and Emma's half tempted to put an arm around her – though she doesn't. "The worst part is that I thought I found a way to help me move on…or at least to cheer me up…but all that's doing is just making me hurt more."

"What was that?" Emma questions softly.

"Love," Milla replies, and the blonde startles.

"Love?"

"Yeah," the girl sighs, "I thought if I fell in love then maybe it would help make me feel whole again. But it turns out falling in love isn't that easy, you just end up with," she pauses, and Emma hears her take a shaky breath, "with unrequited infatuations."

Milla turns to look up at her then, dark eyes wide, and Emma curses internally. Oh no. Oh no no no. No she really can't mean…

"Sheriff," she says, and her voice has a pleading note to it. The blonde freezes, eyes widening slightly, left staring into the dark gaze of the girl.

"Milla I really don't –" she's already moving though, one hand at Emma's cheek as she presses their lips together. The blonde squeaks in surprise, jerking away from the contact.

"Whoa, Milla, wait."

The girl's face falls. "I'm sorry!" she exclaims. "I told you…stupid unrequited infatuation. I can't help it."

The blonde tries to soften her expression, though she can't deny she's feeling incredibly uneasy. "I know, it's okay. But believe me, it's really not me you want."

Milla's brow knits together. "You can't know that."

"I do," Emma says firmly. "I really do."

She lets out a heavy sigh. She feels weird, really weird – and not alcohol weird either. She hasn't been kissed in forever – though that hardly passed as a kiss – but goddammit if that didn't just make her realize how starved for intimacy she truly is. There's something about the girl that makes her realize that she wants it. Only it's not Milla she wants it with. Apart from the fact that the girl's barely out of high school and that is just plain wrong, the blonde can't help shake the feeling that what was even more wrong was kissing someone else.

But that, she really doesn't understand. Because who on earth else would she be kissing?

"I'm sorry, Sheriff," she whispers, looking up at her sadly, dark eyes glistening with emotion.

And then it hits her.

There's a reason Milla's eyes seem familiar – they're large, and dark, and hold this deep seated smoldering pain. They're like Regina's eyes.

The girl is all dark hair and dark eyes and pouty lips and gentle curves and she kinda looks like Regina. Granted, structurally, their faces are nothing alike – whereas Regina's all angles and bone structure, Milla's all round and pixie-featured. And where the woman's skin has a hint of coffee in its tone, the girl's complexion is fair and rosy.

It's enough to make her want though. Only apparently she doesn't just want, she wants curvy brunettes with big brown eyes and pouty lips and holy shit she thinks she wants Regina. And this whole situation doesn't just feel wrong because the kid's nineteen it feels wrong because she doesn't want to be kissing someone else. She wants to be kissing Regina. Just Regina. Exclusively. More than that, god, she wants Regina all to herself, in her bed, in her home in her life. Not just as Henry's other mother. Not just as a friend.

She wants to be with her.

Emma startles at the realization. How the ever-loving fuck did she never realize this before?

She's never been ignorant to the fact that Regina's attractive – it's impossible to ignore. When she first arrived she'd often thought to herself she wouldn't mind a bit of hate sex with her. But this, this is different. She doesn't just want to fuck her, she really wants to be with her. To be hers.

Milla's still staring at her, eyes wide and questioning.

"I do want you," the girl repeats, defensively, and Emma gives her a sad smile.

"Milla, trust me. There's someone out there for you – but it is definitely not me. Besides I…there's someone else for me," she admits, head spinning at the fact that that's the truth.

Milla's face falls in sadness, full lips turning down. "I'm so sorry – I should have known," she mutters quietly, turning her gaze down to her shoes. "I should have known that wasn't a one time thing...of course you're together."

Emma frowns, confused. "Wait, what?"

Milla shakes her head. "No it's okay, it's okay I get it." She stares at her for a long moment, mouth falling open slightly as if to speak again – then she turns and flees back across the terrace.

Emma takes in a long breath of air, breathing uneven. Her head's spinning, shocked by her new discovery. It's a little bit too much to process, honestly. She need to sort her head out, needs to think.

She picks up her clutch and sweeps back across towards the doors, heading back inside and straight for the ladies.

There's an old woman just washing her hands as Emma storms into the elaborate marble finished restroom, she eyes her warily and heads out without drying them.

The blonde doesn't really care at this precise moment.

She walks to the sinks, throwing down her mask and bag onto the counter, steadying both hands on it and letting her head hang forwards. She can feel her heart pounding in her ears, and her breathing is still a little shaky. Come to mention it, she's shaking. Her whole body's trembling – from adrenaline, she guesses.

She doesn't know what kind of funny game her brain is playing, but really, of all the information to suppress – or all the moments to start un-suppressing it.

Objectively she can see it makes sense – she and Regina have fallen into a kind of holding pattern, where there's unspoken affection between them but it's so deep and unexplored, unexpressed, that all they do is joke around and avoid the fact they actually mean something to each other. That they're friends. Except apparently they're not – not on Emma's side certainly. She doesn't see Regina as just a friend anymore – and apparently kissing Milla broke her out of the holding pattern. She imagines it would have worked if she'd seen Regina kissing someone too.

Her fists clench involuntarily. The thought of Regina kissing someone else is even more repulsive than the idea of her kissing someone else has become. Emma lifts her head up to meet her own gaze in the mirror.

She supposes she can't entirely blame her brain for this. If she didn't have such a poor excuse of a sex life then she might have worked out a bit earlier that the only sex she wants in her life is with Regina.

She sees the door begin to open behind her in the mirror and whips around, only for her heart to jump to her throat.

Regina's standing there in all her and her dress' low-cut glory, fingers tapping against the door frame.

Emma groans, "And of course, of course, you'd be here right now!" She turns back around, resting her hands on the marble surface again.

She sees Regina's brow furrow in confusion behind her.

"Wha –"

"Don't," Emma snaps, "please just don't. Not right now."

Regina, fool that she is, takes a step forward, hand moving from the door, allowing it to swing shut behind her.

"Emma what's wrong?"

She groans again, letting her head hang once more and screwing her eyes shut. All she can think about is that stupid dress – about maybe tearing it off her.

"Regina please just go," she says, voice choked.

She hears the woman step forward again, feels the hand burning into the bare skin on her back.

"Please," she begs.

"Emma what's wrong, are you sick?" Regina asks, so oblivious. "Please tell me it's not vodka. These dresses were expensive even for my taste, I do not want them covered in your vomit."

Emma offers a little humorless laugh, turning her head sideways so as to look the other woman in the eye.

"You're an idiot," she mutters.

"I think you'll find that's you, dear."

The blonde lets out a hollow noise of frustration and straightens up, pulling Regina by the arm and swinging her round until she's pinned up against the wall by the sinks.

"You don't get it, do you?" she asks, desperation in her voice.

Regina looks shocked, genuinely, which is a fairly uncommon expression on her face. Emma takes that as a tiny win at least.

"Emma wha –"

The blonde leans in close, mouth a hairs breadth away from Regina's, green eyes staring imploringly into hers.

"I…" she falters, unsure what she's actually doing. She can't tell her, can she? What if she doesn't feel the same? They've gotten to such a good place – as parents, and as friends.

She can't risk that, can't risk them. She can't risk Henry's happiness either.

"I…" but she wants to. She wants to tell Regina the truth, to tell her she really is an idiot for not realizing it sooner. She wants to take her in her arms – she's right there, it would be so easy.

"I've…had a lot of champagne," she lies, letting her forehead fall onto the wall, chin millimeters away from Regina's shoulder. She can't do it. She can't risk it.

"My head really hurts," that part's not a total lie at least.

Regina's answering sigh is enough to have Emma imaging the eye roll that went with it. "Well at least it wasn't vodka," she hums out, one hand moving to rub the blonde's back.

Emma closes her eyes, drinking in the warmth of Regina touch. She wants to bury her head in her neck, curl up against her and be held. Instead she keeps her head against the stone wall, chin barely brushing the skin beneath it. It's better than nothing, and she wants to stay here – maybe forever.

So of course the door to the restroom opens again and when she turns Emma sees Ruby standing there, face dark in anger, hands on her hips over her bright red dress.

"Seriously?" she gapes, throwing her hands up in the air, "You guys are unbelievable!"

"Rubes –" Emma starts, confused as to what her friend's problem is, and has been for that matter.

"No, can it, Emma," she spits out, turning to leave the way she's just entered, "ccome talk to me when you're ready to stop lying."

Emma stares after her in confusion, brow furrowed. She turns back to look at Regina, who's staring after Ruby with similar befuddlement on her face.

"What was that all about?" Regina asks and Emma just opens and closes her mouth a few times in shock.

"Your guess is as good as mine."

She meets Regina's gaze, which has turned back to her.

"Emma," she sighs, "are you alright?"

Emma stares at her, eyes glued to the other woman's. Her breathing starts to get shaky again.

"Yeah," she lies, "yeah I'm fine."

Regina frowns at her, but lets it go, and Emma steps away, allowing Regina to move from her position of being blockaded against the wall. The brunette walks to the door, then pauses, turning back.

"You coming?"

"I…yeah, in a minute. You go," she nods towards the door and Regina narrows her eyes at her.

"You're sure you're not going to throw up?" she asks.

Emma shoots her a tiny smile that she tries and probably fails to make reassuring. "Sure. I just need to splash some water on my face or something. I'll be fine."

"Make sure you get a drink of water too," Regina advises, then pulls open the door and sweeps back down the hallway. Emma hears the buzz of chatter reach her as the brunette opens the door back into the ballroom and the bathroom door swings shut again.

She turns back to the mirror.

This is all way too much. Contrary to what Regina now believes – she has not had enough alcohol this evening. Not enough to deal with the emotions running rampant through her.

She leans over the sink and turns the handle until there's icy cold water running from the faucet, scooping some into her hands and patting it across her face, careful to avoid her eyes. She splashes a little more across her chest and neck, letting the freezing water calm her. Then she grabs some paper towels and pats herself dry, reaching into her clutch for her powder. She touches up her makeup and smooths her hands over her dress. She's okay, everything's fine.

She can go back out there and face everyone – face Regina – and pretend like she isn't desperate to kiss her. She's been pretending this long hasn't she? Not knowing and pretending can't be too different.

It'll be fine. She'll be fine. She'll ignore it and she'll move on and she'll find someone else.

She puts her make up away and picks up her clutch, heading through the door and down the hallway.

Everything will be fine.

She opens the door and steps back out into the glistening ballroom, taking a deep breath and starting off in the direction of the bar.

Her phone buzzes in her bag and she pulls it out, swiping at it absently. She has a text from an unknown number. It reads:

Location: – Storybrooke Manor Ballroom

Emma's heart stops. No. No no no. Not here. Not now. She opens her mouth, panicked – though to do what she's not sure. To shout? To warn everybody? But then there's a flash and she's greeted with darkness and screaming.

She freezes.

She doesn't know what to do – if this is the same as last time then there's nothing, there's no time. God, not again not again.

The lights come back on and she looks around, everyone else is doing the same. They all know what comes next – but no one's screaming. No one seems to have a body by them like last time.

Something hits her. Not hard, something just lands on her shoulder with a patter. Like a raindrop. She wipes at it with her hand and it's warm, and thicker than water. Her heart drops to her stomach.

She brings her fingers in front of her face and feels her heart rate speeds up. It's blood. That's blood. Slowly, very slowly, Emma lifts her chin and looks towards the ceiling.

There's another drop, this one hitting her square in the forehead.

No one's screaming, so it's Emma who does the honors. She's sure she'll never quite live it down, but she can't help it. It's not really a scream – more of a yelp of horrified surprise. Of pain.

Because there is a body – of course there is – but instead of lying on the floor this one's hanging like a limp doll from a sparkling crystal chandelier. Its dark midnight dress ripped and blood-stained, waves of brunette hair hanging limp as the body they belong to past large brown eyes that are staring lifelessly at Emma. Through Emma.

Her not-scream attracted attention and she can sense people beginning to move – beginning to panic. But more blood is beginning to fall from the body like rain and she feels it falling on her arms and face, and it takes her a minute to gather herself – once she finally does though, she's barking orders.

"Thomas," she calls, when she sees he's nearest, "you and Jefferson on crowd control. Now. I need everybody gathered together so I can talk to them."

His brow creases at her. "You want to talk to them?" he asks, skeptical.

"Well someone has to."

"Emma you're covered in blood," he points out and she falters, that is true. "Fine – you can talk to them."

"Wha….me? What am I gonna say?"

"Tell them…" The blonde bites on her lip, trying to think. She's still not convinced about telling people about the connection between the murder and the children – worried about the widespread panic that information could cause – but if the pattern holds they're going to get invaded tomorrow, and people have to be warned to stay clear. "Tell them we have reason to believe this murder might cause another appearance of the children – and that as far as Doctor Whale and other hospital officials or concerned, the children are carriers for some kind of virus. Tell them that if the children do turn up tomorrow – they should stay inside and not let them in under any circumstances. You got that?"

"Think so."

"Good, get to it then," she instructs.

"What are you going to do?"

"Well for starters I was gonna go get the blood out of my eyes," she replies matter-of-factly. Thomas grimaces.

"Fair enough," he concedes, before walking away into the crowd. She heads back towards the bathroom, Ruby stepping up to her side and following her.

"Nice screaming," she deadpans, and Emma resists the urge to tread on her foot in her four inch heels.

"It was more of a yelp than a scream."

Ruby presses her lips together in apparent thought. "Nope, nope I'm pretty sure it was a scream."

"What do you want, Ruby?" Emma huffs, and the girl rolls her eyes.

"I came to help you get the blood off – you're covered in it."

"That's alright, I can help her," Regina's voice comes from behind them – and for once Emma's as unhappy to see the woman as Ruby is.

"Oh you would, wouldn't you? God forbid any of the rest of us get to spend any time with her," she adds in a grumble, and Emma watches Regina raise a delicate eyebrow. It's incredibly distracting.

"I'm sure there are plenty of things Emma could use your help with in the meantime," Regina points out, "you are a deputy after all."

Ruby's eyes narrow, but she turns to Emma anyway – question on her features. "You could go and help with the body," the blonde suggests. "I don't know how we're gonna get it down."

The girl grinds her jaw in irritation, sending Regina one more scathing look before giving a sharp nod and striding off into the ballroom.

"She really does not like me, does she?" Regina muses, and Emma sighs.

"So are you going to help me or what? I kind of have a murder to deal with out here," she asks shortly.

The brunette grabs her by the arm, pulling her into the restroom and over to a basin.

"You've ruined your dress," she observes calmly as she turns on the faucet.

"Please tell me you're not serious right now?" Emma asks, raising her eyebrows at the other woman.

Regina levels a look in her direction.

"Just checking," she mumbles.

"Lean forward," the brunette instructs, pushing Emma's head down towards the sink. She tries not to think about the feel of Regina's fingers on her skin as she starts to scrub at the drying blood there. She has other things to think about right now.

The brunette doesn't linger about it though, and next thing she knows Emma's upright again, tissue being applied gently, yet firmly to her skin.

"Here I can do it," she says, batting Regina's hands away, and starting to dab at her pink-tinged skin herself.

Regina watches her in the mirror as she rubs the remains of Milla's blood from her forehead, eyes narrowed.

"What is it?" Emma asks with a sigh.

"Are you alright?" the other woman asks, getting straight to the point.

Emma startles. "I…" That's a pretty complicated question right now, the answer to which is pretty unequivocally no. "Yeah," she lies, "yeah I'm fine."

"You're an awful liar."

Emma turns around to face the other woman properly, trying to control the erratic beat of her heart. "I need to get back – thank you, for helping," she gives her a tiny, unenthusiastic smile and then turns to leave.

"I'm going to go check on Henry." The woman calls to her as Emma opens the door. "Make sure everything's okay and they're all safe over there."

The blonde breathes a sigh of relief – that'll be one load off her mind at least. "Thank you," she says again, with a little more feeling, then turns and flees before her emotions manage to overcome her and she does something stupid.

She needs to focus on the matter at hand.

.

.

.

Her deputies have everything pretty much under control when she reemerges. Thomas and Jefferson (a rather drunk, lipstick-stained Jefferson) are just in the process of herding the panicked ball guests out into the snow towards their respective homes – having already informed them of the possible oncoming threat of the children. Ruby is hovering as Whale oversees the removal of the body – with a little help from Blue since no one has a ladder – and Lilly is working with David to clean up the blood on the floor.

She takes a deep breath before heading back over. Desperate not to let who the victim is get to her.

"Whale have you got this?" Emma asks him, pleased her voice isn't shaking, when she gets to them.

"Same sort of thing as last time? I'm on it – but not until the morning if that's, alright with you Sheriff? I'm not sure I should legally be handling a scalpel right now – not even on a dead person."

From the way he slurs slightly on every second word, Emma's inclined to agree with him.

"That's fine – get back to me tomorrow ASAP though, okay?"

He nods. "Will do. Come on guys," he says then to the two EMTs loading the body bag onto the stretcher.

Emma waves him off and turns to her father and Lilly, grabbing Ruby's arms and dragging her over to the other two. She waves over Jefferson and Thomas as they herd out the final stragglers.

When they get there she pulls them into a conspiratorial huddle. "Okay, guys," she starts – sounding so much more with it than she feels. Wherever she's pulling this from, she's grateful for it. "Here's the thing. We're all tired, we're all ranging from tipsy to downright Jefferson –"

"Drunk," he interjects with a hiccup, "you mean drunk."

Emma just looks at him. "You see my point. Whale's not doing the autopsy 'til tomorrow – and without that there's really nothing more to go on than last time. If the pattern holds though, that means we're probably getting visited by Rosemary's assorted hoards tomorrow – in which case we've gotta come up with a plan to keep them away from people."

"You got any ideas on that one?" Ruby asks, a little more snippily than really called for.

"No," she admits, "I'm too tired to think of anything now – that's why I'm saying I think we should all just cut our losses and go try get some sleep. We're getting up early tomorrow and everyone's on duty. Consider this red alert."

"Trekkie nerd," Jefferson mumbles, then hiccups again. Emma just rolls her eyes.

"Bring your lightsaber tomorrow if it's going to make you feel better," she tells him, "but right now everyone is going home, drinking a big glass of water, and setting their alarms for six," she winces herself at that one, but she can't have a repeat of last time. She just can't.

"I want you all at the station by seven am at the latest. I don't care what hangover cures you have to bring with you, just be there. We clear?"

The group takes a collective breath and then nods their agreement.

"Good. See you tomorrow then," she straightens up and everyone follows suit. They all start heading for the door – some more stable than others.

Lilly slips an arm into Emma's. "You know," she says, wiping at her damp eyes and sniffing, "that was actually pretty awesome just then," a tiny smile makes its way through her clearly saddened expression.

Emma can't help her own tiny answering smile. "Seriously?"

"Seriously," the redhead asserts.

Emma shrugs, a mild sensation of pride washing over her. "I guess it was a little bit."

She's not even sure where it came from really – she feels tired, and confused, and generally wiped. She feels like an emotional train wreck. But like it had once or twice in Neverland, control had come easily to her, orders slipping from her mouth without her having to think about them – just knowing they were the right ones. It feels good. It feels comforting. It feels like maybe she isn't a complete failure as Sheriff, as Savior, as a leader.

She and Lilly are last to leave the building, and as her she moves her foot off the final step to bring it down on the sidewalk below, Lilly lets out a little yelp of surprise

"Emma watch out!"

It's too late, though, her foot has crashed down on something and there's the echoing sound of shattering in the silence of the night.

"What the –"

Emma stops short when she moves her foot to see what she stepped on. It's a gnome – like the one she stepped on before, or the one on her front step. Different colors, going by the pieces of smashed china, but still definitely a gnome. This one's hat has survived her attack.

"Jesus Christ," she mutters, kicking away the bits of broken garden ornament, "being stalked by garden gnomes, freaking ridiculous."

She looks up to see Lilly frowning at her – she looks a little bit angry, truth be told.

"Lil?" Emma asks, "Sorry I didn't mean to offend you if you're a gnome lover or anything."

The redhead's frown deepens momentarily, then there's a flash of comprehension in her eyes and her brow smooths out again. "What? No! Sorry, Em, I'm just…I taught Milla, ya know? She was a good kid, just like Obie and this…this is just so –"

"Unfair?" Emma finishes for her, and Lilly nods.

"Why's this happening, Em?" she looks like she's trying really hard not to cry again, so the blonde reaches over and pulls her into an awkward hug. She's really not so great at the whole comforting thing.

"I dunno – but we're gonna figure it out. I promise we're gonna stop this."

Lilly sniffs, but nods. "I know. I know – and I'm pleased that I can help with that it's just…I dunno. They were so young, it's such a tragic waste of life."

Emma nods herself. "Can't argue with that," she breathes, releasing her, "we'll solve it, Lil. We will. But none of us are gonna solve it if we don't get any sleep – you need a ride home?"

"Do you need a ride home?" Lilly asks, giving a little chuckle "I only had a couple of glasses of champagne."

"Well I only had a couple of glasses of vodka," Emma argues.

"I win," Lilly smiles, "come on – wouldn't want the Sheriff to kill herself drunk driving in the middle of a murder case, now, would we?"

Emma rolls her eyes, but allows Lilly to wrap a hand around her arm and guide her to her car. She doesn't actually have the Bug with her anyway, she remembers, since she came with Jefferson.

"In," Lilly instructs when they reach her beaten up old pick-up, and Emma complies gratefully. She's worried that now she's done what needed to be done for the evening she's going to crash – and if she does it would be better if it doesn't happen when she's driving.

.

.

.

When they pull up Lilly gets out and makes sure Emma gets to the door alright – which is technically ridiculous since she's not even drunk – but she was right in that she feels herself beginning to lose it again, and she's pretty sure Lilly can sense it – so she's grateful for the support.

"Thanks, Lil," she smiles, as she pushes the door open, "are you gonna be alright to drive back or d'you wanna crash in the guest room?"

Lilly shakes her head. "Nah that's okay. I wanna check Jefferson made it to bed rather than a gutter – and Fred's probably wondering what's going on so I should fill him in. I'll see you at the station tomorrow though."

"'Kay, well, thanks again."

The redhead smiles. "No probs. I'll see you tomorrow," and with that she turns and gets back into her car, pulling out of the drive.

Emma listens to the sound of the engine disappearing back through the trees as she steps inside, toeing off her heels and wandering back through into the living room.

She's planning on going straight to her room – straight to bed – but as she walks she sees movement from the corner of her eye and turns, jumping almost out of her skin at the sight of a figure hovering by the window.

"Holy shit!" she yells, "Regina? What the hell?"

The brunette steps out of the shadows, face stoic. "Sorry, Emma, I didn't mean to scare you."

"Then I hope for the sake of my sanity that you never try to actually scare me."

The corner or Regina's mouth turns up in a tiny smirk. "That's probably wise."

"What are you doing here?" she asks, shrugging off her jacket and throwing it onto a chair, then she sits heavily on the couch, watching as Regina hesitates by the coffee table.

"I just wanted to check you got home safely," she mutters, "you were drunk."

Emma opens her mouth to argue – but being drunk is her cover story – so she's gotta take this one.

"Right, well, since you're alive and in one piece I'm going home."

"How? Your car's not here," Emma says, then frowns, "Wait how did you get here in the first place?"

"Teleportation spell," Regina shrugs.

Emma rolls her eyes. "You couldn't have just driven?"

"I've been drinking too."

"Oh what and drunk teleportation is less risky than drunk driving?" she scoffs.

"Marginally," Regina replies flatly, unamused. "I should really go though so –"

"You don't have to," Emma says – possibly a bit too fast. "Did you go see Henry?"

"He was asleep, obviously, but I spoke to the nuns. They've put some extra protections up so it should be safe there for now."

"Good," Emma nods, "that's good."

Regina sighs loudly. "Okay, Emma, what is it?"

"What's what?" she asks innocently.

"What's wrong with you? I mean I understand that that murder wasn't pleasant – especially not from your angle – but you're acting even weirder than you did after the last one. So what's wrong?"

The blonde hesitates, unsure whether or not to actually tell her. But there's guilt eating at her from the inside out – and if she doesn't tell someone then she might go mad. Because everything about her encounter with Milla had been heartbreaking – and there's this little gnawing worry inside her that it might have been the last conversation the girl ever had.

"It's…it's about Milla," she admits at her hands.

Regina raises an eyebrow. "Who?"

"Milla," Emma repeats, "the victim."

"Oh." The brunette's face softens a touch. "What about her?"

"Well…" Emma laughs nervously, "I might've…seen her tonight."

"You what?" she doesn't need to look up at Regina to know her eyebrows will have skyrocketed.

They do that. It's kind of adorable, the bewildered puppy look.

"Emma?" Regina presses.

"She came to see me when I was outside. She was kinda tipsy and clearly pretty lonely - and she, well she was…forward," she mutters.

"Care to elaborate?" Regina's tone is unreadable, flat.

"She…we…" Emma finally casts her gaze up to meet the other woman's, looking at her imploringly. "She kissed me."

Regina blinks, mouth opening then closing again in surprise. "She kissed you?"

"Well it was hardly a kiss, really," Emma adds, "I mean she barely had her mouth on mine and I pushed her away but…I don't know. I think she had a crush on me or something and I had to tell her I wasn't interested."

"Well that's hardly your fault," Regina replies stiffly. "Sometimes people are prone to infatuation."

Emma sighs, "I know but – the kid looked heartbroken, you know? And her eyes they were so –"

Regina's jaw tightens. "Emma, let me stop you right there. I really have no interest whatsoever in talking about your sexual experimentation with dead orphans," she deadpans.

"Hey she wasn't dead when I – d'you know what? Never mind," Emma sighs, taking in her expression. Regina's clearly in a pretty awful mood.

"And it was hardly sexual experimentation, the girl kissed me for about three seconds."

"How fascinating," the brunette shoots back, and Emma stares at her.

"Hey you asked me what was wrong."

"I did," she agrees. "Because I foolishly assumed that your problems wouldn't involve listening to you talk about your conquests with infants."

"She wasn't an infant!" Emma says defensively.

"How old was she?" Regina asks skeptically, looking at her with a raised eyebrow.

Emma coughs. "Nineteen," she mumbles.

"What's that, dear?"

"Nineteen," she says again, only slightly louder.

"Exactly," Regina's jaw tightens again.

"Yeah well how old where you when I was born?" Emma asks angrily.

The other woman hesitates. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Nothing," Emma says quickly, eyes widening.

Regina looks at her for a long moment, then starts to move. "I really should go –"

"Wait," Emma stands, and the brunette turns to her. They stare at each other for a long moment.

"I should go," Regina says again, though makes no sign of moving.

There's a part of her that wants to say something, but at the same time she's also a little lost in brunette's dark eyes. She hardly realizes that her feet have carried her forward, that she's moved so that Regina's only inches away from her now.

"You don't have to go," Emma breathes, "you could…use the guest room."

She addresses that last to Regina's lips, where her gaze appears to have fallen. Regina takes another step closer, leaving them in each other's space. The proximity makes her heart race, and her breathing starts to become shallower.

Emma watches in rapt fascination as Regina's eyes flick down to her lips, before moving up to explore her face. She leans in just the tiniest bit closer, until their breath is mingling, and Emma's heart pounds faster.

Then suddenly Regina shakes her head, staggering back several paces. "I need to go," she chokes out, panic in her eyes. Then in a puff of purple smoke Emma's alone again.

She stares at the spot Regina just vacated, a little dumbstruck. She really has no idea what the hell just happened, only that Regina had seemed as involved in the moment as she herself was. However it might have ended. Regina's expression had mirrored what Emma herself was feeling - desire, anticipation, care. Suddenly her mind is spinning with the idea that Regina might actually want her too, that maybe there's hope they could be what she now knows she wants them to be.

Emma rubs a hand tiredly over her eyes, heading for her room and the sleep she so desperately needs.

Maybe there is a possibility for them all to be an actual family after all - Christmas included. She just has to find a way to talk to Regina.