Emma would never admit this out loud. Not to her closest friends, not a million years, maybe not even on pain of death. But Regina had absolutely the most comfortable bed in Storybrooke.

Emma had always been a heavy sleeper. She could sleep on the floor, she could use a rock as a pillow, whatever. Her own bed was vigorously unkempt; it'd gotten so bad that she'd stripped it down to the mattress pad and was sleeping with her sheet wrapped around herself. And her pillow was lumpy. All of which she could put up with. But Regina's bed—even the one in her guest room—it was like getting a massage from Hugh Jackman while Morgan Freeman read you a bedtime story. The sheets were so—and the pillow was such a—and the comforter, God, the comforter. Emma woke up relaxed, refreshed, and completely forgetful of the potential giant scorpion that had compelled her to sleep over at Regina's to begin with.

She tried to summon up some ruefulness over what had happened, even though Regina had been a perfect gentle… woman—Emma's intent had been to utterly freeze her out, and instead there'd been a slumber party. The ruefulness wouldn't come. She'd had a good night's sleep and, knowing Regina, now she had a good cup of coffee and a good breakfast to look forward to.

She dressed in her old clothes—jeans, jacket, Slut t-shirt—and zipped her jacket shut for once. The great thing about wearing the same jacket every day was that no one could tell you were doing a walk of shame slash stride of pride (Emma wasn't sure what category sleeping with Regina, in even the loosest sense of the term, would qualify as). Then she went downstairs, thinking of nothing but the smell of waffles wafting gently out of the kitchen.

Then, she thought only of the fact that just about every woman in Storybrooke was seated in the living room like Regina was showing them Tupperware.

Queeny herself looked up from pouring Granny a cup of coffee. "Oh, hello Emma! Did you sleep well?"

"I might still be," Emma replied. "What the hell is this?"

"Susan B. Anthony Day," Regina fired back with a smile. "Just a little group breakfast for us girls to celebrate and sustain the gender equality of our new home. Fortuitous it comes after Valentine's Day. It's good for us ladies to remember, after such an emphasis on romance and relationships, that we don't need men. Some of us especially." And she winked at Emma.

Emma got a very bad feeling. Bad like 'this entire meal is vegetarian' or 'from the producers of Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen'.

Still smiling to herself, Regina filled an empty mug and brought it to Emma. "Here you are, m'lady. You take it black, right?"

"Yeah, same way I take my dick."

Regina laughed good-naturedly. "You'll forgive Emma. She had a long night—well, we both did—and it looks like one of us woke up on the wrong side of the bed."

"There were multiple beds!" Emma assured everyone. She hissed to Regina, "I know what you're doing."

"Do you, Emma? Do you really know why we're here, or do you just think you do?" She pivoted to the tastefully widescreen TV, which was showing a Powerpoint presentation. Picking up the remote, she went to the next slide. It was one of those slides with a lot of statistics. "Because it's important to remember, you can't spell Sisterhood without Solidarity. That means intersectionality. Feminism counts for nothing if we don't support our sisters, be they African-American, Asian, or werewolf."

Ruby nodded thankfully.

"And that goes double for those whose sexual proclivities are… a little outside the mainstream." Regina looked away from Emma.

"Listen, you—" Emma paused to sip her coffee. It really was quite good. She sniffed it, sure she detected a hint of hazelnut. Not overpowering, but just the right amount. "No, everyone listen. I know what you're all thinking, and I—"

"Don't speak for me, Eva Braun," Tiana shouted. "If we're all thinking the same thing, then I'll come out and say it. Susan B. Anthony was a racist and we should rename this holiday to something more minority-positive. Maybe honoring someone from our real home instead of a dead white alien."

"How about Snow White Day!" Ruby suggested. Mary-Margaret patted her on the knee.

Tiana rolled her neck. "Oh, yeah, that's a great name to be more inclusive of brown people. 'Snow White Day'. Do we get to march in the Snow White Parade or do we have to go to the back?"

Regina stood up straighter at an opportunity for some light revenge with her morning meal. "I share Tiana's concerns about the racist connotations of Mary-Margaret."

"I'm not a racist!" Mary-Margaret yelped. "I have a lot of black friends! Ruby even turns into a black wolf!"

Regina looked at Mary-Margaret condescendingly and slipped the knife between her ribs (more literally, she sipped her tea). "As a mixed-race woman, I find that offensive."

Emma reeled in surprise. "Mixed-race? What, like your mom had sex with a dragon?" Her eyebrows knitted together. "Poor dragon…"

"My father was Hispanic," Regina said icily, sitting down heavily in her seat.

"Oh. Weird."

"I speak fluent Spanish. What did you think I was saying to you in bed?"

"I know that it was Spanish!" Emma protested. "I thought it was just telenovela stuff. I thought that was your thing. I speak Russian in bed ever since I saw Pacific Rim, because strong woman warrior need love and sex, da."

"Yes, but that's because you're a Communist."

"Supporting universal healthcare does not make you a Communist, Muff Romney!"

Tiana scoffed. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure someone with real respect for the workers of the world would be more concerned with supporting the black race."

"I was a bail bondswoman, okay, I did plenty to support the—" Emma stopped and made a show of drawing a finger over her lips. "Uh-uh. I'm aborting that sentence. You can't hold it against me because I did not say it in full. Nope, nope, nope."

"Let's not hold it against her," Regina agreed magnanimously.

"Thank you."

"Emma's tongue tends to get away from her," Regina continued. "Like last night."

"Maybe we should table this discussion for now," Tiana muttered. "Move on to what to do about Gaston's obvious street harassment…"

"No, no!" Emma interrupted. "I want everyone here to know the truth! Yes, I did spend the night here at Regina's, but nothing happened! We slept in separate beds, it was entirely innocent! Tell them, Regina!"

Regina sat up a little. "Emma's telling the truth. We did not have sex last night."

"Thanks."

"Not even a little bit. We didn't touch or kiss or spoon… nothing happened. Absolutely nothing. We just slept. In separate beds. In separate rooms, even. On opposite sides of the house."

Ruby whispered something to Granny, who nodded gravely.

"Yes," Emma said dubiously. "That's right. All true. Now, about Gaston…"

"We most especially didn't rip the clothes off each others' yearning bodies and explore our mutual passion with blazing lips. Emma did not run her hands over my quivering body, my dewy femininity thrilling to her subtle touch. I certainly didn't taste the glorious nectar of her loins, draining the cup of her sex dry and then making it runneth over again and again and again. And by no means did she put anything in my butt."

Dead silence. Then Emma screamed "YOU SEE WHAT SHE'S DOING!? YOU SEE! YOU SEE!"

More dead silence. Then Regina said "Emma, I had no idea you were such a screamer. Since we didn't have sex last night."

Emma pointed a loaded finger at her. "I am going to eat all of your waffles. Just watch me."

She stalked toward the kitchen.

"You'll have room," Regina shouted after her, "since you certainly didn't eat my pussy!"

Emma poked her head out of the kitchen. "B-T-Dubs, YOU CAN ABSOLUTELY SPELL SISTERHOOD WITHOUT SOLIDARITY! THAT DOESN'T EVEN MAKE SENSE! THEY'RE SYNONYMS!"

Regina fumed at her through the wall as loud sounds of waffle consumption began to billow from the kitchen. "She has a good point. Could someone please add to the agenda that we need to come up with a new catchphrase?"

Belle dutifully wrote it down.

"Now then." Regina straightened her skirt with a brisk tug. "I think it's time we discuss the inordinately high rate of incarceration among the mixed-race population of Storybrooke."

"That's you!" Mary-Margaret spoke up. "It's because we keep locking you up when you try to kill everyone!"

Regina folded her arms. "Victim-blaming, Miss Blanchard? Really?" She shook her head disdainfully. "White women."