Storybrooke, Maine; Pre-Season 1

As she, in high-heels of course, wheeled her ex-lover out of the hospital towards her car, her head was held high. She told herself that she was only doing this to keep him alive.

Jefferson for his part, arms crossed looking sullen, was staring at his feet.

"I don't need the chair." He growled.

"Hospital policy." Regina smirked and opened the passenger seat to her car. "Get in, and I'll drive you home."

A hospital attendant snatched the chair back, and a few quick moments later they were both in the car, pulling away from the hospital. They'd kept Jefferson there for a week, counseled the hell out of him, prescribed him half a dozen new pills, and sent him on his merry way.

He didn't have an emergency contact, so Regina had stepped in.

"How do you know that I won't just try and off myself again?" He asked, a scowl on his face. Ever since he'd woken up properly in the hospital, Jefferson had remained irritable. Regina supposed that she couldn't blame him.

He'd almost gotten his freedom.

"If you try and kill yourself, I'm going to have Paige's," Jefferson winced at his daughter's new name. "parents arrested and put her into the system."

"You wouldn't." Jefferson growled.

"I'm the Evil Queen, dear." Regina pointed out, throwing a quick glance at Jefferson. He looked positively murderous, despite the week's worth of stubble on his face and his messy, unstyled hair. "You of all people should know better than to put anything past me."

"Fine." He muttered.

"…but your silly little stunt did make me realize something." Regina continued. "I thought that leaving you in that house with your memories would be the cruelest punishment for you, but I was wrong."

"You were wrong? We should make it a national holiday. Call the papers." Jefferson grumbled, looking out the window and scowling heavily.

"I was wrong." Regina repeated. "I forgot about one very important benefit of you retaining your memories."

"And what is that, your majesty?" He spat.

"You, unlike every other person in this town, remember how much you hate me. It's something that I should have exploited a long time ago."

"You're exploiting it now."

"And I will continue to exploit it every Sunday morning at eleven at my house. Am I clear?"

"If you wanted to ask me out, you should have bought flowers."

"You know that's not what this is about."

"So you want me to come over every Sunday? You know what happens when I see you, right? Do you want the neighbors to hear the way that we talk to each other? Want them to know the extent of your temper?"

"I know what I'm doing, Jefferson. As always."

The rest of the ride passed in silence, but it wasn't very long. Regina had almost forgotten how grand Jefferson's home was. When she'd been there a week before, she hadn't had time to notice.

Her heart had been racing and her hair had been soaking wet as she burst into his house screaming his name. She was glad that he'd been (mostly) passed out. It wasn't something that she wanted him to remember. It had almost looked like she cared.

But she didn't. Not about him.

Jefferson's eyes had barely been open when she started shaking him. He was playing something classical. It didn't matter what. Her hands had started shaking as she'd dragged him to the bathroom, shoving two fingers down his throat. He'd convulsed and vomited, and the next twenty minutes of her life had consisted of pulling him to her car and breaking the speed limit in order to get him to the ER in time.

For the first time in a long time, she'd been terrified. It hadn't been because she cared about Jefferson, because she didn't. It had just been because she couldn't let any part of her curse fall apart.

She was in control.

As Jefferson let them both into his house (Regina had come back to lock it once Jefferson was stable) it occurred to her that he might remember what had happened. It was probably best not to bring it up. Then they could forget about it.

For a few awkward seconds, they both stood in front of the door.

"I'll see you on Sunday. Eleven o'clock." She eventually said, tone brisk. "Don't be late."

xxx

His first Sunday brunch at Mayor Mills' house was one of the most awkward experiences of his life. He still wasn't completely over his stay in the hospital, and Regina was polite and well-mannered to the point of being cold.

That was how most of their encounters began—quiet, controlled—that was fine.

What wasn't fine was that by the end of brunch, he'd expected at least five broken plates as they screamed at one another loudly enough for the whole town to hear.

Instead, it was a quiet, calm meal with delicious homemade food and a gorgeous woman across from him. No matter how much he hated Regina, she would never stop being beautiful.

That was one of the problems with having fallen in love with her, even if it had been a long time ago. He could never fall out of love with the way that things had been. The way that he'd been able to make her laugh like no one else could.

The way that he couldn't stop smiling when she'd tuck her head under his chin and put her hands in his pockets.

If only the curse had done the same to him as it had to everyone else, those memories wouldn't be a problem. He'd be a drug-addicted millionaire ex-law-student with a hopeless, unrequited crush on a girl he'd known in high school.

He'd still be in love with Regina Mills, but at least The Evil Queen would be at rest.

Oh, for the simple life.

Instead, he was a very tired hatter with the memories of a drug-addicted millionaire, a hatter, a father, and a reckless young portal jumper. All of the people he'd been. All of the identities he'd ever assumed.

He'd done a lot in his life. Being the Dark One's errand boy hadn't exactly been effortless. Fatherhood? Very difficult, especially after what had happened to Grace's mother. Being Cora's hatter, her madman, her slave, hadn't been easy, either.

Then the curse.

Now this. Now he had to endure picture-perfect brunches with Madame Mayor every Sunday at eleven, and promise that he hadn't tried to kill himself. He had to promise that to Dr. Hopper, too. He saw the counselor every other week. It was humiliating, and the appointments were always too long.

He missed his solitude.

At least the brunches and the counseling sessions gave him some sort of routine. It made measuring his months in Storybrooke easier. Then the months turned into years.

One year of brunches with the Evil Queen

Two years of brunches with the Evil Queen.

Instead of quietly going crazy by himself, he was passing Regina maple syrup.

"Thank you." She inclined her head slightly and drizzled the syrup over her pancakes before starting to cut them into small, neat pieces. "And how has your week been, Jefferson?"

"How do you think?" Jefferson rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. "…the same as every other week. Just like everything in this damn town of yours."

Silence. He grit his teeth.

"And how was your week, Regina?"

"Wonderful. Thank you for asking. A group of teenagers vandalized the Toll Bridge sign, but it should be fixed soon." Regina smiled at him across the island in the middle of her kitchen at him.

"Great." Jefferson rolled his eyes, and went back to eating his fucking apple pancakes. Always fucking apple. It wasn't even funny. The worst part was that they were his favorite. "As per usual, you have perfect and complete control over your citizens. Fantastic. Good for you."

The fucking orange juice was fresh-squeezed. Probably organic, too.

When he looked up from his food again, Regina was looking at him with an expression that made him extremely uncomfortable, mostly because he couldn't place it. It wasn't apathy. Or distaste. Or pride.

"What's wrong?" He asked immediately. What if she wanted a favor? He hoped not. He was done doing favors.

"I want to talk to you about something." She said carefully, and Jefferson was suddenly very worried. This, whatever it was, was why she'd put extra syrup on his pancakes.

"Before I say anything else, I need you to know something, and know that I mean it from the bottom of my heart."

"Go on, then." Jefferson sighed, and drained his orange juice. He was probably going to lose his appetite soon, so he figured that he might as well eat as quickly as possible.

"I hate the man I sent to Wonderland. I hate him." Regina's grip on her butter knife tightened, and Jefferson feared for his dick. Not his life—she wouldn't kill him. His dick, though, he did worry for whenever she was around. "And there are things that I can never forgive. What happened with Daniel," Her voice lowered at the name of her lover's name. "and everything after. However, after a lot of thinking, I have come to a conclusion."

"And what is that?" Jefferson asked, brow furrowed. He had no idea what the woman across from him was thinking of.

"I hate that man, Jefferson." She paused. "…but you're not him anymore, are you?"

Jefferson took a few moments to sort himself out, because Regina being right about anything that had to do with him was horrible.

"No. I'm not." He whispered, because it was true. "You've hurt me enough to change me into an entirely new person, so thank you for that." There was rage bubbling up under his skin, but he held it down. "And it took you this long to notice."

"I had other things to do." Regina took his plate, and set it down in the sink. "Do you know what this means, Jefferson?"

"No." He just wanted to leave, because how did Regina not realize how much she had changed him? How could she not know what she'd been doing?

"It means that we're even. You don't have to come here next week. I'm done with you."

He threw the plate, and it shattered against the cabinet next to her head.

"I thought you'd be happy." She looked at him over his shoulder.

"You." He took a step forward. "Are." Another. "Unbelievable."

For a few moments neither of them moved.

"Insufferable." He added.

"Infuriating." Step.

"And I'm not done with you." Step.

They sized one another up for another few seconds, and then she kissed him.