A/N: So, just as a forewarning, this story is going to deal with eating disorders. I've not got any personal experience in this area but I am doing my research and I will work to do this sensitive subject justice (as I hope I do with all my fics). Also, I had a review asking whether this story was going to involve sexual assault scenes. It isn't but there is going to be reference to Emma's time in the foster system but nothing in any detail.

Corporate dinners weren't Regina's favourite calendar events but she had to admit she was enjoying herself. She had known Robert Gold most of her life and was able to reminisce about her mother with him after their conversation about marketing and the future of Golden Garments had wound down.

She was surprised at how well Henry was behaving too. By the time she had finished her own starter, a delicious mussel dish with a phenomenal sauce, he had almost eaten all his crackers and half of the apple had been nibbled at. As she was bent towards him, trying to persuade the child to finish his milk, a pair of polished yet clumpy black boots appeared in her line of vision.

"Chef Swan," she said, looking up to see the blonde stood beside her son's chair.

"I see you ordered the mussels," Emma observed, eyeing the empty plate.

"I did. They were delicious," Regina complimented. "What was in that sauce?"

"Ah, that's a secret, I'm afraid," the blonde grinned. She wasn't in the habit of sharing her recipes with customers, even ones with rich brown eyes and a curious scar across her lip, the taste of which Emma had found herself pondering over for the past half an hour. "But I'm glad you enjoyed them."

"Very much so," Regina nodded. "Is that why you came out here? To get your ego stroked?"

Emma chuckled. "Us chefs do like to be complimented but no. I actually made something for Henry. I'm sorry we couldn't accommodate your initial request so I took the liberty of putting something together for him."

Before Regina could say anything, a plate appeared in front of her son. Henry, who had been trailing a toy car along the back of the chair beside him, turned to look at it. His mother did to.

"What's that?" the small boy asked, eyeing the unfamiliar, bright food which had appeared.

"Your dinner," Emma said. "That is, if you're hungry."

"Thank you, Chef Swan," Regina said, tone harsh, "but my son doesn't need any more food. And as I mentioned before, he's rather picky with what he'll eat. I'm afraid you've wasted your time and ingredients, not to mention presented an unknown child with a meal without consulting his mother first. He could have allergies or dietary restrictions for all you know."

Emma blinked. She hadn't thought of that. In fact, she hadn't thought at all. All she knew was the sight of the small boy eating such a pitiful assortment for dinner hadn't sat well with her. She knew what it felt like to be hungry and she was sure the trio of items wasn't going to be enough to fill up his stomach. And yet, as she looked into the angry eyes of his mother, she realised she had overstepped.

"I'm sorry," Emma rushed. "I didn't mean to offend you. I had some time in the kitchen and I felt bad about not having what your son did want to eat. I just thought … it's Henry, right?" The small boy nodded at the question when Emma shot him a smile. "I thought Henry might want to try something different since he's out celebrating with you and your company. But you're right, I should have asked."

"Yes, you should have," Regina said, arms now folded.

Emma went to say something else but no words came. There was nothing else to be said, she decided. So instead she reached for the plate but her fingers were beaten to their destination by a smaller hand. She froze. Regina did too. Both women watched as Henry's fingertips hovered over a carrot stick before moving to the dollop of hummus.

"Yuck!" he exclaimed as the dip covered his fingertips.

Regina reached forwards at once and wiped them clean. Henry scowled at the dish, as if the food itself had plotted to get him dirty.

"That's what the carrot is for," Regina said, picking up a stick and swiping it through the light brown substance. "See? This is hummus. Would you like to try it?"

"I don't like carrot," Henry reminded her.

"What about a cracker?" Emma suggested, pointing to the few left from his earlier meal.

Regina turned and raised an eyebrow. The blonde practically withered under the scathing gaze. She'd overstepped, again.

"Um, I'm gonna go back to the kitchen," she said. "Shall I leave the plate?"

Loathe as Regina was to admit it, this was the first time in as long as she could remember that her son was showing any interest in food. Perhaps it was the colourful way Emma had arranged the plate or the fact that she herself wasn't focusing too much on what he was doing. Already her son had reached out again and was now scrutinising a red strip of capsicum. Whatever the reason for his intrigue, there was no way Regina wanted to take away the object of his interest.

"Yes, thank you," Regina said.

"Ok, good," Emma said, offering the woman a half smile. "Does Henry have any allergies, by the way? Just so I can tell you if there's anything on there he shouldn't eat."

"No, he doesn't," Regina said.

"Then why did you -?"

"You don't give another person's child food without asking, Chef Swan," Regina interrupted. "Regardless of whether they do or do not have allergies, it just isn't done. I can tell you don't have children."

The biting remark sent a jolt of anguish through Emma's body. Tears sprung into her eyes before she could stop them. She whirled around and strode back to the kitchen without another word but it was too late; Regina had already seen the pain shining from those expressive green orbs.

Sinking back into her chair, Regina watched the blonde woman stalking away until she was out of sight. She sighed. The comment had been insensitive, she realised. And not intended to touch the nerve she suspected she had found.

"Mom," Henry said. "What's this?"

Forcing herself to forget those emerald eyes, Regina turned to her son.

"That's capsicum, Henry," she said. "It's sweet. Would you like to try it?"

"No," Henry said, dropping the strip of vegetable which had been pinched between his fingers.

Damn, Regina thought to herself. So close. Her gaze lingered on the plate before her son. The hummus looked rich and creamy, an array of vegetables splayed out from it in a perfect circle. Alongside the carrots and capsicum there was also cucumber and cheese, all cut into small, bite-sized pieces. Simple but effective, she thought. But nevertheless, the chef had crossed the line preparing the dish for her son. And anyway, it would be a waste. Henry didn't eat this sort of food. As she looked at her son, however, Regina noticed that he was still observing the plate. He was curious, interested. Yet Regina knew she shouldn't push. That never worked. So she forced herself to return to the conversation with Robert and the rest of the team, leaving Henry's eyes still trained on the feast before him.

Emma threw herself into the preparation of the main courses as soon as she returned to the kitchen. As head chef, she often delegated these responsibilities and preferred to oversee when it came to large orders. August knew better than to ask what had happened in the restaurant. The shift had been unmistakable and he had sensed the tension radiating off the blonde when she came back into the kitchen.

By the time the final dessert plate had been sent out, Emma was exhausted. She wiped beads of sweat from her brow and told her staff to take five. The kitchen was a mess but it was also closed for the night, so they could afford a little downtime before they began to clear up. Stepping out into the back yard, she moved beyond the huddle of smokers and the other team members who were talking about an upcoming birthday party and walked away. The night air was cool; the spring warmth not yet seeping into the evening time. A few metres beyond the pool of light spilling from the open door, Emma stopped and leaned against the rough brick wall, head tipped back and looking up into inky blackness.

She was tired; the evening had been intense from a cooking perspective and having Killian on site always made her on edge. The man had appeared mid way through their preparation for the main meals and said goodbye. Emma had picked up a hot pan from which spitting oil was flying everywhere at that moment and the man retreated without the hug he had hoped for.

But it wasn't the work that had drained Emma that evening. She liked being busy. She liked the focus and concentration that her work required of her. And although she had delivered exceptional dishes all night, as usual, she knew she had been distracted. Now she had a moment to herself, to process. She suddenly felt a desperate urge to get out of there and go to bed, burrow under her duvet and forget the day. She didn't have the energy or the strength to deal with these emotions right now.

And so, barely two minutes after she had stepped outside, she returned to the kitchen and began to tidy away. Her team followed soon after and they worked together to straighten the place up. The empty dessert dishes were returned soon after 10:30. Emma wouldn't have paid much attention were it not for the flash of colour which caught her eye as a waitress passed by.

"Wait," she said.

The girl halted in her tracks and turned around. Emma took the plate from her hand and waved her on with the remaining dishes. She didn't notice the frown the young woman shot her as she inspected the meal she was now holding.

The plate was almost full but some items had definitely been touched. There was an unmistakable gap between the capsicum and cheese and the hummus had several pock marks in it, where she imagined a certain small boy had dipped his chosen sticks. It wasn't much; nowhere near enough, as far as she was concerned. But he'd eaten something more than crackers and an apple. Emma smiled.

Henry fell asleep on her lap before Regina had even finished her after dinner coffee. The group was diminishing as people filtered home, most of them facing a twenty-minute drive back to Portland. She was grateful she only had a ten-minute journey ahead herself. The move to the outer edges of the suburbs had been a reluctant one at first and not her decision. Now, however, four years after the relocation, she appreciated the lifestyle their location offered Henry. The cottage backed onto fields and the short walk to the boy's school was far more enjoyable than through the congested, dirty city streets.

When it was just herself and the Golds left at the table, they asked for the check. After a mild disagreement, Regina conceded to allow Robert to pay for the meal and then stood up, cradling her son in her arms. Henry whimpered slightly but settled against her warm body as they walked out to the parking lot. Robert helped Regina settle the small boy into his car seat before he climbed into a sleek black Jaguar with his own son and took off.

Before she drove home, however, Regina needed to change her shoes. She hated driving in heels. As she was changing into the flats she kept in the trunk of her car, the roar of a motorbike reached her ears. She looked up just as a bright headlight burst into life, throwing herself and the scene around her into harsh relief. She squinted against the glare and averted her gaze, focusing once more on changing her shoes.

The engine revved and the beam swung away from her. Ostentatious machine, Regina thought to herself. The man is no doubt trying to make up for his personal inadequacies. Just as she was placing her heels into her car, the motorbike pulled up beside her and the noise died at once.

"Hey."

Shocked to realise she recognised the voice, Regina snapped her head to look at the blonde chef, still sat astride the large machine with the visor of her helmet up.

"You have a motorbike?"

"Yep," Emma said, patting her pride and joy. "Been riding since I was sixteen." The blonde wasn't sure what had made her stop. She was still licking her wounds from the last encounter with the woman but something inside her had taken over and she had found herself braking as she passed the car.

"Oh, well, good for you," Regina replied.

There was a pause before Emma reached up and pulled the helmet off, shaking out her hair in such a cliché way that Regina couldn't help but smirk.

"What?" Emma asked, tousled blonde hair now hanging over both shoulders.

"Nothing," Regina said. "I just didn't realise people actually did that."

"Helmet hair is a real affliction," Emma said, tone solemn. "Just like high-heel-itis."

Regina blushed and looked down at her plain black pumps. "Yes, well, I don't like to drive in heels," she justified.

"Hey, I feel ya," Emma said, waving the foot visible to Regina and showing off her heavy motorcycle boots. "Did you enjoy the rest of your meal?"

"It was delicious, thank you," Regina said. "You're quite the chef."

Emma was glad it was dark as her blush was hidden. She was used to getting compliments on her food but there was something about the way Regina said it that made her centre coil. In a way that was not appropriate in the middle of a car park beside a relative stranger after eleven at night.

"And Henry?"

She wasn't sure what made her ask. It wasn't like she wanted to get into another conversation with Regina about her son's eating habits. It wasn't her place and it was obvious the woman herself didn't want to discuss it. And yet, somehow, the question had spilled from her lips, in much the same way she had found her hands travelling to the brakes and stopping her bike alongside Regina's car.

"What about him?" Regina asked, head cocked coyly to the side. The look was testing, daring, challenging the blonde to see how far she's push.

"Um, I was just wondering if he ate any of the dish I prepared for him," Emma said. Clearly there was no point lying. Both women were equally aware of what the question pertained to. It also became aware to Emma that her internal filter had gone on vacation for the evening; an affliction which happened all too often.

Regina seemed to be deciding how much to say; how much to admit to the woman before her. Brown eyes raked over Emma's face, the blonde growing increasingly more uncomfortable under the intense scrutiny.

"He ate a few pieces, I think," Regina said.

"You think?"

"He doesn't like eating when people are watching him," the brunette elaborated. "But the pile of capsicum seemed to decrease."

"And some of the hummus was gone."

Perfect eyebrows rose in surprise just as Emma realised what her latest statement revealed.

"Pay attention to all half-eaten meals which come back to your kitchen, do you?" Regina quipped.

"There are very few of them, so yes, I suppose I do," Emma replied. It was true. The number of plates which weren't scraped clean by customers was minimal.

"Well, if you must know, I don't think Henry ate any but I may have had a few pieces of cheese and hummus."

Emma couldn't help the smug smile spread over her face. The woman stood before her did not look like the type of person to indulge in cheese and hummus, no matter how delicious the combination was. In fact, Emma was willing to bet her week's wages that Regina's order was the one which had requested the dressing on the side of her pan seared sea bass.

"And?"

"And what?"

"Did you like it?"

"Fishing for more compliments?" Regina laughed. Emma shivered at the sound.

"Perhaps," she admitted, forcing herself to focus on Regina's face and not allow her gaze to rove over the woman's body. She did not want to come across as leering even though it was becoming increasingly impossible to deny to herself the physical attraction she felt for the brunette.

"Then yes, Chef Swan," Regina said. "It was delicious hummus. I assume you didn't milk the cow to make the cheese. Or should I compliment you on that element too?"

"I did cut those slices pretty perfectly," Emma grinned.

"Then your knife skills are excellent as well," Regina said.

Emma laughed. "Thank you."

Silence fell. Regina regarded the woman before her quite calmly but Emma began to shift atop her motorbike at once, suddenly feeling nervous.

"I'd better be getting home," she said. "Early start tomorrow."

"Me too," Regina said.

Emma nodded and picked up the helmet which had been resting on her bike, slipping it back onto her head.

"Um, have a good night," Emma said.

"You too, Chef Swan, and thank you."

"For what?"

"For the meal you prepared for Henry. I'm sorry about earlier. I didn't mean to say what I did. But with Henry, well, let's just say food is a touchy subject."

Emma nodded slowly, not sure what to say. She wanted desperately to ask a question, to find out more. But she had already ended the conversation, the helmet was in place and she was ready to leave. She couldn't reengage now.

"I understand," she said at last, even though she didn't feel like she understood at all. The only thing which was clear to her was that she had a burning desire to learn more about the woman before her and the little olive-eyed boy. "I'll see you around, Ms Mills."

The motorbike engine roared to life again as Emma turned the key. She glanced once more at Regina, still stood by the trunk of her car. Shooting the brunette one final smile, she slid the visor back into place, kicked the bike into gear and sped off. Regina coughed at the little cloud of dust which rose in Emma's wake as she watched the motorbike brake at the parking lot entrance before turning and racing down the road, the sound of the powerful machine echoing through the night.

By the time Ruby got home that evening, Emma was already in her pyjamas on the couch. She always needed to watch television for an hour after a busy work shift to wind down before she could sleep. As soon as her friend had showered, the duo settled down to watch their latest Netflix binge-watching set.

"That marketing agency tipped well," Ruby said. "I'm going to be able to take Belle away for her birthday and buy her that special edition book she was talking about."

"Yeah, they seemed pretty happy with the whole evening," Emma nodded. "Clean plates all round."

"Except for the kid," Ruby pointed out.

"Yeah."

Ruby glanced at her friend. She had known Emma for five years, long before they had landed their jobs at the same restaurant and she knew something was wrong just from the way the blonde said that one word.

"What's up?" she asked.

"Nothing," Emma said at once. She didn't want to get into whatever it was that was filling her head with her flatmate that night. She didn't even know what she was feeling or where to start. All she knew was that it was really none of her business. Although, if that was the case, why had she been unable to shake the memory of Henry Mills from her mind all evening?

Ruby was unconvinced by Emma's answer but said nothing. Instead, she settled back against the couch, popped the lid off a beer and turned her attention to the next episode of Santa Clarita Diet.

A/N: The set up of this story is going to require a little time but I have a number of ways to get our ladies together as I do so … Stick with me!