Emma crawls into bed after a long, hot shower, which has hopefully erased any trace of her embarrassing crying fit on the way home; she has got to invest in some waterproof mascara.

With the lights out her loft bedroom is full of shifting shadows, but Emma's surprised to find she's used to it already. What she can't get used to is being made to feel like crap by Regina, no matter how many times they hook up and swear it's going to be the last time, every little 'break-up' (can you break up when you're not even dating? Emma suspects Regina makes it feel that way on purpose) leaves Emma tear-stained and usually halfway into a bottle of Scotch. At least tonight she's had the sense not to drink; the morning will be crappy enough without a hangover.

She drifts off gradually, the warmth of her blankets more seductive than poring over the details of her fight with Regina. Staying the night should not have been a big deal, but even mentioning it during their first kisses of the night had all but turned Regina to stone. Emma tried to write it off as a joke—not wanting it to be one at all—but the damage was apparently done.

Ten minutes and a lot of harsh words later, Emma had been crying her way down the (thankfully deserted) streets of Storybrooke.


Years of sleeping in dormitories in group homes has made Emma the world's lightest sleeper, so when she hears a thump and the sound of fingers scrabbling against wood, she's awake in an instant. Her first look is at the bedroom door, but it remains closed (and locked, another habit she hasn't shaken off from her less appealing foster homes).

It's only when the shadows shift that Emma notices something is… off. And that's when she turns towards the window.

Wait, did someone slip LSD in her shampoo? Or is Emma seriously seeing Regina scrabbling around outside a second floor skylight?

"What the hell?" Emma asks as she reaches for the catch on the window. "Are you trying to break your neck?"

Regina comes tumbling through the window without waiting for an invitation, but she lands with a surprising amount of grace. She's missing one shoe (oh God, the lunatic scaled the side of a building in heels) and there's a huge rip in her red silk blouse. When Regina sits up and lifts her hands to her face, Emma sees that they're reddened, with cuts all over them.

For the love of… no, First Aid first.

Emma stomps straight into her little bathroom, rinsing the facecloth and bringing it out into the bedroom. She crouches on the floor and gently pries one of Regina's hands away from her face before wiping it gently with the damp cloth.

"So, Spiderman," Emma says, proud of herself for not yelling (yet). "You want to tell me what the hell is going on here?"

"You left," Regina spits, her face an ugly mask of fury. Emma finds the woman impossibly gorgeous, but not like this. There's pain in that expression, and Emma wants no part of that. "Youleft me."

"And so instead of calling me, or coming over here and using the damn door like a sane person—"

"I don't want to see her," Regina snaps, her wounded pride all the more evident since Mary Margaret was released from prison. Which is just one of the many reasons Emma shouldn't be sleeping with Regina at all, but admittedly that's only one reason on a very long list.

"You could have hurt yourself," Emma says pointedly, frustration creeping in. "And it's not much of an example for Henry."

"Stop trying to mother him," Regina warns, pulling the cloth from Emma and wiping her other hand. "He's my son."

"Fine," Emma concedes. "But how did you know I wouldn't just pull a gun on anyone trying to break into my damn bedroom?"

"I didn't," Regina says with a shrug. "So, are we done? Are you done with me?"

"Why would this time be any different?" Emma says, uneasy with the conversation now. "We keep doing…this…anyway."

"But this time you walked out," Regina says. "And the way you looked at me… I've seen that look before. Many, many times."

"I was hurt," Emma says, the honesty of her words making it impossible to look at Regina. Instead Emma stares at her own bare legs. "You hurt me, Regina."

"I do that sometimes," Regina huffs, and when Emma looks up she's surprised to see Regina crying. The only time Regina has shown this much vulnerability was with Henry trapped in the mine; it's kind of scary to see it again.

"I'm sorry I left," Emma says, very quietly. Regina reaches out, touching her face with hesitant fingers.

"I'm sorry I hurt you," Regina confesses. "I'm so used to it, that sometimes I forget."

"Who's with Henry?" Emma asks.

"Kathryn came to stay with him," Regina admits. "Why?"

"Because I have a bed right here," Emma says, smirking just a little. "And after tonight, Spiderman, you totally owe me."

"I prefer Catwoman," Regina says, huffily.

"Damn," Emma breathes. "Thanks for loading me up with that image. Sex just went from 'optional' to 'essential', in case you were wondering."

"Really?" Regina asks, but she's kissing Emma before she even thinks about answering. The kisses are tender, surprisingly so for Regina who can turn making out into a (really hot) battle of wills. But the rest of her apology pours into her kisses, as her thumbs stroke gently over Emma's cheeks.

"Huh," Emma says. "If it weren't for the endangering your life thing, I'd walk out on you every time you get pissy with me. You don't have to stay," she adds, standing and offering a hand to Regina. They fall on the bed together, Regina still fully clothed and Emma in just an old t-shirt that Regina's hands are quickly slipping beneath.

"I want to," Regina sighs, pulling Emma's t-shirt up and over her head. "I really, really want to."


Regina's still in a deep sleep when Emma first hears Mary-Margaret moving around downstairs. Knowing her roommate's thoughtful habit of bringing that all-important first cup of coffee upstairs, Emma throws on some sweats and her t-shirt before heading downstairs to cut her off at the pass. Turns out she's just in time, too, because Mary Margaret already has two steaming mugs in her hands.

"Morning!" Emma says, a little too brightly. She's just sitting down at the breakfast bar when she sees it: a shiny, black, high-heeled pump. "Uh, what's that?" She asks, nervously.

"It's the strangest thing," Mary Margaret says, smiling in that cheerful (and hopefully oblivious) way of hers. "I found it right under your window when I went out to get the paper this morning."

"Huh," Emma says, trying desperately to play it cool. "At least we know it's not one of mine."

"No," says an unexpected voice from behind her, and Emma feels her stomach sink at Mary Margaret's shocked expression. "That would be mine. Thank you, Miss Blanchard," Regina adds, leaning in to kiss Emma's temple, right before swiping her coffee mug.

Emma turns to see Regina, dressed in nothing more than Emma's ratty old bathrobe, sipping quite contentedly from her stolen coffee.

"I'll…make another cup," Mary Margaret offers weakly, glaring at Emma now.

"Thanks?" Emma squeaks, wincing as Regina puts the mug down and wraps her arms around Emma from behind. Her discomfort doesn't stand a chance in the face of how good it feels to have Regina's chin resting on her shoulder. Damn.

"Which one of us are you messing with?" Emma whispers as Mary Margaret opens the fridge to fetch the milk.

"Both of you," Regina whispers back. "You wanted staying the night? You wanted commitment? This is how that goes."

"You really are evil," Emma groans.

"I'm just getting started," Regina warns, before pulling away. "I'm going to grab a shower," she announces, a little too loudly. "Emma? Are you going to show me how it works?"

Emma stares at the ceiling for a long moment, but anywhere that's not Mary Margaret's face would do.

"I'll be right up," she mutters, wondering how exactly she ended up in this mess.