Emma's birthday party was more like a street festival. Town square was taken over by booths of jugglers, mummers, animal tricks, and face-painters. There were men on stilts, men dressed as mythological beasts, women dressed as men. And there were more lutes than a Ren Faire.

Emma could barely stand it. Once you'd seen one firebreather, you'd seen them all. She missed her usual birthday celebration: lots of alcohol. Lots. Take however much alcohol you're thinking of, then double it. Now you've got it.

On the plus side, being a princess meant the whole team gave Emma presents. She wasn't old enough to not find that cool. Presents! Leroy got her dwarven chainmail that she just knew she'd hardly ever wear, Belle got her some detective novels (because she was sheriff, got it), and Ruby got her a flea collar.

"It works great!"

"That's not really a problem for me."

"And with this, it won't be."

Regina came last. With a look that shared Emma's feelings on firebreathers, she made lively steps through the street festival to the table of Emma's presents, which she bypassed to shove her gift into Emma's hands. "Open it now. I want to know if you like it or not."

Emma examined the large rectangular box in her hands. It didn't appear to be ticking. "When have you ever gotten me anything I liked?"

Regina clicked her tongue in challenge. "Potty-trained son—and that was not easy. And then there's the apple tart I made you."

"It was poisoned!"

"Yes, but it was delicious."

Giving up—and figuring that if she opened it now, Regina would be caught in the blast radius—Emma unwrapped her gift. It was a clothing store box, with a blouse inside that Emma didn't hate. In fact, holding it up to her chest, Emma kinda liked it. "Thank you," she uhhed, "it's nice," she ummed.

Regina shrugged. "I could've gotten you something more expensive, but I wanted something small so you wouldn't know how I really feel about you."

Emma set the blouse down. "Are you feeling alright? Usually something like that would be under at least two layers of sarcasm."

Regina's eyes widened slightly. "I seem to be having trouble speaking with my usual wit and eloquence. Is this what it feels like to be you?"

"Yes!" Emma shot back, then thought she shouldn't.

"That would be my gift to you, your highness," Gold said, making his way past the firebreather with a swipe of his cane. The firebreather coughed sparks indignantly. "With all the trouble our former mayor has caused through her lies, I thought you'd appreciate hearing something else from her for a change. The truth, and nothing but the truth."

Regina swore in realization. "The leftover pizza in the fridge."

"Not leftover at all," Gold chortled. "Who can resist finding a slice of cold pizza in the vegetable drawer?"

"So wait," Emma said. "Until my birthday is over, Regina has to tell the truth?"

"I didn't say anything like that, but it sounds about right. Probably wear off by eleven instead of twelve, though."

"Finishing early as usual, Gold?" Regina snarled at him.

"Planning to watch Dance Moms this evening, as usual?"

"Yes. Damnit!"

Emma had been watching all this like an onlooker at a naked tennis match. "This is the greatest thing that's ever happened to me."

"Not the birth of your son?" Regina asked incredulously.

"It was a twenty-hour labor. Jack Bauer's had easier days. Hey, what's your favorite color?"

Regina replied automatically. "Blue."

"Really? Not black or purple?"

"If I could pull off blue, I would," Regina said snippily. "Now, I may be cursed, but I see no reason not to simply wait it out in my tastefully furnished house, as I find this celebration insufferable already. If you need some magic done at least semi-competently," said with a glare at Gold, "I'll be catching up on my Proust."

"And masturbating," Gold added.

Regina shot him a look. "Yes," she said simply. "And it will be hot. Very hot. I moan." With that, Regina turned on her heel and left.

Emma ran after her, pushing the firebreather out of the way.

"How much are you being paid for this?" Gold wondered out loud.

Emma caught up with Regina around the corner from the festival, where the lutes were a little muted and they had room to breathe.

"Hey, wait up, hey!" Regina paused. 'Who do you think is cuter, Ryan Gosling or Bradley Cooper?"

"Ryan Gosling. If that's all..." Regina marched away.

Dodging a puppet show, Emma kept up with her. "Hold on, really. Okay, what would it take to get you to spend the day with me?"

"Handcuffs," she answered readily.

"What else?"

"Ropes, leather straps, silk scarves..."

"Because, I was thinking, summer is almost over. Henry will be going back to school soon."

Regina stopped, allowing Emma to circle around and face her. She put her hands on her hips. "Just what are you getting at?"

Emma's head tilted smugly, her arms lazily crossed. "Someone has to do back to school shopping. You could get him whatever wardrobe you wanted. Blazers, buttondown shirts, very short ties..."

Regina tightened her grip on her hips. "He'll just wear year-old jeans every day."

"And what about lunches? Do you want Henry eating in the cafeteria? Or worse, me packing him a lunch?"

"You wouldn't dare."

"I can put a Happy Meal in the refrigerator for an afterschool snack. No one will stop me."

It only took a moment's thought before Regina nodded stiffly. "If I get to pick his haircuts."

Emma rolled her eyes. "I think Henry's old enough to decide on his own haircuts."

"You let him get a mohawk, Emma." Regina's voice could've been sold for five dollars on a hot day.

Emma threw up her hands. "First off, it's a brohawk. Second, it looks badass! If he didn't think girls had cooties, he'd be rolling in tang."

Regina stared at Emma a moment before breaking into a smile. "Right now, I'm thinking of shoving my arm up your ass until I can work your mouth like a puppet and make you apologize for being so stupid."

"And that's why you're always smiling at me."

Regina nodded with enthusiasm.

"So... who's cuter, Ryan Gosling or Channing Tatum?"

"I'm always going to say Ryan Gosling."

In just an hour, Emma was having her royal portrait painted in the sheriff's office. Usually, she'd argue for a royal Polaroid, but she was happy to sit in place as long as she had Regina on hand. "Alright, madame mayor, I want you to answer me truthfully and with conviction: how did you like Identity Thief?"

Regina turned her office chair around in place, the only solace available to her. "The only thing Identity Thief stole was two hours of my life."

Emma clapped her hands. "Awesome! You're like Gene Shalit without the moustache!"

"And with a... a body!" Regina stammered, offended.

"More pensive, please," the painter begged Emma. "Unless you want to look like the Joker."

"That just sort of happens," Regina told him. She twisted her chair until it faced Emma, with her slunk down in her seat like she'd deflated. "Could you please ask me something embarrassing? It's starting to creep me out that you're just asking me things I would tweet if I were one of those morons with a Twitter account."

Emma, who'd been posing behind her desk with her elbows on the wood like it was a fresh kill, now coiled her arms together. "I don't want to embarrass you, I just want to know one or two things about you. You're so closed off all the time."

Regina protested, straightening in exaggerated dignity. "I am not closed off! I am very open about my feelings."

"Feelings that aren't trying to kill someone."

"Those are valid feelings."

"You can feel other things. Like, you know..." Emma waved her hands. "Hungry."

With a twitch of her heel, Regina's chair was propelled in place again. "Hunger isn't an emotion."

"You know what I mean. Unless you're a psychopath, you don't just feel like killing people."

"Who said I wasn't a psychopath?" Regina was facing entirely away from Emma.

Emma turned away.

"Hold that look!" the painter said. "That's a great pensive look."

She silenced him with her eyes. "Regina... you don't think of yourself that way, do you?"

"Why not?" the back of Regina's head asked. "I'm evil. And an argument could be made for whorish."

"Hold on. Stop. You're under a truth spell and you're calling yourself an evil whore?"

"That's even more pensive!" the painter enthused under his breath.

"Why differ from the majority opinioin?" Regina asked. Rhetorical.

"So almost everyone you've ever met thought you were an evil whore?"

Regina nodded. Her foot was on the ground, toggling back and forth, making the chair spin a few degrees this way, then back, then the other way.

"Someone must've said you weren't. What about your mom?"

"Ah," Regina's head lolled back, "she thought being an evil whore was a good thing."

"Regina..." Emma started, and for the first time in a long while found herself at a loss for words. "You're not."

"And you're wrong about most things, Emma. I don't think this is an exception."

Speechless, Emma got up, took Regina by the hand, and pulled her from her seat. It spun away behind her.

"Your highness, the painting!" the painter protested. "I haven't finished your chin!"

"Get Mary-Margaret. It'll look the same."