Author's note: Thank you to those of you who actually read my author's notes, but to those of you who don't.. Yes, this story is based off of Georgia Rule. Yes, I do quote the movie. Yes, I've said both of these already. Yes, this is SwanQueen, slowburn but definitely SwanQueen. No more Neal/Emma sexy times though. I promise. That's over with. I just needed that one scene to prove that what Whale did to Emma really did impact her negatively and blah blah blah. You'll see, I promise. To make up for it, here's a quick, juicy next chapter. Alsoooo.. No one wants to beta? Really? You'll get good sneak peeks?

Ingrid Blanchard liked to consider herself a strong woman. There was no one on the earth that she'd willingly let walk all over her and hers and it was a quality that she admired about herself. The woman was fiercely protective of those that she held dear and rarely did she ever let them see her falter. When people see you falter, it lets them know that you're not indestructible. It lets them know that you can be broken. That you can be hurt. Ingrid Blanchard wasn't a woman who liked to make that public knowledge. But she was human. And humans sometimes broke.

Which is why after the phone call that she received from Regina, that is exactly what she did. Broke. How could she have let this happen? How could her daughter have let this happen? How could the circumstances of life have let this happen? All she could think of was her granddaughter's smile, back when she'd thought her grandmother was the coolest person to have ever graced her with knowledge of the garden and a stuffed dog that quickly became her best friend and how anyone dared to try and take that away from her. That innocence. That happiness that had yet to be touched by the real world before it was time.

And after she broke, she steeled herself, because she was out for blood. From a few people. It'd been too long since someone fought for her little Emma.

This lead to the head strong woman marching right to her old school house phone, picking it up from it's place mounted on the wall and dialing her daughter's number with a specific purpose in mind.

The first few times that it went to voicemail didn't deter her at all, she simply left stern, straightforward voice messages telling Mary Margaret to call her back or else.

On her fourth try, her call was answered with an exasperated, "Yes, mother?"

"We need to talk. It's about your daughter." Ingrid said without missing a beat, her voice tense and stern, letting Mary Margaret know that she meant business.

"What did she do?" Was the first thing that came out of her mouth and Ingrid furrowed her eyebrows. Maybe this was why Emma acted the way she did and kept everyone at arm's length. Because the worst was always assumed of her anyway. "You promised to keep her for the summer, mother. I can't really take her back at the moment. We have a lot going on here and I just can't with her."

"That's.. not why I'm calling." Ingrid let out slowly, already trying to work out how to proceed with such a sensitive subject in her head. It wasn't exactly a conversation she ever thought she'd be having. "Are you alone? Is Victor around?"

…

Later on that night, after her interesting little fishing trip with trip Neal, Emma made the boy drop her off in front of 108 Mifflin Street. The blonde avoided his questions as to why and instead just insisted that he do as she said. Her intentions were very clear in her mind as she walked with a strong purpose up the front pathway to the oversized, white house that everyone knew belonged to the mayor of the sleepy little town.

Knocking on the door loudly with three quick raps, the blonde then stepped back and folded her arms over her chest as she waited impatiently for the attractive brunette to answer the door. A few moments later, an apron clad Regina swung the door open with a curious look on her face.

"Ms. Swan? What on earth are you doing here?" The woman asked with an eyebrow raised and an unreadable look on her face.

"Hi." Emma said dumbly, a small smile on her face before she continued on. "I just wanted to tell you that.. all that stuff I said about my stepdad.. I lied. None of it was true."

"What?" The brunette said, her eyes searching Emma's briefly before her brow furrows and she leaned a hand against her front door jam. "I've.. already called your grandmother and told her what you told me, Ms. Swan. I take things like that very seriously."

"You what?!" Emma basically shrieked after a few moments of silence, her eyes widening at Regina incredulously. "Why would you do that?!"

"What else was I supposed to do with that information, Ms. Swan? Save it for a rainy day?" The older brunette asked her, matching her incredulous tone of voice. The woman didn't look the least bit apologetic though. Typical Regina, Emma thought to herself, and for some reason she couldn't find it in her to dislike it.. or anything about the woman for that matter. But none of that was at the forefront of her mind at that moment in time.

"Assume I was lying! Everyone else usually does! That's what I do! I lie! Sometimes you've got to lie to make a point! I just-ugh! I can't believe you told her!" The blonde stressed, running hands through her long blonde hair in frustration. She was in deep shit and this wasn't something that she wanted to be dealing with this summer.

"Well.. I believed you." The dark haired woman stated after a moment, her deep eyes unnaturally soft and wise, forcing Emma to look anywhere but at her. It felt like Regina could see directly through her sometimes and it made the blonde squirm. "Now, would you like to stay for dinner? I'm making lasagna."

...

And that's how Emma ended up at the table with the Mills family. The interior of Regina's house was just as impressive as Emma expected it to be, giving the impeccable appearance of the outside. Very put together, with muted grays and blacks and whites, but with traces of a four year old and a sense of it being.. lived in, for lack of better term.

The dining room table seating arrangement went as so: Regina at the head of the table and Emma and Henry on either side of her. The latter having put up a fuss about having to sit in his booster to reach the table in front of 'his friend, Emma', but eventually gave in when Emma assured him that it was totally fine. Regina had given her a grateful smile, a new, soft one that Emma wasn't exactly used to as it made her heart stutter a little. Sometimes little things like that reminded Emma that beyond their banter, Regina was an extremely attractive, single, apparently gay woman, if the fact that she'd had a wife was anything to go by. She tried not to think about it too much for the sake of her own functioning and instead focused on Regina's rolling eyes at the way the teen was sitting in her seat, legs tucked under her and elbow resting on the table.

"Your table manners are atrocious, Ms. Swan." A small smirk accompanies her words and Emma's jaw drops in disbelief as the little boy across from her nods his head in agreement between bites of the, admittedly delicious, lasagna. The smirk that plays on his little face is identical to his mother's and Emma narrows her eyes at the both of them.

"Dude, you're a traitor." Is all the blonde has to say in return, too focused on poking around at her own lasagna. She'd eaten a little more than she usually would, which wasn't much, but the blonde had hit her limit on fullness.

"I am not! Mommy says that-" The little boy pauses to gather his thoughts in a typical four year old manner and both of the tables other occupants waited patiently. "Mommy says that mommies come before friends sometimes. We're still friends though." The little shaggy haired brunette assures her and she scoffs and rolls her eyes, turning an accusatory look to the mayor at the head of the table.

"You're poisoning his little brain, Madam Mayor." The blonde accused matter-of-factly.

"I'm teaching him to be a gentleman. Right, Henry?"

"Right, mommy." The boy agrees readily, beaming at her proudly. It would be kind of cute if the triumphant smirk on the mayor's face wasn't obnoxiously aimed in her direction.

"Never be confused as to where my boy's loyalties lie." The woman smirked, picking up her wine glass and taking a sip of her red wine.

"You're building an army." The blonde smirked playfully, before nodding her head in defeat. "I respect it."

…

After dinner, Emma actually offered to help Regina do the dishes once Henry had scampered off to play. The surprised look on their town mayor's face made the blonde roll her eyes and smirk, following her into the kitchen. Once they were in the kitchen, the dark haired woman handed her a dishtowel, letting her know that she'd be on drying duty. Which was perfect because the teen hadn't really washed a dish before. Not that she was willing to be forthcoming with that information.

"I'm.. sorry about the things I said about your wife and shit. It was uncalled for or whatever. I apologize." Emma said awkwardly as she took the offered dishrag, biting her lip nervously as she glanced at the older woman and made eye contact to show her how sincere she was. The blonde was well aware of her own tendency to just let things fly out of her mouth when she was upset and for some reason she really didn't want Regina to think that that's who she was at core. Because it wasn't. Life had just made her a little rough around the edges and she knew that she needed to work on it, just didn't know where to start.

"Well, what do you know. There might be a heart in there somewhere after all." Full lips pulled into an easy-going smirk, but Emma saw the fire in her eyes as she turned her head to look at Emma full on. "Know this though, Ms. Emma Swan, there had better not be a next time. I wouldn't want to be you if that were the case. That isn't the type of 'shit', as you would so eloquently put it, that I will put up with so think before you speak if there happens to be a next time that I upset you." There was a pause, and then a sigh. "I suppose I apologize too. I let my judgments of you cloud my knowledge that life isn't kind to everyone and I should not have made any assumptions about yours, given the fact that I know little about it."

The blonde nodded seriously, accepting the fact that they were both in the wrong and completely willing to get over it.

"So.. there's something else you should know before we go any further." The blonde stated seriously, right eyes regarding the brunette cautiously and she internally smirked at how the older woman's face tensed at her expression. "I've.. never done dishes before." Her serious expression broke and she let a sheepish smile graced her lips as the brunette gaped at her, a rare expression for her Emma assumed.

"What on earth am I going to do with you, Ms. Swan?" The brunette asked, almost affectionately, as she rolled her eyes and turned to the sink, flicking the faucet on with a grace that Emma was sure only Regina Mills possessed.

…

Green eyes watch the mayor's black Benz pull down her grandmother's road and she sighs as she turns towards the house, her shoulders slumping as her feet carry her up the porch steps and to the front door. All the lights on the main floor of the house were off and the blonde sighed in relief since that was only the case when her grandmother had gone to bed.

Opening the front door and heading towards the kitchen to put the leftovers Regina had send her back with, she let out a shriek as the hall light turned on and Ingrid rose from where she'd been sitting on the stairs, obviously waiting for Emma to come home.

Fuck.

"Emma, darling. I've been waiting for you." Ingrid said steadily, descending a few steps so that she was now standing in the hallway with Emma.

"To scare the shit out of me by sitting on the stairs like a stalker? Congrats. I almost pissed myself, grandma." The blonde snarked, easily sliding past the woman to make her way to the kitchen to put the leftovers, hoping to God that the woman got the hint and didn't follow her.

The old J-man obviously wasn't on her side that night because Ingrid didn't miss a beat in following her and Emma felt her own heart jump into her throat as she leaned into the fridge and could feel Ingrid's presence in the kitchen with her.

"I'm only going to ask you this once, Emma. Only one." The blonde woman started and Emma instantly started shaking her head, closing the fridge and going to move around the woman, only to have her pathway blocked by Ingrid putting both arms up on the doorway where she'd been standing. "Did Victor touch you? Did he molest you?"

"Please move." The teen pleaded, avoiding her grandmother's intense gaze as her own eyes stung with tears that she was beyond determined not to let fall. SHe swallowed and steeled herself when it was clear the woman wasn't going to let her go.

"Answer me, Emma." Ingrid said sternly, grabbing the girl's chin and bringing her gaze to hers, only to have Emma close her eyes and jerk her chin away before quickly ducking under her arm and making a break for the stairs quickly. "Emma!"

"Goodnight!"

…

Sometimes Emma felt lonely. Achingly lonely. It usually came in waves at night when she would lay still and allow herself to think too much. It would always make her chest ache and her eyes quickly follow suit and it was something she despised. It's weakness. She pushed it down with incredible force, silently telling herself to embrace that lonely feeling, to make herself feel at home with it because when it really comes down to it she's really only ever had herself and if that's how it's going to be then she needs to be a ferocious one-man army. A force to be reckoned with.

Otherwise, she'll cry.

When she was younger and she'd cry and cry and cry, it never helped anything. They were just tears. They weren't magical and they didn't miraculously provoke people to stop and think. Emma Swan quickly learned that tears could not move mountains. So, she stopped turning to them. They were a waste of time and they didn't help, so why bother? Her tears weren't going to bring her father back from the grave. Nor were they going to stop her mother from drinking. Her tears weren't going to make Victor stop and think before he hopped into bed with a twelve year old. The blonde had learned all of that through trial and error.

Tears didn't help, but she eventually got over it and started experimenting in things that might. Like drugs and parties where no one knew her story and boys and girls who didn't mean anything and all that relief was temporary, but it was something. They were all still more effective than tears. Her tenacity was better than tears. The walls she built and her intelligent mind that strategically pushed people away before they got to close was better than tears. Anything was better than tears. Tears made her feel like all her defenses were being washed away right along with them. Like she was bare and vulnerable and weak. And she hated it. Tears were off the table for Emma Swan.. most of the time. Sometimes, like tonight, they had a mind of their own and the teenager could not help but let them escape, muffled sobs quickly following them as she allowed herself to feel a little more than usual. Finally.

…

When Emma slowly and cautiously descended the stairs the next morning, blue-green eyes scoped the parts of the first floor that she could see for her grandmother, almost sighing in relief when she didn't see her. Sound traveling from the direction of the kitchen did peak her interest though because it sounded like two voice were in a heated conversation and last time she checked it was just her and her grandmother there last night. Looking out of the front screen door, being as the front door was propped open like it usually was during the day, as she descended the stairs, Emma blanched, noticing her mother's car parked out front. That had to be who was in the kitchen with her grandmother.

Quietly padding towards the kitchen, the teenager stood just beyond the doorway so that she could hear what all the fuss was about without being seen and dragged into what sounded like an argument.

"-liar! My husband never touched her. He looked me in my face and told me that he never touched her! I swear she's doing this to get back at me for shipping her here for the summer and I am not going to feed into her little game. She's gone too far this time, mother. Emma is out of control!" Her mother's hushed whisper yell reached her ears and Emma's not sure what surprised her more, the fact that she was actually here or the fact that she was being courteous to a 'sleeping' Emma by whisper yelling.

"I honestly can't believe you right now." Ingrid scoffed and Emma heard the sound of one of the kitchen chairs being pulled out and jumped, assuming that one of them was leaving, but she instead heard it creak as someone, Ingrid she assumed, so sat down.

"I can't believe you, mother. This is Emma. You don't know her like I do. She was doing ecstasy in the ninth grade! I couldn't even tell you how many times and types of drugs that I've found drugs stashed about in her room and had her lie to my face about it! I've witnessed that child lie about so many things that I've lost count, but dragging Victor into this to get back at me is too far! Even for her! He loves her." Mary Margaret rambled shrilly, and Emma's heart clenched at her last statement. "He really does. And he's just as hurt and, and confused as I am about this. I mean, really. What is she thinking?"

"Mary Margaret that is your daughter. You gave birth to her. You go and you look at her and ask her and tell me that you don't see something in that girl's eyes. I believe her." Ingrid said strongly and Emma felt a rush of love for her grandmother, who was willing to defend her when she wasn't around. To her mother of all people, even when their relationship was obviously rocky enough without them disagreeing. It was touching.

"This is ridiculous." Mary Margaret mumbled and Emma wasn't able to move quick enough before she heard footsteps coming in her direction. "Emma!" The woman called before she rounded the corner from the kitchen to the hallway and stopped short when she spotted the thin blonde in the hallway already. "Oh."

"Mary Margaret." Emma greeted her coldly, cocking an eyebrow at her and setting her with a challenging look. If she wanted a fight, she'd got one.