A/N: Detailed trigger warning: long-term sexual, physical and emotional/psychological abuse, PTSD, suicidal thoughts, self-harm, grief, homelessness, and just lots of angst over it all.

Clearly, this is not a happy story, overall. But it's not just an angstfest, and there's definitely some spots of light here or there. Just have some hope.

Title from the song "In the Shallows" by Daughter

Emma's been sleeping under the bleachers at night, because her latest foster home sucks, but she's seventeen and this close to being kicked out anyway that there's no point in telling her social worker and getting shunted off to a new one for the last few months. So, even though basically being in school 24/7 sucks too, she tells herself it's okay because it's only for a few more months.

(She doesn't like to think too much about what comes next, because if she's honest, it's probably just more of this, but sleeping at the park instead, or in a homeless shelter, if she's a little luckier.)

It's starting to get colder though, and Emma's jacket really isn't thick enough to substitute for a heater. She's been practicing her lock picking though and observing the janitor when he locks up, so she's reasonably certain she can manage to break in after hours and sleep inside the comparatively warm halls of the school instead. But that's still future Emma's problem. Because for the moment, the janitor has just opened the school, and the first faculty and staff have started pouring in. Emma is just a few steps behind them, quickly sneaking into locker rooms for a quick shower before classes.

-o-

There isn't much time to enjoy the feeling of warm water on her skin, but she tries. If she were the type to believe in such things, the act of it feels cleansing in a way beyond literal. It's just plain nice too, in a way so few things in her life are. After all she's been through, it's the little things, she's learned, that keep you going. For a few minutes, under the warm heat of the shower spray, she can believe that her life isn't completely horrible.

Emma forgets, underneath the water's vibrations on her skull and skin, about everything other than what she feels in that exact moment. It's a comfort she doesn't often get. She stretches out all the kinks she's gotten in her back from sleeping on the ground, and lets the water do its magic in her weary shoulders. A soft sigh of pleasure escapes her, and she allows herself, just a few minutes more to enjoy all this. It's a dangerous luxury, because the longer she lingers, the greater the chance she has of getting caught.

But she doesn't think about that. She lets her eyes slide close, and doesn't think about much of anything at all, except the pounding of the water.

-o-

At that moment, a different girl steps out into a deserted parking lot, shaky steps nearly buckling onto the asphalt. But, as always, she forces herself up, and then, she's practically running, straight towards the locker rooms, utterly desperate for a shower to wash away everything still lingering on her skin.

-o-

Emma is still deep into her shower-induced bliss, eyes closed and mind blank, when she hears a noise. Her finely tuned senses of danger and paranoia have her quickly bursting into action, adrenaline making her surge forward. She turns the shower knob off immediately, despite the soap and shampoo still on her, and waits, with bated breath. Her heart pounds damningly in her ears, and she is sure that she has been caught.

The noise grows louder. They are footsteps, she quickly concludes, and they draw closer. Emma freezes, trying desperately to look through the curtain to find out who it is. She can vaguely see the shadows, enough to know it is only a single person, but nothing more. As the figure gets nearer, Emma realizes that she hears something like… crying?

Slowly, carefully, she inches a little closer to the opening in the cloth. Her eyes seek out the figure, who she finds drifting closer.

It takes a moment for her brain to pick up the signals her eyes are sending her and realize that she is looking at Regina Blanchard.

-o-

Emma isn't exactly a social butterfly, and she doesn't really have any friends at all, if she's being honest, because no one wants to hang out with the weird new transfer student who always wears raggedy clothing. She's pretty sure someone has already spilled the beans about her being a foster kid too, because she's been sent a few looks and heard some whispers. There are all sorts of rumors about her stealing cars, doing drugs, and horror of all horrors, being a lesbian. None of it is new to her, and the blonde doesn't really care what any of these stupid high school kids think of her.

(She has bigger worries-like where her next meal is coming from, and seriously, what is going to do after she turns eighteen and gets kicked out of the system for good?)

Basically, Emma Swan is an outcast and loner-though the latter is at least partly by choice. Even so, she's not blind or deaf, and she always keeps tabs on the rumor mill because she knows that knowledge is a kind of power (and when you have so little power, as she does, she will cling to any small bit of it).

Regina Blanchard is just as much a pariah as she is, if in a completely different way, as no one would ever dare to bully or badmouths her to her face, like they do with Emma. The stepdaughter of the mayor, her family is both rich and powerful, and she knows for a fact that many of the students' parents work for their company. There are few people in town on that kind of socio-economic level, and all of them go to the fancy private school uptown instead. From what she's heard, Regina and her step-sister go to the local public to support government initiative or something, as part of some publicity scheme for the mayor. It sounds like utter bullshit to Emma, and clearly the other students can tell as well.

It is obvious that Regina does not belong, and she certainly doesn't try to hide it at all. She never dresses anything less than impeccably, in brands that cost more than Emma could ever hope to have in her bank account at any time, but she doesn't dress in any kind of high school acceptable fashion. In tailored suits or formal skirts, she fits in with the faculty more than the student body. With her worn out thrift store clothes, Emma might just be a tiny bit jealous of it all, but the fashion certainly doesn't bring Regina any favours. It's not just the suits and the skirts though. The attitude that comes along with it screams Ice Queen too, and that's one of the kinder things it's been called.

Emma isn't really smart enough to be in many classes with Regina, but they do have AP English together (writing is one of the few things she's good at, shockingly enough), and it's more than enough to get a good impression. The other girl is basically the definition of an ice queen, with a glare that could cut steel that's pretty much constantly directed at basically everyone, no exceptions. She's even seen her take down some of the more incompetent teachers with little more than a cold correction over some fact or another.

-o-

So, Emma knows Regina Blanchard.

At least, she thought she did, in the way most high school students assume they know people. Without really looking beyond the surface. It's the same thing everyone's always done with her, never looking past the raggedy clothes or the bad reputation. Emma is just a little annoyed with herself to realize she's been doing the same thing to everyone else, to Regina Blanchard and her perfect clothes and perfect grades.

She's never given a second thought to it all, too wrapped up in her own problems and preconceptions. Some part of her, if she's honest, had been angry at the brunette, for everything that she thought she had.

Looking at her now, she realizes how wrong she was. Now, she's getting a glimpse into what Regina Blanchard is like beyond the mask they all wear into school.

It's not a pretty picture. Literally.

Though she's wearing her usual way too-formal-for-school attire, it is far from its usual impeccable form. It's wrinkled, just slightly torn, maybe, and messily put on-in fact, Emma is pretty sure that pencil skirt is on backwards, which is the last thing she'd ever expect to see on someone like Regina.

The rest of her looks no better.

For as long as she's known her, which is really only a year at most, admittedly, Emma has never seen her wear an expression of anything other than the utmost calm and confidence. There's no trace of that ice cold bitch here now, in this girl who looks… shattered, if she's being completely honest. There are tear tracks on her cheeks, running black from her mascara and her lipstick is smeared-her lips look bruised, she realizes, with a sickening jolt.

All of this is screaming signals to her brain that she just doesn't want to accept. Because her clothes aren't put on right, and her lips are bruised and Emma is pretty sure those that is a bitemark on her collarbone, peeking out of her shirt.

(She remembers, hands and teeth and a space too tight and too hot, and just too much-)

Emma gasps aloud, and shakes, badly, jolts so hard that her hand scrambles for purchase on the wall, but she forgets, and she misses-her hand goes through the shower curtain instead.

She tumbles out of the shower stall in a naked tangle of limbs, and falls right atop Regina Blanchard.

The other girl screams, loud and startled and pained like a knife has just been shoved through her ribs. Despite the pain, the fresh bruises blooming on her from her fall, Emma quickly scrambles backwards, utterly terrified on so many levels.

For a long moment, Regina continues to scream, her eyes wide and blown with fear. They don't look at her, not really, and Emma wonders, heart clenching, what she is seeing (she doesn't have to wonder, not really). Her hand hovers in the air, useless. She tries to think about what she would want, but her brain is still too tangled up in trying to banish all her skeletons back into her closet (the malicious glint in those eyes, the hot breath against her neck, that feeling of suffocation, of drowning-)

Eventually, she succeeds enough to focus on what is actually happening, but the noise doesn't dissipate because Regina is still screaming. Eyes wide, Emma reacts instinctively, springing forward to cover the girl's mouth and try to muffle the noise. She can't get caught, she thinks desperately, selfishly, she can't. Regina flinches hard, trying to break free, but quiets almost immediately, like a radio with its plug pulled out. Her breath is hot against her palm, and she quickly pulls it away as though stung. The brunette doesn't start screaming again, thankfully, though her eyes continue to look glazed and faraway.

Incredibly, no one seems to be have been drawn by the noise, and the blonde allows herself to relax by a tiny fraction at the thought that they haven't been found out, not yet. But now, her stomach in knots, as the enormity of the situation she is currently in sinks in. Emma can see, now that she looks, that in the fall, Regina's skirt has ridden up high enough she can see bruises on her thighs. In the shape of hand prints. Bile rises in her throat, because she doesn't want to see this, doesn't want to see Regina like this.

What is she supposed to do? Emma feels helpless and lost, more than ever, and that's saying something considering the state of her life. In the end, she does what she always does, and blurts out without thought, "Are you alright?"

The sound of her voice seems to bounce against the tiled walls, somehow still too loud in the echo of the screaming. Emma cringes, feeling like an idiot. Of course she isn't alright. It is a pointless question that she already knows the answer to, Even so, the words, or just the sound of her voice, seems to jolt the other girl out of whatever hell she is trapped in.

Regina blinks, and those dark eyes finally seem to focus on the world around her. Slowly, she turns and registers Emma's presence, eyes raking down her form and making the blonde abruptly aware of her nakedness. Flushing, she awkwardly tries to cover herself with her hands, debating if she should go rush for her towel and clothes, but wary of startling the girl in front of her, who still looks entirely too jumpy and vulnerable, so far away from the cold hard shell she's always seen.

"W-what-"

The voice comes out rough and scratchy, with a stutter that is so out of character the blonde wonders if it came from her out all. Regina stops, falls silent again, looking frustrated for a moment before she visibly steels herself. Emma can practically see the mask being fitted into place, piece by piece.

When the other girl speaks again, it is with the cold, hard tone she is far more familiar with. "What are you doing here, Ms. Swan?"

Though she is expecting it, Emma almost startles at being addressed again, especially by the ridiculously formal way it's done. That's the way Regina Blanchard addresses everybody, she abruptly remembers, like she's an eighty year old woman or a woman from the 1800s. Emma wonders if it's a rich person thing, or specifically a Regina thing. Either way, it's always been a ridiculous habit for a seventeen-year-old but it's even more absurd now, with Regina looking like she just came off a horror movie and Emma naked and still soapy from her shower.

Regina seems to realize it too, if the way she bites at her lip (it's bruised, she can't help but notice again) means anything, but she does not say anything more, so the blonde manages to answer, about as eloquently as always, "Uh, shower."

As she speaks, she gestures vaguely at the still damp stall she'd fallen out from, and then her own nakedness, which makes her blush again in self-consciousness. It nearly makes her miss the flinch from Regina and the way those eyes linger at the curve of her breast and hips. But she doesn't, and she flushes even more under the scrutiny, feeling even more confused about what is happening and how she is feeling. Still, seeing that the other girl has at least managed to find some form of composure, however fake, she takes it as an opportunity to stop being naked.

Emma quickly stands up, wincing briefly in pain, as the bruises from her fall protest. But she ignores it from the kind of ease borne from practice, immediately heading for the small pile of clothes and the towel she left on the bench closest to the shower. Highly aware of the eyes on her, Emma towels off the lingering wetness and soap with quick, rough movements, before she shucks on her clothes with similarly lightning speed. Thankfully, being a foster kid has given her great advantage in speed dressing so she is soon dressed in her ratty band t-shirt and even rattier jeans again, her wet hair the only sign of her previous state.

When she turns back to Regina, she sees that the other girl has picked herself up from the ground. Emma wants to slap herself for being an idiot and not offering to help-but would she have even accepted it? She remembers the way she had flinched, remembers the Regina Blanchard who stood proud and unyielding and never accepted help from anyone. Somehow, she thinks, even after what she's seen, that girl is still inside her, or in the cold hard shell she wears, at least. The brunette has managed to fix her clothes some too, so the little tells are less obvious and though she can still spy tear tracks, the mascara is cleaned off.

Clearly, Emma is not the only one practiced at speed dressing. Her stomach clenches at this, at what this means. Though she doesn't want to connect the dots, the answers come anyway. This is not the first time this has happened to Regina. The realization makes the room swirl for a moment. Emma has to ask. She swallows, before she starts to say, "Who-?"

"Don't." Regina tells her, hard, but there's a tremble underneath. Her eyes are dark and shadowed, and Emma thinks she could drown in them, in the pain so much like her own.

Emma wants to say so many things. I can help. I understand. You're not alone. All of them die on her tongue before she even opens her mouth. In the end, all she can do is ask, uselessly, stupidly, "What are you doing here?"

Maybe she means it in more way than one, because it's a loaded question, really. Or maybe she can only echo because she wants to let Regina handle this conversation (she cannot bear to take more power from her). Whatever the reason, it's what comes out of her mouth and now she can only deal with it's fall-out.

Mostly, it seems to be Regina staring wide-eyed at her, briefly looking like a deer in the headlights, an expression that looks almost comical on her, when considering her typical stern demeanor. But it is gone in a flash, and her cold mask returns as she replies, bitingly, "Showering."

Emma's brows furrow at this answer, wondering if it is a serious or sarcastic one. But the faint tremble she cannot fully hide, the memory of her looking shattered that is still imprinted on her mind (the screaming, gods), all of it makes her think this is true. Looking at the briefcase she holds in one trembling hand (no plebeian backpacks for Regina Blanchard), she doubts there is anything like a towel or a change of clothes though. True, but unplanned, it seems. This is the same girl she has seen with a day planner marked in ten different colours, whose every minute, every move is calculated and thought out in advance. Impulsive and stupid acts might be Emma's bread and butter, but it is not Regina's. The admission is worrying, if it's true, which she is almost certain is so.

"Without a towel or change of clothes." It's a statement not a question, and Regina tenses, but does not say anything more. Even though Emma already suspects the answer, she cannot help but ask, "Why?"

This seems to be what makes Regina snap, because her eyes blaze with fire, as she returns the question pointedly, "Why are you showering here?"

There is a knowing look in those dark eyes, that tell Emma she is not the only one who has seen through a mask and connected the dots. The implications make her wince, and she knows she is caught, that they are at a stalemate with their secrets and sins. Emma has just as much to lose here, more really, because she cannot afford to have this get back to the school, and to her social worker. She does not want to be moved again, to yet another shitty foster family, or even shitter group home. Worse, her breaking and entering the school will probably land her in juvie combined with her previous bad record. The smart thing to do would be to call a truce and promise to never speak of this again.

But Emma has never been very smart, and she also knows that some things are more important, so she admits, in a rush, "I've been sleeping under the bleachers every night for the past three months, after I ran from my latest foster home."

She doesn't expand on why, because that's something she still can't talk about, not even to Regina (she can't bear to think of it at all, and she just wants to forget). Shaking her head, she adds quietly, "Then, I sneak in every morning to take a shower before class."

In for penny, in for a pound, she thinks, with a certain reckless resignation. Though the blonde has never told anyone these things, has never had anyone to tell, really, she finds it is easier than she thought to say it all.

Whatever Regina expects in response to her thinly veiled threat, it is clearly not this. She has looks at Emma like she has never seen her, utterly bowled over by this confession. Or rather, by what it means. She doesn't think the actual contents are much of a surprise. The brunette can connect the dots just as well as she can, probably better, if all those straight As mean anything. What truly startles her is what she is actually trying to say, in telling the truth. Quid pro quo.

The mask doesn't slide back into place so quickly this time. When they lock eyes again, Emma sees those dark eyes assessing her more blatantly this time. The blonde stares back, wordlessly trying to convey her plea. A truth for a truth. In the silence, a moment of understanding seems to pass between them.

Finally, Regina opens her mouth, briefly swallowing before she admits quietly, "I need to get him off my skin." She shudders slightly, eyes darkening as she explains stiltedly, "He… surprised me this morning. When I got to school early, he was waiting for me at the parking lot."

Emma wants desperately to ask who he is, but she knows she won't get an answer, that to interrupt now will halt what few admissions are spilling out, will make the wall that has been briefly brought down spring up again. What's inside is dark enough to make her skin crawl, to throw her back into all the skeletons in dark closets, but Emma holds firm, holds herself up because there's someone in front of her who needs her more.

"I have a copy of the locker room key as captain of the varsity volleyball team." Regina explains, in answer to a question hadn't even thought of, but now that she mentions it, the blonde remembers that she had locked the door after sneaking in. "This early, I didn't think anyone would be here. Clearly, I was wrong."

There's a small twitch to her lips, like this is all a joke, but there's no humor in her eyes or in anything in this situation, really. They are just two girls in shitty situations who have run into each other in a terrible time. If it's anything, it's proof that God or Fate or whoever is running the show has a shitty sense of humor. Considering the shit show her life's been so far, Emma is not surprised.

After their revelations to each other, the silence that follows feels lighter and weightier at once. No matter what the shrinks she's been sent to say, Emma doesn't really think "talking about it" actually helps anyone or anything all, but maybe that's only because she's been talking to the wrong people. Talking to someone who understands, even a little bit, makes her feel abruptly less alone. On the other hand, it also makes her realize that there are other people involved now, and she no longer has total control over what to do. Of course, Regina didn't seem to get the same memo.

"You can't tell anyone," The brunette orders her firmly, her typical hard imperious tone returning with a vengeance, and Emma would feel like a scolded i competent teacher if it weren't for the fact that those dark eyes have a shine of panic that belie her calm demeanor. At her continued silence, Regina barks, "I need your word, Ms. Swan."

The instinct to keep this encounter and any accompanying revelations, between them, is perfectly understandable, and Emma knows better than most about the need for secrets, but still, she hesitates. The right thing to do, would be to tell a "responsible adult", right? She might not have much trust in the system herself, considering her own experiences with it, but surely, it would do better by Regina?

It's a heavy question, and a dilemma she clearly does not have time to ponder further, because Regina has taken her silence as a refusal and now she is walking towards her, stopping only when she is close enough that she can the lighter flecks in those warm brown eyes that are currently sparking with fury and barely controlled desperation. Brows drawn tightly, she hisses out threateningly, "You will not tell anyone of this, or I will make you life a living hell!"

Been there, done that, Emma thinks dryly, with a strangely distant calm. Normally threats make her hackles rise immediately, make her blood boil and want to throw punches, but it is too easy to see the fear buried in the fury here, and it is that, not any futile threat, which makes her finally say, softly, "I promise, yes. This is all just between us."

The concession immediately causes a flood of relief to cross the other girl's face, before it is hastily covered up and the mask is slid back into place. Emma feels like she should say more still, or try to do something about all this. But she is keenly aware of how little she can actually do or say that would help at all, so in the end, she doesn't say anything more.

Regina doesn't say anything more either, seemingly satisfied with the response she's garnered, though she is looking at Emma as though trying to see the lie. Eventually, she seems to find what she's looking for, and she abruptly backs away again, quickly enough that Emma might've been insulted in other circumstances. This time, the resulting silence seems more awkward than anything. They've both said their piece, and all that's left are questions that neither of them are currently willing to answer.

So, suddenly remembering where they are and what they're actually supposed to do, Emma takes action. She moves closer, aware of the way Regina suddenly jolts in response, the minute trembles when she is close enough to touch. It's more than just surprise, and the flash of fear she sees makes her heart pound. Some part of her is tempted, wants to try to comfort and soothe, convey what she cannot hope to say out loud. But she knows it would be a mistake to do so.

Instead, Emma moves past her, to where she has hidden her backpack in a corner. Mechanically, she stuffs her damp towel back inside it, not even bothering to roll it back up or place it somewhere away from her books. Finally, she rises again, wonders at what to say or do. Regina is still looking at her, warily. It might be a mistake, but Emma cannot bear to leave her without doing or saying anything more. She moves towards the other girl again, and places a towel in her hand. It's a little ratty and slightly smaller than the one she used, but it is dry and clean.

Though Emma cannot really afford it, because she really does only have these two towels, she still says, "Keep it." Kindness has not been much of a feature in Emma's life, but that only makes the few instances of it stand out more, and she knows, better than most, how much the small kindnesses can matter.

The other girl doesn't say anything in response, but her eyes widen, and she takes the towel in her hands, with just the slightest of trembles. For a moment, she opens her mouth, but nothing comes out, and she quickly shuts it again.

Emma doesn't wait for more, and she takes this opportunity to leave, backpack already shouldered. Though she is so very tempted to, she doesn't turn her back once. Even then, she can't quite shake the image of Regina Blanchard and everything that just happened from her mind's eye.