She's on the phone in her office, standing idly by her desk, twirling a pencil between her fingers. She smiles even, laughs, and Emma feels sick. She used to smile at Emma like that, open and bright. She used to smile at Emma like there was only her, only the lightness in her heart and the breeze in her hair, just the two of them. Emma sometimes forgets how beautiful Regina is when she smiles.

Emma's phone buzzes in her pocket, a fucking group text with August and Neal.

The Lost Boys. Back room. Over on Canal.

Me?

No, you fucking idiot. Swan.

Fucking idiot? Use the fucking code names, you fuckin dipshit.

Christ.

She drags herself upstairs to change and she spares a quick glance toward Regina's office on the way. She's probably upstairs, turning down the bed, closing the curtains, washing away any of Emma left on her body. God damn it.

The heel of her hand still hurts from Neal's last assignment and she grimaces. She yanks open the top drawer next to the sink to find her watch and the whole thing rattles.

"Emma!"

Emma turns, realizes Regina's just a few feet away.

"Honey, you scared me."

"Sorry, 'Gina. I just-" Emma stops to look Regina up and down. Something is softer in her face, and she's changed clothes. She's wearing a black coat, the one with the belt, and wait, are those boots? Who are those for? Shit. Emma feels sick all over again. "You going out?"

"Yes," she sighs and the softness is gone. "Some idiot crashed a server downtown and ended the world as we know it, so, yes, I'm going out."

"We promised Gold," Emma reminds her, because no fucking way is she going over there alone later. To a party. Full of their Stepford neighbors. And Elias Gold.

"I know," Regina nods as she ties her favorite Hermès scarf around her neck. "I won't be long at all."

Emma shrugs and slams the drawer shut again.

Emma takes the Sedan into the city, parks it in a ramp and pays a god damn fortune for a shitty parking space as close to the stairs as she can get it. She surveys the ramp for security cameras and guard posts and makes a quick mental note to tell August to reimburse her. Not that he will. Why are they so cheap.

The bar is divey and dingy, it reeks like grease and burnt food and the smell of the Chinese takeout place next door wafts in every time the door opens. Emma tugs her hair back into a ponytail and pulls her beanie down further. She's not going to have time to wash her hair, and there's that party, and those people, and Regina. She grabs a stool at the bar and orders whatever they just tapped. It's hoppy and strong so she sips slowly and waits. She waits and watches, keeps an eye on her exits, on the placement of the big guy near the door, on the two guys in the corner playing darts.

She tosses a ten on the bar top after a while, squeezes past the dart players and down the back hall. There's just one lone man in the kitchen, wiping down the stainless steel with a dirty rag. Emma nods at him in passing and heads toward the bathrooms. She keeps walking though, down the steep dark stairwell at the end of the hall. The fluorescent lights flicker and she stifles a groan, that's gonna be a wicked migraine later. She can hear the tinny sounds of a small TV from behind one of the closed doors, some semi-reputable news station, and she pulls her flask from her jacket pocket before she swings open the door.

There are three of them, sweaty, drunk, and probably underage, around a rickety card table. They look up immediately and the one in the middle, skinny as a beanpole, reaches for a SIG laying out on the table, "What the fuck? Who the shit are you?"

Emma sways on her feet, takes a swig from her flask, slurs her words just right. "Sorry, looking for the can. I thought it - chrissakes, I - shit, you guys playin' poker?"

"Private game. Piss off," the one on the right, Emma's right, grunts. He looks short, stocky, and he's got an impressive mustache for a kid who looks like he's barely twenty.

Emma's grip on her flask loosens and she smiles just enough, "Can I sit in? Shit, I love —"

"What part of piss off do you not understand?" beanpole lays his cards down on the table and leans forward in his seat. The other two follow suit and beanpole's got the SIG pointed right at Emma.

"Guys," Emma pauses, ignores the press of her own gun at the small of her back. "Woah, you could be a little friendlier and shit." She stumbles forward, her arms heavy at her sides. "I got the cash." She trips, both hands landing flat on the table. Beanpole won't shoot her, he's staring down her top. One hand moves to her coat pocket for her wallet, she tosses it down onto the table and steps back, arms up in surrender. "See what I'm sayin'?"

"Easy, lady," mustache slaps his cards down onto the table.

Beanpole picks up the wallet, fucking Prada, fucking Regina. "Yeah?" He turns it over in his hands a few times, runs his grubby thumbs over the textured leather. "This legit?"

Emma shrugs, "See what I'm sayin'? Anyone interested?"

All three are quiet, beanpole's jaw hardens.

"Oh. 'Cause I'll clean you out," Emma purses her lips as she nods. "Yeah, okay. I get it," she reaches for her wallet, palm up. Beanpole considers her for another few seconds, wallet still clutched in one hand. "Listen, man. I just," she leans forward onto the table again. How fucking belligerent does she have to get. How fucking sloppy. "I just…" She blinks her eyes closed and sighs as her head falls forward. Milk it, Swan. She catches sight of mustache's Nike Dunks, excellent. "Shit, those are really cool Dunks, man."

"Jesus," the kid on the left has been quiet this whole time. He's shaking his head. "How drunk are you?"

Emma shrugs, manages a lopsided grin as she tries to right herself next to the only empty chair. "Oh, you know."

"Pan ain't gonna like this," mustache reaches out to sweep all the cards toward himself. "Pan ain't gonna like it at all."

"There's an empty chair right here," Emma grips the backrest with one hand. "I could sit here. Just let me sit in one round." She moves to sit and mustache grabs her wrist with one hand. "Hey, what the—"

"That's Pan's chair," beanpole glares, wipes the sweat from his brow.

Shit, it's hot down here.

"Where's Pan? I don't see Pan?" she looks around, shrugs out of her coat.

"Pan's not back yet," mustache shuffles the deck and doesn't meet Emma's eyes.

"Great, then I'll sit here," Emma lets a little bit of edge creep back into her voice and starts to hang her coat on the back of the chair. "Unless," she pauses halfway. "I'm too hot for you."

—

"We've got a plane in an hour."

"Alright," Regina nods, follows closely through the penthouse. The W, disgusting. Of all the god damn hotels in Manhattan. She counts the men on her way through, there's the one leading her. He would be easy enough to take care of, there are two watching fucking Wheel of Fortune on the flatscreen, there's one in the kitchenette, and two milling around. That's six. She's had worse.

"Here we are," he stops, opens a set of double doors to the master suite. "An hour."

"I shouldn't need more than thirty minutes," Regina smirks, flips her hair over one shoulder as she passes.

The door closes with a soft click behind her and she locks it promptly after.

"Well, well."

She hears him before she sees him. The light in the en suite bathroom is on, and he emerges not a moment later. He leers, leans up against the doorframe, and Regina takes a moment to observe. He's got one hand over his crotch, adjusting himself before he speaks again. "They said they'd send their best, but god damn."

"Strip and on your knees," Regina doesn't bother to look up anymore as she undoes the belt of her coat. She doesn't need to see him, not at all. She can feel his eyes on her as she lays the expensive cashmere over the back of a chair. The leather bustier underneath was made for her. It accentuates the dip of her waist, pushes her tits up to her chin. Emma would — no. "I do believe I gave an order, did I not?"

He's kicking off his pants then, and he drops to his knees in the center of the room as he unbuttons his dress shirt. He's grinning, panting, and Regina's lip curls in disgust.

"Have you been a bad boy?" Regina steps behind him, raises one stiletto clad foot to his back.

"Yes," he's practically shivering in anticipation and Regina takes a peek over his shoulder and down. He's pathetically hard already, and god, disgusting.

"You know what happens to bad boys?" she leans forward, digs the heel of her boot into his back. "They get punished."

"Ooh, yeah. Punish me," his eyes close, chin tilting upward and he shivers.

"Eyes on the floor." Regina kicks him forward just far enough and places her foot back on the ground. "You've taken several liberties already, it's as if you're testing me." She walks around him slowly, stands before him with her hands on her hips. "I'll ask you again. Have you been bad?"

"So bad," it comes out in a whoosh of breath and Regina can smell stale cigarettes and scotch.

She leans in, wants him to see her face before she ends him. Wants him to know exactly what she's capable of. "Look at me."

His eyes move from her chest to her face and he blinks.

"You deserve to be punished, don't you?" She likes to revel every now and then. Likes to feel a little bit more powerful than the pitiful men on their knees for her. It's so rare she even gets the opportunity anymore.

"Oh, yeah. Yeah."

"Because you've been taking hearts, haven't you? Big beating hearts and you've been doing big bad things," her voice drops and there's a moment of realization before her hand is surging forward, plunging into his chest. Regina's eyes flash violet as her fingers wrap around pulsing muscle and he gasps.

"No," he gasps, louder this time. "Help! No!"

"Oh, yes," she pulls her hand free, his heart beating and glowing in her palm. "Now, don't scream, Doctor." She squeezes hard, and harder still, until there's no resistance, until his heart is dust in her palm. Until he falls forward and hits the hardwood with a thud.

Regina knows it's only a matter of time, someone's heard, she has to get out. Has to get to that stupid party at Elias Gold's house.

"Doctor Whale?" There's a voice outside, knocking, and Regina wipes her hands on the bedspread and reaches for her coat. She tries to picture the ramp around the corner where she parked her car as she ties the belt.

"Doctor Whale? You okay?"

"He's down!"

Regina closes her eyes, flexes her fingers once, twice. She feels the air around her change, feels the cold dank air of the parking ramp and she's safe. Almost. She has an hour exactly. Great.

—

"Solid silver, shit," beanpole's holding Emma's flask, inspecting it, scrutinizing really.

"Let me see," mustache reaches out a hand, grabs the flask when beanpole takes too much time passing it over. "To dodging bullets. Love, Regina."

"Your old lady?" kid on the left pipes up, takes a swig of Jack straight from the bottle.

"Yeah, somethin' like that," Emma shrugs, points to the flask. "C'mon, put it in the pot. Let's play some fuckin' poker."

Mustache drops the now empty flask onto the table and the game begins again. They play for an hour, Emma drops cash, diamond earrings, and her necklaces in the pot, wins 'em all back too, before the door slams open.

"What the hell is this?" There's another boy, Emma knows he's no more than twenty-four himself.

"Sorry, Pan," kid on the left mumbles, shoves his cards away on the table.

"Alright," mustache is shoving at Emma, trying to get her to stand.

"You're done, lady. Thanks for the memories," beanpole's standing up then too and Emma doesn't have much time to plan. Which is fine, really, not really her style anyhow.

Emma looks up with a shit-eating grin and bleary eyes, "Oh, you're Pan? No kidding."

Pan looks her up and down as she gets to her feet, clumsy and fumbling, "What is it, lady? You looking for a job or something?"

Emma's grin turns wolfish, and her eyes harden. She reaches behind herself until she can feel the press of the Glock against her fingertips, until she can wrap her fingers around the grip, feel it steady against her palm, "You are the job."

And then everything is in motion. She elbows mustache in the nose first, just to get him out of the way, before she's magicking the door shut in a flash of blue, and pulling back the slide on her Glock. Beanpole is fast, but not fast enough, and she's already got two shots fired at Pan before he gets to her. He tries to grab her in a chokehold, his SIG already forgotten on the table, amateur, but Emma's quicker, and stronger. She's manages to twist out of his grasp, muzzle of her gun pressed right up against his ribs.

"Leader of the pack, huh?" she quirks an eyebrow and doesn't hesitate as she pulls the trigger. He's close, too close, and she really should have planned better because there's blood, more blood on her than she anticipated, and there's that fucking party. She pushes him away and turns to kid on the left and mustache. Mustache has been wailing about his broken nose and kid on the left has decided to cower in the corner like a fucking child. Emma doesn't have time, can't have time, so she finishes the two of them off, kid on the left first, mustache last.

She grabs her flask, her jewelry, but leaves the cash. And she runs. She runs up the stairs, skipping a step each time, and she's tugging her hat on, down over her hair, and she slips out through the kitchen. She hurries down the alley, stays in the shadows, until she's behind the wheel of her fucking sedan.

The BMW however, is a much sexier getaway car than the bug.

—

"Everything okay at work?" Emma's got a small bouquet of daisies in one hand, a bottle of merlot in the other. Regina has one hand tentatively curled inside Emma's elbow and they pause on Elias Gold's stoop.

"Fine," Regina nods, turns to look at Emma. "And you? How was the game?" This is how they talk now. Innocuous small talk that leads nowhere.

"The game was good," Emma shrugs, turns to face Regina as well.

Regina's hand moves from her pocket to straighten the collar of Emma's shirt, smooth the shoulders of her jacket, "Good."

"Nets in overtime," Emma grins, rings the bell, and Regina can feel her breath, hot against her face. Smell it too.

"Have you been drinking?" her tone is clipped now, her eyes narrowing in displeasure.

"That's right, miss." Emma's all swagger again, all careless idiocy, chest fucking forward and Regina sees red. But god damn, it hits Regina in the gut. It coils and curls and she can feel it between her thighs, she squirms for a moment as the door opens.

Emma holds her gaze for a second too long, burning and testing and pushing. Regina stares back, unwavering and angry, and she forgets herself, forgets that the door has been opened, that they aren't alone.

"Welcome neighbors!" Belle waves and Elias merely nods.

"Hi Belle," Emma's stepping forward, offering the flowers and the wine. "Hey Elias."

"Oh, thank you! The flowers are lovely," Belle smiles, takes both of them from Emma's outstretched arms. "Oh, it's so good to see you both."

"Welcome," Elias reaches out to shake Emma's hand.

Regina's working the belt of her coat, surveying the guests huddled near the sofas.

"Oh, Regina, that's such a lovely dress," Belle reaches out to take Regina's coat.

"Oh, thank you," Regina smiles, demure and soft. The dress is pale pink silk. Something she would have worn when she and Emma were first married. There's a matching cardigan, she's adjusted well to live in suburbia. "Yours as well."

"Come on, let's go see the girls," Belle is reaching for Regina's wrist, tugging her toward the living room. "Don't stray too far!" she gives a nod to Elias and Emma.

"Right," Emma nods in return.

Regina is uncomfortable, so uncomfortable, around all these chatty women. But she smiles, sits down amongst them and takes the wine Belle offers. She crosses her legs, reaches for the glass, and something in Belle's face changes. She follows the line of the other woman's eyes, down to her thighs now that the pink silk has ridden up to the middle of them.

Shit.

Fishnets and shiny leather stiletto-heeled boots. She'd barely had time to change, had run in and out of the house just in time to meet Emma at the end of the front walkway. She tugs at the hem of her skirt, smiles shyly as if there's been some mistake, and takes a large sip of wine.

"So," Ashley Boyd is to her right, hand resting on her growing belly. "Sean got the promotion."

"That is so great!" Marian Locksley is just to her left, holding her four month old baby.

Regina is going to need more wine.

She takes a slow look around the room, sees Emma leaning up against the bar top, scotch in hand. She's nodding, smiling, talking about something with Robin Locksley. Regina sighs.

"We can finally start that kitchen remodel, and we can get going on the nursery too," she beams, strokes her stomach for good measure. "We're so thrilled."

"Congratulations," Marian smiles. "Oh! Shoot! Not again."

Regina looks to her left, the baby has chosen this particular moment (maybe he, too, is thrilled about the kitchen remodel) to spit up on Marian's lilac cashmere cardigan.

"I should wear a raincoat," she rolls her eyes with a smile. "You know what?" she turns to Regina. "Could you hold him a second?"

"What?" Regina looks up, wineglass halfway to her lips. "No, I'd really rather not."

"Regina, it'll just be a minute, please."

Regina is shaking her head, she's never been good with children, maybe at one point thought she'd like Emma's, but they'd be awful parents. They're just not suited to it. "No, Marian. I can't."

"It's all over the — Here."

And then there's a baby, being pushed forward, and she's setting down her wineglass and holding out her arms for the infant. He's heavier than she expected and she tightens her hands beneath his armpits.

"Thank you," Marian sounds exasperated. "Belle, do you have any seltzer?"

"Of course," Belle is up and leading Marian toward the kitchen.

It's just Regina and little Ashley Boyd then. And she holds the baby just far enough away. She can look at him, but he doesn't have to get too close. He's got big brown eyes and a curly mop of dark brown hair. He looks as if he could be hers, which is ridiculous and absurd and she pushes the thought out of her mind as soon as it appears there. But when he smiles at her and two little dimples appear on either side of his teeny tiny mouth, Regina feels her breath catch in her throat.

"Oh, he likes you!" Ashley is positively giddy beside her.

She makes the mistake of looking up then, as she brings the baby closer to her chest. She looks up and she sees Emma, and Emma is looking at her. Emma's looking at her with those big stupid green eyes, and she's grinning that crooked half grin that always wants to be something more. There's something longing in her eyes, and then there's something else. Something bright and something Regina hasn't seen in a very long time. And suddenly she can't breathe at all.

—

She's walking into the bathroom, lifting her toothbrush from its place on the counter, when she hears Emma's voice.

"I liked your dress tonight."

And there's something sad and longing in her voice and Regina wishes she could just push it all away. Forget about the baby and the look in Emma's eyes. Forget about Bogotá and wildflowers and long blonde curls. Forget about Westchester County and this fucking house and the living room she can't seem to get right.

"It was nice."

Regina meets her eyes in the mirror for a moment, "Thank you."

—

Emma's on the phone when she slips into bed, her own phone buzzing on the nightstand. There are three messages from Kathryn and a voicemail from Mal. She reads each carefully, presses the phone to her ear, rolls her eyes at the absolute ennui Mal can never hide in her voice.

"Who was that?" Emma's hung up by the time she places her phone back on the nightstand.

"Oh," she waves a hand dismissively, slides down until her head is resting on her pillow. "My mother. She thinks she's coming down with something, is in one of her usual crises."

"Maybe you should go see her for a couple days, it's been a while," Emma yawns, reaches for the light.

"Maybe," Regina sighs, reaches for the light on her side as well. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Emma nods and Regina can hear the click of the light.

She looks out the window, at the sliver of moon, "Who was that?"

"Hmm?" Emma's half asleep already.

"On the phone?" Regina rolls onto her back, turns to look at Emma.

"Oh," Emma sighs, yawns. "The Atlanta office, might have to head down there for a few days."

"Oh," Regina stretches her arms above her head, wiggles into a more comfortable position. "Goodnight, Emma."

Emma rolls onto her side, slings an arm over Regina's middle, and it's the closest she's been, the most intimate, in… a while. Regina wants to forget the baby and the look and the longing, wants to forget it more than anything. "Night, 'Gina. Love you."

Regina goes rigid under Emma's arm, shivers when she feels Emma's nose nudging behind her ear. Emma's breathing is slowing and she presses a gentle kiss just beneath Regina's ear before she falls asleep. Emma's a heavy sleeper, always has been, and Regina sighs. "You too."