The huge corporate office is in the heart of downtown Boston, and getting inside is tantamount to trying to get inside the CIA. Without her badge, Emma knows she has no chance of getting in. So instead, she waits in the courtyard out front. Hiking the fur-lined collar of her coat up around her cheeks, she slumps against the bench and just hopes that Regina Mills is the type of person who goes out for lunch.

Sure enough, some ten minutes later, the brunette appears. Her strides are quick and purposeful, knowing the route though her gaze is on her phone. Emma, for some reason, feels a surge of energy rush through her as she presses her hands into her thighs and gets to her feet, ready for whatever attitude she's about to be on the receiving end of.

"Ms. Mills," she says, startling the brunette who looks up from her phone as if she's about to be accosted.

"Officer Swan." The phone is forgotten and slipped into the pocket of her trench coat. A wry smirk curls her lips. "Here to finish the job your friend started? Here." She holds out her purse by the strap, quirking an eyebrow. "Take it."

Emma glares. "I'm not here for that."

"Then what are you doing here?" Slinging her purse over her shoulder again, she lifts her nose in the air and huffs, "You know this could constitute harassment."

Emma tilts her head, folding her arms. "Look, maybe you can sell the lawsuit threats to other people, but I'm not buying."

She feels triumphant then as she notices the shift in the brunette's expression. Gone is the air of smug superiority; instead she looks disappointed. And then annoyed.

"What do you want?"

"To talk to you."

If possible, she looks even haughtier, her nose the slightest bit higher in the air as she asks, "And what could you and I possibly have to discuss?"

Emma sighs, motioning to the bench behind her. "Just… sit, please."

Regina scrutinizes her silently, her eyes twitching into a narrow. She must deem her no threat, because soon she's seated, her hands still in the pockets of her coat. "Yes?"

Emma sits beside her, wondering where to start. "Look… I want to apologize for yesterday. In the viewing room, it… came as a shock even to me."

Regina tilts her head. "So you do know that man."

Quirking an eyebrow, Emma replies dryly, "Unfortunately? Yeah. We… have a past. To put it lightly."

"You're not instilling a lot of confidence that this wasn't a targeted attack on your part, Officer."

Emma shakes her head. "I had nothing to do with it, Ms. Mills. I can promise you that up and down, I can sign a contract or strap myself to a polygraph or whatever it will take for you to believe me and drop the lawsuit you're threatening against my precinct."

The sincerity in her tone must be obvious. Regina, momentarily, appears taken aback. Maybe even a bit remorseful. She looks away a moment and murmurs, "Oh."

"But…" Emma draws her attention again. "As far as it being targeted, it… kinda was."

The brunette furrows her brows. "I beg your pardon?"

Emma sighs. "Apparently, Ne—" She stops herself and tries again, "The suspect was going after you, specifically. It wasn't a random mugging."

She watches Regina swallow, her head shaking slowly. "Officer Swan, why are you telling me this? I would think this kind of candor would violate some sort of protocol."

"Yeah, well," Emma tilts her head, stuffing her hands in her pockets. "Guess that's the good thing about being suspended. I don't have to follow the rules."

At that, Regina lifts her gaze. "You were suspended?"

Emma nods. "Yes." She waits for an 'I'm sorry,' but it never comes.

"So I should perhaps call you 'Miss Swan' then."

A shiver makes its way down Emma's spine, remembering the same name, in the same voice, pulled from somewhere in her subconscious.

She must look startled, because Regina quirks an eyebrow. "What?"

"Nothing." It's quick and nervous, and her counterpart knows it's a blatant lie but doesn't press for details. Instead, the two of them just stare at each other. After a moment, Emma figures she's waiting for her to go on, so she takes a breath and tries to bury the sound of 'Miss Swan.'

"This guy, this suspect… apparently, he mugged you just so I would save you."

She's met with a skeptical expression. "Why?"

"He says he had to make us," she gestures between them, "Find each other."

"'Find each other?'" she repeats dubiously. "That doesn't make any sense."

"He thinks we know each other. Or-or… that we did, and that for whatever reason, we just can't remember."

Regina makes a face. "Well that's preposterous!"

"I know."

She thinks back to all the crazy things Neal said in the interrogation room. The curses, some other realm, and her – this woman, sitting beside her, that apparently planted dreams in her head and crossed realms to find her, only to forget. So much of what he said was concerning, on many different levels.

Quietly, she says, "I think he might be mentally unstable."

"Well I'll say!"

Emma sighs once more. "Look, I just… I just don't know that pursuing this will be worth your time. I mean, he thinks you're from some magical realm and that you can plant dreams in my head with a dream catcher, and when the dreams weren't helping me to 'remember,' you left this other magic realm to find me."

"Well…" Regina sits back a moment, clearly needing time to think over all the insanity that's just been hurtled at her. She shakes her head, closing her eyes briefly. "Putting aside the fact that there isn't even a remote possibility of something like that ever happening…" She looks up and adds, "Doesn't that seem like something I should remember?"

"Yes, which is why I think this guy needs help! Not jail time."

"Miss Swan, if you're attempting to somehow bail your friend out—"

"No! No, that's not what I'm doing, I promise. I could care less if I ever see this guy again." She covers her face with her hand, feeling the situation slipping away from her slightly. She's exhausted and unbelievably confused, and she thinks the brunette can tell.

That suspicion is confirmed when she looks up to see her tilting her head at her, this time with an expression akin to pity on her face. Quietly, Regina tells her, "Go home, Officer. You seem quite tired. Perhaps the forced suspension isn't such a bad thing."

"Please think about what I said."

In a surprisingly kind tone, Regina tells her, "I will. But for now, I think you should leave."

"Right."

But it's Regina that is the first to leave, rising gracefully to her feet and readjusting her purse on her shoulder as she brushes past. Emma watches her go, part of her wondering what the hell just happened. Their discussion wasn't unbearable, nor was it pleasant. It was somewhere just below tolerable, but she supposes that's plenty for now.

Two days later, her suspension is still in effect. She's just about gone stir crazy and she thinks Henry can tell this isn't a vacation. He continually asks her if she's okay and when she's going back to work. The first question is always easily answered with as big a smile as she can muster along with a ruffle of his hair. The second is a bit more difficult to dodge, but she plays it off as though her vacation is up in the air – as though she's considering asking for another week off.

By the time she actually gets a return call from her partner, she's almost climbing the walls. "Sully!" she practically barks in his ear. "What the hell? I've been trying to call you!"

"Yeah, I know kid. Sorry, the captain's been breathin' down my neck."

She wants to ask him so many things. She wants to know if Neal's still there – if they were able to get him evaluated like she wanted – if they've heard anything else from the Mills woman as far as whether or not she's pressing charges. Or whether she's suing the station.

She's not sure what to ask first, but Sullivan beats her to the punch. "They released him this morning."

Her stomach turns, just a little. She sits down on the barstool hard enough that it sends a shockwave up her spine. "They did?"

"Yeah. I dunno what the hell happened, but it seems like someone talked some sense into that Mills chick. She's not pressin' charges and she's not takin' us to the cleaners, either."

A wave of relief hits her, and she can feel some of the tension in her shoulders release. "Well so what happened?"

"She came down to the station, talked to the captain for a few minutes, and then she was gone. Then he calls me in and tells me to let your guy out. He made a phone call and someone came to get him."

Emma's stomach churns a little more. "Who?"

"Who knows, just some guy. Kinda seemed like they were friends, but… kinda not."

"Well what did he look like?"

"I dunno, kid, Jesus! He was just some Johnny Depp lookin' punk with an earring and too much of that… what do they call it now? 'Guyliner'?"

Under normal circumstances, the word 'guyliner' from her partner's mouth would be borderline hilarious, but the hilarity is lost on her today. "Alright. Well… thanks, Sully."

"Yeah. I think White's gonna be callin' ya pretty soon here to get ya reinstated, but… can't say for sure."

There's a knock on the apartment door, and her attention diverts ever so briefly before she tells her partner distractedly, "Okay… thanks," and then hangs up the phone.

The pounding gets louder, and the nausea quickly assailing her tells her who she's going to find on the other side. Sure enough, when she swings it open, there's Neal.

"We gotta talk," he tells her, and she immediately shakes her head.

"Nothing for us to discuss, Neal. Glad to see you got out." And she moves to shut the door.

Neal quickly braces his hand against it. "Not so fast," he smiles.

She's forgotten how quick his reflexes are. It always helped during grifts and getaways. Now it's making her wonder if she should call for backup, and she mentally reminds herself where her weapons are hidden.

"What do you want?"

"I told you – we gotta talk. And this time, I'm not leaving until you remember everything."

Emma rolls her eyes, the arm holding the door straining against Neal's strength as he tries to hold it open. "Right, okay," she smirks wryly. "You're not leaving until I remember magical things that could never happen in real life. You and what army are gonna accomplish that?"

That's when the man Sullivan had described appears beside Neal in her doorway – a dark-haired man with several days' growth, an earring, and a long leather duster.

"Not an army, love," he grins at her. "A pirate."

TBC