Chapter Text
“What do you want to remember?” he asks with a sad smile.
“The good times,” she replies.
He hastily grabs a fountain pen and some paper, settling into the armchair by her bed.
“Where do you want to start?”
“The beginning. Undoubtedly.”
Dipping his pen in the ink, they begin.
16 May, 1898
In the crowded non-smoking carriage of a New York bound train, an annoyed Emma Swan stews for two particular reasons.
The first being a portly man across the aisle who is entirely too focused on her attire to be considered idly interested. She had had little time to change for her venture to Ithaca, and had opted for a loose fitting shirt to accompany her trousers. Clearly, this man is taking advantage of the breeze a cracked window provides.
The second source of her irritation is a bit less present.
She works as a lab assistant to the illustrious Nikola Tesla. As a prolific inventor, he has the nasty habit of attracting curious colleagues from all reaches of the Earth. The most recent tourist was one Killian Jones. Somewhat of a rising star at Cornell University, Killian was also notorious for his activities outside of the classroom and in the bedroom. Upon his arrival at Nikola's workshop, he had been instantly attracted to Emma.
Emma had been instantly repulsed.
What was most distressing was that she had fancied him, once. Jones appeared at a few of Tesla's more flamboyant press parties. He had always seemed charming and handsome- the kind of man you daydream about on cloudy days.
As with most idols, Emma found her mental image of the man had been entirely rose-colored. She spent the entirety of his week long stay dodging his inappropriate questions and lascivious comments. She was more than grateful to leave him at the Ithaca train station.
The man across from her is much too similar to Mr. Jones for her comfort.
It takes approximately five minutes of additional gawking for her to decide that enough is enough.
“I do hope your wife is unaware of your lewd behavior, sir. Otherwise, you might swiftly find yourself a divorced man,” Emma snaps sharply, both eyes narrowed in challenge.
The lech starts and flushes. His ringed hand darts into his frock coat and pulls out a handkerchief.
“I was merely marveling at your outfit choice, Miss,” he replies lamely, dabbing his forehead. He rather reminds Emma of a hippopotamus. “It is unusual to see a woman such as yourself wearing man's clothes.”
“Isn't it also unusual to wear a formal coat so early in the morning? Surely you aren't going to drink before noon?” she caustically retorts.
He shuffles in his seat indignantly. “Any man worth his salt should dress like a gentleman!”
“A man who dresses like a pauper and acts with dignity is undoubtedly more gentlemanly than a man who dresses like a king and acts like a twit. The wardrobe does not make the man.”
His responding huff is drowned out by the call for the New York station. Emma takes the opportunity to stand and move toward the exit.
She can hear him grumbling as she walks by.
“Absolutely indecent! Women these days... Ungrateful! Men's pants..."
Rolling her eyes, she braces herself as the train slows. She's never understood the stares she gets when wearing trousers. Moving around the laboratory is exceptionally difficult in a petticoat.
When the train comes to a complete stop, she jumps out and takes a deep breath of fresh air. People flit around the station, entirely too busy for conversation. Businessmen tip their hats at friends, parents uneasily watch their children play, and beggars grovel for money.
Emma lets the familiarity wash over her.
An angry “Miss!” emerges above the rabble. Turning her head, she sees the blustering dunce from earlier attempting to waddle down the exit after her.
Taking one last look around the station, she bolts.
She walks into the lab twenty minutes later with a gigantic smile. For a Monday, it is incredible outside. The blue sky almost seems to wave farewell.
“Crane!” a harried voice calls when she is fully in the building.
Sighing in mock irritation, Emma strides past the half finished projects toward the voice. Her foot catches on a loose wire and she stumbles.
“Don't touch that!”
Rolling her eyes, Emma carefully picks her way toward the feet sticking out from beneath a large metal conductor. “Still trying to work out the coil, Doctor?”
“Hmph. You know I never got my doctorate!” Nikola scoffs.
“And you know my name isn't 'Crane,'” Emma tosses back.
“It's something bird related. I'm not a biologist!”
“We've been working together for a year. Surely you know my name by now?”
Something sparks. “Govno!”
“Everything alright?” Emma crouches to better see the inventor. All she can make out is a flurry of arm movement.
“Fine, fine! The duke who borrowed this coil had someone try to work on it. The couplings are all wrong.”
“Do you need anything?”
He hums dismissively, so Emma moves from the mess to her work table. The contraption she is working on lays unfinished. Nikola had given her a set of written notes to follow. He promised if she could finish building this circuit controller, he would look at some of her ideas.
“Pidgeon!” he exclaims suddenly.
Emma just chuckles and looks at the instructions. “Nope!”
“Hm.”
“We go through this every week, Mister Tesla,” she laughs, picking up a screwdriver.
“And every time I tell you to call me Nikola!” There's a slight clatter. “Mpphf fffmnp swmpn!”
“...What?”
Nikola clears his throat awkwardly, “I said, 'I know it's Swan!' The pliers must have muffled me.”
“No kidding,” she replies sarcastically, setting the motor in place.
They work in silence for some time. Emma spends most the quiet time trying to decipher one of Nikola's scribbled notes. It looks like it's written in Serbian, and yet she clearly sees the word 'transistor.' His instructions are usually easy to follow, but this one has been marked out multiple times. Words litter the margin, numerous and cramped.
“How was our friend, Killian?” the inventor queries abruptly.
She sighs, “Absolutely distraught to be leaving you. I think he might have even cried a little.”
“Shame, he was such an entertaining man. Quite the conversationalist. He was always going on about the ladies at his college.” Nikola laughs at some inside joke. “I must say he was very interested in you.”
“Understatement,” Emma mutters under her breath.
Nikola continues, unaware of her comment, “He asked about your family- about which I said nothing, I would never be so rude- your favorite food, your projects,” he lists, each item punctuated by the twist of a wrench. “I suspect he may want to court you.”
“The only thing he wants to court is my bed,” she says, exasperated. Surely he didn't support Killian in his efforts. “Tell me you told him nothing, Nikola.”
“Not a word, Emma.” His smile is almost audible. There's a scuffle as he gets out from under the contraption.
She laughs, squinting at the paper again. “Nikola, what exactly does this say?”
Silence is her only reply.
Turning around, she sees him standing next to the coil. His hair is wild and his eyes are bright. One hand covers his mouth as he murmurs something in Serbian.
“Nikola?” she ventures softly. “Are you feeling alright?”
He appears to ignore her. She sets the transcript down and slips off of the stool.
“Nikola?” she whispers again, placing a hand on his bicep.
He starts sharply. Suddenly he grins at her, eyes both looking at her and through her. “It's wonderful! It's beautiful! Magnificent!”
“What is?” Emma asks, perplexed.
Giving her a funny look, he elaborates, “To control things from a distance! Without wires! Can you imagine? The distances we could reach! To može biti.”
“You've lost me,” Emma replies flatly. Sometimes Tesla went into ramblings that were far beyond her. The brilliance of the rants were obvious, but she simply couldn't understand.
“Oh, Emma! Will you do something for me?” he beseeches. His large hands grasp her shoulders amicably.
“Anything, you know that.” she notes.
“I've been struck by a vision! During these times it is most helpful to be alone. Would you hate me terribly if I asked you to deliver those patents? Perhaps you could observe the wondrous day on your way there and back?” he implores.
Emma knows better than to take this personally. She has witnessed such inspiration only once before. It had led to the construction of a most complex current converter. “Of course, Nikola. Whatever you need.”
“Thank you, my dear! This is wondrous indeed, indeed!” He proclaims, skipping over to his office.
Emma shakes her head at the jovial laughs she hears.
Another day in the life, she thinks.
Walking over to the writing desk, she picks up the three applications for three electric circuit controllers; of which she had personally helped with two.
She grabs a small satchel and places the applications into it, heading out of the door. It would be absolutely delightful to walk in the beautiful sunshine. The patent office was several blocks away, offering her ample opportunity to soak up the sun.
It will probably take an hour to get to the office. Since it is midday, she decides to stop by her favorite market and see Granny, the local produce seller and chef extraordinaire. They chat about the day and her sales for a bit, and Emma buys a red delicious apple. She's munching on it happily when she hears her name.
“Emma!” the young brunette calls, rushing toward her. She's wearing a daringly risque red dress. The collar dips incredibly low, and her short sleeves add to the uncovered effect. It's so quintessentially Rubythat Emma has to smile.
“Ruby! How are you?”
“I'm wonderful!” she responds with a wolfish smile, “Where have you been?”
“At the lab,” Emma replies, confused. “Where else would I be?”
“I thought you might have eloped with Mister Killian Jones. He was oh so handsome walking through here two days ago.”
Emma has to contain a groan. “I still can't believe I brought him to the market.”
Ruby chuckles. “Was he just as dreamy as you imagined? If I recall correctly, he was the one you were doodling about in your notebook. Did he have a hook for a hand like your drawing?”
Emma's face flames. “Ruby please-”
“Bad boys are so attractive. Pirates are the baddest of them all. Although, I'm sure he's not bad in bed-”
“He was a privateer. There's a difference.”
“A privateer? I didn't see the Union Jack on that ship. And no respectable privateer wears black leather.”
Emma sees Granny doubling over in laughter. She wishes the ground would swallow her whole. “I can't believe you right now.”
“You know I'm only teasing!” She winks grandly, grasping one of Emma's arms. “Now, honestly, tell me about Killian.”
“Well... he was devilishly handsome...” Emma begins reluctantly, walking them to the next vendor and away from Granny's guffaws.
“And?”
She lets out an amused sigh at Ruby's eagerness. Picking up a vibrant purple fruit, she muses, “If I didn't know you better, I'd say you were starved for the company of men. Hoping to live vicariously through me and all that.”
Ruby scoffs. “Suitors are not what I need. I just want to see you married off and happy.”
“And why do I have to get married to be happy?” Emma asks.
“Oh, come on. Don't go gun-ho suffragette on me. I just think everyone needs somebody! Being lonely is no fun.” Ruby emphasizes this by hopping in place like a child.
“I have plenty of fun! My work is fun!”
“Right. Because screwing in bolts is thrilling. Getting regularly zapped is a joy. When you're getting screwed and zapped by a man, however...” Ruby waggles her eyebrows comically.
Emma delicately turns to set down the apple, debating internally whether she should share her annoying weekend.
“Fine,” Emma concedes eventually. “When we met, he was wearing the most flattering black pinstriped suit...”
An hour later, Emma is finally at the patent office. She had regaled Ruby with an... embellished account of events. So what if Killian hadn't dramatically caught her after she tripped over a wire?
Emma subconsciously smiles as she walks into the building, remembering Ruby's eager questions. In her haze, she nearly runs into another woman.
Muttering an apology, she moves to the reception desk. That is also the processing desk. That is manned by her good friend August Booth, an aspiring writer. Emma would know- delivering Tesla's numerous ideas for the past year has made her a regular. She's been here at least twenty times, and considers herself quite familiar with the office and it's occupants- mahogany or otherwise.
Which is why she is shocked into silence by the distinctively different person sitting at the desk.
Woman. Emma amends mentally, taking in the low cut of the dress. That is a most distinctively a woman.
The aforementioned lady is too engrossed in the form she is filling out to notice Emma's gawping.
“Where is August?” she blurts after a few precious moments of decidedly untoward staring.
To her credit, the brunette doesn't even start. Her eyes -brown, Emma notes- flick up. They scan Emma apathetically, evaluating her like a loaf of bread you are thinking about purchasing. Checking for mold, perhaps?
“Gone on an extended vacation,” she replies curtly, setting her pen down. “I am to be his replacement for the foreseeable future.”
“Ah,” Emma offers eloquently. “How long will he be gone?”
There's a sigh. The woman slows her speech, talking like you would to a small child. “I'm not sure. He departed rather abruptly. I was called in from Philadelphia to take over his duties.”
“I see.”
Emma takes the momentary pause to gather her wits.
“Is there something I can help you with, or are you just going to ask pointless questions all day?” the brunette snaps impatiently.
“Uh, yes, actually! I have business I need attended to,” Emma clarifies. She rifles through her satchel and retrieves the papers, slapping them down on the desk.
“And what is this?” the brunette scoffs.
Emma's brow furrows, “I believe they are called patent applications. Typically given to offices similar to this one, in order to be evaluated on their merits and approved or rejected. I'm hoping you can help me, Miss...?”
“Mills. Regina Mills.”
“Well then, Regina. May I call you Regina?”
“No, you certainly may not.”
“As you wish.”
“I do wish.” Regina's face is a steel mask.
“Certainly...” Emma hesitates, perturbed by this strange exchange.
Despite Regina's narrowed eyes, Emma convinces herself to continue in her endeavor. Nikola needs these patents delivered, and she plans to do it with her usual aplomb. Regardless of the less than receptive audience in front of her.
“Miss Mills,” she begins, ready to sell the idea for approval. August had always been fond of stories. Emma has always been a believer in sticking with what works. “Here are three patents for three models of circuit controllers. Really fabulous inventions, I must say. So wondrous that I believe they will change the-”
Regina cuts her off with a wave. “Save it. As entertaining as that drivel must be, I have neither the time nor the patience to hear it.”
The blonde snaps her mouth shut. “But...”
Another long winded sigh. “Just leave the applications. I'll look over them and- provided they are actually useful and improve society- will send them in for approval from the head office. If all goes well, you should have your response in six months.”
“Six months? That's...”
“Undoubtedly slower than what you've experienced, I'm sure. It would appear Mr. Booth had neglected important regulations.” Regina shuffles the papers into a neat pile. Emma watches the precision with which she moves, looking more like a royal than a government employee.
“I had no idea. I bring what Nikola asks me to,” Emma responds dumbly.
The brunette offers a tight smile. “I'm sure. Now, Miss...”
“Swan. But you may call me Emma.”
“Miss Swan,” Regina replies testily, “I have other patents to read and send. Have you sufficiently wasted my time?”
All at once annoyance floods Emma. It has been too good of a day to have this woman ruin it. This Regina Mills seems to suck the light right out of the sky.
“Hardly,” she retorts. “You'll be seeing a lot more of me in the future. I expect I'll have wasted weeks of your time before six months have passed.”
Regina looks back to the form she was filling out, picking up the pen. “Good day, Miss Swan.”
“Good day, Regina,” Emma spits, unable to resist a last minute dig. She turns quickly on her heel and storms out of the building, away from the infuriating woman.
It would be apropos if the sun was suddenly blotted out by clouds, but instead it shines cheerily on. Unfortunately, Emma's cloud is purely metaphorical. Her sour mood follows her the mile it takes to get to her favorite park bench.
The bench in question is Emma's favorite spot in the whole city. It overlooks the rest of the park, and the trees across the spacious field almost block out the urban sprawl of New York. She huffs upon reaching it, plopping down on it hard enough to rattle her teeth.
For a few minutes, she lets herself stew on her thoroughly justified anger. There's only a kid and a dog in the park, and they aren't nearly enough to distract Emma from her irritation.
She had done nothing to provoke the woman! Well, nothing really deserving of that reaction.
Maybe asking 'Miss Mills' where August was was a bit rude... Emma mentally concedes. But the behavior was still unwarranted!
Emma thinks that perhaps she wouldn't be so upset if she weren't so disappointed by Regina's reaction to her. Seeing the woman had shocked her, but she was also excited by the idea of a new friend. Emma only really knew Ruby, Granny, August, and Nikola. With two of her closest relationships being work related, Emma was always eager to meet new people. During those few seconds of observation, the woman's pretty face had seemed approachable- if not compassionate. Yet, when she locked eyes with Emma, the blonde saw nothing but confusion and annoyance.
That is the only reason that the anger in her chest cools into disappointment in her gut. At least, that's what she tells herself.
Which is why Emma begins to plan. She mulls over her options, watching the boy across the field start to play fetch with the dog. He fakes a throw left and then throws right. The dog is momentarily confused, until the boy laughs and points in the direction of the stick. Barking happily, the dog bounds over to the stick the kid threw, picking it up and running back to him.
Inspired by the child's playful antics, Emma decides to call this plan “Operation Labrador.” A slow smile spreads across her face as she watches the boy drop down to pat the dog on the head.
Regina Mills would rue the day she met Emma Swan.