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The whirring of the tattoo guns sounds like the dentist, and she cringes, just a little as she walks in. She waits, leafing through the binders, eyeing the work of the tattoo artists. Emma Swan is famous on tattoo tumblrs, and twitter, and her work is talked about at every skin art convention. Regina's done her research, Emma has mastered the soft, watercolor technique that Regina wants, but she uses enough black for them to last.
It took six months to get this appointment, at Emma's little tattoo shop in the middle of nowhere in Maine. The simple swan on the sign is classy, not quaint like most of this little town, especially the diner where she had lunch. Emma's email said she should eat before she arrived, and she did. Strange, but delicious lobster tacos she would never have tried back home in the city.
"Just a sec," someone says, a blonde, a little bit taller than Regina. She's wearing a beanie hat, bright red, and seems enough like Emma's picture that it must be Emma.
She finishes advising the woman who is paying how to care for her tattoo and then she circles the counter and stands beside Regina, hands in her pockets.
"Hey."
There's something so charming about that, just being a person, not Ms. Mills, not someone who has things everyone wants, things that need to be done.
"Hello."
"You must be my one o'clock, fairy tale backpiece."
Regina smirks, because that's not something she's usually known by. "It's my son's favorite book. We designed it together."
"That's great." Emma's smile lights the shop. "Come on back and I'll show you what I've drawn."
It's snowing the next time Regina makes it up to Storybrooke. Henry keeps texting her to ask how much snow is up there, because he wants more in the city. She's just finished replying to him when Emma nudges her shoulder.
"Welcome back to the middle of nowhere."
"It's a pleasant nowhere," Regina says, tucking her phone away. "Certainly quieter."
"Yeah, never was much of a city person."
Emma stretches while Regina hangs up her coat and starts removing her waistcoat, then her shirt. She turns her back, even though Emma must have seen thousands of people naked, and from her portfolio, she tattoos breasts too. Regina still feels funny naked in front of her, exposed in a way that she isn't in the city.
In a way she never lets herself, because the city is full of her mother's friends and supporters and reporters, but out here...nothing.
Just Emma, who smiles so easily and touches her like she knows her. The needle stings, but Emma's sure, gentle hands follow it and smooth the blood and ink away and most of the time Regina just lies there, letting her thoughts drift for an hour or two.
Sometimes the radio's on, some indie favoring local station, or NPR, sometimes Emma hums to herself in a way that Regina's probably not meant to notice, but it's wonderful for some reason. Maybe just because it's not her mother's building and her mother's aides and the constant interruptions to her work.
When Emma's done for the day, sh sits up in a daze, tingling, sweaty, exhausted, and content. Utterly content. That's the part she's had trouble explaining to Henry, how she feels after it's over, sore and tired, and relieved. He understands the mechanisms of a tattoo, how ink is slipped beneath her skin, but he's too young to understand pain, and how sometimes she needs it, needs to feel like more than she is.
Emma, of course, understands. She hands her a glass of water and Regina sits there, half-dressed, smiling back at Emma's perfect smile.
"It's a good feeling, isn't it? The rush you get." Emma rolls up her sleeve and shows her own tattoos. On her arm is a long, dark feather, wrapped around her wrist, part of a bigger piece with water and reflections. "This one took most of a day, and when I was done I was so content. Kind of blissed out, and my tattoo artist, the one who ended up teaching me, said sessions like that are the real thing. Something that means something to both of you." She shakes her head, suddenly shy. "Sorry."
"No, no, it's-" Regina pauses, searching for words that usually come so easily to her. "Authentic. I like it."
"Not a lot of authenticity in your life in the city?"
Regina stares down into the little paper cup at the water left. "No, not really. I mean, there's my son, it's hard to get a ten year old to be anything but brutally honest, usually at the worst times."
"Kids are fun." Emma returns her smile then starts to blush pink because Regina's still in her bra and she looked.
She looked at Regina's breasts, and grinned, and then looked away. Regina's heart thuds in her ears. Bliss...has a whole other meaning when she looks at Emma Swan and her elegantly braided hair, the way she bends so thoughtfully over her work, giving it her full concentration.
There's no maneuvering with Emma, no negotiations, no quid pro quo like the vultures in Regina's office. She has her art, probably some nice little house with a picket fence around a quiet street in Storybrooke. She knows her neighbours as something other than the trust fund princess and the empty penthouse that has always been unoccupied. Regina finishes her water and pulls the camisole over her head, careful not to disturb the carefully dressed tattoo.
"Next month?" Emma asks, eyes fixed on her calendar. "Unless you want to come next Friday. I had a cancelation."
"Who'd be stupid enough to do that?" Regina asks and Emma smirks.
"Happens. I've got an afternoon."
"All right."
Regina has more than enough vacation time, after all, and she looks forward to seeing Emma again, to coffee in the little shop, to wasting time in a town where no one seems to be in a hurry.
Kathryn unfortunately has jury duty that Friday. Which is how Henry meets Emma. He has his book, and his game, and a whole backpack full of things he could do, but of course, he wants none of that. Regina keeps her bra on, and her camisole, because Henry can see her back, and the fairy tale emerging on her flesh, but he's getting older.
Emma warns him about the blood, and he waves her off, because he's ten, he's seen blood, but not his mother's, of course, but after a moment, and a quick squeeze of his mother's hand, he's fascinated by Emma's work.
Regina can't stay long, not with him and the long drive back, but Emma suggests they get hot chocolate, because she knows the best way to drink it, and they talk, Emma Swan, world-renowned tattoo artist, and her son.
"The Evil Queen tries to trick the Saviour, curse her with the sleeping curse that her mother was under.
"And her mother is Snow White?" Emma asks, trying to keep up and succeeding, admirably, considering how complicated the book is.
"Well, the Saviour's mother is Snow White, the Evil Queen's mother is the Queen of Hearts, but you don't really meet her until book two."
"There's another book?" Emma teases, licking whipped cream off her spoon.
"Yeah!" Henry drags his own spoon through his empty cup and grins back. "I'll bring you one next time."
"That would be great, kid," Emma says. "I always need a new book."
Henry can't make the second coloring appointment, which turns out to be for the best, because it's late, and Emma's only half an hour in when Regina can't stop shivering.
Emma stops, sets the gun aside and snaps off her rubber gloves. "Come on."
"What?"
"You didn't eat."
Regina protests that she did, on the way up, and she's fine, there's nothing wrong, but traffic was intense and the way up was hours ago.
Emma tosses her a t-shirt with the swan logo on it (black, so ink and blood won't stain it) and they hit the diner, again. Emma gets a grilled cheese, with onion rings, because it's late for her too.
"You're making a face at your lasagna."
"I think mine's better."
"Is yours lobster?"
Regina smirks and shakes her head. "No, I've yet to try a lobster one."
"Well, there you go." Emma lifts her coke (no wine for either of them with more work to do). They clink their heavy glasses and Regina studies Emma over her cider.
"Do you take all of your clients to dinner?"
"Only the ones who need it."
"And I needed it?"
"Yeah." Emma toys with an onion ring while Regina picks at her salad. "Tattooing is cathartic, sometimes it's a kind of therapy. You have to surrender to it or it hurts more, or your tense and the needle going over your ribs is hell. If you're calm, well-fed, and you let go, it's easier. Emotions transfer, so if I'm tense, you're tense."
"And it hurts."
"And the work's not as good," Emma insists. "Tattoos never take as well if my clients are stressed, so I make 'em not stressed, when I can. Sometimes that's dinner. Sometimes that's not enough, then we reschedule."
"You'd reschedule someone just because they were stressed?"
"Not you," Emma teases, holding up an onion ring so Regina can try one. "I know your schedule's pretty brutal."
Regina takes the onion ring and tries it. The batter has the right amount of crunch, and the onion inside is sweet, not slimy. She smiles at Emma again. "It's not really."
"Oh?"
"I mean, it seems like it, and my mother would love it if my job was the most important thing in my life, but it's not."
"You have Henry."
"And he's everything." Regina leans back and sets down her fork. "I suppose any parent would say that."
"Just the good ones." Emma toys with the crust of her sandwich. "No partner though? No dad, no other mom?"
Regina crumples her napkin, then sets it down. She can talk about this. It was years ago. "My fiance died while we were waiting to adopt."
"I'm so sorry." Emma reaches over and their hands touch and just like in the shop, somehow, Regina's safe, and content. Must be something magic about Emma.
"Getting a baby can take years and we thought the sooner we joined the list, the sooner we'd have our family. It was freak accident, he and my mother were driving home, black ice, the steering wheel hit him hard in the chest, air bag didn't quite--" She blinks too fast but it slows the tears enough to keep them back. "It was forever ago, and when the call came for Henry, I told them the truth, that I'd lost my future husband, but that I could still love a child just as much, and Henry came."
"Bet it keeps the penthouse from being too quiet." Emma hands over her napkin. "Nothing wrong with being a single mom."
"Tell that to my mother."
"I can tattoo it on her, if you like," Emma teases. "I don't usually do words, but for her, I'd make an exception."
Laughing also comes easily with Emma.
There's only a corner left to do, and some touch ups, and maybe that's why Regina stands on Main Street, looking at the sign in the law office as long as she does. Maybe it's the quiet, and the soft white snow, or the school that has an excellent college preparatory program and a great student-to-teacher ratio. Maybe it's just that Storybrooke is far from the city, far from her mother and quiet.
She wants the quiet.
The town's one lawyer, Mr. Gold, spends a day drilling her on every part of small town law, from wills to divorces to property disputes. His office is just down the street from Emma's, and she's walked past it every time she's been here.
Today, for some reason, his sign was in the window. He wants to retire, to do something else with his life for awhile, rather than be the only lawyer in a tiny town.
They shake on it before Regina's late for her appointment with Emma. There are only three houses for sale, and the largest one is only half of her apartment, and it isn't until she's standing there, keys in hand, that she realizes just how big a four bedroom house is.
And there's a yard, and an apple tree that she can't stop staring at, even in the snow.
She has to tell Henry before she tells Emma, which makes the session strangely distant. Emma kisses her cheek when she finishes, and they make an appointment just in case. Emma doesn't think she'll need it.
The tattoo itself is so beautiful that Regina sits in front of her mirror, staring at her own back. The apple tree in her tattoo keeps drawing her attention, because that's where the Savior defeats the Evil Queen by making her a friend.
A lover, in the second book. Emma's hands are in all of the lines, Emma's smile in the colors and Emma's heart pulses through the work, just as far beneath Regina's skin.
Her mother, of course, is ice when Regina tells her. Regina grew up fine in the city, doesn't she understand what she's asking Henry to give up?
He's gaining a yard, a school he can walk to without security guards. They're both gaining a life.
She turns up a day early for her appointment, just to see Emma's beautiful, confused smile.
"You're early."
"You're just finishing up."
Emma nods, tucking her hair into yet another beanie. "Yeah, but--"
"How'd you like to try a real lasagna? One without lobster."
"You bring take out up from the city?"
"No." Regina looks at her boots, then up at Emma. "No, I've cooked, and it's far too much for Henry and I, so we thought we'd invite you to come for dinner."
"Tonight?"
"Yes."
"It's kind of a drive, isn't it?" Emma hasn't said no.
"Well, I thought we'd walk."
"Walk?"
"The snow is beautiful," Regina says, winding her scarf closer around her neck. "It's just a few blocks."
Emma stares, and her mouth opens a little. "A few blocks?"
"Mifflin Street. Turns out real estate is far more affordable here than I thought."
"There aren't any vacation homes--" Emma protests. She grabs her mittens before it sinks in. "The mansion is on Mifflin Street. It's been empty for years--"
"Now it's not." Regina tugs her own hat on a little tighter. It's far colder here than the city. "I mean, some of the rooms are still empty because Henry and I have what we could fit in our old apartment, but I'm sure we'll find a way."
Emma just nods to that, obviously still struggling with the idea. "But your job."
"Turns out Storybrooke needs a good lawyer."
"But Gold's practice is so boring!" Emma protests as she locks up. "You can't possibly."
Regina reaches for her mittens, wrapping their fingers together through the layers of warmth. "Maybe I need a little boring."
For a heartbeat, they stare at each other, snow falling all around them in whispers.
"Come to dinner," Regina repeats. "I promise the lasagna will be excellent."
"I don't doubt." Emma scuffs her boots in the snow, then laughs. Really laughs. "You, Regina Mills, moved here."
"It's nice here."
"Well, I like it but I--"
"Am extraordinary, talented, kind, and brave."
"Brave?" Emma's eyelashes flutter.
"Brave enough to kiss me."
And she is.
Of course, she is.