Chapter Text
Emma Swan had become very good at being invisible long before she ever stepped through the doors of Storybrooke High. It was a skill that came with experience, with knowing when to keep her head down, when not to ask questions, when to say she was fine before anyone could decide to look too closely. Foster care had taught her that adults generally preferred simple answers. Fine was simple. Fine meant they did not have to rearrange anything, did not have to make another phone call, did not have to look at a seventeen-year-old girl and admit that sometimes a roof over someone’s head was not the same thing as giving them somewhere safe to live. Emma understood the difference very well. She had lived in enough houses to know that a room could technically be hers without ever feeling like somewhere she belonged, and she had learnt not to unpack too much because there was always the chance someone would decide she was difficult, withdrawn, rude, ungrateful, or simply too much work.
Storybrooke High was supposed to be temporary too. Most things were.
Emma arrived in September halfway through her final two years of school, carrying a second-hand backpack with one broken zip and enough attitude to make it clear she had no interest in anyone asking where she had come from. She was seventeen, tired before the year had even started, and already behind in half the subjects because her previous school had apparently been following a different curriculum. She kept mostly to herself. Ruby Lucas adopted her anyway, much to Emma’s irritation, and within two weeks had somehow managed to extract Emma’s favourite food, least favourite teacher and the fact that she secretly liked old horror films despite claiming most movies were rubbish.
The one thing Ruby did not have to extract was Emma’s opinion of Miss Mills.
Everyone had an opinion of Miss Mills.
Regina Mills was twenty-four, young enough that some of the sixth years occasionally forgot themselves and tried to treat her like a slightly older peer until she looked at them with one raised eyebrow and reminded them very quickly that she was not. She taught English, wore immaculate clothes that made Emma wonder how anyone could survive an entire school day in heels, and had the particular kind of voice that could cut through a noisy classroom without ever needing to shout. She was strict, but fair. Sharp, but never cruel. She expected work to be done properly and had a habit of writing lengthy notes in the margins rather than simply putting a grade at the top of the page.
Emma liked that.
She liked that Regina seemed to care whether they understood something rather than simply whether they handed it in.
She liked that Regina never singled people out when they were struggling.
She liked far too many things about her, actually, but Emma firmly refused to examine that too closely.
At first, Regina did not pay Emma any more attention than she did anyone else. Emma sat towards the back of the classroom, usually beside the window, and did enough work to make it obvious she was capable without doing enough to attract praise. Her first essay came back with a high mark and a note beneath it that read, You understand the text better than you allow yourself to show. Stop holding back.
Emma had stared at that sentence longer than she had stared at the grade.
Ruby leaned across the desk.
“What’d you get?”
Emma covered the page with her arm.
“Nothing.”
Ruby snorted.
“Nothing usually comes with a giant red A?”
“Mind your business.”
Ruby stretched shamelessly across the table.
“What’s she written?”
Emma pulled the essay away.
“Ruby.”
“Ooh, personal message?”
“It’s feedback.”
“Same thing.”
Emma rolled her eyes.
“You are exhausting.”
Ruby grinned.
“You like her.”
Emma froze.
Ruby’s grin widened.
“Not like that.”
“I meant as a teacher.”
Emma narrowed her eyes.
“Sure you did.”
“I did.”
“Good.”
Ruby stared at her suspiciously.
Emma shoved the essay into her folder.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“No reason.”
“Ruby.”
“No reason at all.”
Emma muttered something rude under her breath and ignored the slight heat creeping into her face.
By October, things began to slip.
Not dramatically. Emma was too careful for dramatically.
It started with homework that was rushed instead of good. Then homework that was half-finished. One essay arrived two days late. Another did not arrive at all. Emma began coming into school with shadows beneath her eyes and spending lunch in the corridor rather than the cafeteria. Sometimes Ruby forced half a sandwich into her hand, but Emma got good at claiming she had already eaten.
Her foster placement had changed again.
The new house was crowded, noisy and tense in a way that made concentrating almost impossible. There were three younger children in the house, two foster and one biological, and arguments seemed to erupt over everything from bathroom time to television volume. Emma had been given the smallest room at the top of the stairs, which she did not mind, but the walls were thin and the adults in the house seemed to believe that because Emma was seventeen she did not need much looking after.
Mostly, that suited her.
Until it didn’t.
Food became complicated. Not because there wasn’t any, exactly, but because meals were inconsistent and Emma hated asking what she was allowed to take. The first time she made herself toast without asking, her foster mother had snapped that she was supposed to check before using food meant for lunches. It was a small thing. Probably not even worth remembering.
Emma remembered it anyway.
After that, she started buying cheap crisps on the way to school when she had money.
When she did not, she simply waited.
Regina noticed her grades first.
She handed back a poetry analysis one Tuesday afternoon and paused beside Emma’s desk.
“Miss Swan.”
Emma looked up.
“That’s me.”
Regina tapped the page lightly.
“This isn’t your usual standard.”
Emma glanced at the mark.
It was not terrible.
Just low for her.
“Maybe my usual standard was a fluke.”
Regina’s eyebrow lifted.
“Three assignments in a row?”
“Extended fluke.”
A couple of students nearby laughed.
Regina’s mouth twitched.
“See me after class.”
Emma’s stomach dropped.
“Why?”
“Because I asked.”
“Very democratic.”
“After class, Emma.”
The use of her first name made Emma sit up slightly.
Regina moved on.
Ruby leaned across from the desk beside her.
“What’d you do?”
“Apparently I’ve committed crimes against poetry.”
“Want me to wait?”
Emma shook her head.
“Nah.”
Ruby gave her a look.
Emma knew that look.
The one that said Ruby had already noticed more than she was saying.
“I’ll be fine.”
Ruby’s expression softened.
“Yeah. I know.”
Emma hated that too.
When the final bell rang, Emma took her time packing her bag. Regina waited until the last student had left before sitting against the edge of her desk, arms loosely folded rather than crossed.
Emma stayed standing.
Regina glanced at the empty chair beside her.
“You may sit.”
“I’m good.”
“All right.”
Emma adjusted the strap of her bag.
“So am I in trouble?”
“No.”
“That sounded suspiciously quick.”
Regina studied her.
“Should you be?”
Emma smiled without humour.
“Probably.”
“For what?”
“General existence.”
Regina’s expression changed slightly.
Emma looked away.
There was a pause.
Then Regina picked up the essay from her desk.
“Your work has changed.”
Emma shrugged.
“People have off weeks.”
“You’ve had several.”
“Congratulations on counting.”
“Your first essay was excellent. Your second was better. The last three have been rushed.”
Emma said nothing.
“You also failed to hand in your coursework plan.”
“Forgot.”
“You don’t normally forget.”
“You barely know me.”
“Perhaps.”
Emma looked back at her.
Regina set the paper down.
“But I know your work.”
Emma shifted uncomfortably.
“I’ll fix it.”
“I’m not asking you to fix anything right this second.”
“Then what are you asking?”
Regina hesitated.
“Whether something has changed.”
Emma went still.
“No.”
The answer came too fast.
Regina clearly knew it.
She did not challenge it.
“All right.”
Emma frowned.
“That’s it?”
“What were you expecting?”
“I don’t know. Interrogation?”
“No.”
“Threatening to ring home?”
Regina’s expression sharpened slightly at the word home.
“No.”
“Detention?”
“For struggling with coursework?”
Emma shrugged.
“Some teachers would.”
“I’m not some teachers.”
Emma looked at her.
Regina’s voice softened.
“If there’s a reason you’re finding it difficult to get work done, I can help with the work. I don’t need to know anything else unless you want me to.”
Emma stared at her for several seconds.
She was not used to adults offering help without demanding information in exchange.
“I said I’m fine.”
Regina nodded.
“I heard you.”
Emma waited for the but.
It did not come.
Instead Regina picked up another stack of papers.
“Your bus?”
“Twenty past four.”
It was currently three thirty.
Regina glanced towards the clock.
“You’re usually still here after school.”
Emma’s shoulders tightened.
“So?”
“So nothing.”
Regina looked back at the papers.
“I’m normally in this room until five.”
Emma said nothing.
“The library gets crowded after school.”
Emma continued watching her.
“This room does not.”
Understanding came slowly.
Emma frowned.
“Are you telling me I can stay here?”
“I’m telling you the room is open while I’m working.”
“Why?”
Regina looked up.
“Because you’re behind.”
Emma almost laughed.
“That’s your excuse?”
“It’s an excellent excuse.”
Emma’s mouth twitched despite herself.
Regina nodded towards one of the desks.
“You can use it if you want.”
Emma looked around the room.
“No catch?”
“No catch.”
“You won’t make me discuss my feelings?”
Regina looked horrified.
“Absolutely not.”
Emma laughed.
A real one.
Small, but real.
Regina smiled faintly.
“Good.”
Emma hesitated.
“Not today.”
“I didn’t ask you to stay today.”
“Right.”
“Tomorrow, however, I expect the coursework plan.”
Emma rolled her eyes.
“There it is.”
“There what is?”
“The catch.”
Regina smiled.
“Good afternoon, Emma.”
“Night, Miss Mills.”
Emma did not stay the next day.
She told herself it was because she did not need to.
She stayed in the library instead, wedged between two noisy groups of younger students until she finally gave up and left without finishing anything. The following evening she went straight to the bus stop and sat in the rain for half an hour because she would rather be wet than arrive back at the foster house before dinner.
On Friday, she appeared in Regina’s doorway at three twenty-seven.
Regina was marking papers.
She looked up once.
“Afternoon.”
Emma lingered.
“That room thing.”
Regina lowered her pen.
“The classroom?”
“Yeah.”
“What about it?”
Emma shoved her hands into the pockets of her hoodie.
“Still open?”
Regina glanced around theatrically.
“It appears so.”
Emma rolled her eyes.
“Can I stay?”
“Of course.”
That was it.
No triumphant smile.
No comment about Emma changing her mind.
Regina simply went back to marking.
Emma chose the desk nearest the window and pulled out her history folder.
The first afternoon passed mostly in silence. Emma worked. Regina marked. Occasionally Regina muttered something under her breath when a student had apparently committed some terrible grammatical offence, and once Emma had to hide a smile when Regina sighed so dramatically she dropped her pen onto the desk.
Emma looked over.
“Bad one?”
Regina glanced up.
“This student has used the word ‘literally’ eleven times in one paragraph.”
Emma grinned.
“Maybe they literally mean it.”
Regina stared at her.
Emma’s grin widened.
“I may ban the word.”
“Bit extreme.”
“I feel strongly about this.”
“I can tell.”
Regina returned to the essay.
Emma looked back at her book, smiling.
The next week, she stayed twice.
Then three times.
By November, she no longer asked.
If Regina’s door was open after school, Emma wandered in, dropped her bag onto the same desk and started working.
Sometimes they talked.
Usually they did not.
Emma liked that most of all.
Regina did not constantly try to fill silence.
She allowed Emma to exist in the room without performing gratitude or conversation.
It was quiet.
Warm.
Predictable.
Emma had not realised how much she craved predictable.
Regina began noticing other things too.
She noticed Emma falling asleep in third period one Monday morning.
Not dozing.
Actually asleep.
Her forehead rested against her folded arms, pen still loosely held between her fingers.
Regina let her sleep for nearly ten minutes before tapping the desk gently.
Emma jerked upright.
“I’m awake.”
Several people snickered.
Regina gave them a look.
The room went quiet.
“Clearly.”
Emma blinked at her.
“Sorry.”
“See me afterwards.”
Emma groaned quietly.
Ruby whispered from behind her.
“You’re doomed.”
Emma turned.
“I blame you.”
“For what?”
“Everything.”
After class, Emma waited until the room emptied.
Regina closed the door.
Emma immediately said, “I was tired.”
“I gathered.”
“Didn’t sleep well.”
“I gathered that too.”
“So we’re done.”
Regina leaned against her desk.
“When did you last eat?”
Emma froze.
There it was.
A different kind of question.
“Today.”
Regina watched her.
Emma lifted her chin.
“What?”
“What did you eat?”
“Breakfast.”
“What?”
Emma’s mouth tightened.
Regina waited.
“Toast.”
That was technically true.
Yesterday.
Regina did not call her on it.
“And lunch?”
“Not hungry.”
“It’s quarter past one.”
“I’m still not hungry.”
Regina’s eyes narrowed slightly.
Emma’s defences snapped into place.
“Don’t.”
Regina went still.
“Don’t what?”
“Do that thing.”
“What thing?”
“Look at me like that.”
Regina’s expression softened.
“How am I looking at you?”
“Like I’m some sad little project.”
Regina immediately shook her head.
“You’re not.”
Emma laughed bitterly.
“Sure.”
“Emma.”
“No, it’s fine.”
“It clearly isn’t.”
Emma grabbed her bag.
“You said you weren’t going to interrogate me.”
“I’m not.”
“Feels like it.”
Regina took a breath.
Then stepped back.
“All right.”
Emma stopped.
Again, no chase.
No demand.
Regina reached for the papers on her desk.
“I won’t ask again.”
Emma stared.
Regina continued arranging her desk.
“But if you stay this afternoon, there’s food in the top drawer beside your desk.”
Emma’s throat tightened.
“What?”
Regina did not look at her.
“There’s a cereal bar, crackers and an apple.”
Emma just stared.
Regina finally glanced over.
“I’m not asking whether you need them.”
Silence.
“I’m simply telling you they’re there.”
Emma swallowed.
“And if I don’t want them?”
“Then don’t eat them.”
“And tomorrow?”
“They may mysteriously remain.”
Emma almost smiled.
“Mysteriously.”
Regina nodded solemnly.
“Very.”
Emma’s gaze dropped.
“Okay.”
Regina picked up her pen.
“Okay.”
That afternoon, Emma waited twenty minutes before opening the drawer.
The food was exactly where Regina said.
She ate all of it.
The following Monday, there was another cereal bar.
Tuesday, a banana.
Wednesday, crackers and cheese.
Regina never mentioned any of it.
That was what made Emma trust her.
There was no performance attached.
No look across the room while Emma ate.
No, See how much I’m helping you?
No expectation that Emma tell her what was happening at home.
Sometimes Regina simply left food in the drawer.
Sometimes there was a sandwich wrapped in foil.
Once, there was a small carton of soup and a note written on a sticky label.
Microwave. Two minutes. Remove lid first. I refuse to explain this to the fire brigade.
Emma laughed so loudly that Regina looked up from her desk.
“What?”
Emma held up the note.
“You think I’m an idiot?”
“I have seen students microwave cutlery.”
“I’m not students.”
“No.”
Regina smiled.
“You’re not.”
Emma’s chest did something strange.
She looked away quickly.
The crush had started somewhere around there.
Or perhaps it had already been developing quietly and Emma only noticed when it became impossible to ignore.
She noticed Regina’s hands first.
Which was ridiculous.
But Regina wrote everything with a fountain pen and had elegant fingers and neat handwriting, and Emma would sometimes catch herself watching her mark papers instead of doing her own work.
Then she noticed the perfume.
Then the way Regina tucked loose strands of hair behind one ear while reading.
Then the way her eyes softened when Emma made her laugh.
It was humiliating.
Emma knew perfectly well nothing could ever happen.
She was seventeen.
Regina was her teacher.
There was not even the faintest suggestion that Regina saw Emma as anything other than a student she was worried about.
That did not stop Emma’s traitorous stomach from flipping whenever Regina said her name.
Ruby worked it out in approximately four seconds.
They were sitting outside at lunch one afternoon in early spring when Regina crossed the courtyard carrying a stack of folders.
Emma watched.
Not deliberately.
At least that was what she told herself.
Ruby followed her line of sight.
Then slowly turned back.
“Oh my God.”
Emma looked at her.
“What?”
Ruby’s eyes widened.
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“You fancy Miss Mills.”
Emma nearly choked on her drink.
“Shut up.”
Ruby slapped a hand over her mouth, laughing.
“You do!”
“I don’t.”
“Emma.”
“I don’t.”
“You were staring at her.”
“I was looking over there.”
“At her.”
“At the building.”
“The building doesn’t have an ass.”
Emma’s face went bright red.
“Ruby.”
Ruby collapsed against the bench.
“You looked at her ass!”
“I did not!”
“You absolutely did.”
Emma shoved her shoulder.
“Keep your voice down.”
Ruby lowered her voice dramatically.
“You have a crush on your English teacher.”
“I will actually murder you.”
“She’s twenty-four.”
“That is not helping.”
Ruby grinned.
“She’s hot.”
Emma glared at her.
Ruby gasped.
“You agree!”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Emma covered her face.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I really do.”
Ruby leaned closer.
“So what are you going to do?”
Emma looked at her through her fingers.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Obviously nothing.”
Ruby sobered slightly.
“Yeah.”
Emma dropped her hands.
“I’m not stupid.”
“I know.”
“She’s my teacher.”
“I know.”
“And she doesn’t…”
Emma stopped.
Ruby watched her.
“Doesn’t what?”
Emma shrugged.
“Nothing.”
Ruby understood anyway.
“She cares about you.”
“As a student.”
“Yeah.”
Emma nodded.
“Exactly.”
Ruby bumped her shoulder gently.
“Still allowed to fancy her.”
Emma groaned.
“Please stop saying that.”
Ruby grinned again.
“No.”
The final months of school passed faster than Emma wanted them to.
Her grades improved.
She handed everything in.
She passed exams she had been convinced she would fail.
Her placement changed again in March, and Regina knew only because Emma arrived one morning carrying an old duffel bag along with her school backpack.
Regina noticed immediately.
Of course she did.
Emma entered the classroom before registration and dropped both bags beside her desk.
Regina looked at the duffel.
Emma saw the question before Regina asked it.
“Don’t.”
Regina closed her mouth.
Emma looked away.
There was a pause.
Then Regina nodded towards the space behind her desk.
“You can leave that there.”
Emma glanced back.
“What?”
“The bag.”
“It’s fine.”
“You don’t need to carry it from class to class.”
Emma swallowed.
“I can leave it?”
“Of course.”
“All day?”
“Yes.”
Emma hesitated.
Then slowly moved the duffel behind Regina’s desk.
Regina said nothing else.
That moment stayed with Emma.
More than some of the bigger things.
Because sometimes kindness was not a speech.
Sometimes it was simply someone noticing that your entire life was sitting in a bag and giving you somewhere to put it down.
By June, Emma had begun to panic about leaving school.
She would never have admitted it.
She complained about exams, complained about uniforms, complained about teachers giving too much homework and students blocking the corridors, but beneath all of it was a quiet dread she could not shake.
School had become the one consistent place in her life.
More specifically, Regina’s classroom had.
Once Emma graduated, there would be no reason to come back.
No reason to sit by the window until five.
No cereal bars mysteriously appearing in drawers.
No Regina muttering about grammar from across the room.
Emma hated how much that mattered.
So she bought the pen.
It was stupid.
Expensive.
Completely unnecessary.
Emma had first seen it months earlier when her English class had gone into town to see a theatre performance. On the way back, Regina had stopped outside Gold’s stationery shop with another teacher and admired a dark green fountain pen in the window.
Emma remembered exactly what she said.
“One day I will own something unnecessarily extravagant.”
The other teacher laughed.
“It’s a pen.”
“It’s a beautiful pen.”
“It’s eighty pounds.”
“Which is why I do not own it.”
Emma remembered.
She saved.
Coins from lunch money.
Cash from odd Saturday shifts helping Granny clear tables.
A tenner Ruby insisted on contributing after discovering what Emma was doing.
When Emma finally bought it, she carried the small box inside her bag for three days before giving it to Regina.
The final day of school felt strangely unreal.
Students were loud, emotional and desperate to escape.
Shirts were being signed.
Photos were taken in hallways.
Ruby cried twice and denied both incidents.
By late afternoon, the building had emptied.
Emma lingered.
Regina was wiping the board when she finally noticed her still sitting at the desk by the window.
“You’re still here.”
Emma looked around.
“Apparently.”
“I thought you would have escaped hours ago.”
“Thought about it.”
Regina smiled.
“You finished.”
Emma nodded.
“Yeah.”
Regina rested the board eraser on the ledge.
“How does that feel?”
“Weird.”
“Good weird or bad weird?”
Emma shrugged.
“Ask me in six months.”
Regina laughed softly.
Emma reached into her bag.
Her pulse kicked up.
This suddenly felt ridiculous.
Too sentimental.
Too much.
She nearly changed her mind.
Then Regina turned back towards the board.
Emma blurted, “Wait.”
Regina looked over her shoulder.
Emma held out the box.
Regina frowned.
“What’s that?”
“A thing.”
“Very descriptive.”
“A present.”
Regina’s expression changed immediately.
“For whom?”
“You.”
Regina shook her head before even taking it.
“Emma.”
“Oh, don’t start.”
“I haven’t said anything.”
“You’ve got the face.”
“What face?”
“The teacher face.”
“I am your teacher.”
“Not anymore.”
“You graduated approximately four hours ago.”
“Still counts.”
Regina sighed.
Emma held the box out further.
“Just take it.”
Regina reluctantly accepted it.
“What have you done?”
“Open it.”
“That sentence does not reassure me.”
“Open it.”
Regina lifted the lid.
Then froze.
Emma watched her expression change from confusion to recognition.
Her eyes snapped up.
“No.”
Emma smiled nervously.
“Yep.”
“Emma.”
“What?”
“This is the pen from Gold’s.”
“I know.”
“The absurdly expensive pen from Gold’s.”
“You called it beautiful.”
“I also called it eighty pounds.”
“Technically it was reduced.”
Regina stared at her.
Emma added quickly, “A little.”
“Emma, I cannot accept this.”
Her smile disappeared.
“Why?”
“Because this is far too much.”
“I bought it for you.”
“I understand that.”
“Then take it.”
Regina closed the box carefully.
“You need your money.”
Emma’s jaw tightened.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Decide what I need.”
Regina softened.
“I’m not trying to.”
“It was my money.”
“I know.”
“I saved for it.”
“Which is exactly why…”
“No.”
Regina stopped.
Emma took a breath.
“I wanted to buy you something.”
“You didn’t need to.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
Emma looked at the floor.
This was the part she had not planned.
She had imagined handing over the pen, Regina liking it, maybe saying thanks.
She had not imagined explaining it.
Her throat tightened.
“You noticed.”
Regina went still.
Emma swallowed.
“When nobody else did.”
“Emma…”
“No. Just let me say it.”
Regina nodded.
Emma stared at the desk beside her.
“You noticed when I wasn’t getting stuff done.”
Her voice was quieter now.
“You noticed when I was tired.”
She gave a small, embarrassed laugh.
“You noticed when I wasn’t eating even though I was pretty good at pretending I was.”
Regina’s eyes shone.
Emma pointed at her immediately.
“Don’t cry.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re terrible at lying.”
Regina laughed softly.
Emma smiled too, then looked away again.
“You never made me feel weird about it.”
Regina said nothing.
“You didn’t make me explain everything. You didn’t keep asking questions or make me feel like some poor foster kid everyone had to pity.”
Emma’s fingers curled around the strap of her bag.
“You just let me stay.”
Regina’s face crumpled slightly.
Emma kept going before she lost her nerve.
“Some days that room was the only place I actually wanted to be.”
Regina inhaled sharply.
Emma shrugged, suddenly self-conscious.
“So I bought you a stupid pen.”
“It’s not stupid.”
“Good.”
“It’s extraordinarily generous.”
“Also good.”
“And far too expensive.”
Emma rolled her eyes.
“Can you just say thank you?”
Regina laughed through the tears she was absolutely still pretending not to have.
“Thank you.”
Emma smiled.
“You’re welcome.”
Regina looked down at the box again.
“I will treasure it.”
Emma’s chest tightened.
“You’d better use it.”
“I will.”
“No keeping it in a drawer.”
“I promise.”
Emma nodded.
For a moment they simply stood there.
Then Regina looked back at her.
“You know you never owed me anything.”
Emma’s smile faded slightly.
“I know.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know.”
Regina stepped closer, though still with several feet between them.
“None of the food. None of the time. None of it required repayment.”
Emma nodded.
“I didn’t buy it because I owed you.”
Regina waited.
Emma smiled faintly.
“I bought it because I wanted you to have something nice.”
Regina stared at her.
Then smiled.
A soft, proud kind of smile Emma knew she would remember for years.
“Thank you.”
Emma nodded.
“Again.”
“Again.”
Regina closed the box and held it carefully in one hand.
“And Emma?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m proud of you.”
Emma’s throat closed instantly.
She hated that sentence.
Loved it.
Hated how badly she had wanted someone to say it.
She shoved her hands into her hoodie pockets.
“Don’t get sappy.”
Regina laughed.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Emma turned towards the door.
“Good.”
“Emma.”
She glanced back.
Regina’s smile was still there.
“Whatever happens next, don’t underestimate yourself.”
Emma rolled her eyes because that was easier than crying.
“Very inspirational.”
“I try.”
“You should put it on a poster.”
“I might.”
“Terrifying.”
Regina laughed again.
Emma stepped into the corridor.
“Bye, Miss Mills.”
Regina looked at her.
“Goodbye, Emma.”
Emma walked away before she could change her mind and say something embarrassing.
She did not tell Regina about the crush.
Obviously.
She did not tell her that half the reason she would remember that classroom forever was because Regina had been in it.
She did not tell her how many nights she had gone back to a foster house feeling slightly less alone because someone had noticed whether she had eaten. She simply left.
Regina stayed where she was for several seconds after Emma disappeared down the corridor, listening until the sound of her footsteps faded completely. Only then did she look down at the small box still resting in her hand.
She opened it again.
The dark green fountain pen lay neatly against the velvet lining, far too expensive and far too thoughtful, and Regina ran one fingertip gently along the edge of it as though touching something fragile. A tear slipped silently down her cheek before she could stop it.
She smiled anyway.
And Regina kept the pen.
For twelve years.