𝕊𝕨𝕒𝕟

her. “Can you make the potion if we return to Storybrooke?”

phone. Imagine how they’d react if I said I wasn’t coming back.” Emma looks away from Regina allowing her gaze to get lost in the normalcy of people sharing spirited conversations, laughing with friends, drinking a little too much. Finally, her focus drifts back to the brunette seated across from +

something to do with restless hands, Emma cups her glass, though she doesn’t lift it to take a sip. Instead, her finger taps at the rim a few times while her mind wars with the dissonance between her Storybrooke life and her time in New York. “It didn’t take too long for them to blow up your +

“Do I want to return to being everyone’s savior?” Bitterness seizes her laugh, strangling the sound in her throat. It was always a role she didn’t ask for, one she struggled to accept, but there remains an inescapable reality. “The real question is if I really have a choice.”

Solely to have +

halfway usually when Henry faced dire circumstances. “I want to talk about this…” Emma’s hand retracts to gesture between them. “After we figure things out for Henry.” Emma’s gaze implores Regina to understand.

knows he does for Regina.

“I’m not mad.” Emma reaches in vain for an appropriate way to describe her emotional state. “Disoriented, yes, but not mad.” Her hand hovers between them in the middle of the table, mirroring the way they’d sometimes come together despite their differences, meeting +

set in place a chain of events that transformed their lives for a year. A still dazed Emma tries to process Regina’s choices, and hope kindles deep in her chest. Regardless of what she might want to happen, aside from the talk they need to have, Henry remains in the forefront of her mind, as she +

Her mind surfaces a memory of them standing dockside near the Jolly Roger on the cusp of having a conversation about kisses exchanged in times of strife. Instead, they’d been interrupted by a lecherous pirate’s clumsy overtures. Emma wonders might have been had they talked then, but Pan’s curse +

vanishes on a single word. "Henry!"

Emma leans forward with an urgent expression on her face. "Do you have enough of whatever it was you gave me to restore Henry's memories?"

Emma when she was in full possession of her faculties, her sense of self, her memories? Or maybe Regina's hurried apology is because of the date, of playing into this situation as a ploy to restore her memories and ultimately get back Henry.

Her eyes widen and all contemplation of Regina's motive +

chance in a new life? Giving up the one person she loves most?

Once more, time slows down and Emma processes the bar, hands held as they strolled down a New York street, a chance meeting with a beautiful stranger, flirting. A date. Why had Regina knowingly participated in this with an amnesiac +

table laughs mechanically at her date's terrible joke. Forks clink against plates. Guests summon waiters to their tables.

"Sorry?" Emma repeats the word with her brows crunched in confusion. Sorry for trying to save them? Gifting her own memories to her one time nemesis to give Henry his best +

threatens to encroach. Her shaky hand darts forward to grab the glass she'd just been holding, bringing it back to her lips for a soothing sip of scotch. The fiery sensation awakens her senses, and it's as if the background murmur of conversation has the volume turned up. The woman at the next +

The disorienting experience is dizzying, like being pulled in two directions between two lives in total conflict, and a momentary struggle ensues internally as she tries to find an anchor. Memory flickers back to the town line and a desperate conversation as a growing cloud of green smoke +

releasing her painful grip on the table, and her voice is tremulous.

“I remember.”

dressed woman.

“Regina.” Her name tumbles out in a whisper, but it sounds far different than the way it’s been spoken throughout the night. No longer is this the name of a strange, beguiling woman she’s picked up in some bar. “Regina.” Emma’s fingers slacken, +

clinging to this reality in desperate need of an anchor. It’s difficult to breathe, think, interpret the ordinary background noises. Glasses clinking, the murmur of conversation. Green eyes struggle to bring the world into focus, but they linger upon the familiar brown eyes of an immaculately +

an unexpected kiss
amidst panic at the mines
this shouldn’t keep happening
Neverland is real
a ship, a woman, a plea for peace
my gift to you is good memories

Fingers wrap around the edge of the table in a white-knuckled grip, +

her Henry
Storybrooke
and its broken clock tower
cocoa with cinnamon
at Granny’s
he’s my son
a furious brunette
with eyes ablaze

purple ribbon woven
into a cream colored blanket
the jail cell is perpetually hot
in the Arizona climate
a lonely birthday cupcake
a knock at the door
Henry

in its wake, and the beginning of a half-smile tugs at the corner of her lips. The glass of scotch in her hand lowers to the table, and —

A maelstrom of memory pulls the blonde out of this restaurant into shadows of an unfamiliar past.

a yellow VW Bug
with a screwdriver in the ignition

non sequitur, to soothe any discomfort. However, the toast lingers between them, and it is customary to close this little ceremony of sorts with her own sip. In a night filled with indulgences, the Glenfiddich is as smooth as Emma remembers. She savors the smoky taste, relishing the pleasant burn +

Instead of the expected graceful sip, the brunette’s large gulp of red wine stirs Emma’s mind. Is she feeling the lingering nerves that Emma has worked to dispel in herself? Empathy etches itself in her features, and she’s on the cusp of interjecting something in the silence, probably an awkward +

whatever you want it to be.” Emma offers the toast with a genuine wish that Regina finds whatever she is looking for in the city. She lifts her glass, flashing a smile at the brunette.

table. Once more occupying the seat across from the brunette, Emma murmurs an apology for the interruption in their conversation.

“Should we make a toast?” Maybe it’s late for that since these aren’t her first drinks of the night. “To your New York life and making this fresh start into +

her, or more pointedly, pulling her toward Regina. For the moment, she decides to let the three beers and thrill of connection put doubts aside.

Back in the frenetic dining area, she can see Regina patiently awaiting her return with a glass of wine and what Emma assumes is her scotch upon the +

Emma takes her time washing hands in an almost meditative act. It’s just dinner, she tells herself to temper the part of her that longs to run from anything tangible. Honestly, she likes Regina and the idea of making a connection is more than just unsettling. Still, there’s something pulling at +

"Freshen up. Be right back." Emma makes her way toward the restrooms at the end of the dining area.

picking up a tray of drinks which seems to include theirs. Using this as an opportunity to make a brief exit, Emma shoots Regina an apologetic look.

"I just need to…" The blonde casts around her memory for the politest way of saying it she can think of.

restaurants. How refreshing to discover someone as good as their word, though Emma is certain there's a lot more depth to her dinner companion.

"Thank you for saying yes." She wants to say more, but after three beers, a quick trip to the restroom takes priority. Near the bar, their waiter is +