So Does This Make Us Both The Other Woman?

16. Hunting (Exploring, Seeing, Being. None Of The Above)

Emma has two modes of coping with frustration.

When she's angry, she's angry, hot and confrontational and unrestrained by silly little details like acceptable human behaviour. Regina had secretly craved it more than she'd wanted Emma's cooperation back when they'd been enemies warring for their son and the fate of Storybrooke. There'd been something to that reckless fire that had drawn her in like a moth to a flame, had given her an equal and a reason to fight.

But when Emma's feeling vulnerable, she retreats, hiding away with noncommittal responses and a sudden attention to everything she ordinarily neglects in favour of charging through life fully determined to give everyone else in the world the care she doesn't give herself. And now Regina's hanging on to her phone like she never has before, waiting for calls and texts that never come and dashing off a few of her own.

Henry wants to show me the apartment you've picked out. Do you want to meet us there in an hour to let us in?

All she gets in response is an address and a four-number combination to the apartment, but she's still tapping her heels outside the apartment building, glancing down the street for a glimpse of the unsightly yellow bug.

"She's not coming, Mom," Henry says impatiently. "Whatever you did, she's not getting over it so quickly."

She scowls at him. "Why do you think I did something?"

He rolls his eyes and bounds for the side of the building. It's further from the centre of town than she'd like, in one of the dingier areas that aren't all that occupied. Town beautification plans had taken care of all but the most unoccupied areas, and in stubborn Emma fashion, the sheriff had managed to find one of the least livable areas in town.

She follows him, noting with displeasure the direct entrance from the outside. This isn't safe at all. "Why do you think I did something?" she repeats, punching in the combination.

Henry shrugs. "Because when you're angry with Ma, she just looks really sad and follows you around until you forgive her. You're kind of a pushover, Mom."

"I was a queen!" she says, outraged. "I subjugated whole kingdoms! I'm not a pushover!"

Henry stumbles backwards, his eyes wide, and her irritation fades. "Henry, I didn't mean to - " She catches on a moment before the smile creeps back onto his face. "This is your mother's fault," she grumbles.

"No way. I knew that long before she figured it out." He pushes open the door. "She's not mad at you, though. If she was mad, she'd have probably burned down the house by now."

"It's encouraging that we have so much faith in her," Regina says, following him into the apartment and glancing around. "And for good reason. What is this place?"

It's not that it's not in perfectly decent condition, because she has made sure that the town ordinances don't allow for low-quality rentals. This is a quaint Maine town, not the middle of a city. It's just...decent. A small indentation in the wall for a couch, a battered table in the centre of the room, a kitchen against the other wall. A tiny bathroom and two bedrooms that look just about the right size for a bed and a small dresser. It's utilitarian, the bare basics, an apartment for a new adult just moving out from her parents' house.

Except Emma is in her thirties now and has a teenaged son, and this is no home for them.

Henry smiles at her, determined as always to make the best of the situation. "I think it's nice. I get my own room and everything. And no screaming baby downstairs."

"It's a hovel," she says. Which may be an exaggeration, but she's frowning at the idea of Emma and Henry living here, where the only windows are tiny little rectangles at the top of the wall, looking out into the tangled brush. Where there's no light and no space and it's stark and feels nothing like them, like two people who matter too much to be forgotten in this emptiness. "How much is rent here?"