So Does This Make Us Both The Other Woman?

27. Like A Date (Maybe Not Quite. Maybe Exactly)

"This is casual," Emma says, bumping against her as they walk. There's space between them. Maybe...inches, at least. "Just...a casual outing. To Granny's. For dinner. Like a date."

"That is what we're doing."

"Are you sure you don't want to go somewhere nicer? Less public? Where Ruby won't tell my parents that we're...?"

She reaches out to take Emma's hand and squeeze it for a moment before letting go. "We've gone to Granny's together dozens of times over the past year. Nothing has changed. I don't want you to panic."

"I'm not panicking!" Emma hisses. They pause outside the diner, Emma shifting even closer to her. "I just...I don't want my mother to find out about us from someone else. I don't want Henry to hear before we tell him. I..."

"They know that this is coming, Emma," Regina says patiently. It's been nearly a week since Hook had gone, and she's been enduring sly glances from her son since, pointed suggestions that maybe she should go see how Emma's doing and maybe Emma should come for dinner tonight. Snow has visited more in the past week than she has ever before, and she's alternated between disappointment when Emma isn't present and expectation when she is. It's been exhausting, and at the end of the day, she wants nothing more than to sit back on the couch with Emma and forget the prying eyes. "They all want you to be happy."

"They say that, but it's one thing when I'm just talking about feelings, and it's another when I'm- when we're-" She shrugs helplessly. "I want this to be good, Regina."

Her hand slides into Emma's again. "It's going to be good."

"Promise?" They alternate like this now, each of them taking stock of what they've become and panicking, second-guessing, demanding reassurance of the other. They're still fragile, still hanging by a thread, and too accustomed to loss to learn a new way of living now.

But then there are moments like this, the ones Regina still can't quite believe are real, where Emma is holding onto her and her face is so bright- too bright to possibly be looking at Regina, all tentative hope and glimmers of happiness and warmth. The constant incredulity that they can have this, that this is too much to last.

No one has ever looked at Regina like that. Daniel had loved her, but it been different, less strained and hard-won, and he'd looked at her like she was a queen before she'd ever been thought of as one. Emma's a mosaic of fears and doubts and wonder, multicoloured and brilliant in its battered complexity.

"I promise," she whispers, and Emma's smile is radiant.

They're barely stepping through the door of the diner when someone calls out their names. "Emma! Regina! I didn't know you'd be here!" Snow is beaming, Henry turning from the bench opposite her with the same exact look on his face.

Emma freezes, deer-in-headlights. Regina raises her eyebrows. "And I didn't know that when Henry asked to go over to you for dinner, you wouldn't be feeding him something nutritious."

"There's a whole slice of tomato on this burger!" Henry protests, pointing to his plate, where the said slice of tomato has been detached from the sandwich. Leo is poking at it from his vantage point in a high chair, mesmerized by the way it folds when he pushes it.

"Inspiring. Go pick out a salad." Henry sighs heavily and departs for the front counter. "Everything about this is your fault," Regina mutters to Emma. "He had healthy eating habits before you."

Emma rolls her eyes. "I've seen you deep-fry your chicken. You can't pin this one on me."

"It's gourmet!" she says, indignant. "Not processed garbage. And I always– what?" she barks out at Snow. Her onetime stepdaughter is gazing at them both, eyes shining like she's holding back a secret.