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Message received Mon 4.45pm: Right, so, Regina I'm back. Obviously. You probably guessed from the big freaking party they're throwing at Granny's. Wanna come down, grab some cake, thank me for saving your ass?
Message received Mon 4:55pm: I don't think so Miss Swan. Crowds of former constituents casting ugly, petulant slurs in my direction and being force-fed revolting layers of sugared treats is not my idea of fun. And you did not, as you so crudely put it, save my ass.
Message received Mon 4:57pm: Seriously lady? I pushed you out of the way of a wraith. Your ass was toast. You're welcome. And why aren't you picking up your phone like a regular person?
Message received Mon 4:58pm: You should know why. A better question is why aren't YOU picking up your cell? Let me guess - you have yet again let its battery run down so low it keeps turning itself off? Should I be surprised you remember which cheap leather boot to put on which foot each morning? Or have you finally labelled them? And kindly do not refer to my ass as toast or anything else. You should not be even entertaining thoughts about it.
Message received Mon 5:01pm: Pfft. That's not what you said at October's Festival of Ye Olde Rustic Cider Tasting or whatever the hell it was called. You couldn't get my hands on your ass fast enough. And I swear if that farmer hadn't decided to move his tractor right when he did, my hands would have gotten a lot further than your pretty little ass.
Message received Mon 5:02pm: I really have no idea what you're talking about, Miss Swan. Perhaps you imbibed too much cider? Now if that is all, some of us have actual work to do.
Message received Mon 5:04pm: Uh huh, sure you do. Granny says they made you hand back the City Hall keys. You're probably just alphabetising the tins in your pantry or practising condescending sneers in the mirror. Look, you don't have to come to the welcome back thing if you don't want but I thought you'd like to see Henry. He'll be there.
Message received Mon 5:04pm: Well why didn't you just say so? Fine. Tell my son I'll be there soon.
Message received Mon 6.37pm: Well, hell, Regina. Just … I mean … did you really have to do that to the cake? All you had to do was say "Thanks but no thanks". But noooo, you had to go all Evil Queen be-yutch on us. Shit. Oh, Henry says he hopes you're feeling better soon. And what Mary Margaret said about not seeing him for Christmas? I'm working on that. But really, you did NOT help today. Okay - bye.
Message received Mon 6:40pm: Ms Mills, it's Granny. Actually - Eugenia Lucas to you. I will be sending you the dry-cleaning bill for the seven guests who did not appreciate what you did to my triple-layer red velvet cake today. I spent seven hours making it. Seven. You're exceedingly lucky Grumpy thought it was funny when … well … you know. At least he bounced. And the cleaners say the ceiling fan suffered no permanent damage. But really! My food is NOT a Frisbee! Claiming your hand slipped fourteen times is straining credibility. Expect the bill in the mail.
Message received Mon 6:47pm: Uh, Ms Mills, it's Dr Hopper. Maybe we should bring forward our Meditate Away Our Sad Thoughts session? Call me, please. I'm wide open tomorrow morning. And tomorrow afternoon.
Message received Mon 10.01pm: It's Emma again. Mary Margaret is pretty mad with you, Regina. She was ranting that you're a 'corrupting evil influence' on Henry while she was shaking red icing out of her hair. Now our floor looks like the crime scene from a triple homicide. And I seriously did not like the way, every time she said your name, she was fingering her bow. That is not a euphemism by the way.
Seriously she is lethal with that thing. She had this whole killing spree going down in the other realm. Zombies. [long pause] Kinda wish I was making this shit up now that I say it out loud.
Anyway your Christmas Day with Henry plans are gonna be a tougher sell than I thought. She is still insisting on a special family thing for me and our son here. What have you got against red velvet cake anyway? I've seen your wardrobe. Isn't velvet your thing?
Message received Mon 10:33pm: Miss Swan, you were in my closet? How dare you!
Message received Mon 10:35pm: You should talk, Miss "I'll Just Borrow Half The Sheriff's Clothes While She's In Another Realm" Mills. Red tells me when you weren't wearing my stuff, you were glued into our favourite blue shirt. You know the one.
Message received Mon 10:40pm: Miss Swan, perhaps an ogre dropped you too hard on your head. I was nowhere near your closet. After all I haven't had my booster shots. And if I choose to wear my own shirt more than once that is my business. There is no "our" about that shirt. Just like there is no "our" about my son. The cake incident was regrettable but as you well know it was not entirely unprovoked. You should tell your mother when giving speeches it's best not to refer to the "wicked curse-monger and life-ruiner" when she is standing right beside her. And can I help it if Eugenia Lucas makes such aerodynamic baked goods? Besides, my hand slipped.
Message received Mon 11:21pm: Yeah, you said that at the cider tasting, too. Come on, Regina, give it a rest. Mary Margaret is dead serious about Christmas. She asked me how it would look in her first official act as the new mayor if she let Henry visit a known "enemy of the state". Between you and me I think she's a little too into catching up on all the Homeland eps David recorded for her. Anyway, can you just play nice for a bit till I can talk her down?
Message received Wed 4.26pm: Regina, it's Emma, I have to cancel, sorry. Mary Margaret wants me to do some stuff with her tonight in preparation for Christmas. And I was looking forward to that welcome-home/ass-saving-thank-you-Emma lasagne too.
Message received Wed 4.50pm: It's left-over lasagne, Miss Swan. I keep making too much because I forget Henry has been cruelly ripped from my life without recourse. So tell me - what could your mother possibly be needing to prepare for this far out from Christmas?
Message received Wed 5.07pm: Er … she wants me to stay home and learn some carols - so we can all sing them together on Christmas Day. At home. Just, uh, family.
Message received Wed 5.08pm: [mocking laughter] My, my, dear, how positively domestic! I would love to be a fly on the wall for that. Except that I would be too busy poking my eyes out with blunt instruments. Do have fun. Remember, as you sing about glowing-nosed reindeers, all the delicious cheesy lasagne you could be licking off my fork.
Text received Wed 5.10pm: Now I know you're evil. If I had any doubt.
Text received Wed 5.15pm: Miss Swan, that is not funny.
Text received Wed 5.16pm: You know it is.
Message received Wed 6.01pm: Ms Mills, it's Dr Hopper again. You did not attend your last appointment. But no judgment. This is a safe space. I was wondering if you wanted to attend my Turning Evil Frowns Upside Down session? I have had a lot of success with it. Admittedly not on, erm, Evil Queens - more like disgruntled former minions. But I am eager to see if the results are just as effective. Saturday morning? Call me. Oh by the way you'll be happy to know Pongo is back on solid foods after the, ah, red-velvet cake incident. I don't think anyone anticipated how slippery the floor was so please do not fret. And, as we all know, Grumpy bounced.
Message received Thur 8.10am: Dr Hopper I like my evil frown where it is. I will not be attending. I suggest you continue experimenting on the disgruntled minions. As for Pongo – I am pleased the damage was not permanent. Henry is quite fond of him.
Message received Thur 9.05am: Miss Swan, you missed a most delicious lasagne. But I am sure you know that already. Are you still comatose from Snow's saccharine family singalong last night? I notice you have not yet arrived at work. Tick tock, Sheriff. Nepotism with the new mayor's office won't impress the rest of the town. Now then – dinner, Saturday? Assuming you're not too engrossed in making eggnog with your mother?
Message received Fri 10.01am: Count me in. Who told you about the eggnog marathon anyway? May as well bring over some. We ended up with, like, a gallon. Turns out Mary Margaret accidentally quadrupled the recipe. Said she was used to catering for dwarves.
Message received Sat 1:07am: Look Regina I'm sorry, okay, how many times do I have to tell you? I thought it was a come on. I mean who licks their spoon like that? You seriously expect me to think it wasn't sexual? That you just don't see it? Fine. Whatever. Look at least toss me my jacket. It's freezing out here on your front lawn.
Text received Sat 1:08am: Thank you. Talk to you tomorrow.
Text received Sat 1.09am: Not likely, Miss Swan.
Message received Mon 10.04am: Hey Em, it's Red. What'd you do to Regina? Cos when I mentioned your name just now, she growled at me and told me she could destroy my happiness – or at the very least take me to the vet to get me "fixed". Then she ordered what you usually drink, cinnamon and all. Then she spat it out and looked so surprised and jumped up and left. It was kinda like Invasion of the Body Snatchers but in a really good power suit.
Message received Mon 2.25pm: David, uh Dad, I mean, you gotta talk to Mary Margaret - I do NOT want to spend all night making home-made Christmas cards. Don't deny she's planning it - I saw the glitter and stars in the shopping along with the Martha Stewart how-to guide. So let's deal - why don't you and Mary Margaret stay home and y'know? Reconnect? [snickers] I'll take Henry out to give you two some space.
Message received Mon 3.05pm: Emma, it's David. And, ugh, it's kind of tacky to pimp your own father out, don't you think? But okay – yes - if you could take Henry out till at least nine? I agree it's time to distract Snow a little from all things Christmas. I know she's very, um, focused this year. But think of what she's been through - she almost lost all of us this month, one way or another. She needs this. She's a little tightly wound. But don't tell her I said that. You've seen how good she is with that bow, right?
Message received Mon 9.15pm: It's Emma, Regina. I know I just left 10 minutes ago, but I wanted to say thanks again for having us tonight, that was a great meal. Henry looked like he was in seventh heaven.
Message received Mon 9.16pm: Yes, well, I dread to think what you have been feeding him, Miss Swan. I had to make sure he had some nutrition in his body. What is his diet? Oreos and Pop-Tarts?
Message received Mon 9.30pm: Oh ha ha, Regina. And you know very well know it's hot dogs and corn chips. We're at the ice cream parlor right now filling up on his dairy and M&M intake for the year. [laughter]
Message received Mon 9.47pm: Miss Swan. [sighs] There was a reason I laid out that fruit platter for dessert. High-sugared processed sweets are not good for him, especially at this time of night. You should know better than that. You are incorrigible - in every sense. Oh, and Miss Swan? Don't think I didn't notice you staring at my spoon again all night.
Message received Mon 9.48pm: Is that a euphemism? Cos if by spoon you mean the shirt button that I was praying would go to God, then yeah, I was.
Message received Mon 9.52pm: So crass, Miss Swan. I shouldn't be shocked of course. Do you know any other way to behave? In fact I imagine most of your romantic interludes probably take place in the back seat of your rusty yellow death trap. And please tell me Henry isn't listening in to any of this?
Message received Mon 9.58pm: You've thought of me and my romantic interludes? I am flattered. And of course not - Henry's in the bathroom.
Message received Mon 10.07pm: Good. Oh, and I am ignoring your delusions that you have any alluring feminine charms whatsoever. By the way - you never said at dinner whether I will get to see Henry on Christmas Day? Is your mother still being the height of unreasonable?
Message received Mon 10.31pm: I'm trying Regina. No news is bad news right now.
Text received Mon 10.32pm: Emma, it's David, where are you? Just letting you know the coast is clear if you want to come back. It's far too late for Henry to still be out anyway. Don’t make me come and find you. I will always find you. [laughs]
Text received Mon 10.33pm: Just so you know, I am rolling my eyes right now. We'll be home soon.
Message received Tues 9.23am: Hello again Ms Mills, it's Dr Hopper. Okay, I can see now that offering you a course that reformed minions took might not feel fitting for your, er, former station. I am devising a new course - tailored just for you - Maintaining the Rage And Other Harmful Coping Mechanisms. Are you interested? I can fit you in … well … anytime.
Message received Tues 9.30am: Dr Hopper, please listen closely: I Am Not Interested. Why don't you try Miss Swan? I am sure she has plenty of issues for you to pick over and keep you enthralled for the next decade. Just last week I heard her say she has an overwhelming fear of glitter and crafts. That does sound disturbing, don't you think?
Message received Wed 9.05am: Regina it's Eugenia Lucas. Thank you for the cheque. We are now square. Try and resist the urge to abuse my hospitality again. There is one other matter to discuss. Red sent out my Christmas Day Post-Curse Party invitations and incorrectly included one for you. I am sure you'll understand the issue. Not all of my customers are as forgiving of your past as I am. And after the incident last week - well. Anyway I am sure you'll be too busy with Henry to attend.
Message received Wed 9.10am: Eugenia, I had no intention of attending anyway. Your plans for a piñata contest using a crossbow gave me some pause, but the Barry Manilow tribute artist? Really, my dear - are you enacting your own curse?
Message received Wed 9.11am: Ms Mills! Barry Manilow is a god. If I could uninvite you twice, I would.
Message received Fri, 6.18pm: Hey, Regina, it's Emma. I am really sorry to tell you this, but I just can't budge Mary Margaret. She just keeps saying this is our first Christmas as a whole family. So Henry and I will stay be staying here. I know it sucks. Want to catch up with us on Christmas Eve instead? I'll bring the eggnog. We still seem to have plenty.
Message received Fri 9:20pm: Family? Henry is MY family, Miss Swan. Snow dares lecture on a family-only holiday? Yet your family is the one keeping me from having that. And, no, I do not wish to see you on any other day. This is wrong, Miss Swan, and you know it. And you know precisely where to insert that eggnog.
Message received Tues 9:24pm: Regina, don't be like that. Mary Margaret's just really on edge this year after what happened with the whole death-defying realm-jumping thing. She just wants to have this one day for all of her family. It's not like we both don't know why she hasn't experienced any other Christamases like that before? Right?
Message received Tues 11pm: Really, Miss Swan? How long will the curse enactment be held over my head? Do you think it's fair to deny a child his mother because of my sins? I will say it again: This. Is. Wrong.
Message received Tues 11.15pm: Regina, come on – don't attack the messenger. Mary Margaret is begging me for just this one thing. A perfect family Christmas.
Message received Tues 11.16pm: Stop whining, Miss Swan. It's unbecoming. You're not the one who gets to spend Christmas alone and without her son.
CHRISTMAS EVE
Message received Wed 9.07am: Miss Swan, I have some presents for Henry for tomorrow. How do you propose they reach him?
Message received Wed, 12.12pm: [clears throat] Ms Mills, it's Dr Hopper again. I know this is a very difficult time of year and I am aware it can be tempting to relapse into magic. You have done so well. Hold on to that. Just remember if you get tempted, try your breathing exercises. The At One With Me, Myself and I series is particularly effective. Also, the Body Touch: I Feel Beautiful Now exercise plan can be a very effective, er, distraction. Let me know if you need more information. I have a help sheet with illustrations.
Message received Wed 7.03pm: Miss Swan? What is going on? You did not return my call. Am I to be denied the right to even give my son his presents?
Message received Wed 7.10pm: Miss Swan. [aggrieved sigh] I should have expected you'd just fall in line with them. With her. I should have… [Knocking. Signal disconnects]
Text received Wed 11.07pm: Are you awake, Miss Swan?
Text received Wed 11.09pm: Yeah. Whassup?
Text received Wed 11.12pm: I must know - whose idea was it? Henry's gift?
Text received Wed 11.13pm: I knew nothing about it. He just gave it to me when I told him I was going to see you to get his presents.
Text received Wed 11.20pm: So you don't know what his card for me said?
Text received Wed 11:21pm: No. I'd like to, though.
Message received Wed 11.23pm: He made it himself. There is a drawing of a vine around the edge. In each leaf is a day's date, going back two months. And then it says [voice hitches]: "Dear Mom, I am so proud of you for beating the magic monster for so long. For going two whole months without using your super powers, here's your Magic-Beating Hero button from me. Love Henry." [Long pause. Soft crying] He's … there's an old brown button here. It's off his brown school coat. [sniffing] I … really. I can't.
Message received Wed 11.24pm: Oh, Regina. Hell. That's. I… He's such a good kid. That's all credit to you. Mary Margaret's nuts not to see that. I am so sorry about tomorrow.
Message received Wed 11.55pm: So am I, Miss Swan. Thank you for bringing around his card at least. I have given him a remote-controlled car for Christmas. Please make sure it runs over Snow's feet a dozen or so times tomorrow. I made certain to get a 100-pack of AA batteries to be sure.
Text received Wed 11.58 Oh Regina. [pause] You are so perfectly evil.
Text received Wed 11.59am: So you keep reminding me.
CHRISTMAS DAY
Message received Thu 10.06am: Just checking you're okay, Regina. Henry loves his little blue car. You'll be happy to know Mary Margaret has tripped over it three times already. Here – I'll put him on.
HI MOM! It's ME! I love it. Thank you! Can you please pick up? I know you don't like to pick up your phone anymore since the mean people have been calling you, but I really want to talk to you. Mom? Oh well wish I could see you. Bye!
Henry - go and help your grandma in the kitchen. Regina, it's me again. Mary Margaret wants us singing carols next. And then we have some Martha Stewart lunch extravaganza – shit, Regina, she's matched the serviettes to the flower arrangement - and then she wants us to make an appearance at this Post-Curse Party Granny's throwing at the diner. Will you be there? Cos then you can see Henry, right?
Message received Thu 2.21pm: Regina can you hear me? I'm at the diner. [loud Barry Manilow music blaring] You're not here. Henry is so disappointed. He said he wanted to be with all his family today, and I know he meant you. Uh oh - gotta go. Speeches! Hell. Mary Margaret looks like she's in for a long one. Please come, Regina. It'd mean the world to us … I mean Henry. Obviously, I meant Henry.
Message received Thu 3.45: Okay, speeches are over. [half shouting over Can't Smile Without You] You're still not here. You have no idea what you're missing. Red is distracting everyone by lap-dancing the Barry Manilow wannabe while simultaneously shooting Granny's piñata with her crossbow. And God - she's wearing the skimpiest Santa outfit I ever saw. I mean – BOOBS! [laughter]
Thu 3.45pm: Why am I not surprised, Miss Swan? Between Eugenia and her unholy love of that lounge singer, and her grand-daughter's clothing-optional approach to existing, that family always did have dreadful taste.
"Regina? You picked up!"
"Don't get used to it. Besides you said the magic word."
"What? Boobs? And you call me crass."
"Miss Swan. [tsks] You mentioned Henry."
"Hey you sound tired. What have you been doing?"
"Cooking."
"On Christmas day? With no one coming around?"
[silence]
"Regina?"
"What and when I cook is none of your concern, Miss Swan."
"Is this like that lasagne night – when you cooked a feast because you'd forgotten you're only cooking for one?” [silence] "Oh sorry, Regina, I didn't mean to hang a lantern on it."
"No need to gloat about your precious family time with my son. [knocking sound] Hold on there's someone at my door. If it's those Lost Boys again I'm going to have to insist they do jail time this time. Between them egging my house, performing high-speed vehicular vandalism on my lawn at absurd hours and making those offensive phone calls …"
"Regina…"
"And where is the sheriff in all this? Drinking eggnog and swapping home-made glittery cards with her mother?"
"Regina!"
"…when you should be locking those miscreants up for being a public nuisance."
"REGINA!"
"What?"
"Just open the GODDAMNED DOOR!"
Regina flung the door open. "Oh! It's you."
"Surprise…"
"Miss Swan - you came." Smiles.
"Yeah - yay me."
Emma stood at the front door of Regina Mills's mansion feeling dissatisfied her grand surprise hadn't paid off. She swung the door wide open. Henry rushed forward excitedly and suddenly Emma's annoyance evaporated.
Regina looked beautiful, she decided, taking in the tailored black pants and famous blue-grey shirt she loved so much. The third button was straining mightily as always and Emma gave a pleased smile as she eyed it furtively.
Regina's arms flew around her son and she peppered his hair with kisses until he finally leaned away, pulling a face. But he still grinned and kept a small arm tucked around her waist.
Emma hung back awkwardly, not wanting to intrude, but delighted to see the soft, joyous expression on the other woman's face. Had she ever seen her look that happy?
Finally Regina stepped back and ran her eyes across Emma. A seductive smile curled the edges of her mouth. She locked eyes on Emma and said, "Henry, could you go and wash up? And you might want to unload your booty."
She gently poked one of the many prominent bulges under his shirt that hadn't escaped her notice. A rumball dropped to the ground and he giggled as it made its escape, rolling down the mansion's steps.
"I didn't want you to miss out," he said looking up at her with huge eyes. "It's not right everyone else got to go to the party and not you. So Red helped load me up with mini fruit pies and rumballs. Especially the rumballs. Cos I know you like them best."
"I appreciate you thinking of me, Henry," Regina said softly. She glanced away for a moment, collecting herself, then looked back. "Go on then," Regina urged him. "Wash up. There are some of your favourite Christmas dishes in the kitchen if you're still hungry. And some Christmas cake I made. You can help yourself to a piece of that, too."
Henry's face lit up. "Cake? I love your Christmas cake," he declared, speeding inside.
Emma and Regina regarded each other.
"Thank you for bringing him, Emma."
"Welcome," the blonde shrugged, suddenly feeling a world of lost. Regina's tone had been grateful but also decidedly sultry. Emma blinked uncertainly.
In three steps, suddenly Regina was inside her personal space. Then she leaned forward. "I haven't given you your gift yet," she whispered. "I was saving it on the off-chance you might be over your cloying relatives and come by here today."
"Huh?" Emma said stupidly.
Hands slid around Emma's waist pulling her in, breast to breast, belly to belly. She felt heat infuse her torso instantly.
"Oh!" Emma muttered, finally getting a clue.
Lips sought hers out and Emma responded, tasting that pouting, teasing mouth she had dreamed of kissing for so long. She was not disappointed.
Finally Regina pulled away. "I do trust you liked your present, dear?"
"Not sure," Emma offered thoughtfully, eyes sparkling. "I would have to try it again. You know – for a truly accurate result."
Regina cocked an eyebrow. "Is that so?"
Emma answered by reaching for her, slipping fingers gently through brown locks and pushing her lips against the other woman's, her tongue seeking out for Regina's. They kissed for a long, delicious moment.
As they pulled apart, Regina's breath hitched. "I see what you mean." She exhaled. "Repeated sampling can be invaluable."
They both smiled.
Suddenly Regina took a step back, hearing a moment before Emma the stomping coming down the stairs from the bathroom.
Emma glanced up to see their son bee-lining it towards the kitchen, an excited look on his face.
"Want some cake?" Regina asked, inclining her head towards the kitchen. "I assure you Henry wasn't exaggerating its sublime properties."
Emma laughed and nodded.
Her phone rang suddenly, shattering her mood and she rolled her eyes when she saw the caller, expertly flicking it off and shoving it back in her pocket.
Regina paused and stared hard. "You haven't had low battery at all. You just keep switching it off. Why?"
Emma blushed faintly. "Let's just say I love being able to play back particular messages from a certain former mayor. I have quite the collection."
"I bet you do," she replied. "Well – we'd better get some cake while there's still some left."
She slipped her hand around Emma's and pulled her inside, giving the hand a seductive squeeze as she closed the door with the other one. She leaned forward and lowered her voice. "By the way, I have another present - even better - planned for you for much later on."
"How on earth am I supposed to sit politely through cake and cordial all afternoon now?" Emma groaned. "You really are evil."
"So I've been told. Come. Our son awaits."
Message received Thur 11.55pm: Emma [sigh] It's your mother. Again. I suppose I don't have to wonder where you and Henry are. This is my sixth message. I've had all afternoon and evening to think about it and talk it over with David. You were right. Henry should have been allowed to see Regina for Christmas. And you should be allowed to spend time with the woman you … Look, I'm not blind and neither's your father. But really, Em – did it have to be with an Evil Queen?!
Sorry! I am trying with this. Listen - David and I are going to sleep in tomorrow. I suggest you and Regina do the same. And later, we'll all meet for brunch and work some things out between all four of us.
Oh, before I forget – Granny reports we have a cunning rumball thief. You wouldn't know anything about that would you? Hmm?
Anyway, I told her it was probably her Barry Manilow clone. She did not take that at all well. So you'd probably better get her some rumballs tomorrow to make up for it. Night, Em. Love you. And Merry Christmas to you and Henry and Regina.