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Chapter Text

The first time Emma Swan cooked for Regina Mills was as an apology. Sure, getting her fancypants Merc towed had seemed funny at the time but Emma wasn't laughing after an irate mayor stormed into the sheriff's office, hair looking like small rampaging birds had attacked it, her stylish, long black jacket soaked through and her stockinged legs mud-spattered.

Pinned with a glare that promised a decades-long, torturous vengeance, Emma finally understood why people once called Regina the Evil Queen. Because seeing was believing.

"I know what you did," Regina snapped before Emma's wide eyes could even blink. She stomped up closer and sneered right into her face. "I don't need to hear what asinine, childish excuse you have to offer. You will drive me home right now and then make arrangements to have my illegally towed car delivered to my door."

"Uh…" Emma had offered helplessly.

Regina glared at her again, as one hand tried valiantly to smooth her wind-blown hair down to a tenth of its freakishly wild size.

"Yeah, OK," the sheriff agreed hastily, and grabbed the patrol car's keys. "My chariot's this way."

Regina seethed the entire way back to her mansion, body in a rigidly held posture, not talking. Emma steeled herself not to say anything to set her off again. But, shit, how was she to have known it was going to blow an unforecast, force 10 gale, then empty the heavens down on Storybrooke at the exact time Regina wanted to drive somewhere?

And it's not like the mayor hadn't wheel-clamped her Bug seven times in the first six months she'd known her.

But there was somehow something a whole lot less fun about seeing steam coming out of Regina's ears and knowing she was genuinely upset instead of merely her usual sarcasm-laden, garden-variety pissed.

Emma exhaled in relief as she finally pulled up the patrol car outside Regina's mansion. Regina didn't move a muscle.

"We're here," Emma offered redundantly. "Uh, is, um, is there anything else I can do? Like, until your car returns?"

"I think you've done enough, Miss Swan," Regina snarked and was suddenly out of the car, dropping her Merc's keys onto the now vacated seat. She peered back in.

"Especially since I have no way of getting to the grocery store to prepare for dinner tonight. Is this what passes as responsible parenting in your world, Sheriff? Missed meal times? Towing away a working mother's only form of transport? Snow must be so proud."

"Hey, come on, I didn't mean …"

The door slammed and Emma winced. "…to," she lamely finished as she watched the furious mayor stomp towards her stairs, arms pumping furiously. She looked like a sodden sexy Sasquatch.

Regina was right, though. Emma could practically see Snow's withering expression at her juvenile antics.

The '108' brass fitting vibrated as the mansion door slammed shut. Emma stared at it contemplatively. Hmmm. No way to shop? Well, the least she could do was bring dinner when she returned with Regina's Merc.

Emma wiped one anxious hand down her jeans, balancing the enamel dish of spaghetti bolognaise with the other. She swapped hands and repeated the process. Then she knocked.

She waited long enough to wonder if Regina was ignoring her or rocking out to Bon Jovi with headphones on when the door opened.

The mayor, clad in a hastily thrown on grey bathrobe, wet hair slicked back, eyed her with irritation.

"Car keys," Emma said quickly, trying very hard not to focus on the plunging vee of bare skin. "Your Merc's out front."

On impulse she grabbed Regina's shower-warmed hand in hers and dropped the keys into it. She felt immediately reluctant to let go, and so - because her brain was still short-circuiting on other suddenly fascinating things (was Regina really wearing absolutely nothing under that grey fabric?) - she didn't. She gently clasped Regina's hand in hers, which now held car keys.

Regina eyed her, then their hands, before peering back at Emma.

"If that's all? Or do you plan to hold my hand through dinner?" Her smile was not pleasant, but not her very worst either.

"Funny you should mention that …"

Emma let go of the alluring hand and lifted the covered dish to chest height. She offered an apologetic grin. "Dinner? Since you couldn't get to the shops and all?"

Regina froze. Surprise crossed her face and Emma watched as brown eyes looked at the dish as though expecting to find vulture innards. Emma lifted the foil to show it was relatively safe. A pleasing smell of cheese, meat, basil and tomato wafted up.

"You … cook, Miss Swan?"

"Uh no, not really. Well just for me and this was like my favorite dish when I was on my own, bounty hunting."

"Enough carbs to down a moose?" Regina suggested, eyebrows lifting. "No doubt Henry will love it."

"Well I hope not just Henry."

Regina snorted faintly and, with a show of reluctance, took the dish from the sheriff's hands. "I wouldn't get your hopes up dear."

"Oh, yeah. Right. Cos you're like a master chef and I'm just, ah, …" she waved a hand at herself, "amateur. I get it." She rolled her eyes.

"I'm glad we agree. Are we done? I would like to get dressed before I catch pneumonia. A side effect of your ridiculous prank today I might add."

The door began to close.

"Uh. Sorry. Yeah. OK."

It snicked shut. Emma exhaled and stared at it. Well. That had not been the world's most effective apology.

She considered Regina's words as she headed down the path. Maybe the problem was that she hadn't really considered Regina's tastes when she'd whipped up the dish. She'd only thought of her own. And a bit about Henry. An apology should take the recipient into account.

Hmm. She climbed into the patrol car. A wet puddle on the seat next to hers dampened her mood. Regina had certainly been drenched.

Yup, she owed a better apology than just her unfamous spag bol. Something wayyy better. Something befitting a former queen.

Chapter Text

The next day, when Emma got to work, she found her cleaned spaghetti dish on her desk with a note. "Henry appreciated it. No accounting for taste or genetics I suppose. R."

Emma burst out laughing. God Regina could be such a bitch. But as she reread it, she was positive she could see Regina's smirk.

So the challenge was set. What to whip up that Regina would like?

After consulting widely on the oracle of all things, Google, she concluded the most esteemed food lovers in the world tended towards French cuisine. Sure she couldn't pronounce half of what was in the recipes she'd found, but surely a woman of former regal standing had to have dined on this fancy stuff a lot.

She checked with Snow who, after giving her a very strange look, confirmed that Regina had.

"But why do you care, Em?" her mother insisted. "Do you have any idea how odd a request this is? My God - you do remember what Regina did to us? She's lucky we even let her stay on as mayor - and that's only because we like how well she manages to keep the budget balanced and, far more importantly, to keep the town's trash collections regular."

"I wouldn't tell her that's why."

Snow smiled seemingly in spite of herself. "The royal council isn't exactly suicidal. Now stop dodging the question. Why do you want to know which French dish is best to cook for Regina?"

"I kinda got her car towed for kicks and it was lousy timing. Remember the squall that blew through right around five yesterday? Well it monstered her. I want to make things right."

"I see," Snow frowned, unconvinced. "But why cook as an apology? You know she's an expert and you're …. er, not." Snow winced. "Sorry sweetie but you're not."

Emma glowered and rammed her hands in her pants pockets. "No shit. But Regina loves all things to do with food - like growing apples and herbs and all that jazz. You should see these awesome lunches she packs Henry off to school with. Cooking and food - it matters to her. So are you gonna help or not?"

"Fine," Snow sniffed. "We had bouillabaisse on a regular basis. She told my father it was her favorite."

"Oooh, now we're talking. So, ah … what is that?"

"Fish stew."

"Ew."

Snow smirked. "It's a very posh fish stew if it helps. The key ingredient is the orange peel, or so Cook told me once."

"Got an old family recipe?"

"I don't but Cook is in Storybrooke. I know where she lives."

"Does Cook have an actual name?"

"Oh. I, er," Snow blushed. "I never actually asked. You can find out for both of us." She grinned as she handed Emma a scribbled address.

Snow hadn't been kidding about the poshness of this fish stew but after practicing the recipe for two days straight under the tutelage of Francine - Snow's adorable, ruddy-cheeked, former palace cook - she felt she'd kind of semi-mastered the dish.

She stood in front of Regina's door and repeated her ritual of wiping one sweaty hand after another down her jeans. She knocked.

Regina appeared after a short wait, a slightly irritated look on her face, which turned into one of query at the sight of Emma.

"Sheriff Swan?" she drawled. Her eye fell to the casserole dish in Emma's hand and her lips twitched.

"I'm sorry the last one was no good," Emma began and lifted the dish higher.

"I believe I said Henry enjoyed it," Regina countered.

"No, I mean it was supposed to be an apology for you to enjoy not just Henry. So I asked around and I made your favorite dish."

Regina's eyebrows lifted. A look of intrigue crossed her face. "How would anyone know my fav…"

Emma lifted the lid and the distinctive strong fishy aroma of bouillabaisse filled two sets of nostrils.

Regina's face immediately lost color. "W-what?" Stricken eyes lifted to Emma's. "Why did you make me THAT?"

Emma stared for a moment, realizing "stricken" was not even close to the emotional reaction she was going for.

"F-Francine taught me how to make the bouillabaisse you used to love at the palace…"

"Francine," Regina whispered faintly. "Leopold's cook…"

"Uh yeah."

"And why did you conclude THIS was my favorite dish?"

"Snow said you had it often and you loved it."

Regina's lips clamped into a thin line. "Oh really? Snow said so? Well it must be true then."

"I don't understand. Didn't you tell her it was your favorite once?"

Regina scowled at some memory and shook her head.

"Her beloved father one night put me on the spot when we had guests over who loved bouillabaisse and he was showing off ours. He virtually dared me to declare it was the best dish I'd ever had in my life. Naturally I did as was expected. Of course I should not be shocked that Snow missed the subtleties of the room that night. It was her father's favorite dish. Now it only ever reminds me of my controlling late husband."

"Oh. Fuck."

"Indeed." Regina's face looked as though she was examining a vinegar-coated putrefied cat.

Emma sagged against the door frame.

"I had no idea."

"Clearly," Regina sniffed.

Emma glanced down at her dish, unsure what to do now, and bit her lower lip.

Regina saw her and sighed. "Still, I suppose I could broaden Henry's culinary horizons." She held out her hand. Emma passed the dish over sheepishly.

"Miss Swan."

The door clicked shut.

Well hell. That was the last time she asked Snow's advice on anything Regina related.

Chapter Text

Course 3: Something Borrowed

The next day Emma reported for work and found her casserole dish on her desk with the note: "Henry says you shouldn't have. I'd have to agree but you knew that already. If it helps, dear, my tastes do not run to anything from the sea. R."

Huh. Well at least she was getting hints now.

"You should try lasagne," David declared as they ate dinner that evening after hearing Emma's sorry tale.

Snow had not taken at all well to the discovery she hadn't known Regina as well as she'd thought. Even if she wasn't in favor of Emma cooking for the former evil queen, that apparently wasn't the point. She'd been wrong.

"B-but," Snow sputtered and stopped, frowning. "She said she loved it…" She faded out in confusion. "She said that. I was right there!"

Emma sighed inwardly at her mother's eternal cluelessness and glanced at her father who was clearly warming to the challenge of supplying Regina with a perfect meal.

"I know she loves lasagne because she made it for me one night," he said. "I even have the recipe."

"How do you have the recipe?" Emma asked in confusion, trying to picture Regina sharing anything with him.

"A better question is WHY she made it for you," Snow asked in a low, scarily soft voice.

David blanched.

"Ah, well, Emma, see I liked it so much and kept raving about it that Kathryn, um, went around there and asked her how to make it the next week. Regina seemed to think that if it was for the good of my, ah, fake marriage, she was prepared to give up her special recipe."

He gave a mirthless chuckle, looking down at his hands, avoiding his wife's burning eyes.

"And, Snow, love, she was just thanking me for a car-related emergency."

He rose suddenly and went into the kitchen, and after five minutes of rummaging noises returned with a sheet of paper, adorned with Regina's meticulous writing.

"Secret's in the chili flakes, apparently," he chuckled wanly, still not meeting his wife's eyes. He looked at Emma. "At least the mayor can't hate her own recipe, right?"

There was silence as he slid it across the table. Emma reviewed the recipe and tried not to notice the Arctic chill now coming from Snow's side of the table. She rammed the recipe in her jeans' pocket and decided dinner was over.

"Was this a date, this so-called 'thank you'?" Snow asked in an even lower, more dangerous voice, her fingers supplying vicious air quotes.

Uh oh. Emma quickly excused herself as her father's flustered reply began. She headed for her room to get her wallet, deciding now was probably a good time to prioritize her lasagne-ingredient shopping as URGENT. A real good time, she concluded when she came back down in time to hear David's pissy remark: "Well at least I didn't sleep with Whale."

Yup, critically urgent.

Emma felt emboldened when she knocked on Regina's door, a hopeful grin plastered on her features. The dish smelled fantastic and had turned out better than she'd hoped, albeit with some tiny blackened, crunchy edges on the corners, but no one was perfect, right?

"Miss Swan?" Regina purred as the door swung open. She instantly stopped speaking as her nostrils flared in recognition of the aroma.

"Peace offering that I know you'll like," Emma said, her smile widening. She passed it over triumphantly. Regina's left eyebrow went up.

"Your father's input, I suppose?"

Emma nodded.

Regina tilted her head. "My recipe."

Emma nodded again, although it wasn't phrased as a question.

"How original," Regina muttered, and Emma could see the faintest flash disappointment in brown eyes.

Regina sighed, taking the dish, and closed the door so suddenly Emma was left standing, uncertainly staring at white wood.

What the hell?

Chapter Text

The next day the cleaned dish reappeared on the sheriff's desk with a snooty note. "You think I can be bought with an inferior clone of a dish I created myself? Perhaps you should quit your kitchen plagiarism while you're behind. R."

Well. Emma had stared at the note for a full half hour before concluding she was officially bummed out. Not the reaction she'd been expecting at all. But when did Regina ever do the expected?

She only knew two original recipes she was any good at. One, the spag bol, she'd already offered. The other, absurdly, was rumballs. One of her foster mothers had always asked her to help her with it each Christmas.

She frowned and pondered whether a rumball offering would be considered ridiculous or acceptable. Her eyes flicked to the calendar. Well it was almost mid-December. Maybe she could get some festive-themed brownie points?

But still, rumballs were pretty commonplace. Regina had specifically called her out on her unoriginality. So…

That evening she rummaged through her box of crap in her bedroom and pulled out the old rumball recipe. It was coated in dust and god knows what else, but after patting it down she could still read it.

Maybe she could tweak it a little? Add a little original zhuzh that Her Majesty might approve of? And then it hit her. She could substitute the rum with something she knew Regina approved of very much.

She flipped open her phone and texted Henry. "Can u smugl me a botle of ur moms aple cider?"

He texted back immediately. "Why?"

"New recpe im trying."

"Still? Mom's still mad u stole her lasagne recipe."

"I didn't steel it! I borowed!"

"OK well it was her special thing she was super proud of and u got hold of it and gave it back to her like it was yours."

Oh. When he put it like that… "Geez, lesson lerned. Look can u get me her cidr or not?"

"Yes."

"Good. Meet u before scool 2morw"

"Your spelling really sucks."

"yeah yeah. thankz kid"

Emma had spent a good three hours preparing her soon-to-be-famous ciderballs - original recipe - and hoped this time Regina would be more forgiving. After all it had both Regina's booze and Emma's recipe – what's not to love?

Before she could deliver it though, her phone beeped with a new text.

"Miss Swan, would you care to tell me why you've involved my son in a furtive alcohol heist?"

Oh fuck.

Rather than reply - mindful of her atrocious spelling, she hit dial.

"Not exactly a heist - and it was for my next offering for you," Emma began breathlessly, without so much as a hello.

Regina humphed her displeasure. "Imagine my surprise at finding one of the bottles gone from my best vintage. I was wondering if I had a burglar with a refined palate until Henry admitted his part in your nefarious cider-boosting scam."

"Well I'm hoping the finished result will speak for itself."

"What? Moving from recipe plagiarism to liquor theft? You have been enterprising, dear. I suppose you'd better bring it around. If my son is to embark on a life of crime it had better be for a good cause."

"Oh it is."

Ten minutes later Emma passed over her tray of ciderballs and watched hopefully as Regina examined them with an expert eye and then peeled back the plastic wrap. Her nostrils flared. And not in a good way.

"Miss Swan," she asked in genuine confusion, "Just how much cider did you use? These smell like you emptied in the entire distillery!"

"Uh, just what the recipe called for," Emma said slowly, thinking back. Now the plastic wrap had come off, and the Christmas treats were out of the fridge and had been warming up a little, they did seem to have more kick.

She leaned in closer for a whiff and reeled back. Holy shit! By comparison Grumpy's breath seemed less toxic after an all-night bender. She felt around her pocket for the original recipe and pulled it out, as Regina gamely popped one of the coconut-covered balls in her mouth.

"See," Emma said in relief as she held up the paper and pointed. "12 cups."

Regina's eyes had grown progressively wider as she chewed. She shoved the plate back at Emma and rushed inside, coughing.

Five minutes later, brown eyes watering and red-rimmed, Regina re-emerged, a half-empty bottle of water clutched in one trembling hand.

"Show me that recipe again," Regina snapped, her voice gravelly from excessive coughing.

"It actually says 12 tsps'!" Regina accused. Her manicured fingernail flicked at some gunk on the page. "There was dirt over the 'ts' that made you read it as a 'cu'."

She slapped the recipe back at her in annoyance. "And my cider is at least five times more potent than whatever generic brand of rum you'd normally swill into a rumball recipe."

Emma's face dropped. "Hey, I'm trying here!"

"Miss Swan, if you were really 'trying' you would have tasted your product first before gifting it to me."

Emma blinked a few times, mentally slapping herself that she had indeed forgotten a rather basic fundamental of cooking.

"But there's no time like the present," Regina suddenly said, a disturbing gleam entering her eye. "Here, dear, have a ciderball."

Regina bent down and plucked one from the tray which was now resting on the top step, and passed it over to Emma.

The mayor's fingers grabbed Emma's hand, smoothly flipping it, and dropped the coconutty concoction into it. Emma felt the warmth lingering even after Regina's hand withdrew and her brow knitted in confusion at the sensation. What the hell?

Regina was staring at her expectantly, eyes almost dancing with anticipation.

How bad could it be? Emma popped the ball onto her tongue and chomped down once. Immediately her mouth exploded into fire. Scorching. Holy fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Shit! Jesus, dear God. BURNING! Oh hell. NUCLEAR MELTDOWN HEAT! NEED WATER.

She grabbed the bottled water still in Regina's hand and began to glug.

When she finally stopped swallowing and dropped her head back to level, she saw the amusement twinkling in brown eyes. Regina's lips curved into a slow, wicked smile.

"Has it occurred to you, dear, with all your grand dishes that you're overthinking things? Have you never heard of the saying: 'Keep it simple?'." Regina quirked an eyebrow. "In fact given the cook involved, it might be preferable, don't you think?"

"Hey," Emma wheezed, still trying to get her taste buds back to feeling something beyond molten lava flow. She also felt faintly woozy. In fact was she swaying? Or was it Regina?

"Was that a crack about me being simple?" she gasped out.

Regina smirked. "If the shoe fits." She stepped back inside and closed the door.

Emma looked at her feet where the balls sat on the tray and contemplated whether to donate them to a disgruntled anarchy group for molotov cocktails, or just hand them to Grumpy. She realized perhaps the bin would be better, and deposited them in Regina's on the way past.

Now she was convinced there was serious swaying occurring and she knew she wasn't quite right to drive. So – a walk. To clear her head and consider Regina's words.

"Keep it simple", she'd suggested. Fine. But keep what simple?

Hmm.

Regina ate regularly at Granny's, she knew, so she abruptly changed direction and reeled towards the diner.

Chapter Text

Eugenia "Granny" Lucas leaned on the counter and thoughtfully shifted her eyes skyward after Emma asked what Regina liked to dine on.

"She only really orders salad," Granny announced after a minute. "Chicken Caesar some days. Grilled chicken others. She is a fan of our takeout wraps when she's in a rush."

"What's in that?" Emma asked.

"Well, let's see, there's salad, and oh yes, chicken."

Emma grinned. "I sense a pattern forming."

"And why do you want to know anyway? You know who that woman really is?!"

Emma shrugged. "I never knew her the way you all do. And I owe her an apology. So I want to cook her something."

"But Snow says you can't boil water…"

Emma narrowed her eyes. "And Snow also said bouillabaisse was Regina's favorite dish."

Eugenia's eyes lit up. "Oh I haven't had a good bouillabaisse in years." She licked her lips. "I don't suppose you have a good recipe handy?"

"Not one that I'd like to share," Emma said with a grimace. "OK well I'll start researching chicken dishes. Thanks Granny."

"Any time," Eugenia muttered and slid on her glasses as she reached for her French cookery book, finger shifting to B. "Bouillabaisse would be perfect for the diner's Christmas party," she muttered to herself.

Emma shuddered and left.

It turned out that there are a lot of chicken recipes in this world. A. Lot. So Emma went direct to her inside source and called up the kid.

"Come on kid, cut me some slack here. Are we talking roasted, crumbed, fried…"

"If I tell you, she'll know I told. And by the way thanks for that sucky fish stew. Gross. I thought I was gonna gag."

"Hey, I'll have you know that is an ancient recipe passed down in royal families. Or so Francine told me. You realize if you'd been raised in that fairytale land you'd have had to have it weekly, too."

There was a horrified silence down the phone.

"Still there, Kid?"

"Yeah, he sighed. "Your lasagne was pretty good at least - well, once Mom picked out all the black bits. But why are you still doing this?"

"So your mom knows I'm sorry about getting her car towed."

"But that was almost three weeks ago!"

"And she's still mad at me." Emma's thoughts drifted. She wondered if stuffed roast chicken might appeal. Something with dried fruits or, or something. Something exotic.

"Don't be so sure. But - OK - if it makes it end sooner, don't do deep-fried. She hates that. And fish. She says it reminds her of a 'decrepit controlling creep she lived with once'. Whatever that means."

Emma could almost picture him shrugging.

"Yeah don't worry, I got that last one locked and loaded."

"Good. Hey Emma?"

"Mmm?" Maybe cashews and apricots and …. Wait, no, simple. She had to do simple.

"Why do you care what Mom thinks of you anyway? Or if she's mad or whatever? You never cared before."

"I … uh …" Emma's brain stalled. "Uh…"

"You already said that."

"Don't be a smart alec, kid. No one likes a smart alec. You'll end up alone with a computer-game addiction and a house full of cats." She heard his light laughter and chuckled with him.

"I've gotta go, Emma - homework. And remember: nothing deep-fried, nothing fishy."

Emma's attempt at cooking "simple" for Regina was an unmitigated disaster. It wasn't that she'd put the chicken in the oven and forgotten it. Well not just that. It was that she'd also created a fat fire in said oven (who knew duck fat was so flammable?) and when she opened it, Snow's apartment instantly filled with smoke.

And because she was bending over the oven cavity when the thick smoke cloud hit, she inhaled a whole bunch of it. She coughed, wheezed, gasped and, when she failed to find any oxygen, she felt instantly dizzy.

So she was pretty much unconscious when the smoke detector went off. Not to mention when Snow rushed in – just in time to watch Emma drop bonelessly to the floor. She was still out cold when the fire truck arrived. And the ambulance. And half of Storybrooke. Including its mayor.

Which was probably just as well.

Emma opened her eyes to find herself in a hospital bed with Dr Whale's face inches from hers.

"Gah!" she shrieked in shock, and then regretted it. Her throat was raw from the smoke and hurt like hell. She rubbed her face, and her hand came away black and smudged. Not good at all. She wondered if her mother still had an apartment. Shit! SNOW!

Her eyes widened. "Is Snow all right?" she gasped out.

"Easy, tiger," Whale said and patted her shoulder. "You were the only casualty. Well you and her oven. That thing is not going to be much good to anyone."

Emma frowned but was relieved she'd only hurt herself.

"You might also want to delete chicken from your repertoire," Whale continued. "I heard it was a charcoaled ode to dead fowls by the time Snow got back inside her apartment."

"Shit."

"Hmm. Alright, you seem to be suffering nothing worse than smoke inhalation. So drink lots of water. You did get a bump on your head when you hit the deck. A catscan has found nothing of concern, though. I'll keep you in here for observation overnight and then you can go home. And a bit of advice?"

Emma's eyes met his.

"Hang up your apron."

She scowled.

"Excellent advice, doctor," a throaty voice suggested as Regina rounded the corner with a smirk and a sexy, sexy sway.

Wait, what?

Emma wondered if Whale and his curse-based medical degree was wrong about no damage. Cos Regina Mills did not have a sexy sway. At all.

Except she did.

Oh hell.

"EMMA!" Henry squealed happily and ran over to give her a big hug as Whale left the room. Emma patted his arm cautiously; uncertain at how the demonstrative action was being viewed by his other mother.

"He insisted on visiting the fallen saviour," Regina mocked, but without venom. "I assume you were attempting another apology feast?"

Emma nodded sheepishly. "Roast chicken this time," she muttered. "With heirloom vegetables roasted lightly in a fine duck fat.

"Ah. Well. Acceptable choice at least."

Emma stared at Regina glumly before her words registered. Wait.

"Are you just saying that to make me feel better?" Emma asked in astonishment.

A deep, altogether too distracting laugh rumbled out of Regina. Something lower down in Emma's belly clenched in appreciation.

"Come now, Miss Swan, when have I ever tried to do that?" Her brown eyes sparkled.

"Oh. Yeah. True." Emma grinned lopsidedly at her.

They stared at each other for a beat until Henry, whose eyes kept flicking between his two mothers in confusion, interrupted the charged silence.

"Emma will you stop cooking for Mom now? Given it's too dangerous and she's not mad about the car anymore?"

Both women started.

"You're not mad now?" Emma asked hopefully, eyes locking on brown.

"I never said that," Regina huffed. "You have yet to provide me with one acceptable apology meal."

Henry rolled his eyes and looked about to interject. Regina continued quickly: "But, perhaps, since you seem so hell-bent on starting fires all around my town, it might be for the best."

Emma deflated. "You don't want me to cook for you ever again," she summarized flatly.

She was surprised at how depressing that felt. It tasted a lot like rejection.

"No, Miss Swan," Regina confirmed. "I think it's safer for all if you don't. Consider yourself forgiven for the car. And stay away from kitchens."

She gave an amused smile which faded as Emma stared back, stricken. She felt gutted. And suddenly very embarrassed. What was she even thinking, trying to cook for Regina anyway? What an idiot!

"OK," she whispered, trying and failing to sound nonchalant. "I get it."

She didn't meet Regina's eyes and she knew, to her chagrin, her cheeks were pinkening in humiliation. There was a longer silence but Emma couldn't bring herself to look up.

"Well," Regina began uncertainly as if not expecting such a shamed capitulation and not entirely sure what to do with it. "I-I'll let Henry have a few moments alone with you. I'll be in the car," she added to her son.

Emma at last flicked her eyes up to Regina's but only saw an inscrutable expression before Regina swung around and sashayed out.

Emma stared at the now empty hallway unseeingly. She felt her bed shift.

"Hey Emma, I brought you something. To cheer you up for trying to burn down Grandma's house."

He grinned at her cheekily.

Her attention switched back to the 12-year-old now perched on her bed.

"Hmm?"

He held up what looked like a small metal lunchbox except she could see a big red medical cross on it.

"It's your very own Hospital Survival Kit because everyone knows hospital food is gross."

He flicked a latch, opening the lid, and laid the tin in front of her. Emma's eyes immediately sifted through the contents.

There were adorably cute peanut butter and jelly fingers of sandwiches, with crusts cut off, packaged beautifully to look like rows of little Band-Aids. A small container of OJ marked 'IV juice' in Henry's handwriting. A perfect banana with a note attached "Vitamin B stick". A tiny zip-lock bag of jelly beans with the note: 'Low-blood-sugar pills.' And a low-fat, low-sugar, high-protein granola bar - this note bore Regina's distinctive handwriting "Do try to get some fiber into your diet, Miss Swan. Bear claws do not count as a food group."

Emma laughed even as tears of surprise and gratitude sprung to her eyes. No one had ever given her something with so much thought put into it before.

"Oh Kid, did you do all this? It's great."

He shifted awkwardly on the bed and she could see conflict in his eyes. Finally he decided something and grinned.

"Well I wasn't supposed to say but it was all Mom's idea. I helped by writing what she said to on the notes, but she spent ages on it. The 'bandage' sandwiches took her like ten goes to get 'just right'. I think I'll be using up the other PB&J sandwiches for the rest of the week for lunch."

He laughed then stopped as Emma stared at him open-mouthed.

"Why would your mom go to all this effort for me?" she croaked. "She hates me. Right?"

Henry looked at her as if she had two heads. "Emma, if Mom hated you why would she eat all that bad food you gave her? Like the gross fish stew?"

"She ate my bouillabaisse?" Emma asked in wonder. "Even though it reminded her of … Him?"

Henry peered at her. "She told me it was character-building," and he shuddered at the memory. "She also ate some of the spaghetti thingy even though she said it had 'negative nutritional value'. And the burnt lasagne. Although she muttered the whole way through that. And I heard she ate your alcohol-poisoned toxic cider balls. She was walking a little weird for an hour after that," he whispered confidentially.

Emma stared at him, unable to comprehend his words.

"I wouldn't eat anything if I hated the cook and I had a choice about it," Henry declared. "Would you?"

She shook her head slowly. Kid had a point.

"Emma are you crying?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Emma quickly wiped her face, shocked to find her fingers come away wet. "Now go tell your mother I loved her kit … I mean YOUR kit and I've already eaten half of it and I am raving about how good it all is. Tell her I ate the granola bar first."

Henry jumped off the bed. He paused and turned. "Emma, you know Mom's not the Evil Queen any more, right?"

Emma frowned and nodded. "She hasn't cursed a soul in years," she said with a faint grin. "Why?"

"Well so it wouldn't be the weirdest thing in the world if you two started dating."

Emma's jaw hit the floor.

"What? Why would you say something like that?

"I'm 12, not a little kid. And some kids at school have two moms, so it's not that weird."

"I know that's not weird, that's not what I meant," Emma said impatiently. "I mean has your mother said something? About me and her? Because that time I held her hand, I swear it was an accident."

Now Henry's mouth dropped open. "You held Mom's hand? And no she hasn't said anything. But I was thinking - isn't cooking for someone what you do when you're dating? That's what your mom asked Grandpa when they didn't think I could hear them. She wasn't very happy about it and kept saying 'Is Emma trying to woo Regina now, because that's what it's starting to look like from here'."

Emma's mouth worked but nothing came out, so Henry barrelled on.

"But Grandpa said you could do a lot worse. And your mom said 'I really don't see who could be worse.' And he's like 'Gee, I dunno, how about Victor Whale?' Grandma's lips went real thin and she told him he could cook his own meals for the rest of the week. When they get a new oven."

"Oh fu…fudge," Emma exhaled and massaged her temples. She glanced at the clock on the wall. "Fascinating as all this is, Kid, I think you'd better catch up with your mom. Don't keep her waiting."

Henry nodded and gave her a quick hug. "Get well soon, Emma. And remember, NO cooking!"

She gave him a glare, which he matched with a crooked grin and then scampered away.

After he left, she peered more closely at her adorable little survival kit.

The attention to detail was undeniable. In fact it was so perfect, all of it screamed Regina. She reached for one of the sandwiches and began to unwrap its plastic.

Hours spent making these, huh? And they were Emma's favorite. Which meant Regina had made the effort to find that out, too.

It warmed her incredibly, the idea of Regina making discreet inquiries about what Emma liked on her sandwiches. She munched slowly as she considered the bomb Henry had just dropped in her lap.

Dating his mom? Ridiculous. Because while the woman was undeniably beautiful and sexy, and had swagger and reams of attitude and could rock pencil skirts like no one's business and was single and did that intense eye-lock thing with her, everyone knew the mayor hated the sheriff.

That was a fact. Like the sky was blue, Grumpy was a drunk and you can't wash new skinny jeans in boiling hot water and ever expect to wear them again. Basic facts.

Her eyes fell to the adorable tin box of food before her. Well. Even if it wasn't a fact, one thing she knew for sure: Regina was way out of Emma’s league, and everyone knew it. Including Regina.

So that pretty much settled it then. She closed the tin with a decisive slap and tried to think about other things.

Chapter Text

Emma did not speak to Regina for many days after her hospital stay. It was her choice, the avoiding thing. She just had too much to think about.

Emma wasn't nearly ready to take the next step by declaring her interest - and it was an overwhelming one. Since Regina had made it crystal clear she was to stop making the cooked offerings, that was really the end of it. And, if sometimes she'd catch sight of Regina watching her across the street with something approaching regret flitting across her face, that couldn't be helped either.

Decisions had been made – on both sides.

So Emma's days progressed. She stayed clear of Regina, had raided her savings to buy Snow a new oven and then moved out of the apartment. It was long overdue, she'd told a tearful Snow. Thirty-year-olds who want to be taken seriously don't live with their parents.

For some mysterious reason her mother's pleas that she stay so they could make eggnog and hang up festive decorations together did not sway her.

She'd taken a room at the B&B for a hugely discounted rate and, in exchange, she'd help out Ruby and Granny in the kitchen during the busy weekend night shifts in the run up to Christmas. Not cooking of course - Eugenia had been very clear on that. But a bit of washing and cleaning.

Emma didn't mind – she'd done the work before in her misspent youth. And it kept her hands busy while her mind wandered to other things. Or other people.

Sometimes as she was scrubbing a pot she'd hear Regina come into the diner and she would just listen to Regina's sexy, slightly gravelly voice as she placed her order.

Her heart would leap in spite of herself and Emma had started to keep track of which dish was intended for Regina. Then she'd always value add a little something to it. Maybe a cute garnish, or an extra helping of some favored topping. It wasn't like Regina knew she was back here, so she was safe to express her feelings anonymously.

Because, yeah, that was the other thing. All that time for thinking meant she'd formed a few conclusions.

One, she was in lust with Regina Mills.

Two, she was in love with Regina Mills.

Three, she was still stuck on what to do about points one and two. Indecision was rapidly turning into her final decision.

As the days crept by, Emma could no longer avoid the other woman indefinitely. She'd also begun to notice a shift in Regina's behaviour. Regina had started coming into the sheriff's station a lot more and for reasons that made less and less sense. Non-urgent paperwork needed to be filled in, or was mysteriously lost.

Emma would professionally answer all her queries, feeling no need to stir Regina the way she had in the past. Now she'd identified the source of her juvenile behaviour - the equivalent of pulling the pigtails of the girl she liked - she felt no urge to do it any more. It made her feel ridiculous and foolish that she'd never noticed before why she was so keen to get up in Regina's face so often.

So, no - no more fighting and bickering – despite the vaguely disappointed looks she often encountered on Regina's face. Just competence and professionalism and sneaking in occasional lingering glances as Emma tried to work out what to do about her completely earth-shattering crush on a woman who almost certainly did not feel the same way.

After all, crafting a one-off clever food kit for the town's sheriff when she was in hospital was one thing – but it didn't prove anything. And there had been nothing else forthcoming. So, as expected really, that was that.

Three months after the hospital visit, Regina barrelled into the sheriff's office, testier than usual.

"Why was this not on my desk first thing this morning, Sheriff Swan?" she waved at some budget papers that weren't needed for a month. Regina knew it and Emma knew it. She slid her eyes slowly to Regina's and arched an incredulous eyebrow.

The mayor flapped them in her face.

Emma did not react, just took a moment to examine Regina – taking in the jittery fingers, pursed lips and wild brown eyes. She was definitely unusually agitated.

Emma used her index finger to slowly lower the paperwork from her face and answered.

"Because, Madam Mayor, you never asked for it. But I can email that to you right now."

She drew her eyes down Regina's outfit – a scandalously plunging cleavage on a red shirt, and a short grey pencil skirt. No jacket. She appreciated the amount of skin on display. She was only human.

As she took her fill she became aware Regina's breathing had just hitched, but Emma carefully turned to look at her computer. Three clicks later she glanced up.

"Sent. Anything else, Madam Mayor?" And if she drawled out the woman's title a little, that was purely an accident. Right?

Regina ground her teeth, then sat on the edge of Emma's desk. A long, bare expanse of leg came into view. It was a truly delightful thing to get lost in.

"Just tell me: why are you doing this?" Regina finally growled and crossed her arms.

"What?" Emma replied neutrally. "Is my work not satisfactory?"

Regina's hand formed a brief fist before she let it go and smoothed it down her thigh.

"Not your work - this," she vaguely waved her hand between them. "You used to call me Regina. And argue with me. Now you're the Martha Stewart of office minions. A tame, toothless, well-trained, polite little puppy. It is unacceptable."

Emma's eyes darkened in annoyance. "You used to bitch at me all the time that I wasn't professional enough. Now you don't like it?"

Regina's eyes narrowed. "There's professional and then there's this … unholy mockery," she waved her hand again.

The mayor took in a shuddering breath. "It's ever since the oven fire. Is it … Is it because I told you not to cook for me anymore? I thought you might see it as logical, given the incident. But not grounds for creating this."

The hand waved again in frustration between them and suddenly Emma saw the regret again. Disappointment was warring with whatever had wound up the mayor and forced her in here for a talk Regina clearly did not want to have.

"I know you don't like my cooking – you made that very clear – so let's not rehash that," Emma said, a flush darkening her features. "You told me I should stop. So I did. That was for the best, right?"

She had unconsciously thrown Regina's own words back at her.

"Well, yes, but I didn't mean for you to … stop everything."

Emma stared at her in confusion. "Huh?"

Regina rolled her eyes. "I didn't expect you would get all offended or whatever this is and stop interacting with me as we had been. It was acceptable, the way things were. I thought … I felt that you thought so, too?"

A hint of vulnerability crept into her face. Emma was having a hard time hearing a word she said when she looked at her like that.

"What interactions are you referring to? Me giving you food you hated?"

"No!" Regina snapped in irritation. She waggled her fingers towards Emma as if that made it clearer. "The rest."

Emma stared at her as the penny finally dropped. "Are you saying you miss us fighting?"

The mayor's face colored a dusky pink and for a moment she looked ready to run.

"Don't be absurd," she huffed, panic edging her features. "I don't miss anything about you."

Hurt washed across Emma's face and she firmed her jaw. "I see. Well then, feel free to leave. I don't have to sit here for this." She turned back to her computer screen. Sensing no movement, she muttered testily: "Go."

Regina slid from the desk to the floor, uttering a frustrated snort, her long bare legs drawing Emma's eye once more.

"You mean nothing to me," Regina added hoarsely, "and your infatuation is laughable."

Emma's eyes narrowed. She knew?

"Of course I know," Regina guessed her thoughts. "You think I don't know who puts little extras on my meals at Granny's? There is nothing I don't know about in this town."

Emma studied the agitation on the other woman's face. "I thought you might like it," she said simply. "I'm more than happy to stop doing it. I won't trouble your salad dishes ever again."

This time the frustrated noise was even louder. Emma wondered if she would actually stamp her foot in annoyance.

"Madam Mayor, if I mean nothing to you, why are you still here, still trying to rile me up into one of our famous fights that you say you don't miss?"

Regina's chest was now heaving and for a moment Emma wasn't sure whether she was about to be kissed or killed. In the end Regina chose neither and made a strangled noise and stalked out of the office.

Emma sat there frozen. Regina wasn't wrong about their interactions being something worth missing. She was presently in a state of acute arousal. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

The funny thing was – if she was reading Regina correctly - this situation wasn't actually one-sided at all.

How unexpected.

Well then, if Emma knew anything about the fine art of wooing, it was time to go back into the kitchen now that both parties' intentions had been pretty much made clear. More or less.

Emma's first wrinkle came when Snow forbade her from using her new oven, despite Emma having paid for it, on the grounds Snow was "still getting over the shock of what happened last time". But they both knew the truth – Emma wanted to cook date food to romance Regina, and Snow's pursed lips told her that her mother wasn't willing to aid and abet that particular enterprise.

That was OK, Emma had other resources now and she borrowed a corner of Granny's kitchen on a slow night.

Emma had planned this dish scrupulously – and taste tested it – and also had arranged for Henry to be anywhere but at his mother's place. Because she didn't want any witnesses at her Waterloo.

Emma stood nervously in front of Regina's door. This was either going to end spectacularly badly or spectacularly well. No in between and no second chances.

She knocked. After what felt like an eternity, the door flung open.

"Miss Swan?" The surprise was genuine but Regina's expression was guarded.

Emma offered up a dish. "I thought you might be missing my cooking," she suggested, ignoring the immediate, derisive snort.

"Dinner is long past. It is 9:45 dear."

"Yeah. So that's why I brought dessert." Emma waggled the dish. "Sticky date pudding. Granny's tried-and-true recipe, which I know you secretly like because you buy it from her once a month."

Warring expressions crossed Regina's face before she finally settled on intrigued.

"Sticky date pudding is bad for one's health," she began, lips curving, "So perhaps you had better come in. To share the damage to our waistlines."

Emma grinned and stepped inside, closing the front door, following Regina to the kitchen.

"May I assume you had something to do with Henry's sudden and hasty to departure to his friend's place tonight?" Regina threw out to her over her shoulder.

Emma couldn't see a point denying it. "I didn't think I wanted witnesses when I tried to determine exactly how much you've been missing me."

Regina froze, halfway from pulling down a pair of dessert bowls from overhead cupboards.

"I believe I said quite the opposite."

"You said a lot of things. Regina."

Regina's face twitched into a smile. "About time, dear. The way you've been saying 'mayor' to me lately has been so tedious. I've had to force myself not to slap you on a daily basis."

Emma grinned. "I see. So what else did you have to stop yourself from doing to me?" she teased.

Regina glared at her. "So forward," she tsked. "Have you no manners?" She pointed to a drawer. "Can you get the spoons?"

Emma did as she was bid and soon they were sharing what Emma had to admit was her finest cooking accomplishment. Regina was eating the caramel and date pudding with an expression of utter rhapsody. And, even better, was not bothering to hide it.

"Good, huh?" Emma asked with her mouth full.

Regina compressed her lips at the sight and continued to chew in a far more ladylike manner. She swallowed and opened her mouth to finally speak, but Emma was mesmerised by the full lips. She stared at them in fascination.

Whatever Regina had been about to say died on her lips. Emma's eyes dropped from Regina's face to her top - a white, crisp button-down linen shirt that tucked into her tailored black pants. Her eyes skidded back up to Regina's chest to discover twin hard knots pushing against the fabric.

"Miss Swan," came a breathy voice. "My eyes are up here."

Emma flushed and let her spoon clatter into her bowl, eyes flying up to amused brown ones. Regina, having caught her attention, licked her own spoon slowly, purposefully, as though she was thinking exceedingly naughty thoughts.

"God damn, woman, what you do to spoons," Emma gasped, wide-eyed.

There was a deep throaty laugh. And then Regina, very deliberately, lay the spoon down.

"You were quite right, dear. I did miss you," Regina said quietly, her eyes darkening. Emma swallowed. "Quite a bit as it turned out. Consider me shocked."

"I … ah…"

"So eloquent," she continued with a purr. "It … bothered me to discover you could have died trying to cook up some other pitiful dish to use to apologise to me.

"And then as you withdrew your attention and interest, I believed that you did not care at all. That the meals had indeed just been about the apology over my car."

Emma shook her head but Regina lifted a hand. "But then you began offering those little extras on my dishes at Eugenia's. Delicious, thoughtful extras. Of course I knew it was you. Who else? Did you know I made the effort to come in when I knew you were working just to see what you might bestow on me? You never disappointed.

"And then I finally realized that perhaps you weren't entirely indifferent to me after all. Although each time we met you still continued to treat me as nothing more than the mayor," she said with an irritated humph.

"But you are the mayor."

"Not to you. I thought that was understood? That what we have is … is different to the rest of them. I don't share myself with just anyone."

Regina dabbed her mouth delicately with her serviette and stood with determination, walking around to Emma's chair. "You have never been one of them," she told her, staring intently into wide green eyes. "You must know that."

She bent forward, tilted Emma's chin up with one hand and, achingly slowly, placed her lips on the sheriff's. Emma thought her brain had just liquefied. She could barely think, let alone breathe. Sensations flooded her as those incredible lips she'd fantasized about finally touched hers. It was the world's fiercest aphrodisiac. She briefly wondered if anyone could pass out in an arousal overdose from a single kiss.

After a few moments, Regina tugged her to her feet. Then Emma felt Regina's tongue moving against her lower lip, questioning, so she opened her mouth to greet her, and heard a pleased, approving noise. Regina crushed their mouths together, her tongue meeting Emma's and she began making excited little sounds that were far too erotic to be legal.

Oh god.

Regina had some sort of sandalwood scent on her that was driving Emma crazy and her fingers slipped up behind Regina's neck to gently knead and tease the delicate skin at her pulse points. She then slid hands up through the thick hair she had always loved, massaging and stroking, as their mouths continued to explore each other's. She felt the tremble of approval against her lips and a low moan. Emma was relieved it wasn't just her so badly affected.

When they finally pulled apart, Regina's breathing was so ragged Emma wondered if she was coming undone on the spot.

"I did fantasize once about taking you in my kitchen," Regina said breathlessly, a single finger sliding teasingly down the middle of Emma's chest stopping at her jean's button. Which she promptly popped. "It seemed apt after all. But I think we should have our second helping of dessert in comfort."

Emma smiled. "I can't wait to see what's on the menu." Her hands reached out to unbutton Regina's blouse, licking her lips as the soft skin was revealed. Very aroused, deep red nipples were straining against a sheer cream bra.

Emma swallowed shakily and grinned. Hot damn.

Regina smiled back. "Best dish yet, dear."

Chapter Text

SIX MONTHS LATER

"Emma? Are you awake?"

"Mmm," Emma mumbled burrowing further into the sheets. It was way too early and she didn't need to open her eyes to know that.

"Happy anniversary, darling."

Emma rolled over and cracked an eyelid. She beamed. "Is that today?" she teased. "Well you know what that means."

"Emma Swan, you will not have my car towed again. It wasn't even funny the second time, let alone the fifth. Or, now, the sixth."

Emma snuggled into the soft, naked skin of the woman she loved and wrapped an arm sleepily over her bare stomach, tickling it with her finger tips. "We have to honor our traditions. Your Merc being towed brought us together. So yeah, you'd better make alternative travel plans today. And I'll have to get busy in the kitchen whipping up my fab apology feast."

She leaned forward and nipped Regina's bare shoulder and began to nibble down her side, pausing to ask: "So you want sticky date again?"

Regina snorted. "How do you always manage to make that sound so dirty? Every anniversary, without fail."

"Yeah, yeah, you love it when I give you sticky date," Emma purred, infusing the two words with a ridiculous degree of innuendo. "So stop your bitching, Madam Mayor."

Regina rolled her eyes in the semi darkness. "I have no idea why I put up with you."

"Mm, yes you do." Emma's fingers slid past Regina's hip and then slid lower. "It'll come to you any second."

"You really are incorrigible, dear," Regina said, but her breath hitched and her hips bucked when Emma's fingers hit their target. "Oh god," Regina squeaked.

Emma grinned into Regina's shoulder. God how she loved it when Regina made that particular undignified sound. She heard breathing deepening under her and turned her nibbles and bites into sensuous licks as she headed for breasts that were begging for attention. Her fingers, meanwhile, began to swirl and dip, skidding into territory that usually rapidly undid her lover.

Sure enough, it took only three more thrusts, hearing one "Oh my God, don't stop, right there", and a sharp nipple suck for Regina to come with a surprised cry, her back snapping up in a perfect bow.

Regina sagged with a satisfied sigh against Emma.

"Well?" Emma asked softly as she scooped her gently into her arms. "Can I?"

"Yes Sheriff Swan, by all means," Regina drawled. "Today, yet again," she said with a long-suffering, exasperated sigh, "You may have my Mercedes towed. For old time's sake."

Emma grinned into the skin beneath her lips and gave her a loud, smacking kiss. "Thanks for putting up with me. And, hey, I really love you."

The other woman humphed, but then Emma distinctly heard a soft murmur against her neck. "There'd damned well better be some sticky date pudding in this for me."

Emma's body shook with laughter.

There was a tiny pause and then, even quieter, she heard mumbled: "Happy anniversary, Emma. I love you, too. Just try not to burn down the kitchen."