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Regina knew it was cowardly. On some level, she was probably breaking Emma’s trust. If not that, then at least cracking it. Emma had the naïve, childish expectation that this was the kind of thing Regina would share with her, simply for comfort and closure and pretty words like that. She would imagine that if this had happened, and Regina were to tell her about it, that it would happen face to face. There would be tears brimming in her eyes and Emma would hug her and she’d say all the things Regina tried to tell herself, but never believed in.

But just for a moment—just a moment—she’d look at Regina. She’d see her as a slut. And Regina was so goddamn afraid of that. That look Mother had given her. That lacking look.

So she treated it like just another business transaction. That was what they’d agreed on, right? That they would have their business dealings as Mistress Emma and Ms. Mills, and then they would have their familial dealings, their friendship, their life. So, quite simply, Regina drafted an e-mail, spell-checked it, gave it a few minutes to marinate while she attended to another project, gave it another look-over with fresh eyes when she had a minute, deleted a mortifying grammar error, and sent it. It was as easy as specifying what kind of paint she’d want a contractor to use. That was the extent of this relationship. Regina owed her dominatrix nothing.

Emma, however, had her phone number.

Regina answered, almost hoping this were an emergency. “If this isn’t urgent, I certainly hope you at least considered calling me through the receptionist. That’s what she’s overpaid for, after all.”

Emma was in no mood for games. “Where is he?”

“Why?”

“Because I’m going to kill him, Regina. I’m going to fucking kill him.”

The thing was, it was easy for Regina to slip into almost not caring about the intent behind the words. Just hear Emma’s voice, the concern in it, the steel, and respond to that. Tease her, like she always teased her. Deflect, like she always deflected. The more emotional Emma got, the less emotional Regina had to be. “As your attorney, might I advise you both not to kill anyone and not to plan to kill anyone on a cell phone?”

“If the NSA is listening in, then they probably got the same e-mail I did. They won’t blame me. Where’s Gold?”

Regina’s air pitched as it came in her lungs. Like it was thicker than usual. “He’s in an assisted living facility, the cheapest one I can find, where he lies in bed all day, eating through a tube and shitting in a bag. Can you do worse to him than that?”

Emma’s rage did not go away that easily. “I can try.”

“Emma…”

“Is he eating through a tube and shitting in a bad with fingernails? What if he didn’t have fingernails? That would be a downgrade…”

“Emma! I’ve spent a long time…” The air just wouldn’t come. Regina put aside the phone, just trying to… trying to let it in.

Emma’s tiny voice made its way out of the phone, miles away, a little syringe of cure injected into a poisonous atmosphere, a tightening room. “Regina, I’m sorry, you’re right, I’m sorry.”

All Regina had to do, could do, was respond to that voice. She forced her voice out in the direction of the phone. “I’ve been trying to be over hating him…”

“I know you have, Regina, I know what it’s like. You’ve been making yourself strong and you are strong, baby, just breathe, okay, breathe.”

How did she know something was wrong? Did she hear something in Regina’s voice? Or did she just feel it? Nonetheless, Regina let herself be led. Inhaling, exhaling. Emma kept telling her what to do.

From outside her office, someone might see Regina sitting unnaturally still, her eyes unfocused, and just assume they had caught her in an awkward moment. It would take stepping inside the room to feel the temperature drop, the psychic maelstrom of being in Regina’s presence.

It lowered and abated and Regina cursed herself. Putting it down on paper, telling Emma what she’d wanted—she’d built a bomb and left it for Emma to unknowingly set off. Her fault. Stupid of her. Just like Mother always said. Telling people just made it worse. Amazing Emma’d even believed her, a liar, a slut—

“Do you need me to come get you?” Emma asked, Emma, still thinking about her, hadn’t she forgotten yet, left yet—

“No,” Regina said, but whatever Emma heard, felt—whatever she responded to—it was still there.

“Alright then, lunch. I’ll be there, I’ll pick you up, and we can get lunch. How’s that sound?”

“I… I’m not hungry.”

“Drinks, then. You can’t tell me you’re the only partner who’s had a liquid lunch now and then.”

“A… martini. Someplace I can get a good martini.”

“Absolutely. Just go to the elevator, come downstairs, and I’ll be there. Can you manage that?”

Regina laughed despite herself. “Even with the way you drive, I think it’ll take longer to get here than that.”

“I’m already in the car. Regina, it’s been twenty minutes.”

Regina looked at her phone’s clock, the time of the call—edging toward half an hour. She’d been there half an hour, and now Emma was in a panic, not liking the sudden silence. Regina put the phone back to her ear.

“Regina, go to the elevator,” Emma said stridently. “Don’t stop, just go now.”

“Yes,” Regina said. “Okay.”

As she walked out of her office, her legs finding their familiar stride, her face finding its familiar mask, she didn’t feel safe. But she felt herself. That was enough for now.