Oh, God.
Oh, God.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fucking fuck.
Oh, God.
Emma's brain stumbled and flopped uselessly against the inner walls of her skull as the vulgar mantra repeated itself over, and over, and over again.
Because–
Because, oh god.
Regina was dark and beautiful and graceful, and practically bleeding sensuality from her pores, and Emma wanted.
Emma wanted to wreck her. Emma wanted to smudge the apple red lipstick right off her mouth and track it down her collar, only to cover it with a bright, domineering bruise forged from the line of her own teeth. Emma wanted to ruck up the skirt of that sinfully obscene black dress and just take her – take her anywhere; everywhere; all over goddamn town.
Emma wanted Regina Mills like nothing in her life before that moment, and… fuck, fuck, fucking fuck.
It wasn't even just the dress, either – despite the role it played in the obvious destruction of Emma's few remaining brain cells.
It was just… Regina.
And it wasn't like this was new for Emma, either; this strange, possessive claim that she knew she had no right to hold over Regina.
It wasn't the dress, or her sensuality, or the lipstick, or even those goddamn Prada heels that Emma could practically feel digging into the knots of her spine, so fierce and present were her fantasies.
It was just Regina.
It was the scar of Regina's upper lip and her endless devotion to Henry. It was the way she was able to slice through all that Emma was with a practiced smirk and a well (or ill) placed word that devastated each and every one of the defenses that Emma had spent her entire life building, brick by heavy, painful brick. It was the way Regina argued with her, dipping in and out of Emma's personal space like she'd received a fucking invitation to be there; to breathe Emma's air, and to steal it straight from the pit of Emma's lungs.
But, mostly, it was that glint of… understanding? Sympathy? It didn't matter; it was a glint of something in Regina's eye whenever something huge happened, and no one else noticed. Like when Emma returned from the Enchanted Forest, overwhelmed and desperate for solitude despite having been dropped into the arms of the family she'd always yearned for as a child. Or when in Neverland, and her parents gleefully whispered by the fire about the new baby they fully intended to begin working on the moment they returned to Storybrooke. Or when her parents decided that, actually, they quite liked the open floor arrangement of the loft, because it would be so wonderfully convenient to hear the baby cry out in the night, and to be able to keep an eye on him or her from the kitchen, so, actually, maybe Emma should begin looking for a new place, instead.
Regina looked at her with that special glint, then, and – for once, like she just knew that Emma couldn't take it; not then – Regina didn't say a word, except to ask Henry if he'd like to stay with her for a day or two.
They never discussed it, and she certainly had no proof, but Emma had a feeling (because of the fucking glint, okay?) that it was… a kindness from Regina; that Regina was offering to take Henry, not only to see him and spend some much-needed time rebuilding their relationship, but to spare Emma the hardship of masking her pain in their son's presence.
The damn dress didn't help a thing, but… it wasn't just the dress, despite that Emma couldn't take her freaking eyes off the smooth, olive-toned expanse of Regina's calf, or the curve of her hip, or the way her breasts strained against the fabric with the tops of two glorious globes peeking from beneath the material in a way that could probably have earned her several awards if she ever became interested in the business of pornography.
"Miss Swan?" Regina questioned, her right arm draped casually over Henry's shoulders, for no other reason than that Henry had yet to pull away. She offered Emma two bemused blinks before catching Emma's line of sight and following it back to her dress, and then she twisted her mouth into a worried frown. "Do I- Is this not acceptable attire for a date?"
And, God, she looked so anxious about it that Emma's heart tripped in her eagerness to reassure.
"No," she insisted, shaking her head vigorously. "I mean, you- you look…" Emma swallowed and shook her head again (this one more for her own benefit than for Reginia's) as she forced herself to reply appropriately. "You look great, Regina. Really," she insisted. "I just, ah – " Emma hesitated, flailing through her rebooting mind for an adequate excuse; she'd spent a really long time staring. "I've never seen that dress before. It's… You look really great," Emma repeated, feeling foolish and shifting her weight to shuffle against her feet.
"I told you," Henry huffed, aggravation coloring his words as he glared up at Regina, crossing his arms in a way that shook Emma through her toes, because, God, he was just like her, sometimes. "She's been like this for an hour," Henry told Emma with a pointed glance. "I don't even know why she's worried. She's a queen, and Robin Hood is poor."
"Henry!" They chided in unison, the admonishment falling sharply from the backs of each mother's throat.
Emma sighed, and motioned her hand for Regina to issue the suitable lecture, because, okay, she definitely didn't want her kid traipsing around and acting like a classist jerk (Emma's been on the poorer end of the social ladder for much of her life, thank you very much), but… she wasn't exactly feeling the warm and fuzzies for Robin of Loxley at that moment, and she didn't feel particularly open to the idea of defending him.
"You are a prince, from both sides of your family, Henry Mills; royalty ought to respect all of their constituents – not only the more fortunate ones. Do you understand?" Regina began sharply, but finished softly with two gentle fingers lifting Henry's chin.
"I didn't mean it like that," Henry mumbled, scuffing his shoe sheepishly against the floor. "I just meant that you don't need to be nervous. He's the thief," Henry scowled with renewed vigor. "He should be impressing you."
Emma was beginning to catch a tone in Henry's voice, and with that glower on his face, she was pretty sure that Henry was harboring some potentially ill feelings about Robin Hood, too.
She'd deliberately avoided speaking about the man with Henry, because with the fledgling relationship between he and Regina, Emma certainly wasn't about to be the one to fill Henry with her own brewing hatred for Robin. The pure envy she felt didn't help things, either. But those were her own demons to bear, and she wasn't going to load them onto her son and give him any ideas about what he should be feeling. That would make things even more difficult for Regina.
Regina, Emma was positive, had enough hang-ups about seeing the man with her own history haunting her; she didn't need the added pressure of forcing her… date? Boyfriend? Lover? Whatever. It didn't matter, Emma sighed to herself. The point was that Regina didn't need the pressure of forcing Robin and Henry into male-bonding so that the kid loosened up about him. Dating someone new after thirty-plus years of solitude (but for a zombie-esque, Irish accented sheriff, Emma supposed) was stressful enough.
Maybe she would have to talk to Henry, before he could ruin this for Regina.
God, she did not look forward to that discussion.
"Perhaps he should impress me," Regina smirked playfully. "But there's no harm in reminding him what he has to live up to, is there?" She raised a brow.
Henry grinned abruptly and shook his head. "Nice, Mom!" He congratulated, offering his hand for a high-five.
Despite her feelings about Robin, Henry's clear protectiveness over Regina made her feel proud to call him her son. And, damn it, Henry was right, and so was Regina; if Robin failed to see that he was practically courting a goddess tonight, and that he ought to be at the very best of his game, the man wasn't worth the trouble, anyway. He'd better impress her, Emma thought with a scowl.
She deserves it, her brain offered feebly.
Regina somewhat awkwardly returned Henry's gesture with a slap of her own palm against his, and Emma barked out a laugh, unbidden, which she quickly covered with four fingers pressed against the lines of her mouth.
"Something you'd like to say, Miss Swan?" Regina arched her brow imperiously.
"Nope," Emma shook her head instantly.
No way was she about to tell Regina how undignified and uncomfortable and utterly adorable it was to watch her high-five their son in that dress and those heels with that proud-of-herself-for-earning-such-affection grin on her face.
"Really?" Regina scoffed teasingly, winking down at Henry. "Because it sounded as though you'd found something awfully amusing," she paused, before leaning inward, and practically, dangerously purring out, "Emma."
Emma struggled for a moment not to choke on her own breaths, but shook her head again, lightly shoving at Regina's shoulder (partly to get the former mayor the hell out of her space – because Emma needed that, damn it – but mostly, and involuntarily, as a show of her own brand of affection). "I said no, woman, geez. Don't you have a date to get to?"
Emma almost cringed at bringing it back up, especially then, with their now lighthearted banter beginning to blossom up again, but she needed to remind herself that Regina was not hers, and she couldn't keep the woman lingering on the porch steps of her new townhouse just to catch a few more moments with her.
It wasn't her place to do that, anymore, and honestly (probably) never had been. They'd built a routine this way, after Neverland; a custody arrangement with Henry, a détente between each of them, and – though it had certainly taken time and arguments and a lot more time and arguments – they'd settled, somewhere, into… friends? Or something, Emma guessed. They teased and laughed and shared a glass of wine or two while Henry worked on a project at the mansion, or Emma invited Regina over for dinner.
And Emma (stupidly, she reminded herself fiercely) began to… care about her. And not just as an important maternal figure in Henry's life. Emma began to care about Regina. She cared about the way she took her coffee, and the crossword she insisted on completing every Sunday morning. She cared about the chicken salad sandwich she had every day for lunch, unless it was raining, in which case Emma cared enough to bring her the tomato soup she loved so much from Granny's when Regina got too held up at the office to concern herself with such a little thing like her appetite.
Emma just cared about her. And now, well. Now it was well and truly fucking. her. over. Because Regina was now someone else's to care about that way; someone (fucking Robin Hood, that damn thief) had stolen it from Emma before she'd really even gotten to have it, and Emma was bitter, and sad, and Regina probably needed to go see him before Emma forgot, again, that Regina wasn't hers to care about as anything more than maybe a friend, if even that.
Regina's relaxed, easy expression tightened as her back straightened, and, for a moment, Emma thought she detected something like curiosity flaring to life beneath those molten chocolate orbs – but it was gone before Emma really had a chance to evaluate it, so she shook her head again and offered an encouraging smile.
"Of course," Regina nodded. "Yes, I should get going. Goodbye, Henry; I'll see you in the morning. Nine o'clock, alright? We'll have breakfast at Granny's, then head to the stables?"
Henry rolled his eyes, but nodded. "Yes, Mom. I know. Bye. Have fun, I guess," he offered, with a scrunched up nose and a small smile. "You really do look good," the boy added, before ducking under Emma's arm, still stretched open and propped against the door, scampering up the small flight of steps to dump his backpack in his room.
It wasn't 'I love you,' which Emma supposed Regina no longer expected, and there was no hug, either, but there was clear affection in Henry's farewell to his mother, and even reassurance for a date that Henry clearly wasn't thrilled about. It was definitely progress from his bratty, defiant ways of saying 'I hate you' while avoiding the words to therefore avoid punishment from Emma.
Emma had cracked down on him over that pretty hard after Neverland, and Henry had been furious for weeks about the somewhat-civil accord that she and Regina had reached about sharing equal time with him, but things had definitely improved. It had taken many family board games (often ending in upturned boards and either a pouting Henry, or a pouting Emma, after a reflexive harsh snap or two from Regina's end), and it had also taken dinners, and Emma slyly pretending not to notice the small bribes like ice cream and comic books and video games that Regina used to bargain for Henry's affection.
Perhaps it wasn't the healthiest way of rising from the ashes, but Henry was just a kid – and a good one at that – and Regina paid enough attention to know that those were Henry's favorite things, and Emma was pretty sure that was what had won Henry over more than Regina actually buying those things for him, so she said nothing and allowed it to continue.
"Alright," Regina took a deep breath, as though preparing herself for something, then nodded. "Henry still has a math worksheet left to finish. He'll probably tell you that he has all weekend to complete it, but the condition for our trip to the stables was that he have it finished beforehand, so be sure that – "
"We'll get it done, Regina," Emma tendered a small smile. "Don't worry about us. We're gonna have mac and cheese for dinner, and I already have the alarm set for eight to make sure he's up and ready for you tomorrow morning."
"Thank you," Regina puffed out, relieved. "And… thank you for taking him tonight, Miss– Emma," she amended, with a small upturn at the corner of her mouth. "I know it's not your week with him, and I really appreciate this, particularly at the last minute. I didn't have much time to prepare, and – "
"It's fine," Emma insisted. "Kid can come over whenever you want. Like I said, don't worry about us. Just…" Emma sighed softly. "Just have a good time, and we'll see you in the morning, I guess."
"Emma," Regina began, but ducked her eyes to the floor for a moment, and seemed to struggle with whatever else she'd planned to say, before settling with a slight stammer, "are you- alright?"
"What?" Emma blinked rapidly, before carefully rearranging her face with a pretty convincing smile, and nodding. "Yeah, of course. Go, Regina. Me and Henry will be fine."
"Henry and I," Regina corrected habitually.
"Whatever," Emma snorted. "We're good, Regina. Seriously."
Regina nodded, sweeping her eyes intently across Emma's face, and Emma called upon every damn muscle in her body with a plea not to fidget beneath the brunette's curious evaluation.
"Alright. I'll see you both in the morning," Regina concluded, lifting her palm from where it had folded across the small, black clutch at her tummy for a tiny wave before she turned to unlock the Benz.
"Bye," Emma whispered, leaning her temple against the frame of the wooden door and helplessly watching the woman she was damn near (if not already) in love with peel out of her driveway for a date that was decidedly not with her.
Fuck, fuck, fucking fuck.
Author's Note: This is my first OUAT fic, so if you have any comments, I'd be thrilled to know what you think! Criticism (if it's constructive) is welcome, too! I'll take what I can get. :P