A/N: A prologue to what will be a further two chapters. Thanks to the guest word prompt for the main premise of this fic. Also thanks to the other guest word prompt which will comprise the second chapter... This is the only suggestion I have ever received that has made me blush, so well done, you sly fox, you. Challenge accepted.
This fic kind of acts as a mirror to my story 'Paint' as I have used the same setting and time frame, and it does not involve the storyline of Cora and Hook coming to Storybrooke. It does not follow on from Paint or require having read that fic to follow this one. Hope you enjoy, and please review!
Prologue:
"You want a copy of the keys..."
The dwarf asks as he glowers distrustfully up at the brunette and rubs at his scruff as though mulling the idea over. Regina sighs, doing her best to keep her anger in check, but clinging on to the reigns of polite conversation with a precariously shaky grip.
"Yes. Not for my personal use, but because I'm the Mayor. It's public property, therefore there needs to be a copy in case anything happens to the current set. Trust me, I have about as much inclination to go down into the mines as I do to stick my head in an oven."
"Trust you?! You think-"
"-I think you need to work on your attitude; it's despicable. I didn't come here to argue, and it wasn't a request. You will give me the keys.
"Can't."
"Just what do you mean, you-"
"- I don't have them."
"Well then where are they?!"
"The Sheriff has them."
Great. Figures.
"Miss Swan took the keys?"
"What I just said, didn't I?"
"You did."
The Queen sniffs, turning away without bidding Leroy farewell and marching back to her car. Her mood has plummeted during the last five minutes spent negotiating with the insufferably grouchy dwarf, and finding out she's going to have to pay the Sheriff a visit is just the cherry on top of a cake she doesn't wish to eat.
Why her? Why Emma?
She has done her best over the past couple of weeks to give the younger woman as wide a berth as possible; only stopping by the Station when absolutely necessary.
Her reason for doing so has changed somewhat since Emma had first taken up the position of Sheriff, no longer viewing the younger woman with the same hatred as she once had- not after all that has come to pass between them- but having found herself increasingly unfomfortable around the blonde since suffering though the celebratory dinner at Granny's.
And, for once, I can't blame it entirely on the Sheriff herself.
No, to give the blonde credit, she has surprised the Mayor somewhat with her willingness to compromise and discuss alternatives when it comes to the uncomfortable subject of Henry; agreeing in the end that the boy would remain living with the Mayor, but that she would be allowed to see him whenever she or Henry wished, within reason. It had taken a great deal of effort on the brunette's part- a great many deep breaths and pounding headaches- to get to this point with the Swan woman, and there have been several caustic exchanges of opinions since, but in the end, Emma had been true to her claim she was simply looking for changes for the better in the darker woman, and she has so far kept herself to herself and sent Henry home in time for dinner unless otherwise arranged.
The Mayor supposes such cooperation only adds insult to injury, for it is not a case of disliking Emma that has left her wishing to spend as little time in the younger woman's company as possible. Quite the opposite.
It all started when, about three weeks ago now, the weather became warm- unseasonably warm- and Storybrooke has been sweltering away in the limbo of Indian Summer ever since. She herself has adapted her wardrobe accordinging; donning thin sleeveless blouses and light linen dress pants to combat the heat, and, one evening, even resorting to wearing just her camisole when sitting out by her apple tree in the setting sun.
Alterations to the blonde's wardrobe however, have been a little more extreme.
The majority of the time the two of them cross paths, at least one of them is on the clock, and so, when the heatwave had started, this had simply meant rolling her eyes upon finding the town's Sheriff strolling merrily around in the thin cotton tank tops she had shown such a fondness for before falling into the role of deputy and dressing a little smarter.
A little smarter.
Not entirely appropriate, although understandable due to temperatures well into the nineties, but Regina muses that one would only need to find themselves walking in the wake of the Sheriff to witness several heads turning to take a second glance at enviably toned arms and the bare, delicate skin at her sternum promising so much more beneath the cheap cotton cutting off the prize.
It's simply distracting.
This had been bothersome enough, but when Emma had shown up on her doorstep two weeks ago with Henry in tow- not a frequent occurrence, but not unheard of if the two have been out in the woods, as the mansion is on her way home- Regina had opened the door to find the younger woman offering her an awkward smile and a thrumming headache that had refused to lessen for a good while after.
Tight gray t-shirt skimming just below her navel to show a flash of taut, pale flesh.
Denim shorts cut high and showcasing what had seemed like a ridiculous amount of lightly tanned skin.
The Sheriff had greeted her courteously enough, offering the uncomfortable little shrug the Mayor has grown accustomed to-the one that seems to say 'yeah, I know this is awkward, but what can we do?'- and trying her best to supply a little small talk as Henry had gone about tugging off his sneakers.
What it was the younger woman had said, Regina has no clue.
Her attention had been focused elsewhere.
She's almost thirty for crying out loud! What business does she have strutting around dressed as though she were half that age?
A great deal of business, the brunette would begrudgingly decide later when musing upon her absurd reaction to witnessing the blonde in such a state. A great deal of business indeed.
Thinking of the Sheriff as being attractive is not exactly a new occurrence; her contempt for the younger woman never serving to poison her against appreciating something pretty. Recently though, the frequency with which her thoughts have been returning to the blonde- and the peculiar timing of such thoughts- has entered rather new territory indeed.
In the shower.
In bed.
Sipping at a small glass of apple cider out on the small loveseat suspended over her back patio.
She recognises such musings for what they are, but that doesn't mean she has to accept them. As such, she has simply kept her distance, hoping this most peculiar fancy will pass, and with it the insanity of the situation.
"You can't avoid her forever."
She mutters, cruising main street lazily, the thankful blast of her Mercedes' air con sending tiny strands of hair streaming away from her face. This is unfortunately true. As the Mayor- and not to mention Henry's mother- she is somewhat required to spend time with the Sheriff.
Sighing, she supposes she could always drop by the Station in the morning, but this means conversing with not just Emma, but with either of the other two idiots also who seem deluded under the impression that Emma requires a crime fighting entourage.
I can barely stand the woman, and I have a better idea as to her true feelings on that little situation than they do.
The smirk this thought garners is short lived, and she rolls her eyes as she makes a neat three-point turn in the quiet street and changes course for the direction of the blonde's new apartment.
The lesser of two evils.
When she reaches the top of the stairs leading to Emma's third floor apartment, she takes a second to glare at the useless doors to the out of order elevator vehemently.
Of course she would pick a building falling to pieces.
Stalking over to the neat white door of the Sheriff's apartment, she raises her fist to rap at lacquered wood, but even before she does so, she realises it stands slightly ajar. Frowning, she knocks anyway; the flimsy thing swaying slightly with her movements. Receiving no answer, she pushes it open tentatively and peers inside.
"Miss Swan?"
Opening the door a little more, she takes a step back in surprise; the heat emanating from the reasonably sized one bedroom flat overwhelming.
"Christ!"
Gathering herself, she enters the nihilistically bare living room and stands with her hands on her hips, surveying a mass of illegibly labeled boxes and cheap leather strewn haphazardly amongst them. Sniffing disdainfully, she rolls her eyes when she notes a couple of bottles and tumblers sitting forlorn on otherwise pitifully empty shelves, next to a tin of coffee beans and a black mug depicting a hulking man who appears to have blades growing from his knuckles.
No air conditioning, but a stocked bar. I see you have your priorities just as askew as ever, dear.
"Emma?"
She raises her voice, the blonde's name still feeling strange on her tongue. Too amiable.
Too intimate.
Frowning, she moves towards the bedroom; a little unsure about whether or not such an act is acceptable- not something she would usually fret over, but the last thing she needs is a full blown argument with the Sheriff, especially as the woman's damn apartment is too hot to even think straight- and peeks round the door.
Eyes falling momentarily to a laundry hamper (a rather grand term for a cardboard box, she must say) directly beside the door- she looks away swiftly when she realises that her attention lingers a little too long on a wisp of turquoise lace; it's colour one she imagines compliments pale flesh pleasantly.
Scolding herself and sanitising her thoughts, she glances farther into the room and spots something she is surprised hadn't caught her attention straight away.
Steps.
A ladder to be precise.
Moving a little closer towards it- a quick assessment deeming the dusty metal to seem very rickety indeed- she tries once more, fanning her hand beside her face irritably.
"Sheriff!"
A curious pattern of light thuds broken up by a hissed expletive and an audible thump, and she finds herself looking up into a dust streaked face as the younger woman peeks down at her in surprise.
"Regina!... What do you want?"