The Secret's in the Telling: Of Mice and (Old) Men
Like all mysteries, it begins with a crime.
A theft.
A number of thefts, in fact. But unlike your classic acts of larceny, these ones boggle the mind. Objects disappearing in the night and then reappearing days after, making people wonder and second guess if it was all just in their heads.
A lot of questions with no answers. Too many doubts and what-ifs.
One thing's for certain, however; this is a mystery that can only be solved by an idiot. And perhaps her queen. And maybe with a little help from magic, deputies, and one reformed teen.
Weeks of peace and quiet have once again been breached. Welcome to not-so-sleepy Storybrooke; home to colorful characters, mysteries, and apparently, thieves.
Soon, Emma thinks.
Or at least, that's what she hopes.
Above her, Regina starts to writhe; always a good sign. Emma smiles against the moaning woman's lips. Emboldened, she works her tongue harder and picks up the pace of her fingers, beads of sweat rolling down her clammy, flushed face.
Three minutes in, and despite her increased efforts, it still doesn't happen.
Emma stifles the urge to groan.
Please, her aching jaw begs.
Yes… now, her cramping fingers agree.
Seconds turn into minutes, and a couple of minutes turns into several more. Eventually, however, her majesty finally surrenders and gives way. Somewhere during alternating between broad swipes and quick flicks, curling fingers and incessant pumping, the woman above her finally lifts her hips with a gasp and traps Emma's head between a pair of toned legs, immaculately manicured fingers tangling around her blonde locks and grabbing tight.
It hurts a bit, she's not going to lie, but instead of that sharp pain, the relief that ripples all over her spent frame is the one that dominates her senses.
There, Emma exhales shakily, her eyes practically rolling to the back of her head as she slumps against her once-nemesis, and now full-time lover, when Regina's legs finally release her from their vicious trap.
It's done.
Wiping off the copious amounts of saliva around her mouth, on her chin, and even on her neck, Emma flexes her smarting jaw and winces when she hears it pop in place.
See, despite her reputation as an ice queen and her oftentimes difficult and closed-off personality, it's not very difficult to turn the formidable woman on. Getting Regina off, however? Well, that's a whole different ballgame.
"Jesus Christ… Regina…"
"Hm?"
"I... can't feel my tongue," Emma mumbles, her reddened cheek pressed against the warmth of Regina's navel. Her right hand twitches for a second and then, naturally, cramps up. "Or my fingers."
Fresh from her orgasm and perhaps still riding her high, a satiated Regina merely offers a soft grunt in reply.
Emma sighs.
"Even your vagina's high maintenance."
Not unlike the moment she came, a now semi-conscious Regina rakes a hand through her tousled blonde locks and tugs on a handful of strands, and even though she likes to think it's meant to be a playful gesture, it hurts just enough that Emma has to hiss in a breath.
"Ouch. Offended, much? It's not like I lied, it's the truth."
"That's rich coming from the person who fell asleep on me after I spent the better part of the evening catering to her wishes and bringing her pleasure - thrice."
"It was a long-ass day at work," Emma murmurs weakly, shifting and resting her chin on Regina's abdomen, meeting the brunette's uppity gaze. The various assortment of toys and flimsy fabric strewn about the queen-sized bed is a testament to the dark-haired woman's words. Regina, in all fairness, brought her A-game tonight. And Emma, well, she just brought in the Zzz's. "But, hey, at least I managed to wake up and give you this big one, right?"
"Be that as it may, pillow princess, you owe me two more."
Emma's brows slowly make their ascent to her forehead. "I thought we've never kept score?"
"Maybe you never did."
"And you did?"
"My dear, why do you think I've always insisted on making you work hard? As far as I'm concerned, repaying your debt will keep you busy in the foreseeable months."
"Months?"
"Weeks, if you refrain from dozing off before you can reciprocate."
"To be completely fair, work's been really kicking my ass lately - what with some of Gold's stuff vanishing and then cropping back in the station and all," Emma sighs in her defense. "Speaking of which, do you mind popping by the station tomorrow - say around two? I have something to show you," she continues. And then stops. And blinks. "Wait a sec... exactly how long have you been holding back and letting me, literally, work my tongue off?"
Regina shrugs noncommittally.
"Oh c'mon, really? My own deputies probably think I let you punch me on the face all the time from the way I'm always flexing my jaw at work. Heck, Mary Margaret even went as far as to tell me to go see a chiropractor and get my right hand checked out."
Naturally, her majesty has the audacity to smirk. "Why, Sheriff Swan, I thought you enjoyed a challenge?"
"I do, but…"
"But?"
There is always something about that arrogant, bored expression that's just perennially etched on Regina's smug mug that makes Emma's facial muscles twitch. And, also, sends that treacherous organ in her chest aflutter. And as such...
"Tch… okay, fine. I just do," Emma acquiesces rather easily, pressing a wet kiss on the brunette's velvety skin. "But I wouldn't call making you come a challenge, really."
"Then what would you call it?"
"My pleasure."
.
.
.
She tries, she really does, but Emma can't keep it together anymore and just lets out a rather unladylike snort, and for her part, Regina just rolls her eyes, fighting back a smile.
"That was-"
"Smooth?" Emma offers.
"Sad," her majesty manages a mild scoff. "I see you finally have an answer to Henry's question during dinner…"
"Yeah?"
"Yes, I believe we've found your dwarf name."
"What, Smoothy? Charmy? "
"My dear, try Corny."
"Hey, if we're aiming for accuracy here," Emma nips on a small patch of skin near Regina's bellybutton, and when the other woman gives a low grumble of displeasure, she proceeds to soothe the angry red mark she makes with her tongue. Looking up, she meets a pair of squinted brown eyes and grins devilishly. "Right now, it's more like Horny."
"Insatiable," Regina sighs.
"I wasn't the one who demanded one more orgasm," she counters.
"Well, I wouldn't have felt the need to 'demand' such a thing if somebody had only delivered in the first place. And it's two."
"Right. Of course."
The sheer curtain billows with the breeze. A shiver slithers down her spine, the chilly air dancing on her bare back and drawing out goosebumps on her heated flesh.
Stifling a yawn, Regina raises the hand that's still draped over Emma's head. With an idle flick of a wrist, the window slams itself shut, and like a deflating balloon, the curtain falls limply against the sill.
Taking in the sight, Emma lets out a low hum. Her head's not tingling; there's no electricity frying her pores. Regina didn't siphon magical energy out of her, that's for sure.
"A few months ago your magic would've turned that window into splinters," she notes, shifting slightly and slowly making her way up the raven-haired woman's naked body. "You're getting the hang of it."
"I still have a ways to go," Regina admits in a thoughtful tone of voice, flexing her fingers almost neurotically before Emma stills them by entwining them with her own. "But you're right, it's getting progressively easier to control it. It's merely a case of finding my center-"
"And by that you mean the part of me in you," Emma interjects playfully.
She gets promptly ignored, of course. "-and holding on to it. I have to stabilize my powers; I need to. I have to be strong enough to be able to perform complicated spells on my own when the need arises."
"But you don't have to do it alone, though. I'm here; it's been months since you-know-what, you can draw energy fr-"
"No."
"Regina, it's-"
"No," Regina grounds out. "We've had this conversation before, Emma. Never again. I won't risk it."
"What if the price to pay if we don't is too high?"
"Then it's a risk I am willing to take. Henry would never forgive me," Regina murmurs, those expressive pools of brown boring into hers in the moonlight. Pulling out of her grasp, Regina reaches out and traces the faint, almost-imperceptible scar near her clavicle - an act that even Emma, herself, absentmindedly does from time to time. Sometimes she swears she still feels the blade lodged in there. "I would never forgive myself."
Emma swallows thickly and then clears her throat, always awkward in the face of sentimentality. "Now who's Corny?"
Regina gives her a dry, reproachful look.
And just like that, the moment is gone.
Lying on her side, she rests her hand on Regina's stomach and slowly leans in to capture those pillowy lips that have given her immeasurable pleasure tonight - thrice.
Emma smiles into the kiss, and pretty soon, Regina relaxes enough for her to really get into the act.
It doesn't take long before she finds herself inching her hand down to that sweet spot between her queen's legs. Slowly, gently, she runs a finger along the neatly trimmed patch of short, dark hair and then, with Regina's guard still down, she goes in for the kill and pinches the sensitive nub on the woman's sex.
Regina's legs twitch involuntarily and Emma hears the softest of hisses coming from behind the woman's clenched teeth.
"You know, 'sensitive' isn't a word one would normally associate you with," she says with a straight face, a wicked little glint in her emerald green eyes.
"And the same can be said about you and subtlety," Regina throws right back. "If you're finally ready to go another round, my dear, you just have to say the word."
"Less teasing, more pleasing?"
The hand that pushes her head downwards just about says it all.
Settling in place, parting those slick folds, Emma licks her lips and digs in for more.
Who cares about numb tongues and aching fingers?
Round Number Two.
Here we go.
SQ - SQ - SQ
"What the heck's wrong with you?"
Emma's eyes snap up from the report she's perusing to the inquisitive face of the teenager by her desk. "Hm?"
Rufio, donning his usual tri-hawk but missing his signature red streaks, inclines his chin towards her right hand which - as is the case these past few days - has been glued to her face all morning, massaging her jaw. "Somebody sock you in the face?" he clarifies.
From out in the bullpen, Leroy clears his throat.
Rufio sighs. "Somebody sock you in the face, ma'am?"
"Nah, just ate something, uh, tough last night," she waves off, squirming in her cushy seat, her eyes quickly zeroing back to skimming yet another one of August's novel-length incident reports. "And drop the ma'am, kid; stick with Sheriff. Makes me feel less old."
"Yeah, good luck with that," he snorts. "Heard your birthday's coming up soon?"
"Don't remind me."
"Good luck with that, too," he adds with a smirk. Rather conspiratorially, Rufio leans in and says in a low voice, "I know you're not a fan of surprises so I'm giving you a head's up. Been hearing rumblings of your mom throwing a huge bash in your honor from some of the people working at Town Hall."
The groan that escapes her throat is something that just cannot be helped.
"What, not a fan of parties, either?"
"Oh, I like the food and the booze and the dancing, don't get me wrong. I just don't like, y'know, being the sole center of attention and all that jazz."
"You'll get a shit-ton of gifts," Rufio points out.
"Yeah, I guess that's true," she acknowledges with a worn breath. "But then there's only so much, I dunno, fawning a person like me can handle." Not that she's ever been excessively fawned over during any party of hers - hell, come to think of it, the only real birthday party she's had was when she turned seven; they had supermarket cake in the foster home, and by the end of the afternoon, it ended up on her and the other five kids and all over the kitchen walls, too.
"Then why not just slip out early or something. It's your party, you can eat-and-run if you want to."
"Maybe," Emma shrugs, though she doubts Mary Margaret would ever let her do such a thing; David, on the other hand, would maybe let her go - knowing him, he'll even help her escape if she asks nicely. "Anyway, what are you doing here? You need something, kid?"
"I just finished doing the inventory."
"And?"
"Nothing missing today from the evidence room."
"Good," Emma says and then, noticing the deep crease between his brows, continues on with a quiet: "and what about the evidence evidence room?"
"Yeah, about that..."
Here we go again, Emma leans back against her seat with a sigh, setting aside her report. "What's new?"
"I noticed a couple of things have been moved around since yesterday," Rufio shares, scratching the side of his neck. "Nothing big, just things kinda pushed off a few inches from where they were before. I wouldn't even have noticed if it weren't for the dust marks - or lack of 'em. See, sometimes it's a good thing that I slack off with the cleaning."
"Tell that to Leroy and his allergies."
Rufio chuckles, and then sobers up when somebody clears his throat - again. "Funny thing is, I think the new wards your girlfriend put on the doors and windows weren't even touched - and Ruby agrees with me."
"And the security footage?"
"Showed nothing out of the ordinary, as usual," he says, perching himself at the edge of her desk, reaching for her purple glass paperweight - the twin to the blue one in Regina's study. "Ya think August's right? Think it's a ghost?"
"That, or somebody knows how to tamper with our security cameras," she pinches the bridge of her nose. "Know any tech savvy people in this town?"
"Considering that up until the curse broke, most people here - myself included - had been using Windows 95, no."
"Fair point," Emma concedes, pursing her lips in a thoughtful manner.
"Anyway," Rufio says after a quiet moment, glancing at his wristwatch. "I think I better scram."
"Why? I thought you didn't have any community service scheduled today?"
"I don't, I just have to go and grab Deputy Fat Ass'-"
For the nth time, the sound of a throat being cleared cuts through the air.
"Got a frog caught in your throat, Leroy?" Emma queries.
"Nah, just a disrespectful little turd, Sheriff," the man replies, shooting his teenaged apprentice a sharp look over a copy of the Daily Mirror.
Rufio works his jaw and then lets out another long suffering sigh. "I'm gonna go grab Deputy Goldberg's lunch. Do you want anything from Granny's, ma'am?"
"Sheriff," she corrects.
"Yeah, that."
"I'm good, thanks," Emma says with a small smile.
"Alrighty then," Rufio jumps off her desk, and much to her horror, tosses the paperweight in the air. Thankfully, he catches it effortlessly with his other hand then slams it back on the table with a soft thud. And by habit, he turns to her and throws a casual, "See ya later, loser."
A blue, ratty stressball finds its way to the boy's head.
"I mean, Sheriff," he shoots a remorseless Leroy a vexed glare. On his way past the dwarf's desk towards the door, he tosses the ball back to the deputy with a grumble, stomping his sneakered feet.
"Keep your cool," a headset-wearing Jackson - whose memories have all about been restored at this point thanks to an old hook, Regina's magic and some kind of thingymajig from Rumplestiltskin's abandoned stash - tells his brother as the teen walks by the dispatch table. "Don't let him get to you."
"Remember, I want a double-double! Make sure Granny puts a lot of ketchup packets in the bag, too!" Leroy calls out to the departing teen.
.
.
.
"Grumps," Ruby sighs and drops her pen on the pest control form she's writing on, swiveling her chair to face her colleague as Rufio's heavy footsteps disappear down the hall. "Was that really necessary?"
Leroy tilts his head.
"We put him under your wing so you can teach him the ropes when he's not doing all that community service."
"Yeah," the dwarf shrugs, setting aside his newspaper. "And your point?"
"I really don't think making him go on coffee and burger runs count as teaching, do you?"
"'Course, I do."
"Yeah? And what is that supposed to teach him?"
"Accuracy."
Ruby and an eavesdropping Emma arch their eyebrows in unison.
"If he doesn't get a simple food order right, he ain't got the chops to be a police officer," Leroy says matter-of-fact, unapologetic as ever.
"Uh, with all due respect, you got Deputy Booth's coffee wrong the other day, sir," a bold Jackson oh-so helpfully points out.
"Woody likes his coffee the same way he likes everything else, complicated," the grumpy one fires back. "I don't think even he can get his damn coffee right."
Technically, that's true; even Emma can't disagree with that.
"Okay, but what about letting Rufio paint your house?" Ruby continues. "What the heck does that teach him?"
"Creativity."
"And polishing your shoes?"
"Cleanliness."
"He's your apprentice, Leroy," Emma's second-in-command reminds her co-deputy, an acerbic bite in her normally happy-go-lucky tone. "Not your slave."
"He's my bitch," Leroy deadpans, forever the stubborn jackass. "I'll train him any which way I damn please. And on that note... hey kid!" he barks into his walkie-talkie.
A few seconds later, the speaker crackles and Rufio's unamused voice sounds out with an exasperated, "Whaddya want?"
"..."
"Whaddya want, sir?" the teen corrects with a tired breath.
"Grab me a bottle of Coke, too."
"Leroy," Emma warns, finally jumping in.
"Fine. Just a can," the shameless bastard sighs.
The long suffering women of the Sheriff's Department - plus, Jackson - collectively roll their eyes.
"What?" an unrepentant Leroy shrugs. "Respect, responsibility and obedience. My methods might seem a bit out there, but that's what I'm teaching the grunt. So park that damn eyebrow down, Dispatch. You're just as bad as your damn brother - maybe you need a lesson, too."
Despite the lightning bolts snapping between the two men, Jackson's aforementioned eyebrow unhinges itself from his forehead. Resembling Rufio's tight, constipated expression to a tee, he goes back to answering the station's phones, possessing just enough restraint to let the matter go.
Ruby, on the other hand, is not one to back down that easily. So, throughout the next half hour, the woman squabbles with a pigheaded Leroy - alternating between exchanging barbs and launching full-on tirades - until Emma's throbbing head has just about had enough and she shushes the pair up with a clipped: "The next one to talk replaces August's shift and gets night duty for a month!"
That does the job. So marvelously, in fact, that her very mature deputies just spend the majority of the next hour giving each other the cold shoulder - and the occasional side-eye.
SQ ~ SQ ~ SQ
The peace that blankets the room is a welcome relief.
Although… be that as it may, several moments later, Emma inwardly acknowledges that silence isn't all that it's cracked up to be. It is actually as disconcerting as it is relaxing; probably because she's gotten used to hearing the endless tittering and bantering of her deputies at work.
It's only when the clock strikes half past one that the quiet is breached by the familiar - and somewhat comforting - sound of click-clacky footsteps echoing from the hallway. Her ears pick it up instantly and Emma doesn't think that anyone's all that surprised by how fast she gets herself up and off her chair.
"You're early," she breathes when she steps out of the stifling office, the door swinging shut behind her with a sharp click.
"You sound surprised," Regina notes, taking her sweet time bridging the distance between them, her hands tucked inside her sexy, designer trenchcoat.
"More relieved really," Emma smiles lopsidedly.
"Why so?"
"Long story," she waves a hand. "Just your typical office drama, no big deal."
When they're finally standing face-to-face, it's Regina who makes the first move and leans in for a soft kiss, her fingers seeking purchase on the hem of Emma's button-down shirt. It's interesting how easy it is now, kissing outside of their own home. It wasn't that long ago that they'd both recoil at the prospect of intimacy beyond the mansion walls. Holding hands has never been a problem - they've gotten used to it from months and months of Regina siphoning energy from her. But kissing, hugging and the like? That took some time. They might not be at her parents' level of ease when it comes to public displays of affection - and to be honest, she doesn't think they ever will be because they're just not the type - but they're getting at least a quarter way there, step by slow step.
"You have something to show me, Sheriff?" Regina murmurs, pulling back and gently swiping her lower lip with a thumb.
Emma blinks. "Yes," she clears her throat and straightens her spine. "This way please, ma'am."
"Ma'am?"
"The kid's rubbing off on me."
Regina wrinkles her forehead in question.
"It's nothing," she waves off again.
Guiding Regina by the wrist, Emma leads the way to the end of the sparsely lit corridor - earning a sly jab on Mary Margaret's budget constraints from the former mayor when some of the lights start to blink - before turning into the area with a restricted access sign hanging from the ceiling.
"I see your jaw still hurts."
As if touching a hot potato, Emma's right hand immediately falls to the wayside. "And whose fault might that be?"
"Yours and your inability to pleasure a woman effectively."
"Funny," she smirks. "Could've sworn it was yours and your inability to come without hurting me."
Regina stops them both with a look. "Was that an accusation, Miss Swan?"
"Observing is not accusing, your majesty."
"I'll keep that in mind the next time I share my observations of your many inadequacies in the bedroom."
"How does giving you three orgasms in one night make me inadequate?"
"You simply made us even, my dear," Regina reminds. "And it very well could've been four. Or more. Hence, inadequate."
"What, are you a nympho now?"
"Says the person who prefers sneaking into my bedroom every night instead of being an adult and just moving in."
"It's a big step," Emma hedges, stopping outside the evidence room and pulling out a keycard from her backpocket, pressing it against the sensor by the door.
"We live in the same house, Emma."
"It's a bigger step," she clarifies, shuddering lightly when she thinks she catches glimpse of a tiny brown tail disappearing inside a little hole on the adjacent wall. Forget doing the paperwork, she's going to tell Ruby later to skip the form and call the exterminators ASAP. "Besides, my junk can't all fit in your room."
"I believe I wasn't asking you to move your junk in - I neither have the space nor the stomach for it," Regina sticks her nose in the air, stepping inside the room while Emma holds the door open for her. "I was specifically talking about you moving into my bedroom."
"Wait-so, you're asking?"
"In a manner of speaking."
Emma makes a show of lifting her eyebrows, silently encouraging the raven-haired woman to continue on her statement.
"Yes," Regina finally wrenches out.
"You're asking me to move in with you?"
"...yes."
"Really?"
"..."
"Seriously? Me and you?"
The look of annoyance that flashes on her lover's features is a pretty nice indication that she's maybe sort of pushing it, so Emma finally drops the act and allows a brilliant smile to take over her lips. "Ah, see, that wasn't so hard now, was it?"
"What?"
"Oh, and the answer's yes."
Instead of the stoic mask of pretend-nonchalance that she's expecting to see, Regina's face just contorts into a confused-looking frown.
"Wait," Emma mirrors her frown, feeling self-conscious and a bit stupid all of a sudden. "Were you just pulling my leg?"
"That's it?" the other woman says in lieu of an answer.
"What do you mean?"
"I merely didn't think you'd surrender your independence that easily; I was expecting you to put up a fight," Regina says, no longer beating around the bush. "It's no secret how much you value your autonomy. You're the type to come and go as you please."
That's true, but… "It's pretty difficult to come and go when you've already laid down roots, dontcha think?"
It's a throwback to a day long past; a day when she was reminded of her tendency to cut and run by the woman standing right before her. And as such, Regina doesn't respond; she just inhales deeply through her nose and stares unseeingly at one of the cracks on the floor.
"Look, I stayed in Storybrooke. I stayed in the mansion despite your best attempts to drive me away early on," Emma says with a small fond smile, leaning back against the door until she closes it shut. "And in spite of how I may have been coming into your room every night, I don't sneak out of it in the morning."
At this, brown eyes finally lift to meet her own green ones.
"I stay, Regina," she stresses quietly, taking a step forward. "I stay even when you hog the covers. I stay even when you wake me up with your morning breath-"
Regina harrumphs.
"Heck, I even stay when you try to force me out of bed because of your compulsive need to start our day at the buttcrack of dawn. I stay."
The other woman moistens her lower lip before swallowing visibly. "I know," Regina says hoarsely.
"But you're right, though," Emma continues, stopping right in front of the other woman and resting her hand on Regina's hip, letting her thumb caress the smooth material of Regina's coat. "I do love being independent and all, and I really, really like my room in the basement. But... to be honest, I've been ready to take the next step for a long time now; I was just waiting for you to ask."
"Why?"
"Because it's a big step. Well, a bigger one. And I wanted you to be ready; I wanted you to want it, too."
This time around, she's the one who invades Regina's personal space and initiates the kiss. "Now," she pulls back a moment later, but not before leaning in for another quick peck. "Am I at least allowed to bring up a toothbrush?"
"Haven't you done that already?"
Emma shrugs. "Figured it'd only be polite to ask."
"Yes, four months after the fact," the brunette sasses.
She just smiles and grabs hold of Regina's wrist, tugging her gently into the other end of the cluttered room. There, another door's standing wait - and though seemingly inconspicuous, this one actually has more security features than the one they've entered previously.
Emma scans her keycard once more and then types in a five-digit code on the pad. It gives a couple of beeps before the red light turns green, and while she pulls down the door handle and steps in, she turns her head and says, "Rufio thinks somebody was in here again last night. Nothing's missing, though."
Regina lets her hand slide down against the door jamb. "My ward's untouched."
"He said that, too. And him and Rubes don't think the ones on the windows have been messed with, either."
"Nevertheless, I'll reinforce all of them, perhaps add another one."
Feeling the wall for the light switch, she flips it on with a finger and bathes the room in stark white light. It makes the space look almost clinical - which goes well with the almost chemical way this place reeks.
The room itself is no bigger than the evidence room adjacent it. They're structured identically, too - both rectangularly-shaped, 440-square foot spaces housing rows upon rows of shelving units.
It's what's on the shelving units, however, that set the two rooms apart.
While the evidence room contains such things as confiscated switchblades, various articles of clothing and even odd ones like a collection of garden gnomes, the room they're presently standing in holds objects that are infinitely more interesting and far less mundane.
They've come to call it the evidence evidence room. When in reality, it's more like the Rumplestiltskin House of Horrors. See, all of the things they've confiscated from Gold's abandoned house and pawnshop are stored here. From creepy porcelain dolls to vials of dragon blood, everything one can think of to decorate a haunted mansion or reanimate the dead, it's all in this place.
"Ruby and Rufio are still doing the more in-depth catalog of the junk. They've done shelves one through five, they have fifteen more to go."
"Remind them to handle that with utmost care," Regina points at an amber jar. "That's a gremlin head, don't get it wet."
"Duly noted," Emma nods, filing that info in her head. "Anyway, I asked you here today because I needed to show you something."
"Your cleaning person should be flogged, yes," her majesty swipes a finger against one of the shelves and makes a face.
"I know, but not that," Emma chuckles softly. "This iswhat I wanted to show you," she thumbs at the faded door behind her.
Turning the knob, she pushes at the scratched wood and bites back a wince at the unholy creak the hinges make. Still, she steps aside and motions inside with a flourish.
"What in the world is that?" Regina frowns, hands planted on her hips, eyeing the unvarnished desk pushed against the wall and the antiquated swivel chair right beside it.
"Surprise! It's your new office."
In the end, the only one getting surprised is her. Because it's remarkably surprising that her head's still attached to her neck at the pure indignation that statement elicits.
"My new what?!"
"...office?" Emma practically squeaks.
"That's a closet."
"It's not a closet anymore if it's refurbished," she reasons with a pathetic little grin.
It's kind of intimidating and also hilarious how the other woman looks when her nostrils flare.
"C'mon, Regina," Emma braves the storm and stands behind her unhappy girlfriend, holding the rigid brunette by the shoulders. "Look at it, and I mean really look at it. What do you see?"
"A closet," Regina curls her lip.
"Opportunity," Emma corrects. "A fresh start."
"I've been working as your consultant for a little over a year now, Sheriff," Regina reminds her in a tone no less biting. "I've had my fresh start."
"Well, this is a fresher one."
"This 'fresher' start smells a lot like mold."
"Nothing a little clean up won't fix," Emma gives Regina's shoulder a comforting squeeze. "We'll clean it up."
Regina lifts an eyebrow. "We?"
"I'll clean it up," she amends. "Look, I even got you a plaque," she tries, breaking out the puppy eyes, motioning at the platinum object on the table with Regina's name and title emblazoned on it.
The former mayor, however, remains unmoved. "What, is that supposed to make me feel better?"
"It looks nice…"
"Putting a red bow on a pile of garbage doesn't alter what it is."
"I know, but it makes it prettier."
The side-eye she gets is one of epic proportions. "What on earth even possessed you to think it's a good idea to put me in a closet - and not just any closet, mind you, but one that's in a room far removed from any other office in this depressing hole?"
"That's the thing, there's not a lot of foot traffic here," Emma says, letting her hands trail up and down Regina's arms. "And I know you. I know that you'd rather work alone than spend even five minutes listening to my deputies argue like children. You'll end up murdering them."
Regina doesn't even bother with a denial.
"Besides, what better place to put my Magical Consultant than in the magical room, itself?"
This time, she places a lingering kiss on that slender neck. And then another for good measure.
"We'll be working in the same building…" she says in a sing-song voice. "Doesn't that count for something, at least?"
"I still find it insulting that you find it acceptable to stuff me in a closet," Regina budges a fraction, softening up a bit despite the crease between her brows. "You really are your father's daughter."
The unladylike guffaw that suddenly escapes her lips is one that she doesn't even bother stopping. And despite what plans she might have to hold on to her displeasure, Regina looks away and actually cracks a small smile.
Wrapping her arms around her cranky lady, Emma rests her chin on Regina's shoulder and holds her flush against her body. "I'll fix it up, I promise. If I have to take down a wall to make it bigger, I'll do it," she murmurs. "Hey, I'll even put a window in so you'll have a nice view of the courtyard. I know it might not stack up much against your old office, but I swear we'll make it work."
"It's constricting."
"I know."
"And it smells."
"That, too."
"But I suppose it has its charm," Regina eventually gives way, if not reluctantly. "Just like somebody else I know."
Emma hums.
"So…" she begins after a moment.
"So?"
"It's a brand new office."
Regina scoffs.
"What do people do in brand new offices?"
"Work."
Butt, Emma rolls her eyes. "I know, and...?" she goads.
"I prefer to think of myself as a consummate professional, Sheriff. I don't mix work with pleasure," Regina says in a haughty tone, though that's kind of hypocritical coming from someone who brings her 'lunch' in the interrogation room from time to time. "What's more, it's tacky to have sexual relations in one's office."
"Well, this isn't my office."
"Apparently it's mine."
"So now it's your office? I thought it was a closet?"
"And you said it was refurbished," Regina counters, turning in her arms. "Well then, tell me. What is it really, Sheriff? An office or a closet?"
"Right now?" Emma smirks, tugging at the straps that hold Regina's trenchcoat closed and then pushing the woman into the room with a light shove. "It can be whatever the hell we need it to be."
Closet, it is.
SQ ~ SQ ~ SQ
There is something extremely discomfiting about walking alone in the dead of the night. Multiply that tenfold if one's walking through the woods. It's not just the symphony of sounds that nature and wildlife perform that make it haunting - it's the visuals; the streaks of moonlight filtering through the branches, the rustling of bushes as unseen animals scurry past, the shadows dancing in every direction. Oh, definitely the shadows.
Especially the ones that talk.
"Do you have it?"
Jacques Rouleau stops in his tracks, and his senses are so heightened that the sound of a twig snapping underneath his boot is like a whip cutting through the air.
He swallows hard, once, twice, and then clears his throat. Despite its seeming invisibility, he can tell just where the boundary is that separates this magical town from the rest of this non-magical world. There's a slight shimmer in the foreground, a palpable energy, that tells him just where he's not supposed to step past or risk losing all that he is - at least the 'him' before Storybrooke.
It's two feet away. And the disembodied voice that talks to him again lies beyond that.
"I said, do you have it?"
It's chilly out tonight, but that doesn't stop him from sweating bullets. "N-no," he croaks out. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry?"
He flinches and then braces himself, expecting some kind of force to come barrelling his way and sweep him off his feet. Nothing comes; he pops an eye open, and then another, and sighs in relief. "I'm s-sorry, I r-really am. We'll try again tomorrow."
"You told me you've found it."
"And t-that wasn't a lie, please believe me! We thought we'd found it, but it turned out to be something else."
"You imbecile," the voice hisses quietly, but it packs enough venom that the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. "I'd given you everything you needed. A description, a drawing, a photograph. What more do you require to do such a simple task? Another set of brains, perhaps?"
"N-no! No, p-please, don't," he begs, and it takes every ounce of bravery inside himself to keep from tucking his tail between his legs and scampering away. "I'll find it. I'll get it. I swear on my life."
"Good," he hears. "Because that's about the only thing you have left to gamble, Mr. Rouleau. Well, that and your cousin's life."
"We'll get it," he straightens his back, fronting an air of confidence that he does not have.
"See that you do," is all the answer he gets. "You have two days. After that, no more."
He finds himself left on his lonesome soon after.
An ashen Jacques releases a shuddery breath, swaying on his feet.
Yes, he hates the shadows.
SQ ~ SQ ~ SQ
"Hey, ma'am?"
"Ruby."
"Ruby," Rufio says from his spot on the floor, sitting with his legs crossed while a notebook rests on his lap. "I sorta have an idea."
"Mhmm?"
"But I need you to tell me if it's any good before I go to the Sheriff and make a fool of myself."
"Shoot," Ruby says, though she never actually looks his way. Standing on her tip-toes, face scrunched in concentration, the woman grunts softly as she pulls out a bulky ceramic pot from the shelf adjacent to his.
"I was just thinking…" he starts, idly doodling circles on the corner of his notebook. "Books and the internet have been helpful and all, but don't you think it'd be easier and smarter for us to actually bring in some kinda expert to help us identify all this shit?"
"Regina's officially moving into her office on Monday."
"I know, but I'm thinking of somebody else."
Occupied with the task at hand - unlike him, the eternal slacker - Ruby takes a moment to jot down the markings on the pot in her notebook before meeting his gaze and asking, "Who?"
"The old fart," Rufio says. "Paul's pretty sharp for someone with one foot in the grave. Don't tell him I said that," he quickly follows up. "And, y'know, he used to be some kind of big time scholar or nerd in his home world - or so he says."
To Ruby's credit, she actually appears to consider his idea instead of outright shooting it down like Leroy would've. Her lips pursed in thought, she lets out a soft hum and then nods. "Go to Emma with it, I'll back you up. Though I don't think she'll need that much convincing anyway; she'll give Paul clearance to this place for sure, she trusts him."
"So do I," he murmurs, and once again, while the tips of his ears are burning red, follows it up with: "But don't tell him I-"
"-said that," Ruby finishes with a smile. "I know."
"His head would swell," he says feebly, scratching at his neck. "Oh… need help with that?"
"Nah, I'm good," Ruby dismisses, and just like that freaky, superhuman grandmother of hers, she hefts the ginormous pot over her head and puts it back on the shelf without so much as breaking a sweat.
He 'rests' for five more minutes - okay, maybe ten - before he forces himself up to his feet and back to work again. Half an hour later, he's sketched and described roughly six to-be-identified objects in his notebook - about half of what his too-damn productive companion has accomplished in the same time.
Rufio sighs.
"How come you're so fast?" he asks with a whine.
"Twenty-eight years of waitressing during the lunch rush has to count for something," Ruby mumbles while doing a crude drawing of a golden lamp. And unlike Rufio - who takes his sweet time trying to make every illustration look like a frickin' masterpiece - she finishes hers in record time.
"Your drawings are better than mine, too," he says pathetically, glancing at his work and then at Ruby's. "I don't get it, how can you draw faster and better than me?"
"Maybe if you drew with your hand and not your big ass mouth, you'd actually get shit done."
Oh… great, Rufio exhales hard through his nostrils, just barely stopping himself from rolling his eyes.
"Checking up on your slave, Leroy?" Ruby snarks, keeping her back on her colleague as she reaches for the next object on her list.
"Not my fault the turd needs constant hand-holding."
Rufio bites the insides of his cheeks.
Forget alcohol, there's no bigger downer in this town than Deputy Douchebag right here.
"Anyway, didn't actually come all the way to this crummy, stinky hole for the grunt," Leroy wrinkles his face, scratching underneath his nose at the fine collection of dust bunnies in this room. "Came to tell you that the exterminators just arrived."
"Already?" Ruby turns to face the man, her forehead creased in puzzlement. "They're not scheduled to go here 'til next week. Why'd they come early?"
"Beats me," Leroy shrugs. "Maybe they give rat problems top priority."
Speaking of which… "I saw a brown one in the evidence room on my way in here today," Rufio pipes in, scratching the itchy part of his left cheek with the butt of his pen.
"I think I saw that little guy, too," she agrees.
"Yeah, so I dunno, Ru-ma'am," he rushes out, avoiding the dwarf's disapproving gaze. "The way I see it, who really cares if they're a few days too early? I say get rid of those damn buggers fast - before they make their ugly babies."
"For once the kid and I are on the same page," Leroy, of all people, says.
"I know, and I totally agree with you guys," Ruby places a monkey skull back and then tucks her notebook under her arm. "I was just confused because I wasn't expecting them until tomorrow, that's all."
"Well they're waiting in the bullpen," the dwarf says, arms crossed on his chest as he leans sideways against a shelf. "Do me a solid and deal with them yourself?"
"Why? I have work to do here - plus, I have to do my patrol in a couple of hours."
"The Sheriff's still at Town Hall. And trust me, sister, if I do the supervising I'll end up strangling Rouleau. That asshat still owes me money-"
"Yeah, you and the rest of the town," Ruby points out. "That guy's neck-deep in gambling debt."
"That's an understatement," Rufio snorts. He's lost track of the times he's seen the Beagle Brothers beat the living shit out of the poor bastard for missing one of his payments; Gold's thugs were as merciless as they were relentless. "I bet the only reason his company's still standing now is because the snake's not here to collect."
"Mhmm," she hums in agreement. "I don't think there's anybody left in town that that guy hasn't mooched off of - well, except maybe Regina."
"And probably your grandma," Rufio thinks.
"Actually, he owes Granny three grand."
"..."
"..."
"There was a time she got hooked on horse racing," Ruby clarifies upon seeing their faces. "But then the curse broke and some of the jockeys turned out to be shifters too, and then it just got too weird to watch."
"...okay," Rufio says after a long pause, and for his part, a poker-faced Leroy just grunts.
"Anyway," the stocky deputy speaks up after a moment, clearing his throat. "You gonna go tail the bastards today, Red?"
"Somebody has to finish this," the aforementioned woman motions behind her. "I have four, no, five more left to go on my list."
"Then let the kid do it."
"He has his own assigned shelf to worry about."
Rufio nods in silent agreement. Like hell he's gonna do five more than what he needs to do today; he still has to go to the damn library and do some research on the ones he has now.
"But... how about you take over for me here, and I go out and handle Rouleau and his guys?"
"No!" he shouts, the word barrelling out of his mouth like a bat out of hell.
Shit.
"I-I mean, you don't have to. Don't you have more important things to do, sir?"
"I do," Leroy confirms, his narrowed eyes practically igniting his hair on fire. Slowly, and with purpose, he reaches out and wraps his fat fingers around the notebook Ruby's offering, the man's gaze never leaving his beet red face. "But I'd be more than happy to take over here - since it's obviously something that you don't want."
Crap.
"So," the dwarf turns to his co-deputy. "Whadda I have to do? I just have to doodle crap, right?"
"Yeah… it's a little bit more complicated than that," Ruby clutches at the back of her neck. "It doesn't have to be perfect, but make sure your 'doodles' at least resemble the thing? List down any features that pop out if you can, too. Anything that'll help us identify it quicker."
"Sounds easy enough," Leroy gruffs out, flipping the pages until he gets to Ruby's last drawing. "Where do I start?"
"Second shelf," she inclines her head in its general direction. "Finished the top-most one already and the first two things on the second."
"Let's see here," the bearded bastard says, looking down at the page and then up at the shelf before reaching for one of the many glass vials in this room - the one with some weird bluish smoke swirling inside. "I guess this guy's ne-ack!"
It all happens so fast.
A brown blur zooms on the shelf, right past the vial in Leroy's hand, and as such, the 190-lbs wimp yanks his hand back and sends the object soaring.
As if in slow motion, Rufio and Ruby stand with their mouths agape and their eyes equally as wide, watching in horror as the vial spins in the air and lands on the concrete floor.
It breaks, of course. Right by Rufio's feet too.
"Oh fuck me," is all that he manages to say as smoke billows out of the shattered container and begins to envelop his hapless form, coiling around him like a boa constrictor.
It wraps around his legs… his torso… his neck... and then everything fades into black.
SQ ~ SQ ~ SQ
Emma thinks she may have jinxed the kid.
Actually, it's entirely plausible that she did. Thoughts become things!, Mary Margaret kept on repeating in today's city council meeting, and if her mother's drivel were in any way true, then yeah, Emma did jinx poor Rufio.
When she sat there, wishing, hoping, and even praying for something - anything - to happen to pull her out of that mind-numbing meeting filled with Councillor Worthington's endless complaints and Mary Margaret's consistent reminders to have faith and think positive, Emma never thought that something bad would crop up.
Least of all to the kid.
Leroy didn't say much, he just told her to hurry. And boy did she.
The hospital is dead when she barges right through its double doors. Save for the staff and maybe two people in the waiting area, the ER is almost bare.
With urgency propelling her, Emma makes it to the reception desk in just a few big strides, and right when she's about to demand information from the receptionist, a sound makes her stop mid-sentence and turn around. "Hey…" she says to the owner of those pretty-much distinguishable footsteps, sobering slightly at the sight. "What are you doing here?"
"I got an urgent phone call from Deputy Lucas," Regina stops before her. "I was told there was a magical emergency."
"Magical? I heard it was medical one."
"It's a bit of both," a haggard-looking Leroy walks up to them, running a hand down his face. "Sheriff. Mrs. Sheriff."
It's slightly better than him calling her 'you' - as he'd been accustomed to after the curse broke - but Regina still rolls her eyes.
"What the heck happened?" Emma asks.
"I swear, it's not my fault."
"Nobody's blaming you for anything. Tell me what happened."
"It was an accident," Leroy stresses once again, sounding just like Henry did when he broke one of Regina's decorative crystal bowls last week. It's not a good sign; guilt is not something she often associates with the shameless, often unapologetic man. "Long story short, there was a rat-"
Emma shudders.
"I got spooked. I tossed a vial. It went poof and the kid just…"
"Just...?"
The dwarf exhales through his mouth, looking worse for wear. "He just... you have to see it for yourself."
Emma and Regina share a look.
That doesn't sound ominous at all.
"Where's he?" she asks quietly.
"With Whale and his brother," Leroy mumbles, scratching at his beard. "Follow me."
SQ ~ SQ ~ SQ
It takes her brain a full minute to register what's lying right before her when Whale tugs open the curtain to the examining room.
"Well," is all that Regina says. And that pretty much sums it up.
"The bad news is," Whale begins with a sigh, tucking his hands inside the pockets of his white coat. "The magical smoke, or whatever it was, matured him by about seventy years."
Through her periphery, Emma sees the doctor's lips move, and her ears pick up a bit of what he just said, but to be completely honest, comprehension falls a bit short because she just can't seem to stop gawping at the kid.
Kid.
Ironic, all things considered; bald, scrawny and just plain wrinkly, Rufio looks twice as ancient as the loveable fossil they call Paul.
"The good news, well," Whale glances at the patient lying on the examining bed. "He's not dead."
"-yet," Jackson grits out, glaring daggers at Leroy as he holds his brother's bony hand.
"He's a stubborn bastard. I'm sure he'll pull through," Leroy says. He turns to Regina then, and, despite the tightness of his expression, there's something in his eyes and the way his lips are set that just screams fear. "That damn maturation spell will wear off, right? Right?"
"Maturation spell? He's practically senile!" the former pirate snaps, eyes flashing with murder. "Look at him, he's another wheeze short of a heart attack!"
Seemingly oblivious to the drama surrounding him, Rufio, although conscious, just lets his gaze flit from person to person inside the cramped space. Emma's not entirely sure he can even see them, given the size of the cataracts that practically eclipse his chocolate brown irises.
"This vial that you broke," Regina finally speaks up, all business-like, turning to her deputy while Jackson continues to fume by his brother. "What did it contain?"
"I dunno, some kind of weird, blue smoke."
"What shade of blue?"
"It was... blue," Leroy shrugs uselessly. "Just blue. What difference does it frickin' make?"
"Plenty. And that difference, quite literally, spells life and death, dwarf," Regina bites back, unamused, before turning to the rest. "As far as I can recall, there are two sources of maturation magic in the Enchanted Forest; they're both extracted from the lungs of nymphs - and they're both blue."
"And we can tell them apart from what shade they are," Emma puts two and two together.
"Precisely," Regina says, and the fleeting look she gives her way is almost proud. "Those from celestial nymphs are lighter in color and their effects are temporary - the opposite can be said about the ones from the water nymphs."
"Light, good. Dark, bad," Whale simplifies it.
"Sky blue and the boy might have a chance; royal blue and you might as well start planning his funeral. So, if I were you, Deputy, I'd think long and I'd think hard. What shade of blue?"
Mary Margaret's favorite dwarf swallows visibly, shifting in place.
"The lighter one," Leroy says after a moment, a deep crease between his brows. "D-Definitely the lighter one. Yeah."
"Are you sure?" Storybrooke's magical consultant presses.
"Yes. I think."
"That's not good enough. Confirm it with Ruby," Emma tells him. It never hurts to be sure. "Where the heck is she anyway?"
"At the station," Jackson supplies. "She stayed behind to hold down the fort and also keep an eye on the exterminators."
"About that," Leroy pipes in. "Red and I both agreed to let the pest people do their thing in the, uh... evidence evidence room first," he throws a wary glance at Whale. "That place is crawling with those damn buggers."
"Naturally," Regina says under her breath, giving her the side-eye. "Of course you had to stick me with the vermin."
"The exterminators are taking care of it now," Emma says just as quietly, giving the annoyed woman a soft caress on the small of her back in an effort to placate. "Leroy," she looks at the man. "Radio Ruby, please."
"Roger that," he says, unclipping his walkie-talkie from his belt. And even though he steps out of the curtained area, they can still overhear his booming voice from the other side of the cloth.
"If he's right and it's really the good kind of blue, when do you think the spell will wear off?" Jackson directs at Regina.
"In the old world, no more than a day or two. But…"
"Magic is different in this place," Emma finishes the thought, resting her hands on the side of the examining table where her not-so-young friend's resting.
"So there are no guarantees," Regina folds her arms on her chest. "It might be an hour, a day, a week, a month."
"A year," Whale adds.
Jackson lets out a groan and screws his eyes shut, rubbing his face with his lone hand. "Bloody hell, this is like Toll Bridge and that coma all over again, isn't it?"
"It might seem that way," the doctor gives him a small, consoling squeeze on the shoulder. "But at least he's conscious and his vitals are good."
"For how long, though? Look, I've been pinching his damn hand every other minute just to make sure he doesn't fall asleep. Old people have the tendency of not waking up."
"I'm sure the ancient crones in this town would find that reassuring," Regina mutters, facing away.
"And what if he suffers a heart attack? Or a stroke?"
"It's light blue," Leroy re-joins them.
"Then he's in the right place for things like that," Whale answers Jackson's question, and even though his words aren't exactly very professional sounding, Emma finds them strangely reassuring. "We'll keep him here and keep a close eye on him until the spell wears off."
"You can stay with him, too," Emma tells the troubled man. "I'll pull a temp from Town Hall to take over dispatch duties while Rufio's in here."
Jackson nods once, moistening his lower lip before biting it. "Thank you, Sheriff."
"Don't mention it. And you," she looks down at her once youthful friend, and it's only when she covers his hand with her own that his gaze finally stops flitting around the room to meet hers. "Be the tough little brat I know and kick that spell out of your body, alright? You can't be a Lost Boy when you look like their great, great, great grandpa."
Rufio looks at her blankly.
"You have to speak up," Whale advises, leaning in close. "He's a bit deaf in one ear."
Of course he is.
Emma sighs.
Yeah, she definitely jinxed the kid.
SQ ~ SQ ~ SQ
"-I'll keep you posted."
"Please do," Ruby replies. Exhaling a generous amount of air from her lungs, she clips her walkie-talkie on her belt. And even though she thinks the conversation is done, it seems her colleague has other ideas.
"By the way, tell Rouleau we're taking off the cash he owes me from his damn bill," Leroy's disembodied voice cuts through the room like thunder. "And that bastard better give us a discount while he's at it."
Shaking her head, Ruby resumes her previous position of leaning against the wall, her arms crossed. "Hear that, Jaq?"
"Crystal clear, Deputy Lucas," Jacques gives her a salute, kneeling by one of the sticky traps he's setting up along the edges of the room. "I can even throw in a free termite check if you want."
"I'm sure the Sheriff would like that," she smiles. "Oh! Careful not to hit that thing," she rushes out, catching Bruno, Rouleau's lone companion, almost elbowing a jar off a shelf. "That's liquified ogre brains, you really don't want that all over you."
The scruffy, droopy-eyed man couldn't have shuffled away from it any faster.
"Say, Ruby, you still seeing that fireman?"
"Maybe, who's asking?"
"You-know-who," Jacques chuckles, the sides of his eyes crinkling. "Gus can't seem to stop talking about you."
From the right side of the room, near shelf number thirteen, Ruby's sensitive hearing picks up a squeak.
"Gus?"
"Oh, you might know him as Billy."
"Ah," Ruby says, turning her head back in the man's direction. "That's interesting, considering that your cousin can only manage a simple 'hi' and 'hello' whenever we bump into each other."
"He's a shy kid."
"No kidding," she says, playing with the leather cuff on her wrist. "But, yes, I'm still seeing Joe."
"Ah, that's too bad," he says. "For poor, o'l Gus-Gus, of course."
The two men work in silence after that, setting up trap after trap and only stopping for an occasional, "What's this?" when Rouleau sees something that piques his interest. Though it's one of the more unremarkable pieces on shelf six that seems to fascinate him the most - judging from all the times Ruby catches him stealing glances at it.
"You thirsty, Jaq?"
"Hm?"
"That's not water, just so you know," she tells him, nodding at the hourglass-shaped vial that caught his fancy.
"Yeah? What is it?"
"No idea," Ruby shrugs, and that's the truth. "But trust me, it's not water."
Nothing in this room is ever what it seems.
"Good to know." He chuckles loudly then, even though it sounds a bit hollow.
She tilts her head, studying the unkempt man. There's something in his shifty demeanor that sets off warning bells in her head. Though, Ruby can't quite put a finger on it yet, so she just does the only thing she can do at this moment - she keeps a closer eye on him. Hey, for all she knows - and going by his track record - he might just be planning to swipe something off a shelf to use in paying off one of his many debts.
Jacques doesn't look at the vial anymore.
If you ask her, she thinks the guy is actively preventing himself from doing so - probably feeling her gaze boring a hole through his skull.
"So," Ruby fills the pregnant pause after several moments of silence. "You guys are just setting up sticky boards, huh? What about gas or poison?"
The lighting isn't good from where he's crouched, but she thinks she sees Jacques' expression darken at her question. Though, it might also just be her eyes playing tricks on her.
"That's inhumane," he says quietly, wiping his hands on his ratty overalls.
"Excuse me?"
"Nothing," the exterminator shakes his head, straightening up. "Poison, yes. It might be very effective, but as much as possible, we try to avoid using it. The cons outweigh the pros, in my humble opinion. If the rodents die within the walls or inside the heat vents, the stench would be a bitch to get rid of."
"That's true, I guess," Ruby acknowledges with a slight nod.
"Alright, I think I'm done," he declares some time later, after blanketing more than half of the room's edges with his glue boards. "Bruno, you set?"
"Just about, boss," the aforementioned guy grunts in reply.
"So, we'll do the adjacent room next as well as the main office," Jacques turns towards her, gathering up his supplies. "The rest of the station we'll do tomorrow, and we'll also check on the traps we've set up then. That sound good?"
Ruby nods.
The two men, for some reason, cover the plain evidence room in half the time it took for them to do the first one. Maybe it's the lack of interesting, magical distractions in the place, or more plausibly, they were just itching to go out for a smoke break - judging from the neurotic way they were sucking on the unlit cigarettes dangling between their lips.
"You really think sticky paper is enough to get rid of the rats?" Ruby asks when they step back inside the building ten minutes later, her satiated companions reeking like ashtrays.
"Yes, ma'am," Jacques smiles wide, the silver crown on his upper right tooth glinting in the sunlight streaming through the window. "I bet you, by this time tomorrow, your rodent problem will be no more."
She takes that statement at face value, but to be honest, in some odd, peculiar way, it feels like the first believable thing he's said all day.
SQ ~ SQ ~ SQ
It's Friday.
Which means Emma has no choice but to park her ass down in the living room after dinner, even though she wants nothing more than to crawl into bed after the day she's had. It doesn't matter that she spent the good chunk of the morning having her brain cells murdered at the council meeting, or most of the afternoon straining her vocal chords trying to talk to Rufio.
Friday nights are Family Movie Nights.
And Henry is a stickler for tradition.
At the end of the day, and despite her constant yawning, Emma doesn't really mind. The events of last year taught her to never take family time for granted. She only wishes that he had chosen a different movie, though.
Ratatouille is the cherry on top of a rat-filled day. Weeks, actually.
And it seems her mind and Regina's are on the same wavelength.
"Did you make sure that the exterminators were thorough? If I see even just a single hint of a tail on Monday, I will incinerate the whole room."
"And I'll probably pour the gas and hand you the match myself," Emma says. "Ruby said they basically covered every inch of the place with sticky boards. They'll be back tomorrow to finish the job."
"Always thought that was weird," Henry joins in the conversation, mumbling over a mouthful of popcorn.
"Hm? What was?"
"You know, that one of Cinderella's mice ended up killing rats here for a living," their child says in between the two of them, grabbing another fistful from the bowl on his lap.
"Wait, Jacques?"
"Yup."
"Huh," Emma acknowledges with a slight tilt of her head. "You're right, that's weird."
Wait.
She stops mid-chew.
That is weird.
"Regina?"
"Hm?"
"Rats," Emma clambers out of the blanket and hits the pause button on the remote.
"Hey!" Henry protests, sending bits of popcorn out of his mouth and down his shirt.
Ignoring her son's whining, she flicks on a lamp and turns in the sofa, facing a baffled Regina.
"Rats," Emma repeats one more time. "We started noticing them scampering around at roughly the same time that things started getting moved in the evidence evidence room. And speaking of that room, they're always in its general vicinity - if not in it, then the rooms beside it."
Regina straightens up, uncurling her legs from under herself and planting her feet on the floor. "They never show up in the camera feeds."
"Because we were always looking for people, not animals," Emma nods.
"That would explain how the perpetrators were able to bypass my wards. Traveling through walls would eliminate the need to use doors and even windows."
Henry, who's now past being annoyed at having his movie interrupted, just watches the two of them with interest and stuffs his face with more food.
"Did you know that that Jacques guy was a shifter?"
"No," Regina shakes her head.
"That's what I thought, I don't think even Ruby knew either," Emma rakes her fingers through her hair. "She would've said something if she did."
"It's not something that he would advertise, I'm sure."
"Why not?"
"It's part of my job description as Magical Consultant to be aware of Storybrooke's magical populace. And I have heard that rodents are one of the most underrepresented groups in the dual-natured community in this town," Regina shares in a thoughtful manner, wiping off the salt and butter on her fingers on a napkin. "There's a stigma attached to them, much like werewolves, but worse. They're widely considered to be at the very bottom rung in the hierarchy of the shifter world - no more better than worms and bugs."
"So, it's not 'in' to be vermin?" Henry concludes.
"You could say that, sweetheart," Regina smiles indulgently, brushing his hair away from his face.
"Okay, say if Rouleau and his friends are really the ones going through Gold's stuff, the question now is why?" Emma frowns, thinking out loud.
"Clearly, they're looking for something," her majesty states the obvious. "And the fact that they've been taking and then re-placing small objects back after a day or two only means that those inept fools have been unsuccessful in locating it."
True, but…
A good thief would scope the area first before making their move. They've been making a lot of blunders these past couple of weeks, that's true, but Jacques had all afternoon to study the room today.
Shit.
"Actually," Emma stands up, wipes her hand on her jeans and then offers it for the other woman to take. "Let's go."
"Why? Where to?"
"The station. I have a strong feeling that they might've already found it."
SQ ~ SQ ~ SQ
It's a testament to how far Regina has progressed in her control when she doesn't teleport the two of them into a wall.
They end up smack dab in Emma's office too, another welcome surprise.
Although Ruby wasn't kidding when she said that the place is booby-trapped beyond belief.
"Jesus Christ," Emma hisses under her breath, kicking her left foot back and forth in an effort to get rid of the paper that's stuck under her boot. "Were they trying to trap humans or mice?"
"Those with tiny brains. The traps don't discriminate, obviously."
"Funny," she says dryly. "It's not my fault that you teleported me right on top of it. Now, help get this off of me, please."
With a flick of a finger, the sticky paper disappears. Along with Emma's boot.
"Accident," is the only thing Regina says. And it's only when Emma persists to give her the 'are-you-kidding-me?' stare that the woman finally exhales, as if mildly put out, and magicks her footwear back in place.
"Thank you," Emma mutters.
"Don't mention it," Regina drawls.
The eye-roll that elicits is automatic. It just goes to show that no matter how much their relationship has evolved, their ability to get on each other's nerves remains as potent as can be.
"What now?" the maddening woman whispers, turning to her for direction.
"Here," Emma replies, inching around her desk and setting herself down on her chair with minimal noise as possible. One careful tap on the space bar and the CPU starts to whirr, her computer coming out of sleep mode.
"You don't power it down at the end of the day?" Regina asks, looking over her shoulder; the pure judgment and condescension in her voice reminiscent of a certain tight-ass Mayor. "No wonder your department's expenditures are through the roof."
"A single computer barely makes a dent on the electricity bill," she mumbles, typing in her password. "Besides, I wasn't the one who demanded four hundred fifty dollars worth of crystallized crap - now that hurt my budget."
"I didn't demand, I requested," Regina sniffs. "And you could've said no."
Technically, that's true, she did submit a requisition form - nine frickin' times until Emma finally caved in.
"And need I remind you that that crystallized 'crap' has been essential to keeping bad elements out of this town, Sheriff? How many creatures have stumbled into fissures since I began reinforcing the barrier separating the two worlds?"
"Three."
"One," Regina deadpans. "A creature with three heads is still one creature. We've been through this a hundred times."
"I know. Why'd you think I said three?"
Now it's Regina's turn to roll her eyes.
"Alright, let's see here…" Emma bites her lower lip, double-clicking the red-eye icon on the desktop with her mouse. In a matter of seconds, the screen fills up with several small windows, each showing a live-feed of the different rooms in the station.
Cameras seven and eight - the ones positioned at different vantage points in the evidence evidence room - are what she maximizes and puts side by side.
It really is a damn good thing that the department's security feed is accessible from her computer; saves them the trouble of going to the room right away and possibly alerting the would-be thieves about their presence.
"Do you see anything?" Emma asks, eyes narrowing, her nose virtually pressing against the monitor.
"Your head," Regina frowns. "Move."
"Please," she schools, pulling back and scooting a bit to the side. "Better?"
"It'll do," her demanding partner-in-crime says, their heads now side-by-side, cheeks brushing against each other.
And from there, several minutes of intense squinting occur. Followed, of course, by moments of hushed squabbling whenever someone - mostly Emma - would raise a false alarm. It's not really her fault that some of the bigger dust-bunnies look like mice; someone really needs to take a vacuum to that place before it turns into a full-on petting zoo.
Twenty long minutes in, they finally hit paydirt.
Emma spots movement first, but it's Regina who actually says 'there!' and jabs a finger onto the screen. Not just one, but three rodents had entered the frame. The biggest of the three leading the pack, they come out of a tiny hole in the wall and move into the room in a straight line. Regina and her both let out a quiet hum at the sight. Those critters are far too organized to be anything but shape-shifters; looks like they've finally found their thieves.
Emma opens her drawer and pulls out her spare gun, flipping the safety off with her thumb.
Without missing a beat, Regina grabs hold of her free hand.
The moment they touch and the other woman closes her eyes, the air starts to crackle with magic and their bodies begin to thrum.
And then the room shifts, and in a blink, they're gone.
SQ ~ SQ ~ SQ
The tiny intruders are halfway up the sixth shelf when Regina flicks on the lightswitch and Emma yells, "Freeze!"
And you know what, those buggers actually do.
If there's still any doubt in her mind that they're dealing with shifters, it's completely gone by this point. What kind of self-respecting rat would actually follow orders? Even without provocation, normal rodents would hightail it out of there at the first sign of giant human legs.
But, no. Not these three stooges.
Like deer caught in headlights, they stop mid-climb on the shelf's metallic post, their wide, beady eyes deadset on Emma and her pointed gun. The tiniest one in the bunch even lets out a horrified sounding squeak.
They're human… they're human… they're human…
Emma repeats in her head like a chant, keeping her pistol steady despite her skin crawling and the mighty goosebumps breaking out on her arm. She hates rats. Hates them. And the only thing keeping her from shrieking like a banshee and emptying out her clip like a madwoman is the thought that… yep, they're human.
Regina steps beside her, fireball in hand.
"You have three seconds to transform back into your pathetic human forms before I burn you all to a crisp," her majesty warns, imposing as only an ex-Evil Queen can be. "The only thing better than a dead rat is a well-done one."
"One," Emma starts. "Two."
No one moves a muscle.
Fine then…
"Three!"
Squeak!
And all hell breaks loose.
Still in its rat form, the biggest one in the bunch is the first to let go of its hold on the post, and as it falls down, it takes the other two with him. They land on the floor with a clumsy plop but recover almost instantly, and before Emma knows what the hell is going on, the nasty creatures are already between her legs.
"Fuck!" she shrieks, and she swears she jumps five feet in the air in fright.
Regina, thankfully, keeps her wits.
There's now a trail of smouldering glue paper on the floor as the woman launches fireball after fireball at the rodents; the critters dodging both them and the sticky obstacles like a group of expert slalom racers. At the rate they're all going, it's a wonder the smoke alarm hasn't gone off yet. Hell, it's a miracle the whole room hasn't gone up in flames.
"They're heading for the hole!" Emma exclaims after she finally gathers her bearings.
Regina, with her jaw set and brows meeting in concentration, acknowledges her with a grunt before closing her hand into a fist. And when she unfurls her fingers and flicks her wrist, the golf ball-sized hole in the corner of the room vanishes.
Another wrist flick from the former queen and all the small fires go out, saving them from getting drenched when the sprinkles inadvertently go off.
Unfortunately, two out of three rodents manage to go through the hole before it disappears.
The unlucky one, like a scene out of a Tom and Jerry episode, runs right into the wall with a squeak.
Quickly, Emma and Regina run over to corner the little guy in an attempt to block its escape.
"You had your chance, no more one-two-threes," Regina taunts with a cruel smile, conjuring up another fireball. She aims, pulls her hand back and-
"N-No!" In a puff of red smoke, the brown mouse transforms into a man - a man decked in oil-stained coveralls and his face smeared with grease, no less. "P-Please, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Don't kill me, please! I beg you!"
Regina curls her lip in disgust at the cowering man's quivering form and makes no move to get rid of the fireball.
Emma, on the other hand, tilts her head and frowns.
She knows this guy.
"You're a mechanic in Michael's garage," she recalls, her gun still pointed at his head. "Billy, am I right?"
"Y-Yes, ma'am," he nods, beads of sweat peppering his forehead and even his upper lip.
"So I'm guessing grease monkeys don't earn much, huh?" she follows up. "Is that why you're masquerading as a thief in your spare time? Got some things to buy, maybe bills to pay?"
"More like gambling debts, my dear," Regina quirks an eyebrow, looking down her nose at the guy. "Did your cousin put you up to this, little mouse? Is that sniveling low-life running late on his payments again?"
His gaze falls to the floor, a telling sign.
"I see," Regina scoffs. "So he's fallen so low that he has to steal in order to get by. Pathetic."
"We're n-not stealing, ma'am," Billy swallows visibly. "I swear on my life, we're not."
"A liar and a thief," her majesty sneers. "Your life must mean very little to you if you're willing to curse it for a lie."
"I'm n-not lying!" he exclaims, shifting to his knees now, his hands on his chests. "I p-promise you, I'm not. I m-mean, how can it be stealing w-when the owner of the thing just wanted it back, right? Right? Technically, it's his, not yours."
Emma swears one can hear a pin drop in the room, and she's pretty sure Regina stops breathing for a moment. Hell, she can even hear her own blood rushing through her ears.
"His?" Emma murmurs, green eyes narrowing. "Who's he? And what thing are you talking about?"
"He's gonna kill us," Billy says instead, clutching his shaved head in his hands and sagging against the wall in despair. "Oh God, he's gonna kill us. We owe him and now he's coming to collect. And when he does, we're dead. Dead."
He's obviously about to lose it.
"He?" Regina finds her voice again, her tone low but no less deadly.
Billy doesn't answer.
Instead, he just says something that makes Emma's blood boil and the fireball in Regina's hand to grow twice in size.
With his eyes rimmed red, Billy looks at them, his voice hollow. "He's gonna kill us. No one breaks a deal with Rumplestiltskin. No one."
to be continued...
A/N: Hello! Me again. I hope you enjoyed part one (of two) of this short TSiTT spin-off. :) I'd like to take this opportunity to thank each and every one of you who've read, reviewed, favorited, followed, made art and graphics, etc for The Secret's in the Telling. The response I've received for the story is overwhelming - honestly, I still have to pinch myself even up to now. So... thank you from the bottom of my heart. 3 Special thanks to my one and only beta, cheerleader and boss... my Potato. Love you, babe. ;)