The town hall meeting had been excruciatingly boring. Regina hadn't said a word as Leroy droned on about the zone restriction laws on his shop. Archie had interjected to say placatory things, expecting Regina to lash out at him any moment.
Meanwhile, Snow had tried to divert the discussion back to the installation of a big Christmas tree at the town square. Surprisingly, the Sheriff had objected to Snow's tree idea, pointing out safety regulations – the one bright note in that fiasco, thought Regina sourly as she drove into her parking lot. Snow's face while her own daughter was tearing the tree idea to shreds had made Regina happier than she had been all week.
Normally, she would not have allowed the time to be wasted on such frivolities, but Regina had found herself curiously listless. Robin, her fiancé, hadn't been at the meeting – he rarely attended official events, preferring to train his Merry Men at the edge of the wood instead. Sometimes she found herself wondering what it would be like to be him, so laidback and accepting of whatever other people decided.
Relaxing, she decided. Until Snow White's face, eyes lit with excitement, came to her mind. Feeling irritable, she shut the front door a little harder than she had intended. Fine, so she couldn't do laidback. She paused with her hands on her keys, her thumb rubbing the cool metal absently. A small thump came from upstairs, but Regina's mind was on the meeting and the unusual apathy she had felt sitting through it. Distractedly, she began climbing the stairs. A part of her mind registered that Robin must have returned. Outside, it was already darkening quickly as the long autumn night began.
The lights to her bedroom were not switched on. Regina was still feeling preoccupied, but a part of her was puzzled. She could feel a rising curiosity about why Robin would be sitting in the dark. As the tiredness hit her she decided that perhaps she needed to give in to Robin's polite requests that they take their physical relationship to the next step.
She was satisfied with kissing him, and felt no desire to take things further. Plus, she assumed that they would wait till they were married. Yet, increasingly, Robin seemed interested in pushing the limits a little more. From chaste kissing they had progressed to tongue kissing, and Robin would often kiss her face and neck while Regina closed her eyes, hoping it was enough to satisfy him. She would massage his back and hold him tightly, trying to convey her feelings of affection and security.
Her fingers closed around the door knob and as she opened the door to the darkened room, she was struck by how she wasn't being grateful enough. She needed to show more emotion, feel more, and one way to do that would be to give him what he wanted.
And so it was that when she saw the silhouette by her window – with the dim moonlight glinting off the curls that peeked out from under the hoodie, she decided to take the plunge before she could change her mind. Striding up to the figure, she reached with her arm and clasped the shoulder of the man she had agreed to marry.
The figure whirled around, and Regina pressed herself into his arms, touching her lips to his in a highly familiar gesture.
Only – as her lips made contact with lips that felt like soft velvet, she realised that it wasn't familiar at all. For the first time in her life, Regina felt her mind go entirely blank, as desire raked through her body. Her arms tightened around the figure's neck as she drew their heads closer. A small part of her mind began to send warning signals to her brain – because a lot felt subtly different. But that small part was like a drop of water compared to the flood of feelings overwhelming her.
Deeper, was her only thought as their lips made contact, their mouths opened more; as the careful, almost reverential pecking, a sweet holding of lips, became more insistent. Regina felt a moan rise in her chest, then quelled it; felt her toes curling as their lips moulded against each other, as their tongues swirled gently. Not quite hesitant, not quite forward – as if anything too quick would break the spell. Regina's hands unconsciously pulled the hoodie down, in an attempt to grasp more of the head she was kissing. Hair cascaded over her fingers and she didn't notice twirling into them, lightly tracing the scalp, of leaning into the kiss even more as her hand fisted around the figure's head. Arms embraced her in response – and she could feel the body stiffening against her, the tension rising as they fitted closer, as the kissing turned into a feasting, as their movements began to seek more, demand more.
And Regina could not help the moan that escaped her when the figure in one motion sucked on her neck almost painfully, while one hand slid from her back to her behind, and pressed her closer – squeezed.
Never in her wildest imagination – in all the times she had tried to talk herself into taking a step further with Robin – had she imagined feeling like this. And so, refusing to listen to anything contrary that that little part of her brain was picking up on, she clung to the body and exhaled, 'Robin.'
And just like that, the figure pulled away. It was only then that Regina's brain allowed itself to process – the softness of the cheek she had been nuzzling against, the press of breasts against her own that had turned her nipples into stiff peaks, the reduced height difference which felt like the perfect level for her to mould into.
Realisation poured into her, and with it a fear she instinctively tried to quell. The warmth, the cold, the one foot distance between them vast.
'I don't,' she stammered, 'Who are you?'
She blushed then, hearing the ragged breathlessness of her own voice. The same voice which would stop the sessions with Robin with a firm and confident purr of, 'Enough'.
But just right then, her knees felt shaky. Belatedly, she remembered the feel of the biceps pressed against her sides, of how fingers had skimmed across her back, her neck, her shoulders, leaving her skin on fire in their wake.
From downstairs came the sound of keys jangling, a door opening, and a heavy, shuffling tread.
'Regina?' called a gruff voice that she now recognised, with a shock of coldness gripping her heart, had done absolutely nothing for her.
Nice and comforting apparently did not mean attractive. How had she not known?
The figure had taken another step back – this time a little to the left, where the balcony was. Regina tried to summon all the fierceness that usually came so readily to her, 'Who are you? Tell me now.' And hated how like a teenager it sounded – full of longing, curiosity, and desire.
(And all parts of her brain refused to register breasts pressed against her breasts.)
She knew she should be scared or angry. How did this person get into her house? That itself should have scared her. But her body was singing a different tune – that kiss had been so tender, so tentative, so passionate. She could hear Robin moving about, putting his coat away, pulling off his boots, stomping towards the staircase.
Upstairs, the figure was taking far smaller – far greater – steps away from Regina. 'Please,' she heard herself say, 'Tell me who you are.'
And still, more than wanting to know, she wanted to kiss again, to soar again on that burning ship of sensation that felt like an echo now, an echo that was raging over her skin like a fever.
The figure turned swiftly, and climbed off the balcony. It happened so quickly that for an instant Regina was horrified at the possibility of the intruder having jumped. But when she rushed to the place, she saw the figure shimmying down the drainpipe, pulling the hoodie up, and jogging off the driveway.
Regina, feeling nothing like herself, stood there rooted. A part of her brain was furiously trying to work out what was so familiar about that figure.
And then arms were encircling her stomach, and a stubbled face was pressed against hers as Robin hugged her from behind. She stiffened, then forced herself to relax, to lean in, but stiffened again.
And as she exhaled, and let herself fall a little into Robin, it registered. No breasts pressing against hers.
Not a man then.
And then it took another five seconds.
When the world had righted itself, three seconds later, Regina said in her usual decisive tone, 'It's over Robin. This isn't working for me.'
And then there had been words, and hurt feelings, and more words, some of which had skimmed the surface of threats. Like, 'You need me – without me to ground you, what if things go wrong?' Like, 'I'm your soulmate Regina – what else is there for you?' Like, 'Do you really want to be alone?'
And Regina hadn't said much – feeling on the one hand that same apathy that had overcome her at the meeting, and a muted exhilaration – as if life in the present was only now about to begin.
She hadn't even known how frozen she was.
Like the town clock ticking to life, she heard her own mind breathe one word, full of promise – Emma.