Every morning, Regina Mills, the first biracial female President of the United States, wakes up to a hot cup of coffee sitting on her bedside drawer and a pair of running shoes being thrust in her face. After she hits the treadmill and carries through on her commitment to a daily twenty minute uphill sprint, she finds Henry's backpack and makes his lunch for school.
Her life has become victim to routine. There is no hour where she doesn't have her aide telling her where she should be, nor a day when there's not some meeting scheduled that saps her life away one breath at a time. If these people even knew what went on in the real world, or better yet cared, she might even get to sign paperwork that made a difference to the families she'd grown up with.
That's why Regina is here, after all. Going from a small town mayor to Governor of Maine, and transitioning ever upwards till she became a big name on the Democrats' ticket; everything she's done is for the sake of fighting to make a difference. As to how a difference comes about, she isn't quite sure. One day Regina just might get lucky, and all this arguing for people to be allowed to live will pay off.
"Good morning, Madam President." Special Agent Swan's voice is low and calm, a reassuring but firm tone she's practised for ten years now. She smiles when Regina steps out of her private gym and into the third floor corridor, towel in one hand and water bottle in the other. Normally there'd be a personal trainer with her, but since the Pentagon put them on Threat Level Delta, they've tightened security and begun to rescreen all nonessential personnel. "Henry's with the CoD downstairs."
With snow piled up outside, winter — and her personal bodyguard — makes it hard for Regina to do her laps of the property. Coffee, tea, and hot cocoa are in constant supply; the heaters run almost every hour of the day, and the fireplaces are still sealed.
"Thank you, Emma." Regina wipes her face with the towel and slings it over her shoulder. She looks like a window pane covered in melting ice; sweat beads on her nose and upper lip while damp patches are visible under her arms and on the back of her thighs. "How was the apple —"
Emma pulls Regina towards her by the waistband of her running shorts and smirks, checking her watch momentarily before she reaches around with her other hand and turns off the radio clipped to her pants. There's no need for Graham or Kathryn to hear what will happen once Emma gets Regina back in that bedroom.
"I've missed you," Emma whispers and rests her hand on Regina's hip. All this to-ing and fro-ing, the smiles and side-eyeing and glances when they think no one is looking, it's all culminated in a need. A burning desire that for a few moments distracts them both from the intensity of what happens when politics combines with the holiday season. "How about we take a shower and clean you up?"
"Mom, Graham says it's piled five feet high out there! That's taller than me!"
Henry's voice comes from the stairwell and Regina steps back. An apologetic smile is all she can give as her son bursts onto the third floor with a wide grin on his face. "It is? Well, we're going to have to all move that snow by hand then, wouldn't you say so, Agent Swan?"
"By hand." She furrows her brow and runs Regina's schedule through her mind. The first meeting of the day is an hour away . . . minus a ten minute window, that sounds like plenty of time to 'move' some snow. "I think I have some gloves in my locker."
Regina mouths 'thank you' and Emma nods in return. Her and Henry's lives have changed so much in the past two years. Emma in her life has given her a sense of stability, a rock she can lean on when she needs support and a nonjudgmental ear that will listen at a moment's notice. Albeit there's a certain disconnect between protectee and protector, it hasn't stopped them discovering who the other is outside of their job and positions.
"I'll meet you in the West portico, okay, Henry? I've gotta change into something snow appropriate." She hugs Henry, her life and joy, her adopted baby boy she wouldn't give up for the world, and walks straight to her room with a bounce in her step. "Special Agent Swan, would you mind helping me with the tap? I think the pipes have started to freeze."
A/N: Written for 12 Days of SwanQueen Christmas.