The walls are green. A kind of muted forest green that is both calming and completely alarming. The room is bathed in the softest yellow light and Regina sits just slightly more forward, legs crossed, and even in unhappiness, she is luminescent. Her hands are folded in her lap and she's wearing that deep wine colored blouse that Emma loves so much. She really is beautiful.
Emma's chair is just a few inches back and her left leg bounces up and down. Regina hates it. Hates it. There is a disdainful turn of her head during which she looks down her nose at Emma's denim-clad knee. Emma wants to respond, tell her to fuck off maybe, but she's interrupted mid-thought.
"Welcome," Dr. Hopper sits across from them, legal pad poised on the armrest of his chair. He smiles kindly, though the clinician in him gives the expression a bit of detachment that Emma can't really describe.
The silence is deafening. Regina picks at some invisible lint on her skirt and Emma watches her fingers with, unfortunately, a completely non-sexual fascination. Until she feels like laughing. And then she does, because how the hell did they end up here. So she laughs and leans back in her chair until she sees Regina's entire body go rigid. Because Regina hates when Emma is inappropriate.
"I just wanna say," Emma glances at Regina, "We don't really need to be here." She almost expects Regina to scoff, but Regina's better at being unpredictable. So she stays quiet. Almost agrees. Emma takes that as permission to continue, not that she needs permission for Christ's sakes. "We've been married five years now-"
"Six," Regina corrects sharply.
"We've been married five or six years now, so... this is like a check-up really. A chance to poke around the engine, you know, change the oil."
Now Regina scoffs. "As if you'd even know what any of that means, what with the yellow piece of scrap metal you prefer over the-" She stops herself. Takes a deep breath. "Doctor, if you please."
Emma scowls but stays quiet.
"On a scale of one to ten, how happy are you? As a couple."
"Eight," Regina answers quickly, calmly, flattens her palms against her thighs.
"Wait," Emma shoves her hands into the pockets of her jacket and leans back against her chair. "Is ten ecstatically happy and one completely miserable? Or..."
Regina seems to reconsider her answer, "Emma brings up a valid question."
"Just answer instinctively," Dr. Hopper's pen stays capped in his hand as he observes.
"Eight," Regina says again without hesitation.
"Eight," Emma nods her answer as well.
"And how often do you have sex?" Dr. Hopper taps his pen against the yellow paper.
Regina's lips form a thin line before, "I don't understand the question."
"Yeah," Emma leans forward again. "I'm lost. Is this a one to ten thing? Because like, is one very little or is one not at all? And is ten all the time or is ten like... often?"
"Dear, technically zero would be not at all," Regina turns to look at her wife, superior and all knowing. Emma smirks back.
Dr. Hopper looks confused, his brows furrow and he pushes his glasses further up his nose. He looks almost uncomfortable. Emma would feel bad, but she's already sort of pissed about being here.
"Let's... Let's try a different approach," Dr. Hopper uncaps his pen, scribbles a few illegible notes on his legal pad. "Why don't you describe how you first met?"