Of course, Emma's gone when Regina wakes.
It's ridiculous to think that a little naked, and at times almost violent, contact on Regina's Egyptian cotton sheets would change that. It does little to soothe the whirl of anger and disappointment that settles in the pit of Regina's belly, like too much black coffee on an empty stomach.
She showers briskly, the water just cool enough to be uncomfortable as she washes away every last trace of the previous night's mistake. Except, that is, the bruising along her hip bones, and the scratches on her back that sting like nettles when the cold spray washes over them.
Dressed and presentable, Regina makes her way downstairs only to discover that Emma has found both the key and her gun, and to add insult to injury, Regina doesn't have a single coffee bean in the house. The recent upheaval has shattered her once flawless routine and Regina finds herself faced with the unpleasant thought of a journey to the store. It would kill her to admit the pang of fear out loud, to have anyone else acknowledge it, and so for now this echoing loneliness is fortunate.
She weighs the risk of the town being busy at this time in the morning-the school day starting, most workplaces beginning their business day-against the very pressing need for some caffeine. Her slight headache and sluggish brain mean it's not much of a contest, and she picks her car keys off the counter, making a quick detour to the bathroom for a couple of pills to ease her head.
The diner is packed, and yet Regina's entrance still causes a temporary hush to fall over the room. She rolls her eyes behind dark glasses, and ignores them. She cuts in line, taking her place right next to Emma.
"Sheriff," Regina says, and it almost sounds cordial.
"Regina," Emma says gruffly, looking embarrassed at the lack of title to use. "I, uh, Henry said to..."
"Well, it can't be 'send his love'," Regina interrupts. "So, what? Did he tell you to say 'hi'? Or was that a little too forgiving?"
"Christ, he's just a kid," Emma fires back. "And maybe if you weren't responsible for fucking up an entire population, he'd get over it faster."
"That's more like it," Regina says with a sneer, leaning in close enough for the upturned collar of her trench coat to brush Emma's ever-present leather jacket. "More honest, wouldn't you say?"
"Whatever you say," Emma says, and the quiver in her jaw suggests she wants to pull back, but defiance is keeping her in place. "Some of us have work to do."
"You're not driving, are you dear?" Regina asks sweetly, forcing an expression of faked concern.
"Why?" Emma asks, her fingers twitching around the travel mug.
"Because you brought your own coffee to the diner," Regina points out. "Which means if I took a sip, I'd find it well-spiked with whisky. Maybe brandy, if you're feeling adventurous."
"Listen," Emma growls. "I don't care what you think you know about me, but if you come after my job-"
"You'll what?" Regina presses. "Show up at my house with a gun again?" She pauses, runs a solitary fingertip down the zipper seam on Emma's jacket. "Because I think we both know how that ends, Miss Swan."
"Go to hell," Emma says, turning away.
"Enjoy your walk," Regina calls after her, smirking all the way to the counter.
The simple errands take longer than Regina intends, not least because the flush of victory from besting Emma leads Regina to take a walk past the school. Morning break comes soon enough, and although she's quite sure that Henry sees her, he ignores her as bluntly as every other time.
That brings the flush of rage back, and she attempts to walk it off with a trip to the cemetery, picking flowers from the public gardens to lay in her mausoleum. Without Daniel here it's finally just a tomb, another empty space cleared of everything but her father's bones and a few dusty relics that these peasants don't understand the potential of; Regina's in no mood to divulge any more of her secrets.
Eventually the chill gets to her through her trench coat that's a couple of months too light for the weather. She used to be better at these little details, but her head is still hurting and the memories of Emma Swan in her bed are a particularly lurid annoyance on top of that.
She makes it to the grocery store at last, throwing the few essentials and even more impulse purchases in her basket; it's not as though she has to shop responsibly for Henry's benefit these days, so the wine and the chocolate are indulgences she can afford.
Regina takes her place in line at the register and studiously ignores everyone around her. When her turn comes around, the cashier suddenly announces she's on break. Regina stares at the former wood nymph in disbelief, but bites her tongue. She looks at the bag boy expectantly, but he simply folds the paper bags back into a pile and Regina is forced to stalk across the store to find a manager.
"Are you closed?" She demands.
"Nope," the man says, not meeting her eye.
"Then can someone perhaps take money for the goods I'm trying to buy?" Regina demands. "Or should I consider them a gift?"
"You'll have to wait," he says, walking off. Regina is actually open-mouthed at the blatant disrespect, and she makes her mind up then and there. The alarm goes off as she marches straight out of the store, basket still slung over her arm, but she doesn't hesitate. She's almost all the way home by the time the police cruiser rolls to a halt beside her.
"Should you really be driving?" Regina calls back over her shoulder, not breaking stride.
"Regina," Emma warns, her voice practically a growl. "You want to hand over the basket? Or am I taking you down to the station?"
"Consider it my reward for terrible customer service," Regina says, finally stopping to sneer at Emma through her rolled-down window. "They can invoice me."
"Really? You want to pick a fight over twenty dollars' worth of groceries?" Emma kills the engine then, getting out of the car. "Fine, you leave me no choice."
Regina stares her down, unable to hide her amusement. She gives up the basket without a fight, laughing as Emma pulls Regina's arms behind her back and clicks the cuffs in place.
"You have the right to remain silent," Emma begins. "And it might be nice if you exercised it."
"I don't think that's part of reading someone Miranda," Regina snarks as Emma tries to manhandle her into the back of the Sheriff's car. Emma actually presses a hand on top of Regina's head to try and force her into the backseat, which is roughly when Regina decides she's had enough of this stupid town for one day. And Emma, who should really remember that children of True Love are like magical battery chargers, feels it coming just a moment too late.
The handcuffs fall to the floor in the foyer, loud enough to echo all the way up the stairs. Regina smiles at the basket she grabbed from the sidewalk and heads towards the kitchen. She might just have time for lunch before a pissed off Sheriff appears.
Regina is just finishing her turkey sandwich, eaten at the counter with a glass of milk, when the front door bangs open. It only takes Emma a minute to come storming into the kitchen.
"Back for more therapy?" Regina asks, far more comfortable on the turf where Emma so badly embarrassed herself last night. "Did you need me to take your gun?" she asks, in a babyish voice chosen to rile Emma even further; it's quite clearly working. "Would you like to discuss your feelings? You must have mistaken me for a bug."
"Give me the groceries," Emma grunts. "And I can be done with you for the day."
"Already used some," Regina says, gesturing towards the remnants of her lunch. "Will you take a check?"
"Dammit, Regina," Emma is really struggling with her anger now. "Can't you just make it easy for once? Can't you just be a fucking human being?"
"Do you need a drink?" Regina says in mocking sympathy. "Only, I notice your hands are trembling."
"If you won't let me arrest you," Emma says, her voice suddenly cool. "I'll have no choice but to subdue you. Or shall I just tell Henry about you using magic again, hmm?"
"You wouldn't," Regina accuses. "You can barely cope with him as it is, do you really want to remove me as an option?"
"What happened to helping me?" Emma demands, and it sounds almost choked. "What about last night?"
"Oh," Regina says, and the laugh bubbles up before she can stop herself. "I forget what it's like with people like you. Like kicked puppies, you get carried away at the first sign of indulgence."
"Fuck you," Emma says, moving in to restrain Regina's arms again. Regina's still heaving with laughter, unable to concentrate on a spell. It's why she doesn't see the raised knee coming towards her legs, only feels the impact as her legs crumple and her knees hit the tile floor, hard.
"What the hell?" Regina gasps, eyes watering at the unexpected pain. Emma's grip isn't on her arms now, but rather tangled in Regina's dark hair, leaving her almost no room to move.
"I've had enough," Emma says, her voice barely more than a monotone. She sounds every bit as exhausted as Regina feels. "Keep resisting arrest," Emma warns, and suddenly Regina feels cool metal at the base of her neck. "See what happens to you."
"This is police brutality," Regina growls, already flushed at the indignity of it. "And I bet that gun isn't even loaded."
"Who's gonna give a damn, huh?" Emma asks. "I wouldn't even need to make up an excuse about you attacking me. Never mind justification... if I pull this trigger they'll give me a parade."
"Then do it," Regina spits. "Or does the poor little drunk bitch need even more liquid courage first?"
The silence is so sudden, so bruising, that Regina thinks she's finally done it: she's provoked someone into killing her. She takes a deep breath and holds it, willing the pressure of the gun's muzzle to bite just a little deeper into the vulnerable skin of her neck, wishing it would be over. But a moment later the gun is gone, whisked away by those unsteady hands.
"I'm not going to kill you," Emma says, but a moment later the metal ridge is back, pressed against her temple. "Or at least, it won't be on purpose when I do."
"Coward," Regina spits. "Just like your family. They don't "murder", do they? But the bodies pile up, all the same."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Emma snaps.
"I'd say the trail of the dead you and your mother left disagrees," Regina taunts. "Or have you forgotten your little vacation already?"
"Shut up," Emma says. "Or do you really want me to start talking about your beloved mother and all the stories she told us about you?"
Regina clams up fast at the mention of Cora, a reflex she doesn't think she'll ever be able to shake.
"Do it, then," she says after a moment. "Just make sure you clean the mess up afterwards. The house goes to Henry, after all."
She's so busy goading Emma that Regina forgets to be scared. Right up until the moment Emma cocks the safety with her thumb, and then a chill runs down Regina's spine so fast that she worries for a moment she'll lose control of her body altogether.
"Beg me," Emma growls, twisting the muzzle hard against Regina's temple. "Beg me not to pull the fucking trigger."
"Go to hell," Regina says quite calmly, and in that moment inspiration strikes. It's not hard to tell that Emma's usual reactions are sluggish, dulled by hangover and alcohol alike. So when Emma eases up just a fraction on the pressure, Regina turns her head fast enough to give herself whiplash.
Regina swallows, once, and then presses her lips against the muzzle of the gun.
She can feel her lipstick smear against the rough metal, coating it in her favorite shade of red. It takes a moment to gather the nerve, but Regina flicks her gaze upwards to see a dumbfounded Emma Swan.
"What are you doing?" Emma whispers. The tremble in her arm makes the gun move against Regina's mouth.
"Do it," Regina challenges again, and with her lips already parted to speak, she slips the gun barrel past them, her mouth forming a natural pout around the cold metal. It doesn't taste as strange as she thought, the metallic taste on her tongue is oddly familiar. It tastes like the after-effects of magic, and Regina closes her eyes for a second to shut out the memory.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Emma mutters, even though they both know the answer. Regina expected a hasty removal of the gun, but Emma appears transfixed, watching Regina's mouth inch along the barrel, lewd and uncompromising. "Jesus," Emma says, apparently to herself, and then the gun is gone, bumping Regina's teeth as Emma pulls it out.
But Regina is too quick for her, scrambling up off her knees, using Emma's hips for hastily-grabbed leverage.
"Come on, Sheriff," Regina taunts. Anyone else might apologize now, try to claw back to something like safety, but Regina's tasted oblivion now and she wants it. Emma, who takes sons and happy endings-who takes and takes and pretends that she doesn't-is damn well going to give her this.
"You want me to kill you?" Emma demands, looking at the gun in her hand like she's never seen it before. She looks queasy, and ordinarily Regina would enjoy that, but she needs someone who can hold their nerve right now.
"It would be so easy," Regina says, and she's using the coaxing tone that used to be reserved for Henry's bath-time (and for Snow, spoiled Snow who never did anything until Regina pleaded with her, how very like her Emma turned out to be.) "You've killed before."
Emma blanches at the mention of it. Regina resists the smirk of victory that threatens to form, but it takes considerable effort.
"Here," she says, clutching Emma's bony wrist where it protrudes from another ugly jacket. There's no resistance as Regina guides the gun towards her chest, pressing the muzzle over her heart. "Just pull the trigger. You must have fantasized about it. God knows I dreamt of killing you."
"Why haven't you?" Emma demands, but she doesn't move the gun. "I mean, I know it would have broken your curse, but after that..."
"Henry," Regina says, in a strangled voice. "He'll forgive you for this. But not the other way around. I still hope that, in time..."
"I didn't fantasize about killing you," Emma says, green eyes darkening as her free hand grips Regina's shoulder, a pinching grip that's going to leave bruises. "Hurting you, maybe. And other things."
"Other things?" Regina asks, and it actually sounds innocent in the echoing space of her kitchen.
"Like this," Emma breathes, and with the gun pressed between them still, she leans in just enough to kiss Regina lightly on the lips. With a snarl, Regina nips at her bottom lip in return.
"I didn't ask you to kiss me," Regina says.
"But you asked me to point a gun at you," Emma counters, and it sounds so reasonable that Regina can't even force herself to smirk. "So I don't think we should listen to you any more."
"I-" Regina protests, but Emma kisses her again, and this time the barrel of the gun digs in hard enough to bruise against the soft swell of Regina's breast. She surrenders, just a little, and grabs Emma's ass with one hand, squeezing through the well-worn denim with intent.
"Not waiting," Emma says with a shake of her head, the moment Regina breaks the kiss and nods towards the door. "Do I still need this?" She asks, tapping the warming metal against the front of Regina's shirt.
"Oh, yes," Regina says, and really the words are barely more than an exhalation. "I insist."
"How?" Emma asks, and she's wide-eyed with genuine curiosity, maybe even a healthy bit of fear, too.
"I..." Regina fumbles for words for a moment, the rising excitement and dread competing in the back of her throat. She squeezes her eyes shut to make the demand. "Just... make me scared."
"Nothing scares you," Emma accuses, but they can both hear the lie. "At least..."
She raises the gun and presses the muzzle in the center of Regina's forehead. Regina swallows audibly, the trickle down her spine more like a gush this time.
"Strip," Emma commands, and there's no trace of the Savior in her voice. "Slowly."
Regina wants to defy her, wants to push again because whatever hold Emma has on herself right now has to be hanging by a thread. But oh, the fresh mortification when the gush this time is between Regina's thighs, because whatever else she wants from Emma, part of Regina definitely wants something more satisfying than violence.
She reaches for the button on her shirt with trembling hands, and no amount of silently scolding herself will still them. Emma doesn't complain, flexing her fingers around the handle and the trigger, making Regina jump just a little.
"Good," Emma murmurs, her eyes barely straying from Regina's face, despite a second and third button slipping free. "Don't stop."
Emma doesn't need Regina to guide her movements now, just to keep getting naked. With a flick of her wrist, Emma tilts the weapon and draws it carefully over the arch of Regina's eyebrow, lingering over the scar that's almost hidden by foundation. Emma's hand keeps going seemingly of its own volition, tracing the line of Regina's jaw, jumping just slightly when that makes a muscle twitch in Regina's flawless cheek.
Regina's parting her mouth to speak when Emma silences her with a press of the gun against those full lips again.
"Tsk tsk," Emma scolds her. "You know better than that by now, Regina."