CHAPTER THREE: Swab, Powder, Wadding, Shot
It's past her bedtime.
Regina has always been a stickler for routine; nine o'clock was lights out for Henry and half an hour past ten was hers. It should be said, however, that she didn't always sleep so early. During her first twenty-eight years in town, Regina had the habit of staying up until midnight to read a book or enjoy a glass of wine in her study. Much to her annoyance, she had been forced to alter her sleeping schedule when a certain blonde interloper rolled into town in that ugly yellow bug of hers and jumpstarted the passage of time. Now, more than ever, Regina began to appreciate the importance of getting enough beauty sleep every night. Her body's slowly diminishing capacity to keep wrinkles and other unwelcome effects of aging from her face is becoming quite worrisome.
And it's all because of one woman.
A woman who, ironically enough, is also the reason why she isn't currently curled up underneath her covers and sleeping soundly in her bed.
They had returned from scouting the woods about four hours ago, their search cut short after it became too dark to continue their hunt. Despite being utterly spent and aching all over, Regina had somehow managed to throw together a decent meal for her hungry son and his equally famished mothers. Soon after that, Emma left the house after doing the dishes, having been summoned by Snow to their old apartment, no doubt to discuss the spell in the clearing and the subsequent fissure threat.
Having her son all to herself, Regina had monopoly of tucking Henry into bed; and, much to her delight, was also given her son's permission to stay beside him until he fell asleep. Henry's always had trouble drifting off whenever he was afraid – and though he would never admit it, he seemed pretty unsettled about the thought of creatures coming out of a still undiscovered fissure and having both his mothers stick their necks out to look for it. So, when he asked his mother to stay with him under the guise of wanting to chat about their sojourn in the woods, Regina was quick to indulge in his request and made sure to throw in a couple of whispered reassurances his way from time to time. They had spent a few minutes talking about Regina's theory on fissures and why they come about, and a couple of agonizing ones discussing Emma and her "injury" too, much to Regina's discomfort. The blonde had been walking around the house with a barely noticeable limp; but, of course, Henry and his perceptive little eyes still noticed. The boy thought Emma got injured during their courageous trek through the forest. He thought wrong, naturally, but Regina didn't know how to explain to her son that his precious White Knight was just feeling the after-effects of spending half the day getting chafed in places Regina didn't even want to mention. So, she just kept her silence and let Henry believe that Emma pulled a muscle during the hunt. It was a white lie told for the greater good. Sure, Emma would be the hero yet again, but that was fine if it meant that Regina didn't have to discuss the sorry state of the blonde's vagina with her son. It's a trade-off she can live with.
The gurgling noise from Emma's sorry excuse for a car cuts through the silence of her home, and immediately, Regina straightens up in her seat and springs into action. She refills her glass of wine and promptly spreads the faded map of Storybrooke's forest before her, careful not to tear the fragile object. With that done, Regina leans forward on the table, holding a marker in one hand and cradling her chin on the other, pretending as if she's seriously poring over the map. Props and alibi in place, she lies in wait.
"Oh, hey–you waited up for me?" Emma says in surprise when she spots her at the kitchen table a few moments later.
"No," Regina lies smoothly. She lets her upper lip curl in disgust. "Don't flatter yourself, Miss Swan."
The blonde merely smirks before walking over to the fridge and pulling out a carton of milk. The not-so-subtle throat clearing that Regina does is enough to deter Emma from drinking directly from the container and, like an obedient puppy, the blonde heads over to the cupboard, takes out a small glass and pours herself a drink like a human being with actual breeding. Emma downs it in one go before turning to look at her.
"Why are you still awake?"
Regina doesn't bother to look up from her supposed task.
"I'm trying to determine which areas we still need to cover."
"Ah," Emma purses her lips and nods, green eyes taking it all in. "You should get some rest though; it's been a long day and we're gonna be up early again tomorrow."
"I know, but I'm not yet tired."
"Like hell you're not," Emma snorts. "Seriously, Regina, go up and get some sleep. You look like shit."
"Miss Swan," Regina floors the incredibly crass woman with a murderous look. "While I appreciate your concern, I will not take insulting remarks about my appearance from a person who has been walking all day looking like a freshly circumcised boy."
Emma's lips quickly forms into a childish-looking pout.
"One of these days, your majesty, I just might hide all of your clothes and leave you with nothing else but a pair of skintight jeans. Let's see how you'd like that."
Regina can't help the cocky smirk that appears on her face.
"Well, it's just too bad that I don't own a pair of jeans like that then. Unlike you, my dear, I prefer not cutting off blood circulation in my legs," she says, matter-of-fact. "Oh, and speaking of clothing, I've taken the liberty of laying out your new clothes for you on your bed."
Emma's sour mood evaporates quickly at her words.
"Really?"
"Yes. I've also matched certain pieces that go well together so you might get an idea of what looks good with what," Regina continues in a bored tone, nailing her eyes on the map before her. She waves a dismissive hand in the air. "So run along now, Miss Swan. Your new clothes await."
A look of fear, trepidation, curiosity and anxiety washes over Emma's face. Regina would have laughed if she weren't so intent on keeping up with her charade.
"Thanks. I, uh, I'll go and have a look then. Good night, Regina," Emma says in the littlest of tones, taking her leave and walking almost robotically towards the basement door.
As soon as the blonde is out of the kitchen, Regina drops the act and exhales a breath. She reaches for her glass of wine and takes a nice, long sip.
This is the moment she's been waiting for all night. She sacrificed an hour of beauty sleep for this; Emma Swan better not disappoint.
And so, with nothing left to do, Regina leans casually on the back of her chair and waits. A few agonizing minutes tick by, yet she sits unmoving, senses heightened in anticipation.
The second she hears Emma's heavy footsteps trudging up the stairs, Regina clamps down her grin and straightens up in her seat, putting on her usual mask of complete and utter indifference.
Here we go.
Without preamble, the basement door swings wide open, revealing the ashen face of Snow White's offspring.
Emma's voice is but a mere whisper.
"Regina? I'm confused."
"Is that supposed to be news?" Regina asks evenly.
Emma trudges over and slumps down into the chair opposite hers. The haunted look on her face is more than enough to make up for all the precious minutes of sleep Regina had to give up tonight.
"Did you buy clothes or Halloween costumes?" Emma asks, green eyes boring into brown ones.
Regina grins patronizingly.
"If I'm not mistaken, I believe costumes are also clothes, my dear."
"I can't wear those in public!" Emma screeches, losing it for a moment.
Regina won't be surprised if Henry comes bounding down the stairs any second now, having been awakened by his birth mother's grating voice. At Regina's reproachful look, the blonde promptly tones it down and sighs.
"Regina, please tell me that I didn't just spend that much money to look like the Lone Ranger."
"Would you rather be Tonto? If memory serves me right, I think I also saw a fringe dress in the boutique," Regina says, keeping a straight face.
"I'm serious!" Emma sputters, her neck and face flushing red. "Jesus Christ, I can't go to work looking like a cowboy, a 70's swinger, Cindy Lauper, a clown, or hell, Britney Spears circa Baby One More Time!"
"Britney Spears?" Regina lifts an eyebrow.
"The nasty Catholic school girl outfit. White blouse, cardigan, plaid skirt," Emma recounts. She narrows her eyes at Regina. "I told you no skirts."
"You said no pencil skirts," Regina points out.
"Yeah, but I didn't want mini-skirts either!"
"Well you should've been more specific then."
Emma groans, running a tired hand through her face, suddenly looking older than her years.
"I can't go out in that outfit, I'll look like jailbait."
"Perfect," Regina smiles dazzlingly. "I dare say it will make your job infinitely easier. What better way to lure criminals out in the open, right Sheriff?"
The contemptuous look the blonde gives her almost makes Regina break character and laugh out loud. The brunette clears her throat and offers the blonde an insincere smile.
"I bought you tanktops," she points out, as if in consolation.
"Yes, yes, you did," Emma huffs indignantly, folding her arms on her chest. "And most of them happen to be in the one color that I wouldn't ever want to be caught dead in. I mean, how many pink tanktops can one person have? And, to top it all off, they're all neon."
"Some are pastel," Regina corrects. "Baby pink."
Emma wrinkles her nose in distaste.
"I got you sweaters."
"Yellow ones," Emma snorts. "Which is another color I don't usually wear, because coupled with my hair, I almost always end up looking like a walking, talking cob of corn."
"Imagine that," Regina mocks in a serious tone, eyes dancing with amusement.
Emma glares at her for a good couple of minutes, mouth opening and closing every so often as if she wants to say something scathing, but nothing ever comes out of her lips. Her shoulders slump down in resignation soon enough, and in the end, Emma leaves the kitchen table in a huff and stomps over to her cubby hole in the basement, not bothering with a backward glance.
Regina pats herself on the back for a job well done. She packs up her things and cleans up after herself, smiling the whole time. Chalk one up for the Evil Queen.
Oh, but, Regina isn't entirely heartless. She did buy the blonde a bunch of really nice, very elegant and professional-looking suits. They're currently tucked away inside her walk-in closet, hidden behind a couple of pieces of her own power suits. She'll give them to Emma in a week or two. Maybe three. Oh, who is she kidding? She'll give them in a month.
Or, next year.
SQ-SQ-SQ
Five days after the robbery and the incident involving magic at the clearing, things are starting to go back to normal at the station.
They still hadn't caught the thief nor the one who cast the spell, but at least, not a single fissure is found after two whole days of trekking up and down the woods of Storybrooke. Everyone can breathe a little easier.
Well, except if your name is Emma Swan.
Since her lovely make-over, courtesy of Regina of course, things have been a little bit tense at the workplace. Not that there is any trouble between her deputies, since the only one feeling any sort of tension is the Sheriff herself. Regina did not disappoint with her purchases at Sebastian's Boutique. She met Emma's expectations – and actually exceeded them. That would've been a good thing, had Emma not expected that she'd end up regretting her decision in the first place.
The boutique suddenly has a 'no return, no exchange' policy set up exclusively for her, a questionable turn of events that she suspects Regina had something to do with. So, Emma's stuck with her new clothes – and since she had nothing else to wear and won't be able to buy anything new until her next paycheck, she decides to suck it up, wear the least humiliating pieces in her new wardrobe and just roll with the punches. She's a big girl, she can take it. Though, enjoying it is another matter entirely.
Clearly, Regina Mills has a wicked sense of humor; and now, Emma's wearing evidence of it.
So, naturally, it's now open season for Emma Swan at the office.
"Who the hell styled you? Your enemies?" Leroy had said the first time she made an appearance in her new clothes.
"I didn't know neon was back in fashion. What's next, shoulder pads?" August had wondered out loud.
"Oh Em..." was all a speechless Ruby could say.
Today, of course, is no different.
"Morning, people," Emma grunts in greeting as she shuffles inside the station, balancing a cup of coffee and some folders sent from Town Hall in her arms. She places them gingerly on her desk with a sigh. Spending the past few days combing the woods for magical one-way portals definitely took its toll on her productivity at the office. The staggering amount of paperwork on her to-do pile is glaring evidence of this. So immersed is she with trying to figure out which documents she'll attack first that she fails to notice the two pairs of eyes watching her every move with rapt attention. It doesn't help that the partitions separating her office from the bullpen are made entirely of glass, giving her no respite from prying eyes.
"Here we go..." Ruby says as soon as Emma makes her way to the back of her desk.
August, whose own table is directly in front of Ruby's, leans forward and cracks his knuckles in anticipation, eyes zoned in on the Sheriff.
The moment Emma zips open her jacket and shrugs it off her shoulders, Ruby pumps a fist in the air and hollers a triumphant whoop. August groans and reluctantly reaches inside his jacket, pulling out a twenty dollar bill and handing it over to a smug-looking Ruby.
"Let me guess, you won today's wager?" Emma glares at her grinning deputy, hanging her jacket at the back of her chair before plopping down on her seat.
"Got the color right," Ruby shrugs nonchalantly, pocketing her winnings and then sauntering over to Emma's office. She lifts an eyebrow at the blonde's tanktop and smirks. "Pink?"
"There's nothing wrong with pink," Emma mumbles, refusing to meet her friend's eyes. When she told Regina to buy only solid colors, she should've been more specific. Yesterday, it was uber bright yellow-green. It looked like neon snot.
"Yeah, but hot pink?" Ruby chuckles.
"At least it's not the color of electrified phlegm," Emma deadpans. "It's either this or a shirt with a high collar made of ruffles."
"What's wrong with ruffles?"
"The only ruffles I like are the junk food ones that I can eat and down with beer. Besides, the shirt also has red dots all over it. Ruffles and polka dots? No, thank you."
"I think I remember seeing that shirt at Sebastian's. It's actually pretty nice, Em. Stylish."
"And frickin' expensive," Emma huffs. For someone who claims to hate her old clothes, Regina had somehow managed to replenish her wardrobe with uglier ones. Well, they're not really ugly, but they just aren't her style (though there is no excuse for the neon tanktops – she thinks Regina got those just to spite her). "The material's heaven on the skin, don't get me wrong, but I couldn't take myself seriously in front of the mirror. I looked like a clown with chicken pox."
"Or Henry the VIII," August supplies all the way from his desk.
"That too. Whoever he is," Emma mutters, studying the pile of paperwork before her. She decides on starting the day with August's reports before tackling any of the stuff from Mary Margaret's office. Those files tends to be long, boring and ultimately draining to go over. She swivels her seat to face her deputy, deciding on a short chat before she delves right into work. "Any news about our thief?"
"Nothing concrete, but I may have a lead," Ruby shares, leaning against the side of Emma's desk. "Do you remember that one time when I was kinda depressed and you and MM took me out dancing?"
"Yeah, you were hung up over some insensitive jerk who was taking you for granted. Why?"
"Remember the mess at Sheppard that Leroy had to sort out the other day? The one where an amnesiac pirate was assaulting Meeks?" Ruby continues, her fingers tracing patterns on the faded wood.
"Same guy?" Emma archs an eyebrow. Her friend does have the unfortunate habit for falling for those damaged bad boy types.
"Yup," Ruby nods, purposely ignoring the disapproving look the blonde is giving her. "He doesn't remember his old life, he still thinks he's Jackson Peters. His real name is Killian Jones, though."
Emma makes a blank face. "Doesn't ring a bell."
"Captain Hook," Ruby supplies.
"No shit!" Emma gapes at her deputy. "Peter Pan's my favorite fairytale."
"What, no love for Little Red Riding Hood?"
"Rubes, as much as I love you, you turn into a frickin' werewolf once a month. That puts you squarely in Twilight territory in my eyes. I'm sorry, but I just can't. Those books ruined werewolves for me. No offense."
"None taken," Ruby chuckles, brushing her words away with a wave of a hand. "Anyway, back to what I was saying. I heard from a very reliable source that Jackson sold his motorcycle to some suspicious-looking guy in a hockey mask the day of the robbery. Paid the full amount in cash. And, get this, the masked man had a sword strapped to his back."
Emma's back stiffens immediately. "You think it's our thief?"
"Maybe," Ruby gives a slight shrug. "Or, he could just be a lunatic with a sword. Either way, I think we should keep an eye out."
"Who's your source?"
"Ashley. She lives next door to Jackson," Ruby shares in a low voice.
Emma suspects, and rightfully so, that Ruby was able to gleam this tidbit from her regular phone chats with the girl. Those two gossip like old hags.
"I'm gonna drop by Jackson's place after lunch and see if I can get a name."
"Why not go now?"
"He's still out cold. Been drinking himself to death since he lost his hand."
"Oh," Emma nods. She quietly takes it all in before giving her friend a small approving smile. At last, they're making progress in their investigation, even if it's small. "Alright, later then. Keep me updated."
"Will do," Ruby smiles and pats her shoulder before walking back to her own desk. "Oh hey, almost forgot. Someone dropped a package for you this morning. I put it over there, on top of the cabinet."
Emma looks at the small filing cabinet behind her desk, her curiosity piqued. She reaches over and takes the square box in her hands. It's plain white; no ribbons, no wrapping. She shakes the box tentatively beside her ear, trying to guess what lies inside. She doesn't want to risk opening it and getting sprayed with something disgusting (that's one of the signature pranks of the Lost Boys). Hearing nothing clinking inside, she takes a deep breath and just flips the lid open.
It isn't a prank.
Just a weird –- though beautiful -– gift.
Lying inside is a single purple flower, a lilac. She's not one to be familiar with the different kinds of flora in the world, but she recognizes it nonetheless because she sees it every day in Regina's garden. And, well, Henry had told her in passing that it's his mom's favorite flower.
Carefully, she takes it out of the box and puts it by the picture of Henry on her desk. The kid probably dropped it off on his way to school. He does the sweetest, most thoughtful things sometimes.
Emma chucks away the box in the recycling bin behind her. As soon as it leaves her hand, a small white card falls out and lands on her lap. A smile graces her lips; Emma wonders what Henry's messy scribbles are going to say this time.
Only, the words within aren't scribbled at all. They were typewritten. That rules out her son as the sender then.
I hope you enjoyed your make-over. I know I did.
-A
Emma rolls her eyes at the man writing a report out in the bullpen.
"Itching to be fired, A?" she frowns at August. The man gives her a queer look, looking utterly puzzled.
"Did you say something, Em?"
"Nothing. Get back to work," Emma huffs, throwing the card in the waste bin.
Left with nothing else but a humongous pile of paperwork, Emma puffs out a breath, flexes her fingers and digs in.
SQ-SQ-SQ
After going through the sixth folder on her to-do pile, Emma's just about had enough. With a frustrated growl, she gives up on the report in her hands and fights the overwhelming urge to ball up the paper and throw it in the waste bin. She clenches her jaw and glares at the man working diligently at one of the desks out in the bullpen. She had hired him for his brains; God knows they need that to balance out the energies in the station. Leroy, Ruby and Emma are the muscles in this operation. Not that they are stupid – it's just that they don't have the patience to think before acting the way he does. He's a good deputy; hardworking, honest, diligent, and generally good-natured. It's just unfortunate that he sucks at following orders.
"August?" Emma calls out through gritted teeth.
"Yes, Sheriff?" he asks with a bright smile – a nice contrast to the scowl on her face.
Sometimes, Emma hates how much of a cheery person he is.
"About your report on last week's traffic violations–"
"I left it on your desk," August is quick to point out.
"I know, I'm reading it right now. Or, at least I tried."
"Is there a problem with it?"
Emma exhales slowly, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You remember what I told you last week, and heck, also the week before that?"
"I dunno, you tend to say a lot of things boss," August says with a lopsided grin. He's smart enough to wipe it off when Emma's eyes turn dangerous. "Uh, about my reports specifically? You said that they were a bit too wordy..."
"'A bit too wordy' is a gross understatement," Emma snorts. "What did I tell you to do?"
"You told me to leave my writer's hat at home, and also, to keep my urge to write novels instead of police reports in check."
"That's a nice way of putting it. But, what were my exact words August?"
August scratches the back of his head, looking mighty sheepish. "Uh... 'hold back the word vomit, or so help me God, I'm gonna shove my fist down your mouth and choke you with it...'" he mumbles lamely.
"Yes." Emma lifts her brows slowly, her mouth a thin line. "So, should I call an exorcist then? Cause clearly you're still possessed by Shakespeare's ghost."
"Aw, c'mon Emma, traffic violation reports are tedious to write because they're so dull. There's nothing wrong about wanting to spicen things up a bit."
For a brief moment, Emma closes her eyes, thanking the powers that be that Regina is no longer working at Town Hall. Mayor Mills had the tendency of poking her nose where it doesn't belong; the woman makes it a point to be up in everyone's business – in Emma's, to be precise. That includes everything and anything that happens in the Sheriff's Department. If Mayor Mills ever read one of August's reports, well, Regina would probably pop a hernia. "August," Emma starts, her voice calm yet dripping with warning. "Unless they slapped you in the face with their license and shoved their registration up your ass, you don't have to write down how they reacted when you wrote them a ticket. Do you understand me?"
"Got it, boss," August nods sullenly, probably mentally counting how many reports he had to scrap and start over again.
"You don't have to describe what they were wearing either," Emma adds after a beat, another one of his reports in hand. Her green eyes, bloodshot as they are, skim over the parts where his Deputy describes old Mrs. Mitten's clothes in disturbing detail. Talk about too much information. She really doesn't have to know that the old lady doesn't like to wear a bra when she drives.
"We're out of pepper spray."
Emma glances up to find Ruby standing by her desk. Her second-in-command is waving an empty container of said pepper spray, emphasizing her point.
"File a requisition order, Rubes. You know the drill."
"I do know, that's why I'm telling you about it. If I file a req form, it will take days to process."
"Well, that's bureaucracy for you."
"Em, we need one now," Ruby perches herself at the edge of Emma's desk, her long legs kicking at air. "Tomorrow's the parade."
"So?"
"We'll need pepper spray."
"No, we won't," Emma turns her attention to another stack of files that she had dutifully neglected for the better part of a week. The words swim before her eyes, reminding her once more why she absolutely loathes doing paperwork. She just doesn't have the proper attention span for it.
"But, Em–"
"Seriously Rubes, I highly doubt that anyone in Storybrooke will cause a riot over parade floats overflowing with pumpkins and apples and dried leaves. That will be just sad."
Ever the persistent one, Ruby stands her ground, refusing to let the matter go. "Emma, Granny gives away free beer during the festival, and, for the past twenty-eight years, someone always gets pepper-sprayed during the parade."
"I know, and, going by Graham's old files, that certain someone is sitting right over there."
The blonde inclines her head towards the man slumped against his desk a few feet away, drooling on the budget report that she had asked him to file an hour ago. He's literally sleeping on the job – in full view of his superiors too. Leroy has some balls, she'll give him that.
"And, since our dear ol' Grumps is part of the team now, I'm pretty sure he'll lay off the sauce this year."
"Are you sure about that? Leroy had a few beers with the dwarves yesterday. He's probably sleeping off a hangover right now. A lot of people are going to be walking around pissed drunk, it's going to be torture for him." Ruby levels her with a knowing look. Old habits die hard. Even if he wasn't one in his old life, Leroy did spend the past two decades as Storybrooke's resident drunk. Ruby knows firsthand, being the one serving him booze all these years. "What assignment did you give him?"
"Security. He'll be in charge of watching over the tail-end of the parade with August. We'll be at the front."
Ruby hums at that, probably letting the knowledge stew inside her head. After a beat, realization seems to set in. She archs an eyebrow at Emma. "The nuns are on the last float."
Emma smirks, looking mighty pleased with herself. And, she truly is.
"Precisely. I don't think he'll be tempted to go near the free beer at Granny's booth when I basically just gave him permission to ogle Sister Astrid's ass all day."
"Bravo, Sheriff Swan. Ten points for craftiness," Ruby offers a slow clap for Emma's benefit. Pushing herself away from the table, she saunters out of her boss' office, but not before muttering a low, "I still think we could use some pepper spray though, tradition and all that jazz, you know?" over her shoulder.
Emma laughs at that. "Trust me Rubes, we're gonna break Leroy's twenty eight-year standing record tomorrow. Just you wait."
"You're not worried about anyone else causing problems?"
"Nah, it's a parade organized by fairy nuns and the kids at the orphanage; only the soulless would try to cause trouble." Emma waves a flippant hand.
Maybe it's bad practice for a Sheriff to be so blasé about such matters (considering that they just had a fissure scare and pranksters like Rufio and his Lost Boys are still running around), but Emma's brain is too fried from poring through all sorts of forms and reports that, right now, she doesn't really give a damn.
"I assure you, nothing's gonna go wrong."
Famous last words, indeed.
Turns out they weren't as thorough with their search as they thought they were.
A fissure did open up in the woods after the powerful spell was cast, but it took six whole days for a creature from the ruins of the Enchanted Forest to stumble upon it and enter their world.
You see, fissures are one-way portals – a bridge of sorts connecting fairytale land to Storybrooke. Now that magic has come to their new home, the fabric between both of their worlds has thinned, allowing for a powerful enough spell to cause tears that may be used as doorways to transcend the new world from the old. Those tears are fissures. And, unfortunately for those few souls in town who desired to return to the Enchanted Forest, fissures can only bring beings from fairytale land to Storybrooke, not the other way around. They're stuck in Maine, just like everyone else.
Michael Tillman is camping in the woods with his children on this fateful morning when Storybrooke is once again beset by a visitor from the other side. The fissure had appeared near where they had pitched their tents, small enough not to notice at first, and they go about their day blissfully unaware that all hell is about to break loose. As soon as he feels the earth shake and sees the crevice splitting open like a bad wound, Michael hoists his two grown children over his shoulders and runs as fast as his legs will allow, overcome with a sudden rush of adrenaline. Menacing roars echoes through the forest, prompting him to move quicker, his pace almost inhuman. In his fright and hurry to leave, he leaves behind their belongings at the campsite – among them, the cellphone in his backpack.
He's unable to call and warn anyone during the short, frantic drive back to town.
The blocked-off roads that welcome them at the town proper sends a chill down his spine. Overcome with panic, he had forgotten. Today is Storybrooke's annual fall festival. And, from the looks of it, the partying and merrymaking is already in full swing. The parade is about to begin.
The deafening roar that had plagued him in the forest cuts through the air and makes the metal of his truck shudder. White as a sheet, he stumbles out of the door, faces the throng of people milling about, and at the top of his lungs, he screams:
"CYCLOPS!"
If somebody had told Emma Swan four months ago that she would be fighting a one-eyed giant – this time in the middle of Main Street and smack dab at the beginning of the Autumn Festival parade too – she would have rolled her eyes and laughed her pretty little ass off.
Well, she's not laughing now, that's for sure.
"Fucking hell..!" she yelps, managing a less than graceful dive to the pavement, tasting asphalt in the process.
A giant wooden pumpkin sails past her frame and misses her head by a measly inch. The orange projectile hits the lamp post behind her and splinters off into several pieces. Emma winces at the sight. Marco had been working on that for a week, and, damn, if he weren't so busy running for his life, she's sure he would've been pissed.
Leroy, it seems, is more than happy to be pissed on his behalf. "Hey! Over here you ugly piece of shit!"
Crawling on all fours to find cover behind one of the abandoned parade floats, Emma chances a glance at the stocky man pelting rocks at the monstrosity wreaking havoc nearby. She doesn't know whether to be impressed by his courage or be annoyed by his recklessness. Well, crazy or not, Leroy's a brave son of a bitch. She has to give him props for that, at the very least.
After all, not a lot of people have the guts to face down a thirteen-foot tall cyclops (apparently, it's one of the tiny ones too).
And, if she weren't so fearful for her own life and those of the people she had sworn to protect, she would've found humor in the curious – yet slightly badass – sight of a dwarf standing tall against the beanstalk giant's infinitely uglier cousin. It's something like David and Goliath; except, her foul-mouthed deputy's stones does not seem to do enough damage to faze or even topple the one-eyed freakshow. If anything else, Leroy only succeeds in further provoking the cyclops' temper.
Mary Margaret's freshly dismantled parade float can attest to that.
"Aim for the eye!" Emma suggests helpfully. Maybe they can kill a cyclops the way one is supposed to slay an ogre.
"That's what I've been doing!" Leroy yells back, throwing his stock of rocks with a not-so-surprising lack of accuracy. The cyclops, being a big target, is easy enough to hit. But, to actually strike that huge, bloodshot eye when it keeps on moving is proving to be a nearly impossible task.
"Emma!" she hears a familiar voice calling out from the alley across the street.
"Over here!"
A few seconds later, a breathless Ruby hunkers down beside her, face flushed from all the running she had to do.
"Everyone made it to the hospital. Whale is patching up the injured, nothing serious, just superficial wounds. I left when Snow and Charming arrived."
"Henry?"
"He's fine. A little bit shaken, but he's alright."
Emma lets out a ragged breath, feeling a little bit of tension leaving her body. He's safe, that's the important thing.
"Regina?"
"Henry said he'd call her right away and let her know what's happening."
Emma nods and takes in a huge breath, unexpectedly finding comfort in the knowledge that Regina's most certainly on her way here. She'll feel more confident about their chances of surviving this ordeal with Regina and her magic by her side.
A loud roar fills the air and both women wince at the noise. A scooter flies overhead and crashes into a parked van. Ruby and Emma, who are watching the carnage with wide eyes, flinch at the sound of Leroy's agonized howl. That's his scooter. And the parked van? That belongs to the nuns.
This day is just getting better and better.
Ruby takes a quick peek at their one-eyed foe, nudges Emma with an elbow, and says in a flat tone: "Check out the humongous eye on that thing. Now don't you wish we had some pepper spray?"
If not for the fact that they were in a life or death situation, Emma would have laughed.
"Next council meeting, remind me to ask the town to spring for a firetruck that sprays mace."
"Roger that, Sheriff."
With a brief pat on her shoulder, Ruby sets off again towards the other side of the street, eyeing the revolver Leroy had accidentally dropped near the barricade after a particularly agile pavement swan dive a while back.
Mary Margaret and David – whom Emma still has trouble calling by their real names since the curse broke and restored everyone's memories – had earlier gone to escort the Blue Fairy to the place where Michael had set up camp, ensuring that no more creatures sprang out of the fissure by closing it with fairy magic. They had promised to come back as soon as they can to help fight the giant, but Emma refused their help and insisted that they go and protect the people holed up at the hospital instead. They'll try to hold their ground here, but if for some reason, God forbid, that they cannot keep the cyclops from leaving Main Street, she needs her parents to be their last line of defense. They can handle themselves. All of them can. David has his sword, Mary Margaret has her bow and arrows, and Emma, well, she has her trusty little gun and her band of merry ol' deputies.
"I'm out of rocks!" Leroy jumps to the side, just in time to avoid being hit by an oak barrel. For a second, the sight of it reminds Emma of Donkey Kong, but she shakes the thought away when she sees him nearly getting his head chopped off by a manhole cover. Leroy growls at her. "Hurry up and do something, sister!"
"I only know about the eye thing and it's not working! You don't happen to know what a cyclops' other weaknesses are, do ya?" Emma shouts back, braving a peek round the corner. She scampers back when she catches sight of the cyclops angling to throw a bench their way.
"If I did, I wouldn't be playing dodgeball with it, now would I?" Leroy grunts and rolls to the side, showing much dexterity for someone whose only exercise consists of lifting beer to his lips only a few months back.
"Just awesome.." Emma mumbles to herself.
She unholsters her pistol and takes a deep breath, her eyes flitting in all odd directions, trying to assess her next move. Her hands felt clammy, but even as her grip tightens around her weapon, she feels useless here with her gun.
It's exactly how she felt during her brief trip to Fairytale Land, when an ogre had easily mangled her old revolver into an oddly shaped ball of metal.
Guns are pretty much useless against supernatural creatures. She knows that now.
Unfortunately, another soul in her team discovers this the hard way when August jumps out of cover and shoots the cyclops point blank with his shotgun. He hits the bastard squarely on its left leg and succeeds in staggering it backwards for a bit, and, although the wound bleeds a little, the cyclops brushes the injury off as if it's nothing more than a teeny weeny papercut. Not surprisingly, it retaliates by swatting August away like a fly, and the last thing Emma sees of her deputy is him sailing through the air like a rag doll and crashing into the display window of Mr. Gold's pawnshop.
Ruby jumps in after him, agile like a wolf, and her relieved scream of 'he's alive!' manages to untwist the ball of worry that's coiling inside Emma's gut. No one is going to die under her watch, not if she can help it.
Leroy's still doing his acrobatic rolling, diving and sliding routine at the middle of the street; purposely trying to draw the cyclops' attention to himself to buy his colleagues some time to formulate a plan of attack.
And, by colleagues, that can only mean a busy Ruby, an injured August and, of course, a clueless Emma.
The said blonde steels her resolve. Seeing that her deputies are either incapacitated or preoccupied with other important matters, it's up to her, the Sheriff, to come up with the perfect solution to their little giant problem.
Hey, no pressure there, whatsoever.
Emma closes her eyes for a brief moment and steadies herself. Sure, the odds are not in her favor. But, then again, when are they ever?
At that moment, as if by divine intervention, she casts a worried glance towards the broken window of Gold's shop and sees salvation. She's only hoping to catch a glimpse of the two deputies still inside, but what she sees instead causes a ripple of excitement to slither across her body, tingling her skin like electricity.
She remembers one of her old foster parents then, the one who always liked to polish his guns by the fireplace after Sunday dinner. "Kid," he called to her once, when he caught her observing his ritual from behind the sofa. He took a healthy gulp from his glass of bourbon before picking up a rag and running it through the length of his 9mm pistol. "Believe me, there's no problem in this world that you can't face if you have a gun in one hand and a glass of good alcohol in another."
Emma was eight then, so she could barely understand what the hell he was talking about. She did know he was kinda crazy though; so, she never really paid any attention to the mindless drivel he spewed out on a daily basis. That said, she liked to humor him from time to time. "What if my problem's too big?"
He smiled then, a glorious one that showcased a few missing teeth. "That's easy, little one. You just have to find a bigger gun."
And that, she does.
Breathing a little easier since this whole mess began, she takes a quick look at the cyclops – making sure that Leroy still had its attention – before sprinting towards Gold's wrecked shop. No doubt he'd be demanding payment from Town Hall for the damage to his store when he comes back to Storybrooke, but that's the least of her worries. Broken glass crunches under her boots as she bounds right into the pawnshop, the sound of the bell chiming above the door a stark contrast to the chaotic noise emanating from outside. Ruby and August are on the floor, the former tending to the latter's war wounds.
Emma kneels down before the two. "August? You alright?"
"My f-father carved m-me out of Rosewood, it's one of the h-hardest, he said. I-I think I'll live," the injured man tries to joke but fails miserably, wincing slightly and hissing in pain as Ruby presses a cloth to his thigh to put pressure on his wound and stop the bleeding.
"Hang in there, buddy. We'll get you to the hospital soon. Just need to get rid of our one-eyed friend," Emma says in a gentle, soothing tone, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze.
She feels something hot and wet on her hand; she doesn't need to look at her fingers to know that they are now tinged crimson. His arm isn't as mutilated as his leg, but he's still sporting nasty cuts on his biceps. The sight of blood petrifies her and seeing it flowing freely from her deputy's leg wound only compounds her fear, but she stamps down her discomfort and wills herself to focus. If she wants to save August, she needs to act now.
"Ruby? I know now's not the best time, but can you give me a hand?"
A look of hesitation washes over Ruby's pale face and, for a second, Emma thinks she might actually say no. But then, August grasps Ruby's shaking hand with his own trembling one and gives her a weak nod, silently giving her permission to leave his side. The worst of the bleeding has stopped, but he's lost a lot of blood. He can hang on for now, but if they don't get out of here within the hour, he'll probably lose a leg... or worse, his life.
"You've got a plan?" Ruby turns to Emma, her expression as serious as the amount of blood dripping from her hands.
"Rocks and bullets aren't enough to topple that bastard. We need a bigger gun," Emma's eyes blaze with intent, and slowly, she moves her gaze towards the display window that August had crashed into.
Ruby follows her gaze and her eyebrows lift to her hairline instantaneously. "A bigger gun..." she mutters quietly.
"Think it'll work?"
"Let's go find out," Ruby says, a low growl vibrating in her throat, eyes flashing dangerously.
The cannon is a brilliant, inspired idea, Emma has to admit. If they can't hit his eye, they'll just have to settle for his face. Or his body. Any part of him, really. As long as they make a hole in the creature, it's fine. They're not picky.
SQ-SQ-SQ
"This is one of the small ones?"
"Yeah, I've seen bigger."
"So, like, compared to other cannons, this is a baby?"
"Mhmm."
"Heaviest fucking baby I've ever seen."
"Em.."
"Sorry.."
Carefully, they keep low and roll the cannon out of the shop as quickly and discreetly as they can. It's heavy as hell, and the wheels can use a bit of grease, but they manage to move it with the help of all the fear and nervous energy pumping through their veins. They place the cannon near the entrance of an alley, careful not to draw much attention to it by choosing a spot that's chock full of debris. Luckily, the cyclops has moved a bit down the street and is too preoccupied to notice them running to the pawnshop and back out again, bringing with them all the items that had been sitting on display with the cannon. Leroy still had the cyclops distracted, and the mere fact that he isn't lying flat on the pavement like a pancake is not only proof of his resilience, but his remarkable ability to duck. He's a slippery bastard, that Leroy. If they manage to get out of this mess alive, Emma believes he deserves nothing less than a commendation. Hell, she'll probably give all her deputies one. They all deserve a medal.
They spread the items before them and arrange them near the cannon – a filthy sponge attached to a rod, a couple of rags, a wooden box full of black powder, two cannonballs, a steel stick, some tin foil, a matchbox, and a piece of cannon fuse.
Firing a gun is easy. Point and shoot. Anyone can pick up a gun and fire it (whether or not they hit their target is another matter). However, a cannon is a whole different ballgame. Looking positively befuddled at the assortment of materials by her feet, Emma turns to Ruby and utters the only words running through her brain: "Now what?"
Fortunately, Ruby doesn't seem to be as ignorant as she is about the mechanics of firing cannons and just promptly gets to work. Emma watches, a little mystified, the way Ruby's nimble fingers quickly form a small container for the black powder out of tin foil.
"This is Jackson's cannon..." Ruby says, her voice deathly quiet, eyes still focused on the task at hand. Her fingers briefly trace the carved initials on the wooden box of gunpowder before closing the lid with a snap. "He must be really strapped for cash if he pawned this thing and sold his bike."
"What?"
"Nothing," Ruby shakes her head and expels a slow, sad breath. She motions to the object that looks like a giant cotton swab with her chin. "The barrel should be clean, grab the rod and swab the bore."
"He taught you how to fire it?" Emma asks, doing as she's told and cleaning the insides of the cannon. She inserts the rod twice and twists it in, making sure the sponge got everything.
Ruby's silent for a moment, lost in her own head, before biting her lower lip and giving her a slight nod.
"Swab, powder, wadding, shot."
Emma lifts an eyebrow in question.
Ruby shrugs, taking the steel stick and very carefully inserting the foil of black powder into the cannon's fuse hole with it. She applies the same amount of care when she puts in the fuse.
"During our second date, Jackson brought it to the beach and fired a shot into the ocean to impress me. He's always been a bit of a show-off. Got in a lot of trouble for it though; Regina had him locked up for two days. I had to bail him out myself."
Emma doesn't miss the slight sigh from Ruby's lips, but decides not to pry any further. Clearly, there are still some unresolved feelings there. But this isn't the time nor the place to have a heart-to-heart talk about Ruby's ex-boyfriend. They have a one-eyed freak to kill.
For the next agonizing moments, Emma's attention flies between Ruby and Leroy; keeping an eye out - no pun intended - for the cyclops as well. She's hyper aware of her surroundings, which is why she almost knocks the wadding out of Ruby's hands when the cyclops punches a hole right through the window of Sebastian's Boutique and sends shards of glass flying everywhere.
"Careful, Em. Don't want the gunpowder inside to spill," Ruby gives her a reproachful look while making sure the wadding's packed tightly up against said powder.
"Sorry," Emma mumbles, keeping her antsy hands to herself.
"I'm pretty sure that's everything..." Ruby says after a moment, wiping her hands on her tight leather pants. "Only thing left to do is load the shot and fire."
The cannonball weighs like a ton; Emma finds her own arms shaking when she picks one up. If she hadn't been diligent about hitting the gym three times a week, she's sure she would've dropped it on her toes. Ruby jumps in to assist, and together, they slip it in the barrel as gently as they can.
"Alright, let's do this.." Emma flexes her fingers and exhales through her lips. They only have one chance to get this right. If they miss, they probably won't have the time to reload before the freakshow goes after their heads. "How many seconds do we have after we light the fuse?"
"Three seconds, tops."
"Okay, I'll get Leroy to lure the big fella to the middle of the intersection. As soon as the cyclops is a step away from the traffic light, we'll ignite the fuse."
"Uh, Em.."
"What?"
"You don't happen to have a lighter with you, do ya?" Ruby asks, showing her the empty matchbox.
"Leroy!" Emma shouts into the walkie-talkie clipped to her Sheriff jacket's shoulder strap. "You hear me?"
The radio crackles for a second before a familiar gruff voice replies with a breathless grunt.
"Great, listen good. Ruby and I are near the alley beside the shoe shop. We have a cannon armed and ready. I need you to lead the bastard right in the middle of the intersection. Do you copy?"
"Loud and clear, sister."
"Alright, but as soon as you pass us by, throw your lighter our way."
"I don't have one!"
"Why the hell not?!" Ruby screeches right into the radio, and Emma flinches accordingly.
"I quit smoking!"
"Since when?!" the two women chorus.
"Nova."
Both Emma and Ruby roll their eyes.
"Okay, hold off on our plan for a moment till we find a lighter. I'll radio you again when we're ready."
"Roger that."
"Stay alive, Leroy."
"Yeah? Hurry the hell up then."
"Watch over the cannon, I'll try to look for a lighter in Gold's shop."
"Okay, make it fast," Emma nods at a leaving Ruby, drawing her pistol and crouching low beside the antique artillery.
Beads of sweat pools on her forehead as tension takes over her body once again. If the cyclops does see her here, she's dead meat. What good will a tiny little pistol do against a one-eyed giant?
After an agonizing minute, a few of that tension rolls off her shoulders as soon as she notices a head of dark hair in her periphery, making its way towards her.
"Oh my God..." Emma exhales in relief.
"Regina is just fine, my dear."
"Took you long enough to get here," Emma glances at Regina and smiles – her first genuine one since the cyclops, literally, rained on their parade.
"I figured you and your deputies would be able to handle a little cyclops," Regina says dryly, a wry little grin on her lips. She sweeps the street with her eyes and makes a face at the carnage. "Clearly, I thought wrong."
"We'll hit back soon enough," Emma pats the cannon beside her and lets her fingers drag down the barrel, unwittingly leaving behind a nice imprint of her hand on the metal – courtesy of the dirt on the cannonball and August's blood.
Regina bristles at the sight. "You're hurt."
"Huh?"
Before Emma can react, Regina takes her right hand and inspects her bloody fingers and palm, a frown so deep marring her usually stoic face. "Where's your wound?"
"I'm... I'm fine..." Emma murmurs, finding it hard to speak all of a sudden. "August got hurt."
Regina lets go of her hand-–in a very gentle, un-Regina-like way too-–and Emma immediately feels the loss tug at her chest. She clears her throat and regroups, focusing instead on the very important task before them.
"Regina? I need you to touch me."
"What?"
Emma ignores the comical way Regina's looking at her, and instead tilts her head at the cannon. "Leroy's gonna lure the cyclops over there. I need you to use your magic to ignite the fuse when it's time to fire."
"Okay, that I can do," Regina nods.
"Rubes," Emma speaks into her walkie-talkie. "Take the squad car, it's parked by the curb at the corner of the pawnshop, bring August to the hospital."
"What about–"
"Regina's here," Emma interjects. "Everything's going to be fine now."
Emma feels, but does not see, the serious look that Regina shoots her way upon hearing her words and how confident she sounds when saying them. She means it though. In a big way, having Regina here, armed with her magic and her quiet confidence and everything that makes her so formidable, is enough reassurance that somehow, they'll make it out of here alive.
"Leroy?" Emma radioes her other deputy.
"Y-yeah?"
He's sounding severely out of breath now. "We're all set. Any time you're ready, bring him in."
"'Bout t-time, sister."
Emma stands to her full height and glances far down the road to where Leroy and the cyclops are playing a warped game of hide-and-seek. Leroy will hide behind a car and the cyclops will then seek to end his life by crushing the vehicle with his fists. They are basically going up the street doing this whole weird dance, leaving wrecked cars in their wake. Insurance companies are going to have a lot on their plates when this is all done.
"We have two minutes," Emma estimates, turning to Regina and extending a helping hand.
She pulls the woman to her feet and they both position themselves at the back of the cannon – careful not to stand too close to the weapon; it's bound to recoil when fired.
"Are you sure we'll be able to hit that thing, Sheriff?"
Emma shrugs helplessly. "He's huge, if we miss his face or his chest, hopefully we'd get his crotch. If that doesn't get him on his knees, I don't know what will."
Regina lifts an eyebrow but leaves it at that.
Emma offers her hand once more, but instead of touching her, Regina flexes her own fingers and decides to test her powers without Emma's assistance. Regina has the presence of mind to aim in the opposite direction, much to Emma's relief.
One flick of her wrist and the air explodes... with fireflies.
Emma chokes on a laugh. "Great effort, your majesty, but I don't really think fireflies can cause actual fires."
Regina flushes all the way down to her neck and rolls her eyes at the blonde. "One of these days I just might conjure a dragon instead of a dragonfly. Let's see how you'd like that."
"I already slain a dragon, Regina. I think I can do it again," Emma says with a haughty smirk, earning another eyeroll from the brunette.
A succession of tremors makes them look in Leroy's direction. Poor man is drenched in sweat, face so red it's almost purple. He's running as fast as his legs can take him, the cyclops hot on his trail.
"One minute," Emma murmurs. This time, she takes the initiative and grabs hold of Regina's hand.
She feels the familiar surge of energy transferring from her body to Regina's, but unlike before, it doesn't make her lightheaded anymore. It's possibly due to all the adrenaline in her veins, or maybe, she's just getting used to it.
This time, when Regina flicks her wrist, a fireball appears on her free hand.
"Four months ago, would you have ever thought that we'd make heat together?"
The fireball flickers a wee bit brighter at her words. Emma suppresses a smirk and pretends not to notice.
"Miss Swan," Regina warns.
"Just saying, when we touch, fires start. Doesn't get more heated than that," Emma says all too innocently.
Regina glares at her through the corner of her eyes. "Your impropriety during life and death situations is duly noted, Sheriff Swan. Now, if you can only stop with the double entendres, I believe we have a cyclops to kill."
Emma grins from ear to ear before returning all her attention to their one-eyed friend.
"He's all yours!" Leroy yells as he runs through the middle of the intersection, the cyclops a few good meters away.
"On my mark..." Emma tells Regina. "Ready... and... f-oh shit!"
All of their fears about the cannon missing its target become a moot point, because the cyclops suddenly catches glimpse of the fireball in Regina's hand, abandons his pursuit of Leroy, and guns straight in their direction. He's so close it's damn near impossible to miss.
"Fire fire fire fire fire fire fire fire fire fire fire fireeeeeeeeee!" Emma shrieks in complete and utter panic.
Regina, regal as ever, is the face of calm. With a casual wave of a hand, she sends the tiny fireball hurtling towards the cannon and ignites the fuse.
The cyclops is so close that when it roars, their hair whips back and they both pull a face at his horrid breath.
Ruby is a little off-base. It isn't three seconds. It's just two. Without warning, the cannon fires and leaps backward a few solid inches. Clouds of white smoke billow around them, making Emma cough and Regina crinkle her nose in distaste.
Their ears are ringing and they are having a hard time breathing.
But, all of that doesn't matter.
The explosion that happens upon impact buckles and thunders through the street like a nuke going off.
The cannonball goes straight through the giant's chest, directly at the cyclops' heart and, as soon as it hits the organ, the monster explodes into tiny chunks. It rains blood on Main Street. Pieces of the cyclops goes flying everywhere. On treetops, store fronts, cars, and yes, even poor winded Leroy. Emma has a nice – albeit, inner – laugh about that. She doesn't know her deputy can pull off a giant intestine scarf, but he does. He deserves two medals now.
Thank God Regina has the wherewithal to put up a barrier spell the second the giant explodes. A piece or two went through the barrier, but at least, they are saved from a literal blood bath. Leroy's still spitting out cyclops blood and gagging in the middle of the street. Emma grimaces. Yeah, better make it three medals.
"Well, that's enough excitement for one day. I would've said it was fun, but that would've been a lie," Regina says in a bored tone, taking her hand back from Emma's grasp. Without as much as a glance, she turns on her heels and walks away.
"Goodbye, Miss Swan. Have a nice time cleaning up."
It takes a second for Emma to react. She stumbles after the brunette and almost slips at the crimson-colored street. "H-hey! Where you going?"
"Home."
"Why?"
"Why not?"
"Aren't you gonna help out?"
"I just did."
"C'mon," Emma jogs in front of Regina, turns around to face the Evil Queen, and starts walking backwards. "Don't you wanna help us sort out your beloved town? As former Mayor, isn't it only appropriate for you to stick around and help your old constituents clean up?"
"I was forced out of my office," Regina sticks her nose in the air. "This is your mother's problem now."
"Henry will probably want to help us clean up too..." Emma wags her brows, not one to play fair herself.
Regina glares at her, probably knowing what game she's playing, and trudges on.
"Oh, c'mon, are you kidding? We need your magic to hasten the clean up. Plus, you're doing community service right? Give me one good reason why I should let you go..." Emma dares, arching a brow.
"I have cyclops in my hair."
That's an answer she definitely isn't expecting.
Emma watches Regina's upper lip curl in disgust as she holds the drenched lock of brown hair away from her face.
"Actually," Emma grins lopsidedly. "You have some on your cleavage too."
Regina's step falters. Emma's grin broadens.
"I would've done the knightly thing and offer to get it out for you, but that's gonna entail touching your boobs," Emma says as seriously as possible, trying extra hard not to laugh. "And I don't know, your majesty; if touching your hand caused a fire, and touching your arm opened a portal to another world, me touching your breasts might actually destroy this town. After my two week forced sabbatical with Mary Margaret, I found that I kinda prefer this place to fairytale land."
The glare Regina shoots her way would've melted iron.
Emma shrugs. "Just saying, I'm the White Knight, not the Harbinger of Death."
"No, you're not, Miss Swan, but I might just be yours."
"My knight?"
"Your death."
"Oh," Emma clamps her lips shut. She looks at Regina with her most pathetic face and murmurs a desperate: "Please stay."
Regina rolls her eyes and lengthens her stride, bumping the blonde's shoulder as she pushes past.
Emma sighs in defeat and stops following after the brunette. Looks like they'd be sorting out this mess without the help of Regina's magic today.
"I won't stay."
"Hm?" Emma turns around to face Regina. The Evil Queen's still walking away, doesn't even give her a backward glance.
"I won't stay," Regina repeats. "But I'll be back."
A smile breaks out on Emma's face. Of course Regina would opt to clean herself first before cleaning up the town. No other person values orderliness and cleanliness than Regina Mills. Couple that with a healthy dose of vanity, and well, you get the most put together woman in Storybrooke.
"I'll be waiting," Emma mutters, staring at Regina's retreating form until she's almost out of view.
The moment she turns around, the blonde spots something that elicits a smirk from her face. Emma walks over to Granny's abandoned stall at the side of the street, shaking her head in amazement at the fact that it had been untouched, before helping herself to a cold bottle of beer. She grabs two more, carries them by their necks with one hand, and proceeds to walk over to the blood-soaked man sitting slumped in the middle of the street.
Emma hands the bottles over to Leroy with a grin before plopping down beside him in a careless fashion. She nudges his shoulder with hers, unwittingly coating her jacket with cyclops blood, but thinking none of it.
"There are a few more over there if you want some more," she inclines her head towards Granny's free beer stall.
"I don't drink on the job, sister," Leroy mutters. "I'll have a beer after I clock out."
"Make an exception this time," Emma shrugs. "You earned it."
Leroy looks at her and smirks. "No pepper spray this year?"
"We're out of it," Emma grins. They clink their bottles together, take a long swig, and just... laugh.
Killing a cyclops, powering up Regina's magic and cleaning up the town takes its toll.
After two whole days of being constantly on her feet, Emma's exhausted body just about had enough. She's sleeping off a fever in her bedroom when Henry bounds in, a glass of water in hand and a familiar looking white box tucked under his arm.
He climbs into bed with her and takes out a pill from the nightstand, careful not to spill water all over her sick frame. He places the box beside the blonde's head on the pillow.
"Emma?" he says gently, nudging her shoulder.
Emma groans and burrows deeper into the covers.
"Mom says it's time for your meds," Henry persists, kicking off the covers with his feet.
"Kid, gimme a break.." Emma slurs, her voice thick with sleep.
Henry places the pill by her lips. "If you don't take this, she's gonna go down and make you take it herself. She won't be as nice about it as me. C'mon, Emma, take it and I'll let you rest, okay?"
She doesn't bother opening her eyes as she parts her lips and lets the kid chuck a pill inside her mouth.
"Water," Henry says.
Emma lifts her head a bit and drinks from the glass Henry's holding for her.
"Great job, Emma," Henry humors her and places the glass on the nightstand.
Emma gives him a small, lazy smile before unceremoniously dropping her head back on the pillow and conking out again.
She wakes up four hours later, dried drool at the sides of her lips and a weird sensation on one side of her face. Her right cheek is numb. When she reaches up to touch it, her fingers find something else instead. She had slept on a box, and the numbness she's feeling is most probably because it had left indentations on her face. How the box got on top of her pillow, she doesn't know. Probably Henry, though.
Emma sighs and opens it over her head, naturally, gravity does its thing and pulls the contents right out to her face.
Another lilac.
How August found the time to send her a flower while he's still recuperating in the hospital is a mystery.
Emma takes out the white card that had fallen to her neck and flips it open. Typewritten again. Green, fever-addled, eyes goes over the typed words. Once. Twice. Thrice. A confused frown makes its way across her features.
"Who the hell is Argos?" Emma's hoarse voice says to an empty room.
Nice job against the cyclops. My favorite part was when you screamed like a bitch.
-Argos
PS. Thanks for the three grand. You'll get it back eventually. Consider this my IOU.