A/N: Thanks to the guest word-prompt for the main premise of this fic. (Also, thanks to the other guest word prompt which will feature in the second chapter... This is the only suggestion I have ever received that has made me blush, so well done, you sly fox, you. Challenge accepted).
This fic kind of acts as a mirror to my story PAINT, as I have used the same setting and timeframe (S2, but doesn't involve the storyline of Cora and Hook coming to Storybrooke). It doesn't follow on from Paint or require having read that fic to follow this one, I just wanted to approach feelings of confusion/ attraction from each side in a similar format. This story is mostly Regina's side of things.
Hope you enjoy, and please review!
"You want a copy of the keys...?"
Leroy asks as he frowns distrustfully up at the Mayor and rubs his scruff as though mulling the idea over. Regina sighs, doing her best to keep her anger in check, but clinging onto the reigns of polite conversation with a precariously shaky grip.
"Yes. Not for personal use, I assure you, but because I'm the Mayor. The mines are public property, therefore there needs to be a copy of the keys in case anything happens to the current set. Trust me, I have about as much inclination to go wandering around down there as I do to stick my head in an oven."
"Trust you?! You think-"
"-I think you need to work on your attitude, but then that's hardly news to either of us. I didn't come here to argue, and it wasn't a request. You will give me the keys.
"Can't."
"Just what do you mean? You-"
"-I don't have them."
"Well, then where are they?"
"The Sheriff has them."
Great. Of course, she does.
"Miss Swan took the keys?"
"That's what I just said, didn't I?"
"You did."
The Queen sighs, taking her leave without bidding Leroy farewell and marching back to her car. Her mood has plummeted during the last five minutes spent negotiating with the insufferably grouchy dwarf, and finding out she's going to have to pay the Sheriff a visit is just the cherry on top of a cake she doesn't wish to eat.
Why her? Why Emma?
She has done her best over the past couple of weeks to give the younger woman as wide a berth as possible; only stopping by the Station when absolutely necessary.
Her reason for doing so has changed somewhat since Emma first took up the position of Sheriff; no longer viewing the younger woman with the same hatred as she once had- not after everything that has come to pass- but finding herself increasingly uncomfortable around the blonde ever since suffering through Emma and Snow's 'Welcome Home' dinner at Granny's.
And, for once, I can't blame it entirely on the idiot herself...
No, to give Emma credit, she has surprised the Mayor somewhat in her willingness to compromise when it comes to the uncomfortable subject of Henry; agreeing in the end that the boy should remain living with Regina, but that she would be allowed to see him whenever she or Henry wished, within reason. It had taken a great deal of effort on the brunette's part- a great many deep breaths and pounding headaches- to get to this point with the Swan woman (and there have been several caustic exchanges of opinions since), but in the end, Emma seems to be sticking true to her claim that she's simply looking for changes for the better in the darker woman, and she has so far kept herself to herself and sent Henry home in time for dinner unless otherwise arranged.
Regina can't help but feel that the Sheriff's surprisingly agreeable cooperation only adds insult to injury, for it is no longer a case of disliking Emma that has left her wishing to spend as little time in the younger woman's company as possible.
Not anymore.
Quite the opposite.
It all started about three weeks ago when the weather started to become warm- unseasonably warm- and Storybrooke has been sweltering in the limbo of Indian Summer ever since. Understandably, she has adapted her wardrobe accordingly; donning thin, sleeveless blouses and light linen dress-pants to combat the heat, and, one evening, even resorting to wearing just her camisole when sitting out by her apple tree beneath the setting sun.
The alterations to Emma's wardrobe, however, have been a little more extreme.
For the most part, when the two of them cross paths, at least one of them is on the clock, and so, when the heatwave first started, this had simply meant rolling her eyes upon finding the Sheriff strolling around town in the thin cotton tank-tops she had shown such a fondness for before falling into the role of Deputy and dressing a little smarter.
A little smarter...
Not entirely appropriate given the younger woman's standing in town, but understandable due to temperatures well into the nineties.
It's simply distracting, and the appreciative glances and sly head-turns she's witnessed following in the Sheriff's wake leave her in no doubt that she's not the only one that thinks so.
This discovery had been bothersome enough, but when Emma had shown up on her doorstep two weeks ago with Henry in tow- not a frequent occurrence, but not unheard of if the two have been out in the woods as the mansion is on her way home- Regina had opened the door to find the younger woman offering her an awkward smile and a thrumming headache that had refused to lessen for a good while after.
Tight grey t-shirt skimming just below her navel to show a flash of taut, pale flesh.
Denim shorts cut high and showcasing what had seemed like a ridiculous amount of lightly tanned skin.
The Sheriff had greeted her courteously enough, offering her the uncomfortable little shrug the Mayor has grown accustomed to receiving on a regular basis ever since their relationship has become awkwardly cordial, and had tried her best to engage in small-talk as Henry had gone about tugging off his sneakers.
What it was the younger woman had said, Regina has no clue.
Her attention had been focused elsewhere.
She's almost thirty for crying out loud! What business does she have strutting around dressed as though she were half that age?
A great deal of business, she would begrudgingly decide later when musing upon her absurd reaction to being accosted with the blonde in such a state. A great deal of business indeed.
Thinking of the Sheriff as being attractive isn't exactly a new occurrence; her contempt for the younger woman in the past never serving to poison her appreciation for something pretty. Recently though, the frequency with which her thoughts have been returning to the blonde- and the peculiar timing of such thoughts- have entered a rather new territory indeed.
In the shower.
In bed.
Sipping at a glass of apple cider out on the small loveseat suspended over her back patio.
She recognises her unsettling musings for what they are, but that doesn't mean she has to accept them. As such, she has simply kept her distance; hoping this most peculiar fancy will pass, and with it, the insanity of the situation.
"You can't avoid her forever."
She mutters, cruising Main Street slowly; the thankful blast of her Mercedes' air-con sending tiny strands of hair streaming away from her face. This statement is unfortunately true. As the Mayor- and not to mention Henry's mother- she is somewhat required to spend time with the Sheriff.
Sighing, she supposes she could always drop by the Station in the morning, but this would mean conversing not just with Emma, but with either of the other two idiots who seem deluded under the impression that their daughter requires a crime-fighting entourage.
I can barely stand the woman, and I have a better idea as to her true feelings on that little situation than they do.
The smirk this thought garners is short-lived, and she rolls her eyes as she makes a neat three-point turn in the quiet street and changes course for the direction of the blonde's new apartment.
The lesser of two evils.
When she reaches the top of the stairs leading to Emma's third-floor apartment, she spares a second to glower at the doors to the out-of-order elevator vehemently.
Of course she would choose to move to a building that's falling to pieces.
Stalking over to the door to the Sheriff's apartment, she raises her fist to rap at painted wood, before realising that it stands slightly ajar. Frowning, she knocks anyway; the door swaying slightly with her movements. Receiving no answer, she pushes it open tentatively and peers inside.
"Miss Swan?"
Opening the door a little more, she takes a step back in surprise; the heat emanating from the reasonably-sized one-bedroom flat almost overwhelming.
"Christ..."
Gathering herself, she enters the nihilistically bare living-room and stands with her hands on her hips, surveying a mass of illegibly labelled boxes and cheap leather strewn haphazardly amongst them. Sniffing disdainfully, she rolls her eyes when she notes a couple of bottles and tumblers sitting on otherwise empty shelves, next to a tin of coffee beans and a black mug depicting a hulking man who appears to have blades growing from his knuckles.
No air-conditioning, but a stocked bar. I see you have your priorities just as askew as ever, dear.
"Emma?"
She raises her voice, the blonde's first name still feeling strange on her tongue. Too amiable.
Too intimate when not served with a good dose of malice.
Frowning, she moves towards the bedroom; a little unsure as to whether or not doing so is acceptable- not something she would usually fret over, but the last thing she needs right now is a full-blown argument with the Sheriff, especially as the woman's damn apartment is too hot to even think straight- and peeks around the door.
Gaze falling momentarily to a laundry hamper stood directly beside the door, she looks away swiftly when she realises that her attention lingers a little too long on a wisp of turquoise lace; it's colour one she imagines compliments pale skin most pleasantly.
Scolding herself for her thoughts, she tears her gaze from the Sheriff's underwear and spots something she's surprised hadn't caught her attention straight away.
Steps.
A ladder to be precise.
Moving a little closer- a quick assessment deeming the dusty metal to seem very rickety indeed- she tries for the blonde once more; fanning her hand beside her face irritably as she struggles with the heat.
"Sheriff!?"
A patter of light thuds broken by a hissed expletive and an audible thump, and she finds herself looking up into the dust-streaked face of the blonde as Emma peers down at her in surprise.
"Regina! What do you want?"