A/N: Enjoy :) Please review :)
Pacing the kitchen, Emma stalks with her fingers buried in her hair and her jaw clenched as she tries to keep her cool in the face of the Queen's latest little game. She can still taste the iron of the darker woman's blood on her tongue, and she stops in front of the fridge in order to find something to wash it away with. Her hand rests on the carton of orange juice, before opting for wine instead. It has been quite some time since she last indulged in a drink before noon, but she'd say the moment well and truly calls for it.
Swallowing down several large mouthfuls of Sauvignon Blanc, she closes her eyes as she breathes in sharply through her nose. Replacing the cap on the bottle, she slips it back in its place and closes the door. Her reflection stares back at her blearily in the brushed steel and she spies two streaks of scarlet painting her jaw. Wiping at them frantically with a noise of disgust, she resumes her pacing before halting in her tracks.
"What if..."
She starts, before hurrying down the hall and up the stairs to her room. She has no idea what the Queen has done with her cellphone, but doubts it will do her any good searching for it. There are other ways to get in touch with the outside world though, and she's fairly sure that Regina has never actually been present when she's made use of her laptop. She supposes that if the brunette were to give it some thought, she'd likely presume that she must own one, but there has never been any reason for the question to be addressed- any emails or documents easily accessed on her phone, or on the desktop in the Station- and she's willing to spare just enough optimism to hope that the Queen might not have thought too hard on the foreign concept of technology.
Entering her bedroom, she pulls a face as the windows remain closed up despite her preference for leaving them open to let in the fresh air. The result is that the room carries just a hint of the darker woman's scent; dangerous, but admittedly pleasant. Glancing over at dishevelled sheets and the handcuffs still dangling from the headboard, Emma crosses her fingers childishly as she kneels beside the bed and searches the shadows beneath. It's pure luck that has led to her laptop remaining stored up inside her suitcase, but she'll take any kind twist of fate she can get. She'd actually packed the old Macbook when they'd gone to find Henry in New York in case they might need it to look anything up. In the end, she'd simply used her phone, and she'd never even taken the thing out of the case. Since then, she's not given it any thought as she so rarely finds the time to use it; her TV hooked up with any shows Henry might feel like watching, and Hook resenting the thing due to obvious difficulties in being able to use a keyboard.
"Come on..."
She wills the mac as it starts up; asking for a password that she recalls after a moment's panic. She imagines the blip in her memory is likely stress-related, as she has always been fastidious about things like login details; routinely changing them according to a private rule devised long ago in her bail bonds days. The home screen flashes up an image of the view from her apartment back in Boston and she supposes she really doesn't get around to using the laptop very often! Opening up her emails, she frowns as a small warning triangle advises that she is unable to receive any incoming messages due to a connection error. Double-clicking Network Diagnostics, she holds her breath as she already suspects what she soon finds to be the case.
Her network ID has been changed from ESwanRes to a handle that has her positive that any attempts at trying to guess a password would be futile.
"Fuck."
She growls furiously, glaring at the new network name of NiceTryDear.
Still, not one to accept defeat unless it's threatened or beaten into her, she opts for one final stroke of luck and clicks on the password reminder hint in the hopes that she can get online via her security questions. Instead of the usual options, she is faced with a hateful taunt that she reads in the darker woman's voice
Do you really think you can outsmart me, Miss Swan?
Punching the floor with a yelp as sharp pain shoots up her wrist, she rolls her eyes and bites the bait; typing angrily
Yes.
The little dialogue box jiggles and tells her that she's wrong.
"Damn it."
She sighs, hanging her head as her fleeting hope of contacting her parents by email is promptly crushed. Again the feeling of claustrophobia comes in an overwhelming wave, and she's never hated the fact that she has a home more than she does right now. She's frustrated and angry at the Queen for her game, and nervous about the next time she finds herself facing Regina while in control of her guise. Thoughts of what the hateful Queen might be doing to further the tension between them flicker unwantedly in the back of her mind, and she hopes the Mayor will understand when she finally gets a chance to explain herself.
You mean 'if' you get the chance...
The idea seeps into her conscious thought ominously, and she freezes. Up until now, she supposes there has been a touch of fear- especially in the face of the Queen's threat of causing her real injury- but it's still been hard to completely comprehend her predicament without a touch of simple bemusement. She recalls the way that the darker woman's teeth had sunken into the sharp point of her tongue to become coated in a slick and terrible scarlet film, and suddenly everything seems horribly, frighteningly real. She's kept face when dealing with the Queen and challenged her more than once, and she supposes that deep down the thought of losing this strange dance of wills hadn't really occurred to her.
Looking now at the greyed out bars at the top of the screen, and over to the window where a single bead of moisture trickles through a haze of condensation, it occurs to her in bright, warning red.
She's trapped.
Trapped with a madwoman who she knows from all accounts is easily bored when it comes to playing games.
Swallowing a hard dose of the truth as she wets lips so recently brushing against the Queen's, she closes her laptop glumly and shoves it back under the bed. In doing so, she dislodges everything else she has stowed out of sight- a method of 'cleaning' that has always suited her more than actually organising anything- and she swears irritably as several books and a pair of sneakers tumble from their precarious hidden tower and out onto the floor. Pushing them back, something else clunks down into view, and she stills, her heart quickening in her chest.
"Maybe..."
Making her way through the woods, the Queen watches thick mud dirty her boots. She supposes that the boots are actually Emma's so she can leave them in whatever state she likes, but she still finds the feeling of the wet dirt unpleasant and wrinkles her nose. Only, that too is actually the blonde's, and it feels strange to her so she stops doing it. As a matter of fact, everything about being in the Sheriff's body feels strange to her. She has masqueraded as another on numerous occasions, but this is certainly the most curious. The younger woman's body is firm- tight- and she notes that her heartrate remains more or less the same and her breathing barely changes as she climbs up the steep verge that leads to the abandoned carcass of the ship in the woods.
Interesting.
Reaching out, she wraps pale fingers around a low branch to her right and pushes experimentally. It takes quite some effort, but she is finally rewarded with a sharp crack as the bough breaks to reveal white splinters. She smiles, intrigued, although she wishes it were possible for her to feel the blonde's magic and not just her physical makeup. With her own at play to commit this cruel game, Emma's magic remains a secret to her, and her smile slowly fades as she finds herself bitter with the lack of satisfaction she feels in the face of this knowledge. There is something sensual- almost erotic- about the idea of sampling another's power, but for now, she is stuck with the familiar warmth and hum of her own.
Nothing wrong with that... My own is refined and delicious.
She shakes herself free of any negativity as the fun of her current situation reverberates in each sure stride long legs make, and she slips her hands into the back pockets of tight jeans and squeezes with a smirk.
"You're late."
A voice interrupts her gleeful perversion, and she looks over to spy her lesser-half stood waiting impatiently on the crest of the hill.
"I-... Sorry."
She forces out finally, not missing the way Regina regards her with a glimmer of unease, and supposing she should at least attempt to role-play as the blonde. The word sits sourly on her tongue- the Sheriff's tongue- but it appears to do the trick, as weary disquiet gives way to a roll of pretty, dark eyes, and the Mayor turns around to stalk back towards the ship. As she does so, the Queen eyes the dull wool of the latter's coat with distaste, wondering when and why in the hell everyone has seemingly started looking to Mary Margaret for fashion inspiration.
What on earth has become of you, dearest?
Following her weaker self into the litter of debris surrounding the hulking frame of the ship, she watches as Regina begins leafing through an abandoned folder overflowing with papers. She purses her lips- another expression that feels wrong on the blonde's face- as the Mayor does so crouched down with the knees of her pants dangerously close to touching the dirt.
"You changed, then?"
Regina remarks breezily, and the Queen flashes sharp teeth in a smile as she replies lightly
"You seemed ever so slightly uncomfortable with the way I was dressed before."
Dark eyes flicker up to meet her own for a moment, shadowed with something the Queen can't quite place, before the Mayor clears her throat and goes back to scanning the documents in her hands.
"Hardly... It just... Wasn't, you know, you."
"You don't think it suited me?"
The Queen probes, applying an awkward pull to soft lips to hide her smirk, and the brunette frowns as she looks up once more and shakes her head.
"I didn't say it didn't suit you... It... It was... It was fine... I've just never seen you wear anything like that before, and it's not exactly warm."
She finishes off finally, dropping her gaze resolutely back to meaningless scribbles as her cheeks blush a delicate pink. The Queen studies her intently, swallowing a rye chuckle. Her lesser half may have been pathetically boring earlier, but she'd certainly eluded to thinking the younger woman's dress- and what it struggled to hide- was quite a bit more than just 'fine'.
I would know. I know better than anyone how you look at her when you think no one else is watching. I just happen to accept the pleasant warmth that comes with those stolen glances. I'm not so stubborn as to refuse to understand what that tightening low in my stomach means.
"Have you talked with the others? Do you think we might be safe with Hyde locked away?"
She asks in what she hopes is a casual fashion.
Fortunately, everything sounds rather casual uttered from the Saviour's mouth.
"I'm not sure. I want to think we are... I just..."
A sigh, before the brunette looks up earnestly, her eyes filled with complete trust as she regards the blonde stood over her.
"Emma, can I tell you something without you telling the others?"
"Of course."
The Queen replies without missing a beat, and she supposes that this isn't really putting words in the Sheriff's mouth. She imagines Emma would have replied in a similar fashion.
"I keep thinking about that night on the roof... I tore out the worst part of myself and I killed her; you saw me do it."
"Well, the Evil Queen deserved it."
The Queen reminds indulgently, and she curls pale hands into fists as the Mayor nods.
"Of course she did! I've never felt better! I don't think about that night because I regret what I did, I think about it because I worry it was too easy. Do you know what I mean? When has it ever been so simple for either of us to just... Catch a break?"
She laments, and the Queen frowns before moving swiftly into crisis-aversion mode. Stalking over and placing her hand on the Mayor's shoulder, she smiles down at her with care to match that same pathetically earnest expression and comforts kindly
"We were due one! Regina, I saw her crumble into dust just like you did. She's gone. I mean, what other option is there?"
"None... I know. I know you're right. I've just had this strange feeling recently, and-"
"-Regina, stop. Come on. Everything's fine."
The Queen soothes, pulling the brunette to her feet so that they stand eye to eye. She rests her hand- Emma's hand- on the latter's arm gently, intensifying her gaze as Regina looks back at her seemingly unsure quite what to do.
"Things have never been this good."
She continues, adding a suggestiveness to the blonde's tone that she can't help but enjoy the sound of herself.
No, things have never been this good; I'm running the show now. I'm running your town from behind the scenes, Madame Mayor, and you've just let me in on the wonderful fact that you're none the wiser. Cautious, maybe, and that's to be expected, but you believe Emma, don't you, dearest? She's put to rest any concerns rotting away in that newly dull mind of yours. Things are all looking up, finally. I have your town in my palm, and your Saviour locked away where I can enjoy her. And now that your worries have been thwarted, I believe I might just take the opportunity to do just that...
"Come on. What are we really hoping to find out here anyway?"
She smiles, stepping back and enjoying the way the brunette swallows as she averts her own gaze which had been curiously blown.
"I wondered that myself. This was your idea."
The Mayor sighs, falling into step beside the Queen as they make their way down the hill and out of the woods.
"Come over for a drink; it's cold and Henry was wanting to tell you about his evening with Violet. I've been treated to it at least three times this morning, so it seems only fair."
Regina smirks amiably as she glances over at Emma, and the Queen reciprocates her glance pensively before nodding.
"That sounds nice."