A/N: Thank you for the reviews on the last chapter :D They were really nice! Hopefully, this will be headed in a direction that you all like- I'm certainly excited! As always, thanks for reading, and please, please, please comment!
"Do you want any more coffee, mom?"
Henry asks, popping his head around the door to the drawing-room where the Mayor sits staring into the fire pensively.
"No thank you, dear."
She replies distractedly, and the boy shrugs with a smile and turns to take his leave.
"Ok, cool. Violet's coming over in a little while if that's alright?"
"Is she staying for dinner?"
Regina asks, looking up with a frown; struggling to tear herself away from her thoughts.
"I'm not sure. Is it ok if she does?"
"Of course. There's some pasta salad in the fridge if you get hungry before then, and I'll put something together around seven."
"Awesome. Is Emma coming over later do you know?"
Henry asks; the blonde stopping by more often in the hopes of being fed and entertained. It is something she has made a careful habit to alternate between the Mayor and her parents, and the brunette smirks to herself as she wonders what Emma would say if she only knew that both herself and Snow had cottoned onto this little scheme ages ago.
"Not that I know of, but I'll text her before I start prepping."
She smiles, and Henry reciprocates sunnily before closing the door behind him. In his absence, her brow furrows and she turns back to the flames.
There's something not quite right here...
No. Something about her interactions with Emma today has been entirely off, and she has been unable to shake the blonde from her mind for the best part of the afternoon. This in itself isn't entirely unheard of, but most of the time, when her thoughts circle back to Emma, it's because they've either fallen out or the younger woman has said or done something stupid. Today, her thoughts aren't returning to idiotic words, but rather black fabric, pale skin and blatant insinuation. There has been a delicate balance between them for a while now, and she had believed that they had each privately agreed to keep it that way. She isn't entirely sure what the blonde feels when in a room alone with her, but she has seen enough behind loaded looks to know that it's something. For a while, before the blonde had been struck with the darkness of the dagger, back when she and Robin had been together, she had almost felt as though it was Emmawho seemed to look at her a little strangely from time to time. Nowadays though, since Robin's passing, she supposes there is a part of her psyche that compensates for his loss by allowing the insanity of her unusual infatuation with the woman she had once despised some room to grow. She has kept any progression based on odd thoughts as strictly forbidden, however, even on the occasions when they have shared a couple of bottles of wine of an evening. She has done so mostly because there is a large part of her that refuses to acknowledge those thoughts that she fears she shouldn't have, but also partly because it would go against that silent agreement that seems to sit between them whenever they are alone; unspoken but strictly adhered to, as to disobey could prove dangerous.
What Emma had done this morning- the way she'd acted and presented herself- had been a breach of that agreement. It had been well over a meticulously honed line.
Well, perhaps it was about time for one of us to make that move...
Pursed lips and clenched fists as she tells herself to stop immediately with such thoughts.
It was nothing. Just Miss Swan being rather more peculiar than usual and thus unsettling me...
Sure. She'll pretend to believe that.
But it's not just the way the blonde had come on strong to her this morning. A lot of it is that, but not all of it. It's also the way Emma had behaved the rest of the day, as everything about the younger woman had just seemed... Not quite right.
She recalls thinking that the Sheriff had looked almost angry earlier, and frowns.
What is going on...
"Henry?"
She calls out, and she hears the sound of footsteps padding down the stairs before the door opens and he peers in at her.
"Yeah?"
"Yes."
She corrects him, and bright eyes roll, but he humours her patiently and agrees
"Alright, yes. What's up?"
"Has Emma said anything to you in the last couple of days? Anything that seemed a little... Odd?"
"Emma says lots of things that are odd."
He grins, and she offers him a smirk in return but it doesn't feel wholehearted. Shaking her head, she elaborates
"I mean something that might point to her being upset or annoyed."
"Don't think so," Henry frowns as he strives to think, "I mean, I think she was annoyed about Hook wanting to rearrange stuff in the house, but they argue about that kind of thing all the time. In the end, he buys her pizza, and she lets it go."
Another grin, before the boy regards her more seriously
"How come you're worried about Emma, mom? Do you know something?"
"No. I don't suppose I have any real reason... She just seemed to be in a strange mood earlier, and I was wondering if she'd said anything to you."
"Nothing that I can think of. I guess she seemed a bit... I dunno... Lofty earlier- at least for Emma- but you know how she can be when she's in a funk."
"Yes, I suppose so..."
The Mayor nods, unconvinced.
"Mom, I wouldn't worry, she-"
He breaks off as he's interrupted by a knock at the front door and smiles apologetically before leaving to go and let Violet in. The brunette runs a finger thoughtfully over her bottom lip as she considers Henry's words.
Lofty. She seemed lofty earlier.
Yes, she had. Lofty is one word for it. She'd seemed rather cold. Proper. Fussy... All words that she knows well, as they are words that had once been used to describe herself.
Frowning, she pushes herself from the sofa and stalks over to the phone on her desk. She rings the Sheriff's cell but is demoted to voicemail after a few seconds. She considers leaving a message, but doesn't really know what to say.
Hello, Emma, are you alright? Only you seemed to be acting rather strangely earlier, and I wondered if something was going on with you?
She doesn't think it's the sort of message the blonde would appreciate; loathing both interference and being asked to explain herself. It also might call to light that which they have never spoken about, and she doesn't think voicemail is the best method with which to open Pandora's box. Placing the phone back in its cradle, she considers her options uncertainly, before walking out of the room and stopping in on Henry and Violet in the kitchen.
"Henry, I'm heading out for a little while, would you just check on the fire in a bit?"
"Sure, we can go sit in the other room if you're done in there."
He smiles, and she nods gratefully and offers Violet an amiable hello.
"Where are you off to, mom?"
"To see Emma about something, I won't be long."
She assures, hoping that she's right and that she's not about to open up a can of worms by potentially acknowledging what happened this morning.
It'll be fine. Hook's probably there anyway, and she'll just have forgotten her phone in her jacket pocket like always.
As it turns out, Hook isn't at the blonde's house, as she spies him on her way over chatting to Will Scarlett outside of Granny's.
Nobody appears to be at the blonde's house.
Stepping back after her knocking on the front door has gone ignored, she assesses the grand building thoughtfully with her hands on her hips. A couple of the lights are on inside, and she knows that it would be unlike Emma to leave them burning if she weren't around. There are a lot of things that the blonde is prone to forgetting or not bothering to do, but conserving energy isn't one of those things. It is something she'd once asked the Sheriff about a while back, and Emma had given her a curt response to mind her own business which she had adhered to swiftly. After all, the blonde only usually replies in such a way when something has touched a nerve, and Regina had soon come to the realisation that there would have been a time when electricity, gas, and any other amenities had been a luxury in the younger woman's life, and ones she will have been excruciatingly conscious about. That presumption had left her feeling somewhat uncomfortable- as matters concerning The Curse's effect on the blonde's life often do- and now, frowning at the tungsten glow visible from several windows, that presumed knowledge leaves her feeling increasingly uneasy.
She's probably just in the shower or something! It's nothing!
"No. Because then she wouldn't have the hallway light on..."
The brunette mutters to herself, and she hesitates for a moment longer before reaching out and trying the door.
It's open.
Letting herself in, she looks around curiously and almost immediately notices the damage to the basement door.
"... Emma?"
She calls out with tangible apprehension, but she is met by an eery silence.
"Miss Swan? Are you down there?"
She raises her voice, aware that it wavers a little. Still, she is given no reply, and she stalks slowly towards the splintered wood and touches it nervously. There is a large crack that runs down the centre of the door, and the wood around the handle juts out in broken slivers as though it has exploded. Those sharp splinters all face the same way, however, and upon closer inspection, she surmises that the door looks almost kicked or broken in.
Well, she does have a habit of doing that...
"Emma!"
She shouts warily, before squaring her shoulders and pulling the fractured wood open.
"What on earth have you been doing?!"
She grumbles, beginning to get a little impatient. A feeling that only lasts for as long as it takes before her mind throws her the image of the blonde lying at the bottom of the stairs with her head cracked open.
"Em-"
But she stills, descending far enough into the gloom of the basement to make out the last couple of steps and thus deducing there to be nobody lying in front of them, injured or otherwise.
Looking around, she comes to the conclusion that there's nobody here at all.
"Then what the hell have you been-"
But again, she trails off, this time with a cold finger or dread stroking her spine.
"What..."
Taking a few hesitant steps further into the cave-like room, she crouches down and touches the curious item shining back at her from the shadows.
"What... What are you doing with this?!"
Picking up the cold metal cuff, she holds it out to better catch the light filtering in from upstairs; her eyes wide and troubled as she studies the deep crack that has broken the enchanted metal clean open, rendering it useless.
"... What?"
Blinking open heavy lashes, the Queen looks up at the ceiling with a groan of both pain and confusion. She lies sprawled out on the flagstone floor with her coat fanned out around her.
Wait...
Frowning, she pushes herself up so that she sits, staring around a room she had once known so well. On the wall, several heavily framed portraits glare back at her, each baring dark eyes and hair. Getting up, she walks hesitantly over to the picture in the middle, her lips parted in shock as she studies the oil-paint likeness of her mother.
"What...?"
Staggering back, she whirls around to drink in the rest of the room; the heavy throws and pillows exactly as she remembers them.
How she'd left them.
Only...
No. The intrinsically detailed nightstands she'd had carved by the woodsman are shrouded in a heavy layer of dust. It cloaks the ornaments carefully placed on top and those on the dresser. It gives the windows a hazy, unkempt quality, and carpets the floor; untouched but for where her footprints track lightly through it.
"How can this be?
She whispers, staring around her Palace bed-chambers, and all of the memories within.
"How can this-"
But she stills, frozen, as somewhere down one of the vast hallways, a door bangs suddenly shut.
"Saviour..."