The Mayor places the two- now sparkling clean- wine glasses back on their shelf with a sigh. She closes the rich maplewood cupboard gently, shutting them into darkness. The majority of the candles the blonde lit on her arrival have burned down to nothing, but she goes about blowing out the flickering survivors methodically before retreating to take a seat on the sofa where this all began. She stares into the flames that lick at the sooty bricks of the hearth thoughtfully, running a small swatch of her silk robe repetitively through her fingers.
"Peculiar..."
She muses quietly. Earlier on in the week, when things had been moving so fast and furious that her head had had trouble keeping up with her sex, she had negated to dwell on the changes to her relationship with the Sheriff.
Tonight has changed things. As has the week spent being denied time with the younger woman.
She is unsure whether this is something she views positively; not one to set herself up for disappointment, and, while she is loathe to admit it, she is in tune with her own feelings well enough to know that this is what she will feel should Emma now decide she wishes to call an end to their curious liaisons.
It's just sex. You'll just find someone else. Perhaps someone better dressed and with fewer opinions.
Frustratingly, she is bemused to find that she no longer believes this to be the case. The sex, while being undeniably good, is still just that. She is impressed with the blonde's capabilities and with her surprising sensuality, but she knows that if this whole business was entirely physical she would be sound asleep right now rather than staring contemplatively into the fire.
A frown creases the smooth skin of her brow as she realises she might just like the Sheriff on a personal level as well... Not in a friendly way; there is little animosity between them and she doubts there ever will be...
Perhaps 'like' is too strong a word.
No. She doesn't like the Sheriff.
But I don't hate her either.
Pulling herself from her reverie, the Mayor rises briskly to dampen the flames dancing within the fireplace; shaking her head as if to shake the young blonde from her thoughts.
As she closes the door to the drawing room behind her and pads up the stairs, she ponders with belated curiosity that the two of them have finished off a fair bit of wine. She also notes that she doesn't recall hearing the horrendous shuddering wheeze of the blonde's shitty little car earlier.
She walked all this way?... Just for...
She shrugs; waving away the thought with the notion that the woman must be partially insane and is therefore not to be worried about.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck!"
Emma mutters under her breath as she stalks quickly through pitch black streets. Her logic is currently berating her caustically; demanding to know at what point she'd figured it'd be a good idea to wander around town in nothing but a slip of a dress and killer heels with December fast approaching. Her muscles ache with the frigid cold and her teeth chatter restlessly behind wind-chapped lips.
"Swan, you fucking idiot!"
The anger and- as much as she hates to admit the emotion- hurt that had flooded her system upon leaving the Mayor's mansion have now boiled down to a deep, simmering loathing as to her predicament, and, while this is slightly healthier on the mind, the lack of furious adrenaline leaves her body acutely aware of winter's wrath.
Not to mention the fact that Regina's ill remark was never more ironic; bare legs, arms and chest flashing like beacons in the night.
As if on cue- as she finally begins her way down Main Street- flat footsteps suddenly echo her own. Wishing for her gun but sufficing to simply curl her fists, the Sheriff whirls around combatively to find the source of those accompanying little taps.
"Good evening, Sheriff."
"Dr Whale..."
Ugh, why? Why do bad things happen to good people? Why him?
"You're looking lovely tonight... As usual."
She turns to face him with cheeks flushed pink; whether with annoyance or simply due to the ever dropping temperature is up for debate.
"What do you want?"
"Want? Oh, I don't want anything... Although, perhaps, if you were to ask what I should like, then I would very much like to ask you over for a drink or two?"
"Classy, what with your oh-so-successful dates with my roommate and all..."
She pulls at the hem of her dress warily; feeling suddenly very much on display. She quickens her pace in an attempt to outrun the doctor, but the peculiar young man simply matches her rapid footsteps stride for stride.
"Precisely; they were unsuccessful, although don't get me wrong, Mary Margaret is a wonderful young woman, but not one with such... Aesthetic appeal.. As yourself, Miss Swan."
He raises his eyebrows at her pointedly while bright eyes roam shamelessly over the flesh she has on display. The blonde comes to an abrupt halt and rounds on the doctor angrily.
"Look, I'm just trying to get home so I can crawl under my covers and sleep. Alone."
"Ah... So your date didn't go to plan then?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Your dress says you were hoping to get lucky. Your mood suggests this wasn't the case?... The other party's loss, I can assure you, Sheriff."
"Whatever... Are you seriously going to follow me home? Are you not getting the hint?"
A small voice in the back of her mind scolds her for being rude, but goddamn it, she just wants to fall into bed and forget this whole wretched night. Her limbs ache and her skin is uncomfortably tight with cold. Her chilled shaking has resulted in several small stumbles, causing her ankles to throb miserably over her high, black heels.
"You come across as the sullen, sultry type; can't blame a man for trying. Most women would be flattered to be approached by a doctor..."
Emma rolls her eyes- silently damning small-town ideals- and tosses her hair back as they continue down the tungsten-lit street at an almost comical pace; each trying to out step the other.
"Yeah? Well, not this woman."
So, you're a doctor; whoop-di-fucking-doo. I suppose if you were a doctor of the psychiatric persuasion we would at least have something to talk about. After all, I damn well need my head examined after what I tried to pull tonight...
"You're sure?"
"Look, Whale, you say you wanted to ask me for a drink, and hell knows, I could do with one... But all I want to do right now is pretend this town doesn't exist and just pass out dreamlessly on my bed... Perhaps not the most enticing of desires, but a true wish nonetheless... And if you would be so kind as to fuck off and leave me alone, my dream may just become a reality."
The Doctor looks taken aback and the Sheriff reprimands herself for her use of language as, finally, the tall man eases up in his pursuit and she finds herself stalking quickly ahead of him. She turns to offer a pathetic attempt at an apologetic 'goodnight', but catches him staring shamelessly at her ass and simply shrugs and continues to storm off home.
"This town would be so much more tolerable if there weren't any fucking people in it!"