The blonde wakes up with a groan as pins and needles shoot painfully up her arm. Opening an eye to the semi-darkness, she is accosted with a mass of chocolate tresses that look almost black in the purple haze of dawn. The Mayor appears to be dreaming peacefully, and Emma allows herself a small grin as she realizes the older woman's hand has come to rest firmly on her ass whilst sleeping. Rolling over slowly, she carefully pulls her arm out from under Regina with a wince and sits up to survey her surroundings.
A small, silver clock on the nightstand informs her that it's quarter to six and she muses momentarily on the fact that the darker woman seems to be having a peculiar affect on her recently; early mornings not a usual occurrence.
And I'd like to keep it that way!
The reason for her early rousing becomes clear when she looks back down at the brunette whose brow has furrowed slightly at the loss of the Sheriff's body flush with her own. Emma wears her jeans and jacket from the previous evening, but still she shivers a little with cold. The Mayor however, wears only a cream blouse, and her exposed forearms are dappled with gooseflesh. Pulling her jacket tighter around herself and pulling up the zipper, the Sheriff gently struggles to free the heavy silken throw from beneath the brunette. Finally successful, she pulls it over the sleeping woman swiftly, resisting the urge to chuckle as Regina nuzzles deeper into the plush blanket; her expression comically serene.
Pulling her fingers roughly through her knotted hair, the blonde creeps quietly towards the door before looking back. Frowning as she surprises herself a little with the gesture, she turns back and pads over to the ornate writing bureau that stands between the window and the door to the bathroom in search of some paper and a pen. The majority of the stationary that litters the roll-top's surface seems to be for show- comprised of heavy parchment and quills of all things- but eventually she manages to find a ballpoint pen and a scrap of wide-ruled paper. Scribbling quickly- doing her best to make her messy scrawl legible- she stabs at the paper with a final point before tiptoeing over to the Mayor's nightstand and leaving the note by her side, along with a couple of small items from her pocket.
Henry stirs as he recognizes the familiar sound of the weak floorboard by his mother's room creaking. He blinks in confusion, shivering as he becomes aware of a peculiar chill, before looking down to realize that he lies on top of his covers in his shirt and jeans. The wretched festivities of the night before come crashing back to him and he nibbles at his lip as he pushes himself quietly from his bed and creeps over to the door, wondering what his mother is up to now.
"Emma?"
The Sheriff freezes as she stands at the top of the stairs, Henry's voice an exaggerated whisper through the stark silence of the house. Turning to look at him, she tries to compose herself with an expression befitting the moment.
Unfortunately, she has no idea what that is.
"Henry..."
Her tone is oddly cautious, and they are by now both aware of the awkwardness left over between the two of them as a result of the previous evening. The blonde falters visibly as she tries to decide just what in the hell to do or say, and it is the boy in the end who breaks the uneasiness that rests between them.
With a theatrically sly glance towards his mother's bedroom door, the brunet beckons the Sheriff to come over to his room with exaggerated gestures of his small hand. Breaking into a crooked grin, the blonde hurries over as Henry steps aside to let her slip past before closing the door.
"What are you still doing here?"
He takes her hand with all the simplistic grace of his ten years and leads her to his bed where he springs swiftly beneath the covers. Emma perches on the edge of the small double, but pulls herself up to sit cross-legged in the middle of the mattress with a little coaxing from the brunet. Sighing, she studies him briefly before lowering her eyes to her jean-clad knees.
"Uh, I stayed to make sure your mom was ok..."
"Because she got drunk?"
"...Yes, Henry, because she got drunk... Sometimes, if you drink too much you can get sick and it can get dangerous."
"Dangerous?"
"Uhuh... Henry, your mom... She was upset about something. I don't know what, but it must have been pretty bad... I mean... You only cry and act up if you're really upset about something, right? Your mom's no different..."
"She didn't look upset, she looked angry... She yelled at Sydney, and then... Just..."
Henry frowns in frustration as he searches for the right words to explain his thoughts. He is confused by the blonde's sudden willingness to help the brunette and her calm understanding of his mother's terrifying rage. He wants to tell her that he, personally, finds her peculiar trust and acceptance to be foolish, but his memory serves him with the image of the Sheriff's anger when she had yelled at him- actually yelled at him- last night and he remains silent. As if sensing the boy's tension, Emma looks up to smile at him shyly as she fidgets with a loose thread on her jeans.
"I'm sure she was angry... But not at you, Henry... And I wasn't angry at you, either... I shouldn't have snapped at you, kid, and I'm sorry... I was just... You can't say things like that to your mom! No matter what... She loves you... Hell, it's because she loves you that she gets upset when you and I hang out. She sees us getting on as well as we do, and maybe that does make her angry, but only because she loves you, kid... You do understand that, right?"
"... I guess."
"And whatever she was sad or angry or upset about, she... Well she shouldn't have dealt with it the way she did...But she didn't react that way because she's 'evil' or 'bad'... She... She's human..."
"... I was scared."
"That's ok. I was a little scared too."
"You?!"
"Yup... Terrified come to mention it."
"Of my mom?"
"No... For your mom. I was worried about her."
"...Why?"
"Well, because of the bad way she was in."
"Oh."
Henry cocks his head to the side as though contemplating this for the first time, which, in a way, he is. He regards the blonde thoughtfully as the latter lets her eyes wander around his room; Emma coming to the absurd realization that she has never actually been in her son's bedroom before. Crawling forwards, he kneels awkwardly and puts his arms hesitantly around the Sheriff's neck; tightening his hold when she wraps her own arms around his waist. Mumbling into her shoulder he muses on the bizarre way the blonde carries a hint of his mother's scent.
"It's just not fair, though..."
"What isn't?"
"You're nice to my mom, but she's always so mean to you."
"... That's not true."
"Yes it is! You-"
"-Wanna know something, kid? When that storm hit and it got really bad, I was out on patrol. That was dangerous, too. Your mom let me stay with her inside until the storm passed... So that I wouldn't get hurt."
"...Really?"
"Yes. Really."
Emma leans back to regard the small boy and offers him a stern smile.
"The thing about real life, kid, is that things tend to be a hell of a lot more complicated than 'good' and 'evil'... I want you to promise me something, okay?"
"...Okay?"
"When your mom gets up later... Just... You know...Remember that. Don't talk to her like you did last night. Promise?"
"...Promise."
Henry's expression says that he finds the notion to be incredibly obscure, but he nods slowly at the blonde regardless.
In a way, his age plays both a blessing and a curse. He is perhaps not quite mature enough to understand what the Sheriff has tried to say- and she is perhaps not quite comfortable enough to guide him eloquently- but he is also ten, and he will agree with Emma's slightly disjointed and vague explanation on the ways of adult life without any further question.
Nor does it occur to him to ask the blonde where she'd slept.
If he had, he would have simply smirked at the thought of his mother partaking in a childish slumber party.
"Right, kid, I'd better get going. Come by the station later if you like and we'll break for hot chocolate... And remember-"
"-Be nice to my mom... I know."
Emma nods, jumping up from the bed and offering the boy a much broader, more comfortable grin, before creeping quietly from his room and making her way silently downstairs.
"God..."
The Mayor awakens with a groan as her brain pulses nauseatingly against her skull. She fears she can feel her heartbeat in her eyelids and places a hand over them shakily. She is vaguely aware that something isn't quite right- momentarily sure something seems to be missing- before her memory swims with the hazy recollection that she had fallen asleep in the company of the Sheriff. Cracking open one eye blearily, she finds herself to be alone.
"Thank god."
But her stomach twists uneasily, and she knows better than to blame it entirely on the alcohol. She is almost certain that she recalls most of what happened the previous night- groggily but coherently- but Emma's absence has her inwardly wondering if perhaps she's forgotten something ill-said or ill-meant. Rolling onto her side to deduce the time, she notes a small scrap of paper riddled with spiky black scrawl.
Madame Mayor.
Suggest you stick to wine- makes sleepovers much more fun.
PRESENT!
E.
Dark eyes flickering back to the table, Regina smirks in spite of the nausea slowly settling upon her as she spies two, small pain killers beside her glass of water. Swallowing them gingerly, she lies back and closes her eyes, Emma's note still held between her fingers.