"Good morning, Miss Blanchard, you're looking well."
"Am I?"
The schoolteacher frowns warily as she slows her pace so as not to rudely snub Gold, however much she might like to.
"Indeed."
"Well... Thank you... Did you want something?"
"Oh, no, just a friendly good morning, dearie. I am after young Emma if you'd know her whereabouts? I have something for her."
"Oh? Well, she's working from home today... Do you want me to give whatever it is to her?"
"Ah yes, working from home, I remember now. Oh well, no need to trouble yourself, it can wait."
"What is it?"
"My, my, aren't we curious? The Sheriff merely enquired whether I would happen to know of a locksmith that wouldn't charge an extortionate amount when he found out two young women without a clue on the trade were his clients."
"She did?"
"Indeed. You are still experiencing problems with your lock I presume, Miss Blanchard?"
"Yes, sorry, a locksmith would be very helpful, I just didn't realize Emma had actually done anything about it. Why don't you just give me the number? I'll call them when the children go out to play."
"Of course."
Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a scrap of paper; inwardly thanking his impeccable capacity for forward planning. He has indeed scribbled down the name and number of a local locksmith, but whether the young man is any good or not he has no clue. He had merely plucked the name out of city records that morning as an afterthought before waiting patiently at the crossroads between the school and Mary Margaret's.
"Well, I better be going, but thank you for looking into this for us."
She pockets the scrap of paper, giving a brief nod, before hurrying on her way, feeling inexplicably relieved once she turns the corner and knows Gold's dark eyes are no longer resting upon her.
"You're welcome, dearie."
He mutters quietly, before turning back the way he came and making his was towards his shop. Once he reaches the dusky old building however, he carries on; continuing up the path that leads to the schoolteacher's apartment building.
"Oh, fuck off..."
The blonde grumbles as down below she hears the door whine irritatingly on its hinges. She scolds herself for not getting the damn thing sorted, but supposes she may have time tomorrow before work. Today is about Henry, and she refuses to spend time bothering with such unimportant things.
Pulling her hair back into twin clips at the sides, she glances at herself in the mirror awkwardly. She isn't entirely sure what the hell she's gone for with her attire today, but she supposes the end result isn't as awful as it could have been. She had wanted to dress nice- the notion a little too similar to her dreaded first days at high school for her liking- but is out of practice.
"Oh, please, when were you ever in practice."
Pulling at the soft white cotton of the sundress she had offered to lend the Mayor a lifetime ago, she supposes she looks rather childlike herself as she's coupled it with light grey woolen tights due to the winter weather, and a large, charcoal grey cardigan, but as today is just herself and Henry, she decides it doesn't matter.
She usually dislikes wearing dresses for many reasons, one of which is that they make her look shorter than she actually is. Her height is something about which she has always been secretly proud, as it allows her the benefit of rarely having to look submissively up at people.
So, Regina is being referred to as 'people' now?
She grins sheepishly, pulling her hair out the way so as to fix the clasp of her necklace in place.
No. Regina is not just 'people'...
Turing to her small bedside cabinet and searching through the crap that resides in its narrow drawer, she eventually finds what she's looking for and plucks it from the chaos. Unscrewing the small tube of mascara, she leans forwards towards the mirror and applies it carefully to her lashes, frowning as down below the door gives yet another whine, this one louder than the rest.
Cocking her head to the side, she waits, listening intently before shrugging off the notion that the sound must have come from the door actually being opened. When she had checked for mail this morning, she had found the window that lines the staircase wide open- an annoying habit of one of their neighbours with seemingly little idea that it is, in fact, still winter- and had grumbled irritably when she had been unable to shimmy it shut. The resulting draft has been having a maddening effect on the door all morning, and she presumes this is what now causes the hinges to screech audibly.
Tossing her mascara back into the drawer, she pulls out the small, handmade envelope that rests beneath her glasses on the nightstand and pockets it. Switching off her bedroom light, she makes her way swiftly down the stairs; securing one of the bobby pins that hold the hair away from her face as she goes.
Frowning at the front door which now stands wide open, she pads over to close it lightly on woolen stockinged feet; never thinking to glance behind her to check the small kitchenette where a dark shadow flashes from behind the centre island slyly.
Regina frowns as she glances up from her desk and watches Henry trudge up the ample driveway and disappear beneath the cover of the porch. Her brow furrows deeper when she hears first the dull slam of the front door, followed a few moments later by a louder slam from upstairs. Tapping her nails against the tabletop pensively, she pushes herself from her seat and makes her way up to his bedroom.
"Henry?"
"What?"
"Pardon, not 'what'...What is it? I thought you were going over to Emma's today?"
"So did I!"
The boy grumbles angrily, but the bright moisture glistening in his eyes is all too telling. Moving to perch gently on her son's bed, the Mayor raises an eyebrow as she requests he elaborate.
"What happened?"
"She's not home. I waited for like an hour, and I called her but she didn't pick up. I guess she didn't want to... To spend time with me today after all."
Regina sighs as she pulls the young brunet gently into her arms; surprised that he allows her to do so and subsequently furious at the blonde for ruining a chance for which she should be damned grateful.
"Maybe something came up, Henry... She is the Sheriff... Someone might have called in an emergency..."
"No they didn't. She just got scared of seeing me because it's my birthday, and, and-"
"-Oh, Henry, I'm sure that's not true... She told you it was your birthday?"
"N-no, but it is, I know it is... And I... I..."
The Mayor frowns angrily as the boy moves to bury his face into her chest, stroking his soft locks soothingly. Her heart beats rapidly and her stomach churns in a sickening way. She is furious, both at the Sheriff, and at herself for thinking Emma could take on something like this without screwing it up. She should have never allowed the younger woman the chance in the first place.
Beneath her anger though, and beneath the hateful feeling of 'I told you so' she suffers towards what she now realizes should have been a painfully predictable case of cold feet, she feels another emotion. A bleaker emotion.
Fear.
She knows Emma well enough to know that although the blonde wouldn't purposefully let the boy down, the chaotic mess of crap she carries around in her head is a logical pointer that she simply woke up this morning and couldn't handle the day.
She doesn't think that's it though.
The Sheriff had been so excited.
And admitted she was nervous; something which the brunette knows she'd had a hard time doing.
She had asked for this.
Actually cried over it.
And something about the younger woman being missing seems very wrong indeed.