When they filter back into Gold's car, there is little dialogue shared between them. The pawnbroker glances up at the blonde every now and then in the rearview mirror to find steely green glaring back at him, but the Queen negates to cloak the glass and he has a feeling she is unaware of the tactile tension that exists between himself and Emma.
Since leaving the bathroom, he hasn't mentioned the gun, and he is certain it is not a topic the Sheriff is about to bring up.
He knows she's armed, and she knows he knows this.
Magic doesn't come into play.
She holds the cards.
He needs her.
They drive in silence for a couple of hours, although each of them will inwardly insist that it seems much longer than this.
As the sky slowly begins to seep a deep indigo, and the lights of the ever growing billboards illuminate sleep-pale, reserved features, the woman who would perhaps understand the curious feeling of insignificance brought by such spectacles best of all is fast asleep with her head resting against chilled, misted glass; her breath creating a small trickle of condensation as the temperature outside drops dramatically with the darkness.
Regina and Gold remain quiet; dark eyes flickering as the streets seem to vibrate with the activity of their inhabitants. To their right a group of women dressed in migraine-inducing neon cackle and shriek as their ringleader- a tall brunette in a veil- navigates her way onwards uncertainly on suicide heels.
To their left a man in a three piece suit vomits into the gutter.
The Queen glances back at the blonde with a disconcerted frown; not sure what to make of this urban circus.
"Emma?"
No response, and she reverts her attention back to the chaos that engulfs them.
Gold's fingers twitch at the wheel; the little man's nerves no less frazzled than the Queen's. There is no magic here- no power- but there is something else. Something rotten and tainted. He had smelt it on the blonde when she had first arrived in their little town, and now it assaults him in a most nauseating fashion.
No magic.
No rules.
There is no hierarchy here, but simply this thrumming mass of flesh and bodies in which one could get lost and the world would know no different.
They are most certainly not in Storybrooke anymore.
"Sheriff?"
The little man's tone is sharper than the brunette's had been, and it serves to rouse the younger woman from her slumber; Emma blinking sleepily as she takes in the flickering strobes of the city.
"...Huh?"
"It's getting late and we've reached our destination for the evening... We need to rest... All of us."
The blonde rolls her eyes at this last part, not able to shake the idea that there isn't a tiny bit of resentment to the golden imp's words. She wipes at the window to her side childishly and peers out with a sigh.
"Fuck, I hate New York."
The Mayor thins her lips; her opinion much the same despite only having spent fifteen minutes in the city.
"Well, that may be, but your opinions are not of much help here... What we need is a place to rest."
At Gold's irritable tone, the brunette's teeth flash instantly, but the Sheriff merely sighs and scans their surroundings with a little more attention.
"I guess just look out for a motel; that'll be the cheapest option..."
"Price isn't an issue. I asked you to accompany me... That goes for you too, dearie."
He looks to Regina as he utters these last words and she rises to the bait immediately; dark eyes flashing as she opens her mouth to tell the little man just what she thinks about that little statement. To her surprise, it is Emma that spits venom before she has a chance.
"Nobody has ever, nor will they ever pay for me to spend the night anywhere. I don't want, nor need you to subsidise this fucking trip, Gold. Find a motel and pay your part. We don't want your money."
Looking back at the Sheriff- a little surprised at the anger that laces her tone- the brunette can't help but feel like she's missing something.
But then she knows little of the blonde's life up until now, and she supposes this trip may prove awkward in more ways than one. Her history is on the pages of Henry's book... The Sheriff's is out in this world.
Gold simply nods, not entirely surprised at the poisonous bite to Emma's words.
She is proud. He had known this as soon as she'd entered their little town and treated him with a caution she was not afraid to vocalise, and he knows of her impressive strive for dignity all the more since things had gone so desperately wrong in his little flat.
That she would refuse his aid doesn't surprise him at all.
"Just say when, Miss Swan..."
Ignoring the irritable glare she throws him through the glass, he continues along the claustrophobically congested road before the blonde pulls herself up to lean between the seats and points to a turning a little way ahead of them to the left.
"Try there, there's parking."
Following her advice, the pawnbroker pulls into a small parking lot illuminated by the glowing neon of a forgettable motel sign.
"They have rooms."
The Sheriff states, opening the door and sliding from her seat.
"How do you know?"
Regina asks as she exits through her own door, and there is a distinct difference in the way the blonde addresses this question to the way she has been speaking to Gold.
"Oh, they put up like a 'full' sign if there's no rooms left. Saves them having to deal with the hassle of people trying to book in when there's no space. I used to think it was weird Granny's didn't have one, but I guess that makes more sense now."
Her tone is uncharacteristically patient, and she opens the trunk before Gold has a chance; shouldering the brunette's travel bag without word as she waits for the pawnbroker to take his own.
"Come on, let's check in."
Again, she offers her full attention to the Mayor; stalking off with Regina at her heels as Gold watches them with a small frown.
You don't know Emma like I do. Just because she hasn't come for answers or to pay you reprimand doesn't mean she won't.
The Sheriff's attitude is far from paying reprimand, but it does serve the purpose of putting things into perspective for the little man.
He may have come to find he begrudgingly respects and enjoys the blonde's company, but it seems she has little time for his.
Following the two women with an apprehension that doesn't sit right with the Dark One at all, he hovers at the blonde's side as she addresses a weary looking redhead at the front desk.
"How long were you looking to stay, Ma'am?"
Both Regina and Gold blink in surprise as the Sheriff is offered this title, and the younger woman rolls her eyes as she catches a pretty smirk to her left.
"One night, maybe two."
"And, uh... Is that one single, and a double?"
The clerk gestures vaguely towards the pawnbroker as both women follow the direction of her fingers and frown.
"Uh, it's...It's-"
"-Three single rooms."
The brunette interjects, and the Sheriff turns to observe her with her bottom lip held apprehensively between neat, white teeth.
Nodding, the young redhead taps away at the keys of her computer, Gold studying the Mayor with interest while the blonde seems suddenly inexplicably enthralled in the grain of the countertop.
Oblivious to the peculiar tension, the clerk hands out three keys, the Sheriff plucking a card from her back pocket without comment and paying for all three rooms.
Regina makes a note to question her about this later.
Turning from the desk, the three make their way over to the elevator at the end of the bald-carpeted lobby, and proceed to ascend to the third floor of the establishment in silence. There is a peculiar tension between the Queen and the Sheriff which does not go unnoticed, and the brunette sighs as she realises it stems from her abrupt request for segregated sleeping arrangements.
Emma's irritation at this surprises her; the blonde never before having shown such a casual or compliant display of acknowledgment of their rather turbulent relationship, and she imagines Gold must be having a ball just about now.
As it is, the pawnbroker takes the key the Sheriff proffers him and bids the women a curt farewell before heading off towards his allocated room.
Opening her mouth to express some sort of explanation to the blonde, Regina frowns as tousled curls flurry in her direction; the key to her room shoved unceremoniously into her hand, before Emma stalks off towards her own door- the middle of the three- and disappears with a loud thunk of wood on plasterboard.
Regina frowns as she sits up in bed, unable to sleep- the mattress lumpy, but this is the least of her concerns- as she stares down into the chaos of light and noise below her. She is wary of the insipid thrum of the cesspit of this city- so unlike home- as she observes all manner of activities partaken in the streets, but her mind is not wholly on the happenings down below.
Emma...
She is perplexed by the blonde's irritable behaviour following her request for separate rooms, and though it pains her to admit it; she is also a little smug.
A lot has transpired between the two of them, and she feels she has shown her affection in an open and vulnerable manner on more occasions than one... But for the Sheriff to behave in such a way- stropping around like a woman scorned due to simply being exiled to her own room for the night- is something new entirely.
Is she honestly annoyed by these arrangements? Is she really ready to admit such a thing?
Such thoughts are broken by a soft knock at her door.
She doesn't bother asking who stands at the threshold.
She merely pads over and pulls it open.