By the time they stand knocking for entrance at the pawnbroker's door, Emma has pulled herself together and favours a stoic expression; having first ducked into her own room to scrub at her face and blow her nose.
The brunette had waited patiently outside the bathroom, sat on the Sheriff's unused bed; knowing the blonde well enough to leave her be while sorting herself out. When the younger woman had reemerged, Regina had been careful to keep her face neutral; so used to the blonde's company and various states of dishevelment that she realises it has been a while since she has witnessed the Sheriff made up.
As it is, now, as they stand waiting to be let in, dark eyes flicker surreptitiously to pale features; Emma's eyes lined neatly with kohl and her lips a curious dark cherry. It is an uncharacteristically 'put together' look, and the darker woman isn't quite sure what to make of it.
She simply allows slim fingers to play gently over the ridge between denim and flesh at the younger woman's lower back beneath the latter's charcoal grey sweater.
"Emma."
Gold offers pleasantly as he pulls open the door, and the brunette is by now used to the fact that the little imp seems set on sparing herself as little attention as possible. Ordinarily this would be a cause of great irritation- such rudeness entirely inappropriate in the face of the Queen- but given the circumstances, she finds herself oddly relieved.
She imagines that if she were to be asked as to her opinions and thoughts on anything to do with this rather shady business, she would have a hard time reigning the acidic hate sure to spill from her lips back in.
"If you would take a seat..."
Gold gestures towards the bed with a sweep of his hand, and watches curiously as both women comply; Regina regarding him caustically, while Emma simply looks past him, her jaw visibly clenched.
Uh oh...
The younger woman's sudden deterioration into childish rage over breakfast plagues his mind distressingly, and he is anxious to find out the cause. Up until now, things have been going more or less smoothly; the Sheriff remaining forever civil- apart from her flaunting of the gun- despite their all too recent history in the derelict little flat overlooking his shop. Her quick descent into what had almost seemed to be madness bothers him greatly; worried that the blonde might yet find it within herself to fail him.
To fall at the final hurdle.
"Everything alright, dearie?"
He inquires, taking a seat on a rickety chair over the back of which he has hung up his coat. He doesn't want to push her, and he is well aware that he is skating on thin ice- he doesn't need the Queen's warning glower to tell him this- but he needs to know, and he's willing to risk another blowout on the Sheriff's behalf in order to get to the bottom of things.
"Perfect."
She spits at him; raising her eyes to meet his gaze cooly, and he takes note of her carefully applied makeup and wonders if she has any clue how transparent her mask of blood and midnight really is.
"You're alright to continue, then?"
"Just get on with it."
"... I can't have you mess this up, Emma-"
"-I'm not going to. You've messed this up enough for the both of us... Enough for all of us. I'm not interested in picking up the pieces, Gold, but I'll bring them all together for you if it means you'll just leave us be. I'll find your son... What happens after that is your deal... But when he looks at you the way I can guarantee a kid that's been tossed aside is going to look at you... I hope you'll remember that I told you so... I hope it's what you hear when you find yourself unable to sleep at night... I really do."
The Sheriff growls low, her earlier distress replaced by a cold anger, and, while the brunette recognises the blonde's tone as one she had once so often been privy to- and now prays will never be directed towards her again- Gold feels a brief inkling of disquiet.
She doesn't tell him anything he doesn't already know.
Anything he couldn't figure out himself.
But her husky warning drips from lips that speak not just of predictability, but of knowledge.
Of experience.
"I can only do so much, Emma... I can't change the past... Not even I can do that... I can only do my best with what methods I have available to me now, and hope Bae can find it within himself to forgive..."
"Forgive the fact that you abandoned him?"
"... You're rather cynical for a woman whose son has had to-"
"-No. Don't you fucking dare-"
"-I suppose it just runs in the family..."
And with this, there is a peculiar gust of air that sends the two women's hair streaming momentarily as if caught by the wind, as the Queen's enraged magic is easily deflected and rendered neutral by the pawnbroker. Looking from furious brown to feral green, he clears his throat and pulls himself together; fully aware that his last words had been loaded with the intent to cut- to hurt- but momentarily without a care as to the blonde's feelings as his own had threatened to run amock on him.
She speaks of what he fears, and he despises her for it.
"... I apologise."
"Don't bother. Just get the fucking shawl."
The little man dips his head in a gesture of consent and moves to where his leather-bound suitcase rests on the room's peeling dresser. As he does so, Emma turns to Regina, offering the darker woman a wary glance.
"You shouldn't have done that..."
Her words are a low whisper, and the brunette is aware in some vague way that she is probably only able to catch them due to her connection with the women who utters them. Frowning, she struggles to keep her patience, imagining the Sheriff refers again to her disapproval of having her battles fought for her.
That comment hurt both of us, dear. He is our son. I will not have his mother spoken of in such a way.
Struggling to find the right words to say- refusing to apologise for something she isn't sorry for- she is surprised when a pale hand moves to cover her own.
"Please don't use magic..."
Again that low murmur, and the brunette leans in to catch the very last part.
"...It scares me."
Eyes widening, Regina nods her understanding. The Sheriff may not know much in terms of magic, but she must know that she shares a room with two that possess a great amount of dark power. If Gold had sought to reap revenge rather than render her attack on him useless, things could have gotten very ugly, very quickly.
It scares me...
"As it should, dearie... Fear is perhaps the smartest emotion to feel towards such a beautiful curse."
Gold murmurs to himself as he stands with his back to the two women. Removing a large, silken bag from beneath neatly folded clothes, he turns to face his audience and dips a long-fingered hand into its depths to retrieve tattered burgundy.
"This... This was my son's."
There is something defeated and lost in his tone- his voice completely free of his usual lilt and wit- and when he moves to take a seat once again on the chair with the shawl spread loosely over his lap, neither woman speaks, but both lower their eyes; respectful of the moment.
"My Baelfire's..."
Regina looks up, Gold's words little more than a whisper as he looks down at the garment pensively; seeming to be a million miles away. Clearing her throat, she urges him on briskly, but with a tone free from the syrupy contempt she is prone to using when addressing the pawnbroker.
"How does the shawl help us to locate him?"
Seeming to come round from his distant reverie, the little man pulls himself together and speaks neutrally, gesturing to the fabric that lies across his lap as he educates the younger two.
"It is a possession of great value, and it holds enough essence of the owner to be used as a guide. It just needs to be ignited by the wearer."
A flicker of doubt crosses the blonde's face at this, but the old man shakes his head as he runs his fingers reverently over coarse wool, before pulling it carefully over his shoulders.
Archaically dark eyes close, and the women are just able to glimpse the curious glimmer that ripples momentarily through mottled fabric.
"The shawl will lead us..."
"How? By playing a game of getting hotter and colder as we get closer and further away?"
Emma scoffs with a roll of her eyes.
"Precisely."
"... You've got to be shitting me..."