Emma swiveled in her desk chair lazily, looking at the stack of paperwork in front of her. She knew she'd have to do it eventually. She had to. It was her job as sheriff. And she was a grown-ass lady who did her job. Every part. Even the annoying parts. Like paperwork that no one would ever ever read.
She looked up at the sound of laughter coming from outside her office: Neal and Hook had crowded their chairs around Neal's computer, their assignments laying forgotten on their respective desks. Emma frowned: she didn't like it when they were chummy; they never got anything done when they were chummy, especially when they were laughing like that.
"Press 'x', press 'x'!" Hook urged as Neal's fingers moved rapidly on the keyboard, making a pixelated gladiator beat the shit out of another. Pixelated blood exploded on the screen, making Hook and Neal throw back their heads and laugh. Emma let out a disgusted breath. They were like twelve-year-olds: so immature.
Even though she had to hide a chuckle behind her hand. Blood. Now, that was just good comedy.
No, Emma! she told herself sternly, forcing herself back into seriousness. Didn't she just get through lecturing herself on paperwork and being a grown-ass lady? Pull yourself together!
"Oh, shit," Neal laughed, starting another round with a particularly vicious opponent.
"Ooh, he's feisty!" Hook said, leaning forward eagerly.
Emma realized she was half-standing, trying to get a better look at the gladiator fight. "Ugh!" she said frustratedly, throwing herself back in her seat. She had to focus, or this damn paperwork would never get finished.
She peered at the form in front of her, twiddling the pen as she tried to decipher the legal language. Hesitantly, she scrawled a signature on the bottom, then tried to translate the paragraph beneath.
"HE'S GOT A BLOODY AXE!"
"YEAH, I KNOW!"
"That's it!" she said, throwing down the pen. How the hell was she supposed to concentrate with the two of them in the background? She flung open the door, and called out sharply, "Guys?"
They turned around, their smiles fading. "Yeah…?"
Emma faltered, losing her nerve: both of them were still pretty bitter with her. It was like they had made a pact, to hold her admittedly manipulative ways over her head, to get back at her; to make her feel guilty. And to her horror, it was working quite well. "Do, uh… do you think you could get something done?" she asked in a softer tone.
Hook exchanged a glance with Neal before slowly wheeling himself back to his desk. Neal lifted his eyebrows at Emma and turned around, picking up his pen. Emma smiled tightly.
"Thanks, guys."
"Uh-huh," Hook said in a clipped tone.
Emma shut the door and went back to her desk. She couldn't help feeling worse, like they were now telepathically mocking her. She shook her head, trying to clear it of the thought. She didn't have time to worry about this, anyway. This was a workplace. She couldn't think of them as friends now; she had to think of them as her subordinates. The social awkwardness between them didn't matter right now; because this was work.
She scrawled a few more signatures, trying not to think about the fact that if things were normal between them, she'd be right out there with them, cheering on Neal as he slaughtered gladiators with the "x" button. And how after that, they'd probably look up funny YouTube videos. And after that, they'd probably see who could eat the most Saltine crackers. And after that—
Another burst of laughter punctuated the air. Emma's head snapped up to see Hook try to toss Cheerios into Neal's mouth from across the room. She slit her eyes as Neal caught one, his eyes widening in surprise.
"Did you see that?" he said triumphantly.
"Hey, I was the one that threw it, mate."
"Yeah. And I caught it despite your shitty throwing," Neal grinned. "Come on, give me another."
Hook squinted, closing one eye as he aimed. "All right, here we go," he said. "One…two—"
"Stop." Emma glared at them, her arms crossed against her chest as she leaned against her doorframe. Hook slowly lowered his arm while Neal closed his mouth, both looking back at her blandly. Emma snapped her fingers. "Follow me," she tossed over her shoulder, going over to the door. She held it open, and looked at them: they hadn't moved. They were just frozen, looking like two little boys caught goofing off during class. "Get. Up," she said icily.
Obediently, Hook and Neal walked through the door, keeping their heads down as they followed her to one of the interrogation rooms. "Sit," she ordered, pointing to two chairs.
They sat.
Emma shut the door firmly, and turned around. She walked with deliberation to the other side of the table and sat, keeping her narrowed gaze on them. "Here's the deal, boys," she said, leaning with her elbows on the table. "We've got an uncomfortable situation going with the three of us, and I think it needs to end."
They stared back stoically. Emma's eye twitched as she fought to retain her resolve.
"I am willing to admit that I… may have manipulated you guys over the last couple years, and it was wrong." She grimaced; humility left the worst taste in her mouth. "But I'm sorry. And I told you that, at least five thousand times each."
"Exagger-a-tion," Neal muttered. Hook nodded in agreement. Emma raised her eyes to the ceiling.
"Okay, but I have apologized a lot. It was wrong of me. I know. I get it. But I've learned my lesson, all right? I won't try to do that again, 'cause…" She shifted uncomfortably. "'Cause these last few weeks with you guys not talking to me have been pretty shitty."
Neal and Hook glanced at each other. "Give us a minute," Neal said.
Emma crinkled her brow, but slowly stood up. "Okay…"
She tugged the door open and walked out of the room, and straight to the one-way window so she could watch them debate. They spoke in hushed voice, so it was impossible to hear, but at one point, Hook was shaking his head "no" forcefully and folding his arms tightly while Neal tried to explain something to him. She frowned: was Hook refusing her apology? What nerve! She yanked the door open, prepared to give him a piece of her mind—
"—telling you, Arya Stark is going to outlive everyone," Neal said emphatically, barely glancing up as Emma walked back in.
"Danaerys is going to get the Iron Throne," Hook said stubbornly. "The woman's got dragons, Neal. Arya Stark's not going to outlive a dragon."
Emma stared, frozen to the spot. What the hell was going on? This had absolutely nothing to do with her apology.
"Did you guys push me out… so you could argue about Game of Thrones?" Emma asked disbelievingly, dropping back in her seat.
Neal looked up slowly. "Uh… no?"
Emma gave him a withering look. "Really?"
"Well…." He faltered at her darkening glare, and leaned back in his seat, sighing. "Okay, fine. Yes. Yes, we did."
"House Targaryen," Hook said, his eyes not leaving Neal's. "They're the rightful rulers."
"They're insane!" Neal said instantly forgetting Emma.
"They're the rightful rulers," Hook insisted, shaking his head.
"This is unbelievable," Emma said, closing her eyes and resting her head in her hands. "Unbelievable."
"Doesn't matter! They're insane!" Neal repeated, slamming his fist on the table. "That's why they called him the Mad King! That's why Jaime had to kill him in the first place, because he was fucking crazy!"
"And that's why they call him Kingslayer, because he slayed the rightful king!"
"And that's going to happen to your precious Danaerys, too! And then Arya's going to cut down everyone in her way!"
"Guys…"
"House Targaryen!"
"Starks!"
"Targaryen!"
"Starks!"
"Guys…"
"Targaryen!"
"Starks!"
"Guys!" Emma shouted over their arguing. They turned their heads, startled. She looked between the two of them, scoffing. "Is no one rooting for Tyrion Lannister anymore?"