Chapter Six: Gratitude
The sheriff of Storybrooke kicked back in her chair, ankles crossed haphazardly on the desk. In one hand was a styrofoam cup of coffee and the other a glazed donut. Everything was as it had been with one exception: the sheriff actually kept busy.
It had been just one of the terms agreed upon between the mayor and newly reinstated sheriff. After a second, third, and shocking fourth assessment, Emma had started to wonder if this was about getting her job back at all. Striped of conscience, she pushed herself to perform the kind of marionette acts a circus player would put on. Regina, the audience and secondary participant, gave only the smallest of comments, never enough to clue Emma in on the future of her career in Storybrooke.
Yet by the fourth meeting it seemed as the two had struck a chord together, however unspoken. They didn't discuss how easy it was to fall into bed or how it felt for Emma to give so much with the only consolation being a usurpation of the mayor's control. It was an intriguing relationship neither would admit to dwelling on. It was a kind of fun Emma didn't dare question. She closed her eyes to questions more often than usual. Mirrors too. Those things were off limits. She shied away from anything that would stare back at her, asking why, why, why.
Something about it caused Emma to think of them not as interviews but auditions. And it wasn't just about Emma's performance; she rated Regina just as well. Both met for the inevitable, both seeking companionship in whatever context. They played their hands and parted as if it meant absolutely nothing. The interview – like any audition for a play – held that the participants went above and beyond their mere selves; they lied, they fantasized, they embellished, and that's where things got dangerous. Because like many lies, they accompanied a bit of truth, a bit of private satisfaction that aches for the kind of passion no living soul can unlock.
These "auditions" as Emma had come to call them drew a fine line between reality and fantasy. For Emma, she couldn't separate Regina's intentions from her own. Everything about how they came together blurred to obscurity. If they kept going as they were would it be a result of Regina's cruel demands or their shared conclusion that this was what they were now: lovers abandoned from conscience?
It all came to a grinding halt when Regina reinstated Emma. The news came as a surprise and affected her just as strongly. For weeks it seemed like her and Regina had been wreaking havoc and fulfilling a universal truth all at the same time and at the speed of light. Now it was over – the wordless interviews, Granny's casual remarks on thin walls, and Regina… poor, powerless Regina in fits of pleasure. Emma felt spun off her axis.
No longer an ordinary citizen, Emma had a duty to uphold the law and practice due diligence. For as much a tug that bed at the inn still had on her she would not look a gift horse in the mouth. Now that she had the job that was rightfully hers Emma would not fail. She would not fall into the same old petty squabbles or get fooled into another blackmail attempt. She would not give the mayor reason to. Therefore, the sheriff had to actually do some sheriffing.
Not much about the job had changed. In her absence, David had not completely fucked up the department. If anything, her office looked a little tidied up than normal. As per the agreement Emma had to change several things about how the department was run. First and foremost: consistency. All paperwork, messages, patrols must be carried out in a timely fashion daily. Emma agreed, as long as she wasn't on call Sunday or Funday as she dubbed it. Second, the sheriff would organize a new department which would be overseen by the mayor. Though possessing a novice awareness of Maine wildlife and forestry, Emma was tasked to lead a committee on protecting the town's natural resources. The Storybrooke Department of Conservation and Forestry would be established in honor of the late Graham Humbert who spent years lobbying for environmental safeguards. Emma called bullshit, but acquiesced to a boiling glare.
There were concessions, too; the fact that she could still eat whatever she wanted no matter the calorie count, and hire a deputy as long as they performed adequately and did not cost more than the department budget allowed.
For as appreciative of life and a steady income as Emma became, she did not believe Regina had done all this out of the goodness of her heart. No one goes through the trouble of blackmailing their enemy and then rescinding that threat without the guarantee of victory. But the question remained: what victory? Had four rolls in the sack changed things so radically that winning no longer mattered? Could it be that Emma's presence was wanted in Storybrooke?
Questions, doubts… these things were forbidden. The only thing Emma had to distract her was work. And so work she did.
"Be grateful for what you've been given," she drilled to herself between sips of coffee and reading a committee member's proposal.
Mantras were a handy thing when sexual frustration and moral dilemma haunted you day and night. It had been how many days since she slept with the mayor? And when would she start feeling sorry for it?
"Grateful, Emma. You're the sheriff."
As if on cue her phone rang. The voice on the other line, in all its condescension and wily riddles, grated on her ear. It wasn't until the speaker raised its concern and called for action that Emma straightened in her chair. Suddenly, like never before, she entered sheriff mode.
It took minutes to arrive on the scene. No sooner did she slam the door of her cruiser did an upsurge of fury consume her. A sense of duty spurred her to action, tightening her fists and fighting to recall Miranda procedure. This was her town and she'd been given a second chance at protecting it. No one would get away with breaking the law without getting enforced by it in return.
Broken glass crunched underfoot. Emma tiptoed around the worst of it while scrutinizing the scene. While the front door glass panels were shattered to bits, the integrity of the larger store window held fast, but in a different fashion. Blue paint dribbled from the large block letters, obscuring its true message. Based on dry time and application width she discerned that the tag had been written with aerosol spray, generic brand, probably from the local hardware store.
Hands on her hips, Emma shook her head. The world had seen better graffiti in the caves of Neanderthals.
"Amateurs."
"Sheriff Swan," Gold called from the glass littered entrance. "Your response time is most unusual."
"You said you managed to catch the kids that did this?"
"In the shop, waiting for you as requested."
His tone made her skin crawl. It was the kind of thing the old Sheriff Swan would have brushed off with an annoyed eye roll. Not this time. "When I'm wearing the badge it's hardly a request."
"Indeed," he settled with a nod.
Gold gestured her inside. As she swept past him he cast a lingering study, frowning at something he couldn't quite pin down.
The culprits were teenagers, too cool for school and hardly ones to earn the honor of the brightest of their generation. They leaned sluggishly against the glass counter, occasionally running a blue spattered hand through their matching Kurt Cobain mops. The image wasn't a far cry from the 17 year old Emma Swan. The only difference being Emma actually knew who Kurt Cobain was.
"Alright, let's take this outside."
"Sheriff –"
"This is a crime scene, Gold. While you may have apprehended the suspects in your own place of business, I'm not going to risk any further destruction of evidence by conducting an interrogation in the same area."
He allowed it with peculiarity, raising his brow when the sheriff turned before there was room for disagreement.
While it wasn't customary for the victim, as it were, to oversee the questioning, Gold wouldn't have his rights trampled on. Emma corralled the boys near the cruiser with the pawnbroker listening not far away. During the proceedings an impatient tap of a cane could be heard.
"Names?" Emma asked. She scribbled down the pertinent information in her notepad. When their contact information was recorded things took a serious turn. "Why aren't you guys in school?"
They shrugged apathetically.
"I'm going to need more than shrugs and incoherent mumbles." She bent down slightly to catch a glimpse beyond the moppy veils. "Can I at least get some eye contact?"
"We were just messing around," explained one of the teenagers, the assumed leader of the graffiti duo. "It's freedom of expression."
"You do realize your little artistic demonstration here has damaged property, right? Vandalism is a crime in case you didn't know. But seeing as this is your first offense neither of you will be charged with a felony."
Twin snickers followed with a fist bump.
"Don't celebrate just yet." Folding her arms, Emma cast a superior glare between the two. "I still have to write you up for a misdemeanor and call your parents. And depending on whether Mr. Gold files charges…"
"I most certainly will be," sneered the wronged shopkeeper. "Their 'messing around' just cost me 400 dollars in damages."
"What?!" the other boy spoke up, arms outstretched. "It's just a little paint!"
Gold's fist tightened around his cane. "And broken windows."
Emma chimed in, "Just because you're underage doesn't mean you're immune from taking responsibility for your actions."
The older one reeled back. "This is bullshit!"
"Listen, kid. If you want attention get a twitter account. You want your voice heard? Intern at City Hall and go into politics."
"Work for a bunch of stuck up, paper pushers who are out of touch with the real world? I don't think so."
"Yeah," said the other teen, chin jut out defiantly, "and their heads are so far up the mayor's ass they can't tell up from down. I hear my parents talk. The whole of City Hall is corrupt. Even you gotta admit to kissing up to the Queen of Storybrooke."
Emma felt her insides churn just as the whites of her knuckles appeared. "I really think you should mind what you say in front of the sheriff, son."
"What? You gonna tattle on me?"
"No, but it's well within my power to teach you a lesson on respecting your elders."
It actually wasn't in her job description, but the little ingrates didn't have to know. She had her cuffs and her fists, both just as easily demonstrated a fine point.
"You got no authority here," said the leader. His eyes shifted to his friend, displaying a look of uncertainty in his statement. "A small town sheriff can't even have a gun."
"Actually, they can."
"So where is it, Sheriff? I don't see one."
"Don't need one to deal with on punks like you."
That seemed to shut him up. The other one didn't back down as easily. Emma wasn't surprised. It was usually the quiet ones that toted a mean streak; Jeffrey Dahmer, Ted Bundy, Buffalo Bill. While overexaggerized the gist of it had planted itself in her head.
"It's just a fear tactic, Jason. Don't let her scare you. She's just as much a mindless idiot like the rest of 'em."
Before Emma even knew what was happening her hand rose to backslap the egotistical grin off the kid's face. A red fury colored her cheeks while the tendons in her neck sprung up like thick, ribbed mooring rope. A spark had ignited, the hottest part of the flame filling her soul. The fire which passed before her eyes had the boys stepping back. They were so taken hostage by the furious gaze that they wouldn't have seen the blow. However, someone else did.
"Emma!"
Ablaze eyes blinked back to evergreen. She spied the hand that was her own in a downward strike and froze just before it completed its goal. An acidic taste coated her mouth and she swallowed it down, wincing as the burning traveled down her throat. She glanced at the source of the shout.
"What's the trouble here?" Leroy scrambled from across the street. "Emma?"
A seemingly relieved Gold recaptured the step taken forward and eased the precautionary grip on his cane.
"Nothing," Emma stated with firmness that struck Leroy in a flinch. "We're just having a chat about respecting our elders. Weren't we?"
The teenagers, still wide-eyed and shaky, nodded.
Leroy looked from the delinquents to the sheriff. He finally patted Emma on the arm, coaxing her away from the scene. "Well, it looks like you're all finished up here. Want a drink? I'm buying."
"I'm still on the clock."
"Yeah, but I'm not and I'm thirsty. What better company than the sheriff?" He gave a brotherly shake to her shoulder while passing a subtle mouthing to the shop owner. Gold nodded.
"Fine," Emma mumbled. "Whatever."
When Leroy got a few blocks between them and the pawnshop he asked, "So what's with the gestapo act? Is that a new sheriff tactic now? Because I gotta say, it doesn't really suit your image."
"You'd be doing the same if you heard the shit they were spewing."
"How bad could it be?" Leroy chortled, good naturedly.
"They were acting like immature pricks!" insisted Emma. Her blonde curls waved about with her twisting head. "Insulting the law, City Hall, the mayor, me!"
"Sister, everyone's pissed on the Man at least once in their youth. It's a rite of passage."
"If they think it's alright to get away with being rude they'll use that as a standard for every other crime. Are you saying I should have just left it alone?"
"You dealt with the vandalism as a sheriff should," Leroy stated, indicating with a finger. "But I gotta admit, Emma, trash talking is not exactly against the law. If they were being annoying little twits it's their parent's problem, not yours." Emma's mouth opened in retort but he got his hands up to stop her. "Don't get me wrong, I'm the last person who'd defend kids. I know nothing about 'em and the stuff I do know has me raising my drink to god in thanks that I don't have any. But you don't get paid enough to police the mouths of babes."
"Point taken."
"And don't forget it, sister. Now, how about that drink?"
Emma followed after with a spring in her step. "More like drinks."
"Oomph! Excuse me! I am so sorry – Oh! Emma, it's you."
"Yeah, me," she drawled. Bending down she helped the assistant pick up his fallen paperwork. "Is the mayor in?"
Erik raised his watch before answering. "She should be wrapping up for the day. But if I were you I'd wait to see her tomorrow."
"Why?"
"She's interviewing a possible candidate for the Director of Housing Authority. A lucrative position," he elaborated in a hushed tone.
"An interview? This late?"
He shrugged. "The mayor never sleeps."
"Right." Emma was intimately familiar with the sleeping habits of their illustrious mayor.
She shuffled her feet and pretended to collect herself as Erik bid farewell. When the door closed behind him and the coast was clear she proceeded forward.
With Erik gone her carefully designed façade slipped. She stumbled over her feet and caught herself with a hand planted against the wall. Her head shook off the dizzy spell.
Halting before the door, Emma made a point to pat down her clothes and fashion them back into some form of suitability. She rolled her eyes, knowing the mayor wouldn't accept her either way.
"Tough shit," she mumbled and struck the door with her knuckles.
Blonde hair tossed back, the sheriff entered before summoned.
At the head of the small conference table Regina sat with her back to Emma. Her legs were crossed and she was fingering a sheet of paper. In the chair diagonal hunched a mousy young woman. Her ash blonde hair was tied back in a messy bun. Thick black glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. She looked nice enough. Emma observed her pretty features, masked by the glasses, the up do, and the grim expression adopted by all who entered Her Majesty's office, and detected timidity in her posture. The young candidate seemed about as coerced into the position as a cow rallied for slaughter.
"You're going to have to cut this short." Emma tipped her head to the young woman. "Sorry," she lobbed, clearly not apologetic.
Regina didn't even have to turn in her chair. "Colleen, this is Sheriff Swan. She has the trying habit of barging in when unwanted."
Green eyes burned into the high-backed chair. "Well, hello to you too."
"It would greatly benefit you to lock your office door when the Sheriff is about. I myself have suffered undue disruption. And it is costly. Present case included."
Colleen perked up in her seat, blinking rapidly behind the thick frames. "Does that mean I have the job?"
A lazy eye strolled through the resume. "I was speaking hypothetically, dear."
"Regina…" Emma prompted.
Still, the mayor refused to meet her eyes. "Yes?"
"This is official business."
"And so is this meeting."
"Please?"
A pause blanketed the office wherein a scuffed, vodka stained boot tapped at the heel and the sweaty hands of a candidate wrung themselves raw. Those who did not go by the name of Madame Mayor jumped when the silence broke.
"Miss Hale, will you excuse me?"
Regina rose and followed the sheriff into the hall before Colleen could stutter a response.
The clicking of Gucci heels stopped in a private wing. The location was far enough from the mayor's office, but not a distance comfortable enough for Regina to raise her voice.
"What is so important you had to interrupt a professional meeting?" she asked. In the breeze of the hallway she brought the ends of her sweater closed before folding her arms over it.
"Why are you conducting interviews after hours?"
"That is no concern of yours. Now if you would please explain your behavior."
Glassy green eyes narrowed. "What kind of interview?"
"Don't get excited, dear. It is hardly what you think."
"Is that smirk supposed to comfort me?"
"Oh, am I supposed to pay mind to your feelings, now? I do not recall that detail ending up in your redrawn contract."
Emma stomped her boot, hands waving forth. "Just answer the question, Regina!" she hissed. "What kind of interview?"
"It is just like you," Regina replied slowly. Every word weighed as much as the stretch of time since that fourth stay at the bed and breakfast.
Emma's face screwed into a squint. In her state of post-Leroy hosted festivities she could barely make out the lovely shape of the mayor. "Just like me what?"
"It is just like you to take a few meaningless trysts as justification for possessive control. I cannot think of any better candidate to chase down a loose Pongo than a pup of a sheriff."
"You're going to stand there with a straight face and tell me it was meaningless?" Emma's cackle bounded off the corridor walls. "After you begged me for assessment after assessment? Four in total?"
Regina shot her a murderous glare. "I did not beg."
"And I am not a fucking puppy to be played with."
Just as it seemed like more jealous accusations would be slung forth, Emma gave a weighty sigh. A hand brushed at her cheek and roved to scrub at the back of her neck. Head angled down as if muttering to herself, "And I came here actually thinking you would come running into my arms after three weeks."
"Three weeks?"
"Oh, come on. Don't give me that. Don't act like you haven't counted."
"Miss Swan," Regina scolded. Her glare held a moment before breaking off to the polished floor. She searched it, tile by tile. Her head shook, rising to meet Emma with closed eyes. "Contrary to your reason for a private conference this is not deemed as official business."
"Everything is business to you."
Regina scowled.
"Why can't you just take a break for once?"
"What?" The mayor took a moment to insult the woman in a seething once over. "With you?" A few buttons on the sheriff's top were loose. The same could be said for her entire appearance: untethered and indifferent to everything save the mayor's attentions. Though Emma had always shared a likeness to a semi-roused college student, Regina detected an uncharacteristic rashness in her after hours state. She could hardly stand up unassisted. "Have you been drinking?"
"I am your fucking sheriff and you have the gall to lecture me on the legal limit?"
For as uncouth as Emma's lip presented, Regina couldn't help but stare at it. She wet her own mouth, finding it parched and sensitive to touch. In all the hours spent in her air conditioned building that day Regina felt a trace of sweltering heat graze her. The sudden change in temperature elicited a shiver down her spine.
There was something incredibly attractive about how uninhibited Emma was acting. Her cheeks were brightened by a touch of natural blush, a cool sweat beaded at her hairline which Regina followed to a sun stained neck and the beating pulse she swore she could read. She matched it in time with her own – down to the very second. And the eyes – they were glossed over in reckless hope, shifting between each of Regina's own like a skittish puppy's would.
Emma looked like the ideal prey: weak, wanting, and begging for it. It made Regina just as slick beneath her skirt as it did when the curling lip flung its curse upon her. Fucking sheriff, her thoughts recounted. Yes, fucking sheriff indeed.
A wounded expression befell Emma. "Can't we just –"
"Save it," snapped the mayor. She turned on her heel and marched back to her office.
By the time Emma reached the door Colleen was gathering together her portfolio. Unsure of what had passed in all of 30 seconds, her frown deepened to match the young candidate's.
"I will give Erik instructions to contact you for rescheduling," Regina assured in her usual collected voice. She gently ushered Colleen out with an outstretched hand as Emma stared dumbly from behind. "Please accept my apologies for cancelling."
Colleen nodded vaguely. Walking from the unexpectedly short job interview, her head twisted back just in time to catch the space of a closing door and the rascally grin inside.
