As much as she regretted the words that tingled on the edge of her tongue, it was pretty darn good to have the run of the Mills mansion during the day. With nothing better to do than watch television (including the newest purchase- the MLB channels), catch up on some reading (usually whatever Regina had left laying around), and gorge herself on sugary treats- oh, and watch the kid. Yes, the days when her little minions- deputies- were on duty were good ones, Emma thought as she calculated the throw needed to land the squishy, mid-sized ball on the second level of the house.
She peered upwards, gently rocking the soft ball against her palms, as she waited for Henry to get into position to catch it. Vaulted ceilings, her rear end. She could totally make that shot between the two ugly vases Regina had up there on pedestals. "You ready yet, kid?"
What the hell could he possibly be doing? Besides holding out his hands and ensuring said ugly vases weren't destroyed, the kid had nothing better to be doing now that school was out for the summer. And, what better time was there to practice his catching skills? Especially when there was no Evil Queen to delegate and harangue the poor Savior's training techniques.
Exempting the bird attack incident from her record, Emma was a pretty good coach, if she did say so herself, and Henry had flourished under her unorthodox tutelage.
Suddenly, Henry's head bobbed over the railing, gloved hand outstretched. He stood in between the two vases, precisely where the ball needed to land before he had to pay up with an ice cream cone at Granny's. "You sure we should be doing this, ma?" He looked around warily at the priceless artwork that made up the decor of the house, some of it irreplaceable and other pieces more than his allowance would ever cover. There was a tiny voice in the back of his head that sounded suspiciously like his mother reminding him that throwing things in the house was forbidden.
Expressly forbidden in the strictest sense of the word.
"It's raining," Emma said by way of explanation. And, it was Thursday, which meant it was practice time when Regina was in her late night meeting discussing the town budget, or pot holes, or whatever it was that made her stay late at the office. "Anyway, you ready or not?"
Upstairs, Henry nodded his head and steadied his hand, mentally preparing for one hard pitch to be aimed upwards into his outstretched hand. With any luck, he would be thumbing out quarters from his piggy bank to pay for his ma's ice cream instead of thumbing those quarters to pay for a broken vase. Though, the look of sheer concentration on the blonde's face below was disconcerting enough to make him back up a couple of inches- just in case.
The sheriff took one last moment to ready her pitch before she let the squishy ball fly through the air. Too bad Regina wasn't there, she thought sullenly as she waited for the telltale thump that would signal Henry's catch, else the other woman wouldn't have been able to deny that it was a near perfect pitch; maybe a little long, but-
"Uh oh."
"Why would you say 'uh oh'?"
An "uh oh" in conjunction with a crash was never a good thing, at least not in Emma's experience. The last time she had heard an 'uh oh' was when August had accidentally thrown a baseball into the direction of Regina's Mercedes, and even then, when accompanied by the sickening crack of the windshield, she had been able to hide behind the fact that it had not been her to cause harm to Regina's things. August, on the other hand, had run as fast as his wooden legs could carry him in the hopes that he would not be turned into kindling.
She pinched the bridge of her nose and climbed the stairs two at a time, at once reluctant and eager to see the damage inflicted to the house. Please, God, she prayed silently, let it be anything 'Gina isn't particularly fond of- like, perhaps, an heirloom from her mother or some wedding present from her marriage to the King. Once she reached the top of the stairs, the blonde closed her eyes, pinching them tight against the scene. "Henry, I want you to tell me, in great detail, what the damage is."
"Vase on the right- the one mom told you to "keep your fumbling...I'm not allowed to say that word...fingers off" when you moved in," Henry replied in a matter-of-fact tone, easy shrug accompanying his words as he surveyed what was left of the black and white monstrosity on the floor. Truly, it had been hideous and wholly impractical for a home with a child, even one raised to not run or play catch indoors. No matter the good intentions toward providing him with good manners and respect for things of the breakable variety.
She was dead. Six feet under, dead, dead, dead. Instead of a wedding day, it would be her funeral. Complete with a cackling ex-Evil Queen to drop her corpse into the hastily dug hole in the backyard, in perfect view of the kitchen so Regina could relive her vengeance every time she washed the dishes or cooked dinner.
"Here's the deal, kid, we need to-"
"You missed," Henry accused, arms crossed over his chest.
"Yeah, I did, which means we really need to-"
"You said you wouldn't miss," the boy repeated. "You said that mom would never have to know that we played catch in the house; you lied."
That was just what she needed- her accomplice throwing her under the bus. Worse yet, her son had accused her of being a liar, again. Emma rolled her eyes at the implication, as though liar ranked higher than vase-destroyer in the grand scheme of things. "Look, kid, I didn't know the ball wasn't balanced or that it would pull at the last minute. It's not like I regularly practice with kid's toys, so when your mom gets here I'll distract her and-"
Henry rolled his eyes and stomped his foot against the floor. "You want me to clean it up while you distract mom? Meaning you're going to sit on the couch or mooch food while I clean."
To her credit, she had never explicitly told her son that she was going to distract his other mother from her crime by persuading her into an early bedtime, eyes closed as they passed the matching vases, or by mooching an apple tart for dessert. But, with any luck and the help of an alarm clock, she could keep Regina from finding out about the loss for a week or so, provided the kid stopped staring at her like she just kicked a puppy. "That's not what I said," Emma tried. "Out of the two of us, I could probably-"
"I have homework to do," Henry interrupted again as he turned on his heel to take his leave.
"Oh, hell no, kid, are you leaving me to take the blame for this!" Emma said lowly, pleased when the boy stopped in his tracks. "Who was it that had his glove ready for the ball? And, who was it who asked me to teach him outside of group lessons with Snow?" She pointed an index finger at the top of his floppy brown hair. "Yeah, it was you."
The boy shrugged. He was a kid, enough said. "You said you wouldn't miss," he restated unnecessarily, and not without a sly smirk aimed in the direction of the unfortunate vase. "You lied."
"Yeah, kid. I intentionally threw the ball into your mom's vase. Besides, you missed the ball, not me," Emma retorted, briefly ashamed at her descent into juvenile behavior. "Look, she's going to be home any-" She cringed at the sound of the back door opening. "Apparently, she's home now, so please, Henry, clean this up while I distract her. I'll do anything you want."
"I want the new Avengers movie," he replied in a hopeful tone, feet planted in the direction of the vase as he awaited her response. "If you get me the movie the day it comes out, I'll clean this up now while you distract mom downstairs."
"Kid, if you clean this up and keep quiet about it until I can replace the vase, I will buy you the blu-ray version with a new blu-ray player."
Henry shook his head, eyeing his mother skeptically. "I just want the movie, Emma, not a new DVD player. And," he added in a drawn out voice only children could attain without sounding foolish, "I want you to tell mom that it was your fault when she finds out the vase broke, 'cause it kind of was."
Emma nodded and waved over her shoulder as she shot down the stairs, careful not to trip and cause bodily harm that would leave a bloody trail back to the scene of the crime. At the foot of the stairs, she caught sight of the black trench coat that signaled the presence of a certain brunette in the open hall closet. Curiously open, she thought as she crept closer to the opened door, inching forward as though a wild animal might emerge from its depths and try to maul her to death.
"Emma Eleanor Swan!"
Found her, the blonde reluctantly admitted to herself as she dragged her feet across the short distance from the hall closet to the front door. Her hazel eyes widened dramatically at the broken piece of black and white porcelain, jagged edges and all, held aloft in the brunette's hand.
"Was there something you wanted to tell me, dear?"