Title: Butterfly Effect
Author: misscanteloupe
Rating: M
Summary: In her final year of college, Emma finds she has more to account for than the extra credits she needs in order to graduate. Only... she doesn't expect it to come in the form of her newest instructor, Professor Regina Mills. AU Swan Queen
A/N: I know. I knooow. I'm sorry this one took so long guys. I had a bit of it written like, two weeks ago, but for some reason I had trouble finishing it. I can't even imagine what a pain it'll be writing the next two chapters, since those are going to be the big turning points in the story.
Thank you to everyone who's reviewed-favorited-followed. It means the world to me, otherwise I wouldn't have the confidence to post anything up.
As to the harry potter reference in the last chapter, some people correctly guessed that it had to do with Snape. Congrats to aryousavvy for getting the full line down :) It was 'There's no need to call me m'am, professor,' for anyone who was wondering.
Anyway, still not too sure about this chapter, but eh. The Graham thing will be picked up again soon, no worries. For now enjoy a little fluff and let me know what you guys think!
That weekend, Emma finds herself googling Professor Mills.
She tells herself it's out of sheer boredom, or maybe some worthwhile research in case she has to veer towards blackmail in the future; not because she's interested in learning about the woman who's quickly driving her to the brink of insanity. Just… conflicted.
She doesn't find much at first. It's not like the name 'Regina Mills' rings any bells for the average person. She isn't famous by any means, and god – why does Mills have to be such a popular surname?
After refining her search in the campus news reports, she finds several articles mentioning Regina, all of which date back to the last three years. Apparently Ruby had been right on that part; Regina hadn't been teaching for very long.
The rest of the articles contain unnecessary facts she already knows, or could look for on any other day if she, you know. Cares. Which she doesn't.
Nonetheless she breezes through them with the absorption of a sponge, taking in the newly acquired information with a slightly less radical idea of what Professor Mills represents. She's not a vampire, for one. Or she could be, but Emma had never been much of a believer in mythical creatures anyway.
She'd graduated from Boston University with a Master's in Communications, not that that's in any way surprising. The woman might as well be notoriously known for her sharp tongue, if she can cut through people with her vocabulary alone.
She had claimed a teaching position in Public Relations upon graduation, and was promoted as the head of the Communications department in her second year – an 'impressive feat,' according to the article. She also grew up in a small town in Maine, a place called Storybrooke.
And she'll be turning thirty in the upcoming weeks.
Emma freezes at that, unwittingly considering the magnitude this new insight brings. Regina might look like a vision edited straight from photoshop, but Emma hadn't expected her to be this young.
Granted, there's still a near eight year gap between them – Emma being twenty two – but that's beside the point.
Eventually Emma comes across another name linked to one particular article; one Cora Mills who had been a part of the university committee several years back, having left the school board to pursue a career in politics, and is speculated to have gotten her daughter the job.
Daughter. Huh.
Emma's head is pounding by the time she exits out of the page and, leaning back in her chair, she presses her palms over her closed eyelids. She hadn't discovered anything remotely useful in the hour or two she'd spent stalking her professor via the internet.
And yet, somehow, she feels like she's learned more than she ever thought she would.
The following week Emma avoids Professor Mills like the plague – a not-so-easy task when she's sitting directly in front of said professor, and has a knack for peering up every so often to catch a glimpse of the woman currently invading her thoughts.
It's awkward, to say the least. Maybe she's just imagining it, but there are moments where she can practically feel Regina's heated gaze fall over her hunched shoulders when she isn't looking. And if that isn't the epitome of paranoia, then there's the issue of her sanity that remains, because every time Emma does look, Regina's eyes are focused entirely on the paperwork in front of her. No glance. No smirk. No physical indication that she even knows of Emma's existence.
And it's just… awkward. And also really, really shitty.
As pissed off as she is from their last encounter, it doesn't stop the heavy weight bearing down on her chest, one that feels suspiciously like guilt. Guilt that had molded itself in sometime during the weekend and had only proved to fester continuously over her frazzled thoughts.
Overall she manages to keep a low profile the rest of the period. And it isn't until the final minutes of class, when she feels the prickling sensation hovering over her shoulders again, that she looks up and catches Regina's eye.
The abrupt connection causes Emma's heart to lurch, and for a split second she thinks she imagines the way Regina's mask of indifference falters upon eye contact. But it's an image easily short lived when Regina looks away and, like clockwork, slips back into professional mode, once again ignoring Emma's existence altogether.
And it must be the guilt tormenting her again, considering how quickly her shoulders slump in defeat. Except her chest feels hollow and she wonders when the hell she'd come to even care.
Wednesday is more or less the same. She gathers whatever shred of dignity she's managed to muster over the week and finishes her classes. She finds her resolve to avoid Professor Mills slipping when it becomes fairly obvious that Regina is paying back the favor, clearly wanting nothing to do with her.
And by Emma's terms… that's just fine by her.
Only it isn't. Not by a long shot.
Her mood reaches an all-time low when she's finally forced to take her car to the mechanic on Thursday, and is once more driven back to the night she had stumbled across Graham in her broken down, rust bucket of a car.
She doesn't know what to think of it at this point. Either she had misread the entire issue and ended up blaming Graham for something he probably didn't do, or… she's right. And she's using her anger as an excuse to hide behind her petty jealousy.
She's jealous. That much is true, and not of Regina and the potential flame she might have had for Graham back in her sophomore year.
She's jealous of Graham and his stupid boyish charms that had somehow wormed their way into Regina's good graces. And it's that thought that sends a painful pang to her stomach every time she so much as thinks of the pair in any way, shape, or form.
Which is just… bizarre, because Graham is young enough to be a student, whereas Emma is one and she really has no right to pine something she has no business pining in the first place.
She can still sense the turmoil, however, breaching through her walls wherever she goes. But the fact of the matter is… she'll be graduating in a few months' time. And whatever attraction she might hold for her communications professor will be whisked away in a new life she plans on building for herself, preferably in New York.
So that's it, she tells herself.
All of this – whatever it is – won't be accounted for when it'll be nothing but a distant college memory; that one time she crushed on her female teacher and nothing extraordinary came out of it.
It's a notion she continues to mull over well into the following day, where the hour long walk to campus had her reconsidering her decisions. Her car is still at the mechanic's, and probably will be for the unforeseeable future until she somehow manages to scrape up the money to pay for a blown head gasket.
Considering the costs for repair go beyond the earnings she makes a month, she'll be waiting a long time.
She's shaken out of her musings by an achingly familiar voice drifting into her vicinity.
"And what do you think, Miss Swan?"
Emma practically hears her head snap up in response, if the loud pop emitted from her neck is any indication. For a moment she's puzzled by her surroundings, when the last thing she had expected is to see Regina's infuriatingly sharp gaze staring at her from across the room. It's the first time in a week that she's heard the woman speak to her, instead of at her.
The spike of excitement turns to dread when she realizes she hadn't just caught Regina's attention, but the entire class's as well.
Oh. Joy.
She feels an elbow nudge into her ribs when an awkward silence ensues for a few good seconds, and Emma turns to see a guy she vaguely remembers – Killian? – bob his head towards the board, today's debate topic written plainly in black marker.
Censor hate speech on campus.
A hot blush stains her cheeks as she struggles to form a response. "I… um…"
"If you have nothing to add to the discussion, dear, at least have the sense to pretend to be paying attention," Professor Mills states in a patronizing tone, causing the heat to flare past Emma's face and scorch her neck.
"Now," Regina begins again, stepping forward from the edge of a desk as she serves her gaze away. "Mister Jones, if you will proceed –"
"I'd have to argue for it," Emma interrupts, her spine stiff and straight as she pins her stare directly at Regina's slightly miffed expression. "I think it poses a danger to students, even when the message doesn't provoke violence. And it's the government's duty to intervene and ensure that the people are safe."
Emma's stony façade doesn't falter when Regina raises her chin, looking more lordly and airy than Emma can recall seeing, if that's even possible. But it's a look that shoots straight to her core and causes her skin to erupt in goose bumps.
"It is also the government's primary duty to protect the constitutional rights of its citizens," Professor Mills counters swiftly, in a calm voice that sets Emma's teeth on edge. "What of freedom of expression? Or the assumption that protecting free speech is more important than preventing hate?"
"A form of expression that incites violence and discrimination," Emma argues back. "It doesn't… encourage dialogue. In fact, by definition it would be anti-dialogue –"
"One would think it does if it provides the opportunity to provoke thought –"
"It's bullying," Emma cuts in, feeling her face heat up once more when all she's greeted with is a raised eyebrow.
"A matter of opinion."
"It's bullying if you're promoting hatred towards a group based on immutable characteristics," Emma supplies briskly, folding her arms over her chest. "Like a person's race, or gender or… sexual orientation. I mean, it's not really anyone's business who you get into bed with, is it?"
The moment of word vomit has Emma regretting she's said anything at all, because as soon as the words spew from her mouth, she wants nothing more than to crawl beneath her desk and just… hide. Embarrassment ripples beneath her skin like needles when several hushed chuckles spread through the room, accompanied by a rare silence that should've been severed with Regina's counterargument.
But Regina doesn't respond; instead she's regarding Emma in the most unimpressed fashion, although the blonde thinks she sees amusement crossing her features, and maybe even a little unabashed curiosity.
Not that Emma can savor the possibility of wondering what that look means.
"Thank you, Miss Swan," Regina drawls, and this time Emma's sure she hears the amusement drip from her tone. "For that… fascinating excerpt."
Well. At least the sarcasm's back.
"If you can all turn to page forty-two in your textbook, we will discuss the different methods of refutation –"
"Interesting save," a voice intervenes nearby, wrenching Emma out of any Regina-induced thoughts before she turns to the man occupying the seat beside her. His rugged face breaks out into a deep grin as he holds his hand out in greeting.
"Killian Jones," he proceeds in a tone that is decidedly pompous, albeit in a sort of charming way. Emma stifles the urge to roll her eyes. "At your service, m'lady."
Staring at the hand in question with unreserved caution, Emma accepts the gesture. "Emma," she states blandly.
"I've gathered," Killian affirms, still grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Swan, is it? A pleasure."
Emma inwardly sighs. This isn't how she envisioned spending her final days as an undergraduate; being hit on by some Irish guy with more leather and eyeliner than she knows what to do with.
"Can't say the same."
"Come now," he chuckles. "Are you always this audacious? Not that I don't find it enticing. There's always something pleasurable to find with a woman who knows what she wants."
"It definitely isn't you," Emma snips back, finding herself annoyed when the rebuttal earns her another smile.
"As Shakespeare would say, all is fair in love and war."
Emma restrains from adding an additional reproach and, biting her tongue, she ignores him, tearing her eyes away from the roguish smirk and the face she feels the need to thrust her fist into. For the second time that day, however, she catches Regina's eye from across the room, and it's the cool yet penetrating stare that causes Emma to break the contact first and fix her gaze over her desk for the remainder of class.
When the bell rings – marking the next time shift where she's thankfully free from the rest of the day's obligations – Emma is quick to stuff her bag and scamper out of the room if she has to. Except Killian is there again, standing in her way and blocking the only suitable escape route through a path of scattered tables.
Now she's really starting to rethink the aftermath of punching this guy in the face.
"And where are you off to so soon, love?" he inquires with excruciating swagger, all but leering at her behind a set of heavy-lidded eyes. "And here I thought we were just getting to know each other."
"Call me 'love' one more time and you'll regret trying."
"Aye, ye break my heart, lass."
Heaving out an impatient sigh, Emma relents slightly and asks, "What do you want, Killian?"
"Would it be so hard to believe that I enjoy talking to beautiful women?" he responds without pause, leaning his body forward in a slow bow before admitting, "And you, my dear, are very beautiful."
Emma isn't sure how to respond to that, not when the words 'dear' and 'beautiful' are tangled in the same sentence and only reminds her of Regina. And it's ironic, really – and maybe a little flattering, since she can't even remember the last time anyone's ever called her beautiful – but mostly ironic. Because it's literally a second later when that familiar drawl intercepts and puts a halt to Emma's thoughts altogether.
"Mister Jones, if you have nothing better to do than indulging yourself in empty flirtations," Professor Mills says dryly, "Then please, by all means. See your way out."
Emma doesn't have the ability to move at this point, struck still by her professor's abrupt appearance. Regina, on the other hand, pays her no mind, but instead focuses on Killian with a glare so cutting that Emma's pretty sure he'd be lying in a pile of his own guts if looks could kill.
Luckily he has the sense not to disobey; as much as she's beginning to dislike the guy, she wouldn't wish Regina's wrath on anyone. And apparently all it takes to send him scampering off is a practiced scowl.
"As you wish," Killian complies with another small bow, before his eyes flicker back to Emma and his lips curl into a sly smile. "Until next time, Swan."
And then he's gone, slipping past a regal-looking and still slightly disgruntled Regina. The room is empty now, save for a few stragglers in the back getting ready to leave, and Emma releases a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. It comes back up in the form of a strangled gasp when piercing brown eyes whirl around and their gazes lock.
"I see your choice in suitors fares no better than your judgment," Regina acknowledges in distaste, and there's a certain edge to her tone that makes the breath in Emma's throat hitch and clog her windpipe.
If Emma's not mistaken, that almost sounds like jealousy.
"He's not my… suitor," Emma points out lamely, wondering if it's even possible for someone to be stuck so far back in the chivalry era as to use the word suitor. She almost wants to add that she's not interested, that said interests go beyond a pair of leather trousers and the sexual appeal of a dead sloth.
But she doesn't want to give Regina that sort of satisfaction either, even if it's all in her head.
So she settles for silence and anxiously shuffles her feet in place, doing her best to stand tall and mask her face in aloofness. But Regina's eyes are burning in intensity, sweeping her gaze over Emma's slightly antsy form.
"Is there something you wanted, Professor?"
That seems to snap Regina out of whatever spell she had dragged them into. She shakes her head regally, her gaze cool. "Need I remind you of our arrangement this afternoon?"
Emma's initial apprehension grows tenfold as it dawns on her what day it is, and quickly swallows her dread. To be honest Regina's punishment had been the last thing on her mind, what with it being occupied by thoughts of the woman herself and detailed reflections of the miserable few months ahead of her. She had failed to take into account the hours she'd be spending in Regina's office filing papers.
"No," Emma fibs promptly, fiddling with the straps of her school bag. Suddenly she's feeling extremely anxious. "I remember."
"Good," Regina remarks quietly. She allows her eyes to stray over Emma's face for a moment before declaring, "I will see you in my office at five then. Don't be late."
Emma's terse nod goes unnoticed as Regina grabs a stack of papers by her desk, turning around and, with a flick of her annoyingly flawless hair, practically struts out of the room. It's only when the infamous clicking of the woman's heels fades from the hallway that Emma allows her shoulders to fall, as well as the bag she'd been clinging onto like a lifeline.
She slumps back into the chair with less grace than normal, and tries not to overthink the reason why she can feel her heart pounding frantically against her ribcage, or how anyone can possibly make her feel this… weak.
Resting her face into her hands, Emma tries to think of anything else; of graduation, of the life she has planned for herself outside of this shithole. But it's all for naught, because no matter what she thinks about it always leads back to Professor Mills.
And so she buries herself deeper into her arms. The silence closes in around her, and before long she breathes a sigh into the empty room.
She's standing outside Regina's office at exactly four fifty-eight, having spent the last fifteen minutes fidgeting in the same spot. She has a fist poised over the doorway, knuckles ready to rap against the surface, but then she hesitates again and drops her arm to the side.
Finally, at precisely five o' clock, Emma takes in a deep breath and realizes she's screwed either way. She lifts her hand back up in determination and knocks on the door.
A muffled "enter" trickles in from the other side; a definite cause for the relentless shiver coursing down the length of Emma's spine. To her surprise, however, Regina isn't sitting at her desk like she'd expected. Instead the older woman had rolled her chair to the side, seated by the row of filing cabinets she has obscured in one corner of the room. Brown eyes remain plastered over a set of folders with no visual indication that they've even noticed Emma's arrival.
It's Regina who breaks the silence first.
"Miss Swan," she murmurs, her voice oddly thicker than usual. She doesn't look up as she points to a chair to her right and says, "Have a seat. We don't have all afternoon."
Emma quickly bites her tongue in response, resisting the urge to say that, technically, they do have all afternoon. It's not like they've established a time restriction for however long Emma will be sitting on her ass, and she's definitely not in the mindset at the moment to argue over it.
Making sure the door is closed behind her, Emma shuffles over to the chair and reluctantly takes a seat, casting a wary glance to the room's other occupant. Regina's attention is seemingly focused on the papers strewn across her lap, though it doesn't deter her from explaining, "The folder to your right contains last year's debate team listings. I take it you're at least moderately knowledgeable of your ABS's?"
Emma clenches her jaw. "You could say that."
"Very well," Regina mutters, sounding faintly amused. It's easily replaced by a cool, "Then you should have no problem alphabetizing them by last names."
Emma doesn't say anything, not that anything she does say would even be worthy of Regina's time. She grabs the folder in question and begins organizing the documents in silence, accompanied only by the ruffling of paperwork and the occasional sigh slipping past Emma's lips.
It remains this way for several strained minutes; an easy feat if you think of it as a classroom setting, though for Emma it's anything but. She can barely pay attention when she's painfully aware of how close Professor Mills is sitting, angled towards her with her legs crossed at the knee and emitting a fresh, soothing scent that contrasts sharply to the usual perfume she uses, not that Emma had been paying attention or anything. It's smooth and refined and kinda reminds her of fresh rain. Of the ocean.
It's… nice.
Peering up from beneath her lashes, Emma manages to get a better view of the woman without making it too obvious. Except she's practically eyeballing her at this point. The brunette is still dressed in her previous outfit from class – form-fitting black slacks, and a white, button-up dress shirt that can't get any tighter than if Emma were to shrink the stupid thing and then happily tear it off Regina's frame.
Something that is different, Emma notices, is the number of buttons that are undone. She remembers there being only two, unfastened from the collar and revealing just the right amount of cleavage without it being considered provocative. Now that the third button is undone, though, it plunges past all levels of 'appropriate,' and Emma swears she can make out the beginnings of black lace extending from the extra gap.
If the fact that she can't look away isn't bad enough, then the heavy thickness settling in her lower abdomen has to be.
Emma gulps.
"These documents aren't going to file themselves, Miss Swan," Regina murmurs absently, not bothering to lift her head as she adds, "So if you're done gawking at me, get back to work."
Emma feels her cheeks flame before ducking her head. "I wasn't gawking."
At this, Regina glances up, taking in the sight of Emma's reddening face. "Really now?" she questions dryly. "My mistake then, dear. Ogling perhaps?"
It's clear then that that Emma can't hide her embarrassment for much longer, as her face is burning and she's pretty sure she resembles a giant tomato right now. Glaring down at her hands, she shifts forward to place the last of the paperwork in its corresponding cabinet, doing her best to ignore Regina's undoubtedly smug expression. But her fingers end up skimming past the pile and knocking it from her lap, causing the papers to scatter the floor.
Emma's breath snags, and it sounds far louder in her own ears than it should.
"I'm sorry."
But Professor Mills merely rolls her eyes, leaning forward to gather the abandoned paperwork and with a sigh, says, "I hope for your sake this clumsiness of yours isn't fatal –"
"No," Emma interjects, shaking her head. She tears her gaze away from her intertwined hands and pins Regina with an almost pleading look. "I mean… I'm sorry. For everything, or last week, really. I… you were right. I let my temper get in the way when you didn't deserve it, and for that I owe you an apology. Differences aside, I get that we didn't start off on the right foot. And I'd like to change that, if that's okay with you."
Her nervousness immediately breaks through her skin as Emma waits with baited breath, watching as Regina's piercing brown eyes flick upward to cling onto hers. Regina's movements come to a halt, her outstretched arm lingering over the floor before she slowly raises it back to her side. Her eyes seem to narrow in thought, face contorted in contemplation, as though struggling with the right words to say to Emma.
Or maybe she's just silently judging her.
Emma would be lying if she so much as thinks she isn't afraid of Regina's reaction, because she honestly is. And as much as she wants it to nag at her that she actually cares about what Regina has to say, it doesn't; not when the guilt had been gorging on her emotions for the past week and she just really, really wants this strange, bitter tension between them to end.
Finally Regina's full, red lips purse as she turns away, standing from her chair to brush past Emma's stunned form without a word. The blonde can only watch in slight hurt as Professor Mills stalks to the other side of the office and busies herself with something behind her shelves.
"How would you like a glass of the best apple cider you ever tasted?" Regina offers after a moment, her voice containing that husky allure that drifts over to Emma's end of the room.
Emma releases a shaky breath when she realizes the offering is as close to forgiveness as she's going to get. While it's not the response she had anticipated, it's very Regina-like and… Emma's okay with that.
She stands, a tentative grin spreading over her features as she asks, "Got anything stronger?"
Regina's answering hum brings forth another smile, her gaze trailing absentmindedly over the brunette's backside when she bends over to retrieve a glass from the bottom cabinet.
Emma, you perv.
Before she can look away, however, Emma's caught off guard as Regina abruptly turns and catches her eye from across the room. And judging by the raised eyebrow locking her in place, it's fairly obvious that Emma's half-assed attempt at chivalry hadn't gone unnoticed.
"You are of age, are you not?" Regina inquires, her voice throaty as she approaches Emma with two glasses of a sandy colored liquid that she assumes is whiskey. Neither of them mentions the wicked flush that had enveloped Emma's entire face and neck as the younger woman accepts the glass.
Goose bumps pimple across Emma's skin when their fingers brush in the process, and it's out of nervous apprehension that she lifts her chin and meets Regina's gaze head on.
"I'm legal, if that's what you mean," she answers, mindful of the amused glint that flashes over Regina's eye.
"Then we won't have a problem, will we?" Regina surmises, leveling her with a mischievous look that has Emma pausing in her movements and wondering whether they're still referring to the alcohol. It's the second time she's ever been on the receiving end of Regina's teasing, not to mention hearing it in that playful tone of hers that has Emma's insides fluttering with something foreign. It's definitely… weird. But the good kind. And Emma doesn't think she ever wants to lose it again.
"Says the woman who's supplying her student with alcohol," Emma quips back. "Isn't that against a teaching code or something?"
"I wasn't aware there was one," Regina says offhandedly, before taking a long, dainty sip from her glass. She's leaning against her desk, looking far more relaxed than Emma had thought was even possible. "Even so, we are no longer in class, Miss Swan. What happens within the confines of my office is no one's business but my own, so I suggest you take advantage of a free drink."
"Emma," she rushes out before she can think better of it, watching the surprise phase over Regina's features before pinning Emma with a puzzled frown.
"I beg your pardon?"
"It's Emma," the blonde clarifies in spite of the nervous tick pumping through her veins. Placing her own glass down on the desk, Emma shifts a little closer until she's mimicking Regina's stance, and it gives her just the right amount of confidence to add, "We're not in class anymore, right? So you might as well call me by my first name."
Emma's confidence wanes a little when Regina merely shoots her a curious look, one that is somehow more guarded than usual. It's immediately replaced with something else, something Emma almost wants to call admiration, which is really kind of ridiculous. She can hardly imagine Regina looking at anyone with admiration or respect, and yet it's there, being directed at Emma of all people. The notion is oddly thrilling.
A genuine smile surfaces over Regina's face after a moment, one that she tries to mask by peering down at her glass in an indifferent manner and circling the rim with her index finger.
"Very well," Regina finally murmurs, eyes darting up to lock with green. "Emma."
Emma blinks; the sound of her name in Regina's throaty voice causes her heart to lurch unexpectedly, and her stomach to flutter like those stupid butterflies everyone always talks about. It doesn't seem so stupid now that she's experiencing it for herself.
In fact, the experience is pretty brutal.
"So…" Emma trails off, grinning madly. "Does this mean I get to call you Regina?"
She guesses Regina's notorious eyebrow raise is answer enough.
"Don't push it, dear."
Emma just grins.
The rest of the weekend passes by in a blur of burnt pancakes and body paint exhibits. It hadn't taken long for Emma to crash as soon as she arrived to the apartment, having spent another hour in Regina's office filing papers, only this time without the tense-filled silence. If anything, it's the teasing banter that had surprisingly formed between them that makes Emma giddy just thinking about it. And… god. She hadn't thought being pathetic could ever feel this good.
It's probably the only reason why she even bothered attending Mary Margaret's photo shoot the next day, accepting – albeit reluctantly – the position as the primary model in her roommate's art project after the original had bailed. If Emma had known the assignment required plastering herself from head to toe in paint, she might've reconsidered the decision. As it is, she'd ended up spending her Saturday night washing the paint off in places she didn't even know she had, and most of Sunday enduring Ruby's cooking for the sake of feeding her ego.
Emma doesn't have the heart to tell her that anything the brunette touches burns to a crisp.
It's on Monday, following another hour long walk to campus – since her car is still very much a goner (and Mary Margaret's first class of the day doesn't start until two) – that it dawns on her why exactly she's been feeling like some love-struck schoolgirl for the last few days; not that she hadn't considered it plenty of times before when it's fairly obvious.
It's just… it's the first time that it really hits her, and for once it doesn't leave her feeling ashamed.
The fact that she can't stop thinking about Regina.
It might explain why she's currently hiding behind a bookshelf in the library, holding a warm cup of coffee she had picked up from Starbucks in one hand, while the other anxiously taps one of the shelves as she contemplates whether to approach the object of her… affection.
She can easily make out the shape of Regina's form sitting in her usual seat – or rather Emma's seat. It just so happens that Regina has taken a liking for it, too, just as she has every Monday at precisely ten am. It's a routine Emma has come to appreciate, even now as she continues to hesitate and drag her fingers over the spines of the books.
"Excuse me."
Emma startles and leaps away, exposing herself to the open as a girl glares at her and repeats the words, reaching over Emma's head for a book. Of course there's no point in hiding then, as Regina's already watching her from across the room, complete with the usual black frames perched over her nose.
Emma's mouth instantly goes dry, but she shakes it off with a sheepish wave.
"Miss Swan," Regina greets as Emma draws closer. She eyes the blonde skeptically, as though thinking better of her words, before she corrects herself. "Emma."
Emma's heart jumps a little as she lets loose a timid smile, inwardly debating her options when she fails to offer up a proper explanation for her presence.
"I take it you're not here simply to say hello."
"I, uh… actually I am," Emma responds dumbly, taking some pride in the slightly flabbergasted look she's managed to conjure over Regina's face. "I figured you'd like some company."
Regina's eyes lose whatever show of disbelief that had consumed them earlier, and while there are still remnants of doubt lingering behind her features, Emma finds herself staring at a noticeably softer Regina.
"I suppose…" she trails off tentatively, "I wouldn't be opposed."
"I'll take that as a yes," Emma says with a shrug, plopping down on the spare seat beside the brunette before she can rethink her decision. "I wasn't really planning on leaving anyway."
The resulting eye roll doesn't have much of an effect when Regina's lip is quirked in one corner, though her next words are as sharp as anything else she's been known for.
"Are you always this insufferable in the morning?"
"Depends," Emma replies, looking back at Regina and crossing her arms. "You probably find all your students annoying."
"Perhaps," Regina smirks. "Although I do have this one particular student who seems to have forgotten that, despite our agreement, I am still her professor. Your lack of deference astounds me, dear. One drink does not make us friends."
Curling her lip between her teeth, Emma slides her cup from her grip to the hand resting over the table, motioning towards it with a meek smile. "What about two?"
Dark eyes flash at the gesture as Regina regards the coffee impassively. "You bought me coffee?"
"No," Emma lies, fiddling with the hem of her shirt in a failed attempt to curb her embarrassment. "My… roommate's out sick today. I usually get her order in before class."
"Which happens to be my favorite?" Regina counters amusingly.
Emma tries to control the inevitable flush drowning her cheeks before proclaiming, "Huh. What a coincidence."
"Indeed," Regina all but purrs, not sounding the least bit convinced. She takes a sip of the concoction nonetheless while her eyes remain trained on Emma, observing the blonde in a stare that's contorted between gratitude and a sort of gentle look of kindness.
"I suppose I should say thank you –" Regina begins after placing the cup down, before Emma cuts her off.
"No need," Emma says, waving it off. "Seriously. It's my pleasure."
Her skin is practically tingling from the effects of Regina's gaze, intense enough that it almost feels like having your entire body encased in ice; not the painful kind, where the feeling leaves you immobilized to discomfort or intimidation, but the awakening kind. The kind where your whole body just feels… alive.
For a moment neither of them says anything, which Emma thinks is honestly a good thing because she doesn't have the slightest clue what to say. But she's holding Regina's gaze like she has as little capability of looking away as she does speaking, and her stomach is fluttering again with those stupid fucking butterflies she's really starting to hate.
Brown eyes dart across Emma's face in a scrutinizing manner, softened by a curious intake of wonderment that Emma doesn't quite know what to make of. She suspects it's a good thing, though, when not even a second later Emma swears she sees them flit to her lips.
But then the moment is broken when a book is dropped somewhere in the distance, tearing them both from the strange tension rippling between them. Regina is the first to turn away, clearing her throat in an unhinged fashion that makes Emma think she hadn't been the only one affected by the stare-off. Her tongue feels unnaturally thick as she tries to swallow and, stifling the disappointment raging in her chest, she accepts the moment for what it is – a moment.
"Are you feeling ill, dear?" Regina teases, wearing a coy smirk on her face when Emma unwittingly catches her eye again. "You look rather… flustered."
Emma inwardly groans, because of course Regina would dare to mention it with taunting remarks. "I'm fine," she grits out.
"Hmm," Regina hums, sounding awfully delighted in that demonic way of hers that Emma can't help but find appealing. "If you say so."
Rolling her eyes, Emma sits back and lets the silence stray over them. Luckily for her Regina doesn't mention it again, and she savors the quiet company as the brunette returns to her work.
Sometime later, after effectively ignoring Regina's close proximity enough to finish her own work, Emma shifts in her seat and feels her foot collide with the side of Regina's calf below the table, like it had all those weeks ago in this very spot. She stills, glancing up from her fringe of hair to gauge the other woman's reaction. The action is different this time around, changed from their initial hostility to this friendly olive branch extended before them, though Emma can't help but think it has to be more than that.
But Regina appears unfazed. She's focused on the spreadsheet in front of her, occasionally nipping at the end of her pen in frustration. It distracts Emma to the point of nearly missing the motion of Regina's heel brushing over her leg.
At first Emma's certain it's an accident, even if her body is vibrating to the power of that single touch. But then it happens again; the edge of Regina's heeled foot coming back to graze Emma's ankle before resting there, and Emma's pretty sure she's not imagining the curl of Regina's lip as she continues to study her work attentively.
Emma's lip quirks up of its own accord. Returning her attention to the table, Emma comes to terms with the new sensation crawling deep in the depths of her chest, one that she doesn't remember feeling in a long, long time.
It feels like hope.