Emma hated the princess-y stuff. Not that she was in love with being the sheriff of a town of fairy tales—feeding Ruby her steak during the full moon, keeping Peter Pan out of the elementary school, getting Sleeping Beauty her caffeine. But at least it was interesting. But this princess junk… she had to wear a dress. Not just any dress, like an evening gown, because she could deal with evening gowns. Her… monstrosity had petticoats.
And then she gathered in town hall while her parents sat on their thrones and a bunch of bluebirds flew around and they all sang together and it was just. So. Boring. She put up with a lot, but musical numbers? She was okay with her life being a bedtime story, just not Glee.
So, when her phone vibrated and it was Regina, Emma let her lyric be "I've gotta take this" (which did not rhyme with "Here in our village / there's no need for tears"), and left.
Outside, Emma plugged her other ear with her finger to keep out the karaoke. They were singing an 'I Want' song. So needy. "Hey Regina, what's up?"
"Sheriff Swan, come over. I made apple tarts and I have wine."
"Wow, okay, that was shot from the hip. Sorry, I can't. I have this town… meeting… thing."
"Those I don't miss. The wine is white, if that makes a difference."
"I really wish I could. But I have responsibilities and duties and all this dumb stuff. They haven't even gotten to the pitch change."
"The what?"
"It's a long story. Just… uggggh… I wish we could stay up late and have a sleepover or something, just in a really adult way."
"An adult sleepover, Sheriff Swan?" Emma could hear Regina's grin. "I thought you'd never ask."
"Not what I meant!" Emma sighed, picturing Regina all alone and wondering how lonely she would have to be to reach out like this. They were friendly now, but still, she doubted Regina was the type of person to just casually drop a line to 'her girls'. "Are you going to be okay on your own?"
"I'll be fine. Enjoy your public humiliation. The trick is to remember that their taxes pay your salary, so technically you're getting away with robbing them."
"You have a twisted mind."
"Goes with your panties. Public humiliation, go."
"Fine, I'm on my way, I'm going."
Emma hung up. And gathered herself to go do some princess shit, but then she thought, apple tarts. She'd skipped breakfast and had a 'healthy' lunch. She deserved apple tarts. She could tell Regina about Jefferson's crusade to take back fedoras from men's rights activists. She could get out of this goddamn dress.
Emma went back inside and found herself telling Ruby that she didn't feel well and could she please tell Snow that she was heading in early?
Back in jeans and a tee, Emma drove up to Regina's place. She paused in her parked car to check her hair, wondered what the hell she was doing, and went to ring the doorbell.
Regina answered in a dress that made Emma instantly envious. It was all slim and classy and black, like she was going to perform a lounge song for a bunch of GIs or something.
"Sheriff Swan, I'm so glad you changed your mind," she said, favoring Emma with a large smile.
"First time for everything. Need a ride to the ball?"
"Oh, this? I was just checking to see if it still fit." Regina gave Emma a twirl. "What do you think?"
"Right now, I'm thinking 'did she seriously just twirl?'"
Regina laughed. "Come in. I'll get you some tea."
"I was told there would be wine," Emma faux-grumbled as she entered the premises.
As usual, her boots clomped on the marble floor and Regina smiled generously, leading Emma to one of the rooms with a name that only Downton Abbey people could figure out. There was a fire going and a bottle of wine in an ice bucket, along with a disc cued on the record player. Emma had always wanted to try one of those. She flicked a switch, got it spinning, and then managed to maneuver the needle into a groove. Silky music started playing, something acoustic. Emma couldn't place the decade. Older than her, that was for sure.
"Why, Regina, were you expecting company?"
"I invited you over, didn't I?"
"Yeah, but the dress, the music, the fireplace—you didn't hit DTF on some Craiglist ad when I turned you down, did you? Because I'd hate to think I'm throwing up cliterference."
"Cliter—oh, I get it. Very amusing." Regina pulled the needle up on the record player. "No, I was just going to enjoy a quiet evening at home. Here." She picked up a plate of apple tarts from the table that was also part of the room for some rich person reason. "You have one of these and I'll slip into something more comfortable."
"That looks very comfortable," Emma commented.
"It's, ummm…" Regina kneaded her hands together. "I'm going to change!" she announced.
Emma had no idea what that was all about. But the tarts were good. Emma restricted herself to two and held a staring contest with a third. She distracted herself by opening the wine, which possibly wasn't as disciplined as she was hoping to come across. She sat down on the couch, contenting herself with sniffing the wine like a very mannered, non-butch person. Then she felt fingers in her hair, adjusting it neatly and only occasionally touching her scalp.
"You have such lovely hair," Regina said. "You could really do a lot more with it."
Emma stood. "Thanks, I was thinking of wearing it up or something." Emma stood. Regina kept touching her, a finger running down the back of her neck and pausing in the collar of her T-shirt like Regina wanted it off.
"Madame Mayor," Emma said, trying to fall back on old protocol before remembering Regina wasn't mayor anymore. She turned around.
Regina wasn't wearing her dress. She wasn't quite wearing underwear either. It was some kind of lingerie, two shadows that held fast over her breasts and crotch. Regina bit her lip nervously, then gave another little twirl. Emma swallowed.
"I've been thinking about kind of person I am—or want to be, really. There's a lot I want to change. I'd like to be more patient, more kind, all that stuff. But I don't want to be a person who wants something and doesn't go after it."
She took hold of Emma's hand and squeezed it with growing confidence. She brought it up as if to kiss it, then instead ran the fingers of her other hand over Emma's palm, down her wrist, even up to the muscles of her arm. It felt nice. Emma couldn't say it didn't feel nice.
"Do you want this?" Regina asked.
Emma couldn't think. She could barely breathe. She kept feeling those fingers, imagining them over her breasts, her lips, her belly—lower, deeper.
"Do you want me?" Regina asked.
"I…"
Regina's fingers ran down Emma's arm, back to her hand, locking with Emma's fingers. Squeezing so tight Emma wouldn't have believed she'd ever let go.
"I do want you," Emma said, because she couldn't lie, not with it at the forefront of her thoughts, not with every brain cell in her head picturing what it would be like: kissing Regina, lying with Regina. God, how could she be so stupid? "But we can't."
"Why?" Regina asked insistently, hiding her disappointment behind a sudden need to know. Her hand was now cold and clammy in Emma's. "I don't expect you to change your mind, but there must be some explanation, something—" Something we can work out.
"It's me. I'm not who you think I am. You don't know me."
Regina squeezed Emma's hand again. "You're a recovering drug addict slash ex-con slash bounty hunter. What else can there be?"
"It's complicated."
"I'm good with complicated. Let me help. Please." Regina raised Emma's hand to her lips as if she were speaking into it and the feel of her breath on Emma's skin made her want to stop fighting, for one minute of one hour, and just rush into Regina's embrace.
"I lied to you, okay? You have no idea how much I lied to you, how much I hurt you. I've been trying to make it up to you. That's… what this was."
"You lied?" Regina asked, disbelievingly. "Emma, all you've done is be here for me. You haven't been telling me things. You've been listening. So I don't care what you kept from me, because I know you. You're someone…"
Regina let go of her hand and Emma let it drop to her side.
"You're the kind of person I dream of," Regina confessed. "So maybe you're something else too, but you can't expect me to care more about that part than about you."
"I should go," Emma said, not moving. "I shouldn't have come here, I shouldn't have been here, you shouldn't—"
Emma managed to take a step, and another, brushing past Regina. She felt a hand clinging to hers, holding onto her, then needing arms wrapped around her from behind.
"I know you can't. But while you're not, I want you to think about me. And think about this."
Emma felt her head turned, just a few inches, and Regina barely breathing, but the hot air running over her throat, and then Regina's lips against hers, gentle and insistent and over far too soon.
"Sheriff Swan," Regina said, her fingers trailing out of the other woman's. "Emma."
Emma started to breathe again. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."