A/N: Well, the internet went down today, so I was simply forced to write and neglect all work until it came back on :)
I don't know what the US version of Lemsip is, but if anyone is wondering what I'm on about, it's a medicine for cold/ flu/ sore throat.
"Emma."
The schoolteacher smiles in surprise as she greets the blonde sat sprawled out at the kitchen table; her feet crossed neatly one over the other on its pitted surface. She's unaccustomed to seeing the Sheriff up and about so early before lunch on her day off, and from the looks of things, her housemate has showered and dressed and everything.
Wonders will never cease.
Mary Margaret makes her way over to the coffee maker, prodding at the blonde's feet as she passes in a silent request she removes them from the table. Emma rolls her eyes but swings her legs down obediently, stifling a yawn and pulling her recently washed hair into a damp knot.
"You're up early."
"Maybe you're just up late?"
The Sheriff counters, causing the schoolteacher to glance at the old clock that hangs in the far corner with momentary alarm.
Seven o' five.
"Nope. It's you."
"Ah, then I must have just wanted to hear the sounds of the birds waking up and watch the sunrise."
"Yes, because that sounds so much like you."
"Or maybe I just woke up with a bitch of a cold and couldn't get back to sleep. I'll spare you any in-depth medical details, but I'd guess the shade I was coughing up could be called moss green."
"Ew."
"Very."
"Well, that's too bad. You don't sound too good, actually."
"Thanks..."
Emma croaks, and Mary Margaret sighs; too used to her housemate's incessant quips to make the mistake of carrying on this little double act. Instead, she switches the kettle on and pours a sachet of Lemsip into a large mug; stirring in some honey once the water has come to a boil.
"Here."
"Thanks."
Emma takes the proffered mug and tries not to wrinkle her nose at it too obviously, or eye the schoolteacher's coffee with visible envy. Taking a sip of the medicinal drink she licks her lips and stifles another yawn.
Mary Margaret takes a seat across from her and regards her with an ill-hidden grin.
"... What?"
The younger woman calls her out on her intrigue.
"Oh, nothing, I'm just wondering how long it's going to be before you come clean about where you keep sneaking off to."
"How do you mean?"
"Come on, Emma, you're clearly up to something! You weren't home until well after midnight again last night-"
"-I didn't realise you were keeping tabs."
"I'm not! I went to bed at quarter past and you weren't back yet... And all last weekend you were nowhere to be found. So, go on, tell me! Who do you keep creeping out to see?"
"Who says I'm seeing anyone? Maybe I'm just going out for a run?"
"Ah yes, midnight running, that must be it... Come on, Emma, don't be coy, you're clearly seeing someone."
"Ugh, you've been talking to Ruby."
"Ruby?"
"Not like that, never mind... Look, can we just drop this?"
"We can, after you tell me who it is."
"Mary Margaret..."
"It's not Gold, is it?"
"Ew, no! Why is that everyone's first guess?"
"Well, you two are always locking horns, and you're definitely someone I can imagine liking a little... Umm... Conflict."
She shuts up swiftly, taking heed of the dark thunder crossing the Sheriff's brow. Holding her hands up in mock surrender she grins at the blonde who shoots daggers with her glare.
"Ok, ok, not Gold!... Dr Whale?"
"No!"
"Hey, it's ok, I wouldn't mind."
"Well, I would! The guy's an asshole."
"He is a little bit of a-... Well, yes, you actually worded it quite well... Leroy?"
"As much as I'm sure our love for drink could bring us together, I don't date guys I could use as a shelf to rest my beer on."
"Emma! That's mean!"
"No, it's not, it's true."
"Maybe... But it's still not a very nice thing to say."
"So? Maybe I'm just not a very nice person."
The schoolteacher sighs as Emma regards her moodily over the top of her mug. The effect is somewhat ruined as the blonde breaks down into a fit of chesty coughing.
"No, you're a nice person, Emma. You're just good at hiding it sometimes."
"Like an emotional ninja."
"Yes. Whatever that is."
Mary Margaret smiles, shaking her head as she pulls a packet of oatmeal from the cupboard beneath the kitchen island. She mixes up a batch before placing it in the microwave. Humming quietly, she goes about gathering together books and papers for class. The school is closed for the best part of the week due to emergency redecorating necessities brought on by the storm, but her marking and paperwork are still due in the interim and she's opted to work from the cafeteria along with several of her colleagues.
Emma watches her amiably, moving to rest with her backside against the kitchen island and grabbing a large pot of Nutella from the pantry. She reaches for a spoon from the drying rack and digs it deep into the soft chocolate; bringing a heaped mound of the spread to her mouth and savouring it absentmindedly.
Mary Margaret finally concludes that she has all of her things together and hurries over to the microwave as it pings to let her know her breakfast is ready. She helps herself to some dried berries from a jar by the window and scatters them over the steaming bowl before digging into several large mouthfuls. Turning to face the Sheriff, she frowns at the blonde, rolling her eyes.
"Hey!"
Emma blinks in confusion as the jar of chocolate spread is pinched from her hand and the bowl of her housemate's remaining oatmeal is shoved firmly in its place.
"Eat something normal for a change. Especially if you're sick."
"I'm not sick, it's just a cold, and chocolate spread is normal, you can buy it anywhere."
"To put on bread, not to eat on its own like ice cream!"
"Ooh, ice cream!"
The blonde shoves the bowl of congealed porridge away onto the counter and turns around to the freezer behind her with a grin.
"Emma!"
"Shit, mom, relax, I was just kidding."
"Uhuh... Just eat the damn oatmeal."
Mary Margaret orders, and Emma throws her a petulant glare while playing her spoon through the less-than-appetising mush that cakes the sides of the bowl. Offering the blonde a loaded sigh, the schoolteacher reclaims the abused breakfast and proceeds to eat the rest of it herself.
"Fine, go hungry, suit yourself."
"Henry, come back here, please."
The Mayor glances up from her book and waits for her son to return to the kitchen. She studies him with fond irritability, brushing his sleep-induced cowlick to the side while plucking fussily at his sweater.
"Go change into something warmer, it's freezing out. And, if you're going out to play in the woods with Emma, put on some old jeans; these are for indoors only."
"I'm not going out to see Emma..."
His answer is reflexive, not wishing to get into trouble for sneaking out to see the blonde. In actual fact, that's exactly where he's headed; Emma having agreed - after a little pleading over the walkie - to meet him at their recently installed make-shift swing. With a little extra grovelling, he'd even managed to convince her to pick up some hot chocolate on the way down. Not that she'd seemed to mind the notion; muttering something about lack of food and the onset of sure starvation.
"Oh, really?"
Regina raises an eyebrow and purses her lips. Henry rolls his eyes - why does he have to do that in the exact same way she does? - before studying his shoes sheepishly.
"School's closed today, and I don't have any homework, and Emma said she doesn't have any paperwork to do... Please?"
"I don't like you lying to me, Henry."
The Mayor frowns at the boy sternly, but she'd be lying if she said she hadn't expected that he would be meeting up with the Sheriff. A relieved sense of warmth spread through her chest, although she quickly tells herself that she hadn't, once again, been mildly concerned about the blonde getting herself home last night without catching pneumonia or being mown down by a car.
Idiotic woman; walking all this way in those ridiculous heels when there's not even a goddamn sidewalk half the time...
The fact that Emma has clearly agreed to meet up with her son would also suggest that the blonde isn't sobbing into her pillow like an emotional wreck. The brunette supposes such expectations may point to herself having a profoundly presumptuous grasp on the Sheriff's feelings towards her - and she loathes to admit she is perhaps a little disappointed - but she shrugs the thought aside irritably.
As though she hasn't spent the past ten hours replaying last night's mistake over and over in her mind.
"Go change and then I have something I'd like you to give Emma when you see her."
Henry glances up at her quizzically, but she shoos him away until he hurries off upstairs to throw on some more suitable clothes.
She sighs and pulls a small manilla envelope from her suit pocket; assessing its peculiar weight in her palm. She considers writing the blonde's name across the front but opts against it; deciding there to be little point if Henry is to be the one delivering the letter.
Henry comes skidding back into view, now clad in grass-stained jeans and a baggy grey hoodie emblazoned with Red Sox branding.
"Where did you get that?"
"It's Emma's."
Of course it is.
"I was unaware you were so short of clothes we were having to accept charity now."
She sniffs primly and holds out the envelope to her son.
"Give this to Miss Swan when you see her, and under no circumstances do you lose this, do you understand? Or there will be consequences, young man."
Henry takes the envelope gingerly, rocking it curiously back and forth when he feels something small and solid sliding around inside.
"What is it?"
"That's none of your concern, don't be nosy; it's rude. And don't you go opening it either, Henry. It's official business between the Sheriff and myself, do you hear me?"
"Yes."
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, mom."
"Good, now off you go... And Henry... Have fun."
"Thanks!"
"And wear your coat!"
She shouts after him as the boy runs eagerly out the door.