Regina stands in the doorway of the blonde's bedroom, finding she's entirely unsurprised by everything presented to her. Emma's parka lies strewn across the floor like a fur-cuffed corpse, shrouding her muddy boots. The room smells of peaty whisky, mingled with the much softer smell of, well, the Sheriff herself. Her gun rests on her bedside table, and the woman in question lies propped up in bed - of course still wearing her filthy clothes from the woods - with her eyes shut.
The Mayor knows better than presume her to be asleep as the music coming from Emma's headphones is loud enough for her to be able to hear it relatively clearly from where she stands at the threshold. She briefly contemplates simply launching herself at the blonde to delight in the shock sure to cross pale features, but decides this is too childish an act. In fact, she imagines it to be something the Sheriff would pride herself on doing.
Instead, she flicks the light switch on and off a few times, causing the blonde's eyes to flutter open instantly. Upon seeing who her unexpected guest is, Emma's mouth, too, falls open in surprise, and she pulls her headphones away and switches off her mp3.
"Good evening, Miss Swan."
"Regina... What are you doing here?"
Good question.
"Well, dear, as you ask, I have just spent the best part of the evening scrubbing at my son's jeans - which are ruined, by the way - before battling him into a hot bath and cleaning up numerous cuts and scrapes."
"Look, like I said, it was an accident. You don't think I feel bad the kid fell!? You think you can just come round here and-"
Regina holds up a hand to silence the blonde; her expression easily mistakable for disdain, but there is an undertone of sweetness to be found in the words which follow so strange, the younger woman seems not to know how to respond.
"-Scrapes that were simply crawling with dirt. Now, I haven't come over to do your laundry, Miss Swan, nor do I plan on running you a bath. But, I had a feeling that you would lack the good sense to see to your injuries, and as this town has just the one Sheriff - who has so far failed to secure herself a Deputy - it would seem wise that she took slightly better care of herself."
Emma opens and closes her mouth, searching for an answer (or at the very least; a sensical retort). She glances down at her knees distractedly, begrudging their dirt-bloodied state. She wishes she'd changed into sweatpants upon returning home, thus saving herself this awkwardness, but as it is, she doesn't have much in the way of an argument towards the Mayor.
Regina takes the blonde's silence as an invitation and makes her way further into her room to perch on the edge of the bed.
Green eyes search her face, and the brunette follows suit before pulling a small bundle from her handbag that the Sheriff recognises, after a moment's scrutiny, to be a first aid kit. Emma raises an eyebrow, the left corner of her mouth twitching in amusement. Her mirth is quickly dampened when dark coals flicker up to meet her gaze and the Mayor begins to unwrap the items she imagines she will need.
"If you would take your jeans off, dear."
"You can't be serious...?"
Emma frowns, and Regina glances up and takes in the indignant blush that creeps across the blonde's cheeks. She licks her bottom lip curiously, not sure whether it's her request that the Sheriff should undress, or simply the fact that she has caught the younger woman idly ignoring her injuries that sparks Emma's incredulous response. Deciding it doesn't really matter, she simply waits; knowing that her mere presence so close to the blonde will demand her eventual compliance.
"Well, how else would you propose we do this?"
"I don't propose we do anything! I'm a grown woman and perfectly capable of looking after myself!"
"The state of your knees would suggest otherwise."
"It's just a few grazes, Regina... I'm fine."
This last part is quieter, kinder, as the blonde shrugs awkwardly. The Mayor sighs, rolling her eyes in a way similar to that in which she rolls them at Henry when he is being particularly stubborn.
"I'm sure you are, dear, but I doubt obstinacy alone will immunise you against infection... Now... Please."
She gestures with a well-manicured hand towards the Sheriff's dirty jeans, and after a moment's hesitation, Emma gets up off the bed with a sigh and pulls her sweatshirt up just enough to work her fingers deftly at her belt buckle.
The jeans are baggy - not reminiscent of the blonde's usual style - and their removal requires none of the salacious hip wiggling the Mayor has grown accustomed to. Regina muses upon this as the Sheriff kicks the ruined denim from her feet. She supposes it sets the tone for their current situation; there is nothing sexual in the way Emma presents herself today, and the brunette imagines there are still some hard feelings from the night before. Glancing briefly around the room, she spots the ridiculously high heels the younger woman had stalked out on in the early hours of the morning - the soles visibly caked with mud - and she sighs once again as the bedsprings groan with the blonde's weight as she climbs back into place on top of her uncharacteristically feminine bedding.
I suppose it's a good thing this little scene is so devoid of sexual tension, as there's no way anything is about to transpire on top of that sickeningly girlish repeat pattern of snowdrops; the paisley print practically screams Mary Margaret.
In spite of such thoughts, Regina allows her gaze to travel the pale expanse of the Sheriff's bare legs; throwing an appreciative glance towards simple, black bikini briefs that contrast prettily with the younger woman's fair skin. She runs her hand up the shin that rests closest to her, but finishes the gesture by simply propping Emma's leg up at a more accessible angle and assessing the damage to her knee.
"God, woman, what the hell did you do?"
She frowns down at broken flesh; tearing open an antiseptic wipe neatly with her teeth. Emma peers down at her injuries curiously, prodding at one of the uglier cuts with her finger.
"Yes, poking at it, that's sure to help."
Regina taps the blonde's hands away fussily and begins to rub at damaged skin with the wipe, applying gentle pressure and swiping methodically. The Sheriff lets out a quiet hiss through gritted teeth as the bite of the alcohol stings cruelly, but she keeps her leg obediently in position.
"I think I probably dragged my legs across a branch or something as we fell."
"It looks like it. You've done quite an impressive job, you'll be lucky if you don't end up with a scar or two... Henry said you were building a treehouse?"
"Yeah."
"Aren't you a little old to be climbing around like a lunatic?"
"I wasn't building it for me."
Emma mutters sourly, wondering just how much truth lies within this statement.
She points to a trashcan at the end of the bed as the wipe the Mayor uses to clean her knee has become orange with blood, and dirt-stained. Regina leans over to discard the soiled wipe - her breath breezing against the wet flesh of the blonde's knee; turning the alcohol instantly cold - and glimpses several cans and bottles taking up residence in the bucket. She raises an eyebrow at the Sheriff who challenges her to say something on the matter with her glare.
Deciding against commenting on the can's contents - although some truly exemplary quips spring to mind - the brunette opts instead to simply offer the younger woman a knowing smirk before spraying her knee with an aerosol of Savlon.
"Shit!"
Emma jerks her leg back roughly; accidentally kicking the Mayor's forearm with her foot. Regina growls and grabs the offending limb at the ankle and pulls it firmly back into place, wiping away the stray yellow marks that now streak the blonde's shin.
"Really, dear, even Henry doesn't fuss this much."
She scolds bossily.
"I'm not fussing! And Henry probably knows to expect that shit to be fucking freezing! What even is it?"
Emma gripes, and the Mayor sighs dramatically as she hands the younger woman the canister to clue herself up while gently placing a patch of gauze over her knee and sticking it in place with some medi-tape. She covers the patch with a larger waterproof plaster, before pulling up Emma's other leg to repeat the process.
When she gets to the point where she needs to use the Savlon again, she plucks it from slender fingers and glances up pointedly at the blonde.
"I'm going to spray this now..."
Her tone is suitably patronising, and Emma throws her a withering look, causing the brunette to smirk. She coats the younger woman's knee with a fine spray of yellowing antiseptic and patches her up neatly.
"Very fetching."
She goads, and she expects a grumbled retort in response as the blonde looks quite sorry for herself with her bandaged knees, but the Sheriff offers her a coy wink and a small smile. Regina rolls her eyes with an irritation she doesn't actually feel before kneeling up on the bed and taking the younger woman's chin in her hand. She is acutely aware of the way Emma tenses up at this new, more intimate contact, and glances briefly into green eyes. She can't quite read the expression behind sooty lashes, but she recognises the wary pull to the Sheriff's mouth easily and gently coaxes the blonde's head to the side; making her intentions clear.
"This is a pretty nasty cut, Sheriff."
"It doesn't hurt."
"It doesn't have to. I don't like the way it runs into your hair. Make sure you wash it tonight."
She runs her finger gently over the reddened flesh surrounding the laceration, her heart beating a little faster than usual as she leans into the younger woman's personal space.
"I will..."
Emma looks up to study the Mayor as the brunette remains knelt above her with her bottom lip caught between her teeth. She smiles awkwardly and waits for the darker woman to pull back; feeling slightly uncomfortable.
Regina lets her gaze linger on the blonde's lips for a moment longer, before closing her eyes and closing the distance. She makes a disagreeing noise when pale fingers find her shoulders and push her gently away. Opening her eyes, she regards the Sheriff with confusion; trying to keep the wounded feeling gnawing at her gut from letting itself be known in her expression.
But... This was supposed to make everything okay again. Why can't you see that I'm trying to rectify whatever went wrong last night?
"Emma..."
She sighs unhappily, unsure what more there is to say as she's not about to divulge any of what she feels out loud. Still, the younger woman observes the hurt flicker in her eyes and smiles apologetically.
"It's not-... I'm not-... Thank you, for all of this, but-... I don't-... I have a cold is all."
As if on cue, she coughs chestily, her voice hoarse when she continues.
"This town has just the one Mayor - who fails to allow anyone to offer her guidance - it would seem wise if she didn't go getting herself sick..."
She flashes her teeth in a lopsided grin and the brunette bites back her own responding smirk, opting instead to flick her hair back arrogantly before she begins fussing over the first aid items spread out on Emma's hideous bedspread.
"Yes, well, whose fault is that, Miss Swan, that you should find yourself suffering a cold?"
"I imagine you're hinting at it being mine?"
"Hmm, well, it's hardly surprising, what with you storming off last night without so much as a jacket. Wearing those ridiculous heels to walk all the way back home. You're lucky a cold is all you got!... Honestly, dear, what if you had been approached by someone dressed like that?"
She scolds, and Emma fights down the surge of anger that floods quickly to the surface; recognising the concern hidden behind the disdain in the Mayor's tone.
"I was, unfortunately. Dr Whale is not a man who takes the word 'no' without a great deal of force."
She sighs, and dark eyes flash dangerously in response to this information.
"Dr Whale approached you?"
"He requested that I join him for drinks."
"I see... And did you?"
Regina demands silkily, and the blonde stares up at her incredulously.
"Oh, yeah, sure; a man I hardly know came bothering me in the street after midnight, and I just couldn't resist the urge to let him take me home and liquor me up before bending me over his couch and fucking me like I was-"
She catches the steel in Regina's eyes and the murderous snarl playing across scarlet lips and throws her hands up in irritable defeat.
"-Of course I didn't join him for fucking drinks, Regina!"
She snaps moodily as she watches the hardness in the darker woman's expression lessen slightly. Cocking her head to the side, she studies the brunette curiously, running a strand of hair through her fingers.
"Would you have been jealous?"
She asks quietly, and Regina splutters before glaring down at her haughtily, sniffing with distaste.
"Miss Swan, of the many ways there are to spend an evening; watching you pound back shots while running your filthy mouth is not one I deem desirable... I merely think it's inappropriate of Dr Whale to be harassing you in the street."
"Uhuh..."
Rolling her eyes, the Mayor pushes herself from Emma's bed, feeling oddly deflated over how their evening has ended. Green eyes follow her movements curiously before falling to the crumpled heap of denim that lies beside the brunette's feet. Looking up inquisitively, the blonde places her hand on the Mayor's arm to stop her from making any further progress in leaving.
"The key... What's it for?"
She asks, and Regina looks down at her intently, dark coals roaming earnest features only inches from her own; attention flickering momentarily to the thin scarlet line running from Emma's temple. She smiles slyly, once more finding the Sheriff's gaze.
"Oh, I'll leave that to you to figure out, dear... I imagine once you do, you'll have more use for what it means."
"Wait... What?"
Emma frowns in confusion, sighing when the brunette offers her nothing but a shrug before taking a step back.
Regina picks up her bag as she gets ready to leave; satisfied that there's still a chance of a little fun to be had between the two of them after all, but admittedly a little sour over the way the Sheriff seems momentarily disinterested in playing along. Nodding her farewell, she turns briskly for the stairs before the quiet groan of the blonde's bedsprings has her turning back to study the younger woman curiously.
Emma sits perched on the edge of the bed, head cocked thoughtfully to the side, and looking really rather lovely in just her thick grey sweater and underwear.
Not that she needs to be let in on this fact...
"Regina..."
"Can I help you, Miss Swan?"
"... Are you sure you have no interest in running me a bath?"