Poking her head around the door to the apartment, Emma sighs a breath of relief when the living room appears deserted. She lets herself in quietly - moving with practised stealth - before pulling the door shut behind her with a barely audible click.
"Out running again, huh?"
"Fuck!"
The blonde yelps, and Mary Margaret laughs pleasantly, her eyes twinkling as she regards her housemate who stands with her hands raised in a queer display of combativeness; the effect ruined somewhat by the flash of fear yet to fade from her eyes.
"What the hell are you doing sneaking up on me like that? Shit!"
"I didn't sneak. I was looking for something in the cupboard behind the counter. You're the one being sneaky; tip-toeing in like that... So?"
"... I guess you wouldn't believe me if I told you you were right?"
"Not in a million years."
"Damn."
The blonde sighs, and the schoolteacher grins as she makes her way over to the sofa in the corner of the open-plan living room; placing her peppermint tea on the coffee table in front of her and watching as Emma goes about helping herself to a bowl of Fruit Loops. She remains quiet, leaning over to retrieve her mug and blowing across the steaming liquid thoughtfully, noting the damp fall of her housemate's hair.
"You're seriously not going to tell me who it is you keep creeping out to see?!"
She asks finally.
"Nope, don't think so..."
Emma flicks her tongue out between her teeth; eyes shining as she smirks at the raven-headed woman. Making her way over to the sofa with her spoon in her mouth, she falls down heavily next to the schoolteacher; her gaudy breakfast sloshing with a threat to spill.
"Oh, come on, please? I want to know! You've been acting suspiciously for weeks now!"
"Hmm, suspicious behaviour. You better let the Sheriff know."
Emma mutters down to her bowl, and Mary Margaret rolls her eyes, elbowing the blonde softly in the ribs, causing the younger woman to yelp dramatically and choke on her cereal as a result of her theatrics.
"Hey!"
"Whaa-aat? I want to know about your illicit affairs!"
The schoolteacher draws out the last two words salaciously, laughing when the Sheriff throws her a scowl.
"My illicit affairs?! I'm sorry, but aren't you the one dating a married man?"
The Sheriff challenges, and Mary Margaret cringes, muttering uncomfortably that she isn't in fact dating Mr Nolan, but simply spending some quality time with him. Emma nods sarcastically, propping her feet up on the coffee table only to have them glared at by her housemate. Mary Margaret offers the blonde a long-suffering sigh when the latter merely raises a brow, before lifting up the Sheriff's legs and tugging the younger woman so that she sits with them draped over her lap so as to save her from any further scuffs to her coffee table.
"Anyway, who says I'm doing anything illicit?"
Emma argues with her mouth full.
"Hmm..."
Pale fingers pluck pointedly at sheer red fabric, rosy lips pulled into a knowing smile. Green eyes roll as Emma bats her housemate's teasing fingers away from her shirt.
"So I'm dressed nice? So what?"
She snaps, and the schoolteacher bites back a chuckle as she watches the blonde stare moodily down at her bowl; the Sheriff's thorny behaviour comically reliable when questioned about anything even remotely personal. Ignoring her housemate's harmless grumbling, Mary Margaret proceeds lightly; her tone carefully free from the laughter that shines in her eyes.
"You best be careful, it'll become a habit."
"What's that supposed to mean!? Ugh, you've been talking to Ruby."
"Hm? You know, that's the second time you've said that... What's Ruby got to do with how you dress all of a sudden?"
Mary Margaret's brow creases with confused intrigue as the blonde silently reprimands herself for the sudden increase in her heart rate.
Of course she doesn't mean it like that. Not like how Regina meant it. She would never even think of it that way in a million years!
"Nothing. She just-... I let her do my makeup the other day."
"What?!"
The schoolteacher leans forward curiously; staring at the Sheriff as though she's suddenly turned green, her hand coming to rest companionably over skinny ankles draped across her lap.
"You let Ruby do your makeup?!"
She pushes for an answer doubtfully.
"Yes..."
A low hiss. Dangerous. Through clenched teeth.
"Oh my God!"
"What?! So I'm wearing something decent?! So I let Ruby do my makeup!? What of it?!"
The blonde snaps, and Mary Margaret sighs; Emma's bitching reminding her ever so slightly of the children in her class when throwing a tantrum. The smile doesn't fade completely from her lips, however.
"Ok, ok, so nothing! I'm done... You do look pretty, though."
"... Thanks."
The blonde huffs.
"So...?"
Mary Margaret pushes.
"I'm still not telling you."
Emma growls, but her composure betrays her; her moody scowl breaking into a good-natured smile as the schoolteacher pouts sulkily, her eyes wide with pitiful appeal.
"Nope, you can stop looking at me like that. I'm not gonna break."
She warns.
"Emma..."
"Hey! Don't whine at me. You said you were done."
"Fine... But-"
"-I'm not going to tell you!"
"Ok!... But... Do you-... Do you like them?"
"Oh god..."
"Do you?"
"And here I thought I'd left high school thankfully behind."
"Oh, shush!"
Mary Margaret grumbles, and the blonde laughs, studying her friend affectionately as the latter glowers down at her mug on the coffee table. Sighing, and pushing back damp curls, she considers the schoolteacher's question while Mary Margaret tires of her irritable glaring and goes back to sipping contently at her tea.
"...Yes."
She admits finally.
"Huh?"
"Yes... I like them."
And, the schoolteacher opens her mouth in surprise, turning to study the Sheriff curiously as the blonde eyes her warily.
"Really?"
"Yes, I really like them."
"Wait... Yes, you really do like them? Or yes, you really like them?"
"...Yes, I really do really like them. A lot."
Emma shrugs noncommittally, but her cheeks flush a pale pink and she grins sheepishly when the dark-haired woman offers her a cautious smile.
"Oh."
"Yeah."
"And... Do you think they really do really like you, too?"
Mary Margaret enquires curiously.
"Okay, this is all getting way too sleepover-esque for my liking! I'm done."
The blonde taps out, promptly swinging her legs around and slipping from the sofa, refusing to look at her housemate as she hurries quickly up to her room to change for work. Mary Margaret grins in bemusement before adopting a small frown.
She hadn't really paid the oddity which now causes her confusion much thought when the Sheriff had joined her on the couch. But now - as the younger woman had jumped up to flee further questioning - her nostrils flare as she picks up a scent that unsettles her. It bears no resemblance to any of the soaps and lotions she has grown to associate with the blonde. She supposes whoever her housemate has been sneaking out to see could have a sister - god, she hopes it's not a wife, although that would provide its own tainted irony given her current position - in favour of the floral scent that lingers in the air she breathes... Only...
Only there's something curiously familiar about the fragrant bouquet left behind by the blonde.
Something which is inexplicably unnerving.
"Ah!"
Regina sucks her finger into her mouth, wincing as her tongue finds the small nick created by the vegetable knife in her other hand. She glares at the utensil accusingly, retracting her abused finger to inspect the damage. A bead of blood forms slowly to embellish the soft whorl of her middle finger.
There's something horribly familiar about that sight.
Something which is inexplicably unnerving.
For a brief moment, her mind flashes with the image of the insufferable little wretch finally bested by her dear friend - and all by a simple spinning wheel no less! - but then the soft fingers her mind conjures become stronger, slimmer, absent of the ring worn by Aurora, and she realises it's not the needle of a spinning wheel that has caused this hand to bleed, but glass.
"No..."
She shakes her head in an attempt to banish the image, but yet again, her mind's eye pans out cruelly to show her the blonde lying on the floor of the station.
Wet.
The water from the overflowing sink so cold. Hair like dirty straw. Skin pale. Clammy.
The grey flash of her cotton briefs betrayed by the slant of her jeans.
"No!"
Throwing the knife she holds onto the kitchen island, Regina stands with her palms flat on the granite surface, head bent, commanding her breath slowly back under her control.
Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. This has to STOP!
"Pull yourself together, dear."
She mutters.
And normally, that's all it would take.
This isn't normal!
No. Not in the slightest.
This morning, after the Sheriff had slipped from her mansion, she had stood blissfully bare on the soft carpet of her master bedroom, brushing her wet hair away from her face, her dark eyes fixated on the greenery out front of her house. She had watched the blonde with a small smirk as the younger woman had jogged across the lawn and ducked into the yellow piece of scrap she insists on calling a car.
It had been a smirk, yes; Emma's display of stealth comical to say the least.
But it hadn't been a smirk of ill-intent.
Rather, one of a secret shared.
An expression of affection.
"Oh, Emma..."
She sighs distractedly now, rubbing her temples restlessly; holding her injured finger primly away from her face.
"What am I supposed to do?"
Her words are quiet. Calm. She just wishes she knew the answer.
"I could have killed you. What I did should have killed you. And yet-..."
True love's kiss can break any curse...
"That's ridiculous!"
She laughs nervously; dark eyes brimming with tears. Shaking her head as though in stubborn defiance, she moves stiffly to put the potatoes she'd been cutting up back in the fridge. Running a hand through her hair, she does something she has never done before.
Entering her drawing room as if on autopilot, she moves to the liquor cabinet. Trembling fingers reach for the half-empty bottle of bourbon that remains from last night, and a small smile touches her lips as she thinks of the time spent up in her room; perfect droplets falling unnoticed from her lashes.