"Get out!"
"But-"
"Out!"
The brunette yells, her chest flushed as she squares up to the reporter. Over the past ten minutes, she has used her wicked tongue to dub him a disgrace, worthless, and an imbecile, and still the snivelling little weasel remains exactly where he stands.
Sydney takes a cautious step forwards, glancing nervously at the hearth where flames climb ever higher without the watchful eye of the Mayor to tend to them. His nostrils flare with the scent of liquor, and he can see it glistening in her darkened eyes as well as on her lips.
"Don't make me say it again, Sydney..."
Regina warns, and the reporter shivers at her tone, cowering beneath her murderous glower but refusing to take a step back. He widens his eyes, begging for her to see reason; knowing it's surely a pointless pursuit, but desperate to save the dark beauty he reveres as she seems dangerously close to losing herself before his very eyes.
"Please, Madame Mayor... Please..."
He implores. The brunette's fingers tremble ever so slightly, and her vision dances in and out of focus, but her snarl remains painted perfectly on scarlet lips. She takes a step towards him and he instinctively extends a hand to steady her.
"Don't touch me!"
Unbridled anger flashes in her eyes, and she brings her hand down hard across his face. Sydney lets out a queerly feminine cry, his palm flying up to cover the angry red mark blossoming on his cheek. He regards the Mayor with shocked confusion, taking a hasty step back.
He had come to the mansion after finishing work to seek the Mayor out for counsel, having found her absent from her office. This in itself hadn't caused any unease, as over the past few weeks, she seems to have favoured working from her drawing room over the municipal building in the heart of the town. Knocking loudly at the front door, he'd waited, growing tense when nobody had come to invite him in despite many of the lights glowing from inside. Eventually, after his fourth attempt at rapping the heavy brass knocker, the door had been pulled back by Henry; the young boy's face alight with confusion.
Henry had stated that he'd simply assumed his mother would answer the door for a guest, and had opined - with a look that suggested he'd find it to be highly unlikely - that the brunette was perhaps listening to headphones and so had not heard the reporter's knocking. Sydney had restrained the urge to mutter at the boy that Madame Mayor was nothing like his pitiful excuse for a birth mother, and that the likelihood of Regina sitting around bopping her head to the beat of a pair of headphones in a fashion similar to the troublesome blonde was precisely nil.
Slipping past Henry, he'd removed his shoes politely before padding cautiously through the spacious rooms; searching out the elusive Mayor. Upon entering her drawing room, he'd found her sitting with her head in her hands as the yellow glow cast by the fire had flickered softly over her chocolate tresses. Upon rousing her by the use of her name, the brunette had turned her face to snarl at him, demanding that he take his leave immediately while clutching an unlikely bottle of bourbon in her fist.
The ten minutes that followed have done nothing to better the situation.
"Regina..."
"Leave! And if you so much as whisper about this to anyone..."
But she uses her eyes to convey the rest. The reporter swallows, stumbling slightly as he backs further away from his muse.
Exiting the room with unsteady backwards strides, Sydney makes one last, meek attempt to reason with the Mayor; her chalky pallor combined with the high flush to her cheeks and perspiration on her brow convincing symptoms of a fever, but the heavy scent of alcohol that cloaks the room reveals a more startling truth. The brunette is not just tipsy, but in fact dangerously drunk. From the unsteadiness of her gait and the shallowness of her breath, he guesses she's been drinking since the early hours of the afternoon; something he has never known her to do before now.
"Madame Mayor, please let me help you, I-"
"-Get the hell out of my house, you miserable little man! Out! Out! Out!"
Sydney ducks in horrified surprise as the Mayor sends the liquor bottle hurtling towards his head; the glass shattering against the wall behind him. Staring at the brunette in wounded shock, he turns and all but flees, leaving Regina to fall back onto the sofa as the flames continue to lick at the sooty brick of the hearth.
She is completely oblivious to the fact her son stands open-mouthed in the hallway.
"Oh, sweet Jesus, my eyes! Put some clothes on!"
Mary Margaret throws her hand theatrically over her face as she turns pointedly away from the blonde who makes her way down iron steps two at a time. Emma chuckles wickedly, springing down the last three steps to land on woollen-socked feet. She tweaks at the soft cotton of the underwear she wears beneath her sweater casually, pulling at the seam so that the material better covers her ass.
"Hey! You and your eyes are damn lucky being treated to all this."
She grins at her housemate who shakes her head in bemusement.
"I warned you I had some shitty habits when I moved in! And one of those shitty habits happens to be that I refuse to get dolled up just to come downstairs and make coffee! We-"
"-Have company."
"No, we- wait, what?!"
It's the schoolteacher's turn to grin as she gestures towards the kitchenette where her guest stands awkwardly at the counter making tea.
"Uh... David..."
Emma clears her throat awkwardly.
"Good evening, Sheriff."
David smiles at the blonde with ill-hidden amusement as the latter's cheeks flush crimson and she turns to glare down at her housemate.
"Why didn't you tell me he was here?!"
She hisses.
"Well, I didn't reckon you'd come downstairs to swan around in your underwear, for one."
"I am not-"
Emma breaks off quickly, aware that her voice is unnaturally raised and carries on in a cold whisper.
"-I am not swanning around in my underwear, I'm in my pyjamas. I was reading in bed!"
"Looks like underwear from where I'm sitting..."
"Yes, well, unlike some people, I don't wear a fucking nightie to bed! I'm not seven!"
The Sheriff growls, and Mary Margaret scowls playfully at this lame attempt at an insult. David turns away to hide an amused smirk at the Sheriff's angry whispering which is so far doing nothing to stop him from overhearing every word. Offering the raven-headed woman one last glower, the blonde turns to head back upstairs.
Mary Margaret calls after her sweetly.
"Didn't you come down to make yourself coffee?"
Her eyes sparkle as Emma turns back to glare at her warningly; smiling innocently before mouthing silently up at the Sheriff
"I thought we were damn lucky to be treated to all this?"
She watches the battle of conflicting emotions warring across the younger woman's face with amusement, but she knows the blonde well enough to predict stubbornness will win out. As per her expectations, Emma runs a hand irritably through her hair before stalking over to the kitchen with obstinate determination.
She pointedly ignores David as she stretches up onto her toes to reach the instant coffee which rests on the top shelf of the cabinet above the sink; damning both Mary Margaret for its placement - the schoolteacher deeming coffee of the instant variety to be garbage, and therefore not worthy of a position on the countertop - and her sweater for riding up with her movements to showcase the pale flesh of her stomach. Mission complete and reaching for the kettle, she catches David averting his gaze just as pointedly. Sighing, she rests her backside against the counter as she waits for the kettle to boil and attempts an act of nonchalance.
"So, what are you guys up to tonight?"
"No real plans, we just thought we'd hang out."
David's cheeks flush lightly as he looks up to find the Sheriff raising an eyebrow knowingly and he hurries over to the safety of the sofa, handing the schoolteacher her tea. Mary Margaret holds her housemate's stare with a little more confidence and offers the younger woman a small shrug.
"... What about you? Hitting the town?"
David asks to break the silence, and Emma bites back a harsh retort as she inwardly rolls her eyes at the comment she imagines the idiot sitting next to her friend meant in jest as he nods pointedly at her attire.
Christ, I barely know the guy and he's going to start cracking shitty jokes about my underwear?... Charming!
"No... No, I have a hot date planned with a bottle of Merlot, and Stephen."
"Stephen?"
David's brow lifts in open curiosity, and Mary Margaret chuckles and puts him out of his misery.
"King. Stephen King. Emma's idea of a good night is to scare herself witless with disturbing stories."
"They're not disturbing, they're interesting. If you want disturbing stories, try Henry's book!"
"The fairytale book?"
Again, David's brow moves, only now, into a deep crease of confusion. This time, Emma lets him in on her meaning.
"It's not so much the fairytales themselves, as it is being told everyone in town is an embodiment of them."
"Really? How strange! Who does he think we all are?"
"Well-"
Mary Margaret trails off after a sharp glance from the blonde. The Sheriff shrugs awkwardly; suddenly a little uncomfortable about sharing her son's private thoughts with David.
And not just because of the whole fucked up Charming thing... It's-... Well, it's our thing...
Leaving the question unanswered, she turns back around to make her coffee; stirring the steaming liquid a few times with a spoon before tossing it into the sink. She takes her drink and moves to disappear upstairs again; narrowing her eyes at the schoolteacher as she passes her in return for the awkward five minutes just spent in the kitchen. Mary Margaret smiles sweetly, muttering softly
"Maybe you should think twice about bad-mouthing my use of a nightgown, hmm?"
"Maybe."
Emma agrees, and the raven-headed woman chuckles as the blonde holds her hand up behind her as she leaves; discreetly flipping her the bird.
"Emma?... Emma...?"
The blonde places her coffee carefully on the nightstand, before rolling over onto her stomach to reach for the walkie that lies at the far end of her bed.
"Hey kid, what's up?"
"Emma!... Can I stay with you tonight?"
"Huh?"
She frowns in confusion, eyeing the blocky phone in her hand curiously.
"Can I stay at yours?"
"Uh... Your mom probably wouldn't like that..."
Unless... Surely Regina hasn't permitted Henry to stay the night? She's changing, for sure, but the boy hasn't even been over for dinner with her blessing.
"...-Bad"
"What, Henry?"
Emma pulls herself from her thoughts and asks the boy to repeat himself.
"She-... Something's wrong... She's acting... Bad..."
"What do you mean she's acting bad?"
The Sheriff swings herself around so that she sits up on the bed, now fully alert.
"I don't know... She's angry... And she threw a bottle, and there's glass on the floor, and I-"
"-What?! Henry, are you ok?"
Pulling her fingers distractedly through her hair, the blonde switches the walkie to her other hand; already moving to pick her jeans up off the floor.
"Yes, but can you come get me?"
"I-... I'm coming over right now, ok?"
"Ok."
Emma frowns, depressing the communication button. She wrestles her jeans up swiftly and pulls on her boots. Henry's call has spooked her, and she makes her way swiftly back downstairs with her chest tight with worry for the kid.
Not just the kid... Worry about what the hell could be wrong with Regina...
"Regina?"
Emma raps her knuckles hard against the door to the Mayor's mansion. For an excruciatingly long time, her knocking goes unanswered, but then, finally, a pale face peeks into view as Henry cracks the door open an inch to spy her on the doorstep. Confirming it to be the Sheriff, he opens it fully; pulling at her hand to lead her inside.
"Kid, what's going on? Where's your mom?"
She doesn't wait for an answer; instead patting Henry down and scrutinising him clinically until she is sure he's unharmed, before moving towards the drawing room where she can see the telling light of the fire dancing through the crack beneath the door.
"She's gone mad!"
Henry's voice is high and panicked and the blonde turns to him and places a hand on his shoulder.
"Go wait in the kitchen, ok?"
"But-"
"-Please, Henry."
She urges, and he frowns unhappily, but she trusts he'll listen to her and hurries over to the drawing room without looking back. Knocking softly, she lets herself in without waiting for an invitation.
"Oh, shit..."
The Sheriff glances down at the fractured glass that studs the stone at her feet before making her way over to the brunette who lies reclined on the sofa.
"Regina?"
The Mayor's lashes flutter open with a frown as she bats away the irksome fingers scuttling over her like spiders. Glaring up at the blonde, she attempts to bark at her to get the hell out, only to let out a low groan.
"How much have you had to drink?"
The younger woman asks, and the brunette scowls up at the pale face that looms close to hers like the moon and shakes her head. Emma crouches down on her haunches, looking up into the darker woman's face with unmasked concern. The latter simply closes her eyes.
"Regina... Shit, what's wrong with you? Why did you do this?"
"Why are you here?"
"Hen-... To check if you're okay! I mean, what the hell have you done?"
The blonde points over to the shattered remains of the Jim Beam bottle with wide eyes and Regina grumbles at her to shut the hell up as she moves to push herself up off the sofa. She slaps Emma's hands away angrily when the younger woman attempts to help her, before sagging back as she attempts to stand with a snarl of frustration. The Sheriff sighs, moving to stand behind the Mayor and finding the hollows of her armpits so as to hoist her back up.
"... What are you doing?"
A small voice enquires from the doorway.
"Henry..."
Emma looks up to find the boy watching them from the threshold. Clearing her throat, she pulls the brunette slowly back onto the sofa.
"Your mom's sick, kid."
"No, she's not."
Henry disagrees, and this time, Regina looks up at the boy too when he speaks; his tone ice cold. The blonde frowns, not accustomed to hearing Henry speak in such a way.
"She's not sick. She's drunk."
He kicks at the glass that litters the floor pointedly, glaring at the brunette on the sofa with narrowed eyes. Emma shakes her head, turning back to Regina who now clutches her arm a little painfully and she speaks back to the boy over her shoulder.
"I'll take care of this, you need to go to bed."
"Why are you being nice to her? I thought you were coming to take me home! It's her fault she's drunk!"
"Henry..."
The blonde cautions, glancing down at the Mayor uneasily, and she's astounded to find not shock in dark eyes at being spoken about in such a way, but simply a desperate sense of sadness. She imagines the kid's tone is much more familiar to the brunette.
"It's true!"
Henry states, crossing his arms petulantly over his chest as he watches the Sheriff pull his mother back onto her feet and sling a slender arm up and over her shoulders to help support the darker woman. He pouts as Emma throws him a warning glance, moving aside to let the blonde squeeze through the door with the Mayor, who meanwhile struggles weakly to push her away.
"She's not sick, she's drunk! She's bad! She's an evil witch and I hate-"
"-Henry! Go to bed. Now!"
The blonde snaps, and the boy flinches visibly; staring up at the Sheriff in shock before turning tail and running up the stairs without a second glance. Emma winces as a door above them slams, not quite able to believe she's yelled at him.
"And now, you're no better than I am, Miss Swan..."
The brunette muses softly. The Sheriff glares down at her, but with the way Regina slurs her words, she decides to let such things slide.
What if she's right, though? What if he doesn't like me anymore...?
Battling down the anxiety that comes with this hateful notion, the blonde concentrates on the task at hand. She manages a few strides more before coming to a stop. Regina's lashes have fluttered down to half-mast and she decides to act on impulse and fuck the consequences. Reaching down awkwardly, she finds the crook of the Mayor's knees and pulls the brunette up into a shaky fireman's hold. Panting a little, she makes her way up the stairs; cursing the darker woman for the scale of her house as she carries her to her bedroom.