"Good morning, Miss Blanchard, you're looking well."
"Am I?"
Mary Margaret frowns warily as she slows her pace so as not to rudely snub Gold, however much she might like to.
"Indeed."
"Well. Thank you... Did you want something?"
"Oh, no, just a friendly good morning, dearie. I'm after Emma if you'd happen to know her whereabouts? I have something for her."
"She's working from home today. Do you want me to give something to her?"
"Ah yes, working from home, I remember now. Oh well, no need to trouble yourself, it can wait."
"What is it?"
"My, my, aren't we curious? The Sheriff merely enquired whether I would happen to know of a locksmith that wouldn't charge an extortionate amount when he found out two young women without a clue on the trade were his clients."
"She did?"
"Indeed. You are still experiencing problems with your lock I presume, Miss Blanchard?"
The pawnbroker smiles.
"Yes, sorry, a locksmith would be very helpful. I just didn't realise Emma had actually done anything about it. Why don't you just give me the number? I'll call them when the children go out to play."
"Of course."
Reaching into his pocket, Gold pulls out a scrap of paper; inwardly thanking his impeccable capacity for forward planning. He has indeed scribbled down the name and number of a local locksmith, but whether the young man is any good or not he has no clue. He had merely plucked the name out of city records this morning as an afterthought before waiting at the crossroads between the school and Mary Margaret's apartment.
"Well, I better be going, but thank you for looking into this for us."
The schoolteacher pockets the scrap of paper, giving her companion a brief nod, before hurrying on her way and feeling inexplicably relieved once she turns the corner and knows Gold's dark eyes are no longer upon her.
"You're welcome, dearie."
The little man mutters quietly, turning back the way he came and making his way towards his shop. Once he reaches the dusty old building, however, he carries on; continuing up the path that leads to the schoolteacher's apartment building.
"Oh, fuck off..."
The blonde grumbles as the door whines on its hinges down below. She scolds herself for not getting it sorted, but supposes she may have time tomorrow before work. Today is about Henry, and she refuses to spend time bothering with such unimportant things.
Pulling her hair back at the sides using a pair of clips, she studies herself in the mirror awkwardly. She isn't entirely sure what the hell she's gone for with her attire today, but she supposes the end result isn't as awful as it could have been. She had wanted to dress nice - the notion a little too similar to her dreaded first days at high school for her liking - but is out of practice.
"Oh, please, when were you ever in practice."
She mutters, pulling at the soft white cotton of the sundress she had offered to lend the Mayor what feels like a lifetime ago. She supposes she looks rather childlike herself, as she's coupled it with grey woollen tights due to the winter weather, and a large, knitted charcoal cardigan, but as today is just herself and Henry, she decides it doesn't matter.
Ordinarily, she dislikes wearing dresses for many reasons, one of which is that they make her look shorter than she actually is. Her height is something about which she has always been secretly proud, as it allows her the benefit of rarely having to look submissively up at people.
So, Regina is being referred to as 'people' now?
She grins sheepishly, knowing full well it had been her spats with the brunette she'd been thinking about, and she pulls her hair out of the way so as to fix the clasp of her necklace in place.
No. Regina is not just people...
Turning to her bedside cabinet and searching through the crap inside its narrow drawer, she eventually finds what she's looking for and pulls it from the chaos. Unscrewing the tube of mascara, she leans in toward the mirror and applies it carefully to her lashes, frowning as the front door lets out another whine; this one louder than the rest.
Cocking her head to the side, she listens for signs of life, before shrugging off the notion that the sound must have come from the door actually being opened. When she'd checked for mail this morning, she'd found the window above the staircase wide open - an annoying habit of one of their neighbours seemingly suffering from either hot flashes or insanity - and had grumbled irritably when she'd been unable to shimmy it shut. The resulting draft has been having a maddening effect on the door all morning, and she presumes this is what now causes the hinges to screech.
Tossing her mascara back into the drawer, she pulls out the handmade envelope that rests beneath her glasses on the nightstand and pockets it. Switching off her bedroom light, she makes her way downstairs; securing one of the clips that hold her hair out of her face as she goes.
Frowning at the front door which stands wide open, she pads across the room lightly on woollen stockinged feet to close it; never thinking to check the kitchenette where a dark shadow rises from behind the centre island slyly.
Regina frowns as she looks up from her desk and watches Henry trudge up the driveway to disappear beneath the cover of the porch. Her brow furrows deeper when she hears the dull slam of the front door, followed a few moments later by a louder slam from upstairs. Tapping her nails against the tabletop pensively, she pushes herself up from her seat and makes her way up to his bedroom.
"Henry?"
"What?"
The boy replies sullenly.
"Pardon, not what...What's going on? I thought you were going over to Emma's today?"
"So did I!"
Henry snaps angrily, but the bright moisture glistening in his eyes is all too telling. Moving to perch on the end of his bed, the Mayor raises a brow as she urges him to elaborate.
"What happened?"
"Emma's not home. I waited for like an hour, and I called her, but she didn't pick up. I guess she didn't want to spend time with me today after all..."
Henry sniffs, and Regina sighs as she pulls the boy gently into her arms; surprised when he allows her to do so, and subsequently furious at the blonde for ruining a chance for which she should be damned grateful.
"Maybe something came up, Henry. She is the Sheriff... Someone might have called in an emergency."
"No, they didn't. She just got scared of seeing me because it's my birthday, and, and-"
"-Oh, Henry, I'm sure that's not true... She told you it was your birthday?"
"N-no, but it is, I know it is... And I-... I-..."
The Mayor frowns as the boy buries his face into her chest, stroking his soft locks soothingly. Her stomach churns in a sickening way. She's fuming, both at the Sheriff, and at herself for thinking Emma could take on something like this without screwing it up. She should have never allowed the younger woman the chance in the first place.
Beneath her anger, though, and beneath the hateful feeling of 'I told you so' that she suffers towards what she now realises should have been a painfully predictable case of cold feet, she feels another emotion. A bleaker emotion.
Fear.
She knows Emma well enough to know that although the blonde wouldn't purposefully let Henry down, the chaos she carries around inside her head is a logical pointer that she'd simply woken up this morning and realised she couldn't handle the day.
She doesn't think that's it though.
The Sheriff had been excited.
She'd been excited and had admitted she was nervous; something which the brunette knows she'd had a hard time doing.
She had asked for this.
Had actually cried over it.
And something about the younger woman being missing strikes her as very wrong indeed.