When they get back into Gold's car, there's little dialogue shared between them. The pawnbroker glances up at the blonde every now and then in the rearview mirror to find steely green glaring back at him, but the Queen no longer steps in to cloak the glass and he has a feeling she's unaware of the tactile tension that exists between himself and Emma.
Since leaving the bathroom, he hasn't mentioned the gun, and he's certain it's not a topic the Sheriff is about to bring up.
He knows she's armed, and she knows he knows this.
Magic doesn't come into play.
She holds the cards.
He needs her.
They drive in silence for a couple of hours, although each of them will inwardly insist that it seems much longer than this.
As the sky slowly begins to seep deep indigo, and the lights of the ever-growing billboards illuminate sleep-pale, reserved features, the woman who would perhaps understand the curious feeling of insignificance brought on by such spectacles best of all is fast asleep with her head resting against the window; her breath creating a small trickle of condensation down the glass as the temperature outside drops dramatically with the darkness.
Regina and Gold remain quiet; dark eyes flickering as the streets seem to vibrate with the activity of their inhabitants. To their right, a group of women dressed in migraine-inducing neon cackle and shriek as their ringleader, a tall brunette in a veil, navigates her way through the crowd, stumbling atop suicide heels.
To their left, a man in a three-piece suit vomits into the gutter.
The Queen glances back at the blonde with a disconcerted frown; not sure what to make of this urban circus.
"Emma?"
No response, and she reverts her attention back to the chaos all around them.
Gold's fingers twitch at the wheel; the little man's nerves no less frazzled than the Queen's. There is no magic here - no power - but there is something else. Something rotten and tainted. He'd smelt it on the blonde when she'd first arrived in their little town, and now it assaults him in an almost nauseating fashion.
No magic.
No rules.
There's no hierarchy here, but simply this thrumming mass of flesh and bodies in which one could get lost and the world would know no different.
They are most certainly not in Storybrooke anymore.
"Sheriff?"
The little man's tone is sharper than the brunette's had been, and it serves to rouse the younger woman from her slumber; Emma blinking sleepily as she takes in the flickering strobes of the city.
"Huh?"
"It's getting late and we've reached our destination for the evening. We need to rest... All of us."
He tacks on bitterly, and the blonde rolls her eyes and wipes at the window to peer out into the night.
"Fuck, I hate New York."
She mutters, and the Mayor thins her lips; her opinion much the same despite only having spent fifteen minutes in the city.
"Well, that may be, but your opinions aren't much use to the rest of us... What we need is a place to rest."
At Gold's irritable tone, the brunette's teeth flash instantly, but the Sheriff merely sighs and scans their surroundings with a little more attention.
"Just look out for a motel, I guess. That'll be the cheapest option."
"Price isn't an issue. I asked you to accompany me... That goes for you too, dearie."
He glances at Regina and the brunette frowns as she opens her mouth to tell him he can keep his unwelcome charity to himself. To her surprise, Emma speaks up and spits venom before she has the chance.
"Nobody has ever paid, nor will they ever pay for me to spend the night anywhere. I don't want, nor need you to subsidise this fucking trip, Gold. Find a motel and pay your part. We don't want your money."
Looking back at the blonde - a little surprised by the anger that laces her tone - Regina can't help but feel as though she's missing something. But then, she supposes she knows little of the blonde's life up until now, and she imagines this trip may prove awkward in more ways than one. Her history is written on the pages of Henry's book. The Sheriff's is out here in this world.
Gold simply nods, not especially shocked by the poisonous bite to Emma's words.
She's proud. He'd known this as soon as she'd entered their little town and treated him with a caution she wasn't afraid to vocalise, and his understanding of the fact has only increased tenfold after the disastrous events back in the flat.
That she would refuse his aid doesn't surprise him at all.
"Just say when, Miss Swan..."
He instructs in a carefully neutral manner, and he continues inching along the claustrophobically congested street until the blonde pulls herself up to lean between the front seats and points to a turning a little way ahead of them to the left.
"Try there, there's parking."
Following her advice, he pulls into a small parking lot illuminated by the glowing neon of a tall sign.
"They have rooms."
The Sheriff states, opening the door and sliding from her seat.
"How do you know?"
Regina asks as she exits her own door, and there's a distinct difference in the way the blonde addresses the question to the way she has been speaking to Gold.
"They turn on a sign if there aren't any rooms left. It saves them from having to deal with the hassle of people trying to book in when there's no space. I used to think it was weird that Granny's didn't have one, but I guess that makes a lot more sense now."
Her tone is uncharacteristically patient, and she opens the trunk before Gold has a chance to; shouldering the brunette's bag without a word as she waits for the pawnbroker to take his own.
"Come on, let's check in."
Again, she offers her full attention to the Mayor; stalking off with Regina at her heels as Gold watches them go with a small frown.
You don't know Emma like I do. Just because she hasn't come to you for answers or to pay you reprimand, doesn't mean she won't.
The Sheriff's attitude is far from paying reprimand, but it does serve the purpose of putting things into perspective for the little man. He may have come to find he begrudgingly respects and enjoys the blonde's company, but it would seem she has little time for his.
Following the others with an apprehension that doesn't sit right with the Dark One at all, he hovers at the blonde's side as she addresses a weary-looking redhead at the front desk.
"How long were you looking to stay, Ma'am?"
Both Regina and Gold blink in surprise as the Sheriff is offered this title, and Emma rolls her eyes as she catches a pretty smirk to her left.
"One night, maybe two."
"And, is that one single, and a double?"
The clerk gestures vaguely towards the pawnbroker, and both women follow the direction of her finger and frown.
"Uh, it's-...It's-"
"-Three single rooms."
The brunette interjects, and the Sheriff glances at her with her bottom lip held apprehensively between her teeth.
Nodding, the receptionist taps away at the keys of her computer, and Gold studies the Mayor with interest while the blonde seems suddenly inexplicably enthralled in the grain of the countertop.
Oblivious to the peculiar tension suffered between her guests, the redhead hands over the keys and Emma plucks a card from her back pocket without comment, paying for all three rooms.
Regina makes a note to ask her about this later.
Turning from the desk, they make their way over to the elevator at the end of the bald-carpeted lobby and proceed to ascend to the third floor in silence. There's a sense of tension between the Queen and the Sheriff that does not go unnoticed, and the brunette sighs as she realises it stems from her abrupt request for segregated sleeping arrangements. Truth be told, Emma's irritation surprises her, and she imagines Gold must be having a ball right about now.
As it is, the pawnbroker takes the key the Sheriff hands him and bids both women goodnight before heading towards his allocated room without a word on the matter.
Opening her mouth to offer an explanation, Regina frowns as the key to her room is shoved unceremoniously into her hand before Emma stalks towards her own door - the middle of the three - and disappears with a loud thunk of wood rattling the plasterboard.
Regina frowns as she sits up in bed, unable to sleep. The mattress is lumpy, but this is currently the least of her concerns, as she stares down into the chaos of light and noise below her. She's wary of the insipid thrum of the cesspit of this city, so unlike home, as she observes all manner of activities partaken in the streets, but her mind is not wholly on the happenings outside.
Emma...
She's confused by the blonde's irritable behaviour following her request for separate rooms, and, though she would never admit it; she's a little smug.
A lot has transpired between the two of them, and she feels she has shown her affection in an open and vulnerable manner on countless occasions... But for the Sheriff to behave in such a fashion - stropping around like a woman scorned due to simply being exiled to her own room for the night - is something new entirely.
Is she honestly annoyed by these arrangements? Is she really ready to admit such a thing?
Her train of thought gets broken by a soft knock on the door.
She doesn't bother asking who stands at the threshold.
She merely pads over and pulls it open.