By the time they knock on the pawnbroker's door, Emma has pulled herself together and favours a stoic expression; having first ducked into her room to scrub her face and blow her nose.
As she'd done so, Regina had waited outside the bathroom perched on the Sheriff's unused bed; knowing the blonde well enough to leave her be while sorting herself out. When the younger woman had reemerged, Regina had been careful to keep her face neutral; so used to the blonde's company and various states of dishevelment that she realises it's been a while since she's seen the Sheriff made up.
As it is, now, as they stand waiting to be let in, her dark gaze flickers surreptitiously to pale features; Emma's eyes lined neatly with kohl and her lips painted a curious dark cherry. It's an uncharacteristically put-together look, and the brunette isn't quite sure what to make of it.
"Emma."
Gold greets as he pulls open the door, and Regina is used to the fact by now that the imp seems set on sparing herself as little attention as possible. Ordinarily, this would be a cause of great irritation - such rudeness entirely inappropriate in the face of the Queen - but given the circumstances, she finds herself oddly relieved.
She imagines that if she were to be asked for her opinion on anything to do with this rather shady business, she would have a hard time reigning herself back in.
"If you would take a seat."
Gold gestures towards the bed with a sweep of his hand and watches curiously as both women comply; Regina regarding him caustically, while Emma simply looks past him, her jaw visibly clenched.
Uh oh...
The younger woman's sudden descent into childlike rage over breakfast has left him feeling unusually distressed, and he's anxious to find out the cause. Up until now, things have been going smoothly for the most part; the Sheriff's behaviour understandably curt after their all too recent history in the flat overlooking his shop, but thankfully civil. Her swift decline into what had almost seemed to be madness concerns him greatly; worried that the blonde might find it within herself to fail him after all.
That she might fall at the final hurdle.
"Everything alright, dearie?"
He inquires, taking a seat on a rickety chair over the back of which he's hung his coat. He doesn't want to push her, and he's well aware that he's skating on thin ice - he doesn't need the Queen's glower to tell him this - but he needs to know, and he's willing to risk another blowout from the Sheriff in order to get to the bottom of things.
"Perfect."
She assures him in a clipped voice; raising her eyes to meet his dark gaze cooly, and he notes her carefully applied makeup and wonders if she has any clue how transparent her mask of blood and midnight really is.
"You're alright to continue, then?"
"Just get on with it."
"I can't have you mess this up, Emma."
"I'm not going to. You've messed this up enough for both of us. Enough for all of us. I'm not interested in picking up the pieces, Gold, but I'll bring them all together if it means you'll leave us be... I'll find your son. What happens after that is your deal. But, when he looks at you the way I can guarantee a kid that's been tossed aside is going to look at you... I hope you'll remember that I told you so... I hope it's what you hear when you find yourself unable to sleep at night, I really do."
The Sheriff admits, her earlier distress replaced by cold anger, and, while Regina recognises the blonde's tone as the one she had once so often been on the receiving end of, Gold feels an inkling of disquiet.
She doesn't tell him anything he doesn't already know.
Anything he couldn't figure out for himself.
But her warning drips from lips that speak not just of presumption, but of knowledge.
Of experience.
"I can only do so much, Emma... I can't change the past. Not even I can do that. I can only do my best with the methods I have available to me now, and hope Bae can find it within himself to forgive me."
"Forgive you for the fact that you abandoned him?"
"... You're rather cynical for a woman who gave up her own son."
"Don't you fucking dare-"
"-I suppose it just runs in the family."
And with this, there's a peculiar gust of air that sends the women's hair streaming back as though caught by the wind, as the Queen's enraged magic is easily deflected and rendered neutral by the pawnbroker. Looking from furious brown to feral green, Gold clears his throat and pulls himself together; fully aware that his final words had been loaded with the intent to cut - to hurt - but finding it hard to care about the blonde's feelings when his own had threatened to run amock on him.
She speaks of what he fears, and he despises her for it.
"I apologise."
He states softly.
"Don't bother. Just get the fucking shawl."
The blonde hisses, and the little man dips his head in a gesture of consent and moves to where his suitcase rests on the room's crooked dresser. As he does so, Emma turns to Regina, offering the darker woman a wary glance.
"You shouldn't have done that..."
She whispers, and the brunette frowns as she strives to keep her patience, imagining the Sheriff refers again to her disapproval of having her battles fought for her.
That comment hurt both of us, dear. He is our son, and I will not have his mother spoken about in such a way.
Struggling to find the right words to say - refusing to apologise for something she isn't sorry for - she's surprised when a pale hand moves to cover her own.
"Please don't use magic..."
Emma murmurs, and the brunette leans in to catch the very last part as the younger woman admits
"It scares me."
Eyes widening, Regina nods her understanding. The Sheriff may not know much in terms of magic, but she must know that she shares a room with two people that possess a great amount of dark power. If Gold had sought to reap revenge rather than render her attack on him useless, things could have gotten very ugly, very quickly.
It scares me.
"As it should, dearie... Fear is perhaps the smartest emotion to feel towards such a beautiful curse."
Gold mutters to himself as he stands with his back to the two women. Removing a silk bag from beneath neatly folded clothes, he turns to face his audience and dips a long-fingered hand into its depths to retrieve tattered burgundy.
"This was my son's."
There's something defeated and lost in his tone, his voice completely free of his usual lilt and wit, and when he moves to reclaim his seat with the shawl spread loosely over his lap, neither woman speaks, but each lowers her eyes; respectful of the moment.
"My Baelfire's..."
Regina looks up, Gold's words little more than a whisper as he looks down at the garment pensively; seeming as though he's a million miles away. Clearing her throat, she urges him to get on with the matter at hand, but she keeps her tone free from the syrupy contempt she's prone to using when they otherwise converse.
"How does the shawl help us to locate him?"
Seeming to come around from his distant reverie, Gold pulls himself together and speaks neutrally, gesturing to the fabric on his lap as he educates his companions.
"It's a possession of great value, and it holds enough essence of the owner to be used as a guide. It just needs to be enchanted by the wearer."
A flicker of doubt crosses the blonde's face at this, but the little man shakes his head as he runs his fingers reverently over coarse wool before pulling it over his shoulders.
Archaically dark eyes close, and the women are just able to glimpse the curious glimmer of magic that ripples momentarily through the mottled fabric.
"The shawl will lead us."
Gold murmurs.
"How? By playing a game of getting hotter and colder as we get closer and further away?"
Emma scoffs with a roll of her eyes.
"Precisely."
He nods.
"... You've got to be shitting me."