As they leave the motel - an anxious breath held in by each of them for fear of running into either Gold or his son on their way out - there's an awkward silence that amuses Regina greatly. She glances at Emma out of the corner of her eye with a smirk, watching as the younger woman's jaw tics nervously and noting the way she seems to be walking with pointed confidence.
She chuckles quietly, and green eyes flash in her direction before the younger woman adopts a small smile; pretty sure she has an idea what has the Mayor so tickled.
Clearing her throat in an attempt to quit feeling like a fifteen-year-old out on their first date, Emma moves to slide her hand into Regina's own and frowns when the darker woman shakes her head and pulls her palm away.
"I was making fun of you when I kept calling this a date, dear."
The Mayor confides gently.
"But, it is a date... I thought-"
"-Oh, it is. And I expect to be well and truly - how did you put it? - 'wooed'... But I would hazard a guess that hand-holding isn't really your style, and I don't want you to do it just because you think you should. It's not you."
Regina explains, keeping the fact that, all this aside, she would quite happily have the younger woman hold her hand at any given moment to herself. However, she stands by what she says; liking Emma for, well, in spite of her awkwardness.
And often, because of it...
To her surprise, the blonde offers her a smile in response, followed by hooking an arm around her neck and laughing lightly as she impedes their stroll so that it becomes a lilted and stumbling embrace; teeth flashing brightly, and long hair whipping in the wind to tickle the Mayor's cheek. The latter lets out a low chuckle of amusement and presses her lips firmly to the Sheriff's cheek before she pushes her away with playful admonishment.
"At least try and maintain some dignity, you loon!"
Gathering herself, Emma nods in silent apology; settling for simply walking beside the Mayor in a fashion far more similar to that with which the brunette is accustomed.
"So? What do you want to do?"
The Sheriff asks a little sheepishly, and the darker woman smirks and shakes her head.
"I thought you were going to show me the sights, dear? That you had this whole magnificent date planned?"
"Oh... I mean, I guess we could go to Staten Island... Or maybe the Met... Or-"
"-Emma, it doesn't matter where we go. Just show me what you would do when not in Storybrooke."
"Well, it's a little early to hit the bar..."
The Sheriff jokes, but the Mayor simply shrugs and makes a gesture with her hand to suggest she's willing to overlook the fact. Smiling in return, the younger woman nods to their right and leads them deeper into the city, confiding over her shoulder
"Okay, I have an idea."
Whether this is a promise or a threat, the brunette is unsure. She simply follows.
The streets of Manhattan are strung with Christmas lights, and they pass by several bell-toting Santas in various stages of morbid obesity as they mill around the bustling sidewalks. The decorations are both garish and impressive -overwhelming yet wonderful - and both women express their surprise as they peer companionably into windows dusted with faux snow that recent events have led them to completely forget about the fast-approaching holiday.
"Ordinarily, I have to get myself strictly organised, as Henry's birthday-... Well... The one we've celebrated over the years - falls so soon after."
"When are you ever not organised, Madame Mayor?"
Emma responds through a mouthful of hot chocolate, having brought herself a steaming cup of sweetness and the Mayor a similar styrofoam vessel holding spiced wine, and paying any awkwardness derived from the Queen's statement no mind. Regina smiles, sipping delicately from her cup.
"I like to keep things in order, true... This year, everything just got a bit out of hand."
"Yeah... I guess Henry didn't get to celebrate his birthday after all."
Catching herself swiftly, Emma hurries to rectify her statement
"I meant, how I'd wanted to spend his actual birthday with him... I'm sure, after Christmas, your meal and everything will be-"
"-Our meal."
"Huh?"
"I told you, things have changed. If it's what you want, then you'll celebrate Christmas with him and then his birthday - that birthday - just as you should... And he bears you no grudge, dear. You had a better excuse than most."
The brunette's brow furrows darkly at this, but she doesn't dwell on the matter; not wanting to spoil what is proving to be a surprisingly comfortable afternoon.
Noting a gentle warmth against her arm as the Sheriff stands a little closer, she smiles.
The blonde reciprocates.
"Come on."
A nudge against her shoulder, and Regina follows the younger woman curiously as the latter leads them down the street with a sudden sense of purpose. Coming to a halt in front of the glittering skirts of a colossal Christmas tree, Emma grins as the Mayor's eyes widen in surprise, and she is dimly struck by the idea that what she's seeing - who she's seeing - is the young woman that had belonged to the body she knows so very well before things had all gone so terribly wrong.
She sees the awe-struck, innocent, kind-hearted daughter of a snake-like woman and her downtrodden spouse that would one day call herself the Evil Queen.
Only, that title is dead now.
The book was wrong.
"It's magnificent..."
The brunette breathes, and she turns to find the younger woman beaming at her.
"It's pretty cool, yeah... But, it's not why we're here."
"Oh?"
"Look to your left."
The Mayor does as she's told and raises a brow in amusement as she spies the impressive window display of the store the blonde points to.
"A toy shop."
"Not a toy shop. The toy shop. FAO Schwarz. They have pretty much anything you could think of."
Emma corrects, and the darker woman laughs; rolling her eyes beneath sooty lashes.
"You're such a child."
"Not for me, you idiot! You just said Christmas kind of snuck up on us. We can take a look for Henry..."
The blonde elaborates, and Regina smiles; ignoring the younger woman's name-calling and picking up on the last hint of shyness that laces her tone.
She doesn't tell Emma to quit with her worrying. Doesn't vocalise the fact that, yes, it's still a little obscure that the two of them should be shopping for the boy together. She doesn't console that last flicker of fear in the younger woman's eyes by telling her that she thinks their current situation is possibly a greater gift to Henry than anything either of them could wrap.
She just sticks to what's familiar and sighs as though suffering the company of a fool, and tells the Sheriff to lead the way.
By the time they finish shopping - Regina having pointed out a few further stores with window displays that served to catch her interest - darkness has fallen, and the twinkling lights of the city thwart the winter gloom as a different festive tune plays from every corner.
In spite of her earlier teasing, there has been very little romantic effort on Emma's part; sex - both rough and tender - is something that seems almost second nature to them by now, and so is not her focus for the evening. What is new and exciting is this curious freedom to just be normal. To be friendly towards one another and laugh and poke fun. To needle out the final, fractured, hidden parts that make each woman who she is.
Of course, to imagine that one would be able to figure out the other completely within the space of an evening is both ludicrous and unhealthy... But each of them suffers the burden of questions pertaining to the tips of deep-seated emotional icebergs that have been touched upon during their time together and swiftly buried away behind narrowed eyes gleaming with the wounded distrust of a wild beast that has been forced to accept that she will always be hunted.
There are questions that each wishes to ask of the other.
But there are also answers that deserve to finally come out.
For this reason, after passing several stylish restaurants that she imagines would be perfectly in keeping with Regina's tastes - and a welcome change to Granny's, in the brunette's eyes - Emma stops outside the loud and tacky promise of the Hard Rock Cafe and turns to the Queen.
"In here we can talk... Plus, it's kind of fun."
She adds with a small, self-deprecating smirk, and she is both surprised and relieved when the brunette doesn't question her suggestion, as the thrum of music and drone of idle chatter is audible from outside.
In here, they can be anyone they want to be.
In here, they can blend in, talk, love, and disappear.
And they make a pretty decent enough burger if memory serves me correctly.
The younger woman's mind pipes up, and she imagines it's a good thing that Regina isn't a mind-reader as well as magic. The thought has her grinning, but when the brunette asks her what has her so tickled, she simply shrugs and allows a young girl in pin-studded suspenders to lead them to a table near the back of the restaurant.
She orders them each a cocktail with a dismissive wave of her hand when Regina mentions the extortionate price, and this sparks the Mayor into going first in their session of feeling each other out.
"You're paying?"
"I said I'd take you out."
"Mm. You paid for our rooms."
"They tend to prefer it when you do."
"You have money..."
"Yes."
"More than Sheriff's wages."
The Mayor prompts pointedly, and Emma offers a small nod of thanks to the waitress that comes bearing two large, colourful glasses, before sitting back and accepting the bait.
"I do. That said, to be fair, Mary Margaret never actually asked me to pay rent, nor would she accept any amount I suggested to her. That would have saved me a fair bit of money, but the idea did absolutely nothing for my self-worth. I've been wiring her money after opening her bank statement accidentally-on-purpose for almost six months now, and I'm pretty sure she still hasn't caught on. $600 a month. I think that's a fair price for the room and use of facilities... But you're right; I have money. What I was doing before coming to Storybrooke paid well, and I was good at it. It was often cash in hand, and a large number of my meals and clothes were paid for by default. I had a nice apartment - you would probably have liked it, actually. It was fairly large, and I decorated it minimally, but tastefully - but that was all. Other than groceries and utilities, I had no outgoings. The bug pretty much lived in a garage I'd made a deal for a long while back, and I was never around at the right time of night to bother with anything like cable. I earned a lot and spent little."
"I see... What do you mean when you say that? When you say that you were good at what you did? How can one be better than another in your previous position? At deception, of course, I can understand that, but, a job is a job, no?"
"True. And, apart from perks and gifts, the price would be fixed whether it was myself playing bait or someone else... It's about how many marks you can have on the go in a short space of time. How invested you get in it all. Don't forget, it's people's lives you're playing with... Some people get caught up in that and need to take a break after a successful hit... I never had that problem."
The blonde shrugs and takes a sip of her cocktail; regarding the Mayor pensively before forming a small smile around her straw.
"Of course, I also didn't drink slouched over like this."
"Oh?"
Regina asks curiously, eyes flashing as the younger woman shakes her head and moves to sit up straight; bringing her arms in closer to her body to make herself look more feminine and to accentuate her breasts. Emma adopts a darker expression and lets the straw play over her lips for a second, before breaking into a fit of heady laughter when she notices the sudden hooded lust in the Mayor's eyes.
"Just imagine if I'd been wearing a dress!"
She teases, and the brunette laughs and sips at her own drink; purposefully, but silently pointing out that her own appeal has no such off-switch.
"Show off."
The blonde chides with no real trace of malice, and the Mayor simply shrugs, her voice rich when she speaks
"Perhaps, but why not flaunt it if you have it... Or so I was told to believe."
"Told or taught?"
"Hmm?"
Full lips fall slowly from their catlike smile, and Regina studies Emma pensively as the latter waits for an answer. A waitress comes and goes to take their order, but there's little reprieve from the question that lingers between them, and when the stout little woman walks off with her pad in her hand, the brunette sighs and takes the stage.
"That's a tricky one to answer, Miss Swan. Was I taught to behave in the exact fashion that I do? Of course not... But, was I told to conduct myself in a manner to get what I want? Yes... That was drilled in early on."
"... Because your mother wanted you to marry into royalty?"
"Indeed. Or, at the very least, to marry into noble blood. But, I believe she always held on to her hope that I should wed our family into royalty. It was something she wanted for the longest time. A strange ambition for a Miller's daughter, but one she never laid to rest... As such, everything from the way I spoke, to the way I dressed, to the way I walked was cultivated towards this 'greater life' she'd built up in her head... And the repercussions for stepping out of line were quite severe."
"She hurt you?"
Emma asks, and there's a little too much camaraderie in the younger woman's eyes as she does so, causing Regina to frown and choose her words carefully.
"She used force, and she used her power. Both magical and psychological... Occasionally, these would leave their mark, but my mother never intended any physical harm unto me, of that I am sure."
"That's not a no."
"No. It isn't. I told you what became of Daniel... That was the wound that bled deepest within my heart, but she bruised it quite excruciatingly long before she took him from me-"
"-Ketchup or Mayonnaise? Are you alright for drinks?"
A waitress interrupts as she places their food-laden plates in front of them, and the Queen swiftly quells her initial reaction to punish the dumb wretch where she stands. Emma catches on to the sudden danger hinted at within her expression and turns to the woman with a thin smile and a dismissive tone.
"Both. And please bring over a bottle of red wine - whatever your house red is - but don't interrupt us again. My friend and I have a couple of things we need to discuss, and we would greatly appreciate being left alone to do so."
It's a curt, eloquent, cool request, and not like any other the brunette has heard come from the Sheriff's lips. Raising a brow as the waitress nods and hurries away, she watches thoughtfully as the blonde sighs and sips the last of her cocktail.
Emma reads the question that lingers in the silence easily.
"I know you often take me for a fool, and it's not an act, it's just the way I can come across, I guess. But this is the world I grew up in. The world that I worked in. Sometimes a public place is the most appropriate setting to get to the bottom of private matters, but persuasion of those around you is occasionally required and necessary."
"Then that is a rule that transcends both worlds and castes... Though I suppose, technically, you are a princess..."
"No."
The younger woman replies; creating a large puddle of condiments in the middle of her plate for dipping.
"By blood, perhaps, but we both know I'm not, and I'm more than okay with that!"
She smiles as she reddens the end of several french fries and snaps them up with familiar, yet startling alacrity.
Looking down at her salad and then over to Emma's burger, fries, and generous side of coleslaw; the Mayor watches as sharp teeth make swift work of the oversized portion. She has grown accustomed to the younger woman's unusual behaviour when it comes to food - the blonde dulling her obscurity down when faced with an audience, but unable to break her habits completely - but it is only now that they seem to have agreed to this amiable parlay that she openly acknowledges the fact.
"Are you worried you'll starve, dear?"
She taunts, but her tone is free from its usual arrogance, and her expression demands an answer.
She gets one in the form of the Sheriff's middle finger, but when this does nothing to deter her stare, the younger woman swallows her mouthful and licks her lips with an odd sort of delicacy; wiping her hands on her napkin while considering the remainder of her food moodily.
"Who knows what's going to happen tomorrow and when we're going to get to eat if Gold-"
"-Emma."
"No. I'm not. Not logically... It's just-... It's-..."
"Habit."
"Something like that."
The blonde agrees.
"From when you were younger."
Regina pushes, and Emma rolls her eyes.
"Yes, but that makes it sound like the kid from 'A Child Called It' or something."
"Excuse me?"
"Doesn't matter... It's just-... It's hard to talk about and not sound... I don't know... Like a charity case or something."
"Try me."
The Mayor shrugs.
"Fine... Yes, things were often unstable, and once you've moved around for the fifth or sixth time because a family changed their mind or flat-out decided 'this isn't working out', you kind of-... You learn to expect it. You get somewhere, and for a while, everything's great, and there's clothes and there's food... And then all that just goes away. Not always, but it can... There's a benefit to fostering, you know; you get paid to do it, and there are a lot of people out there that want the money more than they actually want the kids. People that don't know a fucking thing about raising a child... And the thing is, you can't threaten disappointment or withhold affection when there was no expectation or attachment in the first place. But you can withhold food. It makes obedience training remarkably easy."
"Surely that's not allowed?"
"By law? Probably not. But then, that's one of the frustrating things about foster homes; lack of attorneys."
"I see."
"So, when the food's there to eat, you eat the food. Simple."
The Sheriff shrugs in a way that begs an end to this particular topic and she goes back to her dinner with rigid control; matching the Mayor forkful for forkful, and the darker woman clenches her jaw at the idea of the Sheriff as a girl, unkempt and too skinny, in a house too full of noise and too empty of love, but she says nothing more on the matter, other than
"A sensible philosophy, Miss Swan."
"I guess... It's no different really though, is it?"
Emma muses eventually, and Regina looks up in surprise; having thought the blonde tapped out on the subject.
"What isn't?"
"Manipulation. Whether it's magic or food. Love, or even a few scraps of attention... You look sad because of what I just told you, and it's the same look you've been throwing me since we got here. You feel pity for me that I had nothing in the sense of food or family, yet I've found myself pitying you because you did... Every mealtime being a feast means very little if you have no appetite for it. A family that tends to every need, yet surveys every flaw... Love that derives from the need to 'fix' things, as if you're some broken piece of machinery... You still weren't good enough, Regina, or so they made you feel."
"I-..."
"So the philosophy applies. If it makes them want you, if it makes them love you, if it makes them like you: do it."
Emma states simply, and the brunette blinks as though she's been slapped around the face. She feels tears prickling dangerously in her eyes; wanting nothing more than to scream at the woman that sits calmly opposite her to shut up. To demand that she beg forgiveness for speaking in such a way to her Queen. To envelop her into a tight embrace and plead for this strange, wonderful, irksome woman, who seems to know so much and yet also so little, to please, oh please, never let her go.
"How far did you take that theory...?"
She breathes finally, her voice little more than a whisper.
She means for the Sheriff to elaborate on her relationship with Baelfire; Emma having claimed that he'd used her, but she doesn't want to approach the subject outright. She regrets her ambiguous wording when met with the younger woman's response.
"The homes between homes - the ones where they bunk you up and decide where to ship you off to next after the last place failed - they'd always say the same thing about a kid... Some kids, they'd get 'oh, you're just so polite, we shouldn't have a problem finding you somewhere else'. Some kids, it's cute. Some, it's clever. Some, it's mild-mannered, although what they really mean by that is a couple of cards short of the deck, but in a vague, hazy, easy way... Me, it was always 'pretty'. Always 'oh, Emma, you're such a pretty thing. I'm sure you'll just make their hearts melt'... And... Well... Sometimes the husband or father or whatever would agree... But, hey, it was my 'talent', so why not?"
The blonde hisses bitterly, and the Mayor grabs a hold of a pale hand that gestures wildly as the younger woman becomes animated in her anger.
"How many times? Surely they must have kept an eye on you if something like... That... Happened?!"
"You're overestimating the importance of one kid in a giant system... But, yeah, maybe if I'd said something, they'd have kept tabs, or whatever-"
"-You never said anything?!"
"If it makes them like you: do it."
The younger woman repeats tonelessly, and Regina closes her eyes.
"Emma..."
"It doesn't matter. It never worked. I still got bounced around, which means either I was that much of a burden to keep around, or I just wasn't that pretty after all."
The blonde shrugs. It's a cold, placid tone she uses as she vocalises this sentiment, and, just as she had looked upon the Mayor and imagined her as she must have been in her youth, so now the brunette does when looking at her; sharp features downturned and sullen. Posture slouched and defensive. The hand that had been held in hers pulled away and crossed moodily under the Sheriff's chest.
"...You're pretty. I've seen you in just about as many lights as you can see a person, and you've always been pretty... You're hard... I don't believe for a second you ever took life lying down, whether you lived by that troubling motto or not... What one does when desperate does not speak for their character in its entirety, Emma... It will anger you if I tell you that you are - and, I will plead presumptive and say were, also - a very troubled young woman... It may anger you, but that doesn't mean it's not true. Nor does it mean you can't also be strong and have fought tooth and nail to get through it...
If I knew nothing about you apart from what little I knew when you first arrived in Storybrooke, I would still have found you to be entirely mad should you not have been troubled... Would I have cared? No. And I didn't... But, it says nothing about your abilities, or you as a person, that you are. You're an amazing person. I know that, and anyone that bothers to get to know you will know that. But a troubled child - a broken toy - will inevitably be cast aside in a world where none of the hands she passes through have any real interest in her to begin with.
You tried to put the pieces back together, I know... But Emma, the thing is a child, when she fixes a broken vase - a smashed-up toy - will use excessive amounts of sticky tape, and globs of putty, and messy slathers of glue. The parts will hold, but no one is fooled, not really... An adult knows how to do things a little more delicately. With a little more finesse... That way, you can barely see the cracks."
Holding out her hand, she smiles when the blonde takes it; watching Emma's thumb rub repetitively over her first two knuckles as she swallows audibly.
"Thank you..."
"You're most welcome, dear."
The Mayor responds, giving the hand in hers a firm squeeze before letting go to pick up her wine glass. She studies the Sheriff over the brim; watching as Emma gathers herself and mentally checks that all parts are working and looking as they should.
Regina can almost pinpoint the exact moment the younger woman's psyche brushes itself off and accepts a draw, and the blonde sniffs as she teases lamely
"Ok, my turn... What's with cutting off all of Mary Margaret's hair?"
The remainder of the evening is a blur of lights, cold winter air, and wine sipped in a quieter, more stylish bar. A few more personal facts are revealed from either side, but the questioning is tentative; their topics so far leaving the blonde fretting that talk may turn to Neal, and the Queen struck by the uneasy notion that Emma might suddenly turn around and voice the opinion that, were it not for the Curse, she would unlikely have been through what she has divulged tonight.
Of course, she knows the Sheriff would never say such a thing. Not anymore.
She's just unsure whether she would find the accusation to be unjust.
Sensing a lull in their chatter as they make their way a little tipsily back towards the motel; Emma pauses, noting the brunette's pensive expression, before pulling the darker woman into the darkened cove of an alleyway to their right. Crashing her lips heavily against Regina's, she speaks with some difficulty against nipping teeth and duelling tongue.
"Finding out about Neal aside... I want you to know... This has probably been one of the best days of my life..."
Neither of them mentions that, as a mother, it would be logical for Henry's birth to take this prime position.
Nor do they mention the fact that less than a week ago the younger woman's gruelling search and aching for a family was finally answered.
They don't mention these things as, for Emma, the trauma of Henry's birth could never compare to the first time the two of them had properly connected; properly found that missing bond.
They don't mention these things, because, in reality, the Saviour's search for a family had ended not in the breaking of the Curse, but on that afternoon when the Queen had relented and granted her the day with her son.
When Regina had come crashing into that hateful apartment looking for her.
No. They say none of this, but instead, they simply smile as the blonde's warm weight pushes the Mayor hard against the wall in a sweet but promising fashion.
Brushing aside a stray curl of hair from the younger woman's flushed cheek, Regina purrs against softly parted lips.
"Well, then... I sincerely hope that this date ends with an invitation up into the bedroom."
A denim-clad thigh works its way between her legs in response as the blonde growls against her scarlet smirk
"Hmmm... Let's see shall we?"