A/N: Sorry for the wait. Enjoy and please review! :)
Waking up with a start, Emma groans as a gnawing pain shoots down her arm. Opening one eye and squinting against the light filtering in through the window, she tries to move before realising where that low ache has come from. Glancing up at her hand which hangs limp, cuffed against the bedpost, she opens and closes her fist a few times with a wince to try and get some feeling back into her fingers.
"Ugh."
She grumbles groggily, rubbing at her eyes with her other hand and spying the metal cuff biting into her wrist.
"Ugh!"
Squeezing her eyes shut for a second as she tries to regain control of her temper, she eventually pushes herself up a little awkwardly so that she sits and is able to survey the room. There's no sign of the Queen. The covers to her right have been pushed aside, which strikes her as odd as she'd always presumed Regina to be the sort to tuck them neatly back in place even if only disappearing for a midnight bathroom excursion. She frowns at the connotation that she's given something like the brunette's bed habits- in any context- any thought at all, before it dawns on her that she'd spent a couple of evenings sniggering to herself when the Mayor had insisted on neatening up her things while camping in Neverland.
It would seem the Queen is a little less orderly.
No, she just presumes someone else should do it for her.
Sighing, the blonde looks over to the bedroom door which stands open a crack, and she makes out the familiar whine of the pipes as the darker woman appears to be taking a shower.
"Sure, just make yourself at home."
She mutters, running a hand through her hair before rubbing once more at her eyes with a grimace.
"Shit... What the..."
She growls as they sting something rotten, before it occurs to her that she must have slept with her contacts in and has now succeeded in pushing them around to further irritate her eyes. Working with practised caution, she finally succeeds in removing them; creating a soft fuzz where once there were angles and sides to her furniture. Reaching over awkwardly with her arm bent back uncomfortably, she manages to pull open the drawer to her nightstand on the other side of the bed and locate her glasses. With these on, the world comes back into focus, and she fishes around hopefully in the drawer until she finds what she's looking for.
"Got you."
She murmurs, bringing the hairpin up to her mouth to use her teeth to pull it apart. Working quickly, she sighs with relief when she gets the handcuffs to spring open and rubs at her wrist where a raw circle of angry red promises to bruise.
"Bitch."
Still, she supposes things could be worse. She'd been a little unsure last night after uttering such bold words- fighting talk- and goading the Queen with the promise that she would beat her as she always has done. Her words had rung true, and she'd seen in dark eyes that they'd both known it. She can think of better times perhaps to have said them, however, than when cuffed to her bed and at a definite disadvantage on almost every level. Her gaze had flickered over to the blade on the nightstand- as had the Queen's- but in the end, the darker woman had simply flashed her teeth in a snarl- completing her look of rage- before turning angrily away from her and killing the lights with a flick of her wrist.
You could have paid for that, Swan...
She knows she could, and knows she should be more careful. Still, she can't help but feel that the Queen's lack of retribution had been surprising not only to her, but to the brunette herself. If she didn't know any better, she'd say she's gotten under the Queen's skin just a little bit.
"Well, I've had a lot of practice."
She murmurs, but she knows it's more than that. It hadn't been annoyance on the brunette's face last night, it had been outrage. The look someone gets when they haven't dealt with a situation before and don't know quite where to start in doing so now.
You did. You got under her skin. Because with Regina, it was different; it was a game. With Her Majesty, she doesn't know what to do with the fact that you're not giving her what she wants.
The thought that this would ordinarily be rectified by punishment- hell, she'd been hinting at death only last night- crosses her mind, but so does the way the darker woman had looked at her.
Her Royal Highness wishes to play, and it's driving her just a little mad that you're not joining in.
A smirk at this, before the deeper meaning hits her, and the blonde bites at her lip; confused.
Pushing herself from the bed, she walks over to the window to survey the lawn and notes that it's raining and miserable outside.
Even less likely someone's going to come over to see you on a whim.
Sighing, she pads to the bedroom door and peeks down the hall. The bathroom door is closed and the water continues to drone through the pipes. Weighing up her options, she descends the stairs, her eyes locked on the front door, yet she makes no move in that direction once she stands on the bottom step.
There's no chance in hell that door will open if I try it...
She knows this, yet she's unable to resist giving it a go after all. Extending her hand dubiously, she touches her fingers to the handle with her eyes slit and teeth clenched with trepidation.
Nothing happens.
Raising a brow, she chances a quick glance over her shoulder before pushing the handle down. Suddenly, the cool metal becomes red-hot and she yelps as she steps back swiftly, stuffing her fingers into her mouth.
"Knew that would happen."
She grumbles, padding down the hall towards the kitchen and running her abused fingers under the cold flow of the faucet. Feeling uncomfortably helpless and unsure what to do with herself, she opts to see to the one issue she can solve right now and pulls a couple of slices of bread from the cupboard. Slotting them into the toaster, she grabs a jar of peanut butter from the pantry and waits impatiently; suddenly aware of just how hungry she is.
By the time the Queen comes stalking into the room, she's on her third slice and has her mouth full.
"I should punish you for that, you know."
The darker woman snaps angrily, and the blonde turns to face her; wondering if the brunette refers to the fact that she's helped herself to breakfast- in my own house, goddamnit- or that she's freed herself from her restraints. She can't help but feel that the fact the hateful woman shares her memory with Regina should leave her unsurprised by either of these events.
"How did you do it?"
The Queen demands, and Emma swallows her mouthful with the conclusion that the darker woman must be asking her about the handcuffs, as any idiot can make toast.
"Hairpin in the nightstand."
She shrugs, and dark eyes narrow suspiciously as the brunette emits a low
"Hmm..."
Lowering her eyes from that intense gaze awkwardly, the blonde drums her fingers on the counter.
"Do you want coffee?"
This domestic offering sits strangely between them despite the fact that it's fairly ordinary for the two to grab a drink on a weekend such as this.
No, it was ordinary when it was Regina and she'd show up in the nice wool coat she bought recently. It's not ordinary when it's a woman dressed in leather pants- tight leather pants- who wants to kill your mother.
"Yes."
The brunette nods after a moment's hesitation, frowning as she watches the younger woman start up the machine.
"You're wearing glasses."
She points out accusingly, and the blonde nods as she agrees silkily
"I am."
"You don't wear glasses."
Dark brows furrow deeper, and Emma turns to glance at the Queen and shrugs.
"Not usually, not around you. I wear contacts."
"Oh."
The darker woman answers uncertainly, looking momentarily thrown.
"You look... Weird."
"Thanks."
Emma sighs, pulling two mugs down from the cupboard and filling one up for her unwanted guest. She is uncomfortably aware of the way the brunette studies her as she does so, and she keeps her eyes lowered to the black pool of her coffee.
"I don't drink mine black."
The Queen snaps, and the blonde rolls her eyes, midway through opening her mouth to remind the brunette that she knows where the fridge is, before the darker woman holds up a hand; suddenly alert.
"Shh. Someone's-..."
She stills, her eyes glistening purple for a moment. Putting her mug down, Emma pipes up hopefully
"Coming? Someone's coming?!"
"Oh... Oh my..."
The darker woman purrs, glittering eyes once more finding her captive and drinking her in with a growing smile.
"This just got interesting."
She advises gleefully, and Emma frowns, looking from the door to the Queen and pleading
"What did? Who is it? Come on, what are you-"
"Ah!"
The brunette warns her, taking a hold of the blonde's arm- more for show than necessity as her touch stops the younger woman from being able to do anything other than comply- and marching her into the hallway. Pulling open the doors to the coat closet, she shoves the blonde inside before locking them; a sly trick as the doors have no lock to speak of. What they do have are generous gaps between the slats- the style similar to Venetian blinds- allowing Emma an obstructed but decent view out, but no real way for anyone to see in unless they were to come up close.
"Regina!"
The blonde snaps, before staggering back against heavy coats; her face a picture of surprise when absolutely nothing comes out.
"Hey!"
She tries again, pounding her fists on the door, but she may as well be pounding on air; nothing but a very slight breathless sigh coming from her fists.
"Fuck!"
She screams silently, and the darker woman gives her a sly wink through the slats before taking a couple of steps back. She does so to give Emma a better view, and the blonde's eyes widen with horror as she watches chestnut locks and black leather get lost in a haze of smoke, leaving the Queen stood grinning back at her and wearing her guise. With her gaze flickering disconcertedly over thick gold and pale features, Emma's mouth opens in a maw of disquiet as she spies an impossibly tight concoction she has no recollection of ever owning. It is not dissimilar to some of the dresses she'd favoured when plagued by the darkness, but without the jarring silver of her hair and venomous red painting her lips, it speaks not of evil- not of an outfit- but of a coy flirtatiousness she's never been able to pull off.
"Oh god..."
She groans silently.
With the Queen wearing her likeness, it turns out she can pull the look off just fine.
Resting her head against wooden slats with her eyes squeezed shut in trepidation, Emma swallows as a light knock sounds at the front door.