"Ugh."
Emma wrinkles her nose and swallows her bittersweet mouthful with a grimace as she pours the rest of her coffee down the sink. It's her fifth cup of the day, but the first she's decided to get creative with in a bid to replace her usual post-lunch mocha made just the way she likes it by Ruby. She hadn't wanted to drop by the diner for lunch, and, though she'd told herself she was simply being healthy and taking a break from loaded sandwiches and sticky desserts, she knows that's not the real reason she's made an effort to steer clear of the young waitress today.
We're not thinking about that!
No. Not thinking about what it is Ruby might ask her. Not thinking about what she might expose of her dreamland dalliances in hopes of reciprocity. Not thinking about the faintly medicinal taste of scarlet lipstick mixed with the sweet spice of apples, and-
"-Give me a fucking break!"
Gritting her teeth, she rinses out her mug before grabbing a scrubbing brush to do a more thorough job when the disastrous concoction of sugar, coffee, cocoa powder and syrup remains caked to the bottom. The cocoa had been stashed on one of the shelves behind a half-empty box of sweet'n low, and the layer of dust she'd blown off the top should have been a good sign that she'd be better off leaving it well alone. Starting up the coffee machine with the resolve to stick to what she knows, she pauses with a frown at the sound of the door to the station opening and closing. Hurrying back to her desk before she's forced to repent for leaving her computer unlocked and her phone out in plain sight, she wonders how Mary Margaret would like it if she were to take it upon herself to stroll into the school during recess only to point out all of the things her mother might have neglected to sort out and put away appropriately.
"Your sweater's hanging over by the door."
She calls out as she reclaims her seat and fans a couple of pieces of paper from her top drawer out over her desk in an attempt to look busy.
"I would hope it isn't."
Comes a disgruntled reply, and the blonde squeezes her eyes shut and curses under her breath before adopting a more businesslike posture.
"Regina."
She greets, looking up before swiftly looking away when the Mayor steps across the threshold.
Damn. She's wearing the black skirt. The one that shows off her-
"-I thought you were Mary Margaret."
She interrupts her unruly thoughts hastily, and the brunette pulls a face at the very notion.
"Hardly. But, I suppose that explains your rather lacking form of greeting as I shouldn't think even you would be so foolish as to believe I might be one to leave my belongings lying around wherever the fancy might take me."
"Can't you ever just speak like a normal person? And I'm really not sure the fact that she left her sweater here the other day is the inexcusable slight on Mary Margaret's character you're making it out to be."
"No... Her sweater has little to do with it in that respect."
"Whatever. What do you want?"
Emma sighs, willing the darker woman to leave her in peace as she becomes uncomfortably aware of the subtle scent of Chanel mixed with rain.
"Why the tone? Are you so busy that my presence is an interruption?"
"Sort of."
The blonde nods, gesturing pointedly down at the documents on her desk.
"Mm. Well, as one of those sheets appears to be the instructions for fixing the space heater, I'm sure you can spare me just a moment."
"Oh. That wasn't-... I wasn't-"
"-Save it. You and I both know you weren't sat here working diligently and professionally before I got here, Miss Swan. I know you well, and I know that you are neither of those things."
"Ha!... Sheriff... We've known each other far too long for you to pull off such a poor attempt at dumb innocence. I know you well, and I know that you are neither of those things."
Biting her lip as the brunette's suggestive accusation spoken in the confusion of her dream comes back to her with unwelcome clarity, Emma folds and accepts the Mayor's presumption made in the flesh.
"I was about to make myself some coffee when I heard the door open... I really was working before that."
"That explains why you look so glum."
Regina smirks, although she notes that there's something unusual in the blonde's demeanour as the latter seems determined to avoid her gaze; a submissive act she'd managed to instil in the majority of Storybrooke's citizens very early on in her cursed charade, but not a breed of respect she's ever been offered by Emma.
"What do you want, Regina?"
The Sheriff repeats, and the brunette takes a seat with a sigh as she's given up lecturing the younger woman for her rude way of wording things; a once frequent argument that had achieved little more than giving her a headache.
"We have a meeting today."
"Not yet, we don't."
"No, well, I decided to reschedule."
"How nice of you to tell me."
"You just said yourself you weren't doing anything of any importance. Don't sulk."
Regina scolds, earning herself a bemused scowl that only adds fuel to her point. Smiling smugly in response, she tells herself to back down before things get nasty; a practice that's still fairly new to her, but she's found that she privately quite likes winding the Sheriff up in spite of no longer outright hating the woman. She enjoys the blonde's reaction and sarcastic grumbling to match her own barbed teasing; Emma's often crude response a refreshing if not rather bemusing break from the norm of how others tend to treat her.
She doesn't want to ruin things by pushing the younger woman's irritation over into genuine anger.
"I'm not sulking, it would just have been nice to be given some time to prepare."
The Sheriff mutters, and Regina chuckles and asks with genuine interest
"What would you have prepared, dear? Were you planning to share some insightful notes during our meeting? Or perhaps you were fixing to wow me with a presentation?"
"Of course not."
Emma snaps, and the brunette eats up her frustration appreciatively.
"You surprise me."
She mocks, although, in a way, she is somewhat surprised by the blonde's mannerisms today; the younger woman seeming jumpy and distracted as she keeps her attention lowered uneasily to the stapler on her desk.
"You know you have only yourself to blame for the fact that this meeting is necessary in the first place, Sheriff."
She muses when she tires of the silence that's fallen between them.
"Oh come on, Regina. All I did was mention a couple of things about Halloween back in the city. You're acting as though I invented the damn holiday!"
"You mentioned those things to my son, Miss Swan. What did you think would happen when you told Henry about the mischief you once enjoyed getting up to?"
"Mischief? I just-"
"-Enough. You never 'just' do anything, Saviour. You meddle. You might not mean to - which speaks more to your ignorance and stupidity than it does to your morals - but you open your mouth and allow all manner of unwelcome things to come out."
"By mentioning Halloween?"
"By telling Henry that children his age go knocking on other people's doors demanding candy while dressed in ghastly costumes creating all kinds of havoc."
"Yeah, I really don't remember sharing that last part."
"It was implied."
"Was it?!"
Emma counters wearily, glancing up to glower at the Mayor and swallowing when she meets dark coals promising fire.
"Of course. Everything about you threatens misbehaviour, Miss Swan."
Regina shrugs, and the blonde wishes she wouldn't word it that way given her unlikely dilemma, but she supposes it's pretty much par for the course for the brunette to dust her accusations with flirtatious obscurities.
"If you say so."
She replies dutifully, hoping her cheeks aren't as visibly flushed as they feel.
"Hmm."
The Mayor concludes distrustfully; having expected more of an argument from her often prickly adversary.
Perhaps she just recognises she's guilty of the fact beyond doubt.
"Anyway. As you did decide to go running your mouth to Henry, and did regale him with tales and explanations regarding an obscene tradition of tricks and treats, we now have a problem on our hands."
"I mean... Do we really?"
"Yes, Sheriff. Indeed we do. My son - as you should have guessed would happen - spread your unwanted information amongst his peers, and now, come Sunday, we'll be met with hoards of children wandering the streets, scaring the residents and causing who knows what kind of trouble."
"I told him kids in the city go knocking on doors carrying a pillowcase and wearing a mask. I didn't suggest he incite his friends to go hunkering down behind bushes carrying knives."
"Yes, well..."
The brunette purses her lips, seemingly unwavering in her understanding of the hellscape she's adamant will come to fruition a couple of days from now.
Rolling her eyes, Emma splays her palms in a gesture of defeat and concedes to the Mayor's warped way of thinking.
"Fine. I fucked up. There'll likely be riots, and looting, and fire, and-"
"-Are you done?"
"What do you want me to do about it, Regina?"
"I want you to cancel any plans you might have made to celebrate such a stupid take on perfectly pleasant fall festivities and spend your evening walking up and down the quiet and undeserving streets of my little town keeping an eye out for trouble. I want you alert and I want you sober, and I want you to put your foot down if you suspect any funny business rather than adding fuel to the flames as you so love to do."
"Mm... Says the Evil Queen who once literally terrorised the inhabitants of those 'quiet streets' and got off on adding literal fuel to literal flames due to what I'm going to guess was a particularly nasty bout of PMS."
"You watch your tongue, Sheriff..."
The Mayor leans forward in her seat and hisses angrily, staring the blonde down as the latter draws back against her chair.
"Or what?"
Emma baits before she can help herself, and she winces as she recalls the way sinful velvet had demanded dominance over their kiss.
Regina responds to her unwise quip with an expression that tells her all she needs to know and in no way helps matters, and the blonde swallows and reverts her attention to the desk.
"Fine. I'll patrol on Sunday. Whatever you want, Regina."
"Oh, well that's not true now, is it, dear? You're never going to give me what I truly want."
...If you want this - which you do - why pretend otherwise?...
"Yeah, well, what can I say? You want me dead. You call me a fool on the daily, but if I were to give in and give you what you want, you'd actually be right, and I can't allow that."
Emma jokes lamely, willing the brunette to sit back in her seat and give her some space.
"Pity."
Regina sighs, neglecting to correct the Sheriff on her assumption as it suits her fine that the younger woman should still believe such a thing.
She doesn't want Emma dead. She doesn't even really want her hurt or genuinely unhappy.
She doesn't know what she wants.
She just knows that she'd been pleased to have the blonde back in her life after rescuing her and her idiot mother from the well in the woods and that she'd missed her ever so slightly during her absence.
Pushing this unwelcome thought away, she straightens back up and offers the Sheriff a chilly, businesslike smile.
"Well. I better be going. I trust you'll do as I've asked and supervise your foolish suggestion come Sunday."
"I'll keep an eye on things."
The blonde agrees wearily.
"Mm. I also expect you to step in should anyone take the opportunity to be inappropriate with their outfit choice."
"Uh, sure... You mean like if they veer too far on the slutty side, or-"
"-What? No. I mean that if I catch any of those misguided children you've brainwashed with your horrid ideas dressed up to bear a likeness to royalty - rightful royalty - I will hold you personally responsible, and the conversation we have should that happen won't be nearly as pleasant as this one."
"Mm, it's been a delight."
Emma mutters, before nodding dutifully to convey that she'll heed the Queen's warning.
"I guess it would be a shame to have too many people copying your costume."
She grins, before understanding that she's overstepped when Regina narrows her eyes and hisses coldly
"I wore outfits befitting my status when I held the throne. The only 'costumes' I ever wore were worn to soirees and balls, and they certainly weren't poor attempts to mimic my betters, had I had any."
"It was just a joke..."
"No, it wasn't."
The brunette disagrees bluntly, pushing herself up and stalking towards the door. Turning around before she slips from sight, she addresses the Sheriff silkily
"You wouldn't have been fit to finger the hem of the exquisite dresses I once wore. Mock all you like, but underneath your snide comments, I recognise wishful thinking, and I know you're just jealous."
"Uh, I'm not sure if you've noticed, but I'm not exactly the ballgown type, Madame Mayor."
"No. I know... You strike me more as one to veer on the 'slutty side', as you put it."
"Now who's guilty of wishful thinking?"
Emma teases, but she does so with a frown; bristling beneath the Queen's dark scrutiny.
"I assure you, the only thought I would experience in such a situation - as with most situations you play a part of - would be disgust, Miss Swan. Good day."
Regina snaps, taking her leave with a mild sense of unease as she's sure she'd caught, well, something unusual in the Sheriff's expression in response to what she admits was a rather cheap parting shot.
She pushes unlikely guilt away easily when Emma shouts belatedly after her.
"Yeah, well, likewise!"
"Ha! In your dreams, dear."
She calls out smugly.
"In your dreams."