Sleep.

She's asleep, and when her phone chimes to alert her to a new message, she's unsurprised to find it lying face-up on her desk.

Madame Mayor:
Don't forget we have a meeting today.

Right. Yes. A meeting.

Emma sighs as she blackens the screen.

A meeting about Halloween, mischief, and costumes.

Costumes...

Looking down at herself with a frown, she tries to make sense of what she sees. She recognises her outfit - of course she does - but she doesn't see how it's possible that she could be wearing it now. Here. In Storybrooke. After all, she'd thrown the meagre wisp of fabric in the trash a couple of days after wearing it to an overcrowded, understaffed nightclub for an extortionately priced Halloween event rather than bothering to try and launder it.

She hadn't even wanted to go.

It had been Yemi's idea, and she would have simply begged out, but when she'd opened her mouth in a bid to do just that, Yemi had opened his and spoken first.

He'd told her that she needed to let loose; to chill out. He'd told her that she was becoming dull with her bleak moods and attachment to the past. He'd told her that he was worried about her.

That last sentiment had been the one that had pushed her into accepting his invitation and agreeing to go.

She could handle the moaning and the grumbled insults, but she wasn't about to stand for someone expressing concern.

So, she'd agreed to join him and a couple of their friends at a nightclub she would once have dreamed about getting into. Of being able to afford to get into.

True, she was still underage, but Yemi had promised to sort that out with his friend working the door, and it wasn't as though she was a kid.

No, not a kid.

Nineteen.

Nineteen, and she'd smiled her thanks while fretting over Yemi's next revelation that she would have to wear a costume.

"Something appropriate, though!"

He'd warned her, meaning the exact opposite of what she'd taken Regina to mean earlier today. And, she'd liked Yemi, she really had. He was a good guy, he was just always searching for the next wild party; the next good time. Back then, she'd thought that was what she needed; to embrace a sense of hedonism that had been previously out of her grasp. To drink, go out and dance before returning to a nice, clean apartment with a stocked fridge, and an even better stocked bar.

They'd just been friends. That was all she'd been ready for and it was all he'd ever expected of her.

It had been a good situation, but at times, she'd felt decidedly not good.

Terrible.

Things had still been fresh and hard and awful. Yemi's friends had been beautiful creatures, all of them, and she'd wanted so badly to fit in and feel like they must surely feel, but the reality of her recent, unforgivable decision had made that hard.

She imagines that's why she'd opted for the costume.

The scrap of fabric that called itself a dress on the packaging but was really just a green slip of polyester; not even fully opaque, with a couple of sweet little embellishments in the shape of leaves.

Poison Ivy.

She'd dyed her hair flaming scarlet, and it had looked horrendous when it started to fade, but she'd actually quite liked it up until then.

Reaching up and pulling her hair to fall over her shoulder now, she sees nothing but pale gold in need of a brush.

"Now it doesn't even make sense..."

She hisses uncomfortably, pushing herself up from her desk with her hand held awkwardly over the semi-bare flat of her stomach; a flatness she'd been adamant to show off that night - as though to eradicate recent events and masquerade as an untroubled, thriving, whole person without a care in the world - but that now feels unnecessarily exposed in the dim light of her office at almost thirty.

Down the hall, the door opens and shuts.

"Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck..."

She mutters, searching for her coat, but the hooks beside the cells are unusually bare.

Doing all she can think of to do, she strips one of the cots of its itchy wool throw and wraps it around her shoulders. Reclaiming her seat at her desk to hide the pale offering of her legs, she struggles to come up with an excuse for her unusual attire to no avail.

Sharp heels sound a beat on the linoleum beyond the office door and she accepts her fate.

Whatever. I'm dreaming, anyway.

Yes, she's dreaming. She knows she's dreaming, and the sinking feeling in her chest slowly diminishes as she considers this fact just briefly before she's interrupted.

"Miss Swan."

The Queen greets her, for it is the Queen who steps across the threshold, without a doubt.

"Regina! What... Uh... Ummm."

Emma clears her throat as she struggles to speak, and the brunette frowns as she demands impatiently.

"What's the matter with you?"

"Well, I just-... I mean-... What, uh-... What are you wearing?"

And why is there so little of it?!

Glancing down at herself distractedly, the darker woman tosses back her hair and replies as though the answer should be painfully obvious.

"A costume, dear... Or had you not picked up on tonight's theme?"

"Wait, there are themes to these weird scenes?"

"You tell me, you're the one that's dreaming."

The brunette shrugs, stepping further into the room, and Emma pulls the throw a little tighter around her shoulders as she drinks in tight black riding pants and a criminally revealing corset unlike any she's ever seen adorning the hangers and shelves of a shop. For one, the diamonds embellishing the midnight fabric look real. For another, the devilish piece appears old. Worn. Not really a costume at all, but rather a memory. A promise.

"... This isn't the way you ever dressed in Henry's book..."

She muses uneasily.

"This is the way you'd have liked me to have been dressed. It's how I was dressed - how I would have dressed - when sharing a space with any lucky enough to benefit from my approval and interest... And, besides, you find the elaborate gowns and frilly dresses ridiculous, I know you do."

"Well, I-"

"-Of course you do. You're crude and uncultured; very much my opposite."

"I mean, just because I don't understand covering myself in sequins and feathers, doesn't mean I'm uncultured..."

Emma frowns, feeling a stab of irritation as she suffers the Queen's hard gaze.

"Oh. Did I offend you? How very amusing."

"Yeah, very..."

The blonde rolls her eyes before taking in a sharp breath through her nose when the darker woman helps herself to the same seat she'd taken earlier in the day.

Only, that actually happened!

"It is, though."

Regina insists, considering the dull weave of the blanket swaddling the Sheriff with a smirk.

"This is your dream, Saviour. You're the director; the choreographer; the wardrobe and make-up department; the co-star. You're also the writer. The script is yours."

"... But I can't make you do what I want."

Emma frowns as she experiments with trying to do just that; attempting to force the brunette into raising her right hand and holding up three fingers as a test of the Queen's suggestion.

"Then perhaps that's not something you truly desire from me."

"Huh?"

"It's interesting, don't you think? The way I speak to you in your own dream?"

"Well, it's not all that different to how you speak to me in reality, you're just wearing less."

"Also interesting."

The brunette muses silkily, and Emma shrugs as she reasons uncomfortably

"I'm not so sure I can control it... I don't think there's any part of me that's thrilled about wearing an outfit I considered daring when I was a hell of a lot hotter than I am now, yet here we are."

"I would consider you hot now... I wouldn't word it so ineloquently, but my opinion stands."

"Yeah, well... You would say that if I'm scripting this, wouldn't you?"

The blonde chuckles awkwardly, and Regina raises a brow and replies simply

"Only if you wanted me to."

"... This is so weird..."

"You certainly seem to think so, yes. As for your previous statement regarding your outfit, you're a pessimist by nature. Perhaps you should let someone else be the judge."

"Someone like you, you mean?"

Emma scoffs, and the brunette splays her palms as she reasons

"Isn't that why I'm here?"

"Honestly? I don't exactly know why you're here... The dreamcatcher's in my drawer. I didn't do any magic or mess with any charms before I went to sleep. This shouldn't be happening."

"Mm. Well, as you said yourself, you're not exactly clued up when it comes to using your power."

"You think I messed up?"

"Hardly. Look at what it got you."

Regina replies simply, adopting a slow smirk as the blonde considers her with nervous curiosity. Relaxing comfortably back in the chair, she allows the Sheriff to appreciate this new position and what it offers before speaking up coolly.

"Take off the blanket, dear. If you were opposed to the reality of your own desire, you wouldn't have found yourself lost for an answer when asked by Miss Lucas whether you wanted to do this."

"Do what?"

"Oh, come, Saviour. You and Innocence lost touch a long time ago. Don't go searching for her now. Not when you're not even wearing any underwear."

"I-"

Emma frowns, crossing her legs beneath the table, and her eyes widen when she realises that the Queen speaks the truth.

"I really didn't-"

"-Enough. When has it ever worked in your favour to whimper and protest your honour and integrity to me?"

"But-"

"-Show me."

"Fine."

The younger woman concedes; allowing the blanket to drop from her shoulders with a defiant toss of her hair.

"What? I'm supposed to be able to see through the desk?"

Regina scolds, and the blonde raises a brow as she counters reasonably

"Maybe you can! I really don't know!"

"I can't. Not without expending considerable effort I would rather put to better use."

"How- oh!... Oh... L-l ast time, we just kissed."

"That was last time, this is this time."

"Well, yeah, but-"

"-Last time, your alarm went off."

"What if it does that this time?"

"Are you going to keep stalling in a bid to find out? Or are you going to show me your outfit?"

"I-..."

"Didn't you enjoy yourself last time?"

"It was weird..."

"I didn't ask if it was weird, I asked if you enjoyed it."

"... It's just a dream."

"It is."

Regina agrees, staring the blonde down until the latter pushes herself up and pads around the desk. Perching uncertainly on the edge with her feet beside the brunette's, she pulls at the hem of her dress with a blush in a bid to cover more of her thighs.

"I-I obviously wouldn't wear anything like this now... In real life, I mean."

She assures with a flustered chuckle.

"Pity... It seems I was right, though. You do veer on the slutty side."

"I mean, if you so much as sneeze, you'll fall out of that corset, Regina. I really don't-"

"-Wishful thinking."

"Huh?"

"You accused me of wishful thinking... I'm accusing you of the same when it comes to that last statement... If you want to see more, just say so."

"... Say I call your bluff..."

"No bluff."

The Queen shakes her head, standing up so that they're eye to eye as she moves her hands behind her back and loosens the lacing of her outfit. That done, she focuses her attention on the front as she works apart the silver clasps centring her ribcage. Once free, she strips herself of the heavy, boned panels; allowing the corset to drop to the floor at her feet.

"Well, Sheriff?"

She demands, running a hand through her hair, and the blonde swallows as she's not sure she trusts herself to speak.

"Your little charm's working rather nicely now, isn't it?"

"I-..."

"It's okay. You can look, and you can touch. It's what you want, after all..."

The brunette smirks, her hand coming to rest on the younger woman's knee; running her palm teasingly over bare flesh as she pushes the blonde's legs apart in order to step between them.

"Is this... Is this what it's really like?... You, I mean?"

Emma asks quietly; intensely aware of the sensation of the body-warmed leather of the Queen's pants pressing against the insides of her thighs as she grips the edge of the desk with white-knuckled fists.

"You want to know, don't you, dear?"

"This is crazy..."

"It's what you want."

The Queen repeats huskily, leaning in to claim a kiss that swiftly grows a sense of need. She reaches for the blonde's wrist and coaxes her hand up to cup previously forbidden flesh; hissing appreciatively when the Sheriff takes the hint and requires no further guidance.

Oh fuck, this is fucked, this is so fucked...

Emma frets as she duels wicked velvet and explores soft curves blindly.

This is so-

"-Fuck!"

She chokes against painted lips as sly fingers enter her with sudden urgency, and she clutches the bare skin of the brunette's shoulders as the Queen begins moving her hand with purpose.

"Fuck, Regina..."

She repeats shakily as she lowers her head into the hollow of the brunette's throat; her teeth clenched as she struggles to catch her breath and pace herself before she flies over the edge embarrassingly quickly.

Well, it has been a while!

"Fuck..."

It's still been a while! This isn't actually happening! It's madness! It's-

"-Yes."

"Yes, what?"

The Queen demands with a cruel nip to the blonde's shoulder.

"It's what I want..."

Emma murmurs distractedly as she goes back to mapping out soft flesh with teasing intent, and she's not sure if she refers to the brunette's claim that she wants her, or whether she's simply expressing her desire to achieve the soon-to-be inevitable as her stomach starts clenching needfully and her breathing grows ragged.

"It is."

Regina replies simply; momentarily deepening and quickening her assault, before switching up without warning to play fast circles over wet flesh as she sinks her teeth into the delicate bow of the blonde's collarbone.

"Fuck! Oh-"

"-Fuck..."

Emma grunts with a pained wince; blinking up at the ceiling of her bedroom in wide-eyed horror. Becoming slowly aware that she's panting, she swiftly holds her breath with her heart hammering frantically in her throat as she strives to detect any noise from downstairs.

Silence.

"Damn..."

She whispers, biting her lip before coming to the belated realisation that she has her hand trapped inside the creased fabric of her pyjama pants and pulling it guiltily free.

Rolling onto her side before pushing herself up onto her feet, she slips back beneath the covers and checks her phone.

Forty-seven minutes before her alarm is set to go off.

Switching on her bedside light, she reaches for a book and attempts to read; fully aware that she's merely staring at the letters without taking any of them in, but it doesn't matter.

Just so long as it keeps her awake.