Chapter Text
"More coffee, Madame Mayor?"
"Hmm?... Oh. No, I don't think so."
Regina shakes her head dismissively, sliding her half-empty mug towards Ruby who glances down at its tepid contents a little nervously. Keeping her feelings as to the quality - or rather, lack thereof - of Granny's supposedly fresh brew to herself, the Mayor simply waves her hand in a gesture that the young waitress should make herself scarce.
She is in no mood for idle argument, whether at Ruby's expense or not.
The reason behind her decidedly sour mood is currently stood no more than a stone's throw away; the town's newly appointed Sheriff lent against the fence outside the diner with her arms folded in that ever-hostile manner that only serves to aggravate the Mayor further as she has yet to figure out just what it is about Emma Swan that others find even remotely likeable.
As if on cue, Ashley appears from around the corner and strolls over to share a little heart-to-heart with the blonde; grinning at her all the while as though sharing a conversation with the Sheriff might be a folly-fueled delight.
Having been on the receiving end of the blonde's dry musings more times than she'd like to remember, Regina knows this to be anything but the truth.
Especially just recently.
What with the blonde moping around town in a manner even more sullen than usual.
One wouldn't have believed that were possible...
No. And yet, it appears to be so.
Ever since she'd tried to step in and have her way when it had come to the twins - in many ways a test for the young Sheriff, and one the blonde had failed miserably - Emma's mood has seemed to deteriorate dangerously and threatens permanently for thunder.
Not that that's stopped Henry from trying to find ways to spend as much time with her as possible.
Pursing her lips and pushing herself up from the table, Regina stalks briskly towards the door; cordially ignoring Ruby's hesitant suggestion to have a nice day and letting the glass rattle in its frame on her way out.
Marching up the path back towards her office, she slows down as she nears the Sheriff and her rather weary-eyed companion and nods curtly when Ashley seems to sense her cue to hurry on up the path with a brief 'good morning' muttered in her direction.
Emma offers no such pleasantries.
"Gold was looking for you."
"Was he? Did he say why?"
"Dunno. Didn't ask."
The blonde shrugs, and Regina fights to control the overwhelming urge to shake the younger woman roughly by the shoulders.
Instead, she simply sighs; eyeing the Sheriff up and down and finding herself no less irritated by what she sees.
Black.
Black sweater, black pants, black boots; bloodied vibrantly by the garish swatch of her jacket.
This seems to be becoming a bit of a theme.
Ever since Graham-... Well...
Ever since Graham's accident.
And it frustrates her. The blonde has no right to be in mourning over what was never hers.
It's just not in good taste.
Not to mention the rather awkward situation following the fallen Sheriff's funeral... A ghastly gathering of false friends muttering quietly beneath the dimmed lights of the diner - the Mayor showing face for no other reason than seeing it as her political duty to do so - as the fools of her town had shed their final tears without a single ounce of understanding as to how badly she hadn't wanted to be there.
Still, she had considered herself lucky on one count at least; the Saviour seemed to have had the decency to stay away.
At least, so she'd thought, before her brow had furrowed contemplatively as her gaze had fallen on the fine silhouette of a young woman clad in a low-backed dress that had made it very clear she wasn't wearing a bra. Still, the dress had been pretty and demurely fitting for the occasion, as well as being rather delectably fitted to its owner.
What had been a frown caused by her lack of recognition had swiftly become a snarl of distaste when the woman had turned around to address the waitress, and the Mayor had come to the unwelcome realisation that the pleasing curves she'd been admiring - the way one does after a couple of glasses of wine - hadn't been unfamiliar at all; her confusion simply stemming from the out of character way Emma had pinned up her hair.
Did you fuck him?
She had thought then as she does now, regarding the younger woman cooly.
She recalls thinking much the same when the pawnbroker had jumped to the blonde's aid when running for Sheriff, albeit with a little less jealousy tainting the idea.
She just imagines Emma to be the type.
After all, one tends to use their assets to their advantage, and there is something uncomfortably, well, fuckable, about the moody young woman who seems to thrive off causing her grief.
Not that she's given the notion any consideration, of course...
Shaking away confused thoughts, she sighs and addresses the Sheriff shortly.
"Very well, I will go and see what he wants... Shouldn't you be behind a desk?"
"I'm pretty sure there's no law against stopping to buy yourself coffee on the way to work... Though I'm sure you'll let me know if you find one."
"Well, you're not going to get any closer to your caffeine fix stood loitering around out here, dear."
Regina muses coldly, causing green eyes to narrow as Emma studies her reproachfully, and she's certain that the way the blonde looks at her has changed since the business with Ava and Nicholas.
After all, her manner of dealing with the matter and reprimanding the ingénue young Sheriff had been cruelly calculated, and the blonde had taken it decidedly personally, as had, of course, been her intention.
A savage dig of her nails beneath the surface in an attempt to find a way to force the younger woman to crack and to yield.
And, she believes, she has succeeded in creating the beginnings of a small fissure in Emma's carefully honed stony exterior.
That... And she has managed to royally piss the younger woman off.
Maple, maple, conifer, maple, oak, conifer, maple... Bush... Hmm... Hawthorn, maple...
The Sheriff chants in her head as her sneakers pound the compacted dirt of the forest floor. In all honesty, she hasn't the faintest clue as to the flora surrounding her and merely guesses inexpertly as she flies by - occasionally ducking to avoid being blinded by an errant twig - for the sake of something to keep her mind off of the task at hand.
Once upon a time, she had actually enjoyed running; had actually missed the gym after moving to Storybrooke, and had ended up feeling a little lethargic due to its absence in her daily routine.
Still, she'll be the first to admit that she's apathetic by nature, and she hadn't found herself bothered by the situation to the extent of actually doing anything about it.
Until Graham passed away.
That was when the running had started up again.
That first time, storming around the apartment in a monosyllabic hunt for her sneakers, Mary Margaret had asked her nervously if perhaps she should wait until daylight before running off into the woods, before swiftly expressing her understanding that Emma might wish to clear her head when met with a murderous scowl.
The blonde had snapped back that she simply wished to be left alone, but had left her housemate uncorrected as to the reasoning behind her sudden need to throw herself back into exercise. After all, Mary Margaret's assumption had seemed like a much more logical reason than her own, and so she had left it at that.
Not wishing to discuss her mounting concerns with the schoolteacher, however close they might have become over the last couple of months.
After all, how would that conversation even start?!
Mary Margaret, I don't think Graham's death was natural, or even an accident, and I'm pretty sure the Mayor means to kill me the first chance she gets.
Not exactly the way to go when trying to convince her housemate that all is well with her upstairs.
She imagines it would only be an hour or so before Archie showed up on their doorstep claiming to just be 'dropping by'.
No. Not really a conversation that should leave the confines of her mind.
But in there - rattling around with all the rest of her crap - the thought swims around slowly; tinged lightly red.
She has tried to stamp it out several times; understanding deep down that however much of a bitch she might be, Regina isn't about to come after her wielding a weapon and seeking her fatal demise.
That would be ridiculous.
Almost as ridiculous as Henry's whole fairytale thing.
It's just...
Well, it's just that ever since the kid had spoken to her so glumly and full of foreboding out by the castle, she has found herself silently reprimanding her imagination; telling herself that of course she doesn't believe Henry about Graham's death being rather suspect.
That of course she hadn't spent a fair few hours trawling the net searching for symptoms, timings, facts, anything to put her mind at ease over the abruptness of what had happened that awful night at the station.
Telling herself not to be ridiculous, as some stubborn part of her refuses to believe Regina hadn't somehow been at fault, much as Henry has suggested.
"Fuck!"
She doubles over and massages her side as she takes in several desperate gulps of air and tells herself for what feels like the hundredth time that she's simply training.
Getting back into shape.
That she is in no way, shape, or form preparing herself for fight or flight in the face of a well-dressed, five-foot-something woman with killer heels and a nasty attitude.
"Because that would be crazy..."
She reminds herself, straightening up and stretching her left hamstring with a wince.
She sighs as she tries to find a glimmer of motivation to push herself into carrying on with her masochistic task.
Sure, she had enjoyed running, but a couple of months of doing little more than chasing a wayward ten-year-old around town has taken its toll, and it has only been the last three times running the five-mile track through the woods that she hasn't wondered at some point or other if she might be about to pass out.
Not to mention having christened her first attempt by unceremoniously puking behind a bush while trying to coax her shaking legs into remaining compliant in keeping her upright.
She supposes she could have started out with jogging instead of hitting the mud head-on, but, that's simply not her style.
"All or nothing..."
She gasps; rolling her eyes irritably as her mind throws her the image of Regina sitting comfortably at her kitchen table with a glass of wine, sparing her ongoing existence no thought at all.
"Yeah, this is totally the most sensible, absolutely not in the slightest bit crazy reaction to have to- Shit!"
Thunder booms loudly up ahead, and the Sheriff skids to a halt and stands with her hands on her hips, panting up at the gunmetal sky.
A second low rumble sounds from above and rain starts pouring down with biblical intent.
"Fantastic..."
And, while we're on the thought-train to crazy, I'm just going to go ahead and give Regina a point for this shit, too... Someway, Somehow... She did this.
Smirking and shaking her head as her pale flesh gleams with moisture and her ponytail sends an uncomfortable stream of water trickling between her shoulder blades, she begins running with a little more purpose in the direction of the station; relieved as she breaks out from heavy barrier of trees to sprint the final stretch of open field towards dull, sandy brick.
From behind the wheel of her Benz, Regina watches as a familiar figure comes hurtling down the barren field between the station and the woods with a frown. Running her finger over her bottom lip pensively, she hesitates for just a moment before she deploys her turn signal and cruises into the tarmac lot to pull up beside the younger woman's bug.