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“Press conference today,” Regina reminds her when she comes out of the shower that morning, hair dripping onto her towel as she blearily rubs at one eye. She can already smell the scent of freshly brewed coffee filtering through the house. “Do you have something appropriate to wear?”
Emma flaps a hand at her. “Your assistant bought me a blazer last week. It’s hideous, by the way.” At least it’s red, though, a slightly more muted shade than her leather jacket, because apparently red “pops” on TV and wearing a blazer and pants next to Regina’s power suit lets voters fit them into classic schemas of lesbian couples so they don’t feel too threatened. Or whatever. Regina’s campaign manager is kind of annoying.
“I’ll take it off you later,” Regina says, although the comment would be a lot sexier if she wasn’t scrolling through her phone checking progress updates.
“Holding you to that, Madam Mayor.”
“Let’s not count our chickens.”
“Oh, please,” Emma snorts. “The guy running against you is, like, 80 years old and a complete asshole. Meanwhile, in the past five years, you’ve revitalized the town’s economy, built a huge housing development on unused land, and made public transportation twice as efficient as it was before. They’d have to be idiots not to vote for you.”
“That’s the problem,” Regina says drily, but she pulls Emma in for a kiss anyway. “I’ll go check on Henry.”
“He’s not coming up on the stage with us, is he?” Emma asks, alarmed. She’s heard some of the questions reporters pose to the mayoral candidates themselves, and she doesn’t even want to think about Henry being asked so what’s it like having two moms? in that patronizing tone they use. He’s just a kid, even if he is a very precocious one.
“God, no,” Regina says. “He wanted to be in the audience, though.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“Meet me downstairs when you’re ready?”
“Of course,” Emma says, sneaking another kiss. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
--
The press conference goes about as well as expected.
“How much did that haircut cost?” comes a yell from the crowd the second they step out of the car. Emma clenches her hand into a fist, but Regina gently uncurls her fingers and holds them tight, face lifting into her shining politician smile. (Her hair does look really good, not that it’s any of their business.)
“You know how this works,” she whispers.
“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Emma mutters back.
There are a couple questions about the recent budget cuts, which Regina fields perfectly, and then one about how she plans to address the proposed school start time change. She throws in a little anecdote about Henry loving to sleep late, and the reporters all eat it up, swiveling around to catch a shot of him looking adoringly at his mom.
Then come a few that are clearly trying to stir up drama, pointed little queries about how she plans to beat Spencer and if she really thinks she has enough experience for the position. Emma helped her prepare for these, too, and she listens as Regina dodges the opportunities for trash talk and points to her years on the city council, the projects she’s pushed through to become a reality.
And then come the questions that Emma’s been dreading, because people are awful and also awfully predictable.
“How do you think the voters feel about the fact that you’re married to a woman?” a blonde from the third row calls.
“The voters are entitled to feel any way they’d like,” Regina replies, a muscle jumping in the base of her neck. “Personally, I feel pretty happy about it.” A ripple of laughter sweeps through the group. “And I think the people of Storybrooke should be more concerned with my public policies than my personal life.”
“Do you miss your son when you’re working all day?”
“Would you ever ask a man--” Emma starts, but Regina shakes her head and moves a placating hand to her shoulder.
“I think the answer is obvious. Next question,” she says tightly.
“Don’t you think you’re being a little greedy?” a man with glasses asks, and the room quiets.
“I’m sorry?” Regina’s gone cold-eyed, stony. Emma would laugh at how hard she’s going to crush this guy if she wasn’t so disgusted.
“Don’t you think you’re being greedy,” he repeats, enunciating. “I mean, you already have a wife, a kid, a nice house, a job--and now you want to be mayor, too? Seems like you have a lot of...ambition,” and he twists the word so it sounds like a curse.
Emma lifts her lip in disgust, scoffing. Now she really wants to punch him.
Luckily, Regina seems to have it under control. “Do you know the definition of greed?” she asks after a pause.
The reporter squirms slightly. He’s clutching his Blackberry like it’s a lifeline. “Wanting everything,” he says, voice rising at the end like he’s a student who’s not quite sure he’s given the correct answer.
“No,” Regina says. “It is an intense and, first and foremost, a selfish desire for something. So yes, I do have ambition. I do have a wonderful life and wonderful people who I care about deeply. But nearly everything I have done--and hopefully, everything I will do--I have done for the benefit of this town.” She takes a breath. “I want to be mayor to help the people of Storybrooke, not because I am greedy . And I hope all of you know that if I am elected, I will spend the next four years proving to you exactly how selfless I can be.”
She gets a standing ovation. People are nodding, impressed with her composure. The reporter flees out the back. If Emma wipes a tear from her eye, well, Regina is really good at public speaking and no one will ever be able to prove it.
--
Emma kisses her when they get back to the car, slow and deep.
“There are photographers outside,” Regina says languidly.
“I don’t care,” Emma replies, kissing her again. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“They’ll probably call me a firecracker in tomorrow’s papers.”
“Then we’ll call them racist buttheads.”
“Mm.” Regina smirks like she’s considering it. “If only.”
Henry pulls open the back door and slides into the car, buckling his seatbelt in one fluid motion. “That was pretty great, Mom,” he says, grinning that wide wide smile of his.
“Thank you, mijo,” Regina replies, eyes soft.
“I mean, you, like, annihilated that guy,” he continues.
“I suppose I did, didn’t I.” Regina’s all fake innocence, eyebrows raised like she doesn’t know she just kicked ass. Emma bops her on the nose.
“Milkshakes at Granny’s to celebrate?” she suggests, high fiving Henry and looking pleadingly at Regina.
“You know I can’t resist when you gang up on me,” Regina says. Emma high fives Henry again and puts the car into drive.
--
“Am I being greedy?” Regina asks quietly that night, when they’re tangled up in each other. “To want so much?”
Emma sits up on her elbow. “No,” she says, tracing the slant of Regina’s cheekbone in a reassuring motion. “Have you been thinking about this all day?”
Regina tilts her head in reluctant assent.
Emma looks at her. “Listen,” she says. “You deserve it. All of it. Okay? We want it for you, too.”
“I don’t know if I deserve you,” Regina says, and Emma presses an open-mouthed kiss to the skin just above her chest. It staggers her, sometimes, how Regina can find the good in almost anyone (if she really wants to), except herself.
“Well, I do,” she replies. “So you’re just going to have to trust me.”
Regina nods mutely, bites her lip. Emma lowers herself back down to the mattress. “Anyways, that guy was a dick. I was pretty sure his next question was going to be,” and she deepens her voice for emphasis, “what’s underneath those power suits, Ms. Mills?”
Regina hums in amusement. “You’re the only one who gets to know the answer to that question, Ms. Swan,” she says with that voice that goes straight to Emma’s core, and she rolls over to straddle her and winks and then they don’t talk for a while.