Chapter Text
Regina Mills, Her Stupid Red Pantsuit, and Other Seasonal Threats.
If Regina Mills says ‘I am so happy for you’ to Robin one more time, Emma might actually throw herself out of this window.
Emma rolls her eyes for what feels like the seven-hundredth time in the last fifteen minutes. Surely, she shouldn't be drinking wine at the station, but after barely two minutes of listening to Regina update Robin on every very (not at all) interesting thing that has happened lately - including their Christmas preparations - she cracked. Out came the emergency mini-bottle Ruby had gifted her with the words: "Working with your dad AND Mulan? Girl, you need this." She considers going back to hell, because that was a more fun experience than this.
They’re on ground level. Throwing herself out of the window wouldn’t even kill her - just earn her The Look. The one where Regina tilts her head, narrows her eyes, and silently questions Emma’s entire existence. She knows that look well . Approximately fifteen times an hour whenever they’re in the same room.
"Robin," Regina says, her voice warm, "you really are such a wonderful father to him”
Yeah, okay, she might have to stop herself from throwing up on her own desk. Maybe if she insults Regina’s outfit - subtly, of course - it’ll end the call. Or, if she aims well enough, Regina might get so pissed that she fires a fireball at her. A good one. Right to the head. With just enough force to give Emma temporary amnesia so she never has to remember this evening at all.
Why was it bothering her so much? Maybe it was just the casual "people being emotional" thing. That always gave her the ick.
Or maybe, just maybe, it was the fact that Robin was supposed to be Regina’s soulmate, her happy ending. Not that he was ever a perfect fit for her. Emma doesn't care what any fairy says.
Robin and Marian had packed up, moved to New York, left Storybrooke behind. To be fair, who could blame them? Emma herself had thought more than once to just take Henry again and leave. But that was before they all really connected, before they somehow accepted their little, deformed family.
And oh boy , deformed they were.
But Regina… Regina had taken it in stride. She put on her perfect Madame-Mayor smile, asked if she should prepare them some snacks for the long drive and wished them farewell. Maybe it was because she had understood that she would have done the exact same if it was for Henry, maybe it was something else. Either way, on most days, Regina seemed fine.
As fine as you could be when your heart was practically pitch-black and your only shot at a happy ending had walked out of the city with the love of his life and their sweet little child.
Still, on some days, when they had drunk a bit too much wine, sitting in Regina's study - after laughing some hours about how attached snow was to some birds, when they fall quiet - Emma thinks she spots it, the sadness in Regina's eyes. The sadness of someone who gave up on their happy ending, someone who felt alone. Sure, there was Henry. Hell, there was even Emma and about more than half of the citizens in Storybrooke seemed to be quite fine with her, have forgiven her, maybe even grown to like her - but it's not the same.
And Emma knew that, oh boy did she know that. She herself had blown her own marriage.
"I just don’t think we fit, really," she had told Killian. To which he’d scoffed, folded his arms, and muttered, "Would I fit better if I had longer black hair, boobs, and some purple magic?"
She hadn’t had an answer for that. She’d just called him ridiculous and walked out. They had rarely spoken after that.
It wasn't something she wanted to deal with then and it surely wasn't something she is going to deal with now. Nope. She either needed no wine or a lot(!) more. Probably more.
Yikes. How much wine had she already had?
Emma shakes her head, trying to clear it. Normally, she isn’t this susceptible to getting lost in her own thoughts. That’s usually Regina’s thing - staring dramatically out of windows, sighing heavily, overanalyzing everything and then returning to that giant smile and acting, as if nothing could ever really get to her. They all knew better. Emma is more of a shove-it-down-and-ignore-it kind of person.
She forces herself to focus, eyes flicking to the clock. Past nine already.
Regina was supposed to pick her up. They had planned to go over Christmas presents for Henry and figure out how they were spending the holiday. He’d be with Snow, David, and Neal for the night, which left the two of them with some rare free time. But then Robin had called.
Just five minutes, I will just see what he is up to, if they are alright.
Emma shakes her head again, she doesn't want to drift there again. This time, her eyes land on Regina. Pacing on the other end, the phone pressed to her ear. Dark red pantsuit. Perfectly tailored. Smile forming on her lips.
Emma smiles. Just a little.
And her stomach does that weird thing again.
She frowns. That keeps happening.
Maybe she’s hungry. Yeah . That’s probably it. She hasn’t eaten since - God, when was lunch? Drinking wine on an empty stomach, it's obviously her own fault that she is feeling it already.
Still, she lets her eyes linger. Because objectively speaking , Regina is attractive. That’s just a fact. Nothing weird about it. She’s got the whole powerful, put-together, scary-but-kinda-hot thing going on. It’s not a personal thought - just an observation . You’d have to be blind to not think that Regina is attractive.
"Emma?"
Ah, fuck.
Her eyes snap up, locking onto Regina’s.
At some point between Regina is wearing red and everyone thinks Regina is attractive (it’s just a fact ) the phone call had apparently ended. And Emma?
Her perception had apparently shrunk to the size of a peanut.
"Yup. Ready to go." Emma pushes herself up, smoothing down her shirt like that’ll somehow make her look less guilty. "But we should grab food somewhere first."
As if somewhere doesn’t obviously mean Granny’s.
Regina raises an unimpressed brow. "As the Mayor of this city, therefore your direct superior, I should inform you that it is highly unprofessional to drink wine at your workplace, Sheriff Swan."
Emma scoffs, crossing her arms. "Well, I wouldn’t have needed to do that if I wasn’t being held hostage, forced to listen to a very long, very riveting phone call—" she gestures vaguely, "- while waiting for said Mayor to finish."
Regina exhales sharply, the kind of sound that’s almost a laugh but way too dignified to actually be one. "Held hostage, were you?"
Emma smirks. "Psychological warfare, really."
-
They grab food at Granny’s before they drive off to the Mayor-Mansion, even though Regina insists - insists - that it’s subpar. She critiques almost everything: the seasoning, the presentation (though Emma asks herself midway in which way food in food containers would have to be presented so Regina approves them), even the concept of diner food, maybe even Granny's apron and the way she is holding her rolling pin.
And yet she eats every single bite. Even picking up some crumbs at the end. Emma can hardly contain herself to not roll her eyes at that. By the time they are finished, the conversation has shifted to the Christmas presents. Or, more accurately, Regina’s ridiculous weakness when it comes to Henry. Because really, that boy could wish for the moon, and Regina would find a way to lasso it down for him.
Snow is getting a bracelet - a joint gift - complete with a swan charm, a pen and an apple. David, meanwhile, is getting a pair of new brown cowboy boots from Regina. And sure, technically , it’s because his current pair is falling apart, but mostly? It’s because Regina thinks they look horrendous and can’t stand the sight of them any longer. Emma decides to pair the boots with a matching hat. Not because she thinks David needs a new hat—just because she genuinely wants to see if the people of Storybrooke will still take him seriously as an officer when he looks like he just walked out of a country music video. (But then again, the citizens of Storybrooke are all fairy tale characters and probably have never seen a single western.)
Neal is a baby , which, in Emma’s opinion, means he doesn’t actually need a gift.
Regina gives her a look .
"He is your baby brother," she says in that clipped, no-room-for-argument tone. "You are obligated."
Emma groans. "Fine. But let’s be honest, this is more for Snow than for him."
Regina huffs but doesn’t argue.
In the end, Regina decides on a magically handmade blanket ( Emma insists on emphasizing the “magically” part - Regina does not ), embroidered with a silhouette of the Seven Dwarfs. Emma, still stubbornly refusing to put effort into this, picks out a store-bought sweater covered in little bluebirds.
"Again," Emma says as she eyes their choices, "are we sure this is for Neal and not for his mother ?"
Regina just smirks and taps her red painted nails against her wine glass and takes the last sip, after swirling it knowingly around (Emma sometimes mirrors the action, even tho she suspects that Regina actually knows why you swirl it around.)
She does all of this, while her eyes are fixed on Emma's - jup, there is that stomach thing again. Okay. Weird. This all feels weird. But not bad-weird. More like too easy, too natural, too close. Still weird-weird. New waters weird.
Is the room suddenly warm ? Emma shifts in her seat. Let's blame the wine. All the wine. With one big chuck, she empties her glass as well.
And then Regina tilts her head slightly, eyes still locked on Emma like she’s studying something under a microscope. Like she sees something Emma doesn’t even realize she’s showing.
Should she change something? Is Emma doing something weird with her hands? Why the actual fuck is she nervous around Regina? Besides the If-she-is-in-a-bad-mood-she-might-kill-you-nervous.
"So, Sheriff Swan," Regina says, tone almost casual, but her gaze never wavers. "Is there something you’d wish for?"
It’s an innocent enough question. But the way she says it? The way she looks at Emma, like she’s seeing straight through her? God, red lipstick really suits her.
Her throat goes dry, “What I'd wish for?” - Emma tries to give her a look of confusion.
“For Christmas?” Regina smiles.
Christmas. Of course. What the hell did she think?
Does Regina suddenly know how to read minds? Because if so, Emma is so screwed.
She forces a laugh, too quick, too forced. "I, uh—I didn’t know we were doing gifts?"
Regina arches a brow, lips curling just slightly at the edges. "You think I’d take the time to pick out something for Snow White, her husband, and their son—and then just forget about their daughter?"
Emma blinks.
Her heart does something stupid.
Her brain short-circuits.
-
No, Emma did not, in fact, know what she wished for. Not for Christmas, not for anything. With a deep sigh, she shoves it into her mental deal-with-it-later folder, which is impressive, because it's actually filled to capacity already. Okay. Work. Police Sheriff. Folders. Folders about Cases. She is looking at them. She is a very busy and a very important law enforcement officer. A law enforcement officer that is doing its job right now.
Except, she is not.
Emma groans and rubs her temples, wondering not for the first time why she chose this job when she could’ve just left town and avoided all this madness entirely.
The old desk phone in front of her - which, by the way, looks like it hasn’t been swapped out since the Reagan administration - rings, making her jump.
She picks up. “ Sheriff Swan. ”
From exactly three feet away, Mulan’s voice comes through the receiver.
" Finally. Thought this was the only way to get your attention. ”
Emma blinks. Her eyes flick up to where Mulan is sitting, smirking, phone pressed casually to her ear.
Emma glares. “You are three feet away.”
Mulan shrugs, looking entirely unbothered. “ Yeah, but you’ve been staring at those folders for five minutes like they hold the meaning of life, and I got bored. ” She laughs and hangs up.
Emma slams the receiver down and narrows her eyes. “You were more tolerable before you understood how technology worked. Just so you know.”
Mulan chuckles, leaning back in her chair. “I get that a lot.”
" So," Mulan says, far too casually, "where exactly were your thoughts just now?"
Emma freezes for half a second before recovering. "What? Nowhere really. Just, y'know - Christmas stress."
Mulan gives her a look . The kind that says Sure, and I’m the goddamn Tooth Fairy.
"Yeah. Sure." She draws the words out, so incredibly sarcastic that Emma feels personally attacked.
Emma frowns. "What? What does that mean?"
Mulan just shakes her head, clearly amused but saying nothing.
Which is worse.
Emma stares at her, waiting. Mulan ignores her, turning back to her work like she wasn't just being cryptic and suspicious.
"No," Emma insists, setting down her empty coffee mug with a thunk (yes it is the same mug that she drank wine out yesterday, but also yes, she rinsed it out with some water. "Tell me."
Mulan sighs dramatically, as if this is a burden. "Fine." She glances up, eyes full of mischief. "I just meant - could it be that your thoughts were with a certain black haired mayor, perhaps?"
Emma nearly chokes.
"What? No! No way!" she blurts out, immediately too defensive.
Mulan just raises an eyebrow.
Even Emma knows she sounds completely unconvincing. Even to herself.
She clears her throat, shifting in her seat, but the damage is done.
Mulan smirks and goes back to her work, clearly satisfied.
Emma should let it go. But she doesn’t.
Because now she is thinking about her.
And then -
Without looking up, Mulan mutters, "I don’t know why you two don’t just take all that tension, resolve it in bed for one night, and move on with your lives."
Emma gapes.
"Did the warrior princess really just tell me to go fuck the Evil Queen ?"
Mulan grins. "It’s a modern world, Sheriff . You don’t have to marry her after two days." A few seconds pass. "Well, unless you want to."
Emma’s brain blue-screens. Empty.
Because - what the hell.
She struggles for words, but her brain refuses to cooperate. Does she want to? No, that’s ridiculous. She doesn’t even know what she wants for Christmas, let alone -
She shakes her head. No. Nope. Not going there.
"First of all," she says, sitting up straighter, "I don’t want to fuck the Evil Queen."
Mulan immediately interrupts. " Really? ‘Cause I would’ve, if she ever looked at me like that ."
Emma’s jaw drops.
"Mulan!" she hisses, eyes darting around like Regina might appear out of thin air. Please no purple smoke right now. Please.
Mulan just laughs. "What? You’re the one in denial here."
Emma scowls. "Regina is the mother of my son. I can’t just hop into bed with her."
Mulan leans forward slightly, smirking. "True. That’s usually what happens before you get a son together."
Emma makes an offended noise, pointing at her with narrowed eyes, but Mulan just grins and turns back to her work.
Emma, meanwhile, is left sitting there - brain completely fried - wondering how the hell this conversation even happened.