Chapter Text
It starts so slow and so softly, just a tickle in the back of her mind, that Emma doesn’t even notice it, much less recognize it for what it is. One day she just wakes up and there’s this warmth growing in her chest that she can’t extinguish. A tiny little candle flame, and it flares up to a small little stove fire of a thing each time that she sees Regina.
This is what it feels like to finally have a friend, a real friend, she thinks, and smiles to herself when no one is looking.
This little flame lives inside her for months before she even becomes aware of its existence.
The first time that she really notices it she’s got her feet tucked beneath her on Regina’s couch – shoes left by the door, of course. Henry had insisted that both of his mothers really needed to catch up on the marvel universe – something that Emma’s never been a huge fan of, but hey. Her son is a nerd. Emma will never bring it up around Regina, because she’ll deny it, but she knows he got it from his other mother. If a superhero movie marathon is the way to both of their hearts…well. She’s going to muddle through.
Emma knocks on the door: two short little raps, and then adjusts the grocery bags full of popcorn and chips and soda and various other junk foods that she knows Regina will be sneaking the whole night. They’re for Henry, she’ll say, and Regina will pretend that she doesn’t know that Emma’s pretending not to know the truth.
It’s a little game they play, this: pretending not to see these things. It’s okay, though, because right now Regina’s the only one with the kind of self awareness to recognize it for what it is, anyway, and she’s content to keep it hush hush until Emma catches up.
She’s going to trip a few times along the way. That’s okay, too.
Enough with the omniscient narrator. Emma can tell this herself. Just…be patient with her. She doesn’t exactly know what she’s doing.
Emma, for her part, feels that little flare that she’s identified as friendship light up her lungs, burn bright in that little hollow just below where her ribs meet, and flood all the way down to her fingertips with gold as Regina opens the door.
She’s wearing sweatpants. It’s the first thing that Emma notices.
The second thing that she notices is that they’re old. The seams are starting to fray, and there’s a tiny little hole by the waistband on the left side. There’s even a stain on one of the knees. Emma’s eyes snap back to Regina’s as she greets her, says, “Hi, Emma,” with a tone like velvet, and Emma loses her train of thought.
“Hey,” She replies, and offers Regina a smile. It’s lopsided, she knows, and Regina’s eyes sparkle as Emma tilts her head to indicate the foyer. “Can I come in?”
“Please.” Regina steps aside, and Emma responds with a thanks and trudges inside with her load in hand. She deposits everything on the kitchen island, and thinks that she really should work out more, because her heart is beating a little too fast and the groceries hadn’t even been that heavy.
Henry ducks in from the living room, marvels at the assortment of snacks that she’s lugged in, and immediately opens the popcorn and sticks it in the microwave with an enthusiastic thank you! that makes Emma’s heart melt. Regina comes to stand next to her, crosses her arms over her chest, and bumps her shoulder gently against Emma’s.
“Yes, thank you,” She says, and offers Emma a small smile. “You didn’t have to do all this.”
Emma shrugs, feeling a little fuzzy. “I wanted to,” She says, and it’s the truth. Regina’s smile grows, and she busies herself pulling out a couple of bowls to distribute things into. If Emma catches her tossing an entire handful of peanut m&ms into her mouth at once, she doesn’t comment on it.
The movies hold Emma’s attention marginally better than she thought they would. She’s never been a huge fan of superheroes – even less so now that she’s inadvertently become one of sorts – but she does love action, and the movies are chock full of explosions and people being tossed around, and hey, maybe she can get into this after all. Henry’s fully absorbed, for his part, and Regina – well.
Regina’s sitting straight up on her loveseat, leaning forward just a bit with her arms against her knees like she’s hanging on every line. Her eyes are wide as someone’s almost tossed over the edge of their – what is that thing, a plane? Big plane, Emma thinks – and it’s..well. It’s fucking cute.
The thought strikes Emma – she’s never really thought of Regina this way: never thought of her as soft. Gentle, sometimes, loving, with Henry – but never soft. Never cute.
She’s glad she’s getting to see it now.
Regina tears her eyes away from the screen as if she can feel Emma watching – and maybe she can. This is Storybrooke, after all, and Regina does have magic. She glances over, makes eye contact with one brow raised, and Emma just shrugs. Regina furrows her brow a hair, but there’s a tiny smile on her lips like maybe she’s okay with the attention. After a moment there’s a loud noise from the tv, and she turns her focus back to the movie, their little moment forgotten.
After movie #2 – Emma really hasn’t been keeping track of the titles – Regina comments that her teeth are feeling fuzzy from all the sugar Emma’s brought over, and stands up. “I’m going to brush my teeth,” She says, tossing her blanket back onto her loveseat.
Emma watches her stand before asking, a little bit sheepishly, “Got a spare toothbrush?”
Regina nods. “Of course. Come on, then.” She shoots a little look at Henry, and he pops another handful of candy into his mouth defiantly. “Just brush them before bed, okay?” She concedes, and he gives her a chocolate-toothed grin.
“Gross, kid,” Emma comments, and then follows Regina upstairs. It makes her heart race just a little – she’s only been up here a handful of times, she realizes, and none have been since the curse had broken. Regina leads her straight through her bedroom, and she peers around. She can’t help it, curiosity gets the best of her, and she finds herself taking in dark wood furniture and a neatly made bed. It’s elegant, and everything she’d expect from Regina.
Not that she’s spent much time thinking about her bedroom.
When Emma finally wanders after her into her bathroom, she finds Regina rooting around in one of the cabinets below the sink. Eventually she pokes her head out and asks, “Red or blue?”
“Blue,” Emma answers, and takes the toothbrush. She tears it from the package and before she knows it Regina’s handing her a tube of toothpaste, her own toothbrush hanging lopsided out of her mouth.
And that’s when it finally hits her, why this is such a novel experience: she’s never seen Regina looking quite this vulnerable. She’s never seen her quite this relaxed, in her well-loved clothing and messy little ponytail that she’s just barely managed to scrape her short hair into. Her face is bare, Emma realizes, no makeup, and her flyaways curl into natural little ringlets at her temples. She’s watching Emma, has caught her staring, and brushes her teeth with lazy little strokes as she raises a brow. Emma just shrugs again, a mirror of their earlier interaction, and begins scrubbing at her own teeth. After a minute, Regina finishes, pulls her toothbrush out of her mouth and spits into the sink. She cups her hands beneath the faucet, rinses, and when she comes up, pulls a small towel off the hanger by the mirror. She looks over at Emma then, and then it’s Emma’s turn to ask, “What?”
Regina smiles as she dries her face and says, “You’ve got toothpaste on your chin.”
Emma laughs, making more foam dribble out from the corners of her mouth, and Regina wrinkles her nose even as her smile grows. She steps aside so that Emma can rinse her mouth, too, and when she stands back up, she finds Regina holding a fresh towel out to her. Emma takes it gratefully, and Regina watches her with something fond in her gaze as she pats her face dry.
There’s still a droplet on Regina’s chin, glimmering under the lights of the vanity, and Emma reaches out with her towel to pat it dry. Regina leans into the touch, and Emma says, “You look pretty like this, you know.”
It earns her a smile, one of those genuine ones that Regina usually saves for Henry, where she purses her lips together like she’s trying to hide it even as her eyes betray her. She finally gives in, flashes Emma a shy little grin before she says, “Well.” They’re close now, and Regina’s eyes drop to her lips, hover there for a moment – it’s subtle, but Emma catches it, and for a fleeting second, she wonders.
She dismisses the thought just as quickly.
Regina’s eyes come back to meet her own, and it’s gone – Emma pushes it to the back of her mind, because, well. That’s ridiculous. There’s a flush at her cheeks, though, a little stain of pink, and she says, “Thank you.”
It feels like the air is gone from the room, and Emma doesn’t quite know why.
Eventually Regina takes the towel from her hand gently, and then touches her arm. “Well. I suppose we should get back to Henry. He’ll want to start the next movie soon.” Regina offers her one last fond smile and then she pushes past, her fingers trailing along Emma’s skin as she releases her, and Emma feels that same little flame in her lungs.
She only lasts about a half hour into the third movie. She’s been following along enough to recognize the characters at this point, and appreciates the crossover action that’s happening here – but at the end of the day this just isn’t her thing, and it may or may not be past her bedtime. Not that she’d ever admit it – she’d dug her own grave with that one, called Regina a grandma one too many times when she’d discovered that most nights, Regina was in bed by ten. It’s nearly midnight now, and Emma sinks back against the couch.
Henry and Regina are both still thoroughly absorbed in the plot, though, and Regina’s doing that cute little thing where she leans forward with her head in her hands, and Emma doesn’t want to interrupt them to say that she should probably head out. Instead, she opts to pull her throw blanket up higher, tuck it under her chin, and just rest her eyes.
She’s not sleeping. Really.
Except, things maybe go fuzzy for a little while, and the next thing she knows, the room is quiet save for Regina’s voice.
“Emma,” She says, and her voice is so soothing. Emma feels Regina’s hand warm against her arm, and she leans into the touch. “Emma,” Regina repeats, and Emma blinks a few times.
“Hey,” She says, groggy, and through her bleary gaze she sees Regina smile.
“Hey,” Regina echoes, and Emma realizes that she’s perched in front of her on the couch, seated at the edge of the cushion in front of Emma’s torso, and Emma has the ridiculous thought that she’d like to pull her in. She thinks, fleetingly, that she could reach out, wrap her arms around Regina’s waist, and bring her down to the couch. She wonders, a little guilty, what it would feel like to have Regina’s warm body pressed flush against her own.
God, it’s been too long since she’s shared a bed with anyone.
Friends can cuddle, right?
Emma elects not to voice those particular thoughts. Instead, she just asks, “Did I fall asleep?”
“For a little while.” Regina rubs her thumb over her shoulder, smooth, gentle little passes that have Emma’s eyelids feeling heavy once more. “Would you like to take the guest bedroom?”
Emma nods, and with a groan, finally pushes herself up and away from the cushions before she can drift off again. She yawns and then asks, “How long was I out?”
Regina hums. “About two hours.”
Emma blinks. Damn. “What time is it?”
“Almost two.” Regina stands up, and then holds her hand out as Emma shifts and drops her feet to the floor. “Come on. Let’s go to bed.”
Emma takes her hand without a word, and when Regina laces their fingers together, she doesn’t comment on it. She lets Regina lead her upstairs for the second time tonight, and when Regina stops at her own bedroom to pull a spare set of pajamas from her dresser, Emma doesn’t point out that she probably could have just changed with magic. Instead, she takes them to the guest bedroom, and Regina follows. When Emma looks up, Regina’s hovering in the doorway, and Emma has a thought.
She’s never really had friends before, besides Mary Margaret before the curse had broken – and that had been so different. Things with Regina just feel so…natural.
“Regina,” She begins, and Regina tilts her head to the side. Anxiety gets the best of her, though, and she trails off.
She doesn’t know why she’s nervous.
“Yes?” Regina prompts, and Emma just shrugs.
“Nothing. Nevermind.”
“Emma,” Regina says, and there’s an edge to her tone – still warm, still gentle, but. Regina can be stubborn, Emma thinks.
And so she shrugs, takes a deep breath, and says: “I was just thinking. We should…that is, I was going to ask if maybe you’d want to have a girl’s night. You know, sometime.” She forces the words out before she can back out again, and Regina blinks, surprise flashing in her eyes.
Regina just stares at her for a moment. “A girl’s night?”
“Yeah, you know,” Emma echoes, all too aware of the flush that’s creeping over her cheeks. There it is again, her heart beating a little too fast in her chest, and she’s struck again by how badly she wants this wavering little connection they’ve got to work out. She’s been so lonely, and – “We can paint our nails and eat junk food and stuff. I’ve never really had one…never really had a friend to do one with,” She corrects herself, “and I just thought it might be fun,” She finishes lamely. And then she gives a shy little laugh and continues, “You know what, I’m half asleep. It’s okay. It was a dumb idea.”
But then Regina’s shaking her head, and she takes a step forward and says, “No, Emma, it wasn’t dumb at all.” She stops, seems to remember herself, and rests her hand back against the doorframe. “It sounds nice, actually. I’d like that.”
Emma blinks. “Really?”
“Yes, really,” Regina says, that soft smile returning. “I would.”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” Regina echoes. She drops her hand from the doorframe, stands there for a moment like she’s uncertain what to do, and then says, “Goodnight, then?”
Emma nods, wipes her palms against her jeans, and wonders when exactly they’d gone clammy. “Night, Regina. Thanks for letting me stay here.”
“You’re always welcome, Emma,” Regina says, surprisingly earnest, and then she steps back out into the hallway. She catches the doorknob on her way, and with one last fleeting glance and a quiet echo of goodnight, she closes the door.
And, well…that’s how it starts.
They set the date for Friday. It’s a little sooner than Emma had thought it would be – sometime had been an extension of leeway for Regina, an offer of hey, it doesn’t have to be any time in the near future, nothing concrete – but Regina had texted her two days later, and Emma had been all too happy to agree.
And that’s how Emma ends up at the corner store on thursday night, trying desperately to pick out nail polish supplies.
She doesn’t know why that had been her suggestion. She hasn’t worn nail polish in nearly a decade, she thinks, as she picks up two bottles and wonders what the difference is between acetone and acetone-free. In the end, she sticks both into her basket. A bottle of striking red catches her eyes, and so she buys that one, too – Regina likes red, right? And honestly, this is ridiculous, because Regina’s definitely the type to paint her nails. She’s probably got her own. Then again, she probably has them done professionally, so –
Emma picks up a bottle of blue for herself, and a bottle of jet black, too. She laughs to herself as she picks it up, and makes a mental note to ask Reigna if she’d ever had a My Chemical Romance phase in the 2000s. She’s pretty sure the answer will be a yes, if she can wheedle it out of her. Maybe some black nail polish will take her back to her roots.
When Friday evening rolls around, Emma shows up to the mansion with a bag of overnight supplies, feeling every bit like a teenager heading to a sleepover.
She’s already in her pajamas: one of her nicer flannel sets that actually matches, and she’s got a tank on underneath just in case she gets too hot. She’s brought a toothbrush this time too, and feels a rather irrational surge of pride that she won’t have to ask Regina for help in that department.
She takes a moment to hop from one foot to the other, and then with a sigh, knocks on the door with entirely too many nerves than the situation calls for.
It’s just, Henry’s staying at her parent’s house so that they can have the mansion to themselves, and Emma’s never spent much time with Regina one on one, at least not since they’d stopped fighting and started to actually build something. Most of their bonding has been shared over disasters, trauma, or Henry, and she doesn’t know how to just…be a person with her, now that they’re friends. Emma doesn’t know what you do with friends. Not girl friends, anyway. She’s always been one of the guys, and, well, she’s never really had a girlfriend before.
…A friend who is a girl, that is. Woman. Whatever.
Regina opens the door, and Emma has an overwhelming sense of deja vu, because Regina’s in loungewear again, too. Instead of ratty sweatpants, though, she’s wearing a silky robe that’s tied around her waist and is also much fancier than Emma’s buffalo check flannel. Emma feels a little self-conscious, only for a moment, and then promptly realizes how ridiculous that is.
Regina’s seen her half-dead and bleeding on more than one occasion, for fuck’s sake.
“Hi, Emma,” Regina greets her, and this time she steps aside immediately. “Come on in.”
“Hey,” Emma replies, and kicks her shoes off in the entryway. Regina takes her bags from her as she does and heads for the kitchen.
“You look comfortable,” Regina calls over her shoulder, and Emma smiles to herself.
“So do you,” She says, and heads for the kitchen. “Is that real…?”
Oh.
Regina’s pulled off her robe. It hangs over the back of one of the kitchen chairs now, and she’s left in a set made of the same kind of fabric: a tank, and a pair of shorts, both of which cling to every curve of her body.
And suddenly, Emma’s aware of exactly why her heart is racing.
It’s normal, she reasons with herself. Regina is an attractive woman, and it’s normal for Emma to be a little flustered. She’s beautiful, anyone can see that. Emma’s just got eyes – and not to mention a sex drive. That’s all. She’s gay, after all – she’s bound to notice beautiful women. It doesn’t mean anything.
“Are you okay?’ Regina asks, and Emma realizes that she’s trailed off, and that she’s just been staring since, like some kind of creep.
“Uh,” Emma says, and clears her throat. “Yeah, of course, sorry. I’m good.”
Regina only offers her a smile, but – she knows. Emma can see it. It’s barely concealed, that knowing amusement, and Emma feels her cheeks light up. Still, she doesn’t comment on it, only says, “Yes, it’s real silk.” Emma flushes even deeper, and takes the glass of wine that Regina offers her. Regina taps her fingers against her own, sips at it, and says, “So, Emma. What’s first for girl’s night?”
“Well,” Emma says, and swirls her wine around in her cup. “We could order pizza?”
As it turns out, Regina’s a fan of sausage and pepperoni with extra cheese. Emma doesn’t know why she’s so shocked by that. She’d expected her to be the every available vegetable, blot the grease off kinda type. But when the pizza arrives, Regina pulls out a slice immediately, catches the string of melted cheese with her tongue, and takes a huge bite even though it’s piping hot while Emma watches in amazement.
“What?” Regina asks, muffled with her mouth full, and Emma only laughs.
“Nothing,” She says with a shrug, and takes her own piece. Regina pulls out a couple plates from the cabinet then, and Emma takes the one she offers with a smile. “Just kinda figured you for a fork and knife kinda girl.”
“That’s just unholy. Pizza’s a finger food, Emma.” She makes a show of taking another massive bite, tomato sauce dripping out onto her chin, and Emma can’t help but laugh.
They manage to knock out the whole large pizza between the two of them, and Regina suggests breaking out the nail polish the moment that they finish eating. Emma kind of wonders if she’s nervous too, if maybe she’s having trouble sitting still – but Emma’s buzzing with it, too, so she’s not exactly complaining. They wash the pizza grease off their hands in the kitchen sink first, and Emma finds herself a little bit entranced as Regina lathers the soap between her fingers.
Emma’s about to ask where Regina wants to do it – manicures that is, of course – when Regina snags an old sheet from where it’d been draped over the couch. She offers Emma a small smile as she spreads it over the carpet. “I figured we’d need it,” She explains, a little sheepish.
Emma can’t explain why, but it’s flattering that Regina had taken her suggestion to heart.
Regina snags Emma’s bag of nail polish supplies and then sits down on the worn fabric, patting the space next to her, and Emma shifts off of her spot on the couch a little sheepishly to join her. Regina pulls the items Emma had purchased one by one – cotton balls, both kinds of polish remover, a nail file. She stops when she gets to the bottle of black lacquer, holding it up with a brow raised as she says, “Black, Emma? I didn’t figure you for the gothic type.”
Emma grins. “I’m not. That one’s for you.” Regina raises a brow at that, glances between the bottle and Emma, and Emma continues, “Oh, come on. You did have a phase, right? You were around in the 2000s.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” Regina protests, the corners of her lips twitching up in a betraying smile. “Lots of people were around then. The entire town, for that matter.”
“Yeah,” Emma agrees, “But most of them didn’t wear leather pants on a daily basis when they lived in fairy tale land.”
Regina stares at her for a moment, a little incredulous. She opens her mouth, closes it again, and then presses it into a thin line. She laughs and says, “You know what? Fair enough.” She taps the bottle a couple times, eyes glazed over like she’s contemplating, and then she sets it down on the sheet and stands. Emma watches as she opens up the cabinet to the entertainment center and rifles through a stack of old albums, all on CD – Emma thinks she spots a handful of cassette tapes in the back, too – and selects two. With a sheepish smile, she returns to the sheet and holds them out to Emma, who takes them eagerly.
“No fucking way,” Emma says, grinning as she spots the album art.“I knew it!”
“Don’t act so excited,” Regina teases, and Emma thinks it’s probably to cover up her embarrassment. “It’s good music.”
“I’m not judging you,” Emma reassures her, popping one of the cases open. She’s even got the original insert. “Do you still have a CD player?” She asks, glancing back up. Regina looks amused, if a little flustered, and Emma can’t help the little wave of warmth that washes through her chest.
Regina just gestures to the other side of the entertainment center. Emma hops up on her knees and half-walks, half-crawls the handful of feet over to it before popping open the door. Inside is a fairly big CD player, one of those that changes multiple discs.
“Teenage me would’ve killed for one of these,” She says, and powers it on. She places both of the discs inside carefully, vividly remembering how easy it is to scratch them. She skips ahead to the first song she actually knows.
Eerie piano filters out of the speakers – with far better sound quality than she’d been expecting from the dinosaur of a machine – and Emma takes the cases back with her as she returns to Regina’s side. Regina shakes her head.
“Happy now?” She asks, and Emma grins.
“Yes.” She holds Regina’s gaze, holding her hands up dramatically as she joins in with the vocals to Bring Me to Life.
Regina’s brows shoot up. “You actually know this?”
“Hey, I can be angsty too, you know,” Emma says in mock-offense. “But this one totally went mainstream. Everyone knows it.”
Regina just rolls her eyes and begins wiping her nails off with an acetone-soaked cotton ball as Emma continues to hum along. She follows Regina’s lead, cleaning her own nails off as well.
She only stops her singing when Regina reaches for the bottle of black polish and shakes it, a knowing smile at her lips as she catches Emma’s gaze.
Emma snags the blue for herself, and they sit like that for several minutes. It’s nice, she thinks, this: just…existing next to someone that she cares for. Someone that she loves.
The song changes to one that Emma doesn’t know, and so she’s quiet, listening instead to Regina hum along. She mouths along with the lyrics in some places, actually sings under her breath to others – and Emma doesn’t comment, because she’s afraid Regina will stop if she does.
Eventually something a little too slow and sad comes on, and so she picks up the case before the mood can drop and studies the song list. With a wry grin, she picks up the little remote and presses the CD skip button. It gives a little hum as it changes. Regina glances up at her, questioning, but Emma only smiles and she returns her attention to her nails. Emma hits the song skip button several times until she gets to the one that had caught her eye: a song called Snow White Queen.
She fixes Regina with a very pointed stare as the song begins, barely containing her grin. The song gets about ten seconds in before Regina says drily and without looking up, “You’re going to lose your remote privileges if you’re not careful.”
Emma laughs. The song is low and moody, though, and so she backs it up until she hits Call Me When You’re Sober instead. That one she actually knows, and she holds her unpainted hand out dramatically, pointing at Regina as she sings along: “You want me, come find me! Make up your mind!”
Regina shakes her head, a smile at her lips that only grows when Emma breaks into some – if she does say so herself – incredibly well-executed air guitar, lower lip caught between her teeth as she shreds imaginary strings.
“Remind me why I’m friends with you again?” Regina asks, warmth shining through in every word.
“Because I’m fun,” Emma answers matter-of-factly. “And you love me.”
Regina eyes her at that, something that Emma can’t quite identify gleaming in her eyes. “Right,” She says, and then returns to her work. “Of course.” She’s trying to paint her right hand now, but she’s laughing under her breath, and she’s two glasses of wine deep, just like Emma. There’s a flush at her cheeks, and Emma wonders just how much she’s feeling the alcohol as she makes a wobbly line on her thumbnail. Her tongue is poking out, lost in focus as she tries to fix the edges of the two nails she’s actually managed to paint.
“Here,” Emma says, and takes the brush from her. Regina lets it go without a word. Emma takes her hand in her own and gently rolls Regina’s fingers over as she goes, tilting as she needs for better access, Regina’s hand warm in her own as she finishes out her remaining nails. In the end, they don’t look that much better than what Regina had done herself, but she doesn’t seem to mind.
“Thank you,” She says fondly, and Emma’s cheeks burn.
“Yeah,” She answers, voice barely a whisper. “No problem.”
It doesn’t take much time once their nails are done before Regina pulls out a jar of green goop that has Emma wrinkling her nose, despite the vanilla scent that’s actually pretty nice.
“Oh, stop,” Regina chides the moment she catches a glimpse of her expression. “It’s good for your skin.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to,” Regina shoots back, eyeing her with a wry smile. “Isn’t your superpower supposed to do with lying? You’re not very good at it.”
“I can tell when somebody’s lying,” Emma corrects her indignantly. “Doesn’t mean that I’m great at it myself.”
“Seems like a pretty necessary skill for a bail bonds person.”
“I haven’t been a bail bonds person in years,” Emma shoots back.
“Seems like a pretty necessary skill for a sheriff,” Regina amends, that teasing smirk grown into a grin.
Emma stares at her for a long moment, contemplating, her own smile growing. “Maybe I just don’t like lying to you, Regina. Ever thought about that?”
Regina stills immediately. She glances up at Emma, the hand that had been tucking into the strange goo frozen. “No,” She answers softly. “I suppose I hadn’t.”
Several heartbeats pass like that, with Regina’s fingers still coated in green and Emma’s heart in her throat. And there’s that little flame in the hollow of her ribs again — it flares until it’s burning, harsh and impossible to ignore and thrilling all at once, and — well.
Emma darts a hand out and sticks a finger into the goop, and the spell is broken. Regina laughs and Emma breathes a silent sigh of relief as the smoke in her throat clears.
“So what is this stuff, anyway?”
“It’s a face mask,” Regina says simply.
Emma pulls out a healthy scoop of the stuff. “So I just…what? Smear this on my face? …My whole face, or just part of it?”
“Your whole face,” Regina answers, words round with amusement. “You have done this before, yes?”
“Nope,” Emma admits, a bit sheepish now. “Never.”
“Never?” Regina echoes, brow raised. “Not even once?”
“Nope.”
“Well. You’re going to love it. It makes your skin feel so soft.” Regina gestures to Emma’s hand. “Go on. Try it.”
And so Emma does.
She works that scoop between her fingers and smears it straight over her cheeks. Regina bites back a snicker, and Emma’s eyes fly open.
“What?” She asks, almost offended, but Regina’s just about glowing with her lower lip caught between her teeth in an attempt to hide her smile, and the fluttering that surrounds Emma’s heart overrides her embarrassment immediately.
“Nothing,” Regina says, but she reaches out and takes some of the stuff in her own fingertips. “Let me help you.” She shifts forward a bit, rocking forward on her knees and only swaying a little bit as she spreads the stuff across Emma’s cheekbone, just below her eye. The mask is cold, but her touch is gentle, her breathing coming in steady, even little draws even as dark pink colors her cheeks. Her eyes are locked to her fingers, her carefully controlled motions despite the alcohol, and her tongue pokes out between her slightly parted lips.
When she finishes and settles back on her heels, it’s all Emma can do to push out a breathy, “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” Regina answers, quiet. They hover like that for a moment, something heavy and unspoken and thick between them, until Regina abruptly clears her throat. “My turn,” She says. She paints the mask over her face in slow, even strokes that leave her looking ridiculous.
And, of course, it’s Emma, so she’s gotta say so. She’s grinning – Regina raises a brow when she finally catches sight of it and Emma just says, “You look like Shrek.”
A laugh bursts from Regina’s chest at that. “Shrek,” She echoes, and then stares and the green covering her fingertips. “Okay. Thanks,” She deadpans. “Who does that make you? Fiona?”
Emma nods, schooling her expression into the most grim solace she can manage in their current circumstances. “Yep. You don’t know this about me, but at midnight I turn into an ogre.”
“Oh, you poor thing,” Regina drawls. “I thought you already were. You’re telling me it gets worse?”
“ Damn,” Emma laughs, and knocks back the rest of her wine. “Okay. At least you didn’t call me the donkey.”
“There’s still time.” Regina’s words are laced with mirth and she raises her own glass to her lips. Emma’s not sure how much they’ve made it through at this point – they’re well into their second bottle, she thinks. It hadn’t seemed like that much in her cup, but fuck, she’s feeling it. Regina seems to be faring a tiny bit better, although Emma’s fairly certain there’s a prominent red flush underneath that layer of green mud. “Your hair,” Regina says suddenly, and Emma raises a brow. “It’s sticking.” It’s all the explanation Emma gets before Regina is half-crawling over to her – and okay, maybe she’s feeling it too after all – and then she’s behind her, gathering Emma’s unruly blonde locks with deft fingers.
Before Emma knows it her hair is gathered into a ponytail that she thinks is probably messy as hell, but that doesn’t matter because it’s functional, and because Regina’s got her hands resting on her shoulders now.
“There,” Regina says, apparently satisfied with her work. Emma feels a weight at her shoulder as Regina leans on her, peering around so that she can catch Emma’s eye. “Is that better?”
Emma, who hadn’t even noticed a problem in the first place, croaks out, “Yeah. It is. Thank you.”
Regina just nods, and with a squeeze of Emma’s shoulders, she pushes away and returns to her spot in front of Emma on the floor.
Emma’s not quite sure what to do with herself after that. She kind of just hangs out, watching Regina watch her with amusement until she finally takes pity and leads Emma to the bathroom to wash the face masks away. Not that she’d ever voice this to Regina, but Emma’s grateful to get the stuff off. It’d felt okay going on, but had dried down to something tight and itchy.
She has to hand it to Regina, though, that her skin does feel soft as hell once she’s rinsed it off in the kitchen sink. She watches the green, powdery water swirl down the drain and then takes the clean hand towel that Regina’s pulled from a drawer to pat her face dry.
They return to the floor after that, Regina topping off their drinks and Emma pulling the excessive amount of throw pillows she’s got to make them a nest of sorts. There’s talk of a movie, but that never happens: instead they just listen to music and talk.
And it’s nice.
The heat that Emma had felt – the nervous fluttering in her stomach and the thrumming of her heart – all settle down as time goes on.
Until Regina’s staring at her, rather obviously, in fact: and then they’re back.
And she’d normally never comment on it. Would never call her out. But the thing is, Emma’s loose from the wine and there’s fire flooding through her veins that’s maybe not just a result of the alcohol, so the words slip out of their own accord: “See something you like?”
Regina’s eyes snap to hers immediately, and Emma braces herself. Regina doesn’t lose that lazy smile, though. “Yes,” she replies, to Emma’s utter shock. It’s blunt, too, and Emma’s eyes must go wide because that smile grows and she catches her lower lip between her teeth before she adds, “Your arms.”
Emma coughs, her cheeks burning. Surely she hadn’t heard that right – but Regina’s grinning now, full on grinning, and god, her eyes are shining. Dark and deep and crinkled with little crow’s feet at the corners, her own cheeks flushed with the prettiest shade of pink that Emma’s ever seen.
And all this, all of Emma’s reaction, that thought: it’s all clearly just because she has eyes.
Regina’s hot. It’s normal to get flustered when an attractive woman compliments your physique.
Emma’s heart thuds, the fucking traitor, and she finally answers, “Uh.” It’s not much of an answer at all. She knows it, so she tacks on, “I work out.”
Regina’s eyes drop from her own. They land back on Emma’s biceps rather obviously, and she does nothing to disguise the way her lids hood over them, the way her grin dissipates into something softer, lips parted slightly. When she finally speaks it’s honeyed and hot, all sweetener in freshly brewed coffee, and Emma – Emma doesn’t even know how to process what that does to her.
“I imagine.”
There’s a solid moment where Emma just sits there, flustered as hell as the implications of that comment race through her mind on overdrive. And then Regina reaches out and brings her wine glass to her lips, and Emma watches the dark red liquid spill over the rim and between her lips. Emma does the same, trying desperately to play it cool.
But then, Regina says, “Flex for me?” And Emma fucking chokes on it.
She’s not even done coughing, sputtering on the acidic liquid that she’s sucked back into her windpipe, when Regina lets out a low, dark laugh and tosses the rest of her own wine back in one go. If Emma wasn’t already inhaling her own, she’d be doing the same. Regina stands then, waits another couple seconds for Emma to move past the hacking phase of her choking, and then holds a hand out for Emma to take.
“Come on,” She says, grin lazy and amusement coating every word. “Let’s sit on the couch. We can watch a movie.”
Emma clears her throat once or twice and accepts the proffered hand, allowing Regina to tug her up. The alcohol burning through her veins has her looser than she’d thought, and she collapses somewhat dramatically onto the cushions, dragging Regina down with her. The result is that they’re practically in a pile, Regina halfway on top of Emma’s leg and Emma squished into the corner between the cushions and the arm rest. It’s not the most comfortable thing in the world, but Emma doesn’t think she’d trade it for anything.
Especially not when Regina shifts, settling into the crook of her arm and leaning against her chest instead.
And it’s this that makes Emma wonder, finally, if what she’s feeling might be the result of something a little more than friendship and a lack of physical touch for the last year or so. The little flame in her chest flares in response and it burns, but it’s a pleasant kind of warmth. It’s not…terrifying, like she’d expected. It feels almost like home, especially with Regina’s skin smooth and warm against her own.
She doesn’t even know what movie Regina puts on, and she can’t say that she cares. Her focus is all on the weight against her chest – and then on something else, as Regina leans forward, slips her hands beneath the hem of her shirt, and undoes her bra right then and there. She pulls the straps down her arms and pulls the whole thing out through her neckline, and Emma does her very best to keep her eyes respectfully glued to the television screen – or, rather, to keep them there about ninety percent of the time, because she’s not a damn saint, okay? – but that silk clings to every last detail, and her breathing is growing shallow whether she wants it to or not, and –
“It’s okay to look, Emma.” Regina puts the words out into the world matter of factly, meeting Emma’s gaze with only a little amusement as Emma does her best, award-winning impression of Storybrooke’s old-fashioned fire engine.
A heartbeat passes like that, with Emma floundering between saying something or nothing at all, sinking into the cushions and letting the couch consume her or sitting up proud and owning it because…well.
In the end she says nothing, only blinks her wide, embarrassed eyes, and watches as Regina settles back against her with that tiny smirk on her pretty mouth.
Emma hadn’t really been paying attention to the movie anyway, but it’s sure as fuck not happening after that. She stares unfocused at the screen, letting the images slip away into a fuzzy haze of color and sound, and slips her arms around Regina’s waist.
It’s a risky move, but Regina doesn’t pull away. Instead she settles against her immediately, melting back against Emma as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, hands finding Emma’s own. Emma draws in a slow, metered breath, and rests her chin against Regina’s shoulder.
She doesn’t know how long they sit like that before she falls asleep. Suddenly she’s awake, with the casting flickering light around the dark living room. It’s been muted, and Emma imagines Regina must’ve been awake at least a little longer than her. The clock in the corner reads well past five in the morning. She’s still a little bit drunk – and hell of a bit groggy – and so she lets her eyes flutter closed for another moment or two.
Regina’s still in her arms.
Fuck, that’s…something.
She smells like vanilla and the bitter tang of the red wine that Emma had knocked over at least twice during the course of the evening. She’s snoring just a little – Emma had never pegged her as a person who snores – and some of her hair has fallen in her face, fluttering with every exhale. There’s a tiny bit of drool shining at the corner of her lips.
Emma pushes that stray lock of hair to the side. She allows herself that, at least: it’s a gesture that’s maybe a little bit more than friendly, something soft and reverent about the motion, and she doesn’t quite know what to make of that. Regina’s hair is unbelievably soft against her fingertips, and fuck – it’s gotta be the result of some fuck off expensive shampoo, but still. It’s lovely, and Emma wants nothing more than to run her fingers through it.
With the alcohol buzzing through her veins comes the kind of foggy clarity that she can’t ignore, something overwhelmingly candid, and she wonders what it would be like to wake up like this all the time. Not drunk, of course – but with Regina in her arms.
It’s a fucking crazy thought.
She drifts her fingertips through the hair at Regina’s temple, fingertips barely grazing her skin, and watches with bated breath as Regina’s lashes flutter.
Regina blinks once, twice – knits her brow together as her eyes dart to the hand by her face, and Emma stills. But then those dark eyes land on Emma’s face, and her whole demeanor relaxes, like she’s finally got her bearings. Regina lets out a slow, soft breath, and croaks out, “Hey.”
“Hey,” Emma whispers.
There’s a heartbeat where Regina just stares at her and Emma’s afraid – terrified, really – that Regina is going to pull away from her. But then the corners of her mouth quirk up and she asks, “Did I fall asleep?”
Emma laughs softly. “For a little while,” She says, echoing Regina’s response to her not a week before. “So did I. It’s nearly six in the morning.”
Regina groans, and then she finally does pull away. It’s just enough so that she can peer over at the clock in the corner, though, and then she settles back against Emma’s chest and closes her eyes. Emma wraps her arms around her again, and Regina lays like that for a moment, inhaling deeply. Finally she pushes herself up by her elbows and says, “Alright. We should get off the couch.”
“Probably,” Emma agrees reluctantly. Regina stands up, only elbowing her in the stomach once, and Emma immediately feels cold. Regina reaches out and turns the television off, leaving them with only the light shining through from the hallway, and Emma’s heart skips as Regina tucks her hand into her own.
Probably, she says out loud, and thinks that she’d have been content to spend the entire night like that on the couch, with Regina drooling on her chest and Emma’s head tucked awkwardly against the cushions. The guest bedroom is…fine, but it’s not…it’s not that.
But there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell that she’s going to voice this out loud, especially not when she doesn’t know what this is, not really, and so she allows herself to be led up the stairs, Regina’s ankles popping with every other step.
But they pass the guest bedroom, and Regina doesn’t let go, doesn’t turn around: instead, she leads Emma straight down the hall to her own.
Regina doesn’t say a damn word about it. All she does is lead Emma inside, plug her phone in and set it on the night stand, and pull the covers down. She rounds the mattress and slips in on the other side, and Emma realizes that the turn down had, in fact, been for her.
She doesn’t say anything either, too afraid of shattering this little…whatever she’s stumbled into, and so instead she just tucks under the blankets, too. Regina sighs and drifts a little closer: not close enough to be called cuddling, but enough that their sides are pressed close, and Emma revels in the warmth coming off her skin as she drifts back to sleep.