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The thing is: Emma has not really aspired to be an artist. Like most of her life it just kind of happened: one day she’s four and picks up a pen, the next the teacher sends her away for doodling on her maths tests and somehow she ends up making her own comic.
Okay, that’s a lie. Emma has aspired to be an artist from when she got her first pack of crayons at the age of three. They were the best gift ever (the ones she didn’t try to eat, that is) and her mother still has some of her earliest drawings. They resemble childish scribbles because they are childish scribbles but hey, there’s something about mother’s love and all that stupid stuff.
(“I just want you to be happy” is a phrase that has become almost passive aggressive in the mouth of her mother, but Emma believes her because not believing her would mean dealing with a lot of consequences. Besides, her brother exists for being the smart kid so she has a free pass of being the artistic one. And it’s not like she’s stupid).
Forward twenty odd years and suddenly she’s at her very own stand with her very own somehow-bloody illustrated edition of classic fairy-tales and a few comic spins of maybe those less known ones. There are crowds of people and some know her and some do not, but she’s sitting next to Hook (Emma knows him from her high school and it makes sense that the slightly-emo good boy Killian has become a pirate impersonator that has men, women and non-binary peeps alike throwing themselves at him. He claims that he’s here for his art but Emma has yet to see him with his shirt not unbuttoned half down his torso).
The point is: it’s the second day of Comicon and she’s travelled all the way from her home city of Storybrooke, Maine, her hair is mostly butter, she really dreams of brushing her teeth and the only thing that’s keeping her awake is Hook’s secret gummi-bear-potion that she does not dare to ask for. The very false smile is pinned to her face and the bags under her eyes reach the new shades of purple when the most beautiful woman she’s ever seen stands before her stand. Emma blinks once, twice and then has enough brain to say “hi” in the stupidest, most timid way.
The woman – who does not look impressed but looks like the boss from devil wears prada, except in a cat suit – smiles back at her and Emma melts. It is then that she hears
“You found her!” from behind and there’s a toddler running down the aisle in their general direction. As soon as the boy arrives Emma decides that toddler might have been a bit harsh – the boy looks around twelve (not that she knows much about children), has a Peter Pan costume on and Emma is pretty sure that she’s misheard and the next thing he’s going to do is challenge Hook (who is not that captain Hook, by the way, but he’s still some kind of Hook, just more steampunk and emo) to a duel. Instead, he clutches at her table and jumps up and down for a moment.
“You are the real Emma Swan” he exclaims with more enthusiasm that a question in his voice and the woman cannot help but smile. Behind him, his mother mouths a silent ‘Sorry’ and honestly, Emma is ready to forgive them both anything on the spot.
“I sure am, pal” she responds. “I assume you’ve read some of my comics?” she asks. Not all of them are very child friendly but it's not as if she’s here to argue about that with anyone.
“I’ve read everything. I am your biggest fan, you make the fairy tales actually interesting! Especially the beauty and the beast but then the beast is a girl too? I just wished she did actually eat Gaston as she promised.” It’s amusing and Emma doesn’t even have to talk all that much as the kid babbles along. The boy – whose name is Henry as she soon finds out – has something to say about each of the stories and each of the characters, and Emma doesn’t think anyone has ever given her work that much thought.
It turns out to be a good publicity too, because soon enough a little crown gathers around. Emma apologises to Henry and promises to talk to him later as she signs his copy of the book with a dedication and a tiny picture of a knight at the bottom and then turns around to take care of some other clients. A chat here, a conversation there and she ends up with quite a few copies of everything sold. It’s a good day and even Killian next to her is somehow more bearable.
“So, you got a number from the cat lady with the cute kid?” he grins at her because they know each other way too well after all and okay, nope, she hates him.
“Managed to learn how to actually button up your shirt?” she answers back which is neither smart nor funny but, in her defence, she feels like she hasn’t slept for a week.
“I paid too much for not having to have boobs to ever wear a shirt again.” Killian stretches, moving one or other thing on his table. It’s mostly jewellery that is way too crafty and way too detailed, which is to say very impressive but not like the two of them is very good at complimenting each other. Or complimenting at all, possibly. Or maybe it’s just Emma and her inability to speak to people properly in a friendly manner.
“My point is no, I did not get the number from the cat lady” she murmurs, reaching for her phone. “She was only here because of her kid anyway and—” Emma stops. Because no, she did not get a number from anyone, but from her Instagram page a new message from a new follower looms at her. Now it would not be all that surprising; people message her all the time with more or less nice messages, starting from can I have free art? and ending at go and die. This one however starts with Thank you for being so nice to my son today… and Emma’s heart speeds up a little bit. So okay the message is about the kid but who normal messages people like that? In a very not-stalkerish way, she goes to the woman’s – Regina Mills, the handle says – front page just to have a little peak. Three things are very obvious from just one look: Regina loves her son, is very put together and painfully, painfully straight.
“Hot” Killian, who is a menace, says from behind her shoulder.
“Doesn’t matter. Not up for girls, I mean absolutely look at her. I know that the idea of caring about someone’s gender is absolutely foreign for you, but—come on.” It’s true. Killian has the charm and as much as Emma hates it sometimes, she cannot be blind to the fact that people seem to throw themselves at him without a second thought. Well, most of the time. They do not talk about Neal.
“Nobody who comes here in a cat suit is straight and you know it, Swan. Plus not like there’s a husband anywhere on those pictures.”
The latter is true. Henry seems to be the only man in the woman’s life and okay, maybe something swells in Emma a little bit at that rather impossible thought. It’s not that she expects anything to happen but wouldn’t it be nice if something could? What a romantic story, a rag tag artist and an – she peaks at the Instagram – at least a semi successful lawyer from New York. Very cliché. Very impossible.
Emma sighs.
“Come on, Swan, stop feeling sorry for yourself and start packing up. I’m not staying here for extra three hours only because you had yet another existential crisis because you’ve seen a pretty girl again and have no guts to ask her out.” Emma opens her mouth to say something but closes it as soon as she sees her friend’s raised eyebrows. It’s not like he’s all that wrong about all of this and okay, they’ve known each other for far too long. They do not talk about Lily, either.
Instead she packs up the leftover stock before they head up to their hotel for a much-needed shower and at least a few hours of sleep. Inside her pocket, her phone vibrates again: Regina Mills liked your post. Emma blushes as if she was fifteen again and replies to the message with something as lame as: of course! Any time. There is no response.
…
Day three is at least partially pointless but Emma and Killian’s flight isn’t till the next day, anyway. If they’re stuck they can at least make some extra money even if the crowds are much lesser. Emma’s feeling better: some of the blood seems to be replacing back the caffeine that’s been pumping her past few days and she finally had enough time to wash her hair properly. A perk on the side is the fact that Hook did in fact decide to go out last night and is now more laying than sitting at his table, suffering a terrible hangover. The noisiness around and bright light must not be helping and Emma feels bad enough to slide him a leaf of ibuprofen and not laugh at her friend too much.
It’s about one in the afternoon and she considers maybe going for lunch when a familiar bush of brown hair accompanied by a huge smile sprints to her table. Henry looks as if he’s just won a lottery and really, she’s an artist for moments like this.
“Hello there, number one fan” Emma greets him and with satisfaction sees the already wide smile grow even wider, as Henry realises he’s been remembered. “Lost your mum?”
“Nah, I told her I’m gonna be here. She found herself a table with those really good cakes and wouldn’t stop asking for recipes. She’s big on cooking” the boy explains with a shrug, trying to peek behind the table to see whatever Emma has been doodling. “Do you have some new ideas?” he asks and his eyes sparkle as if he was a cartoon character.
Normally, Emma has a rule not to share too much before she’s made up any concepts. She also has a rule of not making anything overly personal that would point to real people in very obvious way. She breaks both of the rules in the same moment as she leans over a table to show Henry what she’s been – more or less consciously – sketching for the past three hours.
All of those are sketches of the cat woman (or maybe: a very specific person dressed up as a cat woman?) that slowly transform into her closer-to-heart more fantasy-like settings. Cat woman and a dragon, cat woman riding a horse, cat woman with a princess at her arm. If the princess is blonde it’s an idiotic tradition of western fairy-tales and not self-indulgence. Not at all.
Henry – the pure and dear twelve year old that he is – does not seem to be catching onto this. Instead, he looks with pure awe.
“You know, when I’m older I wanna be an artist too. Or at least an author. It’s cool, too. My mum is a lawyer and always talks about how people’s stories are important, you know? She says good story wins the case. What do you think?”
“I think you have a very smart mum” Emma agrees, because what else is she supposed to do? “So…” she adds because if she was twelve and her biggest idol asked her a question like that she’d probably have melted “..do you have any cool story ideas? Maybe I can draw something for you.”
It’s not that she has anywhere else to be at the moment and the way Henry’s eyes widen only confirms her suspicion. He tells her quite a few of his idea; the one about an evil queen slowly falling in love with her longest serving guard speaks to her and more or less sneakily Emma asks if she could use that at some point. Obviously, she claims, she will give Henry full credit for the idea. The boy is more than enthusiastic and showers her with even more of his plots; Emma is not sure where a kid this young takes them from but they are surprisingly good.
“I do hope to read your book one day, you know” she smiles. “Once you’re a famous author I want an autograph, too. And to get to be your number one fan.”
It’s then when her phone vibrates and she glances at it without even much thinking. I know it’s a long shot but have you seen Henry? The message reads and Emma moves her eyes to the boy.
“Are you sure your mum knows you’re here?”
As it turns out no, Regina does not know and has been more or less frantically searching for her son for at least half an hour. When she pretty much runs towards him the first thing she does is hug him very, very tight. Only realising that he spent this time perfectly safe and very happy she scolds him, an anger coming out of worry more than anything else. It’s only after a moment that she realises that Emma is still there. Not like she can actually move from her chair all that much.
“I’m so sorry” Regina says with more guilt than needed. “And thank you for keeping an eye on him.”
“No need, really. We had quite a good time. Henry even helped me with some ideas for a new comic so really, I should be thanking you.” She winks because she’s an idiot and Regina looks more confused than swayed away by Emma’s smile and her finally-washed hair.
“Well” the woman adds, hiding her awkwardness behind suddenly straightened posture. “If you ever happen to be in New York feel free to message me. I believe the least I owe you is a coffee.”
“I actually live in Storybrooke. It’s the lovely middle of nowhere an hour drive from Augusta. So I might just take you up on that offer, suuuper close by” she smiles, because they are two adults making plans that will never come through. “But hey, if you’re ever nearby, the town is tiny but I gotta tell you, Granny’s has the best grilled cheese you’ve ever eaten.”
Regina does not look like a woman who eats grilled cheese. Regina does not look like a woman who takes spontaneous trips to tiny, forgotten by God cities. Regina looks like a polite person who was dragged to comicon by her son and dressed up as a cat woman to fit in. The smile at each other and as she sees the son and the mother walk away, Emma has a weird feeling that she will never see them again.
…
Emma is terrible, terrible when it comes to intuition and the world is out there to prove that to her. Not in the worst way, at least. First of all, she gets a job offer in New York. Hook laughs at her, stating straight away that destiny is at work here and she has to go. Graciously, he offers to go with her since the idea of leaving their tiny town behind is actually quite alluring. Them being friends has nothing to do with it, or so he claims. All Emma can do is grin at him.
“I’d miss you too” she says and they start searching for a flat together.
Her mother is way too excited for both of those facts.
“You two living together, look at that! You should definitely marry. You make such a cute couple, honestly! Childhood sweethearts, that’s what you are!” she exclaims. For the longest of times she’s believed in that relationship and for whatever reason – no matter how many times they tell her it’s not the case – she does not want to give up her hopes. They’re friends already, she insists, so how could this not work?
At this point in time both Emma and Killian mostly just shrug it off; her mother has always claimed that the most important thing in life is love and so it makes sense for her, probably. Nevertheless, she’s the one who helps them pack into the Bug and pays for the petrol, so for once the two of them has enough reason to stay quiet and not argue too much. It’s easier this way and not like they care too much.
The whole process of moving out takes surprisingly little time and it both hits them at the same time, while Emma’s speeding down the highway.
“New York, Swan. The Big Apple’s waiting for us.” He grins like a high-schooler and they are both way too excited about the whole ordeal. Or maybe they are not; the pair of them had always made plans of moving away without ever following on the promise. Maybe, just maybe it’s their big chance to do what they want for once. Which brings Killian to the obvious:
“So now you can get that coffee from your cat lady”
“Her name is Regina, actually.” And okay, she is not helping her own case. But her and Regina have been talking – or maybe more like sending each other messages every few days? – and okay, maybe Emma is getting worse with all that lovey-dovey crush-y stuff. Regina is nice because Emma is her son’s favourite celebrity, she’s probably going to ask for some extra special birthday drawing for the boy or a signed copy of a comic, or something silly like this. Not much else she could want from Emma Swan, the general disaster of a human being. Not what she wants to focus on while driving, though. “Neal called” she says instead, at least pretending that to not be an important piece of information.
“You’ve told him” Hook doesn’t ask.
“He’s my friend, you know. And you should stop being so mad at him. Would do the two of you good, especially now that you’re going to live in the same city. All I’m saying is; you’ve got a good chance and you know it.”
“Good chance at what? Punching him in the face?” Emma does not entertain the question with a response. The drama between Killian and Neal started in high school and never finished; all focusing on the fact that Neal wanted to go to New York and Killian pretended that he didn’t purely for purposes of not seeming too committed or too loving. Which ended up with an argument, which ended up with Neal packing his bags and leaving anyway. And the two of them weren’t even together at this point. Needless to say Hook took it as a personal hit because of course he would go eventually, he just needed to try him. Which was generally stupid and childish and escalated way too much. “If he wanted to check on me or, you know, keep in contact, it’s not like he couldn’t phone me. He’s the one who left after all.”
“You are terrible. Both of you. Also just for your information, I do plan on inviting him to dinner. I hope you’ll manage to sit in the same room.”
The only answer she gets is an unhappy grumble.
…
Their apartment is tiny. It’s a bit more like a cupboard than an apartment and Emma misses a kitchen that has more than one surface to cut anything on. Yet snaps a few quite nice photos and posts them to Instagram. It’s both a surprise and an explanation to why she’s been so quiet lately. It is indeed quite hard to draw when you’re either packing your boxes or driving through half of the country.
The first comment is from Henry, obviously. It’s almost a tradition by now and the same city!!!! is very cute. It’s only after she’s almost forgotten about it all that she receives another message, this time from the boy’s mother. I believe I have promised you a coffee.
And so they go for a coffee.
…
Emma almost expects her to bring Henry. She is not sure why Regina is keeping her promise but maybe it has something to do with being a lawyer. Can’t have people that you owe something to just walking around like nothing happened.
And so they go; Regina leads her to a café that looks expensive, smells amazing and is not a starbucks. Personally, Emma doesn’t have much against starbucks (maybe except for the fact that the baristas seem to either be judging her or speaking in a code she does not understand) but this place seems much less commercially chain-y.
“It’s nice to see you again” Regina says and Emma blushes. The woman opposite of her looks exactly like a New York lawyer would look like: effortlessly stylish and commanding respect. Emma, on her part, looks like a lumberjack that somehow does not get enough sunlight. It is known to her that opposites attract and all that but this once she is not very likely to believe that cliché.
“It’s nice to see you too” she responds and it is. They talk about a little bit of everything: Emma finds out that the cat woman is in fact one of Regina’s favourite characters, followed closely by Poison Ivy and then Mystique and Magneto.
“An affinity for villains, I see?” Emma checks. It fits, somehow although she’s not able to put her finger on why just yet.
“Only those with a good motivation. I mean, Magneto isn’t the best of people but at least he’s trying something” she shrugs in response, even as she looks a little bit embarrassed.
“Hey, I’m not judging. Plus everyone knows that villains are like, objectively hotter. When I was a kid I was obsessed with the Evil Queen. She was much prettier than Snow White anyway, you know?” This confessions earns her a chuckle and okay, she has it bad. Really bad, her brain melts almost instantly.
“I was much more boring, I guess. My biggest crush was Robin Hood. Yes, the fox. No, you do not need to comment.” Emma laughs. The evening is officially counted as a success. Just before they split, Regina hands her a few pages of paper.
“Henry wanted me to give you this. It’s one of his stories. I do understand you’re busy but he insisted and I didn’t have time to say no to him” Regina smiles sheepishly. So that was the reason behind the date, of course, makes sense. Emma nods and smiles and pretends her heart isn’t breaking. It’s not like they know each other, not really, it’s just a coffee of people who are not even friends. It is fine.
…
Emma reads the story because of course she does. Having or not having feelings for a kid’s mother should not change her emotions towards the kid himself, right? And Henry is rather sweet with all his smiles, with the story being printed properly and edited in a neatly way. Someone must have taught him how to be orderly and it sure as hell is paying off.
She smiles more and more as she reads. The story is not bad. It is also almost an inspiring one.
In her version of sketches that she makes without even thinking too much the Evil Queen takes form of Regina. Not because Regina is evil but because they both have straight spines and beautiful eyes, because they are both incredible, powerful and hot. The story that Henry has sent her transforms into a comic without her even knowing; soon enough she has bunch of sketches of possible panels in front of her and the clock strikes three.
Emma lets her face fall onto her hands crossed at the table and – for just a second – thinks about what her life has become. There she is, a grown up real adult, sketching stories of her crush and wishfully thinking anything could come of it. That the paper version of Regina could just materialise itself and exist in a nearby proximity. Then she sighs and like a proper grown-up she tumbles onto her bed.
She dreams about the Evil Queen and a dragon, walking together down a huge field.
…
There are romantic comedies that start with an attractive protagonist waking up in a well-lit room, following their morning routine; the quirky pixie dream girl with a heart of gold, the too-ambitious career woman who needs to meet the Right Guy who would be able to see through her façade. All of them put together, all of them with a dream, all of them with high hopes for their future.
Emma wishes she could be that protagonist.
Instead she wakes up at thirteen past one in the afternoon and realises that she’s still in her yesterday’s clothes. And it’s not because she had the most amazing night or because she was drinking till the morning, or anything normally associated with late-twenties-fun-activities. She got too much into an idea and when she looks at her sketches now she wants to burn them. The anatomy is terrible.
There are voices coming from the living room but for once her prayers are answered, when it turns out to be whatever Hook put on to absolutely ignore.
“Mornin’ luv” he says from where he’s sitting on the couch, a sketchbook on his lap. “You really gotta start taking care of yourself if you want to get that girl, you know that?”
“I hate you” is the only response Emma can muster as she gets herself into the shower, the hot water streaming down her body. There are things she needs to take care of, important things like getting the dishes done and maybe eating, and possibly getting to those commissions she still needs to draw. But for now it is her and her thoughts, and the water hitting her back.
Maybe she could star in that rom-com after all. Be the cute-but-messy artist who seduces the all-serious very successful lawyer and charms her son and---
Emma blinks and then stops the water.
Fuck.
…
It’s not being in love, not yet anyway. It’s a stupid childish crush that she needs to take care of before it turns into idiotic longing for a straight woman that is nice to her purely because her son is a fan. It’s like running into a certain author of a franchise about a magical boy. Except maybe Emma isn’t a transphobic asshole, so there’s that. Anyway who would not be trying to befriend your kid’s hero (or at least someone they look up to, Emma should not be considered a role model let alone a hero. The thought is nice, though).
In an act of absolutely not trying to get Regina to talk to her more and hurt herself in the process, she makes a quick few photos of the fruits of her all-nighter and sends it over both to the mother and the son. Henry replies instantly, as excited as any kid would be having a comic book artist draw something based on their story. She’s about to ask if he shouldn’t be at school or something like this. She does not because she’s cool and it’s not her child. Also, he mentions something about being at his grandma while Regina works so that at least explains why there’s no answer from the woman’s side. Not that Emma’s bothered by whether Regina replies. Not at all.
At least Killian takes pity on her and instead decides to drag her outside.
“We live in the city that never sleeps now, it’s literally the middle of the day and we’re not sitting in our apartment ‘cause you need to mop about a woman that you pretty much moved here for even though you’ve known her for like a day” Hook sums up with only a little bit of judgement in his voice.
“So” Emma replies with a smirk “when are you meeting with Neal?”
Killian grumbles in response, instead pretending to be suddenly very interested in a window-display at the bakery they’re just passing.
“I’m serious. C’mon. You want to meet him, he wants to meet you and all you’re both doing is just being complete idiots.”
“Pfft” he snorts, studying a raspberry cheesecake and not looking at Emma in a very purposeful way.
It’s a rare moment for Hook to show even a slight sign of vulnerability. They’re similar that way, too aloof and too stubborn. Probably the reason why they could never connect on a romantic level and definitely why they’ve been friends for longer than Emma cares to remember. If any of them ever decided to hurt the other, they’d know how to do it in the most spectacular of ways. The plus is: they get to understand each other with a few words and even fewer gestures.
“C’mon, Jones. If your half-opened t-shirt doesn’t do the job, the eyeliner will” she smiles, nudging him with her elbow. “The guy’s crazy about you. You’re just both being stupid and too stubborn to either apologise or let this idiotic thing go. Does any of you even remember what all of this is about?”
Killian does not answer to that but murmurs something under his breath and then finally drags Emma into the café and buys her a hot chocolate. Saying an actual thank you would require human communication and admitting that Emma is – and always has been – right. So chocolate it is.
When they finally leave it’s the evening and they’ve both forgotten what they’ve been moping about in the morning (they haven’t but they like to pretend). Emma’s phone chimes and she smiles in a 16-year-old-with-a-crush way that Killian doesn’t fail to remind her of but it’s Regina that messages her so she doesn’t really care whatever he has to say about the situation.
….
The café Regina takes her to is all the more posh and only a little snobby. The hot chocolate though is more like an actual fondue and so Emma does not complain at all.
“So do you just not drink coffee or?” Regina asks as if choosing a beverage was some kind of a personality test (Emma took a test like that once and according to a very trust-worthy website she is, indeed, a chili-spiced chocolate, thank you very much. Regina, she thinks, would probably be a black coffee with some weird flavour inside).
“I woke up like two hours ago. Plus this chocolate is delicious and you should absolutely try it.” Before she has a moment to think, Emma is pushing a spoonful of chocolate towards Regina which is a rookie mistake. The woman looks at her with amusement and then leans forward to put her lips around the spoon in a way that makes Emma’s face go absolutely red. She’s staring and she’s semi-aware of the fact which only makes her blush more. Probably way too happy with herself, Regina smirks as if she was testing her and wipes a bit of chocolate out of the corner of her mouth.
“Well, you weren’t kidding miss Swan” she says in a tone way too husky and way too deep for a bright-lit conversation in the middle of the day. At this point Emma is pretty sure that her soul has left her body to fly away to the wonderful island of Lesbos to sing songs about the beauty of female lips with Sappho herself.
“Yeah—it’s nice” she manages like an embarrassed sixteen year old that she is not. Deep breaths, she thinks and manages to focus her eyes on a picture somewhere behind Regina’s head. The picture represents a bouquet of flowers that if Emma remembers correctly are named hydrona africana and she only knows that because of a phase in her artistic career where she exclusively drew vulva-inspired art so to say. In short: the world hates her right now. “So—” she manages after a moment of deep breaths and looking absolutely anywhere but Regina herself “—does Henry have a father? I mean, he’s gotta have one somewhere or—I mean.” It’s a very smooth way to ask someone if they’re single; or maybe: it could be a smooth way to ask someone if they’re single if Emma actually remembered how words work.
To her blessing Regina just raises her eyebrows.
“No, I am not married” she answers the question that Emma never managed to ask. “Henry’s father left when I was still young and attempted no contact with his son whatsoever” she explains simply.
“Fuck. I’m really sorry about that, that must have been hard” she manages because men are shit sometimes and does anyone ever has a good father (okay she does but that’s not the point and besides it’s not like he’s been there from the beginning).
“So? You and Hook?” Regina bounces the question back and for a second Emma can only manage to stare at her. It’s been ages since anyone actually got some sort of couple-vibes from them.
“Absolutely not. Why—I mean don’t get me wrong he is an attractive guy but it would be like dating a weird, flamboyant, male version of myself. We’ve just known each other for too long and also absolutely not.” It is possible that she speaks the words a bit too fast and a bit too frantic but Regina just smiles and cover’s Emma’s hand with her own.
“Good.”
Oh. So it might actually be a date.
..
The afternoon changes into an evening and New York doesn’t seem that much darker. The mix of streetlamps and billboards make up even for the sun and even if Emma isn’t all that used to how bright the neons are she doesn’t mind at all.
“What made you decide to go for art?” Regina asks as they’re strolling down the street, the woman leading her to the subway. Emma jokes about getting herself a map and with how things are going she might actually go through with the plan.
“I don’t really have an inspiring story. I guess I was pissed off that there wasn’t enough female knights in what I was reading. Plus the Wonder Woman’s suit was not really a suit, you know? Who walks around with their boobs out if they’re about to fight evil?” She shrugs. It’s the practical issue, really. Of course Emma knows what the male gaze is and that sexy sells but it’s not like women don’t read comics. “And fairy tales, I guess. Although that much you might have noticed. The young me was really pissed off at how cheery the illustrations were. I mean the Red Riding Hood is eaten alive and the wolf is then pretty much cut open. Yet there never is any blood, nobody screams, nothing like that. Make it a bit more realistic, people.”
“So that’s your problem with that tale? Not the part where, you know, the wolf puts on the nightcap and the girl totally doesn’t realise it’s a huge carnivore and not, in fact, her grandmother?” Regina looks amused more than anything.
“Well, that’s just called suspension of belief. But if you want to teach someone anybody a lesson you gotta show consequences with all the ugly stuff in it, too.” She shrugs like it’s obvious. Isn’t that’s what interesting about all the tales the humanity has been telling itself for ages, anyway? The brutality of it all. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“How did you become a lawyer?”
“I went to law school, I took my bar exam, I passed and then—”
“Oh come on. You know what I’m asking” Emma nudges her with her elbow and Regina gives her smile that – if given in court – would absolutely win the case in less then two seconds. Probably good that Emma is not a judge.
“My ex said that I couldn’t and my mother said that I shouldn’t so I went and proved both of them wrong. Or maybe, just maybe, I watched legally blond sometime at that point in my life.” Emma giggles because she wants to imagine Regina in whole-pink outfit with a chihuahua in her bag.
“Hello, my name is Regina Mills and I am a Pisces with taurus sun and libra moon, this is my dog—”
“Oh shut up.” Laugh erupts from Emma once again.
“ Please please please tell me that you at least got yourself a hot pink jacket for inspiration.”
“I choose to invoke my right to remain silent.”
…
She goes back home just a little bit high from the butterflies flying in her stomach to find Neal standing in the middle of her kitchen, his chest bare, holding a cup of coffee.
“Good evening, Emma” he smiles as if it was the most normal situation ever.
“Didn’t know you were coming.”
“I didn’t really know I was coming. Killian phoned me.” There’s a sign of guilt in his last sentence and Emma raises her eyebrows. If the need arises, she is absolutely ready to punch both of her friends in any order she sees fit. Although it’s Neal standing closer to her right at this very moment.
“Seeing that you’re drinking my coffee I’m gonna assume that you’ve guys made up and you shall become a parasite in my house once again?” There’s no venom to any of that, not really; it’s never been her argument to begin with.
“Since you’re asking me so nicely, Emma, then I—”
“I’m serious Neal. You guys made up, right? You’re not just drinking the coffee ‘cause you had another argument about nothing and then Killian decided to make you a hot cup and spike it with arsenic.” Neal gives her a chuckle.
“Yeah. Yeah I think we’re okay now.” It is then that Killian decides to make an appearance, his hair a mess and his shirt open (really, what is it with men?).
“Doesn’t mean you get to behave like you’re in your own flat already, luv. You still got some making up to do, you know” he says from behind, grabbing the cup out of Neal’s hand only to grimace a second after he’s taken a sip. “Don’t you put any sugar in it? And why are you drinking coffee at ten at night anyway?”
“Oh, Killian. We do have a lot of catching up to do, don’t you think?”
Emma groans.
…
It’s the second week of October and it’s been raining for the past forever. Emma looks up at the little square of the sky she can see between the buildings from her window and groans. The most light she’s actually getting those days is the persistent yet slightly annoying blinking of pink neon sign advertising what seems to be a crossover between an adult bookshop a café and a pet store. She’s too scared to actually get in; the great unknown of New York City.
The highlights are messages she’s exchanging with Regina and the sketches of the woman that seem to be mounting her desk, shelves and general living space. It’s only one of the reasons why she doesn’t really want the woman to come visit; the other being so-called lack of privacy. Yet it’s a rainy afternoon and Regina is nearby and it’s because of a forgotten umbrella that she’s completely socked. The only slightly reasonable places to meet are: Emma’s flat and the anacumda velvet lounge ‘specialising in snakes in more than one sense’, really) and so the woman comes upstairs. If Emma shoves literally everything from around the living room into her bedroom then nobody can judge her.
She gives Regina a towel and puts her on the sofa while preparing coffee. This is when she hears:
“Oh, is that your sketchbook? Do you mind if I look?” and this is when things go kind of downhill. Or uphill. Depending on how you look at them.
Emma does not panic. Instead she prays to all the gods she’s ever heard of that the sketchbook she’s left in the great open is not her recent one. The gods – as they usually do in Emma Swan’s case though – do not listen and choose to openly mock her. The first page Regina opens is that of a design of an evil queen smiling with full red lips, holding an apple. It’s not too bad, maybe mind the dress but Emma could still pass it as a coincidence. The second page however is a very much Regina-inspired series of sketches of the comicon catwoman.
Two cups of coffee are placed on the table so Emma’s shaking hands don’t cause the liquid to spill all over the place.
“You’re very talented” Regina comments, politely and does not address the issue, only looking at Emma from under those long lashes of hers. Which means she might not be furious. It might also mean that the hot rage is still to hit hare and murder Emma in her own living room. Or get her arrested for stalking (can you get someone arrested for stalking when they’re not really stalking you?).
“I’ve been drawing for a long time” she manages to murmur, her eyes locked at the other woman’s face. That’s when she notices the smile – a common one for people who are scheming and very sure of themselves.
“Well” Regina draws out, her lips forming into an even bigger smile “maybe you should draw me like one of your French women, then.”
Emma’s brain goes still.
She stares at Regina for a prolonged amount of time that gets more and more uncomfortable with every passing moment. The whole apartment is suddenly weirdly quiet as if even the usual buzz of electrical appliances didn’t want to provide any relief from the awkwardness.
“French?” she manages finally, her brain both trying to both understand and not overheat at the same moment.
“Oh” Regina murmurs and withdraws a little. “I thought-“ she manages. “Nevermind” she adds and something is broken and Emma isn’t quite sure why. It takes her a few more seconds to come up with at lease a semi-adequate response.
“No wait. It’s a Titanic reference. I’ve never watched Titanic, you want me to—” it hits her then and that is when her face goes a bit redder. The face however is not the only place in her body where the blood seems to flow faster. “Yes. Yes I would love to, I’ll just get you to my room and you can pose and then—” Regina does not let her finish, leaning in for a kiss. It’s a very effective method of shutting Emma up and she lets herself melt into the velvet lips, her hands tangling into dark hair. “Yeah” she murmurs as they part “let’s go to my room. I bet you’re going to be an excellent model.”
She does not draw that night.