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Snow smiles sweetly down at her daughter and Emma is at a loss as to how to get out of going clothes shopping with her mother. She insists it’ll be fun but all Emma can think is oh god please no, help me, which her magic decides is a serious plea—thank god for magic!—and whisks her halfway across town.
God fucking damnit, magic, she swiftly corrects, taking back her praise as her eyes land on the smooth olive back of one Regina Mills, sworn arch nemesis of the Savior herself. Kidding. They’re friends, sort of? Regina would probably deny it, vehemently, but whatever. She knows there’s no point in fleeing, her magic having a distinct scent that Regina has already detected if the stiffening of shoulders is any indication.
“Is there something urgent we need to discuss, Sheriff?” Emma swallows thickly. No, she wasn’t staring and she definitely did not just catch a glimpse of side boob before she thinks to avert her gaze.
And fails.
Miserably.
At least she tried—that has to count for something.
“I… uh.”
What are words? She doesn’t have a damn clue what she’s meant to say in a situation like this. Sorry for poofing in on you while you were standing half-naked in front of your mirror? Not that she blames her. If she had a body like that—well, that isn’t really important now, is it?
“Eloquently put, dear,” Regina drawls, arm extending and pointing to the door as she adds, “Now get out of my room.”
“Right.” Emma clears her throat and forces her feet to move, reaching for the knob when it occurs to her she might actually want to attempt an apology, half-hearted as it may be considering. She cringes and turns, eyes closed just in case. “I’m sorry,” she says, wincing inwardly because she doesn’t even sound sorry.
“It happens,” Regina offers and Emma is fairly certain she hears the soft addition of the word apparently under the woman’s breath. She chooses to ignore what she might have imagined to begin with, however, and accepts the moment for what it is; a chance to run away as she drags her non-existent dignity—and excessively lubricated mouth—with her.
They manage to avoid each other for a while after that. Emma busies herself with paperwork and saving cats from trees, sending David in her steed whenever she has to turn something into Regina. Regina spends a good portion of the time surprised that Emma can, in fact, fill out reports and turn them in on time. After four years of the complete opposite, she considers asking Archie to inquire of Emma’s mental health but ultimately dismisses the idea because even if they are not talking about it, she knows exactly why Emma is doing it.
About an hour after dismissing the idea, she changes her mind and gives Archie a call, laughing to herself as she hangs up with his assurances ringing in her head. Emma is going to kill her and it will be one hundred percent, without a doubt, worth it.
“For the last time, Archie, I’m fine,” Emma cries, barely resisting the urge to tear her hair out. She is going to kill Regina, just as soon as she figures out how to get rid of the bug without strangling him with her bare hands. “Regina is just being her usual dickish self.”
“She sounded genuinely concerned, Sheriff,” Archie replies and Emma has to grip the arms of her chair to stop herself from launching at him and tackling him to the floor.
Unfortunately, her self-control has always been fragile at best and her eyes widen a split-second before her magic is once again throwing her across town. She lands with a grunt and barely has time to realize where she is before she is literally thrown… across the room. Of course she, Emma Swan, would find herself inadvertently tackling a once Evil Queen.
It isn’t until Regina turns that she realizes the brunette is topless—again—and Emma groans, wincing as her head thumps against the wall with more force than her back had seconds earlier.
“Perhaps this time you have a reason for being here?” Emma purses her lips, not willing to risk what little control she has by trying to come up with words when she needs all the willpower she has to not stare at the very tempting image stood no more than a foot away. “Your timing is becoming suspect, Miss Swan.”
Stupid, piece of fudging magic.
“I’m sorry.”
The apology comes out of nowhere but this time, she hears the sincerity in her voice and it momentarily surprises her that she finally looks at Regina, and slaps a hand over her mouth as a whimper sticks in the back of her throat.
Regina rolls her eyes and she distinctly hears the words, “Third time’s a charm,” before a plume of purple smoke surrounds her and sends her hurtling back to the station where Archie remains, a startled but curious expression on his face.
The third time it happens, Emma may or may not have been drinking and she may, or may not, have let it slip to Red that she has seen the Mayor almostnaked twice now. What she knows for sure that she didn’t do is provide details and that is why her magic manifests; helping her to run away from her nosey and extremely relentless best friend—whether she wants the help or not.
By this point, she’s resigned to the inevitable but not quite prepared for the scene she falls into. “Why are you always lacking clothes when this happens?”
Regina smirks, tilting her head back and washing the shampoo from her hair as she asks a question of her own. “Why are you always fully clothed? Do you sleep in those painted on jeans and that atrocious leather jacket?”
“I’m not sure I’m comfortable with you insulting my clothes while we’re showering together,” Emma replies, briefly perturbed by her own comment. She decides to blame the alcohol, and shakes her head.
“No apology this time?” Regina questions, amusement in her tone. Emma opens her mouth to respond, only to reconsider. She shrugs. What was the point? “Good,” Regina adds. “Now remove your clothes.”
Emma blinks, not unwilling but not trusting her intoxicated brain enough not to wonder if she’d imagined the words. “What?”
“Quid pro quo, Miss Swan.”