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welshdragonrawr · 2 months

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Did I write OuaT fanfiction? I did indeed. Am I rusty after quite a few years of not writing much fanfic at all for any fandom? I am indeed. Enjoy, I guess...? And Some Things You Just Can't Speak About (a.k.a The One Where Emma Gets Angsty Over a Jacket)

Emma Swan was no stranger to living small. There had been plenty of times in her life when she had survived just fine living out of one scruffy duffel, or her car, or on more than one occasion simply the clothes on her back. Hell the very first night Henry had brought her to Storybrooke, and she had opted to stay at Granny’s, had not been a problem as everything of importance she carried with her either on her person or in the compartment spaces of her yellow bug.

Despite the number of times she had been to Regina’s place before, it still surprised her just how much the other woman kept around. Not to mention how clean and tidy to a fault everything always was. Surely the whole having-magic thing helped – the only dust she probably kept anywhere in the whole house was probably some of the fairy kind. Almost every surface was polished, pristine or held some kind of knickknack that seemed to have no purpose other than looking pretty on a shelf.

Even the stairs didn’t give a telltale creak under Emma’s boots as she made her way up to the second floor. For a house that had supposedly been lived in for at least twenty-eight years – unless of course Regina had lived anywhere else in that time, but Emma figured that was incredibly unlikely – what felt like an expansive mansion to the blonde, also seemed to be missing something.

Emma had moved through enough houses, hostels, hotels and unfit homes to know all the signs of a building well-lived in and all the stories the very walls could tell. This place in all its grandeur and appearances, held history in the fact that it showed absolutely none at all.

Except, she thought with a pause as she passed an open door, for Henry’s room.

All it took was a quick glance through the gap to see the contrast. Things scattered over the bed from where he must have dressed for school that mornings, the splashes of colour on the wall, the mess over a desk where he had clearly been working hard at whatever latest theories were on his mind.

Unable to resist a pull from somewhere deep inside her chest, with a brief glance back over her shoulder toward her original destination, Emma shook her head lightly, pushed the door open further and took a step inside.

The abundance of colour was an immediate switch on the senses from the austere black and white décor downstairs. The vibrant hues of blues, and reds and rich mahogany browns of youth filled all four walls. There was still some sense of attempted organisation in the array of shelves and compartments for things, but these too were filled to overflow, with excess having spilled over into the floor as Emma had spied from the doorway. Just one look around the room and it was possible to see how much stuff was crowded in there. Anything and everything a young boy could want or wish for, more or less. She even spied a few games consoles tucked away alongside the plethora of books.

Emma was hit with an unexpected pang somewhere deep inside her core. Short, sharp, but no less surprisingly strong. If things had been different, would she have been able to give Henry all this?

She couldn’t help but wonder as she stepped by the bed, picking up a discarded jacket with some fancy designer label embroidered inside the collar that she knew she could not have afforded, regardless of career choice. The material felt thick in her fingers, the fibres woven with that sense of luxury many kids didn’t care for, but an adult would spot a mile away. Would he have been able to have any of this...? Of course if Henry had merely been content with possessions, then there would have been absolutely no reason for all of this to have ever happened as it appeared he already had everything he ever needed right here…

“Can I help you, Ms Swan?”

“Regina-“ the other woman’s voice had startled her, made her twist on the spot to see the Mayor hovering in the doorway, a sliver of a smile pulling at the corner of those red-painted lips – though Emma saw that same hint of a smile falter upon seeing the jacket in Emma’s hands.

“How long have you been standing there?” Emma asked.

“Inherited your fathers’ sense of perception I see, or lack thereof,” Regina chuckled, though her eyes remained drawn to the jacket in Emma’s hands. A beat of silence between them continued on a few moments too long to be comfortable, neither of them saying a word. Judging by the look in her eyes and recognisable subtle squaring of her shoulders, Regina had clearly expected the usual snap back from the blonde. When seconds continued to tick by and she must have realised she was not going to receive one, her fine brow finally raised as her arms folded across her chest.

“Looking for something, were we?”

“For you, actually,” Emma replied, fingers curling into the fibre of the jacket. If Regina noticed the subtle clench, she said nothing, merely tilted her head a fraction. To Emma however, that still felt like she was being assessed without words.

“We both know I like to keep an eye on my son, but I can’t say I make a habit out of hiding out in his room every other day,” Regina quipped, and for the first time in the conversation managed to pull her eyes away from the boy’s jacket to survey the rest of the room herself. Emma couldn’t help wondering if she was looking for anything out of place, even amongst the adolescent mess; no doubt Regina probably would have noticed if Emma had so much as accidentally kicked a toy from one end of the rug to the other.

For the second time, the smirk dancing slyly across those scarlet lips faltered when once again the blonde had evidently not risen to the goad of the verbal challenge. “What made you think you’d find me in here?” Regina poked just a little more.

Emma shook her head, as if shaking her thoughts free. “No, I didn’t, I…” she trailed off.

“You certainly seem to be having a way with words today,” Regina chuckled, finally stepping fully into the room and beginning to peruse various objects herself.

If Emma didn’t know any better she might have guessed the other woman was indeed inspecting each and every thing. She watched her pick up a notebook from the desk, flick through a few of the pages that Emma could see were filled margin to margin with Henry’s chicken-scratch scrawl – he had his biological mother’s knack with handwriting it seemed, although the tails of his letters had a more distinct flourish for sure. She wondered if that was because Regina had likely tried to teach him the much more elegant cursive of her own hand before… She heard Regina give a click of her tongue and mumble Henry’s name under her breath, shaking her head at a particularly untidy page; perhaps she had been thinking along the same lines. What else did she teach you…?

“Regina, I…” Emma ‘s voice tumbled out before she could stop herself, the other woman’s name falling from her lips with a softness so unexpected for both of them that Regina’s head snapped up from the book to look in Emma’s direction.

Emma wanted to ask. She wanted to know. She wanted Regina to give her some glimpses, some snapshots, some sort of mental photo album of the milestones she had missed and how the Mayor had managed them alone.

But a catch in her throat and a caustic ache in the centre of her chest stoppered the words thickly before they could fully form, let alone be said so freely. Did she want to know? Did she want to open herself up to the regret, the guilt, the burden of knowing how she had soothed each fever, comforted each cry in the night, encouraged his education to become the man Emma already saw every day in the young boy?

“Spit it out, Ms Swan, for both our sakes,” the words were sharp, but there was something else under the sting. Emma folded the jacket in her hands, over her arm, and she could have sworn she saw Regina’s brow twitch watching the imperfect action.

“Henry…” Emma began again, attempting to find a common ground for conversation to start but once again found her words caught on a soreness in her throat that had nothing to do with the time of year. The usual sharp clip of Regina’s heels seemed subdued on the carpet as she stepped closer, softened, but not silenced.

“Did you-“ Emma tried to clear her throat, to little avail. “Did you ever…”

“Take care of him? Of course I did.” Regina snapped, the defensive thorns of the dark rose pricking at Emma’s skin. A perfectly poised hand snapped forward, attempted to snatch the jacket from Emma’s unsuspecting hands. A pull, a stronger tug, Regina’s hands grappled for the jacket, but Emma’s grip neither loosened nor let go. If anything her hold held fast, refusing to relinquish the fabric.

Caught in such a physical impasse, Regina looked up, mouth open to lash out with another venomous barb no doubt. But rather than clench tighter to the hypothetical stem of the dark rose in spite so well as she did her son’s jacket, Emma flinched, surprising them both.

For a moment, just a flickering moment, Regina’s gaze appeared to soften, seeing something in the blonde’s eyes, shoulders, way she held herself, the way she held that ridiculous jacket that spoke more volumes than any book on Henry’s bookshelf.

“Of course I did,” Regina repeated, her words softer than any velvet, dark eyes softening with as much of a sheen. Doing her best to clear her throat of the thick lump that had so stubbornly caught there, Emma averted her gaze from those eyes, and laid the jacket back down on the bed with a careful touch that Regina had never seen her use with her own awful leather jackets that tended to be slung, hung or thrown over the backs of chairs. The feeling of that intense stare prickled Emma, burned through leather and cotton and skin alike right through to the turmoil underneath. She didn’t dare to look up, to look back, fearing as much what Regina might find through such a gaze.

“Right…” Emma finally managed to force out through the silence. If either of them noticed her inflection being a fraction higher than usual, they did not mention it.

Perhaps purely out of habit, as much as anything else, Regina stepped closer and brushed a stray fleck of flint from the exposed lapel of Henry’s now-folded jacket. It was a movement so precise, so practised and probably done a thousand times before to the point she must not have even thought about it as she leaned over.

Yet, Emma had to tell herself forcefully, as she felt the brush of Regina’s arm against her own, that it wasn’t as purposefully possessive as it seemed. For every scrape, every stray thread, every speck of dust caused by Emma’s careless exploits, there Regina would always be waiting to dust him off after, to clean off and care for the clothes and the kid who wore them. A fact that gave her both relief and an unrelenting ache inside in almost equal measure. As worried as Regina might have claimed to be, Emma couldn’t help wondering how much of that constant fear of losing him also obscured her from seeing how she was always there.

Smooth expensive fabric of a blazer likely only worn once or twice and the old worn leather of Emma’s own jacket that had endured a lifetime was all that separated skin to skin contact – was all, and was everything - as Regina straightened herself again, unnecessarily dusted down her already impeccable skirt as if she too needed something to do with her hands for just a moment. Emma’s own clammy palms clenched to fists at her sides, blunt nails digging into the creases of her palms, tight and taut. If she gripped hard enough, the prickling pain of her nails just might detract from the inexplicable pool of warmth that had gathered deep inside from the brush of such closeness. A warmth both impossibly familiar and completely foreign to the Sheriff as she rocked back and forth on the heels of her boots. And with such feelings came all too familiar itch, the urge to run far, far in the opposite direction of finding out what it meant…

“Care to enlighten me as to the reason for this visit, Sheriff, or shall I have to prise it out of you like a tooth?” Regina asked, with a not entirely feigned sigh.

From the cut of the jibe, Emma knew the expression on her own face was tantamount to the way one would look prior to a dental extraction. So intense had her focus been on trying to smother the tumultuous feelings tossing around inside herself, she hadn’t thought s much to school her outward emotions also. Nevertheless, she was grateful for the slightly awkward return to the expected banter after the uneasy silence had lingered for so long – too long. Seeing Regina’s eyes flicker, however briefly, to her fists still held at her sides, Emma shoved her hands into her pockets – as much to avoid the gaze, as to avoid being waylaid by any other stray objects or ruminations in the room.

“You’re needed at the Town Hall,” Emma finally croaked out, inwardly cursing the ever-so-slightly rusted aspect of her voice. Regina’s brow raised, obviously awaiting further elaboration for such a vague answer, but Emma turned on her heel, headed back toward the doorway, the sudden urge to leave, to flee from this house and all its oppressive things coiling uncomfortably inside her like a spring prepped to snap or spiral out of control with every prolonged second or step. She wasn’t surprised to hear the click of Regina’s heels behind her, but she made no move to turn back around even as Regina spoke.

“What mess has your mother made for us to clean up this time, that couldn’t have waited, that you’ve felt compelled to come to tell me in person- Emma?” Regina’s sarcastic quipping cut short just as Emma’s hand found the door handle, and Emma tried her best to ignore the voice in her head telling her to recognise that tint of concern to those last two syllables.

“Gotta get back,” Emma replied, too hastily for either of them to believe it. If she looked up from the door now, she knew she would see those dark eyes staring back, scoring deep, searching for answers in cracks and crevices that Emma always tried her damned hardest to conceal.

Before Regina could open her mouth, let alone say the words what’s the rush, Emma had pulled the door open – with perhaps a little more force than was necessary, and a breathless ‘see you there’ – and set off down the driveway at a near-impossible pace. Her fingers flexing down at her sides as though the repetitive motion could wear the memory of the coat-fabric from her fingertips, could shake away the unfathomable prickling warmth humming in her blood, and rub away the bruising half-moons setting deep into her palms, leaving Regina disconcerted, standing in the open doorway, to watch as she disappeared.

To be continued...possibly...

#once upon a time #emma swan #regina mills #emma x regina #swen #sq #swan queen #henry mills #this is what my brain comes out with at 3am #what is my life and my mental state #let’s explore through fanfic cuz that’s healthy right hahah

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