Chapter Text
The first time Emma Swan cooked for Regina Mills was as an apology. Sure, getting her fancypants Merc towed had seemed funny at the time but Emma wasn't laughing after an irate mayor stormed into the sheriff's office, hair looking like small rampaging birds had attacked it, her stylish, long black jacket soaked through and her stockinged legs mud-spattered.
Pinned with a glare that promised a decades-long, torturous vengeance, Emma finally understood why people once called Regina the Evil Queen. Because seeing was believing.
"I know what you did," Regina snapped before Emma's wide eyes could even blink. She stomped up closer and sneered right into her face. "I don't need to hear what asinine, childish excuse you have to offer. You will drive me home right now and then make arrangements to have my illegally towed car delivered to my door."
"Uh…" Emma had offered helplessly.
Regina glared at her again, as one hand tried valiantly to smooth her wind-blown hair down to a tenth of its freakishly wild size.
"Yeah, OK," the sheriff agreed hastily, and grabbed the patrol car's keys. "My chariot's this way."
Regina seethed the entire way back to her mansion, body in a rigidly held posture, not talking. Emma steeled herself not to say anything to set her off again. But, shit, how was she to have known it was going to blow an unforecast, force 10 gale, then empty the heavens down on Storybrooke at the exact time Regina wanted to drive somewhere?
And it's not like the mayor hadn't wheel-clamped her Bug seven times in the first six months she'd known her.
But there was somehow something a whole lot less fun about seeing steam coming out of Regina's ears and knowing she was genuinely upset instead of merely her usual sarcasm-laden, garden-variety pissed.
Emma exhaled in relief as she finally pulled up the patrol car outside Regina's mansion. Regina didn't move a muscle.
"We're here," Emma offered redundantly. "Uh, is, um, is there anything else I can do? Like, until your car returns?"
"I think you've done enough, Miss Swan," Regina snarked and was suddenly out of the car, dropping her Merc's keys onto the now vacated seat. She peered back in.
"Especially since I have no way of getting to the grocery store to prepare for dinner tonight. Is this what passes as responsible parenting in your world, Sheriff? Missed meal times? Towing away a working mother's only form of transport? Snow must be so proud."
"Hey, come on, I didn't mean …"
The door slammed and Emma winced. "…to," she lamely finished as she watched the furious mayor stomp towards her stairs, arms pumping furiously. She looked like a sodden sexy Sasquatch.
Regina was right, though. Emma could practically see Snow's withering expression at her juvenile antics.
The '108' brass fitting vibrated as the mansion door slammed shut. Emma stared at it contemplatively. Hmmm. No way to shop? Well, the least she could do was bring dinner when she returned with Regina's Merc.
Emma wiped one anxious hand down her jeans, balancing the enamel dish of spaghetti bolognaise with the other. She swapped hands and repeated the process. Then she knocked.
She waited long enough to wonder if Regina was ignoring her or rocking out to Bon Jovi with headphones on when the door opened.
The mayor, clad in a hastily thrown on grey bathrobe, wet hair slicked back, eyed her with irritation.
"Car keys," Emma said quickly, trying very hard not to focus on the plunging vee of bare skin. "Your Merc's out front."
On impulse she grabbed Regina's shower-warmed hand in hers and dropped the keys into it. She felt immediately reluctant to let go, and so - because her brain was still short-circuiting on other suddenly fascinating things (was Regina really wearing absolutely nothing under that grey fabric?) - she didn't. She gently clasped Regina's hand in hers, which now held car keys.
Regina eyed her, then their hands, before peering back at Emma.
"If that's all? Or do you plan to hold my hand through dinner?" Her smile was not pleasant, but not her very worst either.
"Funny you should mention that …"
Emma let go of the alluring hand and lifted the covered dish to chest height. She offered an apologetic grin. "Dinner? Since you couldn't get to the shops and all?"
Regina froze. Surprise crossed her face and Emma watched as brown eyes looked at the dish as though expecting to find vulture innards. Emma lifted the foil to show it was relatively safe. A pleasing smell of cheese, meat, basil and tomato wafted up.
"You … cook, Miss Swan?"
"Uh no, not really. Well just for me and this was like my favorite dish when I was on my own, bounty hunting."
"Enough carbs to down a moose?" Regina suggested, eyebrows lifting. "No doubt Henry will love it."
"Well I hope not just Henry."
Regina snorted faintly and, with a show of reluctance, took the dish from the sheriff's hands. "I wouldn't get your hopes up dear."
"Oh, yeah. Right. Cos you're like a master chef and I'm just, ah, …" she waved a hand at herself, "amateur. I get it." She rolled her eyes.
"I'm glad we agree. Are we done? I would like to get dressed before I catch pneumonia. A side effect of your ridiculous prank today I might add."
The door began to close.
"Uh. Sorry. Yeah. OK."
It snicked shut. Emma exhaled and stared at it. Well. That had not been the world's most effective apology.
She considered Regina's words as she headed down the path. Maybe the problem was that she hadn't really considered Regina's tastes when she'd whipped up the dish. She'd only thought of her own. And a bit about Henry. An apology should take the recipient into account.
Hmm. She climbed into the patrol car. A wet puddle on the seat next to hers dampened her mood. Regina had certainly been drenched.
Yup, she owed a better apology than just her unfamous spag bol. Something wayyy better. Something befitting a former queen.