A/N: I believe I might be a masochist in writer's form. I'm- supposedly- trying to wrap up my fics to focus on my own work... But... My goddaughter wanted a bedtime story based around Regina teaching Emma magic (she's still at Neverland stage with watching, and is 4, so has no idea why her favourite characters please me so much) and... well... this happened. Language aside, this was close to what was told under the influence of rum and cookies tonight... I have a feeling the rest might be altered slightly for younger ears! Hope you enjoy :) Please review:)

Tapping her pen against her teeth, the blonde watches as the Queen stalks back and forth in front of her desk; a rather rich description for the stack of magazines and pad of paper she rests on her lap. Leaning back against threadbare cushions and overstuffed upholstery, Emma sighs; raising a brow as the Mayor once more turns her back to her and proffers the rather splendid retreating view of the back of her skirt.

"So, you want to take attendance or something, or are we good?"

The Sheriff offers sarcastically, her eyes trained on deep crimson. She muses idly that before coming to Storybrooke, she had never much been one for fashion... Regina has changed all that. Not to the extent that she should give a flying fuck how she dresses herself, but she upholds a curious... well... 'fascination' for the discomfort the darker woman is willing to bestow upon herself in order to really make an impression.

Smirking, Emma supposes that today is a perfect case in point; the rich scarlet cocoon of the brunette's pencil skirt hugging her mercilessly and cinching in prettily at the waist, beneath a cropped, flared blazer of the very same. The skirt is slit to showcase just the right amount of stockinged thigh to be considered proper, and the blazer hangs open to display the pristinely starched ivory of the shirt beneath.

Top two buttons undone.

Giving the eye very little, but the imagination much more.

Shaking herself a little distractedly from this last thought, Emma meets the disdainful glower her flippant comment has garnered with a well-practiced, stone-faced display of 'nothing'.

She herself sits with her legs crossed up underneath her; clad in a pair of nondescript pyjama shorts, and a promotional sweatshirt for an athletic event participated in long before the kid had come knocking at her door back in Boston.

She remembers that time; well, the communal changing rooms at least.

Pulling ruthlessly at the laces of her sneakers in that 'no-nonsense, no-mercy' way that had kept her well-regarded within her job, before turning to the scratched mirror above an identical set of sinks to tie her hair back.

She'd not won that- simply sadistic- course of mud, miles and obstacles, but her time had been pretty damn impressive, and at no point as her nikes had been pounding down on the track had she thought about the kid given up nine years before.

Funny how things change.

Yawning pointedly when the brunette ignores her in favour of throwing her housemate's- mother's... got to stop doing that...- chosen artwork a dismissive sniff, Emma puts pen to paper and begins doodling a series of scribbled spirals that weave in and out of each other disjointedly.

Regina fixes her with a solemn glower, before scolding loftily

"To take attendance, one would need a congregation of students... This is something I have little time for, nor have asked for... But it seems as though you have been somewhat thrust upon me."

For lack of a comeback, the Sheriff simply exaggerates and lengthens her yawn- doing absolutely nothing to hide the fact- and scrawls her name satirically across the top of the page. Matching apathy for disdain; the Mayor sighs, and places her hands on her hips as she surveys the small collection of books she'd brought with her on this most obscure of journeys.

"Why not date it and write Hook's name at the bottom inside a little heart?"

"I didn't know this was going to be a recurring, multi-dated thing, Your Majesty, and, with all due respect; go fuck yourself."

Dark coals flash with irritation, but then proceed simply to roll.

Had this been a year ago- in fact, not even that!- such crass language and disrespect might have rendered the older woman shocked... As it is, she merely offers a small sigh and turns back to the table on which two, large paper cups hold residence along with the literature that takes centre stage.

"Pupils I have neither had before, nor wanted- now, or back then- but you, Miss Swan, are less of a mystery to me. Double shot, extra sugar... I hope it does all the magic that skinny little waste of space at the Diner promised it would do."

She scolds; holding out one of the cups with a disgusted pull of pretty, full lips.

Cocking her head in surprise, Emma takes it; grinning when she catches the markered information lining the vessel's spine. In the square left open for sugars and syrups, there sits a bulbous, sideways 8... Infinity.

Below this are scrawled a loopy 'E' and a heart.

Thanks, Ruby.

Allowing no time for such soppiness, the Queen plucks a hefty book from the top of the pile and turns on the Sheriff with a hard look.

"Your childish cravings aside... You know why I'm here...?"

She awaits an answer- and she will be damned if she's going to accept any of that sarcastic, drawled drivel she has come to associate with the young blonde sprawled before her- dark eyes taking in a mussed ponytail of honey coloured- and, she is loathe to know of such things- honey scented curls tumbling down the soft cotton of the younger woman's asphalt coloured sweatshirt.

Curious, thick-rimmed glasses she has never seen before.

Mismatched socks peaking out beneath clumsily crossed limbs.

Give me strength...

Raising an eyebrow- waiting for Emma to answer her question- she merely thrusts the heavy book in her hands at the blonde and sniffs as the latter answers with baited flippancy

"To teach me a lesson?"

"... Correct, Miss Swan."