Clock Chimes

Chapter Three

STORYBROOKE, MAINE, 2022.
Five days before Emma's death.

Regina slowly comes to, blinking, breathing deeply, and stretching her legs. She rolls over in bed, facing the sleeping blonde tucked in beside her. She smiles fondly and rakes her nails gently over Emma's scalp, brushing blonde strands away from her face. The sensation wakes her, glazed eyes flickering open, looking Regina over, puzzled, for a moment, then gives her a sleepy smile.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," Regina greets her, only half-kidding, because her wife, even seconds after she's woken in the morning, looks breathtaking beside her. And not for the first time, she marvels that she's truly hers.

Emma frowns, still blinking. "You'd think that for us, fairytale-character nicknames would be kinda off-limits." Her voice is raspy with sleep, lips turning to a lazy half-smirk.

"Hm. You're beautiful, though."

Emma makes a face, swipes a hand over her chin. "Ew. I have drool all over me, stop lying."

Regina laughs, kicks her legs out from under the silky sheets, cold toes finding slippers directly underneath the bed.

Emma, fully awake now, props herself on her elbows, pouting. "Hey, where're you going, Babe?"

The brunette fixes the twisted spaghetti strap of her nightdress on her shoulder before taking a few slow, deliberate steps towards the bathroom with a small smile on her face. "Shower," she says, airily.

Emma flops back down, hair spilling into her mouth and across her face. "Aw. Bed's cold without you."

"Well, I really didn't think you needed an invitation," Regina mentions, slipping her gown off directly in Emma's view and moving into the bathroom.

"Oh! Hell, I really don't," Emma grins, springing out of bed and running across the room towards her wife.

The next thing heard is a shriek, a laugh, running water, and then--

Well.

---

Regina's kitchen has always sounded like music to Emma. A symphony, really.

There's the crack of an eggshell against the side of the counter, the sizzle as the yolk hits the hot, buttered pan, the sound of running water from the sink, the hum of the coffee maker, and the sigh she makes when Emma leans over and presses warm kisses down the side of her neck. There's the usual chastise of the stove is on, Emma, but the words leave Regina's throat huskily, and she's leaning heavily into the blonde's touch.

The coffee machine makes a particularly loud gurgle before a split-second of silence, then there's a long-suffering moan from it, and Emma can barely stifle her giggle. "Coffee's ready."

Regina, however, knows her far too well, and swats her pale arms when they release from Regina's waist. "For the last time, Emma, all coffee makers sound like that."

Emma snorts as she pours a generous cup for her wife. "This coffee maker sounds like it's having some seriously messed-up sex. I'm telling you, it's not normal." She roots around in the fridge and produces Italian Sweet Cream Coffee-Mate creamer, the only creamer that Regina will buy. She hovers the spout over the rim of the mug, pours, counts two long seconds, then stops. She reaches for the sugar, shakes the spoon until it's exactly half-full, then dumps it in the cup as well. She stirs vigorously, sucks the spoon, then holds it out to Regina.

Regina glares at the inappropriate comment, but her face instantly softens when she sees Emma's smile with her coffee. She sets the spatula aside and collects the mug from her, which says "woRLd's BesT mOmmY" in the shaky, unsure scrawl of a toddler, written in extremely faded green paint. The mug had been a Mother's Day present from Henry when he was five, and Regina cherishes it above some of her most valuable possessions. She still drinks from it almost every day, carefully handwashing it after each use. It never goes in the dishwasher.