A/N: Soo... this is a week or two old threeshot that I started just because I was in Emma's condition, sniffling and sniveling and sneezing and let's face it, every ship needs to use this plot twist at least once, even though it's about as original as the holes in the socks I'm wearing. I turned out into something... more, but not much more, if that makes sense. Well, I'll let you see for yourself.

Le moi is not a native English speaker. You've been warned yet again.

Life with Mary Margaret had its many perks, that much was true. It represented an endless supply of hot cocoa with whipped cream and cinnamon on top, a bittersweet farewell to constant loneliness and fun nights of cards combined with the occassional drinking game while watching Gone with the Wind repeatedly (don't ask, the average human mind just isn't equipped for a revelation like that). However, the transition was all too rough for a certain Emma Swan, so she welcomed the reversion to a life of solitude – if only for a week while Mary Margaret was on a trip in the woods with her class. Something biology-related; she didn't even know. The important part is that she was going to enjoy every minute of it with loud Rolling Stones, loud bickering with the Mayor and definitely loud—


"We will now take a short break. Miss Swan, a word," the all too regal brunette announced from her seat on the stage. The way she drew out the 'Miss' for an unnecessary second or two and her voice then dropped a note or two lower made her annoyance blatant and members of the city council broke into chatter, placing bets on for how long the Sheriff was going to get suspended.

Emma wiped her nose into the back of her hand and rolled her eyes, following Regina none too enthusiastically out of the room. This was either going to ruin her day or give her an opportunity to bless the Mayor with a few snarky remarks of her own.

The few steps seemed like a journey across the Saharan desert and once outside, Emma struggled to focus on whatever Regina was saying. It wasn't like she had a raging headache or anything of the sort. Yet somehow, all she managed to register from the monologue was this: "You're obviously in no condition to be working. Go home; get some rest."

"I habe do idea whad you're dalking aboud," Emma deflected and didn't realize how silly her confidence sounded in combination with her runny nose strongly influencing the better part of her pronuncation.

"Right, and I'm the Evil Queen," Regina snorted under her breath, giving the blonde her best 'oh please' face. "You're distracting everyone with your sneezing, your entire contribution to the debate so far has consisted of sniveling – repulsive, I might add – and you're of no use to anybody with a fever like that."

"I don'd habe uh—"

"Unlike you, Miss Swan, I am a mother, and all these years of training come with an impeccable instinct to tell a flu from miles and miles away; not to mention you could be diagnosed by a monkey with a bottle of Motrin. Your sinuses are practically glaring at me." Everyone knew things were about to get ugly when Regina resorted to putting her hands on her hips in true Superman fashion. She was counting on it.

"Well, dank you for that graphic describshion, Badam Bayor. That's very cobforting—eh—eh—" Emma jumped involuntarily as her whole body shook with another violent ACHOO. She kept holding her nose for fear of it happening again. The itch was there and it all suggested she would sneeze one more time, but no. Her nose just had to deny her that relief. It was the worst feeling since being smacked square in the face by a certain town Mayor.

"Go home, so I can function without your constant interruptions. Or else I will have you thrown out for spreading germs all over the place," Regina commanded and returned to the rest of the council (which was really just a fancy name for anyone who meant anything in Storybrooke), closing the door behind her.

Guh. Fide.

She was deeply immersed into watching CSI: Miami on full volume, listening carefully so as not to miss any of Caruso's one-liners and crunching a fistful of salty popcorn from the box on her lap (Mary Margaret wasn't home, people!) when the doorbell rang. "Whaddyou wand?"

Regina observed the scene from the hallway. She took in the tank top and sweatpants, the nose one could easily mistake for Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, the pieces of popcorn lying on the floor, the obnoxiously loud shooting coming from the television screen, the bucket of by now half-melted ice cream on the kitchen counter – and that was the last straw. "Do I have to spell it out for you? Bed! Now!" She yelled, storming right past the blonde and towards the TV remote, which she grabbed and promptly hit the mute button with extraordinary precision (years of practice with Henry, Emma assumed).

"Whoa, whoa, hold od a second, you can'd be here!" the younger woman protested, watching in silent horror as her favorite cold caramel treat headed straight for the trash can. The same then counted for what was left in the box of delicious, delicious microwave popcorn. A sudden urge to ask whether she could at least crash on the couch washed over her before she realized that however influential, Regina couldn't do crap to her if she simply decided not to listen to a thing she said. Unless she was going to kill her with a kitchen knife.

She was willing to take that risk.

While Regina was busy pouring the one substance that had been keeping her alive – her coffee – in the sink, Emma stumbled over to the couch and fell onto it with an 'unf', deciding this time was as good as any to wrap her arms around herself and take a short nap. Not that she was exhausted and shivering, let alone completely drained of all energy; no, she was just too lazy to deal with the Mayor's bullshit right now. Or anytime soon, for that matter.

Sometime later – had it been minutes or hours? She couldn't tell – Regina was back with her blanket, obviously having figured out the chances of Emma moving by herself were less than slim. "You can't take care of my town if you can't even take care of yourself. I swear to god, never before have I met an irresponsible idiot such as yourself," she scoffed, throwing the blanket over the blonde, who was already half asleep.

"Uhuh, dodally. I'b all tucked in like a good girl. Dow could you please leave be do by bisery? And CSI?" Wrapping the blanket tighter around herself, Emma aimed all her remaining energy at trying to make her lip stop quivering. It was kind of her thing; no matter how horrible she looked (and how well aware she was of it), she would always put up a fight and try to seem worthy of whoever she was talking to.

Try to seem less miserable.

By then, Regina was already done making ginger tea with honey and lemon – the instant cure-all – and set one cup on the table (along with a much needed box of tissues) before settling at Emma's feet on the couch with her own cup in hand, sipping her tea as delicately as if she hadn't just finished taking the whole place apart.

"No," answered the brunette calmly a short while later as she set the bellflower-patterned cup down on the saucer.

Emma glared at her from behind the blanket and sank deeper into the back of the couch. A week of freedom had been turned into a week of torture and endless suffering, and as far as she was concerned, it wasn't the disease's fault.