A/N- I have two disclaimers for you. First, this story will not be updated every day as my last two have been (it probably won't even be regular, sorry!). And second, this will be angsty with a capital ANGST, there will be warnings later on, and I'll make sure to preface anything so you know what to expect.


They met in what would seem to be the typical way that lesbians meet in college and in the short years following.

Emma began dating one of her exes. The girl herself was nothing short of a vapid narcissist, but Emma and Regina had both been sucked in by what (they agreed upon years later) was a mix of strong alcohol, loud music, and the woman's intoxicating personality.

Emma fondly referred to the woman as 'Glenn Close, circa 1987'.

But for the evening, Melanie has dragged Emma to a club she's never been to before. The whole club thing isn't really Emma's scene, but it had good alcohol, they don't card (it's a college town, how else are they supposed to make money), and the music isn't too bad all things considered.

They're somewhere between their third and fourth overpriced drinks when suddenly, Melanie freeze with her glass lifted halfway to her mouth and her eyes trained on a group of women across the club.

Her face twists into a scowl, and Emma responds. It's never been exactly hard to read the redhead's emotions, and tonight is no different, "What's wrong, Mel?"

"She's here."

The venom with which Melanie spat the two words leaves Emma without a question that the 'she' must be an 'ex' and glancing across the bar to where her girlfriend's attention was diverted, Emma quickly runs through all of the exes that Melanie's complained about.

There's Cassandra, and Jennine, but Emma knows both of them so she would have recognized them by now. Then there's Anna, Blake, and Simone, but as far as Emma knows, they're all out of the area either at a distant university or studying abroad for the semester. Looking more critically at the group of women in the far corner, one name swam to the surface of Emma's mind.

Regina.

Her eyes flitted to her girlfriend for a moment, long enough to see that Melanie just finished the rest of her drink and is now sullenly looking out towards the dance floor where she would inevitably drag Emma back to soon enough. For the moment, she recalls everything Melanie had told her about Regina while she double checks the group for a brunette.

According to Melanie, Regina was unreadable to a new dimension. She had high expectations (for herself and those around her), was academically superior (and knew it), had a bad self loathing streak, and was, as Melanie so affectionately put it, 'seriously fucked up'.

However, since there was no bright sign proclaiming these traits over any of the other women in the club, Emma has to settle on the fact that there were two brunettes in the group Melanie had been scowling at, and one appears to be Asian or possibly Mediterranean and thus was not the woman she was looking for.

"Emma?" The redhead asks, snapping her fingers before Emma's face in a gesture that was quickly grating on a nerve.

"I'm sorry, what did you say, babe?" Emma asks in retaliation. She knows how much Melanie hates it when she used pet names like that, and it just encouraged her to use them more.

"Dance with me?"

Though it was phrased as a question, Emma knows she has no choice but to down the remainder of her drink, shoot a lingering glance at the back of the brunette that just had to be Regina Mills, and follow her girlfriend into the writhing pit of bodies that dared call itself a dance floor.

In no time at all, Melanie finds (read: creates) a small space for them, and they join the amorphous blob moving to the upbeat song the DJ is remixing. Emma allows herself to get lost in the movement, appreciating this side of Melanie far more than the caddy true character of the woman that was beginning to appear more and more lately. They only leave the dance floor later in the evening (or was it earlier in the morning at this point) when Melanie proclaims the need for more alcohol and Emma scopes out a table for them to post up at for the moment.

It is from there that she manages to spot the brunette she had been looking for earlier. Emma sees the woman in arresting profile as Regina smiles at the blonde beside her. There is something about Regina that Emma flounders for a way to describe. The word 'lovely' comes to mind, but it seems too light and too esoteric. Too soft for the hard line of the woman's jaw.

For a moment, Emma is caught disconcertingly off balance. She's an English major, she would language for a living, for Christ's sake, and yet she can't find a word or turn of phrase to describe the woman she sees before her.

She finally settles on 'striking'. Liking the dual nature of the image, thinking of cavemen striking rocks together and seeing sparks for the first time.

"The bar is completely swamped." Melanie says, sidling up next to Emma, and handing her a drink.

"Mhm." Emma acknowledges her girlfriend shortly.

The redhead mistakes Emma's lack of interest as god knows what else, but for whatever reason she doesn't take offense to it, "God she's still here."

Emma raises an eyebrow in question, hoping that Melanie will elaborate. Thankfully, she does, "Regina hated coming here when we were dating."

"So that's her then?" Emma asks nodding at the brunette who now is shaking her head as two men approached the table, loaded down with shots.

"The one and only." Melanie confirms.

Emma watches in vague amazement as Regina swallows the clear liquid without a single bit of a wince, and no chaser. It's simultaneously intimidating and sexy as hell.

And then, Emma is frozen by the most intense brown gaze she's ever seen. Regina quirks an eyebrow before turning away and looking back at her own table.

She says something that Emma can't hear, and the table erupted in laughter. One of the blondes pushes Regina on the arm, and she takes the momentum, continuing to walk (more like saunter) across the club.

She stops in front of the table, and Emma could practically feel the anger vibrating off her girlfriend, "Melanie, it's lovely to see you again." Regina says, and god, Emma could die at that voice. It's low and rich, and Emma can physically feel it rolling down her spine.

"You as well." Melanie smiles.

"And you must be Emma."

If Emma thought she could die at just hearing Regina's voice, hearing the brunette say her name is something else entirely.

"I'm getting another drink." Melanie says, and Emma knows she wants her to come along, but she doesn't.

The second Melanie leaves, Regina makes her move, "So what's your story?"

"Excuse me?"

Regina smiles, and it's this white cheshire cat grin that Emma's equally in awe of, and afraid of, "You're a young, seemingly intelligent, clearly attractive woman. What are you doing here with a nightmare like Melanie?"

Emma doesn't know if it's the most honest question she's heard all week, or an extensive ploy to get her to break up with the redhead. Either way, she is caught off guard.

She regains her bearings soon enough, but even years later she can't quite coherently explain how she made it from the club to Regina's dorm room. She remembers Melanie snapping her fingers in front of her face again being the final straw. She remembers being briefly introduced to Regina's group of friends before a short cab ride filled with roaming hands and lips. She remembers how Regina tasted like gin and something inexplicable she would identify years later as saddness.

What she'll never forget is waking up naked in Regina's dorm room entirely alone. The only trace that Regina acknowledges her existence is a quick note scrawled on a paper left on the desk.

It reads- I have a seminar that ends at 11, there's a 10:30 Senate Bus that makes a circuit from Dartmouth to all the surrounding colleges. I've left 10 dollars, that ought to be enough for your bus ticket and a coffee.

From that, Emma gathers two things, Regina doesn't remember her name (or what college she went to), and she expects her gone by the time she got back.

Emma doesn't miss the bus, and before she gets on, she buys a coffee like Regina had suggested, dumping the rest of the 10 dollars in the tip jar. On the bus she writes, she doesn't have any paper so she uses a broken pen she found on the floor of the bus and writes on her empty cup.

She writes about how storms are named after people.


A/N- That's about as light as it's going to get, everything's going down hill from here.