I actually don't know what this is, but it's short and silly and have it anyway. \o/
Warnings for some swearing and suggestive stuff, but mostly just cuteness. And dogs.
Feel free to throw me a message if you liked it or even if you didn't!
"No. Absolutely not." Regina gives her this no-bullshit glare and oh fuck, this is where it ends for Emma. After everything they've survived, after all the Noble™ saviour-y sacrifices she's made, she's gonna get burnt to a crisp on Regina's porch because of a fucking dog.
"C'mon, Regina," Emma whines. Pongo scrabbles restlessly at her side, pulling at the leash in an attempt to get to Regina and lick her hands. "I promised Archie and Marco that I'd look after him while they had their romantic getaway thing."
"You promised," Regina retorts. "Not me."
"Are you gonna kick me out over a dog?" Emma asks, a little deflated. Regina's face softens, her eyes warm and slightly regretful.
Gotcha.
Emma tries again, quieter and what she hopes is less like a whiny child. "It's only for 24 hours and he'll be really good."
As if to prove a point, Pongo promptly plops down on his hind legs and stares up at Regina with wide brown eyes. She stares back, steely and unimpressed, and Pongo snuffles his wet nose.
There's a long, tense silence as Regina eyes the Dalmatian, but finally, she sighs, long and laboured. "Fine," Regina allows, stepping back to open the door wider.
Emma beams, and enters the house with Pongo following eagerly behind.
"I trust you have everything he needs," Regina says, following Emma and the excited dog further into the house.
The blonde kneels down to unclip Pongo's leash and let him loose, and he runs in circles for a moment before hurtling towards Regina, paws skidding clumsily on the polished floor and his tail wagging at a hundred miles an hour. He nearly crashes into the mayor, and then his wet nose is on her hands, sniffing eagerly.
Emma holds up a black duffel bag that had been hoisted on her shoulder a moment ago and smiles widely. "All set."
Regina nods once, and then winces when she feels Pongo's tongue on her skin. He obliviously trials sticky saliva all over the hands of his friend friend friend. "If he pees in the house, I'm taking him back to Archie myself – romantic getaway be damned," she threatens.
"I'm fairly sure he's housetrained, Regina," Emma teases, rolling her eyes. She sets the bag down on the floor, and then heads towards the front door once more.
"Where are you going?" Regina demands in the way she does when she's feeling confused and out of her depth. Pongo circles her, nuzzling her hands and bumping his nose against her hips.
"Work," Emma states in a duh tone. "Storybrooke won't sheriff itself."
"And you're – leaving me with him?" Regina shakes her head once in disbelief. "Emma, I've got to go to work, I can't be – dogsitting all day."
Emma shoots her a crooked smile. "So take him in with you, or work from home."
"Why can't you take him? You're the one who agreed to, after all."
"I'm the sheriff," Emma replies. "What if I get called out?"
Regina's eyebrows pull together and she opens her mouth to argue, but then Emma is ducking out of the door. "Bye, have a good day! Love you," she says lightly, and then the door shuts behind her.
The mayor stares at the door for a second, and then Pongo bumps the back of her knees with his head as if to grab her attention for himself. He pads around her and then settles by her side, looking up at her as if to say, "Now what?"
She can hear the tell-tale thumping of her son coming down the stairs, and, sure enough, he appears at the bottom a moment later.
"Mom? Was Ma–" Henry pauses and cocks his head. "Why is Pongo here?" His voice is curious and just a little excited.
"Morning," Regina greets, her voice softer than it had been before as she turns to face him. "Your other mother ever so kindly told Archie we'd take him, and conveniently forgot to mention it before."
A little grin breaks out across his face. "So we have him…"
"Until tomorrow morning," Regina finishes off. The corners of her lips twitch upwards at Henry's excitement despite her resignation about the whole thing.
"Awesome." And then he's running down the last few steps to meet the dog who's been a friend to him for as long as he can remember.
When Henry crouches down and lets Pongo jump into his arms, laughing and playing with the dog, Regina can't hide her smile.
Still, she doesn't like pets. She doesn't.
She doesn't.
Especially not when they insist on trying to initiate a game of fetch inside the office whilst Regina is on the phone having a Very Important Conversation.
Especially not when they track mud all over her marble floor and she has to decide whether to put up with the disruption of a cleaner or leave the dirt there and clean it up herself later, because she simply doesn't have time right now.
Especially not when they think her shag rug is another animal and spend a good half hour alternating between growling at it and clawing at it.
Regina presses her fingers to the bridge of her nose and exhales slowly.
She stands and calls Pongo's name. He lifts his head to look at her from his nest of blankets (expensive blankets) across the room, and a moment later, he stands and trots over. Regina swears his tail hasn't stopped wagging since the door opened this morning and he looks like he's grinning.
She holds up the leash coiled up on the corner of her desk, and he barks eagerly, only wagging his tail faster.
Maybe if he runs some of his energy off, he'll be less inclined to try to kill the rug and disrupt her work.
Regina crouches down to slip the loop over Pongo's head, and when she stands, she grabs her coat and the roll of plastic bags that had been in the duffel bag.
Maybe they'll visit the sheriff.
As it turns out, people are strangely more amiable than usual towards her when Pongo is running a metre ahead of her all the time, eager to smell every smell and greet every friend.
She's learning quickly that Pongo sees everyone as his friend.
It's not endearing. Not at all.
She doesn't like pets.
They swing past Granny's briefly, and Pongo waits obediently outside whilst Regina gets coffee and lunch for herself and Emma.
"Is Archie here?" Ruby muses to Granny as they move fluidly around one another behind the counter.
Granny shrugs – all her typical (amusing) attitude.
"Pongo's outside," Ruby explains as she puts lids on Regina's drinks. "I thought Archie was away this week."
Regina clears her throat. "Pongo's with me," she admits.
"Oh?" Ruby smirks as she passes over the drinks and the paper bag. "I didn't figure you for a dog person, Mayor Mills."
"I'm not," Regina says too quickly.
Ruby's smug smile just grows bigger. "Sure," she says with an expression that says I know better.
It's a wolf thing, right? Some survival instinct or something. She knows who's a dog person and who's not.
And Regina? She definitely is.
"Have a good lunch with the Sheriff, Regina," Ruby offers innocently.
Regina rolls her eyes and exits the diner with every bit of Mills flair she can muster.
She's not a dog person. Ruby doesn't know anything.
By the time they arrive at the Sheriff's station, they've been all away round the lake (and it's a big lake) and in a big loop around town, taking a detour along the beach for a game of fetch.
Pongo has calmed down a little, apparently having had enough excitement for one day, but he perks up again when they walk through the double doors, and Regina thinks she's mostly just succeeded in tiring herself out.
The dog pulls at her as they walk into the office – "office" (more like a common room for teenage idiots – she's lost count of how many times she's caught Emma and Charming throwing paper planes). Emma is lounging in her seat, her boots resting on her desk as she sips from her Storybrooke Police Department mug.
She brightens up when her girlfriend and Pongo walk in, dropping her boots to the floor and sitting forward in her chair, a big puppy grin on her face.
"Hey, Madam Mayor," she greets brightly.
Pongo is practically in her lap in a second. "Hey, buddy!" Emma laughs, scratching him behind the ear.
Regina watches the display with a fond smile. Emma really is just a big kid sometimes.
"How has he been?" Emma asks when Pongo finally settles down a little.
"It's been…interesting, that's for sure," Regina tells her, watching the dog explore the office.
Emma winces. "That bad? Really?"
And – it hasn't been that bad, Regina will admit; it could be far worse. Pongo doesn't deliberately cause trouble and he's very good tempered. He's just got a rather large amount of energy and doesn't take too well to being ignored.
He likes affection, she'd found out when he'd sat next to her as she'd filed budget reports and the like, whining until she'd given in and scratched behind his ear with her left hand whilst writing with her right.
"He's an endless pit of energy," Regina answers. "And he killed my rug at least three times this morning."
Emma chuckles. The non-answer doesn't go unnoticed.
"I brought lunch," Regina states, holding up the paper bag and the cup holder.
"Did I ever mention I love you?" Emma groans, taking the pro-offered items from Regina so she can remove her coat.
"Several times," Regina responds with a smirk. She shrugs off her coat and hangs it up before hopping up onto Emma's desk. "Repeatedly, last night."
"Shhh," Emma hushes with a mildly embarrassed grin. "You were doing that thing with your tongue and…" Her eyes sweep over the toned thighs that are displayed for her as Regina sits pertly on her desk.
She's quickly distracted, however, when Regina opens the bag and sets a cheeseburger and fries in front of her.
Regina smirks at the quick transition from vaguely aroused to ravenous with hunger. They do say the quickest way to a woman's heart is through her stomach.
They eat in companionable silence, some classic rock playing quietly on the tinny radio, and Pongo near their feet trying to guilt Emma into giving him her burger. When that fails, he resorts to playing with a stick (branch) he'd dragged in, but never stops giving Emma these sad, longing glances. When they finish, Emma cleans her hand and slides them up the outside of Regina's thighs.
"So," the sheriff murmurs, trying to sound subtle. "About that thing with your tongue – you wanna see how I can compare?"
Regina allows it for a moment, enjoying the look in Emma's slightly hooded eyes and the way her fingers leave goosebumps in their wake.
Emma stands and settles between her thighs, kissing her slowly. And ok, she's really not opposed to doing this on Emma's desk, but she's suddenly very aware of Pongo mere metres away, growing restless.
They part, and Regina smirks, her mouth lingering over Emma's for a second longer than necessary. She hops promptly off the desk and grabs her coat. "In front of the dog? Really, Miss Swan?" she teases. If Emma's gonna saddle her with a dog she didn't ask for all day, Regina's going to have a little fun playing with her lover. "I would have thought even you'd have a little more class," she purrs.
Emma just whines like a child denied candy. "Re-gina," the blonde complains, drawing out the last syllable.
"Pongo," Regina calls. When he sits neatly down in front of her, she slips his leash on once more. "I'll see you later, Sheriff. Have a productive day."
Pongo is a lot better behaved that afternoon, so their walk must have tired him out more than Regina originally thought. He spends most of the afternoon curled up on her sofa, sleeping quietly.
Regina almost misses the excitement and liveliness of the dog trotting around the office, exploring and playing without a care in the world. She's left with especially tedious town requests and a teleconference that makes her want to tear her hair out, and she misses Pongo's comforting presence and his soft fur under her fingertips.
And later, when the teleconference is drawing to a close, he wakes and pads over to her desk. He rests his head on her knees, looking up at her with warm, loving brown eyes, and suddenly King George's rambling monologue seems far more bearable. Without even thinking, her fingers are on his head, stroking in a way that's soothing for the both of them.
When the meeting ends finally, she sighs and stands, rubbing gently at her temples. She can feel a headache coming on thanks to George's idiocy, and if the throbbing is any indication, it's not going to be a small one.
Pongo whines quietly, bumping her hands with his nose, and she crouches down to be at his level. She scratches absently at the spot behind his ear, and he leans into her touch. "What do we say to awful men who make moronic requests and can't take no for an answer?"
The Dalmatian barks, as if he understands her words – which isn't the most outlandish idea, all things considered. She'll have to ask Archie. It would explain why he makes such a good therapy dog.
Regina chuckles and shakes her head, wondering briefly if she's lost it. Before she can question herself, she dips forward quickly to drop a light kiss in Pongo's short fur, giving him a hug of sorts.
"Let's go home," she tells him, standing and collecting her things.
"Regina?" Emma calls out when she enters the house. (Regina's given her a key since she pretty much lives here now anyway, and it's a nice sort of permanence that doesn't make her want to run – just makes her chest feel warm and fuzzy.)
No answer.
Henry's not home – he's staying at a friend's and they're spending the evening 'studying' (playing video games and eating pizza) – but Regina should be. If she was working late, she'd text – she always does.
"Regina!" she tries again, louder this time. She kicks her boots off and leaves them messily in the hall like Regina hates. Emma walks deeper into the house, into the kitchen. "You here?"
Nothing.
Her heart starts pounding in her chest, and she immediately fears the worse, because fuck if she's about to lose her family so soon after finding it.
She checks the study to see if Regina's fallen asleep in there again like she often does when she works herself too hard, but no – she's not there either.
Crap.
Trying to ignore the apprehension quickly rising inside her, Emma heads up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
Their bedroom's a good place to look, right?
She pushes the door open slowly, pushing away all the awful horror movie-worthy scenarios that are in her mind.
And –
Her worry was unnecessary, because her heart warms at what she finds.
Regina is curled up in bed, stripped down to her camisole and some dark leggings, and next to her is Pongo. They're both sleeping soundly, Pongo's head resting on Regina's stomach and one of Regina's hands on Pongo's shoulder.
It's the cutest thing Emma's ever seen, and she snaps a quick photo on her phone before either of them can move. Regina might possibly fireball her for it, but what she doesn't know can't hurt her, right?
Unwilling to disturb the quiet moment, Emma starts to back out of the darkened room as quietly as possible.
She apparently fails, because as she's pulling the door slowly closed, Regina husks groggily, "Emma?"
Emma turns to see a still-sleepy Regina peering at her through squinting eyes. Evening sunlight slants through the space between the blind and the windowsill and dances across glowing olive skin, and it's possible Regina's never looked so gorgeous.
"Hey," Emma greets softly, stepping forward again. "Don't like pets, huh?" Her lips are curled into a smile, have been since she first entered the room.
"Shut up," Regina mumbles. "And come join us."
And Emma's not about to turn down something like that. She shrugs off her leather jacket, kicks off her jeans, and drops her badge and gun on the dresser before crossing the room and dropping down next to her lover.
"Good day?" she asks quietly, her finger's lacing with Regina's between them on the mattress.
"Tiring day," Regina corrects. "King George and his gang of morons are a royal pain in the ass."
Emma exhales a quiet laugh at the (probably unintentional) pun. "I hear you. Just the other week I had to go over there because he was complaining about kids skateboarding down his street." She rolls her eyes. "Apparently no one's allowed to go down his street or have fun ever."
Regina makes an annoyed sound.
"Not that I'm complaining about this here, but why are you in bed so early?" Emma asks tentatively. It's a little past six in the evening, and Regina's never been one for early nights unless something's wrong.
The brunette is silent for a moment, pondering whether or not to say – because as far as she's come with being open to love, she'll never be someone to willingly tell people when she's feeling bad. If she evades, though, it'll become a Thing, and she supposes just saying would be easier. "Headache," she murmurs as nonchalantly as possible. "It's mostly gone now." Regina shifts closer to Emma and rests her head against the sheriff's shoulder.
"If you're sure," Emma breathes.
"I'm sure," Regina reassures, and winds an arm around Emma's waist.
Pongo stirs a little, just enough to open his eyes and blink at the bed's new occupant. When he decides Emma's allowed to stay, he picks himself up and drops himself between them, half on top of them. It's almost comical, the way he forces himself into the small gap between the two of them, but it's cute too.
"I always wanted a dog," Emma says quietly after a moment. Her fingers trail absently over the bare skin of Regina's shoulder.
Regina hums – neutral, yet still sounding like an agreement to something.
"One of my families – they had a dog," Emma continues. "A Labrador retriever or something, called William." She picks absently at the hem of her tank top. "He was the sweetest thing – really gentle with little kids and always knew when you were feeling miserable."
The brunette smiles sadly, because this doesn't sound like a story with a happy ending. "What happened?"
Emma shrugs the shoulder that Regina isn't resting against. "I got into some trouble at school so they sent me back. I never saw William again." She says it in a nonchalant voice, but the pain is still there, buried underneath, masked well but not well enough.
"I'm sorry," Regina murmurs, pressing a kiss to Emma's shoulder.
Emma sighs and gives Pongo a scratch. "Don't be. It was a long time ago."
"If I hadn't–" Regina starts, but Emma quickly cuts her off because they've done this before – Regina blaming herself for Emma's childhood.
"Hey," Emma interrupts. "Not your fault, remember? You cast some curse but it was my parents who stuck me in a tree, and it was shitty families who fucked me over when I was in the system – not you."
It's Regina's turn to sigh – like she doesn't buy Emma's explanation for a second.
She doesn't get a chance to argue, though.
"You and Pongo, huh? You're best friends now?" Emma asks with a crooked smile.
"We're – he's bearable," is all Regina lets on.
Emma snorts. "Right – that's why you let him in our bed and curled up with him," she retorts playfully.
The other woman opens her mouth and closes it again.
"I know you're a big softie, Gina," Emma teases.
"Call me 'Gina' again and I'll prove to you just how wrong you are," Regina threatens nonchalantly.
"Yeah," Emma drawls.
Regina jabs her in the ribs, prompting a yelp. The sheriff crosses her arms protectively over her chest and grumbles something that sounds like 'rude'.
The brunette chuckles. Child.
(As if she hadn't just resorted to childishness to try and win a losing argument.)
(Whatever.)
They lay in silence for a bit, just basking in the warmth of one another, the warmth of this – the two of them, a family, and Pongo fitting right in with them. It's everything Emma's ever dreamt of – security, the perfect family who love her and understand her.
Regina and Henry – they accept every part of her, good and bad, and she accepts every part of them.
"He's very well behaved," Regina admits, absently stroking Pongo. "I see why Archie keeps him around during his sessions."
Emma hums in agreement. "Are you saying you'll miss him when he goes tomorrow?"
A resigned sigh from Regina, and then, after a long pause – "Maybe. Just a little."
She thinks of Pongo's constant quiet noise – claws clicking against marble and barking when, well, anything happens – and the way it makes the room feel more alive and warm. She thinks of his head in her lap when during her meeting, and big, understanding eyes, and comfort so easily given.
It could work. Maybe.
"Do you still want a dog?" Regina asks as subtly as she can.
Subtle as a fucking brick.
Emma sees rightthrough her. A grin spreads across her face. "See – softie," she jests. Then, keeping her eyes carefully on the ceiling, she says, "I'd love one."
"Yeah?" An unspoken agreement.
"Yeah," Emma agrees. "One condition, though – he doesn't sleep in our bed every night." When Regina gives her a quizzical look – she'd thought she'd be the one banishing the dog from the bed, not the other way around – Emma explains. "As much as I love the idea of a dog sleeping in our bed, I don't love the idea of never having sex again because you won't do it with the dog in the room."
Regina rolls her eyes. "I think that can be arranged."