The radio in her office crooned Christmas music from decades before. Every year, the sappy tunes filled the town from November to January with "holiday magic"—a term that she took more literally than the average tinsel-drunk muggle. (Not a word she used in public, muggle, for the sake of cover and also the fact that she would only be caught dead with that scarred wizard boy and his ilk.) Religious carols or odd folk songs, the musical trend came and went most years with no offense. Christmas had no counterpart in Fairy Tale Land, something she alone remembered. Regina usually couldn't care less.
This year she'd destroyed three radios already. Every other song spoke of family celebration and happiness, and the calls to joy made her suck down bile. Rumplestiltskin and Archie alike had planted the notion in her mind that she had a hole, an emptiness, a need. Growing like a thorny weed, the notion had driven her to create 12 double-spaced pages of adoption agencies. To no avail. Waitlists of two years and condescending smiles were all she received. Regina had been on her way to Gold's store to demand his aid a month ago, but her stubbornness won at the last second. She would remain on her own in this quest for a child.
Christmas' arrival only made the ordeal one big tease. Despite her angered smashings of previous radios, someone always kept bringing a new one with a ridiculous smile on their face, and she couldn't bring herself to smash yet another. It was beneath her, really.
Good tidings we bring, to you and your kin, said radio chimed in, smug and timely.
"Oh for evil's sake!" Regina tossed the adoption lists into the trash bin and set them afire. It felt almost as good as a fireball. A Queen would not be thwarted by sentiment and government agencies, nor would she stoop to Gold's level. There had to be something else.
Tugging on her coat and leather gloves, she left for a walk. A snowstorm was expected and everything smelled crisp, like the first apples of autumn. Every tree in the town had been appropriated for holiday lights, tinsel, and shiny signs that wished Joy and Peace and Noel to everyone. A valiant effort, but Regina felt unmoved. It wasn't so bad the first ten times someone wished her a Merry Christmas, but the eleventh made her grind her teeth. For a moment she truly felt evil, and wondered if it was possible to cancel Christmas. Damn Rumplestiltskin. Damn that therapist thing.
Regina walked around a corner only to have Mary Margaret's pile of packages whack her in the face, knocking them both over. One of her heels snap and she landed on her tailbone with an unroyal squeak.
"Madam Mayor!" Mary Margaret was sufficiently shocked and sorry, though that did nothing to Regina's pride. The woman scrambled to her feet and started picking up the brightly wrapped packages.
"Watch. Where. You're. Going." Regina brushed the dust off her coat and stood up, holding the broken heel in a gloved fist.
"I'm so sorry, do you need—"
"No," Regina snapped, then managed a forced smile. "Go deliver your presents. I'm fine."
Mary Margaret's glowing smile stuck around for a few seconds before she received the message and trod off with her pile of gifts.
Closing her eyes and internally cursing, Regina sighed and hobbled along the sidewalk. This shoe had been her very first purchase in Storybrooke, after she realized that using headdresses and collars for height enhancement was not common in this world and heels would be required instead. To have it break now, of all times—it seemed like the world had it out for her.
After a few hobbling steps, she had to at least stop for a moment to make both shoes even. The first door was the animal shelter's, and she seated herself on the nearest chair within. Wet dog odor assailed her nostrils while a bright sign implored her to "Give a Home for the Holidays", using for emotional manipulation an appropriately sad looking kitten. Regina pulled both shoes off and stared at the one mangled heel.
"Can I help you?" A perky big-haired young woman came over, her nametag reading Karina.
"I just need to fix my shoe." Regina pressed her lips together and snapped the other heel so it matched the first. It was sacrilege, but it would get her back to the office.
"Oh, Madam Mayor! I'm sorry, I didn't recognize—I mean, expect you to be here. Are you looking for a companion?"
Regina's head popped up, a scowl forming between her brows. "What?" No one knew about her hunt for a baby, she'd thought. If it were otherwise... Her hands tensed into half-fists.
Karina blinked wide brown eyes. "Um, I... I just wondered if you were here to adopt."
"How do you know that?" Regina demanded, realizing a second too late that her paranoia was unfounded.
The woman stammered for words.
Regina felt her cheeks redden with more than just the winter cold. She was losing her mind. Since her reputation wouldn't allow her to berate a mere employee, nor just leave with a cold indifference, she had to resort to damage control. "I... I just came to look," she finally said, hoping the cool of her tone would counteract the embarrassment on her cheeks. She'd look at some mangy strays and then be gone. No harm done to her pride beyond walking home in flats.
"I understand." Karina recovered composure and smiled conspiratorially. "We can look as long as you like."
Regina stuffed down the impulse to roll her eyes and tugged on her broken heels. Just as Karina gestured towards the shelter door in the back, what sounded like a highway pileup of ten cars or more came from that very door.
"Do you have elephants back there?" Regina asked.
Karina, frowning, opened the door.
Amid yelps and shrieks of shelter staff, a dark shadow darted out between Karina's legs. Regina saw her life pass before her eyes as a fluffy black monster leaped towards her head.
Three seconds later, she had not died, but could see only blackness. Furry blackness.
"I... I think Bear likes you?"
Regina blinked, hands frozen in preparation for a defensive spell. The cat hugged her neck and started to purr.
As far as anyone but Karina would ever know, Regina had chosen to adopt the cat. There would be no rumors about the cat refusing to let go of her, no, none at all. Not if Karina wanted to keep her job at the shelter.
Lugging a cat carrier and a bag of cans, toys and litter home, Regina grumbled to herself. "Bear. Ha. I've met bears. They're usually quite sane. You, though—you're psychotic."
The cat meowed from within the carrier.
"No, I mean it." Regina climbed the steps to her office, lips twitching. "You're a lunatic. I don't want a cat."
Bear meowed in disagreement.
"I'm only doing this as a public service. You made all their lives hell, for no good reason as far as I can see."
Bear remained suspiciously silent. Regina set the carrier on her desk and eyed the fluffy feline monstrosity. "What, you expect me to believe your hate is rational? Did they send your true love to be adopted in another home? Refuse to provide you with your favorite shampoo? What?"
The cat poked a paw through the carrier. Regina thought for a moment it was affectionate, but then claws tugged at her coat button.
"No," she reprimanded, with minor disappointment. "No. Stop it, B— Bear isn't the right name. Quixote, that's more like it." She'd always wanted to use that name for something, and felt quite pleased with herself.
With a slight meow, he tried to play with her coat button again. Regina glared and slapped his paw away. Quixote whined.
For all that he'd literally hugged her at the shelter, she did not care. Animals were queer things. Still, there was some rumor in this world that cats thought of themselves as royalty. Maybe he recognized the royal spark in her. She couldn't quite justify turning away devotion, even from an annoying beast. Regina set a food bowl on the floor, opened the carrier, and swished her hand in the food's direction. "Eat and leave me alone."
She sat at her desk, staring at the emptiness until she remembered that she'd burnt all her adoption contacts. Frustration twisted in her gut again, just as the Christmas melodies came to a sharp halt.
"Quixote!" Regina's jaw dropped. Quixote looked guiltily towards her, a shredded cord in his mouth and his fur all on end. She pointed to the food bowl. "Get over there."
The cat slunk away and Regina rubbed her temples. Cover be damned, public service be damned, this had been a bad idea. She turned on the computer and prepared to do more adoption research. Before she'd typed a single word, Quixote leapt onto her lap and laid his head on the keys.
Regina pushed his head to the side, but found herself typing "cats" into the search box. The animal shelter had been a mistake to visit, one that Mary Margaret (of course) was to blame for. The sooner she handled this "pet", the better. Three hours, 17 videos and 5 separate memes later, however, she felt just as disgruntled. "This is ridiculous," she told herself, closing out the tab with the cat who had a strange desire for McDonald's fare. Quixote licked her hand, then spread himself completely over her keyboard. "You're ridiculous. I don't want a pet."
It was as if the cat was impervious to criticism.
Someone knocked on the door and Regina rose to her feet, tugging her blouse into place. "I'm returning you to the shelter in the morning," she warned Quixote as she left the office.
The dispute over nativity scenes took three hours to solve. Regina returned home tired of people and tired of this stupid world. Shedding her coat and secondary set of heels with a weary groan, she stumbled to the bedroom and let herself drop onto the mattress. Bed was nice. Bed was luxurious, even if far too large for one person. The silk would caress her to sleep where she didn't have to think about anything.
She'd curled up comfortably, half in dreamland, when something attacked her feet. Regina tried to send a fireball out of old habit, though in her sleepiness it would have hit the wall instead of the attacker anyway. "You," she hissed. Quixote tried to look innocent, showing her his belly. Regina examined her toes for injury, but found no evidence with which to convict the cat. Wagging a finger, she lay back down, too tired for war. "I will not hesitate to destroy you if you scratch me."
The cat ignored her and curled up in a moon shape.
Despite her determination, Regina could not find it in herself to return Quixote the next morning. He was damnably...warm. And fuzzy. A good companion in the winter. Besides, she decided, he might improve her image to adoption agencies.
Regina filed her paperwork, while Quixote ate his breakfast then snuck three bites of her bear claw before she noticed.
Regina held a meeting with the sheriff, Quixote whining until he was allowed to sit on her lap and be stroked. She only half minded—cats, she'd discovered on the internet, were a power-play in the laps of the mighty.
Regina attempted to make more adoption calls, but gave up after the fifth time Quixote tried to chew through the phone wire as well. She banished him to the closet, but had lost her nerve for the adoption search.
Regina went home after sunset, made lasagna, and in the moment she turned her back on him, Quixote dragged the bag of mozzarella cheese under the couch and gorged himself. When she found the pile of cheese vomit later, it was almost the final straw. He lay on his belly, though, looking fat and pathetic, and she only gave a death glare.
Regina had a glass of wine with her mostly-cheeseless lasagna. Quixote climbed onto her lap, nudged her hand, and purred contentedly. Perhaps it was the wine, but she almost found it endearing. "You are a nuisance," she informed him, scratching between his ears. The cat turned to jelly on her lap and Regina almost smiled. Quixote stretched, knocking the bottle of wine over, and Regina named off a dozen insults while cleaning up the carpet. The magic was over.
Regina went to sleep, Quixote lying atop her belly like an electric blanket. "I still don't want a cat," she mumbled. "I'm returning you to the shelter in the morning."
When she woke in the morning, Quixote wasn't in the bed. Regina blinked, saw long tears in her precious silk sheets, and let out a deadly wail. The cat, as if on cue, hopped onto the bed with his tail tucked between his legs. "Why?" Regina demanded, pointing at the ripped sheets. "Why would you do this?"
Quixote meowed, rubbing her hand. She pulled it away. "No."
The cat flopped on the bed, blinking remorselessly. Regina grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and shook him. "Bad. Bad Quixote." He mewwed, offended.
Regina carried him from the bed to the carrier, ignoring his protests. She tugged on clothes, annoyed at herself, and carried him back to the shelter.
Karina's face fell when she stepped through the door. "Something wrong?"
"I can't do this." Regina put the carrier down and rubbed her hands together. "This thing is destructive and disobedient. And in any case, I want a child, not a cat."
Karina blinked. "What?"
"Never mind." Regina gestured to the carrier. "Take your cat back. He's too difficult."
Karina eyed the carrier with barely contained horror and made no attempt to take it from Regina. She tried a persuasive smile. "More difficult than a child?"
The retort was on her lips before she realized it was a poor one. Regina stared at Karina, then at the crate. Quixote had pressed himself against the wires, making a grating whine every three seconds. His yellow-green eyes looked up at her with a hint of betrayal.
No, Regina told herself. I will not be bested. I will not. "I said never mind." She picked up the carrier with clenched teeth. "Have a nice day," she said, and once again departed from the shelter.
Inside the crate, Quixote howled. "Oh be quiet," Regina ordered under her breath. "I'm your owner, understand? I can take care of a child and I can take care of a cat. You will not win."
Quixote maintained a suspicious silence for the rest of the walk back to her office.
Regina focused on her work for the rest of the day, paying no attention to the cat padding around the area. Other than knocking over a plant, he caused no harm. Regina practiced patience.
For dinner that night, she ordered Chinese takeout and watched Law and Order reruns. Quixote whined until she threw him a piece of sweet and sour chicken, then gagged it back up on the carpet. Regina told herself that the cat could not control her emotions and refrained from ranting at him.
At last, tired, she retired to the bedroom, Quixote chasing at her heels. She rested her hands on the edge of the bed, staring once more at her ripped sheets. Quixote hopped onto her pillow and purred. Regina closed her eyes. "You are going to ruin my life. My beautiful, orderly life."
The cat said nothing. Regina tugged the sheets off the bed, replaced them, and then lay across the mattress with a hand over her eyes. Quixote climbed onto her chest, heavy but still purring. "But." She let out a sigh and scratched between his ears. "I don't have to change your dirty diapers. That's a plus."
Quixote bumped her nose with his. She snorted. "I might bring you back to the shelter in the morning, though. Don't test my patience."
He ignored her. They slept in one big, warm blob under non-silk sheets. It felt luxurious all the same.
When morning arrived, Regina didn't return him to the shelter. But he stole her apple turnover and she did think about it very, very hard.