Disclaimer: I own nothing no matter how much I wish I did. I just took them out of the cupboard to play.
A/N: Many thanks to my beta, Jo, who has done fantastic work making sure this story is good enough to see the light of day :)
o
"Hiya Joe," Emma called out wearily as she sat down on to the bar stool, greeting the older man behind the counter.
"Hey kid," the bartender replied, "what can I get for you tonight?"
"Just the usual." Emma looked around the bar, scanning the familiar faces as she stifled a yawn. It had been a long day waiting tables at the diner, but it was the Thursday before a long weekend and she was damned if she was going to go home early tonight.
The bartender pushed a scotch on the rocks to Emma and nodded his head to the other side of the room. "Couple of new faces over at the tables," he said casually as he started to wipe down the bar with a towel. "Could be some fun to be had," he added before moving his way along the bar, refilling the peanuts as he went.
Emma grinned as she sipped on her drink, the warmth of the alcohol spreading through her as she glanced over to the tables on the other side of the bar. Joe had been right, there were a couple of new faces there. Probably out of towners, Emma surmised, they would never know what hit them.
Casually she sauntered over to the other side of the room, stopping occasionally to say a few words to the regulars as she made her way. As she reached the end of the bar she turned slightly, noticing Joe in her periphery.
"Hey Joe, anything you got that you can make look alcoholic? Going virgin for a while," she murmured as she leaned back against the bar, her elbows resting along the edge as she watched the two men before her.
"Coming right up." She heard from behind.
Emma watched as the two guys before her racked a new game, the taller of the pair breaking first. They were evenly matched and not half bad at shooting pool - it would be fun, if nothing else. Gods knew she needed the distraction.
Emma wandered over to the pair, her drink in hand, cringing internally at the bright pink liquid and the ridiculous umbrella and straw Joe had sought reason to add. She'd make him pay later for this absurdly girlish drink.
"Wow," she said breathlessly as she reached the nearer of the two men, "you two are amazing at this!" She put her arm down on the edge of the table in a feigned attempt to steady herself. "How do you do it?" she asked, adding a very slight slur to her voice.
The shorter, and closer, of the pair smiled a particularly toothy grin. "I can teach you, love," he said.
"Oh would you?" Emma asked, surprise in her voice. It was like taking candy from a baby.
An hour later and a number of rounds of drinks, Emma affected the epitome of hopeless, drunk female. Truth be told she was getting sick of the mocktails, but as long as the rounds were being ordered and the men were getting subsequently more inebriated, she was happy.
"Let's make this interesting," she said, adding a slight hiccup for effect. Fumbling for her wallet she brought out a $20 note and put it down on the edge of the table. She didn't fail to miss the look that passed between the pair, nor how their eyes had strayed to her wallet and noticed a few more notes, a Ben Franklin or two amongst them.
She lost the first few games in a spectacular fashion and the men were eager to tell her she'd get better at it soon enough - encouraged her to keep trying. As she won her first game she whooped in delight, declaring loudly the wonders of beginner's luck. A few games later she was up $300, shaking her head in feigned astonishment.
"Double or nothing," the taller of the pair said, not waiting for an answer as he began racking the balls for a final time.
Emma grinned to herself. They'd clearly had enough of playing, but didn't want to walk out having lost to such an amateur. This was always the way of the desperate gambler - she was constantly surprised at how often the 'double or nothing' phrase was thrown around with her. Surely people should just learn to cut their losses and move on.
"Back right," Emma said barely more than five minutes later. Carefully she lined up the shot, watching with practiced ease as the black ball pocketed cleanly. The two guys mumbled curses under their breath as they paid out their losses, grumbling about being hustled by some two-bit whore. Grabbing their jackets they strode out of the bar.
Emma laughed as she made her way back to Joe, handing him a $100 note. "Thanks for the tip off," she said as she leaned on the counter.
"All good, kid. Thought you might like the diversion," he said as he pocketed the money.
"Plus the added income is nice. Tips just don't pay the bills," Emma rejoined. "Oh and hey," she reached over, giving him a firm punch in the arm, "that's for giving me those girly drinks."
Joe chuckled. "I'll get you something more to your liking," he said as he moved off to make her a drink.
Emma turned, looking around the bar. The place had become steadily busier as she'd been playing pool, a good amount of space taken up by people coming in to let off steam after a long week of work. She groaned softly to herself and ran her fingers through her hair; those candy pink drinks were making their way right through her and she knew she wouldn't enjoy another drink until these ones were out of her system.
She pushed herself off the bar and headed to the bathroom, the familiar slightly sticky feel of the floor beneath her feet causing her to grit her teeth together. She wasn't a clean freak, but she really hated walking through anything messy. As she looked down to the ground to try to avoid the more apparent wet areas of spilled drinks she bumped into a woman exiting the bathroom.
"Sorry," she mumbled absently as she moved past her, opening the door that had just closed. Stopping briefly she turned around, observing the retreating form of a brunette, noting the faint smell of expensive perfume in the air, before shrugging it off and entering the bathroom.
o
"Here you go, kid," Joe said as Emma returned to the bar, putting a scotch on the rocks down in front of her.
"Thanks Joe, much better," she chided playfully.
"Someone new at the other end of the bar," he said, motioning down the long counter, "you might like this one."
Emma glanced around him, noticing the same brunette she'd run in to near the bathroom. From this angle, she was quite easy on the eyes; shoulder length dark hair in soft curls, liquid honey-brown eyes so dark she could imagine losing herself in their depths and skin so smooth she wanted to taste it all. The grey power suit with white blouse underneath just screamed 'class'. This woman would be a heartbreaker.
"You sure know how to pick 'em, Joe," she muttered.
"Just looking out for ya, kid," he replied.
Emma swallowed the last of her drink and nodded in reply to Joe's un-asked question as he'd held up the empty glass. The slight buzz of alcohol gave her a touch of liquid courage as she sauntered up to the brunette, sitting down on the stool next to her. The smell of her perfume was intoxicating.
"Hi," she said by way of opening, "can I get you a drink?" She put on one of her best smiles as she looked over towards the brunette.
The brunette, for her part, held up her half-filled glass and raised an eyebrow in response.
"Right, you're still going with one." Emma fidgeted slightly as she ran her fingers through her hair, feeling slightly off balance, thankful as Joe rescued her by putting another drink down before her. She took a few sips of it before trying another tack.
"I haven't seen you around here before."
"I'm in town for business."
"Oh? What do you do?" she asked, hoping to start some conversation. After a few moments of awkward silence Emma licked her lips and sighed softly. "Right, that's probably none of my concern." She hadn't remembered flirting being this difficult; she wondered if this was a waste of her time, wondered if she'd just lost her edge. Emma took another sip of her drink before returning it to the bar top, one hand still holding to the glass as if it were an anchor.
"I don't really see your type come in here very often," she said.
"Excuse me?" The brunette turned to look at her, lifting an eyebrow.
Smooth, Em, real smooth, she thought as she swallowed the last of her drink, catching Joe's eye and indicating for another.
"I mean, stylish. No offense to Joe over there," she said, motioning towards the older bartender, "but this place is pretty much a dive. Nice enough folks here, but this isn't exactly a classy establishment." Emma hoped that was enough to stop her digging the hole she was already standing in.
"I've seen worse," the brunette answered, shrugging a little as she eyed the surroundings.
Joe put the scotch on the counter in front of Emma and she exhaled softly as she wrapped a hand around it. This wasn't exactly going to plan. Gods, she thought, another holiday weekend to spend on my own. Fantastic. Idly she dipped her finger in to the alcoholic drink and traced the lip of the glass in lazy circles. It wasn't until she lifted her finger to her mouth and licked off the light trace of scotch that she wondered if she didn't just catch the brunette watching her movements. Emma turned her head to look at this woman, but she was staring out ahead of them, across the crowded bar, finishing the last of her drink.
Emma chewed on her lower lip, contemplating what to do with the rest of her night. Clearly the woman next to her had no interest; what she was doing in a dive like this bar was beyond Emma's comprehension - probably just slumming it for a night to see how the other side lived. Just get up and leave, Em, go home. However, the more she thought about that dimly lit one bedroom apartment the less appealing it was for her. Maybe it was time to move on; see a new city, start another life. Gods knew she had nothing tying her to this place; nothing tying her to any of the previous three cities she'd lived in the past five years - it would be so easy just to pick up and go once more.
Emma closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose; all she wanted was a distraction and the alcohol was definitely not living up to its end of the bargain. She leaned back slightly, glancing at the woman beside her. If she let her mind wander just enough she could imagine kissing those full lips, tasting that sweet mouth and doing many other less innocent things with that beautiful, well-toned body. She sighed in frustration.
The brunette finished her drink and stood, looking through her handbag for her purse. Emma almost offered to pay, just to have those dark, soulful eyes look at her one more time before losing her from her life forever. Just a little something for her mind to have when she inevitably went home, alone. Geez, Em, flair for the dramatic, much? As she opened her mouth to say something, the brunette produced her purse, fishing out some money for the drink she'd had; Emma closed her mouth once more - there was little point in saying anything.
As the older woman turned to leave the purse slipped from her hand and Emma heard the mumbled curse beside her. Without thinking she slid off the bar stool and picked it up, handing it back to the woman.
"Here you go," Emma said, putting her hand out, offering her the purse.
"Thank you."
As she handed the purse over to the woman their fingers grazed slightly and Emma was somewhat taken aback as the brunette's chestnut brown eyes lifted suddenly, locking on to her own as if searching for something; seeking an answer to a question she didn't even know had been asked. Before she had time to respond the moment was lost, the brunette lowering her eyes once more as she placed her purse back in her handbag and turned to leave.
"Hey," Emma called out to the retreating form, "can you at least tell me your name?" What the hell, Emma thought, can't hurt my non-existent chances now I suppose.
The other woman stopped, her back still to Emma, as she turned her head almost imperceptibly to the side.
"Regina," came the quiet reply.
And before Emma had the wits to process anything further, the older woman had left the bar.
"Too bad," Joe said as he turned his attention to Emma who was still eyeing the door as if she might go after the stranger, "she looked like your type."
Emma laughed in derision. "She was well outta my league, Joe. I know it, you know it, she knew it." She turned back to the bar and lifted her drink, downing the last of it in one go. "Put it on the tab, would ya?"
She didn't wait for an answer as she zipped her jacket up and left the bar, heading back to her one bedroom apartment, alone, wishing she had more than her over-active imagination for distraction.
o
Regina slid the hotel key-card in to the lock and pushed her way inside, kicking her high heels off at the first available opportunity. Making her way to the mini-bar she took the first three bottles out without paying any attention to what they were, downing the first one in a quick gulp, wincing slightly as she realized it was vodka. She shuddered at the burning trail it left down her throat; she had always hated vodka and tonight was no exception. She ran her fingers through her hair before turning on the lamp beside the bed, sinking wearily down on to the mattress. It had been one hell of a day.
She reached out, grabbed the folder sitting on the night table, and opened it absentmindedly; she had thumbed through this folder more times in the past months than she cared to think about, knew every detail that the records had provided and even some that they had not. She'd told herself numerous lies about why she was so intent on finding this woman who, so very clearly, if this information was correct, did not wish to be found. It was when her private investigator had said she had been located that she set up bogus appointments interstate as a cover as to why she was leaving town, important appointments that just could not be postponed. Sorry, Henry, she'd said to him, his trusting, wide eyes looking up at her, I promise I'll be back for your birthday on Sunday. Mommy just needs to go away for work for a couple of days.
In her private moments when she was alone in her bed she would envision the worst, sometimes even shake with unfounded terror that her son's birth mother would return and claim a biological right to him. The older he got, the closer he came to starting school, the worse it had become and eventually, with only weeks until he started first grade, she had finally given in to her fears and tracked this woman down. Just to find out, just to see if she could ever be a threat, she had reasoned with herself.
As she'd finished her drink in the bar that night she felt she had all the information she needed, this woman would pose no problem to her. If the cheap pleather jacket and dollar store boots weren't a give away, then the way she hustled the two men certainly was; even if she attempted to claim any custodial rights, there wouldn't be a court in the country who would grant them. She could provide for Henry, she could love Henry and she was the one affecting stability in his life. Three cities in five years; idly she wondered what was so special about here that Emma had remained for almost two years, breaking her cycle of moving every twelve months.
She could have left that night with what she knew, flown back to Storybrooke and been there to cook Henry breakfast on Friday morning. She had assumed she was prepared for everything when she'd come here, assumed she'd covered all her bases. What she hadn't been prepared for was the blonde woman bumping her when she'd left the bathroom, hadn't been prepared for the slight spark that had shot through her. Oh, she'd brushed it off as the initial buzz of alcohol which is why, as she'd stood to leave, she let her purse drop to the floor; tempted fate, hoped the blonde would do exactly as she had done. She had to be sure, just one small test.
And when she'd let her finger graze that of the other woman's she'd almost felt her breath catch as the spark shot through her once again; locked eyes with her to search for the thread that caused the spark.
She downed the second drink, happier to find it was a mini Jack Daniels, as she stared at the photo of Emma in the folder. She really should just go home, should just go back to her life, go back to running a town and raising a child and leave this city in her wake. She traced the outline of Emma's face and sighed as she swallowed the third bottle; closing the folder, she put it back on the nightstand and turned off the lamp beside her bed.
Instead of doing all the things she knew she should, she rolled over in the bed and bargained with herself that surely one more accidental meeting would be alright. One more accidental meeting just to be certain so she could go back to her life and forget. She had to know if it was just the alcohol or the long day she'd had beforehand, had to know what caused the spark, that magic spark, the impossible spark, a spark she hadn't felt since the day Daniel had died.