Greetings, everyone.
I wrote this one night in one sitting and have been tweaking it. It's quick and really nonsensical, but it's needed. I hope you enjoy it! Please make my day and review.
It's like crack to me.
A little housekeeping – this hasn't been beta'ed and I'm sure you will notice at points. Just go with it. I don't own Regina or Emma, and trust me, if I did, OUAT would be on Showtime and be called Once Upon a Lesbian Power Couple.
Just saying.
-SQG
LOVE IS FOR THE BIRDS
Regina Mills.
You hate to even think it, yet you can't help it.
Because even her name in your mind makes it race.
Because she has this way of looking at you that can simultaneously make your skin crawl and your heart skip a beat…
…and damned if she can't ruin a good night of drinking, too.
The glass thuds against the table loudly with much more anger than is probably anticipated from your silent form.
You're pretty sure the three women opposite you are beginning to question your sanity with the silent treatment you've been giving all evening when you're supposed to be celebrating Ashley's engagement.
Oh, and by the punctuated scowls interchanging with smiles on your lips.
You're sure those aren't helping.
Somewhere in you, you know you're being a whack job, but you just can't let it go.
Stupid Regina and her stupid skirts.
You're pretty sure Ruby may know more than she's letting on about your slightly naughty obsession with the illustrious mayor…
A low growl punctuates itself in your throat and you toss the drink back again, all but draining its contents. With a sigh you scan three faces and decide.
Ruby definitely can handle a bit of the rough and tumble lesbo-nation that is your life.
Mary Margaret and Ashley? You can't even fathom uttering the word dildo in their proximity.
Ok, very naughty obsession with the illustrious mayor…
And so you sigh, sink into your hand on the table and try to focus on the details of the upcoming party.
This lasts for all of ten seconds.
Because the thing about Regina, and this is what makes it all the more irritating, is that it's as if she isn't even trying.
"Which, let's face it," you tell yourself with another scowl and sip of your drink, "she isn't".
It's her damn personality. That air about her which seems to denote that she owns everything and everyone – including you.
Especially you.
And who are you to disagree with her?
You, who so willingly punched Graham in the stomach when you caught him sneaking out of her bedroom window.
You, who were patrolling down her street by coincidence, thank you very much, at precisely the right timein order to see it…
…but…
And it's here that the drunken, masochistic part of you chimes in with what surely is the most brilliant epiphany ever.
If there's one thing you know about Regina Mills, it's that that woman is ten steps ahead of everyone.
She would have only allowed you to see what she wanted you to see.
Right?
"Which begs the question – whywas Regina wanting me to see Graham sneaking out of her bedroom window in the middle of the night?"
You are unexpectedly pointing your glass emphatically across the table at the suddenly silent women; your eyes scanning triumphantly across three faces before you because your drunken ass just singlehandedly wrote the book on one Regina Mills.
And just like that, your mind goes blank for a moment, because… did you just say that out loud?
Ok. Quick expression check…shit.
And just what were you hoping to accomplish with that little outburst, Swan? To improve your chances of at least one of the three women staring at you like you've lost your mind, suddenly agreeing that indeed, it did seem rather odd, yet totally plausible, that Regina would plan for you to be on her street at that exact moment and have Graham slip out of her window just at that precise time?
Cause she's a bitch like that.
You won't trouble yourself with the fact that no one asked a question about this particular subject and you're pretty sure they were discussing something else entirely.
Nope. Just blow right by that one.
Mary Margaret has a scrunched look of confusion knitted firmly in her eyebrows and chances a slow, creeping glance at the other two women. Ashley has her eyes firmly swiveling back and forth between the teacher and Ruby, as if her mere speech would cause the world to come to an abrupt halt.
Ruby just grins at you slowly, raising the glass to her lips like the last pieces of a puzzle have finally clicked into place.
And, suddenly, a haughty feeling begins to creep into your chest because no one has said a word and even though you're pretty sure you just confessed your crazy internal monologue of stalking Regina in the hopes that she is secretly stalking you … you still can't be sure.
Because they're all just staring at you and each other in those varying degrees of uncertainty and smugness.
Damnit, Ruby.
And in that instant, years of self protective training kicks in and just like that, you're backpeddling.
"I saw a really big pigeon on the way over here."
An involuntary wince begs to be let out onto your features as you mentally face palm yourself right at the table for voicing the first idiotic thing that came to your mind.
At least it wasn't about dildos.
Some part of you mentally high fives yourself for that small miracle.
Mary Margaret and Ashley exchange sliding glances once more and Ruby merely sips her drink…
…and continues to grin.
Goddamnit. Really, Swan?
Really?
Ok. So, you're going with this.
Balls to the wall, then.
"What? You've got something against pigeons? I mean, I know they're rat like and all, but they have pretty colors…I saw red in there once. That's my favorite color." And as if it somehow proves your now uninhibited rambling, you point to your jacket like a crazy person. "See! Look at my jacket."
Mary Margaret slides confused eyes back towards you and slowly raises one eyebrow.
"I suppose they … do have a nice iridescent quality about them?"
Her statement comes out in the form of a question and suddenly you're looking at them all, challenging them silently to contradict you on this.
You, the sudden and apparent goddess of pigeons.
Ashley lets her eyes float to Mary Margaret for a moment, who raises her eyebrows in a manner that seems to beg for her to join in this ridiculous conversation because she, even in her way less drunken state, can see how utterly badly you're wanting to dig yourself out of a thing that shall not be named.
"I… like the purple ones?"
Mary Margaret's overly animated nod of agreement and subsequent launch into the scientific reasons behind their colorization makes your heart swell with gratitude. Ashley's blind and silent agreement to continue the completely ridiculous line of conversation shines a more positive light of friendship upon her in your eyes. At that moment, watching her talk for the life of her like she gives two damns about pigeon coloring makes you think you'd do anything for her.
And you've already promised some kind of creepy debt to an even creepier man to save the woman's baby when you didn't even know her.
Somehow, this is all Regina's fault.
The thought blazes into your brain quickly and it's only as you agree that, probably, pigeons and doves are the same bird that you catch Ruby's eye. The dark haired beauty is regarding you with something akin to amusement and intrigue.
You want to tell her to shove it, because you know she knows your secret and besides, Ruby will only laugh at you if you did.
Instead you settle for staring at her; daring her silently to sway this new and safe topic of conversation that you must be way too drunk for because it is starting to genuinely pique your interest.
It is Mary Margaret's voice that stops your all knowing battle of eyebrow raises.
"What do you think Ruby? Pigeons or doves? What's prettier?"
Silence hangs in the air for a moment as you stare at the smirking brunette. She leans back into her chair and lifts her glass to her lips.
God, she knows.
Everything.
Damnit.
"Who are we to judge them by such a limited view? Light or dark?"
Your eyes find Ruby's in a pointed look, knowing full well what she's saying in a ridiculous metaphor about the political correctness of judging pigeons.
Like it's not the most ludicrous conversation ever held in the history of speech.
"That's true. You know, we just started going over the social rights movement in class…" and just like that Mary Margaret launches into school related curriculum and you've never been more grateful for the apparent segway power of birds.
You hold the look with Ruby for a moment before feeling a grin tugging at your lips and you lift your glass to them.
Sometimes, you love Ruby…
"Besides, light or dark doesn't really matter when they've got an ass that just won't quit in a business skirt."
…and sometimes you remember why you sometimes want to shoot Ruby.
Your drink sputters out of your mouth in a coughing fit as Ruby grins once more and pushes herself from the table.
"Next round's on me, ladies."
Silence reigns around the table again as she prances towards the bar. Your eyes squint in exaggerated anger as she tosses a wink back over her shoulder and as your eyes slide slowly towards the two women who are now determinedly looking anywhere but at you, you know that nothing will get you out of this.
No matter what, you think as she returns grinning to the table with four shots of tequila, red is definitely not your favorite color anymore.