Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon a Time.
Good brawl tonight, she thinks to herself, arm propped on the countertop and glass dangling precariously from her hand.
"Care for another shot, Ma'am?" The bartender approaches her side and reaches for her glass. She declines, giving him a curt smile.
"Thank you, but I prefer to keep a clear head."
"Understandable, but please. I insist," he says, lips drawn in a thin line.
She sighs. Better to acquiesce. She'll be out of here soon enough, anyway. "Fine. Since you insist, then."
Besides the two of them, the bar is nearly empty. She pulls out her phone, so as to appear occupied against other meaningless flirtations with overeager strangers.
"Ma'am." The bartender returns to her the refilled glass, and she slips her phone back into her pocket. He hands another drink to a man sitting several tables away, eyes not leaving hers.
I see. Truthfully, she has been waiting for this since leaving the brawl at the stadium. Her contacts do prefer public places to the many sporadic apartments she's called home over the years.
He offers a hand to help her out of her chair, still maintaining excessive eye contact.
"That will be all."
"But the exchange," he says, keeping his voice low. "You'll be needing-"
"I can find my own way to the back of this confined space, thank you very much." She sets her glass down on the counter. It makes the slightest clang against the wooden surface, and she brushes past him before realizing that's the second time she's thanked him tonight. Ugh. Second time too many.
She exits the bar and keeps rounding the building, pausing at the very back. After a minute or so, she peers down the barren street, eyes straining to locate a figure in the gloom.
It's late Friday evening, if one still considers 2:30 A.M. evening. She'd rather be in bed-hopefully Graham is still there once she returns-but such a late exchange lowers the prospect of information being compromised.
"Regina."
She turns her head in the direction of the intruder's voice.
"It's me."
"I'm aware." She keeps from rolling her eyes. Just. She never much liked Whale. He always was a bit too merciful for her taste.
"Don't worry, I'll only stay as long as I'm needed." Like she cares that he's aware of the mutual dislike between them.
"Good. Are you expecting anyone else?"
"Not unless you are."
"Then get on with it," she snaps.
"'Course." He fumbles with the buttons on his coat. "Graham was spotted at the brawls several days ago. With Swan this time."
She keeps her face still. It's nothing new, really. She's known about Graham's little affair with Swan for almost the duration of its existence. Well, he's mine. Mine to do with as I see fit.
"He didn't show for the meeting tonight, either," Whale continues.
She huffs. "Well, I suppose Miss Swan is having a rather negative influence on him."
"Agreed. I'm still gathering intel at the hospital for the heist. I could trail Graham instead, make sure he doesn't contact Swan again?"
The suggestion is absurd. Graham possesses a keen sense of awareness like few others. The thought of Whale, who isn't good for much outside the emergency room, attempting to shadow Graham Huntsman himself is an absolute joke.
"Regina-"
"No." She hisses the word out, striding closer to Whale. "We are not friends." How many times must I remind people of this? "We are accomplices, allies with a single common goal. As long as we pull off this heist, we remain as such. Cross me, and I'll ensure we're even less of friends than I consider us to be now."
He waits for her to berate him about some other aspect of criminal ideology he's forgotten, but she refrains. After a brief instant, he gives a nod of compliance, says goodnight, and walks away.
If we pull off this heist…Regina leans against the back wall of the bar, her feet beginning to protest from having to wear heels for so long.
If they pull off this heist, everything will stay as she intends it. The kill switches secretly implanted into each of her choice employees' (to euphemize it) heads will remain active. She'll keep the stronghold she has on this intricate game called crime.
Graham cannot interfere. Not at this stage. And Emma will certainly bring about such untimely interference.
She retrieves her phone from her pocket, unlocking it and dialing the encrypted line she could almost call a familiar comfort. It has a single purpose, and its solidarity alone is enough to provide some means of comfort.
Her shoulders hunch over the device, its bluish glow just visible in the night air, before she lifts it up to her ear.
"Identification, please," rasps a metallic voice rasps from the phone's speaker.
"Mills, Regina."
"Target?"
"Huntsman, Graham."
"Is the target to be eliminated?" This, this automated line here, is the failsafe she entered 28 years ago. It's a last chance to switch tactics.
No exceptions, her mother always used to say.
"G'night Glass."
"'Night Lucas."
"Oh, and Sidney. Don't think I didn't see you ogling that woman. You wanna pursue something, do it outside my bar." The elder woman clears her throat and motions to her teenage daughter Ruby, who's wiping off tables in the back.
"Yes. Of course. Goodnight." He tugs on his coat. What Lucas doesn't know is that Regina's reputation precedes her. He wouldn't stand a chance.
Yawning, he steps outside the bar. I am not looking forward to the early shift tomorrow. He rounds the building, spotting what looks like a piece of crumpled metal on the ground.
He can't help it. Really, it's that annoyingly persistent sense of curiosity cemented within him. He likes to think it's a product of all those years he spent as a reporter. Can't ever get rid of that.
After a minute of examination, he deduces that it's part of the remains of a crushed phone. He tilts his head to the side, unable to restrain the smirk overtaking his features. Regina's getting sloppy.
He tucks the scrap of metal into his pocket. Maybe I should finally ditch the sidelines and get into crime.
Real crime.