Hello fellow Oncers! I've decided to write this new fanfic a little more uniquely than others that I've previously written in the past, having all elements of the plot, all pieces of the puzzle center and focus into this one single event, the plane ride. I hope you all find it just as entertaining as it is to write! Please enjoy and let me know what you think!
So upon having nothing else better to do other than to simply wait, she glances about the room out from underneath her long, dark eyelashes. It's another exciting day down in Terminal Seven at New York City's John F. Kennedy Airport luxury lounge. To her right a middle-aged man, dressed properly in a formal suit and tie, gazes intently at a newspaper held directly in the line of his eyes as he sits back comfortably against the couch cushion, one ankle placed over the other knee. Diagonally across from the man, a group of young women possibly between the ages of twenty-five and thirty stand over by the bar, all dressed in none but stylish, expensive-looking pantsuits. They receive their ordered martinis from a passing waitress, chattering animatedly amongst themselves and shifting their designer purses from one shoulder to the other.
Shaking her head at the superficiality of their mindless gossip, she then turns her attention directly left of the bunch to a family of three. The unnaturally blonde mother, dressed in a plain form-fitting black dress and coat stares fixedly at her smartphone, tapping away with her eyebrow furrowed in deep concentration. The brunette father, sporting a pair of black trousers and a plain white dress shirt, unbuttoned at the top, follows silently behind their daughter as she totters this way and that. The little brunette, seemingly under the age of three, stumbles about in a yellow sundress as she eagerly explores her surroundings, her little brown curls bouncing about her forehead.
Then upon completing the semi-circle around the room, her eyes finally rest upon a young man who sits quietly to her left. He appears to be just about her age, young and vigilant. He is a very light brunette, his hair parted just askew from the midline of his forehead and falling around his face. He's dressed rather plainly in a pair of simple khakis and blue button down. His features are serene and pensive as he watches the action around him in the lounge. Upon lifting her head slightly yet discreetly in his direction, she can just make out his eyes to be of a soft grayish tone. Immediately her heart painfully constricts as she forces herself to glance away. She swallows that all too familiar feeling of despair and loneliness that bubbles from deep within the pit of her stomach, threatening her eyes to inevitably water at this certain reminder.
"Regina!", a familiar voice calls amongst the dull roar of the room. It's a welcome interruption from her somber thoughts. After quickly taking a deep breath, Regina turns her attention to an enthusiastic blonde who heads her way with two drinks in hand. "Here, thought I'd get us some drinks while we wait for an eternity and a half for this freaking plane. I got you a sangria because I know just how much you love them," the blonde announces, handing over a wine glass full to the brim with the sweet, fruity mixture.
"Really?", Regina asks, clearing her throat as she grabs hold of the glass.
"Well since you always say you never have them enough, here's the chance," the blonde explains with a short shrug of her shoulders.
"Oh," Regina replies, swirling the crimson liquid around whilst examining the floating pieces of apple and orange. A fine choice indeed. "And what did you order for yourself, Emma?", she inquires with a lift of a perfectly penciled brow, "Don't tell me your ordered a beer, yet again."
Emma beams, holding up her drink like she would a trophy. "Guilty," she sings before her smile falters slightly as she observes her friend's slightly distant features more closely. "Hey are you okay?"
"Yes," Regina responds with a shake of her head before quickly changing the subject. "You do realize that there are other better, more sophisticated drinks that you can have other than just a BudLight all the time, especially in a setting such as this," Regina scolds with a disapproving shake of her head. She chances a glance to her left, but the young man has gone.
"You know I can't stand the taste of wine," Emma retorts, unaware of the subtle action.
"Well that's because the only wine you've tasted was from that cheap, God-awful faux Italian restaurant. You simply can't base your opinion on wine just by that one experience. Try it again."
"No way," Emma declares with a firm shake of her head, "There is no way in hell. Not to mention that with wine, you have to have—how did you put it before—'an acquired taste'."
"It's true," Regina defends, "And you most certainly won't acquire that taste until you try it."
"I don't exactly think my palate would agree."
"Your palate is really as plain as it comes. It's a real shame."
"Well excuse me for not having grown up with such lavish, sophisticated tastes such as yourself," Emma laughs, holding out her hand in mock disdain at her brunette best friend.
Regina narrows her eyes, yet fondly shakes her head. The long story of Regina and Emma's friendship had been a rocky one; full of ups and downs. It took quite some time for them to reach this point where banter is seen as nothing but simply what it is. Banter. Having grown from two quite contrasting backgrounds, these women have never truly seen eye to eye on practically anything. In fact, they were complete opposites, juxtaposition personified. Regina, who had been raised in the lavish lifestyle by her mother, has learned all too well of the dark side to being rich. From the very beginning, to her luxury was none but a travesty; a mindset in which people indulged themselves completely in conversations of money and politics. Owning material goods wasn't even the root of the problem for her. It was the countless nights having to spend chained at the dinner table with people her mother deemed of a worthy status: politicians, multimillionaire investors, presidents, and CEOs. Now at the age of twenty-five Regina finds herself liberated of the superficial life of the rich and wealthy, though still tethered to the ghosts of her insufferable past. Yes she still lives more comfortably than the average and may indulge in a few luxuries here and there, however she claims that she has fallen well away from the tree from which she came. She is not her mother.
Emma, on the other hand, rose from a life of poverty. Initially an orphan abandoned on the streets of Boston, she found herself traveling from foster home to foster home. Resorting to a life of thievery, Emma had served time in the local prison that is until she met Regina. Because the brunette's mother Cora worked as a powerful lawyer of criminal justice, she forced her daughter to intern at the exact prison in which she worked at the time. Coincidentally, it just so happened that this specific penitentiary was where Emma was kept. As Emma and Regina grew to know each other, they developed a certain level of understanding, an ability to relate at least to the shared sentiments of feeling trapped within the life they each were given. This grew to the point when Regina was willing and able to steal money from her mother to bail Emma out. After a heated argument between the two acquaintances and an infuriated mother, Emma was finally freed after a quick trial, with the promise of community service. And from there, having nowhere else to stay, she was allowed to share Regina's apartment. However it wouldn't be until after multiple disagreements, following what seemed to be happy ending, when Regina and Emma truly became the best of friends. There were differences that had to be worked through, differences that couldn't have been foreseen simply by way of quick conversation in the cafeteria of the prison. Nevertheless, they were differences laid to rest.
"I am actually really excited, Regina," Emma remarks with a nod as she leans back against the plush cushion of the couch. "I think this will be really, you know, fun."
Regina sighs wistfully, shaking her head. "I don't know Emma…"
"Don't Regina," the blonde states, shifting closer to take the brunette's hand and hold it firmly. "No. This will be fun. We are going have an amazing vacation in England, just you and me. It'll be exciting."
"Emma," Regina protests, eyes glossy, "I don't know if I-"
"Forget about it," Emma insists fervently, "You seriously have to just forget about it. This is for you and only you. Don't let anything else distract you from this…escape. Because that's what it is. Nothing else matters." She squeezes the brunette's hand tightly, reassuringly. "I know you can do it."
Regina sighs deeply, looking into the wide hazel eyes of her best friend. "Okay," she states, clearing her throat of any waver in her voice, "Okay."
"There. That's more like it," Emma encourages, letting go of Regina's hand to deliver a swift pat on the back.
"Ladies and gentlemen, all First Class passengers please make your way to Gate One for boarding," a voice suddenly bursts from a nearby speaker, causing Regina to jump, "All First Class passengers please make your way to Gate One for boarding."
"That's us!", Emma announces excitedly, jumping up to gather her belongings and follow the line out of the waiting lounge. Regina follows quickly behind, scrambling to catch up with the rest of the group.
"Goodbye New York," Emma declares with a low excited whisper.
"Yes goodbye New York," Regina repeats with another sigh.
"Regina," Emma warns, turning to narrow her eyes at the brunette.
Regina's eyes widen as she pretends that she is fine, when truly she is anything but. "What?", she asks with a shrug.
"Stop it."
The brunette snorts, turning to face forward towards the boarding line.
"Boarding pass ma'am?", the flight attendant asks, holding out her hand once Regina approaches the stand. Regina nods, palming her the piece of paper for her to scan. "Thank you," the woman states, "And welcome to British Airways." Regina offers the woman a small smile before following Emma down the jetway.
"Wow," Regina breathes as she and the blonde step into the main area in which all the suites are located. The interior is slick and modern. Cubicles lined in three rows (two on the sides, one in the middle) make up the separate suites, each cubicle being separated into two suites. Each suite consists of plush leather seats that are easily transformable to a bed, completed with a television and dock station for any personal devices.
"I know," Emma whispers as she runs her hands over the slick and shiny metal structure of the walls that separate each cubicle. "This is incredible."
"Really," Regina agrees, "I've never been on a plane as luxurious as this before."
"Not even with your mother?"
"No," Regina says, shaking her head before turning abruptly to head over to her side of the cubicle. "Not even—aoww!" The brunette suddenly cries aloud as her left foot collides harshly with a rolling wheel of a very heavy-looking suitcase. "Fuck!" She hops to her right foot, the toe on her left foot feeling as if it may fall off.
"Apologies milady," a hurried voice says in a thick British accent, "Are you all right? I'm really sorry."
"Watch where you're going!", Regina hisses, reaching down to rub at her big toe through the tip of her Jimmy Choos.
"Geez, Regina," Emma breathes, latching onto Regina's arm in order to steady her.
"Please, is there anything I can do to help? I do apologize," the man repeats.
"I'm fine," Regina snaps, tentatively placing down her injured foot, hopping once, twice. Finally as the pain ceases, she looks up into a gentle face whose features are etched with concern. The bluest eyes she has ever seen stare back at her intently, reflecting her perplexed image perfectly in deep reflective pools. This man is a dirty blonde, locks parted and falling over his forehead in a way that affects Regina more than it should. He stands in a plain pair of trousers and a clean forest green t-shirt.
"Are you sure?", the man asks, narrowing his eyes as he gazes up and down the brunette's form; raven locks reaching just above her shoulders, simple black skirt suit, dark makeup—full rouge lips.
"Yes," Regina replies quickly before clearing her throat, locating her manners, and repeating, "Yes. I am. Thank you."
The man smiles gently, revealing a very prominent yet attractive set of dimples. "Good. I'd hate to think I've done some real damage to your toe."
"No." Regina glances down at her feet; a scrape prominent in the leather of the left toe. "Just to my shoe."
"Then I apologize. The last thing I'd want to do is ruin a woman's footwear," the man says with a soft smirk, "I hear they tend to be quite protective over it."
"That is true," Regina answers, "But you're lucky that these aren't my favorite pair." For some reason, she can't help the small matching smirk that forms across her lips as well.
The man chuckles, extending his hand to her. "Robin Locksley, at your service."
Regina tilts her head as she gazes quietly into his eyes, still mesmerized by their color. Not to mention that they are the kindest eyes she's ever seen. They just seem to radiate warmth and light, and possibility.
"Regina," she replies, placing her hand in his, "Regina Mills."
Robin nods graciously before turning towards a bemused blonde, who has been standing by, completely and utterly bewildered at the scene before her eyes. He gazes at her expectantly. "Oh, um, Emma," she states quickly with a swift nod.
"Pleasure," the man replies before turning back to Regina. "Well I'm sure I'll see you around, milady," he adds with a nod of his head.
"I'm sure you will," Regina states, lifting her brow, "Just don't get in my way…again."
"I wouldn't dream of it."
