Bad boys, bad boys
Whatcha gonna do, whatcha gonna do
When they come for you
(Song is Bad Boys by Inner Circle)
Time, time is a funny thing.
Because at times you want time to freeze. Moments and days.
Then there are days you want to wish away.
Three hundred and sixty-four days.
That's was Regina Mills first thought upon waking this day. Her eyes were still closed, wanting to stay in her dreams.
There are three hundred and sixty-four days before doom and destruction would descend on her in the form of her thirtieth birthday.
Three hundred and sixty-four measly days.
It's not nearly long enough. She feels like she's practically already on her deathbed. She can feel her skin drying out and wrinkling as she lays there. Her bones are getting brittle. If she slipped and fell, she'd likely snap a femur. Gone are the days of being carded at nightclubs and bars.
She groans and pulls the covers over her head.
She's twenty-nine, and she feels like she hasn't anything in her life. The end is near. She's almost thirty.
She might as well keep her eyes closed.
Before she can give in to slumber, her cell phone rings. Curiosity drives her to pick it up. There are only two people who ever call her this-her mom and her brother—and neither would ever dare to call so early in the day.
Regina looks at the name on the screen and sigh. If she ignores it, Belle will just call back.
After pushing accept, she puts the phone to her ear. "Really? A phone call? Is your keyboard broken or something?" Because seriously. Who calls instead of texts?
"What?" Belle asks, confused by her greeting.
Perhaps Belle hasn't known her long enough to find her fussiness endearing. "Nothing. What's up?"
"Not much. I'm not working with you today, and I wanted to check up on you." It's only been two months since she transferred to Storybrooke Library, and yet it's been long enough for the extremely nurturing (and extremely extroverted) children's information specialist, Belle Gold, to have taken her under her wing. Though at times she teeters on overbearing, Belle finds that she's quite fond of her. "You seemed a bit down when you left the bar last night. Everything okay?"
"Except for the quickly approaching occasion of my death, I'm great!"
"Oh brother. Drama queen much?" Regina throws the covers off and climb out of bed. "Am I, though? Or am I a realist? Facing my inevitable doom head on?"
"It doesn't sound like you're facing anything of the sort. You're lamenting. Dramatically lamenting. Everyone gets older. And sometimes you're lucky to turn thirty. You still have a year before you do. Welcome to life, sister."
Regina shuffles toward her kitchen as she talks, heading for the Keurig that she had bought herself as a birthday present. It's been one day, and she's already in love forever.
"Don't you mean 'welcome to death?" She puts in a pod of southern pecan, push start, and wait for happiness to pour into her Mirror, Mirror On The Wall Who's The Fairest-Oh Forget It mug.
Belle doesn't think the joke is funny. "This is really bothering you, isn't it? Why do you think that is?"
Oh God. She didn't really want to talk about her feelings.
Regina sighs, a favorite pastime of hers. "I don't know. I'm just missing something. There has to be more than this." From the kitchen, she looks around at the two-bedroom condo. She was able to afford the down payment by using the last of her inheritance from Grams, the rest of it having gone to pay for her Humanities and Western Civilization degree. Her personal book collection is already close to outgrowing the space, but it's been all she's ever needed. Exactly what she's always wanted.
Why does it feel so empty?
"You need a man," Belle says decidedly.
"I don't. That is not what I need." Regina means it, too.
"I know it's a weird dating scene out there now, but I do have a brother who is a-"
"Belle, I don't need a man." But Regina does need something. She runs her finger down the edge of the pamphlet that's been hanging on her fridge behind the Chinese delivery menu since she had visited the fertility clinic last month.
Is this what she needs?
The cost for artificial insemination isn't as much as she's expected. She could swing it if she really tried, even on a librarian's salary. But a nameless father… Her mother would go ballistic.
Cora Mills was not one you wanted mad at you.
Still. She's mulling it over.
Now that death is fast approaching, she should probably mull faster.
"You don't even miss sex?" It seems like an innocent question, but from Belle, she's certain this line of questioning is the kind that will lead to a blind date if she's not careful.
"My vibrator works just fine," Regina informs her. "And isn't cocky or conceited and doesn't leave."
"No, it just runs out of batteries."
"I have the rechargeable kind."
"That's not the same. Listen, Regina, I'm going to give you some hard words of wisdom." But she doesn't hear what she has to say because a series of beeps covers her speech, indicating she's received a text. Several texts.
Regina pulls the phone away from her face to read the messages.
So, I think I'm in trouble.
Like big trouble.
Like really, really big trouble & now the cops R here and U might need 2 bring bail cuz my mom's working at the hospital and my dad is working as well, they can't come help me but I did something.
Regina
REMEMBER ME WHEN I WASTE AWAY IN JAIL.
WHAT IF I MISS THE NEXT SEASON OF GOT?
They're from Violet, a teen that she worked with a lot at the library. Now she's a legit drama queen.
Regina puts the phone back to her ear. "Hang on a sec, Belle." Then she types Violet a quick message.
What's going on? BE BRIEF.
Violet responds with a panoramic picture of what looks to be the parking lot of her high school. Regina can't make out much of what's going on except there are lots of cars lined up behind her, there's a policeman, and it appears Violet has chained herself between two trees and has therefore created a barricade across the school driveway.
Today the drama seems to be warranted.
After quickly saying goodbye to Belle, Regina shoots another text to Violet.
Be right there.
Regina throws on some leggings and an oversized T-shirt that maybe should have been in the laundry instead of on the chair in her bedroom. Then she throws her hair into a messy bun and check Violet's response.
U R the best! Pick up an iced caramel macchiato on your way? Kthnx.
Regina didn't stop for the damned iced caramel macchiato.
Traffic seems to be flowing okay when Regina arrives at JCM, Ryan's high school. She pulls her car up to the parking space closest to the commotion and survey the situation before getting out.
As the picture suggested, Violet's blockade must have been preventing cars from rounding the circle drive for morning drop off. The chains are gone, but traffic has been diverted to another entrance because she's still standing in the middle of the driveway. She's wearing a gold and purple cheerleading uniform and holding a sign with letters so bold Regina can read them from here: Your Impure Thoughts are Not My Problem.
Regina feels like she knows what Violet is doing.
Violet's only fourteen, but she's already a social activist. She rarely misses an opportunity to protest when she feels a person or a group has been wronged. One day she marched outside the library fighting for mothers' rights to breastfeed in public. Another day she joined her church youth group at Civic Hall to protest the taxation of groceries. Once she handed out pamphlets at Crown Center about the plight of the sperm whales.
Regina does care a lot about the emotions of this fiercely passionate girl. She's well-meaning and big-hearted. Whatever trouble she's gotten herself into, she hopes that she can help her out of it.
She chugs the last of her southern pecan coffee—she's so glad that she thought to bring it with her(She's going to need the caffeine)—and step out of her car. Immediately she can hear Violet's voice.
"Do I give you impure thoughts?" she shouts to a group of tardy students as they hurry toward the school. "Do I?"
Oh dear.
Though class has surely started, there is a small crowd gathered near her. Several adult women are there—probably administrators—a couple of teenage girls, and a police officer.
Regina makes her way toward them.
The cop is talking with one of the adults as Regina approaches, his back to her.
"You're strong enough to pick her up," the woman tells him. "I can tell you work out." She's flirting so hard she can hear it from yards away.
"CrossFit," the cop says with a shrug. "Five days a week."
God, he's one of those. Cocky. Conceited. Cop-like. Regina knows his type. She prepares herself for their upcoming interaction.
"It's completely obvious," the flirter continues. "Why don't you just move her yourself? Carry her fireman style." She's good at this. She has black hair, pasty white skin that is so unnatural it had to have been applied, and red, red lips. Regina has a feeling seduction is her primary hobby, if not a part-time job.
"I can't touch a female minor—it's against department policy. We'll have to wait for the woman officer dispatch is sending over. But I appreciate the use of the bolt cutters."
Bolt cutters. So that's how they dealt with the chains. Now that she can look, she sees a pool of silver links by the tree on this side of the road.
Oh, Violet. What did you do?
Patiently, she waits behind the cop waiting for a good time to interrupt.
"I'm not a minor," one of the teenagers says, twirling a long piece of dirty blond hair between her fingers. "I'm eighteen. You could touch me, Officer Locksley."
…and this seems to be the moment.
"Pardon me," Regina says in her librarian (aka friendly but assertive) voice. "What's going on?"
When she hears her, Violet spins in her direction. "Regina!" She almost runs to her then seems to remember she's not budging on purpose. "Hey, where's my Starbucks?"
Regina throws a stern glance at her then shift her eyes back just as the cop turns around.
And then she understands what all the fuss is about.
He's hot.
Like, I-forgot-what-I-was-going-to-say hot.
I-should-have-shaved-my-legs hot.
Here's-my-panties-sorry-they're-so-wet hot.
Regina's not even sure exactly what it is about him. His body? His closely trimmed scruff? His sober expression?
The oversexed Snow White wasn't exaggerating when she said he obviously works out. His arms fill out his sleeves, and even with all his gear on, I can tell his shoulders are broad and his waist is trim. He's obviously in great shape. He's, like, can-I-touch-your-guns fit, and she's never thought in her life she's use the word guns to refer to a guy's muscles, but it's appropriate.
And yet, as hot as his bod is, it's his face that has her heart stuttering. His cheeks and jaw are chiseled, the jut of his chin is hidden somewhat by his scruff. His nose is straight and strong, and, then, damn. The pièce de résistance are his aviator sunglasses, which make him look like sex in a blue uniform.
It's possible she needs to go lie down.
"And you are?" Officer Too-Hot-To-Remember-The-Name-She-Just-Heard-Him-Called asks.
"I'm…here," Regina says because she can't seem to find the answer to his question when he's staring at her, and she can feel that he is, even behind those metallic lenses.
"Yes. You are." He almost smiles, and she has a feeling that isn't something he does on the job all too often. He's much too solemn. Too professional. Too all about the facts and nothing but the facts, and holy Jesus she's thrilled to provide him with whatever facts he wants.
Just as soon as Regina has a clue of what the facts are.
"That's Regina," Violet chirps behind us, reminding her of that specific fact. "She's here for me!"
Bolstered by this bit of information that she can give with confidence, Regina proudly says, "That's right. I'm Regina. Regina Mills."
With both hands on his duty belt, the cop looks from Regina to Ryan and back to Regina again. "Are you her…mother?"
"No!" Regina gasps, completely horrified. "Oh my God, do I look old enough to be her mother? She's fourteen! I'm not old enough to have a fourteen-year-old daughter."
"Her mother's been called," one of the women says from behind him. "And her father. Both were unavailable."
Regina smirks as though she's proved some kind of point.
The cop, who hasn't taken his focus off of Regina, simply says, "It's my job to ask, ma'am."
Regina shudders. "Don't call me ma'am." As an afterthought, she adds on, "Please."
There's no response from the police officer.
Silently, she continues to fumes.
The one fortunate side effect of the humiliating reminder that she's aging (and apparently not so gracefully) is that it's knocked her out of the this-cop's-too-hot-to-think stupor. "I'm her friend," she informs him. "I work with her at the library. She texted me when she thought she might be in trouble."
The cop—Officer Locksley, she recalls now-looks at her sternly, his expression giving nothing away. "Do you have some identification on you?"
"Does it look like I have identification on me?" Regina doesn't have any pockets, and she's not carrying a purse. In fact, she thinks that she might have left so fast that she didn't even throw it in the car. Shit. Just what she needed this day. A ticket for driving without a license. "Do I need my ID?"
He looks Regina over from head to toe. Regina wishes that she could see his eyes so she could have an idea of what he's thinking. "No, I suppose not."
"Good." Regina relaxes enough to get in a decent breath. "Then we can deal with the matter at hand. What exactly is happening?"
"Well, as you can see, the minor—"
"Violet Knight. She has a name." Regina can already tell Violet's going to be in trouble. Officer Locksley doesn't seem like the kind of guy to let something slide. Maybe if he sees her as a person instead of just "the minor," he'll give her a break.
"The minor," he continues as if she didn't say a word, "chained herself in between these two trees on either side of the school's driveway, thereby causing a traffic jam at this morning's drop off. We've cut the chains with bolt cutters procured from the school office by the attendance secretary—"
"That's me! I found them!"
Great. Oversexed Snow White's a hero.
He turns toward the woman and nods appreciatively with just enough smile to send a blush crawling up her face.
His smile is actually killer. Regina almost wishes that she had been the one to bring those bolt cutters just so that he'd bestow that smile to her.
Officer Locksley returns his attention to Regina. "But the minor has refused to move. We're waiting for backup to proceed."
Regina sends a glare at Violet. Refused to move? Are you kidding me?
Of course she can't read her mind, but she gets the gist and she shrugs.
"How much trouble is she going to be in?" Regina asks the cop, softer now that she realizes that she has nothing to bargain with.
"We can talk about that once we resolve our situation here."
Regina shifts her weight to one hip, trying to come up with a way out of this for Violet, "If I can talk her out of this…get her back into the school before anyone else gets here…would that make a difference?"
"It's not just up to me." He turns to look at the group behind him.
As if he's beckoned her, one of the women walks over to them—not the flirty attendance secretary, but the one who called Violet's parents. "Hi, I'm Diane Miller, the principal here. Thank you for coming. We'd love to be able to work this out with as little excitement as possible." She whispers the last part of her sentence, as though that will automatically minimize the drama of the situation.
At least she seems like an easier pushover than Officer No Nonsense. "Will there be any consequences if I make that happen?" Regina asks.
"I can't let her actions go completely unpunished. Half of the school saw what she did here today. I can't let that slide."
"You're right," Regina says with a tone that says she clearly disagree. "In fact, how about I call Channel Nine and have them cover the protest so far? Make sure no one misses it when they drag her away in handcuffs later too? Violet can even make a statement. Sound good, Violet?"
"Yes! Statement!" She bounces on the balls of her feet. "I already have one prepared!"
The color drains from Diane Miller's face. "On second thought, I think we could probably get away with just a warning. If you can get her back in class without any press finding out, that is."
"Okay, okay," Regina feels the tide is turning. "What is she protesting anyways?"
Violet pipes up in answer. "This stupid school has banned cheer uniforms on game days. Cheer uniforms! Because some boy complained it made him think impure thoughts. As if women are to blame for what men think. It's ridiculously unfair. I cry injustice!"
"Why does she even care?" another female teen says.
"Right?" her friend replies. "She's not even a cheerleader."
"I'm a cheerleader, Officer Locksley," the first one calls to him.
"Of course you are," he mutters under his breath, and Regina almost feelsl sorry for him.
Almost.
"It's only during the school day, Violet," Principal Miller says. "They can still wear their uniforms at the games."
"That's not even the point!" Violet groans.
"You really banned the cheerleaders from wearing their uniforms because a boy complained of impure thoughts?" Regina asks. "I hate to tell you this, but teenage boys are going to have impure thoughts no matter what girls are wearing."
"She's not wrong there," Officer Locksley admits under his breath, but enough that Regina heard him.
"Certainly." Regina's smile is tight. Fake. The kind of smile that accompanies a lecture. "But we believe in respectful behavior at our school, Ms. Miller. We surely aren't going to encourage objectification of women."
Regina marches over and takes one of Violet's signs and holds it up.
Violet breaks into a grin and resumes her protest. "Do I give you impure thoughts?" she shouts to someone walking his dog along the school grounds.
"Oh, come on," Principal Miller complains loudly.
Officer Locksley sighs and saunters toward Regina and Violet
"Do I give you impure thoughts?" Violet yells in his direction.
He ignores her, unfazed.
When he gets close to Regina, really close, she can literally feel the heat radiating off his body, he stops and says in a low voice that Regina is sure only she can hear, "Now if you were wearing that outfit, the answer would be a definite yes."
Regina's head twists toward him. "What did you say?"
"You aren't helping things," he says louder.
"That's not what you said," Regina says, quieter. Because she wants to hear the other thing he said again. Wants to feel the shiver down her spine at the thought of him thinking those things—impure things—about her.
He doesn't repeat it. Doesn't acknowledge it. He holds his palm out toward her instead. "Hand me the sign."
Regina tightens her grip on it. "I'm helping her."
"Are you? It's my impression that you want this whole thing resolved with the least amount of damage to her record. Am I right?"
Oh, God. His smirk is incredible. Regina can't look directly at it.
"Keep talking," Regina says, but he's already said enough. Regina knows what she has to do. She just likes the way his voice sounds, the way it rumbles in his chest when he lowers it so that others can't hear what they're saying.
"Get her to class, and I'll make sure there aren't any consequences for obstructing traffic."
This isn't like him. Regina knows it's not. He's not the type to let charges go. He's about order. He's about the law. So why was he doing it? Regina was suspicious.
But she can't take my eyes off him. She's completely under his spell.
Regina hands him the sign.
He gives another hint of a real smile, this time it's all for Regina, and her knees practically buckle beneath the beauty of it.
If she looks at him a moment longer she feels like she might actually, literally faint.
Regina turns and grabs Violet's arm for support, pretending she meant to simply get her attention.
"Violet—" Regina starts.
"You're going to tell me to stop this, aren't you?" She pulls away from Regina. "Well, I won't. I won't stop fighting for women. I won't stop fighting against injustice."
Regina moves around to face her. "Of course I'm not going to tell you to stop fighting. I'd never tell you that. Haven't I always encouraged you to speak your mind whether it be through words or action?"
She narrows her eyes, unsure whether or not to trust Regina now. "Maybe."
"I'm encouraging the same thing now. Just, there are sometimes better ways to be heard. Look." Regina gestures to the few people standing around her. "This is a very small crowd. You'd have much better reach if you took the matter to the next school board meeting where you could actually effect change. Don't you think?"
She twists her lips as she considers.
"Those aren't even our uniforms," the cheerleader shouts randomly from the side of the driveway.
Violet throws her head back in frustration and groans. Then, suddenly, as if she hadn't been completely ready to march to Washington on behalf of the cause, she shrugs and says, "Okay. I should get to second hour anyway. American history. We're watching a documentary about suffragettes."
She removes the remains of the chains that Regina notices now are still on each of her arms and hands them to me. Then she strolls toward the school building.
"Where's she going?" Principal Miller asks Regina anxiously.
"To class!" Regina announces smugly.
"Not dressed like that! There're no cheerleading uniforms in school!" She marches after Violet, urging the rest of the administration to follow as well.
"She has a change of clothes," Regina tells no one in particular. "I hope." Man, being someone's mentor is a tough job. It might require more caffeine than one K-cup pod.
"Officer Locksley, I'm only sixteen," the cheerleader's friend calls over to him, "but that's the age of consent in Kansas."
"I'm frightened that you know that," Regina says rolling her eyes.
"Go to class before I fine you both for truancy," Officer Locksley says, but not before she hears him let out a soft chuckle at Regina's comment.
"What's truancy?" the two girls ask in unison.
"Oh my God," Regina groans, "you need to go to school. You might actually learn something."
They scurry off, and though Regina would like to take credit, it's probably more likely because the bell has just rung.
And now everyone's gone but Regina. And the cop.
The very hot cop.
It suddenly feels harder to get air in her lungs than it did just a second before.
"Nice job with her," the cop says, nodding his head in praise. "Maybe you can help keep her out of trouble in the future."
Regina bristles. "Just because she's passionate about things, doesn't mean she's going to get in trouble in the future." It's really his compliment that's bothering her. She's bothered by how it made her feel. How it made her feel good.
"Right," he says, and she swear he's thinking things about her that would make her die a thousand deaths if she were to find them out.
She frowns, feeling awkward. "Well. Anyway."
Regina knows she should thank him, but he speaks first. "Have dinner with me."
"What? Dinner? Why?" That wasn't at all the kind of thoughts she hoped he was thinking about her. Not at all the kind of thoughts she wants him to be thinking about her, yet her stomach flutters anyway, like it's a good thing. Stupid stomach.
"Because in the evening I get hungry, and I find that eating a meal tends to make that hunger go away." He's completely straight-faced, and it's so sexy she's not sure she can stand it.
Regina looks down, away from his fuck-hot jaw and his fuck-hot lips. "You don't need me for that."
"Eating alone is lonely."
But she can't escape that fuck-hot voice. Her skin is on fire even in the cool spring wind. "I'm sure what's-her-name from attendance would be glad to join you for dinner."
"I'm not asking her. I'm asking you."
Regina looks up at him, and her heart starts to pound. Even behind those glasses, she can sense that he can't take his gaze off her. Goose bumps skim down her arms at the thought.
Dinner. She eats dinner. She could eat dinner with him. What would be wrong with that?
If Regina could see his eyes, she was sure she would have said yes by now.
"Heya, Officer Locksley!" Apparently the attendance secretary didn't go inside after all. He turns toward the vampire-Regina swears, she hasn't seen the sun in a decade. "I left a sticky with my number on your police car. Call me sometime."
Officer Locksley makes a non-committal noise. But then adds, "Thank you again for the bolt cutters."
Vampire secretary simpers at him. "It was no trouble, really."
Regina don't listen closely to the rest of their exchange because without his attention on her, she can think again, and she suddenly remembers what would be wrong with dinner and why she absolutely does not want to go out with Officer-I've-already-stolen-your-panties-Locksley.
Because he's a man.
And men leave.
Especially this type of man—the type with the confident smile and the tight-fitting uniform. (Seriously, the way his ass fills out those pants…damn.)
There's always a woman waiting in the wings for a hot cop like him. A flock of them, even. He could have anyone he wants. He doesn't need to try to bang the librarian driving the Prius. They were oil and water. He's the type who has a reputation. She was the type who'd show up with a sign and protest it.
Without giving him a response or even a goodbye, Regina makes her escape. She bets she's already at her car before he even notices she's slipped away.
As she drives away her thoughts go back to their encounter. She didn't know why, but she felt like this day in time was something she would remember for her entire life.