Author's Note: For OQ Fix-It Week Day 6, Roni day. Yes, this is super cracky. Yes, there will be more. Yes, we will eventually find Snow.


Of all the ways he could have been cursed, David has to admit this could be worse.

The meals are pretty terrible, he's not used to having hair this long and shaggy, and he has an itch he can't quite move in a way that he can easily scratch. But it could be worse.

Twenty eight years in a coma was definitely worse.

At least the company here is good.

Case in point: As he twists and stretches trying to get at that itch, failing and only managing to vigorously scratch right nearby it, Robin reaches over and gives him good scratch right where he needs it.

David would sigh if he could, leaning into the touch with a happy thump of his tail.

"How's that, boy?" Robin asks him kindly, scratching for another moment and then rubbing his hand over David's ruffled fur. "Did I get it?"

David drops his head back down next to Robin's leg on the couch and thinks to himself that it's not ideal, waking up one morning as an Australian Shepherd on the floor of an unfortunately-very-cursed Robin's apartment. But at least this time, he knows who he is.

.::.

He needs to find Snow.

She's here somewhere, she has to be. David looks for her constantly, feels her in the neighborhood, somewhere. Feels that pull of her presence as he always has.

She's nearby, she has to be. She's here with him, somewhere, and he will find her again.

He enjoys walks – not only for the fresh air, but because they give him a chance to look for her. To sniff her out. Literally, as weirdly gross as that is. But the whole world looks different now, feels different, smells different. Everything is more. The trash smells trashier, the flowers in the windowboxes smell sweeter, and there is dog scent everywhere.

It's weird, and kind of gross, but also… kind of cool, if he has to be honest. He's been around animals his entire life, and he's always wondered what it was like to live like they did. To run full tilt across a meadow (the dog park is a pale comparison, but he's done several good laps around it, has played and wrestled and rolled in the dirt with other dogs until he was panting and thirsty), or to spend all day in a sunny patch of the apartment floor, to have someone scratch lazily at that spot on the back of his neck for awhile. (Robin wouldn't be his first choice for that, but he certainly could have done worse – just think if he'd ended up as Gold's pet.)

It reminds him somewhat of being a child. Of being back on the farm. Of rolling down the hill near their home until the world spun when he sat up, and he stumbled like a drunk up the slope to go careening freely down again.

And it's temporary, this curse, being stuck in this form. He knows it is, it has to be. Somewhere, Emma is working to save them. Somewhere, he'll find Snow and they'll share a True Love's Lick or something, and the curse will break. He knows that.

So for now, he's going to run around that dog park, and wrestle with a beagle, and bound across the grass toward Robin when he gives out a whistle, and shouts, "Alright, Dave! Time to go home!"

He lets himself be clipped into his leash, and wishes desperately for a drink as they head home. His tongue is lolling, his breath heavy, and he's so distracted by how thirsty he is that he almost doesn't feel it at first.

But then he does, all at once.

They turn down a different street than usual, and David feels her. Somewhere in his middle, somewhere in his heart, he feels Snow. She's nearby, he just knows it.

His ears perk up, his nose tipping a little higher toward the sky as he looks frantically around the block, hoping for a sight of her, of another dog, but he doesn't see anything. Just a sandwich board propped on the curb under a neon sign that says Roni's.

Maybe she's not a dog here, he thinks. Maybe she's human, and it's only him who's the dog.

Still, he feels that pull, that inexorable tugging at his middle, and he leads Robin down the street anyway. It grows stronger and stronger with every step – she's nearby, she must be.

"Come on now, Dave, where're you going?" Robin grumbles, tugging a little on David's leash as he practically drags the man behind him.

By the time he reaches Roni's, David's heart is thudding hard with that familiar feeling, and he drops to his rump just outside the door and looks up to Robin with an imploring whine. He's not above begging if it will get him in the door. Snow is on the other side of it; he just knows it. He can feel it in these borrowed bones.

"You in need of a pint?" Robin asks him, teasingly. David just looks at the door, then back at Robin, offering up some pleading eyes for good measure. "I don't think they'll allow pets inside, Dave," Robin tells him, and David lets his tongue loll out, panting a little harder. Robin won't let him go thirsty for too long; David knows that.

The former Prince of Thieves is good with animals; David's been stuck like this for three weeks now and he's yet to go hungry or thirsty for too long. He has plenty of toys, gets plenty of walks, plenty of rubs through his thick fur.

It's a little weird, having one of his friends give him a rubdown, but it feels nice. And besides, he's a dog, he's supposed to enjoy being petted. Just like he's supposed to employ every adorable weapon in his arsenal to get his way – like another whine, another pitiful glance.

"Oh, alright, buddy, but if we get kicked out, you're paying the tab," Robin tells him, pushing open the door that will hopefully reunite David with his true love.

What he finds on the other side of the door is almost better than the cursed wife he'd been expecting.

Regina.

Of all people, Regina Mills, former Evil Queen, mother to Henry, and – most importantly in this particular moment – soulmate to the guy holding David's leash, is standing behind the bar, with curly hair, gold hoop earrings, a skin-tight black top, and a temper.

She looks… not herself, not like any version of herself that he's ever met (okay, there may be the hint of an Evil Queen in the way she's berating one of the few customers in the place for, from what David can tell, getting fresh with one of the waitresses), but David doesn't much care.

He'd have preferred Snow, certainly, but who knows what kind of shape she's in (literally). Under the circumstances, he'll take dragging two people in love to their first meeting – and potentially getting them all out of this mess when the two of them inevitably fall for each other. They always do, right? Every version of them has made it work, somehow, eventually.

It's that "eventually" that gives him pause, rearing its ugly head when Regina tells said guy at the bar to take a hint or take a hike, and then turns her temper toward himself and Robin. She frowns down at him, and says, "That better be a service dog, or I can't let him stay."

Robin grimaces a little, and shrugs, says, "Sadly, no, but I think he's parched. He practically dragged me in the door. I don't suppose you could spare a thirsty dog a drink?"

Her frown softens a little at that, and then Regina is sighing heavily, and pointing to a table on the far side of the nearly empty bar.

"Take him over there, I'll get him some water," she orders, adding, "But if I'm watering your dog, you better order something." David hears her muttered, "Someone better order something, or I'll be feeding the chicken fingers to my cat…" but he's pretty sure it's low enough that Robin misses it.

Either way, they head over to the table she'd pointed out, one in a little recessed area, with a sofa for seating. Robin settles down into the cushions and reaches for the menu propped on the low table; David settles dutifully on his rump beside him and waits for Regina to bring him some water.

She's back a minute later, a little bowl filled just for him. It's cool and fresh and David laps it up greedily.

"Oh, come on, can you not get water all over my floor?" Regina sighs, and David looks up to find her staring down at him in a way that is more recognizably her than anything else in this place.

He forces himself to drink a little less sloppily, careful not to let drops of water splash all over the floor, and he hears Regina say, "Huh," and "Smart dog."

"He's brilliant," Robin says, dropping a hand down for a quick pat between David's shoulder blades. "Sometimes I think he's smarter than most people. And I swear he knows how to work my remote."

Regina laughs softly at that, one of those sort of scoffy disbelieving laughs of hers, and David thinks this is good. They're flirting. Or Robin is, anyway, and Regina is letting him. This bodes well.

With any luck, they'll have this curse broken in no time, and he'll be back with Snow and Neal. (He tries not to think about Neal, tries to tell himself that he's safe with Granny somewhere, or protected by Blue and the fairies. Worst case scenario, he's somebody's puppy – hopefully somebody kind.)

"I mean it," Robin says, still flirting. "I come home sometimes and he's parked on the couch watching nature documentaries."

Regina lets out a little snort, then crouches in front of David and asks, "Hearing the call of the wild, are you?"

He is, to be honest. This place is too urban. Too much concrete, and too few green things. He misses the forest, misses the smell of fresh air and pine. These days, the closest he gets to pine is Robin's woodsy aftershave.

She's watching him, tilting her head a little, and David lifts his head to peer back. She's definitely cursed, Regina. There's not a hint of recognition in her eyes, and everything about her is just wrong. She moves differently, and her voice isn't quite right. She's in skinny jeans, and he can count on one hand the number of times he's ever seen her in denim.

But she still smells the same, he notices – can't help but notice, dog senses and all. A sweet, fruity shampoo (apples, he thinks, and that's awfully fitting), and a sort of warm, expensive-smelling perfume. It's familiar – one of the few things during this curse that has been – and he finds it oddly comforting.

She reaches down to the collar around his neck and peers at his tags, one brow lifting as she looks over to Robin and asks, "Dave? Please tell me that's your name and not the dog's."

Robin laughs, and tells her, "It's his; mine's Finn. Yours?"

She tilts her head toward the door, looking at him like he's maybe very slow, and tells him, "Roni."

"Ah," Robin says. "Should have known. Well, Roni, if it makes you feel any better, he was a rescue. The name came with him."

She Mms, and mutters, "Well, Finn, then I suppose I'll reserve my judgment just this once…"

Regina gives David a good scratch behind the ears, and murmurs, "His coloring is gorgeous," and then she's pushing herself back up to her feet with a little grunt, and a creaking crackly sound he can hear in her knees. "If I was a dog person, I might like this guy."

"Not a dog person?" Robin asks, feigning dismay. "Now I'm not sure I can trust you."

She smirks, and shrugs, telling him, "I work a lot. I don't have the time to take care of a dog. And they're sweet, but I'm not sure I trust anything that loves that easily. Love is for suckers – suckers and puppies."

Ah, there's the jaded, closed-off Regina he remembers. Damnit. This whole curse-breaking thing might be harder than he'd thought.

"Ah, so you prefer standoffish and aloof?" Robin flirts (thank God for his persistence). "A cat, then?"

"If you must know, yes," Regina tells him. "She was a Christmas present to myself a few years back. I thought she'd make things… a little less lonely at the end of the day. And she does, but I always thought cats were low-maintenance."

"Aren't they?"

"Oh, not Princess Snow," she says and David almost chokes on his own tongue. Snow! Snow is with Regina. "Which is what she gets called when she refuses to eat the cat food I buy her, and instead wants to steal my sushi. Or when she refuses to use the litter box and insists on using my toilet instead." Regina pauses for a half-second, giving a little half-frown of concession and adding, "Although that one's not so bad to be honest – until I forget to leave the seat up and she pees in my bathtub."

Robin chuckles again, shaking his head, and grinning at her and saying something about that being truly unfortunate. Their eyes meet, lock, and linger in a way David has seen time and time again.

Regina breaks first, sucking in a shallow breath and glancing away not-quite-casually (David remembers that, too, from that year they spent trying to pretend they didn't like each other in the Enchanted Forest). She recovers, though, snaps back into her bluster and asks, "So are you going to order, or am I going to have to berate you for stealing my water under false pretenses?"

"Water isn't free?" Robin asks cheekily, glancing down at the menu again.

"Not for our furry friends, no," she drawls, still waiting expectantly.

"I'll take a dozen flaming buffalo wings, and a Sierra Nevada," he tells her, "And thank you – for watering the dog."

"You got it, thief," Regina smirks, softening just a little to add, "And you're welcome," before she saunters away.

Robin watches every step of the way, and thank God, because David knows his best chance of seeing Snow again – of reuniting their families, all of them – is for Robin to keep coming back to this bar long enough to realize he's stupid in love with the woman who owns it.

When she's disappeared out of sight, Robin leans down close to David and whispers, "Thanks, buddy."

If dogs could grin…