Title: A Little Girl Time

Fandom: Lars and the Real Girl

Pairing: Margo/Bianca (sort of, kind of, maybe)

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the characters. I mean no infringement.

A/N: A short sketch of the movie so this makes sense – Lars is lonely. He’s so lonely he orders a ‘real girl’ doll and introduces her to everyone as his girlfriend. He interacts with her as if she were a real person (because he believes she’s a real person) and so everyone else around him begins to do the same in an effort to help Lars out. The doll’s name is Bianca. Margo is the girl who has a bit of a crush on Lars. Trust me, I didn’t spoil the movie for you. Go see it yourself – it’s uneven but still quite good. If you have anything to say, you can find me at Xfjnky2@yahoo.com.

“I don’t know why he thought I was the right person for this job. I am emphatically not the right person. I’m so far from the right person that I’m the… I’m the… the wrong person.”

Margo shot Bianca a sullen glare, arms crossed huffily over her chest and toe tapping an impatient rhythm on the floor, but as usual, Bianca was stoically silent.

“I think Bianca needs more female friends her own age,” Lars had said, his head bowed toward hers in a manner that made the conversation between them an intimate whisper. He was close enough for Margo to feel the heat of his body against her arm, to smell the mix of wood smoke and cologne clinging to his woolen sweater. “Do you think you could spend a little time with her? You know, do girl things.”

His eyes had been earnest and concerned, and even though part of Margo wanted to stomp firmly on his foot and give him a nice, hard shove, she instead sighed and nodded shallowly, an encouraging smile on her face. “Yeah, sure. Every girl needs a little girl time.”

Lars had rolled Bianca up to her house two days later, backing her wheelchair up the stairs and easing her into position on the couch. He had smiled down at her softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that made Margo want to smooth her thumbs his skin, then gave a shallow nod. “That’s right. I’ll be back later this afternoon. I’m sure you’ll have a good time with Margo.”

Her own smile never faltering, Margo had said cheerfully, “Oh, of course we will. Don’t you worry about a thing, Lars.”

And then Lars had smiled at her – his beautiful, angelic smile – and left them there alone.

Margo had never been alone with Bianca before. She’d met her at Cindy’s holiday party, seen her at her job in the window on Thursday afternoons when she stopped by the mall, and caught her on one of her ‘out and about’ journeys through town, but she’d never been alone with her. Now that she was, Bianca was larger than life, sitting silently and primly on the couch, her unblinking eyes focused with an almost suspicious intensity on Margo.

“It’s nothing personal,” Margo felt compelled to mutter, two fingers touching her forehead and hand slanting down across her face to hide her guilt. “It’s just… I thought I was finally getting somewhere with Lars, and then you show up.”

Bianca’s stare made her feel even worse, as if the other woman could see straight through Margo’s skin to the jealousy hidden beneath.

“Anyway, I thought we’d watch a movie.”

She felt odd, crouching down in front of the tv, fiddling awkwardly with the tricky DVD case as she struggled to open ‘Pride and Prejudice’. “Lars said you needed a little girl time,” she said nervously, as much to fill the weighted silence as to distract herself from the feel of Bianca’s eyes on her. “So, you know, Jane Austen…”

She trailed off, muttering to herself as she finally managed to free the disc. “I just didn’t want anything too sappy.”

An angry poke sent the DVD into the machine, and she turned suddenly, still crouched, the trailers springing to life behind her. “I think you’ll like it,” she said, tone a hint too aggressive.

Bianca’s stare was impassive, any hint of antagonism or wary distrust Margo might have imagined absent. Feeling suddenly embarrassed, she straightened slowly, hands wiping down the front of her sweater as her eyes bounced around the room. “I’m going to make some popcorn.”

The previews had finished by the time she returned, popcorn still steaming in the bowl she’d unearthed from the cabinets. Bianca was still sitting primly, eyes focused with unwavering intensity on the screen, and Margo sighed. “I’ll just put it here,” she offered clumsily, easing the bowl onto the couch between them as she clicked the play button on the remote.

It wasn’t long before Margo got a little teary-eyed. Jane Austen always made her cry – she felt each tragic misunderstanding as if it were a cut to her own soul, hoped desperately that fate would bring together those who seemed determined to thwart their own happiness. She burned with the shame of cumbersome pride and yearned for the strength to humble herself in the service of true love.

“No matter how many times I see it, I still worry they’re going to mess things up and miss their chance,” she confessed tearfully, a tissue pressed to her nose. A quick glance at Bianca seemed to confirm that she had the same worries. There was a sadness in her eyes that Margo hadn’t noticed before, a hint of wistfulness that made her seem suddenly tragic.

With a sigh, she reached over, hand resting gently on Bianca’s thigh. “I know it’s not your fault,” she murmured, smiling wryly, mind shifting back to their earlier conversation. With her other hand, she moved the now empty popcorn bowl to the table then closed the distance between them on the couch. Instead of intimidating, Bianca now seemed comforting. Her posture seemed to suggest open acceptance and a lack of judgment and it called to Margo. It made her want to divulge her deepest secrets and most terrifying fears. “I can almost understand what he sees in you.”

She felt the urge to explore the newfound connection she’d discovered. Bianca’s eyes had turned shy and a lock of hair had fallen over her cheek – she looked sweetly vulnerable. Reaching up to smooth it back, Margo felt herself drawn to stretch further. Before she could stop herself, she’d brushed Bianca’s lips with her own, the touch feather light. Her lips were pliant and welcoming, which was a surprise, and the look on Bianca’s face seemed a nervous entreaty. So, in an uncharacteristic burst of recklessness, Margo kissed her again.

After a long second, she pulled back, breathing raggedly. She found she’d slid her hand behind Bianca’s neck, and now, instead of eyes that glowed with acceptance, the other woman was instead looking down at her lap. Margo couldn’t decide if it was timidity or embarrassment, but the split second she took to think about which it might be was enough to allow awareness to come rushing back.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she gasped, immediately scrambling back so that she was at the far end of the couch. Her cheeks were burning and she could feel the uneasy heat of mortification rushing up her spine. “I didn’t mean… I’m so sorry.”

Bianca’s face was still tilted down, her eyes hidden and unreadable.

“I don’t normally kiss other girls,” Margo felt compelled to blurt, “and certainly not other girls who already have boyfriends.”

Now, much as it had when she’d first arrived, Bianca’s silence seemed like condemnation.

“It was an impulse, a horrible mistake,” Margo added miserably. Then, lip trembling, added softly, “Please don’t tell Lars.”

By the time Lars arrived to retrieve Bianca, they had both lapsed into silence, staring blankly at the television screen.

“Did you girls have a good time?” he asked, grinning brightly at Bianca. For a moment, his head tilted to the side, and he listened intently. Then he turned, offering the same smile to Margo. “Good. I knew you’d get along.”

Moments later, as Margo watched him back Bianca’s wheelchair down the steps, she chanced one last look into the other woman’s eyes. She thought she saw pity, maybe, mixed with a hint of encouragement, and gave a small wave.

“I’ll see you later, Bianca,” she called out half-heartedly as Lars strapped the other woman into her seatbelt, but Bianca didn’t look back.

Lars did, though, and his wave was delighted and cheerful. “Maybe next weekend?”

“Yeah,” Margo muttered softly, swallowing hard, “that’d be great.”