A/N: Based on the prompt "Barefoot in the rain" and set during the Missing Year.
She likes the rain. Cleanser of the soul.
The world always seems saner when the sky weeps as if it had been turned off for a bit. Time stills. Life stops.
Peace.
The raindrops fall, one by one, and glide over her naked arms. Her eyes are shut, her tears invisible. Her pain dull.
Liberating.
She hums a quiet sound, a tender lullaby from a distant time.
She likes the rain. It reminds her of little feet jumping in puddles with bright red boots on, cuddles on the couch and innocent giggles echoing in the house.
Henry.
He's gone now. Her little prince. Her heart and soul. He's gone.
She slides on the ground, her blue nightgown not so anymore. The melodious murmur draws out fainter and quivering limbs gather against her chest.
The thunder rumbles from atop the mountains and nothing.
Emptiness.
Her arm untwists as her breathing weakens, and out of her palm, it falls.
Blood red.
…
Light. Too much light.
She squints and moans. The pain... It's back. Why? She felt good. For the first time in months, she was at peace and now, all there is, is sadness and images of a yellow bug and the remnants of her past sins melding into the purple smoke that would take her far away from the one true love of her life.
She deserves the pain and heartache. It is her price to pay for all she's done but she thought… For an instant, she thought it could all be over. A blissful void.
A tear escapes her half-opened lids and a hand falls on her arm, its thumb drawing circles on her tender skin.
"Regina?"
Snow.
She closes her eyes back shut. No.
…
She fell asleep in her attempt at avoiding Snow and the next time her eyes open, the light has dimmed. It's now coming from a small and blurry candle standing on her vanity.
Better.
She blinks. Her lashes are dried, sticking to her skin. No more tears left to shed. She brings a hand to her chest, laying her palm flat against it. It beats, still, dull.
Outside, it's still raining. Raindrops thrum on the castle's roof, soft and steady. Soothing.
She sits up with difficulty and draws her tongue out to wet her lips when she hears someone at the door. She raises a hand, conjuring a quick locking spell but she fails. Too weak.
She expected Snow White. Instead, she recognizes one of her stepdaughter's latest charity cases: Robin Hood. An outlaw sleeping in her gardens with his equally-felonious companions. She tried voicing against it, but without fear, her voice never mattered in these walls.
"The thief."
The moniker was supposed to remain an unspoken observation, but it was indeed her voice cracking painfully in the silence.
He smirks, unbothered by the poisonous snap of her tongue. He closes the door and walks around the bed to stand by her side.
"I brought you a glass of water."
She hesitates before taking the glass and drinking a sip. She closes her eyes. It burns.
"Why are you here?" She asks, putting the glass down.
"I'm on nurse duty," he tells her, pulling the vanity's chair and sitting next to her.
"So, you're my watchdog?"
He chuckles, and she bites her lip to fight the unexpected smile pulling the corner of her mouth.
There's a silence and his features grow serious. She raises a brow.
"I don't know why you did what you did, and I won't ask but if you want to talk to someone, I'm a good listener."
"What makes you think I want to talk to you?"
"Well, something tells me that talking to the Princess wouldn't be your ideal choice either."
This time, hiding the smile is more difficult.
"You're not wrong," she confirms. "But, I'm alright. I don't need to talk or cry on anyone's shoulder."
"Your Majesty, I found you cold as dead in the freezing rain, your heart in your hand. You're going to have to lie better to convince me that you are in any way alright."
She blinks before locking eyes with him.
"Why didn't you leave me?"
"I don't make a habit of ignoring somebody in need of assistance."
"But I'm the Evil Queen," she scorns, her eyes now dark and perverse. "Ask around; they'll tell you. I'm not human. I'm not a person… Not with all I have done. I'm a monster."
He surprises her by standing up and putting his hands on the mattress. His face is close, and he holds her gaze with defiance and something else… Kindness? She backs away, surprised but he doesn't budge.
"I don't make a habit of taking anyone else's opinion at face value either."
She stays quiet and brings a hand up to his chest, stroking the fabric of his shirt with her finger.
"Should I rip your heart out and crush it? Would that be proof enough?"
He holds her gaze, unmoving and she feels her eyes burning. Not so empty after all.
"I'm waiting," he presses but with tenderness in his voice. Bravery or stupidity?
Her hand falls and she leans against her pillows. She closes her eyes letting a few orphan tears escape.
"You're lucky, I'm too tired."
She feels the bed moving as he withdraws and he sits back on the chair.
"Soon, the Princess will bring you some warm food."
"Don't let her in."
She looks at him when there's no answer. His brows are knitted in confusion.
"Promise," she asks. "I don't want to see them."
"You have my word, milady."
A shiver runs down her spine as the name rolls off his tongue. It's not the first time he's called her that. She recalls their first encounter - that time he "saved" her life (again). She snapped in response, offended (taken off guard, embarrassed to have been powerless in the face of a pathetic flying simian). She doesn't seem to mind it so much, anymore.
Odd.
He stays for a while and keeps his promise not to let Snow in when she brings some potato soup. Granny's surely. She isn't a fan. He doesn't care. He's had practice convincing difficult toddlers to eat their brew, he sasses and she tries to hide the agonising pain this conversation brings her as memories of her own picky eater swirls in her brain.
She fails. He notices her jaw clenching, the water in her eyes she attempts to blink away, her difficulty to draw in that one breath and her hand automatically reaching to the part of her body that never stops aching.
"What was his name?" He asks. "I… I remember how you ran to protect Roland that day. You didn't even hesitate. Only a parent has that instinct."
She stares blankly at her bowl, drawing shapes in the yellow mush with her spoon.
She is a parent.
She was. Is. He's still her son - He is. He might be calling another woman "mom". He might be far away from her but she is his mother. She raised him. She loved him. She cared for him, soothed every bruise and pain... He is her boy.
A drop of water falls into the soup. There still are tears left to shed.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to… "
She looks at him, her vision blurry but she holds onto the blue of his eyes that are slowly becoming more and more familiar. Comforting. (Odd).
"His name is Henry and he isn't dead, he's just lost to me forever."
If he's confused by her words, he doesn't show it. Instead, he nods with compassion.
"Yet, the grief is still the same," he acknowledges and she chuckles shallowly. It is indeed.
He leaves once she's done eating after she assures she will leave her heart in place. Maybe.
He says he'll be back in the morning. She replies that there's no need, that she can take care of herself. He agrees but insists that he wants to, that he enjoyed her company tonight.
Her heart flutters.
"I'll see you in the morning, milady."
He smiles and disappears behind the door. She stares at the wooden piece and smiles in the shadow in turn.
Odd.
…
He enjoys the rain.
She figures it out quite early on.
She often finds him crouching next to his son by one of the castle's windows, enthralled by drops the size of gold coins pelting down enthusiastically. Every once in a while father leans toward son and whispers into his hear amusing tales that makes his giggles bounce against the cold stone walls of the castle and the cold stone chamber of her heart, boring with warmth inside of it.
Enchanting melody.
She watches them. From afar, sitting at the edge of the dining table, Snow having worn her down with her insistence that she shouldn't be so isolated. They are "family after all". (She doesn't realise that the sadness and pain the Princess bears into her eyes ever since that day is the reason Regina is so inclined to staying away. She just can't bear it. The disappointment… It's too much.) Or, on her walks, hidden behind a column, her heartbeat quickening when she recognises the now-familiar silhouettes.
One day, she finds son without father standing by the glass door leading to the courtyard where her apple tree takes roots, poising proud and majestic, still intact despite the years passing by. The only companion that never left her side. The sole witness of her deepest wounds, holder her most painful and joyous memories.
He wants to go out. Roland. Wants to run on the wet grass and draw his tongue out for the tasteless treat.
"Tempting, isn't it?"
He turns around, surprised and he lowers his head, scared of being in trouble.
"I used to run in the rain when I was a little girl," she says, sauntering towards the door and stopping at his level. That's not true. Cora wouldn't have allowed it.
She absently reaches for the top of her lip, souvenirs of broken glass and furious eyes replacing the image of the sweet boy.
She blinks. No. Not now.
She looks at Roland and gives him a small smile. He grins in turn, his cheeks dimpling. Beautiful.
"Does your father know you're here?"
"No," he replies and shakes his head. "We're playing catch the thief."
Of course.
She gives a low chuckle and looks at the window.
"Would you like to go outside for a bit?" She asks, tilting her head at him. "Quick before your father finds you?"
His eyes open, bright and beautiful; his smile wide and toothy.
Warmth. Here it is again.
She smiles before stretching a hand for him to take and they're out, walking on the courtyard towards the gardens. She closes her eyes, head tilted backwards. The drops aren't cold. On the contrary. They pleasantly caress her face, drip down her neckline… Time stills. Life stops.
Happiness.
She looks at Roland whose laughter is already melding with the sound of rain. She bends down and smirks playfully and he watches her with confusion. Without a word, she unties her boots and kicks them to the side.
He giggles and giggles, and leans against her, hand holding tight onto her arm as he does the same. The two, barefoot, run into the grass, the trees their only witness and she laughs, like she hasn't laughed in so long. She thinks of Henry, of cuddles and kisses and dancing in the backyard to a silent music… She smiles, cries, exults, breathes…
"Your Majesty?"
She stops spinning and turns to look at Roland.
"Yes?"
He isn't saying a word. Instead, he seems to be trying to hide behind her skirt, eyeing something behind her. She frowns before spinning on her heels and… Oh.
The father.
He's walking towards them, arms crossed over his chest. She can't see his face but she can't imagine him being too thrilled upon seeing the Evil Queen entertain his child.
Wrong.
He draws closer and all she sees is the smug smile on his face, nothing like the outraged and menacing glare she expected. Butterflies rise in her stomach and she lets out a breath she didn't realise she was holding.
"I see you're having quite the fun," he says, looking at Roland who's still hiding behind her before tipping his head and meeting her eyes.
He looks her up and down and she suddenly feels very aware of her physical aspect. Standing wet in the rain, barefoot, her gown surely ruined. She looks nothing like a Queen.
"Your Majesty."
She huffs at his tone. Full of teasing and triumph but she smiles. Is incapable of stopping, so she looks away, hoping that he will attribute the redness of her cheeks to the rain and nothing else.
"Mind if I join you?" He asks and it's Roland who answers with an enthusiastic "yes, Papa" before leaving her side to take his father's hand.
She prepares to leave. She doesn't want to intrude but his hand stretches just as she takes a step back. She stops. Her brain fills with confusion and her heart with long-forgotten emotions.
He smiles, encouragingly.
"Dance with us, your Majesty," Roland asks, happily, and how can she refuse?
She places her hand into his and lets him spin her around once, twice, three times… More fluttering of the heart.
...
He enjoys the rain. She likes that about him.
That and other things too.