They've been in The Enchanted Forest for some months now, and whilst Regina has (begrudgingly) adapted to the lack of central heating and power showers, cell phones and the internet, one thing she cannot relinquish is the time spent immersing herself in a thick cookbook and a fully stocked kitchen. 30 years cooking for herself (and then Henry) has not removed the simple joy she gets from spending the time making a delicious meal from scratch, using her bare hands and a bit of elbow grease. Perhaps it was a childhood shooed away from the enticing sights and sounds and smells of the palace kitchen, harsh scoldings at being found doing anything evenly remotely below her status that had her determined to learn for herself when free of Cora's controlling clutches. Whatever the reason, after a particularly arduous day of council meetings she finds herself pulled to the smaller of the palace's kitchens, one recipe firmly in mind.
After familiarising herself with the kitchen and pantry's contents she sets to work, moving with practised ease as she assembles the ingredients needed in the correct places to allow the most efficient use of space and movement around the room. A few times she has to get creative, missing the culinary tools she took for granted in Storybrooke, but it is with pride that she slides the lasagne into the oven not an hour later. She is tired, but the gentle labour has exercised not only her cramped muscles but also her cramped mind, given her some time away from Snow's exhausting optimism, the distrust of the rest of the castle's occupants and the relentless arguing (bantering? flirting?) with the thief. She is startled out of her reverie by a voice from not two feet behind her.
'Whatcha doin?'
She turns more slowly than her thundering heart might warrant to see the curious eyes of the littlest outlaw peering up at her. 'Roland' she says in a half laugh, 'you startled me, what are you doing down here? Where's your Papa?'
'Papa said I should go practice my sneaking and see who I could follow without them knowing but then it smelled good and majesty was here so I thought maybe Papa wouldn't mind if I stopped sneaking for a bit.' Roland answers with his usual flurry of words and dimpled grin, and Regina can't help but tap him on his nose as she sinks to her knees in front of him.
'Well you must be a very good sneaker for no one to have noticed you for so long.', Roland visibly puffs up at that, 'Are you hungry? I've just been cooking a lasagna, it'll be done in no time.'
His head tilts and nose crinkles as he tries to wrap his tongue around the unfamiliar word, 'sangya?' he asks. 'You made it? But queens aren't 'sposed to cook.' He adds with a confused frown.
'Yes dear, I made it. You remember how I told you about my little boy-'
'HENRY' Roland cuts in excitedly, bouncing on his feet.
'Yes, Henry', Regina chuckles at his exuberance. 'Well I used to cook for him all the time when I wasn't the queen, and now I just like to cook for fun. Lasagna was his favourite.' she adds with a wistful smile, accepting the inevitable pang in her heart that comes when she talks about her little prince. 'And besides, I only cook for my favourite people, so would you like some?'
Roland's nod is so vigorous that she wouldn't be surprised if it detached his head from his shoulders.
Rising to her feet she takes his little hand and leads him over to the skin where she lifts him onto the adjacent worktop.
'Well first we need to tidy the kitchen and wash up, and since you're my little knight, you won't mind helping me with that will you?' she asks teasingly, tickling his stomach.
Roland giggles and squirms before answering, 'Nope', popping the P sound and grinning at her.
Regina quickly gathers all the dirty kitchenware and gives the surfaces a wipe down before filling the sink with warm water (and if she magics some bubbles, much to Roland's glee, well, who's going to know?). They spend the next half an hour alternating between washing and drying the various utensils, and having bubble fights, splashing water at each other when they least expect it.
This is how Robin finds them, after spending a good hour looking for his son amongst the castle's wandering corridors and winding staircases. He had just been starting to worry when he'd heard Roland's indignant shriek of 'Majesty!' coming from the kitchen, followed by the throaty chuckle that could only come from one woman.
He quietly rounds the corner and stands in the doorway to see Roland trapped in Regina's arms as she rubs a towel against his hair. He is at a slight loss until he notices the water that is splotching the floor and the clean pots and pans that lie next to where Roland is sat. He switches his gaze to look Regina up and down only to have his breath catch in his throat as she turns and catches sight of him. She has forgone her usual elaborate hairstyle and lavish gowns, and is instead dressed in pale brown trousers, paired with a simple cream shirt with her hair pinned just off her face, the rest cascading down her back in soft waves. Her eyes are alight with merriment, hair curling slightly at the ends and temples where water has caught it, and shirt plastered to her chest, soaked through to the point where little is left to the imagination. Another thing different about her now is the way her smile does not drop as she sees him, rather raises an eyebrow and smirks at the way he takes a little too long to move his gaze away from her chest.
Before either can get a word out however, Roland jubilantly cries 'Papa!' before launching himself from the countertop. Regina and Robin both lurch forward to catch him and subsequently end up in a tangle of arms and Roland's limbs, their faces mere inches from each other. 'Roland, you know you should've asked for help getting down.' Robin admonishes as Regina extricates herself from them, stepping back and pressing her palms together in a rare gesture of uncertainty.
When she's not being stubborn, she can't help but admit to herself how much this thief affects her, and seeing him with his son never fails to send her heart beating a little faster. She'd noticed the tattoo not long into their acquaintance, but had refused to attribute any meaning to their interactions since, not the compassionate gaze or soft smiles he'd direct at her after a particularly trying day, nor the cheeky amusement or flashes of lust during a particularly heated discussion. Even now he is looking at her with a mix of amusement, heat and wonder, and she cannot help but feel exposed under the gaze that seems able to pierce her soul (ironic really).
She turns and busies herself with putting away the remainder of the pots whilst Robin questions Roland about his afternoon. It's not until she hears an excited 'Gina used to make it all the time for Henry!' that she realises the conversation has turned to his adventures in the kitchen.
'Well Milady, my boy tells me you've made 'sangya', and is quite insistent that you made it all by yourself?' Robin addresses her with amusement colouring his tone.
'You sound surprised. I can cook you know. Just because I have servants to cook for me doesn't mean I can't do it myself. My lasagna is the best in Storybrooke.' Regina returns, chin lifted in defiance but lips quirked up and laughter dancing in her eyes.
'Oh really? Well then I suppose you wouldn't mind allowing me a taste of your lasagna, if it's that good then surely you will be happy to have others taste and confirm your claims.' Robin answers, letting Roland down and leaning nonchalantly against the wood surface, arms folded and smiling at her in challenge.
She knows damn well he doesn't have a clue what lasagna is, and knows that she knows it, but has to laugh and the sheer audacity of the statement, of him. She pauses a second, answers his challenge with an amused glare then moves to retrieve the lasagna from the oven on the other side of the kitchen. She moves it to the main worktop and smiles in satisfaction to see its physical perfection. Both Robin and Roland's curiosity has them drawing in for a closer look and smell, Regina hoisting Roland to her hip for a better view.
Regina sees Robin's hand sneaking out to poke the cheesy surface and grips his wrist before he can, levelling her coolest face at him and telling him it has to stand for a while, so why doesn't he get them some plates and cutlery while they're waiting? Robin huffs and goes to retrieve the items, his face still stretched wide and dimples on full display as he glances back at her.
Twenty minutes later Regina is serving out the dish, much to Robin and Roland's amazement as the neat layers of pasta and sauce are revealed to them. Robin meets Regina's gaze once settled and her breadth hitches to see such admiration and warmth flowing from them. She ducks her head to hide her blush and focusses on showing Roland how best to eat the meal, his unfamiliarity with knives and forks hindering him quite significantly. In the end she just lets him pull out the layers of pasta and spoon the sauce into his mouth separately, aware that the point of the dish has been lost in his dissection, but judging by the way it is smeared halfway up his face, still very much enjoyed.
Robin half-heartedly tells Roland to eat with more manners, but Regina dismisses him, telling him how Henry had ended up with most of it in his hair and down his front rather than in his mouth more often than not at his age. Robin's eyes crinkle at the edges as he laughs at the story, 'Your boy sounds like quite the handful.' he remarks, wanting to keep the dazzling smile on her face, desperately intrigued about the son she so clearly mourns for. Her smile becomes softer, but no less genuine as she replies, 'Yes he was at times, but worth every second of trouble. Something I imagine you understand quite well.'
They share a brief moment of complete understanding before Roland interrupts with an insistent tug on Regina's sleeve, 'Majesty, that was the bestest sangya ever, you're the best cook in all the lands'. Regina looks down at him, 'Well thank you sweetheart, I'm glad you think so.' She wipes his face and hands with a nearby cloth before turning to Robin with a victorious smirk and a raised eyebrow. 'Well?'
Robin's answering smile is full-dimpled and unreserved, 'It was truly astounding Regina, absolutely delicious, I had no idea such food existed.'
Being unprepared for such a sincere and open answer, expecting their usual back-and-forth, Regina can only sit with her mouth slightly open in shock and moisture gathering in her eyes, before clearing her throat and murmuring an equally honest 'Thank you'.
'Can you cook more for us Gina?' Roland inquires with his biggest puppy-eyes pointed at her. 'You said you have fun, and I can help with the washing again.'
'Well of course Roland, but I don't have much time anymore, so I don't know when I'll next be able to, but I'll let you or your Papa know when I'm going to and you can come join me. Does that sound okay?'
Roland screws his face in contemplation before giving a sharp nod and grinning the cheeky smile that makes her heart melt every time she sees it. He's silent for a few seconds, still obviously thinking about something, before asking, 'Gina, does this mean Papa is your favourite?'
Her eyes go wide in shock and mouth hangs open for a second before she recovers and returns, 'What makes you say that sweetheart?'
'Well you said you only cook for your favourite people, and me and Papa both had the sangya so Papa must be your favourite too.' Roland reasons in the innocent way only children can.
Regina stares at him a beat longer before fixing her eyes on the piercing blue ones of the boy's father. She can see the uncertainty there now, usually hidden behind that arrogance that irritates her so much, but also a pool of longing that she's never really seen in anyone who was looking at her before. She leans forward more onto her elbows and murmurs, as if in answer to Roland's question, but more to the one in Robin's burning gaze,
'Yes, I suppose he is.'