Warning: This does not end well.
Eyes as blue as the water by the docks; a smattering of dark hair covering her scalp, silky soft when Regina brushes the strands away from her face with her palm; pink porcelain skin that has yet to meet the hardships of this life; snuggled protectively in her brother's arms, she is perfect, exactly the way Regina has pictured her in her dreams. She feels a thread weaving their destinies together like a blanket that'll keep out the cold harsh days of winter. Even though she is not her own but the child of another version of her, her split half, who has had adventures Regina should not envy—does not—but sometimes wishes she could have experienced herself, the pull Regina feels towards the small bundle in Roland's arms is undeniable.
The morning chill blows in her direction, sweeping under her robe and making her shiver. She should invite them inside and close the door, but she's still rooted to the spot, one hand braced against the door, taking in the picture before her.
She'd been awake for a few minutes when the doorbell had rung. Henry had slept at Emma's last night and she was expecting the family for brunch. Her first thought had been that her son had forgotten his keys; it wouldn't have been the first time. He was early—she wasn't expecting anyone before 10—but maybe he'd had enough of the baby and wanted to help with breakfast preparations. She'd been entirely unprepared when she opened her door to see Robin's son standing before her, covered in mud and blood and bruises, carrying a baby whose lineage was unmistakable.
It's been years since she's heard from her other half. After the near-destruction of all realms, she'd peeked into her mirror from time to time, but seeing herself with another version of Robin only reopened old wounds. If she wanted to move on, she had to let go, so she did.
She doesn't know what brings Roland to her doorstep this morning, but it can't be good. A tear in his trousers reveals a deep gash on his thigh, coated with a mix of dried and fresh blood. The injury seems a few days old and never properly tended to. His clothes are soiled with dirt, earth and grass and all manner of things found on the forest floor. He's shivering too, his wet shirt doing nothing to stave off the wind. There's a scar on his cheek, another by his temple. Regina brushes her thumb over his eyebrow, feeling his injuries—both old and new—reaching with her magic inside his body to make sure no life-threatening ones have been sustained. His physical wounds are mostly superficial. She frames his jaw with her palm.
"Roland, what happened?" Her voice breaks as she speaks and she falls to her knees in front of the boy who's grown up so much since the last time she laid eyes on him.
He blinks. The stiffness in his body slowly melts away. His eyes, hard and emotionless since she opened the door, start to water. He must be ten years old now, trying to be tall and strong, but inside he's still a child, hurt and broken, emotionally if not physically. He's lost so many people in his life; one has to wonder how he's still standing.
A tear rolls down his cheek, tracing a straight line through the grime smearing his skin. His shoulders shake, new tears leak from his eyes, and his breath is rattled when he answers, "They're gone." His voice is both faint and high-pitched; emotion constricts his throat. "They're gone, and they're not coming back."
He collapses into her embrace, body wracked with sobs while the pink-cheeked baby in his arms reaches for Regina's finger. His gut-wrenching cry tears through the quietness of the morning, and Regina wraps her arms around him, kisses his dirty hair, and whispers promises in his ear: he's safe now; he's not alone; he's home.
Written for the OQ Prompt Party - 27. Regina meets the baby of DarkOQ for the first time.