I wanted to explore the scenario of Regina just leaving the diner without speaking to anyone or being introduced to Marian, etc. I also wanted to delve into how vulnerable she felt and because she was so hurt, her vulnerability has prevented her from being so well-put-together. Therefore, some of her quirks/compulsions/rules have been forgotten. I also wanted to write a bit of an alternate scenario to the ending of 4x01 because my OQ ship-heart hurts.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Obviously.

Chapter 1:

She walks out of the diner on quivering legs. Her four-inch stilettos hindering her from sprinting out. Running both hands through her growing black hair, she lets a lone tear fall. Stopping beneath the entrance arch of Granny's, she closes her eyes—hoping that none of this is real. Taking a moment to collect herself, she inhales the frigid air. After hearing the bell chime from the diner's door, she begins to walk away. From afar, she hears a sorrowful voice call her name, but she knows she can't look back. She keeps her head high and her hands in her pockets. Regina walks away.

The long walk to the mansion is a journey. Her heels getting stuck in the cracks of the sidewalk. The unwelcoming cold air seeping through her stockings. Her restless hands going in and out from her jacket pockets. But most of all, the hot streaming tears stinging her dried out eyes. I am a queen. She quickly reminds herself. Back straight, head up, and walk with purpose.

Finally seeing the white pillars of her porch in the distance, she picks up her pace. Regina had never felt more relieved to see her overbearing home. She wants nothing more than to kick her heels off and open that vintage bottle of red she had been telling herself was only for a special occasion. Some occasion this is she thought. Finding her keys, she drops them with unsteady hands. She isn't sure if it's from the cold or the overwhelming flood of emotions.

Pushing the key in and rushing through the doorway only to close it with a gentle click, she tosses her keys onto the nearest surface. She lets her leather jacket slide down her arms and leaves it to lie in the doorway. Leaving the maroon cashmere scarf wrapped around her neck, she kicks off her heels, ignoring the clatter and thoughts of potential scratches on her polished hardwood floors. Glancing to her left, she chokes back a sob. Her impeccable living room— decorated as if she were still in her castle. The same living room where she had worn her heart on her sleeve and allowed him into her life.

Taking in a wavering breath, she takes her time to walk upstairs. Finding the second door on her left, she pushes it open, tensing immediately at the sight. On the left side of her immaculately made bed is a folded evergreen long sleeve Henley. Walking slowly towards the offending material, she hesitantly reaches for it. Instantly, she brings it tightly to her chest, burying her nose in his scent. Not being able to keep her heartbreak at bay, the dam breaks.

"Robin…"

Regina lies on what had recently become his side of her bed. With her legs tucked into her chest, she buries her face into his pillow as she clenches his shirt. The repressed tears continued to flow freely. Sobs wracked her body barely allowing a breath to be drawn. Regina can feel her mascara running down her face and stinging her eyes. She knows it will stain her pristine white sheets, but she can't seem to stop or care. Bringing his shirt to cover her face, she takes a deep breath. Just as much as his scent calms her, it also releases another wave of tears. Throwing the shirt onto the floor, she turns over to lie on her back.

Staring up at the ceiling, she continues to let the burning tears fall from her eyes. With her breathing now under control, she takes a minute to herself. This is pathetic. I am a resilient queen. A queen everyone feared. I am better than…than some thief. With that mantra repeating in her head, she gracefully rises from her bed and heads straight to the en suite. Turning the lights on, she winces at her appearance.

Mumbling to herself, "Damn vanity lights."

To say the least, she looks like a train wreck. Black streaks lining her face that have eventually made their way down to her neck. One eye lined with black eyeliner, while the other is completely wiped away. Rolling up the sleeves to her dress and tossing her scarf to the marbled floor, she gently washes away the evidence of her heartache.

Leaving the scarf heaped onto the floor, she slowly walks back into her room. Unzipping her dress, she lets it fall to pool around her ankles. Stepping out of the material, Regina walks to the full-length mirror. Staring at her reflection clad in stockings and a dark red lace bra, she sighs. Continuing to undress until she's just in the matching dark red panties, she walks to his side of the bed. Gently picking up the discarded long sleeve, she pulls it over her head. Returning back to her mirror, she cracks the smallest of smiles. The shirt lands a few inches above her knees and the sleeves are swallowing her lithe arms. With the extra material that goes past her hands, she brings it up to her face and breathes in deeply.

Letting out one last cry of anguish, she makes her way downstairs. Cringing at the cold steps beneath her feet, she finally reaches the kitchen. Opening the cabinet above the stove, she begins scanning the labels of wine—looking for a specific bottle. Stepping back to stand on her tiptoes, she lets out a curse.

"Goddamnit."

Of course it was all the way in the back. Grabbing the small stepping stool, she reaches for the inconveniently placed bottle and brings it down with ease. Not bothering to close the cabinets, she slides over to the drawer for the corkscrew. Not giving the 1994 Château Lafite Rothschild a chance to breathe, she pours the Bordeaux into the nearest glass and takes a generous sip.

It burns a bit as she shallows. Her throat is dry and scratchy from crying, but soon enough, the smooth and silky taste of the dark red makes up for the discomfort. Regina cannot bring herself to sit in that room, so she settles for the barstool at the island. She polishes off her current glass only to refill it to the brim once more.

Taking in her surroundings, Regina notices she is in complete darkness. Not a single light illuminated the room, unless one counted the moonlight shining through the kitchen window. Setting her glass aside, she rests her forehead against the cold granite of the island. Her mind flashes back to the diner. Back to Robin pulling his wi—her into his arms. With no one around, she let's her thoughts be heard by no one other than herself.

"Once again, I felt the brunt of heroism. Always the villain—even when I'm not."

Not bothering to soak her now empty glass or put away the opened bottle, she leaves it for tomorrow. Sliding the barstool back, paying no mind to the screech against the tiled floor, she makes her way upstairs. However, as she takes the first step up, she gets the paranoid feeling to check her door—a habit she has made after the curse broke. Peaking through the peephole to ensure there are not any surprise visitors on her doorstep, she jerks back with a gasp.

There's a person sitting on her front porch. Their right side leaning again the large pillar clutching their jacket with a grip so tight, she can see their knuckles turning white. She doesn't want to see anyone, let alone speak to them. With tears already rushing down her freshly washed, but wine flushed face, Regina quietly turns around and heads towards the stairs, only to pause mid-stride.

"I know you're there, milady."