He finds her curled up on her loveseat by the window. She always said the view of the town was one of the most beautiful she's seen. However, the expression on her face is nowhere near that of contentment. Her lips and brows curved into a frown. Her eyes are cold and hard, but glistening with unshed tears. His heart aches a little at the sight before him. Like any normal day she is in her best attire even if it's sleepwear. Platinum silk pyjamas peek through her navy blue robe. She wears that robe often, he notices. She says it reminded of her home, which was quite odd as she was at home.
Her hands firmly crossed in front of her were starting to lose its strength, as he observes it drooping down towards her lap. Seeing this part of her is always disconcerting, as she rarely lets her guards down. Always the one with her head held high and a quick tongue in retort to whoever that displeases her even in the littlest ways. He should know, having been on the receiving end for as long as he can remember.
She breathes out a heavy sigh and an involuntary tear falls down her cheek, momentarily catching on her chin before it lands on her lap. He watches as she tentatively closes her eyes, possibly in the efforts to not let more tears fall. He can't stand the distance between them anymore. It felt almost suffocating, as if his breath alone was not enough to fill his lungs. He needed to be near her.
Grateful that she had plush carpeted floors, he pads softly towards her. She doesn't seem to notice his presence. "Regina," he whispers. He is now standing at the edge of the loveseat. He waits for her to want him to sit with her. Their relationship was one of much respect, he believes. Respecting her wishes and only doing as she wishes. Often he finds himself insatiable if he doesn't do what is asked of him. He doesn't question it because seeing her smile is enough, even though it may be fleeting.
She cocks her head up to the direction of his voice, "Hello, dear". She turns her gaze once more towards the window. She briefly scoots up her legs closer to her as an invitation for him to sit down. As gentle as he can be, he sits just shy of her legs. He lets out a breath, a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Regina, sweetheart," he starts. He notices that she flinched just a little at his words. He wished he knew why. "Yes, dear?" in a tone he can't quite place, between indifference and hurt. She says this while still staring blankly out the window. She knows that facing him -seeing his crestfallen face, his blue eyes that were filled with want; a want to feel –would only break down her already unstable resolve.
He knows he shouldn't. He knows very well that he might get thrown out by acting out of what is expected of him. But he yearns to touch her; he yearns to give her comfort even in the subtlest of touches. He rubs the pad of his thumb across her knee gently, "Are you alright? Is there anything, anything at all that I can do for you?" She rocks her head side to side slowly, as though the act alone was difficult for her. He nods, not wanting to push her anymore that she is willing to give. They sit in silence with only the sounds of their breathing and the slight rustle from her pyjama pants as he continues comforting her.
After a while, his ears perk up to the softest of sounds. He hears the faintest of whimpers, one that he recognizes as a desperate attempt to stifle a sob. He grabs a hold of her hand, "Regina, look at me. Let me help you. Tell me what's wrong. Please." She looks at him, her eyes glassy from the tears she's been holding, wider than he's ever seen them. He is taken aback at the vulnerability and overwhelming sadness emanating from her eyes. Her lips quiver as she spoke the words she never thought she'd say since coming to this land, "I lost him. I lost the baby."
And without any warning, she lunges forward at him and sobs heavily in the crook of his neck. Needless to say, this was the last thing he expected. The dampness in his shirt reminded him of the woman he was cradling in his arms. He shifted his legs so that his legs were on either side of the loveseat. He brought her closer in his arms, holding her tighter in hopes that he could make her feel safe. He strokes her hair while whispering sweet-nothings into her hair. He lets her cry as long as she needs. The pain of a losing child is by far the worst fate for any woman. "I'm so sorry Regina… It's not your fault…" she cries even harder at this "…Everything's going to be okay. We'll try again."
She knows that tomorrow morning he will remember none of this. He would wake up by her side and leave. He would forget that he held her in his arms until her tears subsided. He would forget what she had told him. He would forget the look of sorrow on her face. He would forget that what he saw was neither Mayor or Queen, but who she truly was. So she allows herself to cry as he held her close. Because tomorrow, only she will remember what she had lost. This was her curse.