Day one of Dark OQ Week!
Prompt: Getting To Know You.
No beta, so the mistakes are mine, sorryyy.
Even though she enjoys his company, she'll never admit it. She fears she'd inflate his ego to the point that he might float away, but god does she enjoy his company.
She's found herself in his camp a number of times, so much so that Robin usually has a spot set up for her to sit around the fire with him in the early hours of the morning when she needs to get away.
It's almost always after a run in with Henry and his valiant efforts to avenge his grandparents' death and 'missing' mother. She's tried explaining everything to him, but it never works. No matter how much she wants him to be her son, he isn't capable of understanding, instead she always finds herself on the worst end of a sword with stinging tears behind her eyes and crippling anxiousness before she poofs out of his sight.
Tonight is no different. Henry found her again, threatened her very existence, and she had to escape.
She arrives at his camp like every other time, wordlessly and with moonlight shining from high above them, and as always he pours her a cup of ale - he has stolen from this particular brew from the tavern they know all too well, and he's proud of it. A favourite of his; a large vat of bitter hops and citrus.
The drink and they talk, then they drink some more and let the alcohol steer their conversations.
He asks her about the scar on her lip, something that has been itching at his curiosity for weeks, and she feels comfortable enough to tell him; nothing too exciting, just a little accident in the stables as she grew up, but she rarely gives information with receiving some in return, so she digs.
She asks about any scars he has and he happily shows her one that travels down his left arm, a defined pink line starting from his shoulder down until the middle of his bicep.
She let her tipsiness and curiosity take over and asks, "Why do have the feeling there's quite the story behind that?"
"I loathe to disappoint you, milady," he chuckles, taking a hearty gulp from his own cup. "This was simply a moment of drunken stupidity and giving that blasted sheriff the upper hand for too long."
"You boys have quite the rivalry," she smirks before sipping slowly at the dark ale, but raises an eyebrow when he scoffs lightly, telling her that she's made quite the understatement.
"He an arse," he offers bluntly. "He'd be a fool to be in my presence ever again."
"I don't doubt it," she teases, shuffling in closer to the fire. Her dress is probably going to be caked in mud and god knows what else at the end of the evening, but she can't find it in her to care.
She's cold.
He stands, but she doesn't question him, instead she focuses on the warmth from the flames. Her cup is planted firmly into the ground when she holds her jewelled hands over the pit, rubbing them together every so often, hoping that the friction will create any sort of heat along her fingers.
He surprises her slightly when a thick blanket is draped over her shoulders carefully, the warmth of her own body filling the inside of the material like a cocoon and soothing her chills.
When he sits, she smiles slyly at him, batting her heavily decorated eyes, and teases, "You've gone soft on me, thief."
"You're welcome," he laughs. "From what I know, there was once quite the chivalrous version of myself. Consider it my taking a page from his book."
Oh, she breathes and her shared memories come flooding back. Feeling Robin's love, the original Robin, is a much newer feeling, something her heroic counterpart was kind to share, but with it comes pangs of pain and hurt every now and then.
"You miss him," Robin notes, nothing horrible in his tone, just a simple observation. She's frowning softly towards the wisping flames when he adds, "Not that I can blame you. He sounds like quite the gentleman."
"He wasn't mine, though," she reminds him, reminds herself. "He never loved me."
"I doubt that that's true," he argues, shuffling closer to the fire himself. "I get the feeling that he loved every part of Regina, even the evil part."
The conversation ceases with that. She's unsure of what to say in response, so instead of digging the hole any deeper, they let silence dominate the camp and together enjoy the sounds of the forest, the whistling of the leaves, the distant critters.
Then out of nowhere he requests, "Tell me about how she met him, how they fell in love..." Regina laughs softly at his request, rendering him confused. Amused, he inquires, "Why is that funny?"
"Which time?" She asks, in no way alleviating his confusion. His eyebrows narrow in question, but he's eager and intrigued. "Robin and Regina met a number of times. Three to be exact. Each time they didn't know each other and somehow they managed to find themselves together and falling fast." Robin's smiling at her with an unfamiliar glint in his eye. "Which time would you like to hear about?"
"All of them," his eyes latch to hers, swirling with the desire to hear this story, smirking devilishly, adding an eye roll before saying, "Please."
"Only because you asked so nicely," she pops her lips and she explains it all as best she can.
Even though words could never do it justice, she tries.
She tells him about the day Regina saved Roland from the flying monkey, how the two soulmates were constantly teasing and at each other's throats during that pesky year in the Enchanted Forest, but how Robin was persistent. Then how the curse ravaged their memories and their relationship, but yet Robin still persisted, even in that cloudy haze of not knowing anything about her and gave Regina hope amongst her hours of the heaviest doubt. How he made her feel so loved that her heart would swell until she felt like her chest would explode. And the third time, enraptured in another curse, where all it took was a little teasing and deep stares into each other's eyes for them both to know that they were destined to be together.
"Sounds like quite the love story with those two," he nods, smiling a sweet smile that she hasn't seen before.
"It was."
She notices that he's picking around at some random pieces in the dirt, flinging the odd twig into the fire as he tries to word the question on the tip of his tongue. "Which was your favourite?" He asks.
"My favourite what?"
"Of all their stories, of all the times they met, which Robin and Regina story is your favourite?"
"Hmm," she hums, and she thinks about it, even tilts her head up to the dark night sky.
Part of her says she should lie, but that hoppy liquid is taking over and possesses her to bite her bottom lip, glazing over the forest floor and then to him with sweeter eyes than she usually allows, muttering, "This one."
He meets her with a questioning look, baffled by her answer.
"Ours," she says sincerely, clearing away the twinge of embarrassment that's formed as a lump in her throat. "Ours is my favourite."
"Ah," he smirks giddily and stretches his stein over the edge of the campfire. "Well, I can certainly drink to that."
She clinks their cups together, takes a large gulp with him and sighs contently.
But as usual, his much sassier personality has to go ahead and sneak in, joking with her, "I knew you enjoyed the view too much making me dig for those shears."
Her eyes roll instantly, and she groans, "Don't flatter yourself."
"You could have easily procured them with magic, love. And nothing you say will convince me otherwise. You wanted to watch me work."
"Believe what you want," she scoffs, hiding her hint of a smile into the near empty cup as she tips her head back to finish it off. "Just be happy I decide to keep you around."
"You like me," he continues his relentless teasing. "Admit it."
"Nope," she lets her lips pop loudly at the end of the word, darting her eyes into the fire to stop him from seeing any indication otherwise.
At least not tonight.