It's been three weeks, two days and seven hours since her life was irrevocably shattered. Five hundred and fifty nine hours since she last held her son in her arms.
Sleep is hard to come by. Her days are filled with matters of state, constant meetings with the Un-Charmings and their rag tag group of councilors, scouting missions attempting to gather any clues about her sister's next move, and hours spent scouring books in the library for any grains of information that may help defeat this Wicked Witch all fill her waking hours with the necessary distraction she needs to simply keep breathing. It's the evenings that prove more difficult to handle.
Only after everyone has safely gone to bed, the torches have all been doused, and silence wraps itself around the palace walls like a comforting blanket does she allow herself to freely think of her son, her Henry. She painstakingly removes the pins from her hair allowing the thick ebony curls to fall across her back, wipes her face of makeup, and peels layer upon structured layer of corsetry, leather, and twinkling jewels from her skin until every trace of the evil queen is gone and she is once again Regina, once again Mom. She puts on a simple silk nightgown and stares out at the evening sky from her balcony and wonders if her little boy is looking at the same moon she sees from a realm away. She wonders if he's gotten any taller or if the soft little boy roundness of his cheeks has started to sharpen into the angular structure of a teenager. She thinks of his smile and his laugh and the way his head fits perfectly in the crook of her neck when he hugs her. She remembers every minute detail of him that she can while staring into the brightness of the midnight sky until she is finally calm enough to try and sleep, but tonight there is no moon.
A dense layer of rolling grey clouds covers the sky blocking any possible glimpse of the peaceful orb she has come to rely on in the last few weeks. Suddenly the solitude of her rooms seems suffocating and oppressive and she itches to be anywhere but where she is. Tugging her heavy, red damask robe from its resting place on the bed she knots it securely over her hip and heads for the door, perhaps a visit to her apple tree will provide the solace she so desperately needs.
…
The biting cold of the courtyard tiles is a welcome sensation; the stinging pain coasting along her feet reminding her that she is in fact still grounded here and alive despite the untethered emotional numbness she feels. She pads silently over to her beloved apple tree and sits on the bench in front of it staring up at the cloud covered sky hoping to catch a glimpse of moonlight between the clouds. She is only there a few minutes before she feels the familiar sensation of someone watching her from the shadows of the courtyard. She allows the observation for a few moments before calling over her shoulder, "You can come out now. I know you're there."
Turning her face back to the empty sky she senses the presence stalk from the shadows and take a seat beside her on the bench. "What are you doing here?" she asks without every removing her gaze from the expansive darkness of the sky.
"I couldn't sleep and I often find comfort in looking at the moon on restless evenings."
She is about to remark on the lack of a moon, when there is an unexpected break in the clouds and the silver glow of moonlight washes over the courtyard. They sit there jointly staring at the glowing orb above them until the voice beside her breaks the tentative silence. "I didn't see you at the evening meal."
"How very perceptive of you," she bites back without bothering to look over.
At that, a single work-worn hand reaches out and tucks an errant ebony curl behind her ear and then rests for a moment on her cheek. She briefly leans into the warm, calloused fingers, closing her eyes to revel in the touch, before she catches herself and pulls her face away. Her own hand comes up to forcefully tuck the errant strand more securely behind her ear as if to erase the lingering sensation of the other.
She looks over then and meets the penetrating gaze that is focused on her for the first time. She wonders if they see the way her collarbones jut out more sharply now then they did a month ago, the darkness that has gathered under her eyes, and the pallor that has overtaken her skin. They must because they suddenly soften into an emotion she can't quite place, concern or understanding possibly. Breaking the uncomfortable eye contact she returns her gaze upward intently focused on the patterns created by the thin clouds ghosting over the moon.
"You can't keep doing this Regina."
At that she whips her head to the side, eyes wide with surprise. She can count on one hand the number of people bold enough to call her by her given name, especially within the confines of the castle. Only to be met with those same soft eyes full of undiscernible emotion.
"He wouldn't want this for you, and you know it."
She closes her eyes then and turns her face away. Traitorous tears are stinging behind her eyes and she refuses to appear any weaker than she already is in front of anyone. She struggles to find a sharp retort to hiss back, but the simple truth in those words saps all the bite out of her. Thankfully the person sitting next to her senses her discomfort and sighs before standing to leave.
"I expect to see you at breakfast in the morning, or I will come to your chambers and drag your royal ass out of bed myself."
"Don't hold your breath wolf," she calls over her shoulder with a slight smirk. She waits until she hears the gruff grunt of a reply and the stooped figure of the older woman is completely gone before turning her face back to catch the last glimmer of moonlight before it is swallowed by the ever-present grey clouds once again. She lingers there a moment waiting to see if the clouds will recede to give her a glimpse of the moon's reassuring presence once more before she releases a sigh and heads back to her cold empty chambers where she is certain sleep will evade her once again.