an: older fic/ tumblr prompt/ Set in early season 4, and there's some painful outlaw queen included. This is one of my favorite one shots that i've written for them. It's written much more abstractly than my usual stories. I love it though 3
So you ask her, and she tells you without telling you.
"Some things you can't fix, Snow." She says to you, once you finally—finally get her to say something real. Something that has any meaning at all, because gods, she's been so civil lately, and literally nothing else.
But that was what you wanted, for her to be able to tolerate you, and talk to you, for her to make an effort. It felt so empty though.
"Some things are just too broken."
"I don't believe that." You say it and she barely manages an eye roll. Just calls you an idiot, and you leave her crypt angry.
Because you realize the only time you meant anything at all to her, was when she was trying to kill you, and that realization just about breaks your heart.
She's reading the book again, and it worries you. She never leaves the crypt anymore, and you wonder if this is where she meets Robin. It makes your skin start to itch.
"It only makes it harder." She speaks through gritted teeth, finally—finally looking up at you. "Having you here."
"It makes what harder?" You ask, confused and naïve, as you always are. Just a princess playing queen. A bandit playing mayor. A daughter playing mother.
Playing and toying with her patience, wearing it thin, and if you were any smarter, you would stop coming down here. And if she were any smarter, she would leave and never come back here. It's a place for things that are dead, and nothing else.
"Trying to find my happiness." She whispers, looking back at her book, forgetting you're even there, looking at dead end after dead end in ink and paper.
It worries you, so you stay with her for a little while longer, sitting silent and watching her as she watches pictures of who you used to be.
"What's wrong?" The question makes her glare, her bloodshot sight turns red at you. But she was crying before you got here, and it smells like cologne in the small space of the crypt, so you can't help but worry. "What happened?"
"My business is not yours, Snow. Get out."
You don't, even though you should, and she doesn't force you, even though she could.
He's starting fights about her again. Sometimes the two of you fight, and sometimes it's light bickering here and there, but sometimes it's loud, and horrible, and full of pain, the way he looks at you like you're such a fool. All for the sake of her.
Just a naïve princess.
The sometimes fights are happening more and more, and you don't know why.
But you do know why.
Because he tells you, without telling you.
"I see the way you look at her, when you think no one's watching."
She kisses you, and it steals the air right out of your lungs.
It's not chaste or innocent, or anything it should be, and when she pulls away, she stares at you wide-eyed, as if it was your fault—your idea. And maybe it was, but it was a quiet idea, one that you've never spoken aloud.
You think maybe it doesn't mean anything though, because it happens in her crypt, where everything dies, and you can smell the cologne lingering on her skin. And Marian isn't frozen anymore. It happens sometime last night, and you come over as soon as you hear.
She's upset and saying things that make no sense, things she used to say when you and her were living together in a castle from another land.
She kisses you, then blames you, then kicks you out, and it happens so fast that you're not sure it's real at first.
"I try to be good."
She pushes you against the wall of her crypt, and the violence of it knocks the air right out of your lungs.
"But you,"
The unyielding stone of these walls are hard enough to bruise, and so is the force of her kiss once she has you pinned.
"You make is so hard." She whispers against your still open mouth, just enough time to get the words out before you're pulling her back in for another kiss. Because it's so good, like drugs and magic and other things that have heavy consequences that are so hard to see when you're riding the high. It'll kill you, you know that, you just don't care.
She pulls away again, and you hate it when she's not kissing you.
"This is your fault." You would respond, maybe tell her something that maybe would be an apology or an excuse. But you're too busy trying to gasp in the wake of your shallow breath when she rips at your blouse, tearing it open and lips moving lower.
Then you're moaning when her hands find their way over your body, and it's like a burning fire under your skin. It's hot and intense and like nothing you've ever felt. It worries you, the effect she has on you, how fast you come, quick and hard against her fingers. She hasn't even gotten your clothes off and you're already arching off the wall and grabbing the wrist of her hand that's pushed into undone jeans.
Her breathing is ragged and broken next to your ear, when you finally finish your embarrassing display of need, her head is leaning against the wall next to yours.
She doesn't talk like you thought she would, when you would think about this. She's surprisingly quiet, and you don't mind, but you wonder if her mind is elsewhere. You get an answer when you whisper her name, and she tells you without telling you.
"Don't talk."
You finally—finally convince her to meet you at her house, even though it's more dangerous, it's not the crypt and there's sunlight coming through her bedroom window, with all her personal and warm touches around the room. It feels so much better, and you think she thinks so too, as she's all glowing smiles at you when your lips move slowly up along the muscles of her stomach. You still have her taste in your mouth, replacing it quickly with the salt of her skin as your tongue moves over her collar bone and settles on her neck.
She's humming against the feeling, because she likes this. She denies it sometimes, just to hurt you, but you know she likes this, so it doesn't hurt like it should.
Minutes pass of silent and content exploration, until finally;
"I think David knows." You whisper, not as a threat, but just as a warning. In case it develops into anything more than it is now. And you know it's presumptuous to think she cares.
She scoffs though, a dark little smirk settling on her lips.
"He'll do nothing about it. Even if he was in the room watching us right now, he'd go outside until you were done, holding your purse the whole time." Then she laughs at the image that she creates for herself, and you try to smile, but something stops you.
"You underestimate him." Because he's quick to anger, and he's jealous and possessive. You see the traits in him that he tries to hide, but it doesn't mean they don't exist. He is his twin's brother after all.
"Even if I do. I'm not afraid of him." She looks at you then. "Are you?"
There might be concern in her eyes. It might just be the sun on her face.
"Even if I was." You smile, telling her you're joking, without telling her. "Would you fight to protect me?"
"There would be no fight."
And there's no fight in you, when she flips you on your back, just a few quick moments later. She's straddling your hips and she's so beautiful that it's enough to cry over. You laugh instead.
"I would destroy him, with a flick of my wrist, as he spends his energy charging with his sword."
Her voice is light, and it sounds like humor without the bitter sarcastic bite attached to it. You don't even remember the last time she's spoken to you in this way. You want to stay here forever just for that alone.
"Do you still sleep with him?" The question surprises you, not noticing the serious and dark tone that's settled around her so suddenly, as her hands move slowly along your sides, tracing ribs, and dragging her nails along the swell of your breasts as her thumb brushes against nipples, causing you to gasp and bend your back into the feeling.
You suddenly remember how quick she is to anger and jealousy and possessiveness. It doesn't bother you as much as it used to, so you don't answer her, and your teasing comes at a price.
She spends the better part of the day having you cry out her name, until you forget the sound of his altogether.
You see her with Robin one day.
Sitting in her car down the street from Gold's.
It makes your ears ring, and blood boil, because she's crying, you can tell from a block away. You want to kill him for it. You want to kill him for her.
She's at her house, because she's been spending less and less time in her crypt. It's probably because of Henry, but you like to think it might be because of you too.
She lets you in, but then she's gone, not talking and walking away, all the way up the stairs, leaving you hurt and confused in her foyer.
When you follow, she's settled in bed, fully clothed and lying on the blankets.
Quietly, your shoes are slipped off as you lie down next to her, facing her as she faces the ceiling.
"He's an idiot." You whisper finally, causing her to finally look over at you with her eyes watered.
"Would you do it?" She asks, her voice cracking. "Would you leave your entire life, your husband and family, all the destruction to Neal that it would cause? Would leave that, just for the chance of being happy with me?"
"In a heartbeat." There's no hesitation. There's no false intention in the meaning.
"You're an idiot." She says with no hesitation, as if there's nothing in the world that would convince her of it's truth.
The next day, you leave him. And it's horrible and full of pain, the way he looks at you like you're such a fool. All for the sake of her.
He leaves the apartment angry, and you want to follow, but you have Neal. So you text Emma to find him, and you text Regina not to kill him.
And later in the night, Emma finds her way back looking exhausted, and David has finally settled himself in one of Granny's beds.
So you and your daughter talk for most of the night, and Regina never responds to your message, and you try not to think about it.
The next day, you finally find her in her crypt.
She's reading the book again.
When she sees you walking down the steps, it looks as though she hasn't slept at all last night.
"Why?" The sharp anger in her voice surprises you, cutting at you as soon as your eyes meet hers. "Why did you do that?"
You don't answer, so she's standing, book forgotten as she stalks over to you.
"Why did you leave him?"
There's not a lot coming to mind as an answer, no grand or epic speech, no regretful rebuttal, and no plea for a place in her life. Only;
"I love you."
A long moment of silence passes between the two of you, and you don't expect her to say it back, so she doesn't.
But she tells you without telling you, when she pulls you into her and kisses you.