A/N: This started as a Tumblr prompt (sgtmac7) and has been expanded into this. It's simply to answer the question: why - after the events of 3x13 - was Regina so hostile to Robin in the EF in episode 3x19? No real warnings on this besides very mild profanity and some very mild kissing.
Enjoy!
"What happened out there? David demands as he meets the afternoon scout party – the Queen, Robin, and two of his Merry Men - at the front gate. The men - seeming to sense that a fight is about to happen and wanting no part of it - slip inside, away from the obvious explosion that's about to occur, leaving their leader alone with Regina and Prince Charming. David's bright blue eyes sweep over on Regina, and immediately he sees entirely too much blood.
"The Queen decided that she should take on all three of the monkeys that attacked our party herself," Robin answers, his tone sharp and hard and quite dangerous in a way David hasn't heard before. Since meeting him a few months earlier, the archer has been affable and easy-going, but there's something about Regina that seems to crawl under his skin and bring out the feistier side of him.
It seems to do that with her as well, Charming thinks to himself.
For her part, though, Regina isn't at interested in the concern being thrown at her from the two men. Glaring at them, she snarls out, "I had it under control."
"Your clothes would appear to say otherwise," David notes as he steps towards Regina as if to offer her an arm. She pointedly sidesteps his attempt, even going so far as to sneer at him for it. "I'll call for a healer," he states and then he tries to level Regina with a gaze that he desperately hopes will stay her argument.
"I don't need one," she snaps back, and he knows that this is all about her digging her heels in just to do it. "I can handle a few scratches on my own."
"A few scratches?" Robin protests, because he'd been there and he'd seen the way the monkey had pulled her along the ground until she'd been yanked away.
He'd heard the way Regina had screamed as its claws had bit into her back.
Only the covering garment that she's now wearing - a man's coat, David would notice if he were the kind to notice such things - is keeping the prince from being able to see the thick bloody stripes that are now running down the length of her back. Wounds that would surely cause some kind of reaction or another from a worried Snow.
"Yes," Regina answers defiantly. "Hardly anything worth worrying about."
"Regina, please," Robin says, his voice growing much softer as he tries to talk reason into the stubborn Queen. "Your wounds are not just simple scratches."
"Your Majesty," she retorts. "Or do we need to have this conversation again? You can't possible be this thick." She's growling now, her lip curling, but he's focused on the thin lines around her eyes, the ones that speak of the pain and hurt that she's refusing to admit to.
He holds up his hands. "My deepest apologies, Your Majesty, but you really should let a healer inspect your back." He meets her gaze evenly, coolly.
"My back is fine," she responds, her chin lifting in a way that's meant to remind him that she is the Queen of this land and his opinion is of little importance to her.
"I would imagine that Snow would disagree with your assessment," Robin lobs back and it's a cheap shot because it makes David, who had been watching their back and forth with curiosity, suddenly re-involve himself in the argument.
"Regina," he notes, touching her right shoulder lightly. "He's right."
"You don't know what the hell you're talking about, and he most certainly does not. You may find it disturbingly useful to have these filthy forest men around, but I don't share your poor taste!" And with that said, Regina turns hard on her heel, and storms into the castle, her boots cracking loudly against stone floor.
"Whose coat is that?" David asks, finally noticing the strange darkness of the garment that she has slung over her shoulders as he watches Regina's retreat.
"Mine," Robin replies grimly. "Her own cloak was ruined in the attack, and I thought the cloth might help to slow any blood flow that there might be."
"How bad is she?"
"It will be a long while before I am able to get her screams out of my head," Robin admits, frowning as he thinks about the haunting visuals.
David turns his head. "Okay. Let's get Snow involved."
"I've summoned a healer," Snow states as she slowly enters the Queen's chambers. That Regina hadn't heard her come in is worrisome enough, but the bloody gouges down her former enemy's back and around her front side (Snow notes that Regina's naked to the waist) is what immediately draws her attention.
"Which of the two fools 'told' on me?" Regina asks without turning. She's standing over a large bowl of water that's been turned pink with her own blood.
"Does it actually matter?"
"It does. I expect that obnoxious kind of behavior from your husband and I've even come to accept it. Grudgingly. The thief is, however, out of line."
Snow smiles slightly at this; she's known Regina for entirely too long now - almost all of her life - and she knows well when Regina is attempting to deflect away from her true emotions and thoughts. "The thief would appear to care for you, Regina.
Regina snorts. "I know exactly how he cares about me. As all men do." There's a smug haughtiness to her tone, but it's a lie and they both know it.
"Really?" Snow presses, coming right up next to her. Regina's been working on cleaning out the vibrantly red gashes that circle like vines around her belly, and thus she hasn't even yet started on the deep scrapes on her back. "Because I think we both know that he's not like any other man that you've ever known."
"Are you actually trying to set me up with him, Snow? I would think that you would have higher standards for me than that? Even if we are former enemies."
"Former being the operative word," Snow reminds her, and then reaches for a washcloth. Once damp, she presses it against one of the cuts and then puts out a hand to brace Regina when the queen staggers from the sharp searing pain that radiates its way through her body at the contact. Conversationally, she continues, "All I want, is for you to find happiness. Whatever that looks like."
Regina rolls her eyes but the impact of this is reduced by the fact that one of her hands is gripping the edge of the ceramic water bowl hard enough to break it.
"What happened out there today?" Snow asks as she lightly runs the washcloth over one of the cuts, focusing on removing the dried blood from the wound.
"Zelena sent her flee-infested pets after me again, and I dealt with them."
"Looks like they dealt with you. Robin said -"
"He really needs to learn to shut his mouth before I shut it for him."
Snow smiles at that. "Robin said that you antagonized them. Did you?"
"I'm not a small child, Snow. I know what I'm doing; I drew their attention."
"Why?" Snow asks as she dips the bloodied washcloth into the bowl.
"Because I'm the strong one," Regina replies defiantly. She then reaches for a light cloak to cover herself up as she turns to face her former stepdaughter. "I know that you're worried about me and I suppose that I even appreciate it, but I have spent a long time taking care of myself, and I can do it now as well. I don't need you watching out for me and I sure as hell don't need him doing it."
"I'm not so sure of that."
"I am. Now if you don't mind, I'd like to bathe, and then sleep."
"Fine, but I want you to let the healer in when he arrives."
Regina looks like she's about to argue but then she sighs, "Will it make you leave me alone for the rest of the night if I agree to see him?"
Snow chuckles. "For tonight, yes."
"Fine," Regina echoes, her tone dry and unimpressed. "Then, I suppose I will see him."
"Thank you."
"Go away, Snow," Regina replies, but she allows herself a small smile because yes, she supposes that it really is nice to have at least one person who truly does care.
Just as long as that person isn't the foolish man who seems intent on crawling his way under her skin and behind her well-constructed protective walls.
The painkillers in this world are entirely different from the ones from Storybrooke, but they're all that they have available here, and considering the drain it will cause her, they don't dare to use the Queen's magic to soothe the agony she feels after the healer stitches the torn skin around her back and side together again, muttering all the while about possible infection. Instead, he slathers some kind of thick paste over the wounds and then gives her a purplish leaf and has her eat it. It's got extreme medicinal properties, he insists, and if she doesn't fight it, soon she'll sleep; he urges her to do exactly that, telling her in his strange garbling accent that she should let the exhaustion take her and push her into a slumber that will make everything better. All this does is remind her just how upside this world really is.
That doesn't stop her from accepting the leaf or the liquor that he offers her to help wash down the bitter taste of the plant. She probably shouldn't take both things at the same time (and if he'd been one of the ones that had been in both worlds, he'd know that, but he hadn't been and so he thinks nothing of this liver-killing mess that he's giving her), but she does, anyway. It's not whiskey or vodka here; it's something house-brewed and it's thick and bitter and even though she's been drinking probably far more than she should for over thirty years, it doesn't take more than a few swigs (full-on shots, really) to bring her to a place where her exhausted mind is fuzzy and uncertain and her senses are dulled and sleepy.
He leaves her sprawled out on her bed, covered in thick animal furs and dressed in a simple gown, and she thinks with her last thoughts before she lets sleep take her that she really does miss the feel of silk pajamas and terrycloth robes.
She really does miss the simplicity of a world filled with aspirin and whiskey.
She wakes up a few hours later, delirious and drugged to the point where everything is something other than it should be. Thanks to the strange purple leaf and the alcohol, the blistering pain that she'd felt earlier in the evening is less, thankfully, but so are the filters that usually stop her from acts of stupidity.
Such as the one that has her wandering - still in a simple gown that's quite unbefitting a Queen - through the halls of her castle early in the morning.
Such as the one that has her slamming Robin Hood - just back from another round of late night patrol with David and his men up against one of the walls.
She knows - somewhere way in the back of her mind - that she should think about this a bit more. She probably should step back and not let everything that's swirling around inside of her heart and head like a great big ugly black hole yank her down and in. She should probably walk away. Sleep it off.
But for reasons she can't even begin to guess about, she's kissing him instead, her strong insistent hands wrapped around either side of his beautiful bearded face, and her feverishly hot body pressed up tight against his hard one.
She's kissing him and kissing him and he's so cool and this feels so good, and she thinks that this is wrong and she's been trying so hard to be right, but where has it ever gotten her so why not be wrong if it's going to feel this right?
It's funny to her how complicated things are even when she's high as a kite.
But then, regaining his own senses and she supposes her own annoying sense of morality and decency, he pushes her away, his eyes wide and shocked. "No, not like this," Robin tells her, so achingly noble and she hates him desperately for it.
So she snarls at him, swirls her hand around and retreats into a cloud of purple.
She crumbles to her knees the moment she reappears in her chambers, and her head falls as the nausea sweeps through her. It'd been a poor choice to use magic with as weak and as drugged as she currently is, but she'd needed to get away before she'd looked into his eyes and seen the pity and concern in them.
It's perhaps just a few minutes – or perhaps it's an hour; she's far too out of it to truly know how much time is passing her by right now - later when she hears the archer calling for her through the thick door, sounding so worried and when she looks down at her right hand, there's fire in it and she thinks of just how easy it would be to throw it at him (even through a wall) and make him just go away.
Because she doesn't want him to care about her and illogically, he does.
She wants him to care about her and he shouldn't.
"Regina," he says again. "Please, let me in."
She stands up and rocks a bit as everything spins and spins and spins and it's a miracle that she makes it to the door to pull it open - and yell at him (that's what she means to do, anyway) before she collapses, her gown flying up in a way that surely has to be undignified for a woman of her station. She thinks that she hears him call her name and it sounds like he's upset in a way that makes no sense.
She feels his cool hand on her warm cheek and on her neck and then he's gently lifting her up into his strong arms and she's curling against his chest, pressing in towards the beating of his heart and the calm that's flowing off of him like water.
She lets it all just take her away to somewhere that's peaceful.
Somewhere that doesn't hurt.
Somewhere where, for just a moment at least, she's not alone and broken.
The pain from the monkey claw scrapes is somewhat less when she wakes in the morning, and she's honestly not sure if she's happy or disappointed at that. The hurt makes her feel like she's still alive, but at the same time, hasn't she been wounded enough in her life? Does there really need to be more pain just for it?
Apparently, the answer to that question is almost always "yes".
She sighs, winces slightly in pain and then turns over in her bed, and that's when she sees a stony-faced Snow sitting next to her bed, a blanket over her lap.
"Snow," she greets, her voice neutral even though she has a good idea why Snow is in her room right now; the glare on Snow's face gives away her anger.
"You don't get to quit," Snow snaps out the moment Regina's eyes meet hers and she knows for sure that her former stepmother is paying attention to her.
"What are you talking about, dear?" Regina asks wearily.
"I know what happened last night."
"I'm glad that you do. All I remember is that your healer drugged me up."
Snow ignores her. "And I know what happened here the first night."
Regina pales slightly, but holds her composure because surely the archer wouldn't have said anything, right? Surely he would have understood the message of the golden arrows - that what he saw was to remain between them.
"Why are you so desperate to die?" Snow demands.
"You're talking gibberish," Regina grunts out as she slowly sits up, wincing slightly as one of the cuts around her midsection stretches just a little bit.
"So you weren't about to jab yourself with a sleeping curse?"
"He told you," Regina says dully. She shakes her head. "He had no right."
"Neither did you."
"Snow -"
"We're in this together, Regina."
"In what together? This hell where neither one of us have our children? Perhaps we are, but at least you still have your husband. You still have your True Love, Snow, and you have your new beginning growing strong in your belly. What do I have but the memories of a son who will never even know that I existed? What do I have but the pathetic reality that I will never find happiness in any world?"
"You don't get to do this," Snow snaps. "You don't."
"I'm not doing anything. I didn't curse myself; I'm right here."
"But you've done everything you can to try not to be."
"You couldn't possibly understand."
"I understand that you're trying to give up."
"I'm not giving up; I'm trying to protect you. I'm trying to protect everyone."
"Then do it with your heart and your mind and even your magic, but not with your body," Snow growls. "Do it with us and not without us. I don't want to bury you, Regina because you refuse to see yourself as reason enough to live."
Regina laughs. "Let's not rewrite our history so soon; I've never been reason enough all by myself and there was a time not long ago when you and your Prince would gladly have seen me lost to a sleeping curse for the rest of my days." When Snow starts to protest, she shakes her head to silence her. "It doesn't matter, because I'm not trying to do anything of the sort. I considered the curse and chose not to go through with it. That's all that you need know."
"But it's not all I do know," Snow replies. "I know why you chose not to put yourself into eternal sleep. But tell me, once we defeat Zelena, then what?"
"We're nowhere close to defeating her."
"That wasn't my question."
"He shouldn't have told you what happened."
"That's what you're focused on?"
Regina just stares back at her, unwilling to offer Snow promises that she doesn't believe that she can keep. So very much of her wants to live and to survive because that's all she's ever known how to do, but then there's the desperately weary part of her that's so tired and resigned and just so very sick of fighting.
That part of her craves eternal sleep.
Even if it comes with fire.
She wonders if Henry still has access to that terrible place between realms, and then scolds herself because how awful is it that some desperate part of her actually hopes that he does even though she's the reason that he would?
How terrible is it that that part of her thinks that even though he doesn't know who she is anymore, she'd welcome seeing him in there once the time comes for her to finally give up the fight and seek eternal slumber in the darkness?
She finds some degree of comfort in knowing, however, that the part of her that would hope for his presence is much smaller than the part of her which doesn't.
"You don't get to quit now," Snow says again, so much quieter now.
"I'm not," Regina replies, equally quiet and so very broken. "Not yet, anyway. Can we worry about what comes tomorrow when that time arrives? Please?"
"I will fight you on this," her former stepdaughter declares. "To the very end of our days, Regina I will fight you if you try to remove yourself from my life again."
"I wouldn't expect anything else from you," Regina admits. "Your family doesn't know how to stop fighting me. Even on the things that it really should."
"Deal with it," Snow snaps back, and then moves away from the bed. She stops at the door and says over her shoulder, "Maybe it's time to open your eyes and your heart and realize that you have people who see you as part of that family."
The words echoing in her mind, and tears sharply stinging her eyes, Regina falls back against her bed, ignoring the feel of skin ripping open once again.
The heavy door to her chambers closes a few moments later.
Leaving her alone with the shadows in her mind and the ache in her heart.
It's much later that night when he's walking back to his quarters once again (he really should be more careful, she thinks darkly as she watches him), and he's bone weary from a long day of patrols when she uses a violent flash of purple magic to slam him against the wall with enough force to steal the air from his lungs.
He gasps and winces and that's when he sees her standing there opposite him, the Evil Queen shining darkly in her furiously black eyes.
And he knows what this is all about.
At least he doesn't bother playing the fool, she thinks as she stalks towards him.
"Regina," he starts, peeling himself off the wall.
"How dare you," she growls and then squeezes her hand to choke off his air and push him back against the wall; he thinks that this is starting to become a thing of theirs. "You had no right to tell Snow what happened. You had no right."
"I'm worried about you," he insists, struggling against her hold.
"That's not your place," she replies, releasing her hand.
"You keep saying that," he forces out. "You keep telling me that I forget my place, but with all due respect, Your Majesty, where I come from, my place is simply to ensure that the people around me are cared for and safe. Always."
"I don't give a damn where you're from, Thief; I want you to stay the hell away from me. I thought that I'd made that very clear," she states as she moves towards him. "I want you to stop trying to see past…I want you to just stop."
He holds up his hands in surrender. "All right. I'm sorry."
She blinks, for the moment confused. She hadn't consumed any more of the leaf - though she probably should have considering what her back currently feels like after a day of anxiously moving around in preparation of this confrontation - and so her mind is relatively clear, but this man befuddles her. He seems so sincere and honest and it makes no sense because he knows exactly who she once was.
Who she is, a voice somewhere deep inside of her whispers.
Another – this one coming from her weary heart - says no, not anymore.
A tear streaks down her cheek.
"Regina," he says gently and then he's so very close to her. She looks up at him and sees his bright blue eyes and his breath puffing out in the cold air in front of him. "I am sorry for upsetting you," he says. "I was worried about you."
"You already said that. People keep repeating things today. Like it'll change everything. Like it means more if you keep saying it," she says, shaking her head. She feels like she's falling; so fast and hard and this is worse than ever before because this time she doesn't have delusion to pad the fall. "It doesn't."
"Perhaps not, but I meant what I said; I care about you."
"You're a fool, and I don't humor fools."
"I've been told both those things before," he notes with a smile. His hand lifts for just a moment, and she thinks that he might touch her but then he stops himself.
"I don't know how to live without him," she whispers after a long moment of unsettling silence because he's looking at her without an ounce of judgment in his eyes. He knows who she is and all of his anger is about what she's doing to herself as opposed to what she's done in her past. It doesn't make sense but it feels so warm and that honest warmth seems to tear holes into her steel armor.
Even if only for a brief moment.
"Your son," he says, understanding entirely too well, and good God that's terrifying in ways that she can only begin to wrap her mind around.
She nods her head slowly, another tear falling down her cheek.
"I didn't know how to live without Marian," he admits, and there it is. "But time passes, and it's never becomes easier, but you learn how to move forward."
"You can say that because you have your son. I have nothing."
"You have the woman who screamed at me when I told her what you'd been planning to do the first night that we met. She was angry, Regina. Angry and scared and you two might have decades of history, but she loves you dearly."
Regina looks away; she feels like she's falling apart and she knows that she should be humiliated about doing this in front of this man, but she can't seem to stop herself from letting it happen. "It's too much. All of this, it's too much."
This time he does touch her, his palm rough but solid against her cheek.
"You're not alone."
"I'm always alone," she retorts. "Even when there are thousand people around me, even when there are people kneeling in front of me, I am always alone."
"Only because you choose to be."
"I don't want your pity," she says because that has to be what this is.
"You don't have it. I would never dare to pity you," he replies. "But I can care for you. And I do. Even if you refuse to believe it."
Gods, his eyes are bright, she thinks.
"What do you see in me?" she asks him.
"I see a survivor," he tells her. "I see a second chance."
"For you or for me?"
"Does it matter?"
She thinks that it does and then she's kissing him and it doesn't.
"Regina," he breathes, his lips soft and hard against hers, and his muscular arms around her slim waist as he pulls her towards him and lets her grab at his shirt.
"I just want to feel alive," she admits, and it's the closest that she'll ever get to confessing that she hasn't felt like she's been anything of the sort since they all were returned to the Enchanted Forest just a few short months earlier.
His eyes are wide and worried and conflicted and he's trying too hard to be a good and noble man so she kisses him again and again and then she swirls her hand – how darkly familiar he muses remembering how she'd done the same thing with just herself the night before (and ended up passed out in his arms because of it), and she's still far too weak to be using her magic, but she's not thinking anymore, simply reacting and feeling and wanting and needing - and then they're in her quarters and she's pushing him back against her oversized bed and covering him with her own much smaller but still enticingly strong body.
She's grabbing at the cotton of his white shirt and she's going for the buttons and her mouth is on his neck and he thinks that he wants this - wants her - so very badly, but just as he couldn't do this with her while she'd been drunk and drugged, he can't do it with her while she's crying and desperate and so hurt.
He wants to touch her so much, to feel her on him and around him.
But he really does actually care about her, and this may feel like being alive to her, but it's not.
It's just a different form of falling until she hits the ground beneath her.
So he presses his mouth to hers and he tastes her for a moment longer than is probably completely necessary and then he pushes her gently away, swinging them both around so that his arms are around her. She struggles against him and he thinks that she curses at him, but then she's crying and he feels this sharp ugly pain deep in the middle of him that he doesn't understand but it's there.
It's there and he's holding her so very tight and she's crying and he's whispering to her that it will all be okay and that she'll be okay. It's probably a promise that he shouldn't make, but it's one that she needs to hear so desperately because everything inside and outside hurts and she's not sure if anything will ever not.
She turns in his arms and she clutches at his neck and he prays that she doesn't try to start all over again, because he's not sure that he has the strength to tell her no for a third time. She doesn't make a move to begin her advances again, though, just presses her face against his collarbone and stays there. So close.
So very close.
When she falls asleep, he thinks that he's never seen a creature quite as beautiful as the woman in his arms; so torn and bloody and so very wounded and yet so astonishingly resilient in spite of all that she has been through.
She's already gone from her chambers when he wakes up a few hours later.
Snow looks up when Regina enters, and immediately her eyes narrow because her former stepmother is dressed like the Evil Queen that once was. It's not the outfit, which worries Snow, though; Regina has always been painfully good at maintaining appearances even in the worst of times. No, what concerns her is the bland expression on Regina's face. Like her walls have been lifted up high.
Like she's protecting herself from the world and everything about it.
"Regina," Snow greets and then glances over at David.
"Good morning," Regina responds as she gently lowers herself into her seat. "Is breakfast late or do you give the hired help the morning off again?"
David chuckles. "You know we have to do things differently now."
"Even in Storybrooke we could get some kind of service," Regina grouses.
Snow smiles at this and then says, "How are you feeling this morning?"
"I'm fine, Snow," Regina replies shortly, hoping to stop the conversation.
Not like that will actually work, but she figures that she has to at least try.
"What about -"
"Our conversation from yesterday? You needn't worry; I'm not giving up anytime soon. We're going to defeat Zelena, and it'll be by my hand."
"Regina -"
"I had a bad moment when we first came over," Regina explains with an impatient and dismissive wave of her hand. "I was mourning and I wasn't thinking straight and the curse seemed the best option. Now, it doesn't."
The doubts on Snow's face couldn't be more clear if they were painted red.
"And after we defeat Zelena?" Snow asks again because she can still remember how lost Regina had looked just one day before, and the one thing that she's learned about her former stepmother over the years is that change never comes overnight for her. It seems to take deep heartbreak and loss for it to occur.
"We'll deal with that then," Regina states and then plasters on a fake smile.
Snow's nostrils flare and for a moment she looks as though she's gearing up for a fight but then her shoulders suddenly relax and she simply nods her head in agreement. "Yes, we will," she agrees with a smile. "And hopefully by then, Regina, you'll finally understand what I've been trying to tell you all along."
"Which is what?"
"That I'm not going to let you fall. Never again. Now if you'll excuse me, I really need to be near a toilet before..." her face contorts and her hand goes to her newly swelling belly. She waves David's sudden concern (and Regina's) away, and then stands up, quickly adjusts her cloak and then strides from the room.
"I'll be glad when that's over," David notes. "Hopefully it won't be as bad this time. Last time she had morning sickness for almost six straight months."
Regina looks away at the mention of the pregnancy that she'd disrupted and destroyed because of hatred, then down at her empty plate of food. When she looks back up, David is smiling at her, and she wants to hit him. Really hit him.
"Next time, duck the flying monkeys," he advises lightly, like he knows that they need to change the subject, but isn't quite willing to not back Snow up on her need to rescue the Queen from herself. "That might save you some trouble."
Her eyes glow with purple magic for a moment and she wonders if Snow would forgive her for melting David's skin off of his face, but he's still smiling at her and she doesn't know if she's frustrated because he's clearly no longer scared of her or thankful because she so desperately wants not to be hated anymore.
She wants to feel the ground beneath her with her feet not her back.
She wants to love and be loved again.
The magic fades from her eyes and then she sighs and perhaps even ever so slightly (as much as a Queen ever would, anyway) slumps in her chair. "I'll keep that in mind for next time," she mutters petulantly.
His amusement entirely too high, he nods his head at that, and then says, "So what about Robin Hood? He told me that you gave him gold arrows."
His expression hardens immediately, her dark eyes going cold and hard. "He's a simple thief," she replies sharply and with a snarl of disgust. "Nothing but a thief who refuses to remember his place. He'd be better off far away from us."
"If you say so," David shrugs, and she wonders when she'd become so easy for these idiots to read; she wonders when she'd become so obvious to them.
She can't be this obvious going forward, she thinks.
David and Snow, they're already deep inside her heart and there's really nothing that she can about that anymore, but she can stop anyone else from getting in.
She can stop Robin from getting in.
So that's exactly what she's going to do.
She's a different woman for half a minute - not the one that he'd opened his door to, not the ice cold not quite Evil Queen that had stared impassively at him. Rather, she's smiling at Roland and her eyes are flashing with something warm and gentle and when the little boy is babbling about animals and trees and flowing streams with golden fish inside of them, she's smiling at him and clinging to his words like they just might somehow rescue her from herself.
But they won't and when Roland finally disappears back into the room, it's just the two of them, and Robin is trying to figure out how to ask her if she's all right with what had happened between them - or not happened - but then she's roughly shoving his coat into his arms. The blood that had been on it two days before is gone now - cleaned away by magic most likely. "Here," she grunts.
"I didn't need it back," he tells her gently. "You could have kept it."
"It's yours, not mine. And I don't want it."
"Ah." He closes his hand around the rough fabric. Then, "Are you angry?"
"I'm not," she replies. "I'm just returning your coat now that I have no further use of it." She pauses, and then because she really does want to push him as far away from her as possible, "Your Queen thanks you for your assistance."
He laughs and it makes something hot and mean spark inside of her. "My Queen," he repeats. "You are not my queen, and I didn't give you the coat because you were. I gave it to you because you were cold and you were bleeding and I cared enough to try to change both of those things."
"Well I'm neither cold nor bleeding now, and I have no use of your care, either. Or your company for that matter."
"Regina, last night -"
"Was a mistake," she finishes, her voice flat.
He frowns. "Nothing…nothing improper happened, I assure you that."
For a moment she feels herself melting, and there's a need to reassure him that yes, of course she knows that, but that would be an opening and she won't give him that because he's already been too far inside. "I'm aware," she states. "And I suppose I should be the one apologizing for my loss of control and composure; I was quite drugged up and it caused me to behave in a manner that I otherwise would not have."
"You don't owe me an apology," he insists.
"Oh, but I do. Because I gave you false expectations of there being something...more between us. But that's not possible because you're just a thief," she tells him, and he flinches, and she wonders why this term bothers him so much. It does, though, and for now that makes it a cruel and useful weapon for her. "And I have no use of men of your questionable talents or ethics. As far as I'm concerned, you're nothing but a common criminal."
"So I am," he admits with a sad smile that tells her that yes, she'd struck a direct below against his heart. She's amazed by just how much that hurts her to realize. "But I'm a common criminal that's going to be at your back until this whole mess with your sister is over. Whether you like it or not."
"I don't," Regina drawls. "But I suppose I can't just throw you out."
He tilts his head, like he can't quite understand what's happening here. He can still plainly remember the way that she'd clutched at him and how -
But that's it, isn't it?
He steps backwards, and gives her the space she wants. "I'm glad that my coat kept your safe and warm when you needed it," he tells her. "If you need it again -"
"I won't."
"If you do, you know where to find it."
"Don't hold your breath," she states. "I can take care of myself."
"I'm sure you can. Is there anything else you needed from me today, Your Majesty?"
It's his tone - slightly hurt, maybe a bit angry, and definitely confused - that makes her look up and into his blue eyes. It's his eyes - so empathetic and gentle and caring - that make her look quickly away before she gives in.
Before she lets him in once more.
And then can't figure out how to push him out again.
She won't.
She can't.
"That will be all. I'll see you for the afternoon patrol in a few hours. Make sure that you're on your game; I would like to remind my sister that I'm not so easy to kill."
"I'll be there," he states, and then almost smiles when she glares at him.
He listens to the sound of her heels against the hard stone of the floor and thinks that he should know better than to care about a woman who has spent so much of her life tying to keep everyone and everything from doing exactly that.
But care about her, he does.
He does.
-Fin