'Show yourself, you winged freak!'

She'd been expecting one of that green bitch's mutants, and to be frank, she wanted it. Back in this dingy dump of a town with Henry looking at her like the nice mayor lady who gave him advice about his 'mom' when he wasn't looking right through her, and a deranged villainess playing with her memories, she would have loved to pick off a few demon apes. She figured she'd roast the first one she saw a' la fireball and if that wasn't efficient enough she'd conjure up a throwing spear and go hunting to perfect her monkey killing technique; leave them wriggling on skewers throughout the forest like bugs pinned to cards for the Wicked Witch to find in interesting degrees of dismemberment. She'd make a goddamn anatomical study and scatter them like puzzle pieces so their mistress could have fun deducing the combined terrors in store for her once she was caught.

Not really, of course, because the monkeys were ostensibly still people underneath it all and Regina wasn't evil anymore. It was nice to fantasize about, though. She may be great at the insidious plotting and strategic side of things, but she was wired for action and without something to destroy, her veins itched.

But instead of a screeching monster flying at her face, she got an arrow. Which was a little bit hilarious, but mainly irritating. Many people had tried to kill her in a vast myriad of ways, but it was a long time since anyone had gone as insultingly low-tech as an arrow. It was like trying to kill a dragon with a butter knife. The fletching was plastic, for fuck's sake.

Plucking it out of the air, she turned to face her attacker with a scoff; expecting Granny or some other well-intentioned villager who probably still believed she was responsible for the lost year and fancied themselves a day of vigilante justice. Instead, an unfamiliar man emerged from behind a tree and waved a hand apologetically.

'Apologies, milady!' he called, and he started striding towards her. 'I thought you were the Wicked Witch.'

Fabulous. Another accented refugee who went around playing the gentleman. Next thing you know he'll be falling in love with Emma Swan and refusing to ever change his clothes.

'And I thought you were a flying monkey,' she retorted. She was impressed with herself; for her, that's practically congenial considering that he'd essentially just made an attempt on her life. Henry would be proud.

Anyone who knew her would recognize the level of restraint implicit in that reply, but she was aware she probably sounded a bit pissed off to the casual observer, and the strange man ducked his head. 'I do hope my mistake hasn't cost me my head… Your Majesty.'

Well, now. She couldn't help it; her lips twitched. He was teasing her! No one had been brave enough to tease her in ages and here he was calling her 'Your Majesty' the same way you call a cat a lion; for the cat's sake, trying not to smile. 'So, you know who I am,' she observed – curious. He didn't seem to think she was dangerous. Had he heard different rumours than the entire rest of the Enchanted Forest population?

'Your reputation in the Enchanted Forest precedes you,' he said, drawing to a stop in front of her. Funny; most people who knew of her reputation looked at her with dread, disdain or – if they identified closer to the villain end of the good/evil spectrum – mercenary interest. This stranger sounded almost impressed, in a 'you've-certainly-made-a-name-for-yourself' way – she really couldn't see a touch of fear, which was interesting. He didn't seem to think she was dangerous.

Was he an idiot?

He was better looking up close. Tall, with that perfect, thick, obedient hair that some men had without even trying (the bastards), in the same nut brown as the stubble on his jaw. Warm, dark brown eyes that made the whole of his face look kind; not in the sappy way that David did, where you just knew he'd cry over roadkill – but in a way that made her think his lack of fear was rooted in a conscious unwillingness to judge her based on anyone's experience but his own.

It was odd; meeting someone who knew of her and didn't automatically assume they were enemies.

'I didn't catch your name.' Regina raised her brows.

'Robin – of Locksley. At your service.' With that, he held out a gloved hand for her to return the arrow, eyes boring into hers – a challenge. To give him the arrow would be to call him ally just after he'd revealed he was the bane of the royal treasury, back in the day.

He knew who she was, and he hadn't shot her. Did she really have room to judge?

Did she really care?

She dropped the arrow into his hand. 'The thief…' she mused, watching his expression. She'd thought he might grin, take a bow – he seemed the confident type. She didn't exactly expect him to smack his hand to his forehead in sudden realization that he'd revealed himself and run off in fright; he didn't seem the running type either.

To her surprise, he looked almost disappointed. Perhaps not that she knew who he was – no doubt he'd expected that – but that she'd focused on the 'thief' part. The 'we were once, for all intents and purposes, enemies' part. Though she hadn't meant it that way – not as a jab. Not as an insult. She thought, though, that she might see where his understanding came from. No doubt he was used to people looking at the famous thief with scorn, whether they knew where he came from or what his reasons were or not. She could relate.

'Well,' he drawled; 'as we're tossing labels around, aren't you technically known as the Evil Queen?'

For a split second, her heart sank. She'd ruined it. But oh, he was smiling, that jackass!

'I prefer Regina,' she replied, and for a moment she was sure they were both struggling not to smile. Struggling not to smile – ha. Of all the struggles she'd had, that was an unexpected one.

'You think you can bring down the Wicked Witch with sticks?' she taunted.

She felt a hum of anticipatory glee in her blood; nothing riled up a man like reducing his beloved weapons to the bits of wood and metal they really were and casting aspersions on his ability to kill things. This Robin Hood was supposed to be a legendary archer (that shot he'd taken before would have gone between her eyes if she'd been slower) so surely his ego was quite wrapped up in his skill with those 'sticks'. A skill she'd never been all that impressed with, to be honest. Snow White was a pretty famous archer and she'd only started as an adult on the run from Regina, with no real training – how hard could it be?

'Well, I'm certainly going to try,' he answered politely, completely unprovoked. Hmm.

'I'm afraid we're too late. She's long gone.'

'Well perhaps she left a trail!'

'… I was hoping the same thing.'

She knew what he was going to say before he said it.

'Well then, you've got yourself a partner.'

She didn't particularly want one; she worked best alone, as solitude required no explanations or mollycoddling or being nice to people – but it could have been worse. Team Hero could have stuck her with Snow, whose already questionable investigative virtues would have been severely addled by what was shaping up to be an astoundingly acute case of pregnancy brain; Regina had watched her put salt in her coffee that morning at the diner. They could have sent along David, whose presence required a constant level of energy-draining restraint in response to all that condescension. Hook and Emma were slightly less aggravating as temporary partners, but the pirate's never-ending barrage of sarcasm and unhelpful asides would probably have proved more debilitating than useful, especially now that he's ingrained enough into the 'good' side that murdering him outright would upset the others enough to hinder the killing of the actual villain. Emma's presence would just have been painful; Regina has to admit, the woman has been uncharacteristically graceful about the Henry of it all, but nothing can change the fact that as things stand, she's a walking reminder of what Regina no longer has.

The point is, if fate was going to interfere in the form of a partner she didn't really need, she could do worse than Robin of Locksley. He might smell like pine scented car air freshener, but he also seemed willing to listen to her and there was a severe shortage of people that smart in Storybrooke.

It made for a nice change.

'Just… don't get in my way,' she warned him.

'I wouldn't dream of it.'

He sounded sincere. And he had this look. It was like he was constantly on the verge of breaking into a grin. Was he laughing at her?

It was just too strange. She wasn't used to men treating her like she wasn't a big bad dangerous monster or a little girl who had wandered off the path and needed a hand to hold. The only guy she truly liked was her son.

Maybe that was it. Because in a way, this guy reminded her a bit of Henry. That incomprehensible faith that had baffled and frightened her because she certainly hadn't given it to him, which meant it had grown inside of him like a seed and couldn't be repressed with a stern word or a grounding; it was in his blood to believe the best of people and she was proud of him, now, but for a long time it had terrified her – there was nothing she had ever been able to say or do to make him believe her Evil Queen rhetoric, and that made her doubt it too. She'd thought it was a kid thing; a Henry thing. Were some people just born like that?

I wouldn't dream of it.

Everyone wanted to get in her way. Nobody trusted her – that was the way things worked. And yet she realized, even in acknowledgment of the utter unexpectedness of how much he didn't seem to hate her – she had, in a way, expected him to say that.

'Have…,' she started uncertainly; 'have we met before?'

This expression, this look she knows. This is a man who thinks a woman just said something completely ridiculous.

'I doubt I'd ever forget meeting you.'