Robin couldn't sleep. It wasn't because he was inside a castle instead of his customary camp in the forest. It wasn't because the bed was uncomfortable, or that the sheets were scratchy. Robin couldn't sleep because he couldn't stop thinking about Regina. When he closed his eyes, he saw her face, eyes filled with tears, seconds away from sending herself into eternal slumber. After several hours of staring at the ceiling, he concluded that he would not be able to sleep until he'd checked on her. She had departed for her chambers immediately after relaying her encounter with the Wicked Witch to Snow and her prince, without so much as a 'good night' or, as would have been more appropriate, a 'thank you'.
He sat up and swung his legs out of bed. A few feet away, in another smaller bed, Roland slept peacefully, his tiny hands clutching the stuffed monkey Regina had given to him. He hadn't stopped running his fingers through its soft fur since the moment he'd first held it. Even in his sleep, Roland's fingers worked through the fur, making Robin smile at how precious he looked.
Robin stood and walked to the door in his socked feet, then as quietly as possible opened it, stepped out into the hall, and closed it behind him. Stealthily he made his way down the corridor, the halls dark save for the occasional ensconced torch sputtering its last flames. Unbeknownst to Regina, he had followed her earlier when she'd excused herself for the evening. His instincts had told him that he needed to keep an eye on her, and that required knowing the location of her chambers.
That knowledge came in handy sooner than he'd thought. He stopped outside her door, uncertain about how to proceed. Should he knock, and risk waking her if she were asleep? Considering the late hour, that seemed likely. And if she happened to be awake, it was even more likely that she would tell him to leave her alone. He decided that she could tell him whatever she liked – it didn't mean he had to listen. Still, his goal was not to disturb her, but simply to set his mind at ease that she was well, and hadn't succumbed to her anguish and found another way to curse herself – or worse. She didn't seem the type who would take her own life, but admittedly, he barely knew her.
Decision made, he rapped lightly on the door with his knuckles – so lightly that only someone standing immediately inside the door would hear it. He received no response. Encouraged, he carefully pressed down on the latch and opened the door, peeking his head just inside. The room was large and filled with armoires and a dressing table, and had a large opening out onto a balcony that, thankfully, was allowing moonlight into the room. The night was partly cloudy but the moon full, and even the filtered light allowed him to see partly into an adjoining room – the bedchamber. A figure lay upon the bed and, feeling secure that it was she whom he sought, he entered the room, silently closing the door behind him.
He gingerly stepped over to the entrance to her bedchamber, his steps silent in the way only a trained thief's can be. At the foot of her bed he stopped. He could see that she was indeed sleeping. She was curled up on her side in nearly a fetal position, as if she'd been in pain as she drifted off. Only her feet were underneath the bedcovers, and the bed and floor next to it were littered with used, crumpled tissues. Seeing something odd, he stepped around the side to get a closer look. Her regal gown was gone, replaced with one more suited for sleeping, made of light gray silk. Across the bodice were scattered small, dark spots, and from his closer vantage point he could see that her pillow was marked with more of them. A cloud moved from in front of the moon, allowing its full brightness to fall upon her. Her face was flushed pink and her eyes were swollen. He saw then what had caused the spots, as another rolled from the corner of her eye and down the bridge of her nose. Tears. She had cried herself to sleep, and not very long before he'd arrived, judging from the way her damp cheeks shone in the moonlight.
As smaller clouds moved across the moon, light rippled across her face, and he couldn't help but think she looked incredibly beautiful. The woman he'd broken into the castle with, she had been attractive, yes, he wouldn't deny that. But now he was seeing the real Regina – no makeup, no overly styled hair, no shield – just a mother who missed her child. He looked at her and saw her heart, not her swollen eyelids or rumpled hair. His own heart ached for her. He wished there was something he could do to help her, to ease her pain, but he knew from losing his wife that time was the only thing that could help her.
For the moment, he contented himself with pulling the covers up and over her. He couldn't assuage her pain, but he could make sure she didn't wake up cold. Silently he made his way out of her chambers and back to the room he was sharing with his son, satisfied that, for that night at least, Regina would be all right.
