I don't think things have ever looked worse for OutlawQueen right now…which was exactly why I had to write some pure fluffy fluff for them.
For future reference, the name Cassiopeia means 'Queen'.
This one-shot is inspired by the song 'Dear Future Husband' by Meghan Trainor. I hope you enjoy reading it just as much as I enjoyed writing it!
Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon A Time, all rights go to Adam and Eddie.
It was a rare occurrence for Robin Hood of Locksley to stress out.
He was a fairly relaxed kind of guy. It was him who calmed his wife down when she got into an unnecessary state about the little things, even the messy situations that took a while to think of a solution to. Him, who calmed his young son whenever he spilled juice down himself. His best friend, Little John (who was in fact a very large man, whom resembled a grizzly bear), told him it was because no matter how deep in trouble he was it couldn't be any worse than half the stuff he'd got himself into in his days of being a merry man.
And yet here he was, swearing fervently at a piece of plastic and banging his fist furiously against it even though he knew it wouldn't make any difference. He was learning more and more everyday about the world without magic that he now lived in, but if there was one thing he still faced difficulty with - it was computers.
He detested them, the way their unnecessary lights flashed bright neon colours as they screeched out shrill beeping noises that set his teeth on edge. When the infuriating word 'error' flashed across the screen more often than not, and stayed silent when you ordered it a command. The latter hatred, actually, made more sense after Regina had slowly informed him that it wasn't voice operated. "It doesn't have ears, you see." She had said as she refrained from bursting into laughter, "So it can't hear a word you're saying."
After that, he'd done well to stay away of computers. But, Regina was stressing out over the weight of the town resting on her shoulders, and she needed his help. It wasn't as if she was asking him to rope the moon and bring her all the stars in heaven, all she wanted was for him to collect some files she had printed out from her office downtown and bring them to her. It had been an easy job until the printer started freaking out on him, reading on the tiny screen 'Out of paper, please reload' and although he had no idea how to do that, he thought finding some paper would be a good start.
The problem was, it was easier said than done.
Why couldn't she have stored the paper near the printer? Did she purposely spread things throughout the room to challenge herself? Was it filed under 'P' for paper? That seemed like something Regina would do, but which cabinet was he too look in? Even after three happy years of marriage and two years of being together before that, he was still yet to understand her methods. More paper, more paper…
He wandered to her desk, which like the rest of the office, was tightly organised down to her pens lined up in a row according to height order. The glossy photo that had its pride of place by her desktop computer, however, was enough to make him stop and stare.
He remembered the day as clear as the definition in the photo - it had been, without a doubt, the happiest day of his life. Promising to take her in sickness and in health, in good times and woe, and to keep himself solely unto her as long as they both should live was one he wouldn't break for all the world.
The memory of his wedding day was enough to lower his stress levels for a few moments, in which he began searching through every compartment in her desk. One drawer stood out to him, unlike all the others it wasn't filed under alphabetical order.
It seemed the only things kept in this drawer were things Regina had deemed important and collected throughout the years. His fingers brushed brightly coloured paint and glue stiff pieces of paper that had the sloppily signed names Henry and Roland at the bottom of the pages, photos following her sons growing up, and mother's day cards neatly placed back in their envelopes to prevent creasing. One pieced back together page ripped from a storybook made a smile creep to his face, because that page was all too familiar. It was what had given them both hope when they needed it most, an illustration of what could have happened if Regina had gathered her courage and met him in the tavern that night.
That wasn't the only thing that caught his eye, three words written in the same handwriting that signed every card his wife had ever given him: Dear Future Husband.
The envelope wasn't smooth cartridge paper like they had nowadays, it was a yellowing parchment that brought back memories of his first home - The Enchanted Forest. He furrowed his brow in confusion as he turned it over in his hands to find it sealed with wax that looked as though had been dripped from a burning candle, because there were several jet black scorch marks rimming the edges. It didn't look like a job done by his neat freak Regina, so why was it in her drawer of sentimental objects?
He found himself digging his fingernails under the seal, but the moment he realised his curiosity was getting the better of him he let his hand drop to his side. "No," He muttered to himself, "Whatever this is, it's none of my business."
Yet he didn't put it back in the drawer and instead continued to stare at the familiar handwriting until his vision blurred, his mind spinning excuses like Rumple spun straw into gold. It wouldn't do any harm, as Regina and he had promised to never have secrets in their relationship…It was addressed to him after all.
Inside was a wrinkled piece of parchment, the same colour as the envelope it was in. It seemed that whenever Regina had wrote it, she must have just been learning how to use a fountain pen because there were ink blotches all over the page. He vaguely wondered how old she had been when she had wrote this, and after doing the mental calculations judged by the date on the right top corner of the page (23rd April 1976) with the twenty-eight years of the curse thrown in, she would have been…thirteen years old.
Okay, now he had to read it. Regina had never told him anything about her childhood, and he hadn't wished to press her on it because he knew how Cora had treated her. The last thing he wanted to do was upset her. But, right here in his hands was something that had been written by his wife when she was innocent, before darkness took over her life. He had a million questions, ones that were dying to be answered. And so he smoothed out the wrinkles in the page and began to read:
Dear Future Husband,
My name's Regina Cassiopeia Mills - actually, seeing as I've married you my last name will have been changed to match yours - but I guess you already knew that.
I have a question first of all (I hope that's okay, my mother says I'm full of too many questions) and please don't be offended if this turns out not to be true, are you some kind of royalty? My mother says that when I'm older, I'm going to marry a king or a prince, but if you're none of the latter it doesn't really matter to me. You don't have to be anything you're not, okay? I want us to always be honest with each other, not like my parents because they have a lot of secrets from one another. I think that's why they aren't a great example of what love is all cracked up to be. You could bring me all the stars in heaven and although that would be pretty amazing, all I really want is to feel loved.
Do you believe in true love? I do, even though my mother tells me that love is weakness. I don't understand that at all because in all the story books my father used to read to me before bedtime, love is the reason that they all get their happy endings. I haven't heard one of those stories in a while now, ever since I turned thirteen last month (19th March, I hope you'll remember that in the future) there's been a lot less reading the books, more balancing them on top of my head to 'improve my posture'. I don't think it 'improves' anything, as I still get scolded for slouching at the dinner table on a regular basis. All it really does is make me look ridiculous, but I wouldn't dare tell my mother that. I know she means well.
Still, her methods confuse me an awful lot. She makes me spend hours and hours just learning how to pour tea with my little finger stuck out (I can do that easily, but apparently I'm too clumsy and spill it everywhere) as if it's the most intense and complicated thing in the world, which it really isn't. Then there's the dancing, every type of dancing imaginable. I personally believe that nobody in the world could know as many dances as I do, but please God don't let it all go to waste and learn like me!
I fantasize a lot about dancing with you (don't laugh, my mother did when I told her) but not the fancy kind that involves big flouncy dresses, corsets that scarcely allow you to breathe and shoes with heels as long as my arm. I'd like to dance when it's just us, with our heads rested on each other's shoulders to the kind of music that I used to listen to before my mother threw out the records. She threw out a lot of things actually, like my stuffed animals that I used to spend many hours playing with when I was younger, my blunt wax crayons and charcoal pencils so now I can't draw anymore which is a shame since it used to pass a great deal of time, and the clothes I wore if I were to go out and play with other children in the sunshine. Not that the opportunity presented itself a lot, though, most kids are scared to go near me because they think I use magic just like my mother.
If that's not bad enough, I hate to think what would happen if they found out that my mother rips out other people's hearts. That's a secret, only her and I know about the vault she has beneath our home where she keeps them all in boxes. Please don't be scared by that though, I promise that I'd never let her hurt you, and I'd never do anything like it.
All I want is to get better at everything my mother is trying to teach me, and that way I can be better for you. She says that nobody will want to marry me if I don't know the proper etiquette that every good queen should, and that scares me because I really don't want to spend the rest of my life all alone and probably disowned for letting my mother down.
I seem to let her down a lot, and I really hope letting people down isn't a bad habit of mine because I'd hate to do the same to you. I have a lot of bad habits, I bite my nails and nibble my lip a lot when I get nervous. I get nervous at least ten times a day. Nervous that I'm not good enough, but I'm able to calm myself down by thinking that there's still time before we marry to get so much better than I am now. I just hope that's possible.
There's just one promise I ask you to keep, and that is to never break my heart. I'll try to be the best person I can for you and if I can't then I swear that I'll make it up to you. Just tell me how to get better, and I'll learn from all my mistakes. If you'll just let us take it day by day, I think we could really have the happily ever after that I've always dreamed of.
Love from, Regina (I hope you don't mind that I'm so casual, but seeing as we're married now we should be able to drop all formalities such as my full name) xxx
"Robin?" Regina announced her presence by both the sound of her five inch stiletto heels and irritable tone. "Robin, what're you doing? I sent those printouts to you half an hour - "
He cut her off by crashing his lips against hers, the familiar taste of apples and honey warm on her breath as he ran his fingers through her soft raven dark hair. As the kiss lingered, he felt her relax against him as the tenseness her work cost her burned away like flames melting candle wax. After what seemed like forever, she pulled apart to draw breath and gave him a slight raise of the eyebrow. "What was that for?" She said a little breathlessly, a smirk playing on her crimson lips. "Not that I didn't enjoy it…"
"I love you." He said firmly, brushing his fingers over her cheek.
She still seemed a little confused, but her response was almost immediate, "I love you too."
"I never want you to feel like you're not good enough, alright?" He followed, and he could hear the slight urgency in his tone. It was because he needed her to know how much he loved her for all and everything she was. "You are beautiful, and amazing, and perfect so don't you ever let anyone tell you otherwise."
"Okay…" She laughed uncertainly, "Where's all this coming from?"
"I read your letter." He rushed, but judging by the expression on Regina's face this didn't clear up any questions she had, only bring up more.
She cocked her head to one side like a confused puppy, "What letter?"
"I was looking for paper for the printer around your office, and I found this in one of your drawers." He said, holding the letter out so his wife could see it. "But, before you get mad you should know that I had every right to open it. It was addressed to me."
"Oh my God," She stared at it, one perfectly manicured hand raising to her mouth in disbelief once she realised what he was holding. "Is this..?"
He nodded a confirmation, "Your letter to your 'Future Husband'."
"You read it?" She yelped, a colour as red as the fruit growing on her tree just outside rushing to her cheeks. Snatching the paper from his hand, she read over it with embarrassment agonized eyes. "That was never meant to be seen by anyone but me!"
"Well, did I?" He asked, ignoring her furious protests.
She barely heard him as her eyes scanned the paper, "Did you what?"
It was a question that had been running through his mind ever since he'd read the words in the letter, "Give you the happily ever after you always dreamed about?"
"It may have taken a while, but yes." She said and although she was trying her hardest to hide it, he knew now that she'd had a chance to think about the question her anger for him was fading away. "You gave me exactly what I dreamed about."
He smiled her favourite smile, "Am I forgiven, then?"
Before she even opened her mouth to speak he knew he was forgiven, because it took a lot more than a petty argument about a letter to have her stay angry at him for long. Even when they did argue - really, really argue - it was short lived, and he was usually the one to approach her and mutter a little sullenly that he missed her.
"You're forgiven." She caved, rolling her big brown eyes at him. As she did, she seemed to have caught a full view of the room - and every open and rummaged drawer, every scattered piece of stationary, all the destruction he had managed to leave in his trail - and they grew wider. "Now, let's talk about the mess that is my office."
"Later," He promised her, "There's something I need to do first."
Sure, computers weren't his strong point, but stereos he could handle.
Aware of Regina's eyes on him as he walked over to the stereo she kept on the windowsill behind her desk, he pressed his finger to the button labelled 'Play'. Music filled the air, a song about a love that would never be able to compete with theirs. He turned, held out his hand to the woman with tears in her eyes. "Care to dance, Mrs Locksley?"
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