I own nothing.
This kind of got away from me, so it's longer than I intended. I may have started crying while writing this at one point.
She is acutely aware of it all. The hard granite countertop underneath one hand and the smooth glass of whisky in the other, the slight chill from the wind blowing gently through the open window above the sink, the soft new ache in her right hip from standing for so long at her kitchen counter, reminding her that she's aging and will only get older with each passing year.
Henry had long retreated to his bed upstairs, the others had left long ago once the funeral arrangements had been settled.
The next morning she would bury her soulmate, the second love of her life.
She'd been unable to maintain eye contact with any of them, had been unable to bear the pity and sorrow that shone through their eyes, directed at her. She'd been grateful when they'd finally left. Sitting across from her on the living room couch, Henry had watched her with tear-filled eyes, his jaw clenched as he tried to keep his tears from falling. She had beckoned to him, and he had instantly been at her side. Wrapping her arms around him, she had whispered to him that he didn't have to be strong for her, that he could cry if he wanted to, that she loved him to the moon and back, that she understood how he felt and that he should never have any qualms about talking to her about anything. She'd whispered to him that he was so brave, but that he didn't have to be all the time. That she knew how hard the past few months had been for him, how so much loss in such a young person's life must feel unbearable, but that she was there to help him carry the load, no matter how heavy her own was. He had sobbed into her shoulder, deep, racking sobs that shook the both of them. She'd cried with him.
Eventually, his breathing had settled into a regular rhythm. He'd mumbled something about going to his room to sleep as he'd stood up from the couch. He'd paused at the door before turning back to look at her and say, "You deserve true love, Mom. You deserve to be happy. I'm going to make sure you will be."
She'd stared into her fireplace after he'd left, with what felt like an endless void in her heart and the softest craving for her nightly glass of whisky.
That's how she'd ended up here, standing at her kitchen counter, where she can hear the soft rustling of leaves of the apple tree in her garden and the hooting of an owl. She can smell the last drops of the whisky in her glass and a woody musk brought in by the breeze from the forest, all reminding her of him, making her only more acutely aware of the emptiness she feels in her chest.
And despite the darkness of the night enveloping the kitchen, her eyes can make out the shapes on the piece of paper lying on the counter in front of her. The page that she had once ripped up in despair, the page that Will Scarlett had taped back together for her and delivered on her doorstep shortly after Robin had left with his family, the page that she had thought was a symbol of hope – hope that despite all of the evil things she had done, she was still fated for a lasting true love. The page that she'd pressed into Robin's hand when they'd reunited in New York, the page that he'd kept in his pocket throughout their adventures in Camelot and the Underworld.
Except the page lying in front of her is not held together by tape. It is not wrinkled or crumpled. It does not bear the traces of having been folded and stuffed into a backpack or a pocket. Running her fingers over it for what had to be the hundredth time, she can't find a single blemish on the page.
It's a sick, cruel joke.
She knows it wasn't Henry. His backpack lies on the floor of the foyer, and she knows that the quill of the author is still inside it. He hasn't touched it since he'd dumped it there when they'd come back from her office after –
It hadn't been Emma, either. She just knows it wasn't the Saviour's magic that had recreated that once battered piece of paper.
That's all it is, really, she thinks. A piece of paper. To consider it to be a beacon of hope in the darkness of her life would be foolish. People don't come back from the dead.
The glass in her hand ends up shattered on the floor across the room.
...
The empty feeling in her chest has turned into a deep, aching numbness by the next morning. A numbness that she feels as she walks with the other to the cemetery to the funeral in the afternoon, as she places the first arrow with a rose wrapped around it onto the top of his casket.
The rain is pouring, almost as if the earth is weeping that its soil will soon swallow the body of such a good man, a loving father and generous leader. The earth is crying for her, as she hasn't let a tear drop since she had left the house that morning.
She steps back as Roland shuffles forward to place the arrow in his hand on top of the casket. He's barely taller than the casket, and he's burying his father.
The sight of Robin's little boy has her fighting back tears, aggravating that ache in her chest. She'd looked forward to their return from the Underworld - hoped that no other catastrophic even would occur, no other villain would pop up needing to be defeated, that Storybrooke would be at peace for a few months or years at least so that they'd have the chance the be a family. To go on family outings for ice cream, to have a weekly dinner at Granny's together. She had dreamt of lazy summer days when Robin would teach their children how to shoot an arrow that would never miss its mark, of days when she would teach Henry and Roland to ride horses, with Robin watching them from the side of the ring, a smile on his face and his daughter in his arms. Her, Robin, Henry, Roland, and Marina. Two families melded into one. Happy. Carefree.
But fate has a different life in store for her.
She hates that fate had decided to take away Roland and Marina's father – they shouldn't have to grow up without a father because of her transgressions.
Because that's what this whole thing is, isn't it? Fate getting back at her for all those years she lived as the Evil Queen? Purposely ruining lives, killing, torturing, burning whole villages in her quest for vengeance. Doesn't matter that she tried to make it right, that she's committed herself to being a good person, a hero. Fate just can't let her get away with all the evil she'd done and be happy. And since she'd thought she'd found happiness in Robin, fate had snatched away her second chance at love.
By loving Robin, she'd ruined the lives of those two beautiful children.
She hates herself for it.
The ache in her chest is pulsing now, and if she didn't have an entire audience standing behind her watching her every move, she thinks she'd just crumple into herself right there, not caring that the rain would soak through to her skin, that her pristine black dress would be left with mud stains on it.
But she won't let them see her pain.
Roland is backing away from his father's casket now, turning around and looking up at Regina with a solemn expression.
She doesn't even think about it, she just wordlessly reaches out her hand towards him. He takes her hand and takes shelter from the rain underneath her umbrella, gripping her hand as tightly as his young muscles allow. She rubs her thumb against his hand in a soothing gesture, a soothing gesture that had accompanied every hand hold between her and Robin. The last time she had held his tiny hand in her own had been the first night she had taken him out for ice cream. The night that Emma had returned with "Marian," the night that had set into motion all of the events that had culminated in this moment right here, with the two people that had loved Robin most in the world standing side by side in front of his grave.
Together, they stand, watching as the other mourners place their arrows on Robin's coffin, watching as it is lowered into the ground, watching as the soil is put back into the earth, this time with Robin's body underneath.
They stand there together until the last of the mourners has left, until the light starts to fade and the rain stops falling.
It is then that she breaks the silence, asking Roland if it's ok if they head back into town for the reception at Granny's? She looks down at his dark mop of curls as he nods, heart breaking all over again as he whispers, "Goodbye, Papa." She spares one last glance at the fresh soil that marks his final resting place, murmuring to Roland that they'll be back to visit, back to see him when the stone that will bear his name for the rest of eternity is put into place.
"Okay," he replies as he plods along beside her as they head back into town.
Robin may no longer be with them, but they're together for the moment.
For now, they are together, and they walk towards Granny's diner. For now, they are together, together in their pain for the loss of a man with piercing blue eyes and the kindest of hearts.
And as they reach the door of the diner, they steel themselves, each in their own way, to face the barrage people telling them "I'm sorry for your loss", and "He was such a good man", friends and strangers, none of whom had known Robin nearly as well as the two of them had.
...
It's been eight months.
Eight months since that day, eight months and one day from the day that Robin had breathed his last breath. Eight months and one day since she had held him in her arms, eight months since she'd last run her fingers through his hair and brushed her lips against his.
Eight months since his heart had beat for last time.
A lot can happen in eight months.
She's walking to the cemetery, as she has taken to doing every Saturday for the last eight months, granted that she's been in Storybrooke and not in some far away town or realm fixing the latest mess of some villain that had threatened her town.
This time, she does not hold in her hand the palm of a little boy; instead, she holds a single white ranunculus in her hands.
The little boy had been taken back to the Enchanted Forest by Robin's men. They'd left not even a week after Robin had died, disappearing into the portal that had taken away the people of Camelot as well, before Robin's headstone had even been put into place.
She'd promised Roland that she'd bring him back to see Robin's stone, but now the stone that reads "Loving Father" stands in a realm that neither of his children inhabit any longer.
Zelena had taken little Marina back to Oz the day after Robin's funeral. Regina hadn't had the willpower to argue with her. Zelena was her mother, not Regina, and Zelena had proven her will to change and be a better person by helping them defeat Hades, her own true love. The Mills sisters just weren't meant for lasting true love, apparently. In their case, true love was meant to die.
Of course, that hadn't meant that Regina hadn't given her a clear warning. She'd told her sister that she expected biweekly updates on Marina, and if a period should pass without a magical message about Marina's life, Regina had warned the Zelena that there would be hell to pay if she'd found Robin's daughter in any condition less than perfect. Zelena had promised that the baby would be happy and healthy, loved and treasured, and that she would know who her father was and the kind of man he'd been.
It's been eight months, and so far, Zelena has kept her word. Only yesterday had Regina received an update via magic from her sister, and attached had been a little scene of a smiling Marina taking her first steps on the deep green grasses of Oz. She'd been struck once again at how perfectly Robin's eyes had been recreated in his daughter.
On the other hand, it's been eight months, and she hasn't heard anything about Roland. Little John had approached her shortly after they'd entered the diner the night of Robin's funeral, telling her that after Marian's death, Robin had repeatedly told him that if anything happened to him that Roland should be left in the care of his grandparents. The curse hadn't brought them to Storybrooke; they were still in the Sherwood Forest, he'd said. Considering the relationship she had had with Robin, he was aware that there was a chance that Robin had changed his mind and wanted Roland to stay with her, but he'd never explicitly said it, so he thought that it'd be best – he had been rambling, and she'd just stared back at him, had wordlessly nodded. She had no claim to Roland. She was not his mother – hell, she wasn't even his stepmother. He deserved stability, without parent-figures rushing off to save towns from villains, and his best chance at that was with his grandparents.
Before they had left, she'd crouched down in front of Roland, eyes roaming over the dimples that were so like his father's, had told him that she would miss him and that she would always remember him and his father with fondness. She'd told him she hoped they'd meet again one day, but if not, that she hoped that he'd grow big and strong, just like his father had been. He'd jumped on her, his small arms squeezing her neck as fiercely as a six year old could manage, and she'd hugged him back before Little John had called for him to come along. She'd watched him go with tears in her eyes, for she had grown to care for him deeply in the brief moments they'd spent together, and he was her last unequivocal connection to her soulmate.
She hopes Roland is happy, wherever he is. She hopes he is running carefree through the woods, learning to be as good an archer as his father. She knows that he'll probably forget her in a few years, and if he doesn't, he will most likely be unable to recall her exact facial features, will be unable to conjure the sound of her voice from his memory, will probably not even have a reason to try, but she prays that he will not forget the sound of his father's laugh.
And so, there she is, standing in front of Robin's grave, the last person who had loved him left in this land able to visit his grave.
The ache in her heart has dulled somewhat, but she is still aware of its presence every day. She's not sure if her heart will ever fully heal.
Sometimes visiting his grave softens the ache. Sometimes it makes the pain come back tenfold, as fierce as the night of his death. Today, the sight of his grave makes her acutely aware of the ache in her chest, which she sometimes tries, but never quite succeeds, to ignore.
Regina kneels down into the soft grass inches from the headstone, lays down the flower in her hand in front of her, removing the dried, dead flower that she had left on her last visit.
She takes a deep breath, and then, "Hi, Robin."
Part of her thinks this ritual of hers is stupid. Coming every week, telling him what she's been up to, sharing her frustrations with what she considers the inefficiencies of the Charmings, her awe at how fast Henry is growing – he even had his first girlfriend now!, Emma and Hook's wedding planning drama, tidbits about Marina's growth that Zelena has shared with her.
She's almost entirely certain she's just pointlessly wasting her breath speaking to a chunk of rock. She doesn't know what happens to souls once they escape the Underworld, but the tiniest little part of her that still hangs on to hope continues to speak to Robin every time she visits, believing that he can hear her, wherever he is. Then another part of her interjects, pointing out that if he can hear her, then he can obviously see everything that's going on her life and his kids' lives, and talking to his tombstone is pointless after all.
And yet, she continues sharing her stories with Robin, kneeling in front of his grave.
"You appeared in my dreams last night," she confesses, her eyes fixed on the tombstone. "Not that that isn't a regular occurrence. It's actually rare that you're not in my dreams." She looks down at her hands then, eyebrows scrunching together as she feels that familiar stinging sensation at the back of her eyes. She tries to fight back the tears as she continues, "It was that night at the diner, the night of Neal's naming ceremony. We walked into the diner with Roland – and everything was just so easy. Zelena wasn't there, disguised as Marian. Everyone was happy, and everyone stayed happy. At the end of the night, you and Roland came back to my house with Henry and me. Roland was so excited to spend time with Henry and insisted on sleeping in his room, and you and I sat all night in the living room by the fire, talking – and kissing – until the sun came up."
At that moment, a breeze gently blows through the cemetery, gently rustling her hair. She closes her eyes at the feeling, as it reminds her of the times that Robin had run his fingers through her hair.
"And yes," she smirks, "you ran your fingers through my hair just like that."
She knits her forehead as she continues, "And then I woke up, and you were still gone. Your spot beside me was empty." There's a short silence, and then, "I suppose it'll always remain empty."
She's wringing her hands together in her lap, and she lets one tear fall as she tells Robin, "When I lost Daniel, I thought that I would never love again. At least not romantically. You know that – you understand how that feels – you told me it had been the same for you after Marian had died. But then you came along, with your lion tattoo, just like Tinker Bell had said, and I didn't want to be closed off from love anymore. I was terrified to let you in, but you were so good to me, and you just seemed to get me. You understood. Love came quickly between us, almost instantly. You suddenly became this indispensable person in my life, and I allowed myself to hope – to believe that we could be together forever, that we'd grow old together, end our days sipping tea on a porch somewhere away from the chaos, instead of fighting for our lives against evil."
She takes another deep breath and she can hear the shake in the exhale.
"But we both know that night in the diner was the beginning of the end. We were torn apart by everything that my sister set in motion that night. I knew I had to let you go, but deep down I just felt that we were it for each other, and that made it hurt so much more to let you go. But you were alive. You still had the chance to be happy.
"When Zelena's scheme was discovered and we were reunited, I could hardly believe that we'd been given another chance to be together. I hoped that it would stick. I feel like I didn't say it to you enough, that I looked forward to raising your daughter by your side, despite everything, that I would be with you, always."
She reaches out a hand and places it on top of where his name is carved into the stone.
"But we both know that was not to be. I know you probably want me to move on, to find love again but - " she's vigorously shaking her head as she tries to keep the sobs at bay so that she can say what she wants to say, "- how many times does your true love have to die because he loves you before you give up on finding another one? Before you resolve to never put anyone else in the dangerous position of loving you?"
She can't hold the tears back any longer, and she starts shaking as she kneels in front of Robin's grave. Other than her sobs, the only sounds in the cemetery are the rustling of trees and the singing of birds.
As her sobs subside, she looks back up at Robin's headstone, and in a shaky voice continues, "I suppose what I'm trying to say is – Daniel was my first love, and you were my last, and I love you, I love you, I love you. I can't imagine a day I won't. I count myself lucky to have had a second chance with you, but there is no third chance for me on this earth, or in any other realm."
With that, she stands to leave.
"Until next Saturday, Robin."
...
Sometimes she wonders how she could think twenty-eight years passed so slowly under her curse, when the twenty-eight years that she has lived curse-free have passed in a blur.
The pain has dulled, is barely there, actually, and when she thinks of Robin, she thinks of him with a smile on her face, with that smile on her face that he had told her he thought about every time he closed his eyes. From time to time, she takes out that page from the drawer in which she had placed it all those years ago, runs her fingers over their painted forms, remembers how the anticipation of his lips on hers had felt in reality, and she thinks of Robin, the man with the lion tattoo who had given her a second chance at true love. The kind-hearted man, the wonderful father and the handsome lover who had given her hope and brought her out of the darkness by seeing her, not the Evil Queen, and not the stern Mayor.
The Evil Queen has been long forgotten in this town, but she is still the Mayor, and she still makes those weekly trips to the cemetery to place a flower in front of Robin's grave and to share her stories with him. This week, she's eager to share a story about her granddaughter that had had her in stitches from laughter when Henry had relayed it to her one morning while they were eating breakfast together at Granny's.
She's walking uphill towards Robin's grave, reaching the top of the hill from where she can see his headstone, the granite shining in the sunlight. This week, something's different, and it brings her to a sudden stop.
A man, probably in his thirties, standing in front of Robin's grave. His stature, the way he's standing…if his hair wasn't as black as hers, she could've sworn it was Robin. She's surprised to see him turn around, noticing her, hands in his pockets and smiling expectantly at her as she resumes her walk towards Robin's grave. As she comes closer to the grave and to the man standing there, she can make out his facial features more clearly. His eyes are a different colour, but other than that, it's like Robin is standing there in front of her. All of the features are the same, down to those sweet dimples. Realization dawns on her, and she picks up her pace.
She's only a few steps from him when he says simply, "Hello, Regina." A smile breaks across her own face in a mirror of his as she opens her arms to hug him, and replies, "Welcome back to Storybrooke, Roland."
I honestly am hoping so badly that by tomorrow night this fic is just a worst case scenario and Robin is not permanently dead because I can't handle it.
Please let me know what you thought of this!