SUMMARY: Regina and Daniel's story, pre-"Stable Boy."

DISCLAIMER: I don't own "Once Upon a Time," Regina, Daniel, or any of the supplementary characters, and I'm not making any money from this story.

WARNING: Angst, nongraphic allusions to child abuse.

Once Upon a Stable

by Alicia

Chapter 2: Sweaters and Secrets

"Look," said the man whose hands could spin silk into gold by completely nonmagical means – or so it seemed to the little girl who watched the man's every move with eager anticipation. "It's a …"

"A cow, Daddy," said Regina. She traced her finger around one perfect tiny carved spot on the cow's back.

"That's right, sweetheart. And this one is a …"

"A dog, Daddy."

"How about this one?"

Regina looked carefully. It was formed the same way as the dog, but with a different kind of bearing, a majesty she'd seen out in the woods. "A wolf."

"That's right." He beamed as if Regina had carved the animals herself.

"Show me how to make a dog!"

He scrunched up his eyebrows. "Are you sure? Those sausage fingers of yours…"

Regina poked him with the offending fingers, then returned her attention to the animal collection. "I want to make a puppy. A puppy to go with this dog family. It should have long ears and pretty fur."

"All right. I'll show you how to carve. But first I have to show you how to build."

"Why, Daddy?" It was Regina's favorite thing to say. She never said that word to her mother. Mother would scold, but Father would answer.

"Because you'll hit your hand with the hammer."

"I will not, Daddy."

Regina's father traced each of Regina's stubby fingers with his own strong fingers. "Yes, you will."

"Why will that teach me to carve a dog?"

"Because once you know how it feels to hit your hand with the hammer, you won't cry as much when you cut your hand with the knife."

"Then why don't I do it on purpose? If I hit my hand with the hammer right now, then can I carve a puppy?"

Regina felt her father's strong hands on hers, holding her back from all the tools. "You'll hit yourself enough accidentally. Now come. I'll show you how to pick boards."

It took Regina two weeks to successfully build the bed for a horse drawn cart. A simple cart, like those the peasants used. It was only a box, yet it took meticulous labor and concentration. Regina hit her hand four times. Each time she cried less. At night she slipped her father's animals inside and played with them by the fireplace, speaking softly so as not to alert her mother. Regina's mother hadn't laid down any rules against playing with carved animals, but Regina was not so foolish as to think her mother would approve.

The cart wheels were surprisingly easier, and Regina had the chance to do some carving as she fashioned the bar between the wheels and the wooden pieces that attached them to the cart bed. Her father watched as she worked, sometimes guiding her hands but never carrying out a step alone. Regina cut herself twice during the carving process. She did not cry at all.

It was a rainy afternoon when Regina completed her project. She put down the knife and hammer and looked at her father, proudly proclaiming, "the villagers could take this cart into the fields tomorrow."

His eyes said more than was ever necessary for his words. "They could, sweetheart. You did it."

Regina opened her mouth to ask if she could carve a puppy, but, with predictably bad timing, Regina's mother swept into the stable. "Oh, there you are," she said, as if her magic didn't tell her Regina's location at all times. "You need to come in to dress for tea early, dear. We need to go through all this rain just to get to the house. You should know better than to go out in the rain."

Mothers were to be hated. Mothers were to be pleased. Mothers were to be obeyed. Regina knew better than to dispute her mother on such a small matter as whether to stay in the stable an extra hour. She said, "yes, mother," and draped her coat over her shoulders, mentally preparing herself for the cold rain.

Because she'd had her back turned to get her coat, Regina did not see her mother's gaze sweep over the stable, nor her mother begin to walk over to the wheel Regina had hammered into place only a few minutes before. Regina's mother ran a hand over the top of one wheel. "These peasants have no sense of style," she said. Then she vanished out into the rain, leaving Regina to follow.

Perhaps it was because she was upset by her mother's criticism of her work, or perhaps – as inevitably happened in the power struggles between the two – Regina was simply tired of hiding her game – she played with her animals with more sound and less abandon that night. Mr. and Mrs. Dog had a grand adventure searching for their lost puppy – below the chairs, behind the bricks by the fireplace implements, within each hidden chink in the wall.

"It's not good for you to ignore the real world, dear." Regina's mother's voice was deceptively quiet. The woman was furious.

Regina ignored her mother and kept up with her game. Anger fueled her, anger and a desperate desire for the comfort of the game. Maybe this time when her mother punished her she would not cry.

"It's not good for you to ignore me either, dear. I see that I have to take these away from you."

As one, Regina's precious carved animals rose, away from Regina to collect in a small floating circle above the fireplace. Then, one at a time, each dropped into the fire. Regina nearly cried as the flames engulfed Mr. Dog, but she stayed strong.

"Will that be all, mother?"

"Yes, dear. I think it's time for bed."

"I can find my way myself," Regina said, and she rose and walked to her room with all the dignity she could put into her small frame. She pulled the blankets over her head, then lay and shook until she sensed that the other candles in the house were extinguished. Then, silently, she made her way out to the stables.

Where, at last, she cried.

Regina punished herself even as the tears fell in the dark. She had mastered the hammer. She had mastered the knife. She should not cry when her mother had not touched her. And yet the wooden animals seemed alive. They'd had their own magic. They were murdered now, destroyed by a hand who killed what Regina loved.

The stable door's hinges creaked in one particular place. Regina had purposefully instructed her father's hired hands not to fix it when her father wasn't looking. She wanted to be warned when people approached her sanctuary. A boy appeared in the doorway.

Regina stayed as still as possible. For a moment she thought it would work and the boy would leave – that trick usually fooled her mother at least into employing magic. But the boy stood a few minutes longer, then ran right at her. Regina jumped from her hiding place.

"Where are your parents?" the boy said.

"What are you doing in my stable?" Regina said, putting all the regal bearing her mother had attempted to drill into her into those few words.

"I thought there was someone here stealing from you." His voice was gentle. Somehow he made Regina feel safe. He honestly would be able to recognize a threat.

"There is no thief," Regina said. She hesitated. She wanted to tell him everything, and yet he was a stranger. "My parents own this house, and I …" Could she say that she was checking on the horses at her father's request?

"You were hiding," he said, uncannily reading her mind. He suddenly looked uncomfortable. "Umm, I'm just going to go," he said, backing up.

He was going to leave, and Regina would be left alone again with the memories of all those little imaginary creatures dying in the flames.

Then the impossible happened. No one had ever watched Regina's face in quite that way before. "Do you, uh, want me to stay with you? For awhile? Are you hiding from something really bad?"

Regina had the sudden illogical wish to throw herself into his arms and ask him to stay forever. Wishes were for weaklings and fools, her mother liked to say.

The boy sat down on the hay. He patted the hay next to him.

Regina sat down. She wanted to turn and sob into his shoulder. She was horrified at herself for the weakness. Hadn't the hammer and knife taught her better? But if she must weep, she could do it quietly, with dignity.

And with a protector nearby. Who held Regina's hand.

It felt like a very long time, but the storm passed. Regina let go and stood up. "Better now," she said. She added as a promise to herself, "Next time I won't cry at all." She looked at all the familiar objects in the stable to remind herself, and her eyes fell on the cart that she had been so proud of the day before. "Can you take away the cart I made? Mother will be angry if she sees it in the morning."

"You made this?" the boy said, drifting over toward it.

Regina was happy that he liked it. Maybe it wasn't as bad as she had thought. But her mother would criticize her for that weakness as well; of course it was as bad as she had thought. "Father helped me. But Mother does not like it." Regina's enunciation had returned. She was in control again.

"Okay. But I should go."

"Thank you." Regina didn't wait to see if he took the cart; she knew that he could. She slipped back across the fields into the house, then into her room without being noticed at all. Not being noticed was good. It was less likely to earn a magical beating from her mother.

One day Regina would not cry when she was punished.

The next morning came as sunny and bright as the previous day had been dark. Rather than rushing away at first chance to be out in the stables with her father, Regina attended to her mother's routine. The morning lesson was embroidery. Regina was pleased to note that every time her fingers slipped and the needle drew blood, she felt nothing. Her embroidery was soon spotted and ridiculous, and her mother forced her outside out of sheer frustration.

Regina headed over the stables, intending to persuade her father to teach her to carve a puppy. Maybe this time, if she was just smart enough not to take the animals in the house, it would all be okay.

"Hey, kid," said an unfamiliar voice from the woods.

Regina hurried over. Two faces appeared from behind one of the thicker bushes, seemingly out of nowhere. One was unfamiliar, but one was the face of the boy who had comforted her the night before. "What do you want?" She tried to be angry, but her heart leapt to see the boy again. She could see in the light what she had not seen in the dark: his face was handsome and somehow familiar, and his eyes were deep and full of wisdom.

"Can you help us?" said the unfamiliar voice.

Regina focused instead on the boy she knew from the night before. "I have to go back before Mother sees me over here," she told him. She hoped someday to be just a little bit braver, but she did not want to face her mother's punishment today.

He elbowed the older boy and said, "Let me talk to her." Then addressing Regina, he said, "Will you get in trouble if you slip out tonight, after dark? If you come out in the forest with us, we can show you the unicorns."

Regina had not thought to ask her father to carve a unicorn for her. She hadn't known they still existed. "Yes," she said. Then, hurriedly, she looked up and sidelong to the forest, along the road, and called, "You fools, take the carts the other way in the wet ground left after the rain!" Hoping that her parents would not notice the empty road and severe lack of any kind of traffic, foolish or otherwise, Regina scampered into the stable.

She asked her father to teach her to carve a unicorn. His turned out perfectly the first time. Each of Regina's three attempts was flawed in some way, and she kept breaking the horns.

It took Regina's parents longer than usual to fall asleep that night. It always did – time had a funny way of slowing just as something exciting was about to happen. But finally their candles were dark and their breathing – which Regina could hear even from her room – was even. She would have to be sure to be back in her bed well before light. Regina's mother had a lot of different ways to punish her. Using magic, she could break Regina's toys, maneuver Regina into a humiliating position in the nearest corner, or undo Regina's previous chores to be done all over again. But Regina's mother could punish her directly. She could point one finger, and it was always the same one, and Regina's entire body would explode into pain. Regina had not yet endured such a session without crying. But one day she would. And the chance to possibly see unicorns … well, and to see the boy again … was worth the risk.

Regina crept out silently, out the door and over the field, to roughly the same patch of forest as before. The boys were there, waiting for her. She wondered if they had ever left.

"I'll scout ahead," the unfamiliar boy said.

The boy from the night before looked directly at Regina. He could hold her still with his eyes alone. "There's nothing to be afraid of," he said. "We need you to call the unicorn. Just call to her. She'll come to you."

"Why can't you call her?"

"Because I'm a boy, silly, and you're a girl." He paused, then asked gently, "What's your name?"

Regina wasn't sure if she believed her mother, but she said anyway, "Mother says if you tell someone your name you give that person power over you."

"Well, then," he said, punching her lightly on the shoulder, "We wouldn't want that now. Can you tell the unicorn your name?"

"How?"

"You just have to think about her. Come on."

He vanished ahead into the forest. Or, so Regina thought for a moment, but then a single hand appeared above a large low-hanging branch. It pointed and beckoned.

The journey was something out of a dream. Surreal, quiet, and lovely. Regina forgot about magic and pain.

He halted in a tiny clearing. A forest stream trickled from a rock a few paces to the right. A canopy of leaves covered the entire area. Drops of leftover rainwater mixed with dew sparkled on every closeby leaf. "This should do," he said softly.

To Regina, it looked very much like a place a unicorn might like. "What do we do now?"

"We wait. Just think about the unicorn." He sat against a tree trunk, and patted the nearby ground.

Regina sat, leaning against the tree trunk next to his. It wasn't hard to imagine unicorns as the soft sound of water and the tiny ethereal sparkles captured her senses. She tried to sit as she had before, upright, dignified. But she was tired, and the night air made her shiver. "Why doesn't she come?

"She's lost," he said. "She got lost a long time ago and she can't find her way back. She'll hear us. She'll come."

Regina yawned. Then she shivered violently. She wrapped her arms around herself.

"Here," he said, taking off a brown and gold patterned sweater and draping it around Regina's shoulders instead.

It helped. "Thank you," Regina murmured. "Is it loud enough? Thinking of unicorns?"

"Why don't you dream of unicorns instead?" he invited.

Dignity warred with adventure, but Regina eventually gave up and leaned against him, closing her eyes and letting his arms shelter her from the cold of the night.

"You called me."

Regina could see herself asleep, nestled in the boy's arms, who also slept, chin resting on her hair. She must dream, then. She faced a creature of such beauty that all the years dreaming were worthwhile at once. "We both did."

"Yes. You belong together."

"Will we be together?" Regina asked. She didn't quite know what she meant. Mother and Father weren't together; Mother gave orders and Father mostly followed them when he wasn't sneaking Regina treats behind his back. Peasant brothers and sisters played together but then grew up and apart, Regina had heard this described by enough visitors. So what did this stranger mean that she and the boy belonged together?

"You are together," the unicorn said. She shook her mane, engulfing the world in pearl for a moment. "We have this moment, all of us."

"This moment?"

"This moment is forever. This is the gift I give you, this one moment."

And Regina was snuggled into his arms, loved and safe and whole.

"Thank you for bringing me home."

"This is your home? This place?"

"You will understand in time. But for now, forget."

Regina woke, stiff but yet somehow more comfortable than she'd ever been, gazing at a creature who looked like an exceptionally graceful filly.

The boy's face broke into a grin. "We did it," he said. "She's here."

Regina took a moment to marvel at the otherworldly wonder that she was in the presence of one of the legendary unicorns, and the more earthly wonder that she could still feel the ghost of warm, protective arms around her shoulders.

Then, the memory of the things her mother could and would do to her hit in full force, and she ran backwards, back to her home, back … ignoring the "wait!" in the distance.

Regina's mother's punishment was as bad as Regina had expected, and she was reduced to a sobbing, undignified mess before it was finally over. Regina's mother draped rough hands on Regina's shoulders. Regina stiffened, then scooted forward on her belly to get away from the hands. She wanted to remember the other hands, the hands that had held her warm and safe.

That night Regina slept in the boy's sweater.