Out of everything I've written so far, this chapter is one of my favorite pieces. Enjoy!
Also, I don't own Outlaw Queen... or OUAT... or Titanic... or... ok now I'm just depressed.
Regina practically floats into her room, a silly smile on her face as she collapses on the chair in front of her vanity and stares at herself in the mirror. There's a fire in her eyes, something she hasn't seen in a very long time, and it's Robin who's put it there, him and his beautiful son and their dimpled smiles and their laughter, and she thanks her lucky stars that he was there to stop her from jumping into the sea, that he showed up at precisely the right moment and pulled her back and insisted that things can get better. Obviously, that will never happen, but that glimmer of hope, framed in those moments of kindness, had been everything to her, because it allowed her –if only for an hour or so— to be herself, someone she thought she'd lost somewhere in the never-ending parade of dresses and jewels and fake friendships and expensive china. Tonight, Robin has shown her she's not the empty shell she thought she was, that she's still there, still her own person somewhere inside her, and maybe that person is worth fighting for.
And then, of course, there's also the warm, tingly way he makes her feel.
She'd recognized him from before, from when he'd been staring at her below the balcony, and she'd grown a little nervous because twice in one day he'd been there watching her, but there was something about Robin, something about the intensity of his gaze when he'd looked at her, like he was peering into her soul and wanted to protect it, and it drew her in and made her want to show herself to him, to bare all her secrets for him to know. Of course, the self-deprecating part of her wanted to tell him these secrets so he'd be disgusted and leave before she became dependent on his company, but the other, more sane part of her, knew he was a good man, and wanted him to know her, wanted him to comfort her and make her feel like a better life was possible after all, and she clings to that part now, holds onto it with an iron grip as she basks in the memories of just a few minutes ago, when he'd looked at her with those very blue eyes and held her hand and caressed it with his thumb as he murmured kind words in that deep, lovely voice that does things to her.
She's promised Robin not to jump, that she'll see him again, has promised Henry and Roland she will make apple turnovers for them when they're in New York, promised Emma she'll let her give her a proper tour of the city. She's promised so much in a life that wasn't supposed to be, a life that was supposed to end hours ago, but she finds that she likes these new people who appreciate her for who she is, likes the light of Henry's smile and the happiness in Roland's dimples and her banter with John and Emma. And Robin, she definitely likes Robin. And so while Regina has no idea how she's going to keep the promises she's made, she's sure about one thing: she will keep them.
She's changed into her night gown –it's a little early, but she figures since she pretended to be sick, she might as well go all out and be comfortable— and is planning out an escape for tomorrow in her head, absentmindedly running her finger over the rim of her teacup when a knock on her door interrupts her. It's Leopold, and he's got a self-satisfied sneer on his face as he lets himself into her room, shutting the door on Sidney's face after he orders him to wait outside.
"Ah, my darling, I was hoping you'd feel a little better," he begins as he makes his way over to her and puts his hand on the side of her neck, his eyes glued to hers in the mirror before they rake down on her reflection, his tongue peeking out to wet his lips as he takes in the exposed skin of her chest, and Regina scrambles to pull her robe tighter over herself.
"Not really, my headache got so bad that I'm actually feeling a little nauseous, but I'll be alright once I get some rest," she tells him, trying to get this over with quickly and get him to leave, "did you want something?"
"Well, I wanted you, but seeing as you're… indisposed… I suppose that will have to wait."
"It's probably best," Regina tells him, hiding the shiver that runs down her spine as it always does when Leopold takes her to bed. Thankfully, this time he doesn't seem to want to push it.
"Still, though, I have something for you," he says, none too pleased that he's not getting what he wants tonight, but still eager to show her what he's gotten her, which tells Regina it's either very expensive, or a reminder of how he owns her, or both.
He takes a navy blue velvet box out of his top coat and places it on the vanity in front of her, stretching a hand to open it as he bends down behind her and rests his lips by her cheek. The box contains the single most opulent and captivating piece of jewelry Regina has ever seen, a heart-shaped gem of a blue so deep it could rival the ocean's, tiny diamonds encrusted all around it to make the heart shape more pronounced, and hanging from a necklace studded with more diamonds to match. Regina gasps at the sight.
"This is…" she trails off, not knowing what to say, then lets her curiosity get the best of her, "how did you find a sapphire that big?"
"It's not a sapphire, dearest, it's a diamond. Very rare to find in this color. In fact some say it's impossible nowadays. They call this one the heart of the ocean, it belonged to King Louis XVI of France, but got stolen when his castle was pillaged by rebels, it's been sold and passed around between private collectors ever since. The person who had it wasn't willing to sell it at first, but everyone has a price, and I have enough money to cover it, so in the end they were glad to make the deal."
"You got this for me?" she asks, still staring at the necklace in awe.
"Of course, I want my beautiful wife to have the very best."
He's letting the tips of his fingers graze her skin as he places the diamond around her neck, fastening it at the back and then trailing his hands down her shoulders as they both stare at it in the mirror, the dim light from the lamp beside them casting a golden glow.
"You look positively ravishing," he tells her, lips pressed against her neck. Regina shudders and untangles herself from him, covering the jewel with her hand as she stands up and looks back at her fiancé when she's put some distance between them.
"Thank you, it's beautiful," she utters, because it's what's expected of her, "but like I said, I'm feeling rather unwell, I'd like to sleep now."
He schools his features quickly, hiding the scowl he thinks she doesn't see, and then he takes her hand, kisses it as he wishes her a good night, and leaves the room.
Regina wipes her hand on her nightgown, takes the necklace off, shoves it unceremoniously back into its box and throws said box in her safe, locking all her doors and burying herself under the duvet of her bed and the cover of darkness as she flicks all the lights off, but sleep doesn't come to her, the memory of Leopold's clammy hands on her skin keeping her awake and shivering.
Turning her bedside lamp back on after lying awake for what feels like hours, Regina checks the clock. It's almost 10pm, and she needs to escape, if only for a little while, so she dons her silk robe and a thick coat over her nightgown, makes sure Cora doesn't hear her sneaking out, and runs down the hall. Her mind is in the roof of the stern, on that spot by the cargo crane where she can look out at the ocean and feel the wind in her face and fight off the wave of nausea now coursing through her, but her heart has other ideas, and suddenly she finds herself weaving through the corridors of the third class rooms until she stops right outside the door of room 318, her heart pounding in her chest, her breaths shallow and quick. Now that she's here, she's panicking, already thinking of going back, but as soon as she turns, the door opens, and out comes John, chortling about something and making Roland giggle from where he sits on his bed inside the room.
"Oh, hello again," John says when he sees her, and then he must notice how shaken she is, because he's looking at her with concern and pity in his eyes before he moves to the side to make her visible to the others, who are sitting cross-legged on the floor playing some sort of card game. Robin's eyes widen when he sees her, and Henry smiles from over the cluster of cards he holds fanned out in one hand and waves at her with the other, Emma doing the same even as she stares suspiciously at her.
"Regina?" Robin whispers, putting his cards down on the makeshift table, which Regina realizes is just an old suitcase, "is everything alright?"
"I… need to hide out for a little while, if that's okay?" she asks him, and he nods without hesitation, waving goodbye to Emma and Henry as the blonde suspends the game and says something about giving them some privacy, dragging John out of the door with her under the pretense of having him walk them to their room. Roland isn't convinced, however, so he begs to stay.
"But what if Regina needs another huggle? I have to be here to give it to her," he reasons sleepily from where he sits on the top bed, and Robin smiles at his son despite the heaviness in the air and allows him to remain, offering Regina a seat on the bottom bunk while he sinks to his knees on the floor in front of her, reaching out a hand to hold both of hers on her lap.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"It's nothing new," she waves off his concerns, "but after everything that happened today I just… I needed a moment away from…" she trails off, but she knows she doesn't have to say anything else, because the understanding in his eyes has hers watering even as he moves to sit next to her on the small bed and puts his arm over her shoulders, bringing her close enough for her to bury her face in his chest. It occurs to her that this is inappropriate, that there shouldn't be such physical demonstrations between them, but his arms are a welcome warmth around her and she shakes as she tries to hold back the dry sobs threatening to break through, which only makes him hold her tighter, whispering soft, unintelligible words against the top of her head.
"Papa?" Roland asks as he climbs down the ladder and reaches the floor, his sight set on Regina.
"Yes, my boy?"
"Can I hug her, too?"
"I don't think Regina can handle a huggle right now, son."
"But I can give her real hug, too, like you! No huggles, I promise. Please?" he begs, drawing out the word in a mopey, innocent little voice, and Regina chuckles against Robin's coat, raises her head and nods at the child, waiting patiently for him to climb into her lap, his little arms squeezing her neck.
"It's okay," he says, "we'll take care of you."
The statement has her smiling tearfully at him, because this beautiful little boy doesn't know what her life is like, has no idea what's happened that has made her so afraid and weepy, but he's offering her comfort all the same, and he wants to protect her, just like his father. It warms her heart.
Roland scampers to the floor then, heading to the small bedside table and taking out a blank sheet of paper, looking up at his father with the biggest puppy dog eyes Regina's ever seen.
"Can I draw something for Regina, papa? Please?" he begs, and Robin sighs, nods at his son as he lets go of her, and Regina suffers the loss instantly, barely managing to contain her disappointment when she can no longer feel his arms around her.
She sits next to Roland on the floor, watches him draw lines in charcoal over the rough surface of the paper, and she marvels at his focus, smiles at the cute way the tip of his tongue pokes out of his mouth in concentration as he tries to capture whatever it is his imagination is concocting. When he's done, he scribbles something at the bottom, saying it's his artist signature (though it's merely a squiggly line next to where he asks his father to write the date), and then hands it to her with a proud look on his face.
"Thank you, Roland," she tells him, "it's beautiful," and it is, because no one's ever made something for her, and Leopold could give her a hundred hearts of the ocean and still she wouldn't think them anywhere near as valuable as that sheet of paper with Roland's art on it. It's nothing but simple shapes that seem to depict a person (or stick figure, rather) standing on top of a bunch of zig-zagging lines and uneven rectangles, but the little boy insists that it's her on board the ship, and his excitement makes her feel lighter than she has in years.
"It's not as good as the ones papa does, but I like it," Roland says then, and Regina's eyes widen as she turns to Robin.
"You draw?" she asks, and she notices a blush appear on his cheeks before he looks away from them and gets up from his spot on the bed, moving around and gathering their coats.
"I... a little," he admits, "a lot less now than I used to, and they're not very good."
"Papa draws me all the time," Roland interrupts with a smirk, and Regina can tell that the boy knows exactly what he's doing, that he's probably been asked not to talk about his father's drawings to other people, yet here he is, outing his papa's secret to her.
"Does he, now?" Regina asks in amusement, and Roland nods eagerly as he goes to the suitcase by the bed and rummages through it, Robin making no attempt to stop him even though she can tell he's nervous, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as he paces in the small space.
Roland gives a cry of triumph when he finds what he's looking for, and brings a battered, old leather portfolio out of the suitcase, plopping himself down next to Regina and opening it over her lap.
"Look, that's me!" he says needlessly as he points to a beautiful rendition of his face. Robin must have been lying, because he can't possibly see his own work and not think it's good, not when it looks like this. Roland's eyes are vibrant, full of life and mirth as they look back at her from the page, his dimples on full display and his teeth bared in the biggest of smiles.
"This is absolutely gorgeous," she whispers to Robin, but Roland takes that as his queue and excitedly begins to flip the pages.
"There's more! See? That's me sleeping, and then that's me when I was playing chess with Uncle John, but he's not in the picture, and that's me when I was a baby, and that's mama!"
Regina stops flipping through to stare at a breathtaking drawing of the woman Roland identifies as his mother. Her curls are long and thick, and it's easy for Regina to see that this is where the child got his hair from, as well as the almond shape of his eyes and the long eyelashes. The woman has a soft look about her, with a kind, serene smile on her full lips, and in a corner underneath the portrait is a single word: Marian.
"She was beautiful," she says to no one in particular, but sees Roland nod out of the corner of her eye.
"She's an angel now," he tells her, and through all this Robin just stands there, watching them interact and looking torn, Regina thinks, between snatching the drawings away from them and allowing her to see this part of him.
John chooses that moment to walk back into the room, taking in the scene before him and mumbling an excuse to leave, but Robin stops him, holding Regina's hand gently when she moves to make a hasty retreat, not wanting to make the man uncomfortable in his own room.
"John, would you mind staying with Roland for a bit while Regina and I take a walk?"
"But papa, I wanna go with Regina," the boy whines, and she can't help the grin that spreads on her face. She lets go of Robin's hand and cups Roland's little cheek, loving that she can draw those dimples out of him.
"I promise I'll come get you if I need another hug, alright?" she vows, and it seems to appease him enough to let them go without issue, waving at her until Robin grabs the portfolio, tucks Roland's drawing inside it and closes the door behind them.
They don't say a word until they've reached the boat deck and are sitting in a bench by the port side, overlooking the soft waves where the moonlight is reflected.
"I'm sorry," she begins, and Robin turns to look at her.
"Whatever for?"
"Roland revealing your secret to me, I'm sure your art is a very personal thing."
"Regina, I'm fine. You have nothing to apologize for, Roland loves those sketches and only ever shows them off to people he trusts. If anything, I'm the one who's sorry."
"Whatever for?" she asks, quoting his earlier words.
"You looked a bit overwhelmed back there, I didn't mean for that to happen."
"Not overwhelmed, just… surprised. Didn't peg you for the artist type," she says with a smile, and his eyes shine as he grins back at her.
"I'm not. Not really, I only did it because Marian loved it."
"Oh. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry."
"You have got to stop apologizing," he says with amusement, reaching out a hand to her shoulder and squeezing gently, "it's alright. Believe me."
She almost apologizes again, but catches herself when she sees the knowing smirk on his face and takes a deep breath, her eyes trained on the wooden floor as she continues, "so you did it for her, then."
"It's how I met her," he says, nodding. "One of my favorite things to do while I lived in Paris was just sitting outside and sketching whatever caught my eye. It's such a beautiful city, there was always something new to see, to draw. One day, I was sitting in my bench by the park as always, and she walked by. I was hypnotized by her."
He's telling the story with nostalgia in his tone, but there's a fond smile on his face as he reminisces, and Regina finds herself entranced by it, by his voice as he continues to speak.
"I chased after her, was such a lovesick fool that I begged her to let me sketch her, got down on my knees in the middle of the park and told her I would not stand up again until she let me draw her. In the end, she agreed, and sat right there next to me while I put her face on paper.
"We talked for hours that day, and the day after that, and the day after that, and next thing I knew I was head over heels in love with her, asking her to be my wife after only four months of knowing each other. We got married within the year."
"Wow."
"Everyone thought we were being irrational, that it was too fast, but we just…"
"Knew," Regina finishes for him, appreciating the kind smile he gives her in return.
"After we were wed," he continues, "we'd take walks together, and we'd stop whenever something stood out to her, and then I'd sketch it for her. She loved it."
"That's sweet," she says, transfixed by the peaceful look on his face.
"After she died, I… I couldn't bear to pick up a pencil. But Roland was growing up so fast, and photos are expensive, so I started back up again."
"I'm glad you did, those drawings of him… they're beautiful, Robin. You have a gift."
"Ever since Marian died, I've only ever drawn Roland."
"Really? Nothing else caught your eye? No one else, what did you say, 'hypnotized' you?" she asks with a playful wiggle of her eyebrows, wanting to lighten the mood a little, and Robin chuckles softly.
"Not until recently," he whispers as his fingers play with her hair, and she grows nervous over the intimacy of the moment, so she looks away from his face.
"I'm sorry," he mumbles, dropping his hand. She misses it instantly.
"No, no, it's just… I'm engaged," she tells him.
"So you've said," he replies, unfazed.
"Doesn't that bother you?"
"You don't love him," Robin says with a shrug, "and it's not like we're doing anything wrong or inappropriate here, we're just talking."
"If he saw us there's no telling what he'd do to you… to me," she shudders at the thought, and Robin frowns.
"Regina, has he hurt you before?" he asks then, and had she not made the mistake of looking into his eyes, she could've lied, but now that she's caught in his blue stare, she can't, so she bites her lip and says nothing.
"Answer me," he begs, "has this man done something to you against your will?"
"What does it matter? He'll be my husband soon enough," she tries to shrug it off, waving a hand that he catches gently in his.
"No man should lay a finger on you unless you wish it, Regina, regardless of who they are."
"It doesn't work like that, Robin. We're getting married, he's allowed to claim certain… rights."
"Hurting you is not his right," he says vehemently, firmly.
"Somehow I don't see my telling him that going over well," she replies with a humorless laugh.
"Then fight him off," he's frustrated now, she can see that, and it annoys her.
"And how am I supposed to do that? I can't just punch the guy."
"Yes, you can, at least when I'm not around to punch him for you."
"I don't need you to defend my honor."
"It's not… are you always so stubborn?" he asks, "I only want to help."
"Are you going to punch Leopold forever? You're going to, what, move into my house when we get to New York and be my own personal bodyguard? You can't save me, Robin, no one can," she's angry now, and finally he seems to understand that she's offended, that she doesn't want to be someone's project.
"It's not about saving you. I mean, it is, but it's also about…" he lets out an angry sound of frustration and then he chuckles, the fight leaving him in an instant, "you're infuriating, you know that?"
She scowls, raising an eyebrow at him, but he surprises her. Again.
"I like that about you," he murmurs with a grin, and they stay silent for a few minutes until, "I can teach you."
"Teach me what?"
"To defend yourself, should you ever need to."
"Why don't you just teach me how to draw, I'll get more enjoyment out of that."
"This isn't about your enjoyment, Regina, it's about protecting yourself. I want to help you, please let me."
"Why does it matter so much to you?" she really doesn't understand how someone she's known for a single day can care so much.
"Because you matter to me," he says fiercely, "and you're right, I might not be able to be there all the time to defend you, but at least this way I know you can hurt the bastard, should he ever lay a hand on you without your consent."
She's taken aback by his revelation, by the sheer passion in his eyes as he tells her she's important to him, his hand clasping hers tightly as he urges her up.
"Okay, then, teach me how to hit like a man," she says jokingly, but he's taking this so seriously she can't help but find him adorable as he puts himself in position and asks her to mimic him. She does a miserable job of it, so he moves behind her and nudges her legs a little further apart, sets her hands a little higher, tucks her thumbs inside her fists. All the while, his touch is gentle, and she's sure he means to be soothing, to put her at ease, but all he's doing is rile up things inside her she has no business feeling for a man she just met, and yet…
"You're being too technical, none of this is going to work if he catches me unawares," she says as an excuse when she moves away from him, putting some much needed distance between them. Robin brings a hand to the back of his neck, and after a few silent seconds she can almost see the proverbial light bulb go off in his head.
"Right, okay, I have another idea," he tells her as he grabs her hand and brings it up.
"This one is easy, and you can do it pretty much at any moment," he says, bringing his own hand up and positioning it, palm bent backward, fingers curled loosely, and then he thrusts it upwards to demonstrate the movement as he explains, "use the heel of your hand and shove it up and into his face, if you do it hard enough, you can break his nose and he'll be too busy dealing with the blood and the pain, giving you a chance to get away. Go on, try it."
"I'm not going to hit you, Robin," she says, scandalized.
"It's just a trial punch, I can handle it," he shrugs and grins, "come on."
She does it, moving her hand like he instructed, but she doesn't put much force on the hit, and merely manages to bump his nose.
"That was pitiful," he says with an amused roll of his eyes, "put your back into it, come on."
She does it again, harder this time, though still apprehensive, but the strength she's put behind it is enough to hit him hard, and he flinches with a strangled "ow!"
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry, did I hurt you?!" she fusses, moving closer to him and ghosting her hands all over his face as she checks him for damage, secretly loving the way his stubble feels under her fingertips.
"Regina, I'm fine," he laughs, "that was good."
"Are you sure you're okay?" she asks, frantically looking over his face, relieved that she didn't draw blood. Her hands have come to rest on his cheeks now, thumbs rubbing over them, and it's as if the entire world slows down as she looks into his eyes and sees pride there, pride and care and an attraction she knows it's mutual, but can't bring herself to do anything about.
"I'm okay," he assures her, his hands coming up to wrap around her wrists, thumbs running back and forth over the backs of her hands. They stay like that for a moment, a very calm, blissful moment that is broken when a strong gust of wind blows her hair in her face, getting it caught in her mouth and blocking her view, and then she laughs, laughs like she hasn't in a very long time. He joins her, and they collapse on the bench next to each other as they try to catch their breath.
They talk quietly about random, lighter things for a while, and before she knows it, the sun is peeking out from the horizon, casting a dull orange glow on them as it brings the dawn with it, and Regina thinks to herself she's never seen anything so beautiful, and she basks in it, glad that she's here to see it with him, his arm around her as they sit on the bench, staring out at the water.
Out of the corner of her eye, Regina sees his portfolio, the one he brought with him and had lain forgotten on the bench while he gave her lessons on how to punch Leopold (she still can't believe the absurdity of the situation, but she likes it, likes this, likes Robin). She grabs the beaten leather folder then, opens it to the drawing of Roland's face and admires it again.
"So, are you going to teach me how to draw now?" she asks, and Robin beams at her, takes out a charcoal pencil from the inside pocket of the portfolio and finds a blank space in one of the less elaborate drawings of Roland. He squints his eyes in the low light as he teaches her about capturing shadows, about smudging the pencil lines to make certain features look softer, and then he scoots behind her as much as he can in the constricted space and holds her hand over the pencil while he helps her trace shapes and lines on the paper, slowly forming a silhouette of a face she recognizes as her own once he starts shading in the slope of her nose and the contour of her eyes. She stares at him then, her mouth slightly open in wonder.
"Is this really how you see me?" she asks when the rough sketch is ready. It's beautiful, she is beautiful, but not in the way Leopold claims she is, like some sort of decoration piece, a rich man's newest conquest to be admired. No, the way Robin's captured her features is beautiful in a different way, a natural way, devoid of makeup and the trappings that embellish her. The drawing brings tears to her eyes because she actually sees herself, demons and all, and it's gorgeous.
"How else would I see you?" he asks, "you're stunning, Regina, in every way."
They're sitting close, huddling in the cold, and his hand is still holding hers over the paper, though the pencil is no longer being used, and Robin's eyes shine so bright that she grows nervous, pulls away and looks toward the sun, now higher up in the sky and bathing the ship in its early morning light.
"I should get going, they'll be wondering where I am."
She's startled when he pushes the sheet of paper towards her.
"Keep it," he tells her, pairing it with Roland's drawing and depositing them in her hand.
She breathes a heartfelt thank you and begins to walk away.
"And Regina?" he calls out to her, making her turn around to face him. "My door's open whenever you need it," he offers, and she nods, thanks him again, and is off to her rooms with a huge grin on her face and the two pages of his and Roland's artwork safely clutched in her hand.
As she passes the corridor and reaches the staircase to B-Deck, however, she feels the hairs on the back of her neck prickle, and knows she's being watched. When she turns, a shadow moves quickly behind one of the large wooden columns, but when she walks to it, she finds no one there. Still, she's weary, walks faster, and reaches her rooms in seconds, relief flooding her for a few brief moments before she turns and finds Leopold and Cora sitting in the living room, and then she realizes that the shadow she saw must have been Sidney, he'd been spying on her. How could she have been so stupid as to think she'd have a minute to herself, let alone a whole night? And now, now Leopold's man has seen her with Robin and gone and told on her, she's sure of it. She's put Robin in danger.
Cora says nothing, merely gets up and walks away, nose in the air as she leaves the room and locks the door behind her, leaving her alone with her future husband, whose menacing tone breaks through her shock when he gently takes the sketches from her hand and slowly rips them into pieces.
"So… spending time in steerage, are we, my darling?"
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I know Leopold is an icky bastard, but it'll get better, I promise.
