A/N: hi again! i should probably say... read ch 7 if you didn't, it was uploaded yesterday ;)
Ella told me, in a review, that she wanted more Dimples Queen and OQ romantic interaction and I laughed because I had it already written from days ago! But I'm sorry, the cheesy stuff has to wait a bit longer ;D happy reading!
8
Rainy Days
June comes with a thunderstorm.
King George VI and his wife – the queen consort Elizabeth – are in the United States, dining with president Roosevelt.
But in London, it rains – the weather has been unusually warm, lately, but even this unexpected heat can't stop an occasional storm. Regina never liked them. She knows, many people love to curl up under blankets and listen to the rain, but honestly, when you're alone for the most of the year, you don't find that perspective fascinating. It's only a reminder of what you're missing.
It's a time when she thinks of her husband more than usual. What he's doing, if he has stopped looking for her, if he has left on a mission. Maybe he's just there, in Asia, or Africa, moaning between some exotic beauty's arms. Maybe he's dead.
Maybe she is a widow.
She hasn't returned to Tottenham Court Road. Months have passed now, all six of them, and she is more and more resigned: she has to stay, and she will most likely die here once the war starts. But honestly, now Daniel and her past life feel like a dream. Her job, Kathryn, Mother and all the 21st century comforts, TV series, terroristic attacks and the like. She will never Skype call someone again, she won't even use a TV for a long time, or a dishwasher, she won't watch Orphan Black, or even a Hunger Games movie.
Honestly, that will be the future, but it's her past now, a past she has almost said goodbye to. It's like she's in Wonderland, and the real world is just too fake and painful to think about. This world, here, has been kind and quiet so far – a part from a few bumps on the road, and she knows it won't last much now.
It's three in the morning and she's watching out the window, hearing the storm without seeing it, and she thinks of silly things like these, when someone knocks at her door.
When she opens, she meets quite the unexpected sight.
"Roland?"
"Hi, R'gina," he sniffs. She sees he has been crying, and her heart clenches in a reflex she didn't think she was capable of. So she kneels, her eyes finding his.
"Roland, sweetie, what happened?"
When he bursts into tears without answering, she finds herself at a complete loss.
..::..
I've never been good with children. I guess I could have been. I think. But children were an obscure realm for me. Sometimes I had to perform surgeries on them, but they stop being cute and such when they're in surgery – they're just a patient, a life you have to save.
Once, I got a nightshift, and I found myself wandering near the nursery. I stayed next to the enormous glass which divided the visitors from the babies, and watched them for what felt like an immensely long time.
They were so tiny. That's what hit me – not their faces, or the bright future ahead, or the number of lives they were about to touch in some way. It hit me, that they were defenseless. Dependent. And yet, strong. I left the nursery feeling a nurse's eyes on me, and I never went there again at night.
..::..
"Roland, please, tell me what's wrong," she pleas, placing her hand on his forearm. "Please, baby, tell me, it's okay."
He sighs, the shiver of tears in his trembling voice, and tells her, "Can I – can I come in?"
"Of course, baby, yes," she nods, throwing a glance to the desert corridor and hushing him inside, closes the door and scoops him up into her arms. It's a weird weight, one she's not used to. She feels wetness on her shoulder, but she carries on until their reach her bed.
He looks shy, now – the tears have somehow stopped, as if those seconds in her embrace have settled something inside him. "I'm sorry, R'gina," he tells her, and she'll have none of it.
"There's nothing to be sorry for," she reassures him. "What's wrong?"
He bites his lower lip and looks away – she resists the impulse of urge him again, and instead, she lets him have his time. Until, finally, he speaks. "It's – it's Maddie," he says, still not meeting her eyes.
Regina nods, even if she doesn't understand. She waits.
"M-maddie told me a bad thing, and – and I wanted to go to D-daddy, but he's away, and – Granny is asleep near the fireplace and – I didn't know where to go, I'm – I'm sorry, Regina!"
"Shh, it's okay, don't worry," she rushes to reassure him, before he lets sobs wrack him again. She does what's instinctual – and she draws him into a hug, her arms curling around him, her cheek placed above his hair.
He's so tiny, she thinks, and it isn't fair that he's crying at three in the morning next to her of all people. It isn't fair to him, because she's not the one he should be going to – a near stranger, he should have someone better than her. He cries again, so Regina starts rocking them gently, her hand rubbing on his back. He's wetting her nightgown, but it's okay, if it's what he needs.
"Do you want to tell me what Maddie said to you?" she whispers gently, when it seems to her that his heart-wrecking tears have transformed into quiet sighs.
He lifts his head to look at her, distancing himself slightly from her arms, and nods. "But promise you won't get mad."
Regina raises an eyebrow, because how is it possible, that this child is crying and yet he tries to protect Maddie? Still, she nods. She'll decide later if it's worth it to break the promise for his own sake. Roland looks like he has to force himself to talk, so she stays silent and waits until he feels like it's okay to open up.
"Maddie told me – " he starts, then stops, holding his breath for a moment. "I was scared of the storm, but just a little, because I know it's just rain, Daddy told me," he says, and she smiles at his display of bravery. "So I was in my room and I saw that she was coming upstairs with some milk because she always does that when she's hungry during the night… and I asked her if she could come and read to me like Daddy does because then I feel better," he murmurs, like he's ashamed.
"And she told me that I don't know how lucky I am because I still have Daddy and the other children have no one for them during the storms and – " he bobs his chin down, with a watery little sound, his hand goes up in a curled fist to scratch his eyes. An effort not to cry again.
" – and she told me – she said I'm a spoilt brat and then I asked what it means…"
Regina feels a wave of fresh rage in her chest, like a iron cascade of bitterness, and it takes all of her strength not to interrupt him. Roland isn't looking at her, he's looking down, staring at her sheets, his lower lip trembling.
"So… so Maddie told me that –" he sniffs, his eyes squeezing closed, and his tears starting again. "She told me that her mom taught her many words and maybe I'd know what it – it means if I still had a mom."
Now he's crying again, sobbing between words, and Regina's fingers itch to reach to him, her heart thumping, her eyes watering as well. "So I – I told her to go away, and I thought about my mom and – R'gina, I don't remember my mom," he breathes, "why is it that everyone k-knows their mom and I – I don't?"
She feels a tear escaping her eyes as well, as she watches him cry, she takes his hand – and Roland hugs her again, tight, he cries, she can only hold him as her own tears wet his hair. I wanna know my mom, he mumbles into her chest. So she whispers the only resolution she can think of – do you want to stay with me, tonight?
And Roland nods, curled into her embrace, he doesn't leave her as she gently pulls him down on the bed, draws a blanket above them and whispers calm words until his sobs sustain and calm down. "It's okay, baby," she murmurs. "It's alright, don't worry, it's okay." She feels him nod, he's more calm, but she still has this need to do something for him. To say something better than empty words.
"I know it isn't fair, Roland," she starts. "But, can I tell you a secret?"
"A secret?" he peeps up to meet her eyes, wonder painted on his face.
"Yes, a secret," Regina tells him. "I don't have a mom anymore, just like you," she says, and it's not exactly true, she has a mother, in theory, but her mother has yet to be born…
"Really?" Roland whispers. "And you're not sad?"
Regina ponders what to tell him – that you can't be that sad if your mother was a living nightmare… but she settles for something more child-friendly. "I… yes, I miss her a bit, I suppose… but anyway I know that your mama wouldn't want you to be sad. She is always here, you know," Regina lifts a hand and presses her palm near his heart. "She's always watching over you and caring for you, even if you don't see her."
"But…" his voice trembles, and Regina prays he won't cry again. "But I still haven't a mama to teach me the difficult words, R'gina…"
She sighs, and presses a kiss on his hair. "You have a lot of people to teach you things, baby. Your Daddy, Granny, Ruby… even me, if you want."
"Really?" he's still uncertain, so she holds him tighter and whispers, Really.
She feels some sort of… annoyance, right now. Of course, it's buried under many layers of affection for this poor boy, but it's there.
It's not her job, this one, it would be Robin's duty to tell those things to his son. To care for him and stay with him during thunderstorms, and he isn't here. She asks herself nearly every day, where the hell is he?
When he comes to the Orphanage, he never stays for long. Mrs. Lucas seems to be okay with it, simply takes care of the children without further questioning. If he had to keep Regina locked up for days, when he thought she was a threat for the children, why isn't he here more often with said children?
Roland is still silent, until she thinks he's asleep, except he isn't. He says, his voice low, can you tell me a story?
"I don't – know many stories, honey," she answers. His resigned sigh – that tonight, no one is here to take care of him – it hits her, and so she proposes something else. "But… would you like me to sing?"
She feels him nod. So her exhausted, drained brain jumps into action, and she starts murmuring the rhythmic words of a song that doesn't exist yet. But this, Roland doesn't know.
"Somewhere, over the rainbow,
way up high –
there's a land that I've heard of,
once in a lullaby.
Somewhere, over the rainbow,
skies are blue –
and the dreams that you dare to dream,
really, do come true."
His breaths slow down, she feels it, he relaxes against her. His little body is somehow comforting – it's so peaceful, now, the storm has calmed down, she feels her eyes growing heavier.
..::..
I realize I haven't explained much about my life at the Orphanage until that moment. If I am correct, I left it at when I tried the cracked mirror, in March.
The children were about a dozen, including Roland and Henry. After a while I had learned all their names. Then, there were Mrs. Lucas – whom I had been allowed to call Granny when Henry had insisted – and Ruby. I had seen, sporadically, one or two of Robin's friends. They never stayed for long, never for dinner, always locked in his office.
Of course, there was the mysterious woman I got a glimpse of, on that famous day. I still hadn't met her. I had some clue about her name – which was always pronounced with some sort of reverence.
During the day, I mostly helped out Granny with the children. This included every daily activity, such as baths and meals and… keeping them quiet, I suppose. This was an activity which required an authoritarian figure, and Granny was just that – stern, but loving. I found out that they listened to me, too. I think they were so starved for human affection, that they liked the moments where I would sit on the ground and read them something.
Still, it wasn't my place. After some time, I realized I missed something in my life. A purpose. Now that I couldn't really go home, I was missing the time in the hospital more than I could imagine.
..::..
When she wakes up, the following day, it's breaking dawn and Roland is still asleep, curled up against her chest. She inhales slowly his scent, of sun and honey, that is so different and has something so similar to his father's.
So much for not getting attached to them, she thinks.
She has come a long way, since February. She has bonded with Ruby the first time she had her period in 1939, when she had to ask for whatever sort of pad they used there. (It's a prototype of the things she's used to, but not that bad. Discovering someone uses Lysol for contraception has surprised her, though.)
Henry, of course, is her favorite person here. He's so curious, so intelligent and brilliant, he tries to teach how to read to the youngest orphans, and he's the one she goes to when she feels sad or misses home. He doesn't ask. He just hugs her.
Granny is another story – Granny didn't trust her, at first. But given that she works a lot, and is curious about these day's medicine, and knows how to make a mean apple pie, Granny has somehow tolerated her first, and then approved her presence in the house. Regina's ideas are, maybe, a little… too feminist for these times. She has to hold her opinions back a lot of times, and she thinks Granny considers weird she isn't married and she isn't searching for a husband.
So, the fact that Robin is the most mysterious of her housemates is somehow an understatement.
And she finds said man asleep in a chair, in her room, and dawn has yet to come.
Robin.
He looks tired, she thinks. Has blue shadows under his eyes, and – oh – a nasty bruise on the side of his forehead. Her whisper, Robin!, is quiet but sufficiently loud to wake him. He mustn't have slept for long then.
"Regina?" he says, a bit too loud for her taste, so she rushes to hush him, motioning at Roland. He looks at his son, and his eyes close painfully, as if he's actually saddened by the sight. "He's alright," he exhales.
"What are you doing here?"
"I'm sorry, I – I just…" he opens his eyes, looks at her and sighs. "I just had to see – I fell asleep watching him, I should have – I just wanted to make sure he was alright, I can – "
"Hey," she murmurs, her hand going to find his. "Don't worry, he's okay."
"Yes," he says quietly. "Regina, can I… talk to you? Now? Like… is it alright if we go downstairs?"
"Oh, uh, n-now?" she stutters, taken aback from this new turn of events. "Yes, I guess – just – let me find something to wear, first."
..::..
He meets her in the kitchen, holding two cups of steaming tea. He motions for outside, and although it has rained all night, the sun has yet to rise, but there's a lingering humidity in the air and it's not entirely unpleasant. So Regina wraps her cardigan around herself and follows him to the magnolia tree – the bench underneath is soaked, but he's brought a sort of coverage for them to sit on.
There's silence, at first. She sips on her tea, uncertain about what to say, thinking he should start with his words first.
It's so quiet, here. The birds have yet to start chirping, a soft breeze runs through her hair and the tree's branches.
"So…" she starts, tentatively, because why has he brought her here if he doesn't want to talk?
"Yes," he answers. She glances at him, he's still holding an untouched cup between his hands. "I'm sorry, for earlier," he tells her. "I shouldn't have come in like that."
"Yes," she says, a bit coldly. It was easy to comfort him while she still was in the dazed state of after sleep, but now she finds out she's actually pissed at him. It's no use, to come and find your son when he's been taken care of by another person, almost a stranger, even after these months. "What is happening to you, Robin?"
He turns his head to watch her, incredulous, surprised by the sharpness of her tone. "Excuse me?"
Regina shakes her head, her fingers clinging at the mug. She takes another sip, to gain time and think of an educate answer. "Do you want me to be honest with you?"
"Please."
She sighs, diverting her eyes from him, and starts looking at a bush of roses before speaking. "I think… you've lost track of your life. I'm sorry, I know it isn't my place…"
"Regina, I promise," he interrupts. "I won't get offended, just tell me."
"Okay," she exhales. "So, your son came to my room last night, crying because he's been practically bullied by a kid here… Maddie, he said. And he asked me about his mother, he said you're never here, and, Robin, he's right. You are here, but you are not, I barely know you… hell, I know Ruby better than I know you, and I'm sure you've your damn good reasons to be away from months, and I'm not sure I want to know them, and… the kids need someone to guide them, Robin!" she dares to turn towards him, clenching a fist. "Granny is doing a pretty good job, but what if she's not there? They need a purpose, they need to study, or somewhere to play, they need someone to be their parent, a guide!"
He opens his mouth to say something, but she isn't finished. "I mean, I tried to stay out of this, but I can't. You let me live here, and I tried to stay out of this, it's not my business, but I see what happens every day, I'm here more than you are, and I'm worried. No – not just worried, I'm angry. Because the man who locked me in a room for days, to protect the children from a non-existent threat, is now ignoring the very same children, and it makes me angry. The man who, I think, is in danger more often than not – look at that bruise on your head, for god's sake – has a son here and leaves him so often, he makes me angry."
She's breathing faster now, the words that she has kept inside for months pouring out in a unique flow of rage. She turns her head again to the bush of roses, her hands curling around the mug. Robin stays silent, and Regina closes her eyes, her back going to rest against the bench's backrest and soaking her cardigan, but it doesn't matter. He will kick her out? Fine. She can't live in this mess, seeing children grow up like this, and their supposed custodian who acts like it doesn't concern him.
"Regina…" he murmurs. He lets out a low sigh, but she doesn't look at him, afraid of what she could see in his eyes. "You're right."
"W-what?" now she turns, meets his eyes, and doesn't find rage but a tranquil resignation. "But I thought…"
"No, you are right," he tells her. He reaches out for her hand, and she takes his, curls her own around his warmth. "Thanks for telling me this."
"But… why… if you know you're wrong, why are you doing it?"
He shakes his head, a shadow of a smile on his lips. "Let's say… I've been such a fool, Regina," he says. "I thought I would be best out there, fighting my own battles, when I had the greatest of them all right here," he motions at the building with his chin.
"What do you mean, your battles?"
He shifts, uncomfortable with her question, and squeezes her hand. "You don't need to worry about it for now," he says. "I think we will find out soon enough…"
"You know," she murmurs. "I would feel much better if you just told me something, for a change."
To her surprise, he smiles. "Do you see?" he lifts the hand that holds his mug. "I keep doing wrong to you, to everyone. I'm just… used to being secretive, but that's not an excuse."
"It's not," she agrees. "I understand you, though. I… I have my secrets, you know."
He tilts his head. "I should be worried." It's not a question, and that sends shivers through Regina's heart. It's been… months, since she's had a conversation like this one.
..::..
"Regina."
She followed me as I left the hospital, with a scowl on her face. I turned, placing my hand on my hips. "Kathryn. What is it?"
She neared me, taking my hand, "I'm worried about you, you know?" she said, "what's going on?"
"What do you mean, you are worried?" I laughed, but my laugh had no amusement in it. "I'm fine."
"Is it about your husband?"
I felt tears prickle at the corners of my eyes, and left her hand. "Kathryn, I…"
"It's okay," she looked at me sadly. "I'm your friend. You can tell me."
She brought me at our favorite café, after that, and listened to me for two hours. I needed that. I hadn't realize what loneliness can do to a soul.
..::..
"Robin, I…" she leaves his hand, and feels ashamed. She's just lectured this man for not being there for the children, when she has made no less damage herself. She has bonded with Henry and Roland and others, she has taken a role in the house without setting boundaries, she is a dead weight and feels like she's doing nothing to repay the people who are letting her stay here.
Robin doesn't take her hand, but looks at her. "I don't want to – I don't need to know your secrets, Regina," he tells her, "as long as they're not dangerous –"
"No…"
"– they're yours to keep," he says. "But I promise, I – I can't tell you, I'm sorry, for now, but I want you to know that… I'll stay, from now on. I was in your room – because I needed to see my son, whom, despite what you may think, I missed immensely. But my duty has ended, and I promise, I… I will try to be better, for the kids. I'll stay. I will make this place a better place."
She nods, at loss for words, watching as the first sunrays filter through the tree branches. And then the words come, in the most natural of ways.
"I'll help you."
