In which Regina is not so subtle as she likes to believe that she is around Robin. For Laura (based on her three word prompt: daughter, opaque, genuine).


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It's been yet another long, intolerable day, from the sweltering heat of a mid-August summer to those oppressively kind looks from the Charmings, and to that thief with the twinkling eyes, who'd had the gall to look knowing when she'd excused herself from council earlier with growing complaints of a headache.

The other castle inhabitants have made themselves scarce to avoid the afternoon onslaught of sun, the passageways empty and calm while Regina finds herself wandering. Apart from a dwarf whose name she'd never bothered to learn (he freezes mid-step when she sweeps him by, as though hoping she won't notice him there if he's able to stand still just enough), not a single other soul is in sight.

It's exactly how she likes it, this distance from things, this space for her moods to catch fire without anyone else interfering. She feels her pace slow with the freedom, letting that ever-there ache in her chest draw knives to sharpen its edges. It digs deeper and deeper, rooting itself down until she hardly knows how to feel anything else, and it's almost comforting how familiar it is.

She hasn't been aware of walking with any particular destination in mind, but she's hardly surprised when her footsteps take her to a small stone archway, opening onto a shadowed sort of terrace. It's rather plainly kept, its only source of color a sparse scattering of shrubbery growing off in one corner. The paving is unfinished, unlike the pearly marbles and granites customary to every other courtyard in this castle. Thick walls damp with moss rise up on three sides, boxing the area in such that it sees little to no natural light during the day.

It's by no means a beautiful place to behold, its northern view of the Enchanted Forest hardly one to speak about either, but it's quiet here, secluded, and no one will ever think to look for her here: not her mother, during those years Regina spent playing unhappy bride to the King, and not even Snow now, whom Regina has caught lurking from time to time by her apple tree, ready to ambush her with yet another heart-to-heart.

Here, perhaps she can finally find a little semblance of peace for a while.

The moment she steps into that cool shade, the pressure behind her eyes abates just a little, and she breathes out a sigh that might be relief, closing her eyes for long seconds. A gentle breeze finds her, stirring stray ends of her hair where they've clung to a light sheen on her back, and yes, she thinks, this will do quite nicely for now. It's easy here. It's quiet. It's…

Thwack!

Her eyes fly open.

It had come from some unclear amount of distance away, and she holds herself still, waiting to place it. More seconds pass without another sound, and she's half-inclined to brush it off when there's a second whacking thud, and then a decisive crack! like wood that's being split in two.

Against her better judgment not to care, Regina edges forward to the balcony ledge, peering down to the grounds below.

And there, leaning over some logs piled high against a wall of the castle, is Robin. Shirtless. And most certainly unaware that he's being watched.

Regina blinks down at him several times before deciding that she's not seeing things – it's the heat, she thinks, the heat that's getting to her head and making everything blur at the edges – and then she's left to figure out what, exactly, she's supposed to do with all…this. Him. Bare from the waist up, with the sunlight glinting off of his skin, glistening with sweat and tensing in all the right places as he reaches for another log.

He sets it upright onto a flat block of stone before bending back down for his waterskin. He unscrews the top one-handed and tilts his head back, coaxing out the last little trickle of water into his mouth with a grimace.

The sensible thing would be to head back indoors – the sun is doing him no favors, bearing down on him with all its midday might, he'll roast out here if he's at it much longer – and so Regina is not terribly shocked when Robin simply hefts up his axe, takes aim, and swings.

She glares at him a while longer, as if she could penetrate his thick, stubborn skull with her secret outrage alone. Through her glowering, however, she does vaguely recall an earlier comment of Granny's that the kitchens have been running low on wood, and of course this thief with his incorrigible honor would take it upon himself without a thought for the consequences.

Feeling more than irritated with him at the moment, Regina descends in a purple smoking whoosh, landing her some feet ahead of him with a scowl and a rather blistering temper.

He's hacking his blade into a particularly resistant piece of log, an intense look of focus pulling his forehead in at the middle, and she supposes she should count her blessings that he doesn't realize she's there right away; she would have been mortified to have him catch her staring.

Looking at him from the front, as it turns out, is even more disconcerting than it had been from the back, the well-toned expanse of him on full display, sunkissed and strong and what on earth has gotten into you, Regina?

She tears her gaze away, aiming it haughtily off to one side instead, and locks her hands together in the perfect picture of poised detachment while waiting for him to finish his task.

She can sense the moment he finally sees her, his movements stilling, and he lowers his axe, landing it with a soft thump in the grass.

"Regina."

She makes a noncommittal noise in return, still gazing away from him with an air of terrible boredom.

"To what do I owe the unexpected pleasure of Your Majesty's company?" His voice rasps slightly from all the exertion, shoulders looking heavy as they rise and fall and rise again. He wipes the back of his hand over the sheen of sweat that's collected on his brow. There's a brief flash of black, a lion dancing into her vision, and then it's turning out of sight as he repositions his hand, shielding it over his eyes instead. He squints into the sunlight at her, though it does nothing to dull all that twinkling blue.

She means to disparage him, to make some remark about how the pleasure is frankly all his, that she could think of a thousand other ways she'd rather be spending her time. Instead, what comes out is a touchy-sounding, "You really should drink something."

His breath is coming out in short panting exhales now, and she dislikes how his shoulders and arms have started to redden. Honestly; isn't this man supposed to know better?

Robin's gesturing to his hollowed-out waterskin where it lies on the ground, cheerfully stating the obvious that he's a bit short on supply at the moment. His eyes crinkle at her, as though her concern is amusing to him, and it grates on her to know that declaring how little she cares – because she doesn't, not in the least – would only make him smile harder.

She pivots a heel, with an imperious sniff for good measure, and stalks toward a bench in the shade. Primly seating herself at the very edge, she waves a hand at the empty seat next to her, and a tray appears with a pitcher and glass. She makes another motion, fingertips pulling at air, and a miniature cloud begins to form above the open pitcher, gathering wispily like a cotton candy spool. She touches a finger to it, and with a little crackling jolt the cloud begins to rain, droplets building into a steady downpour until the pitcher is more than halfway filled.

Regina turns back to Robin, arching a brow expectantly at him.

He's gazing at her with an expression she's never seen on him before, his smile fading into something solemn and strange. She thinks perhaps it's the display of her magic that's spooked him, but no, that doesn't explain the softness to his eyes, or the way that her heart suddenly bounds up against her chest as he approaches her with that indescribable look on his face.

She tries not to notice the way his arms, his back – his everything, really, but again, it's not like she's noticed – lengthen and flex in long, powerful lines as he sits down beside her. He's a good half a head taller than she is, something she's prone to forgetting whenever they've gone toe-to-toe with her in her heels and her towering rage. But here, now, she's more than aware of how small she must look in comparison, how easily he could gather her up if he chooses, how well his arms might fit all around her until she feels nothing but weightless and warm with the sun shining down on her face, and—

Regina blinks, confused about this dark, foreign place where her mind has just tried to take her.

The cloud has squeezed out its last bit of rain, and she busies herself with the pitcher for a moment, filling a glass while carefully avoiding his gaze. She can feel it all over, searching for something, reading her as he's always done, but this up close without their usual hostility between them, it bears all the heat of a caress, and it takes everything she has not to lean further into it.

He nods his thanks when she hands him his water, and then she's very much not paying any attention at all to the heavy swallow he takes, the quiet groan of his satisfaction as he sets the glass down for a moment. In fact, she's put such an effort into this not noticing of things that she truly doesn't hear him right away, his murmur of "Regina?" eventually registering in a tone that tells her it's not the first time he's said it.

And then she makes the mistake of looking at him.

Time seems to stretch on and on, suddenly meaningless as they stare across scant inches of space at one another. His skin is still dewy, small specks of water now clinging to his stubbled chin (her hand twitches to brush them away, a traitorous little instinct that she'd rather not dwell on right now). A bead of sweat has trickled from his temple down the side of his neck, and as he licks his lips she finds herself wondering how salty he tastes.

She feels flushed all over, his gaze pooling heat to everything that it touches, and when it drops to linger over her mouth, her breath hitches in a way that it hasn't for a long, long time.

He leans forward, lips parting ever so slightly.

And then he flicks his eyes down, reaching for the pitcher of water to refill his glass.

Regina clears her throat and glances away. "You were saying?"

Robin takes his time, soaking down another third of his glass before he responds. "Thank you, for this." He speaks lowly, on some deeper level of sound that she feels its rumblings inside her own chest. "Though I swear it was not my intention to have my Queen serve me for a change."

There's no mockery in it, none of the teasing amusement she's so used to hearing from him – only an earnestness that she cannot bear to look in the eye, not when he's gazing at her the way that he is. Like nothing else matters. Like he's drinking her in while he can, while she's forgotten not to smile around him.

"Well," she says, as haughtily as she can manage, "I can't be bothered with people trying to collapse from heat stroke and expect me to pick up after them."

"No, certainly not," Robin agrees, nodding very seriously at her. "I would hate to think of anyone inconveniencing you in that way."

"Quite."

He seems to be biting back a smile. "And they say chivalry is dead." She almost rolls her eyes at him, but then he's glancing sideways at her, gaze softening again. "Is your head feeling any better?"

"It's manageable." She's not conscious of touching a lock of hair by her temple until she notices Robin's eyes following the motion, and then her hand hovers there a moment, uncertain, before brushing it back behind her ear. He seems to go carefully motionless at that, a strained sort of stllness as though he would have preferred to reach over and do it himself.

He nudges the tray toward her. "You ought to drink something as well."

She conjures up another glass without argument, pouring some water to keep from looking at him and wondering what all this could mean. He seems content not to press her for anything further than that, stretching back with a pleased little sound in his throat as he leans his weight into one hand on the bench and gazes out toward the forest with an easy, untroubled expression.

Regina can feel the heat radiating off of him still, heat and a light that might blind her every time the sun touches his chest just like that, his arms, those hands, and surely this is a dangerous thing, she thinks, that he could warm her this way without even moving.

She takes a sip of her water, firmly looking down her nose at some vague spot on the ground.

Robin shifts next to her, his breathing full and deep in a way that makes his whole body seem to lengthen with the movement, relaxing into the bench as though he might like to stay this way forever, here by her side with the sun all around them.

Her back has grown stiff from holding everything straight, but if any part of her loosens, she wonders, then where would it end? What would stop her from letting this moment mean something, or believing that it could possibly last, when she is all darkness and he is all…this?

He sets his glass back down on the tray, a tinkling clink filling the silence between them. "I'd best get back to it," he says, not without a hint of ruefulness as his eyes crinkle into another smile at her. "Wouldn't want to disappoint Lady Lucas by returning to her empty-handed."

Regina watches him stand and make his way over to the unfinished pile of logs, swinging his arms out in a stretch behind him before retrieving his axe from the ground. She frowns at the back of his shoulders as he stops for a moment, working out a bit of soreness in them. "You know I can do that with magic."

"Where would be the fun in that?" Robin throws back without missing a beat, something winking in his tone. He takes his time repositioning the log on his chopping block, a ripple of movement down his back as he bends and straightens again in the sun.

She blinks through the light at him, not comprehending. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Only that I'd hate to stop now," he tells her, teasingly somber as he hoists his axe and another dazzling shift of muscle courses across his bare skin. "Considering how much Your Majesty's been enjoying the view."

Regina freezes, caught, but he only adjusts his hold on the axe before taking a studious swing. He spares not a glance her way as he sets the freshly split firewood aside, reaching for another log. She finds herself wavering at the very edge of the bench for a moment, her water glass still poised halfway to her lips as she battles the urge to take flight. But then Robin is stretching his back out again, swiping another bit of sweat from his brow, and he might very well work himself straight into the ground – smiling all the damn while at that – if nobody's here to see that he doesn't.

Settling delicately back into her seat, Regina raises the glass to her lips, sipping slowly with her gaze trained not-quite-elsewhere as Robin pauses mid-motion. His head cocks to the side, too knowing as always, with a sly flash of dimples that she doesn't notice at all before he's turned back to his task once more.

Not in the slightest, indeed.