In response to a request to write anything from the missing year. I hope you enjoy.
She doesn't know he's here.
He's been watching her for minutes now, her form nearly hidden in shadow, only the crispness of the night air giving away the fact that she breathes. She's more beautiful than he's ever seen her—hair unbound, feet shod in flat, silken slippers, her face pale and natural in the moonlight. She's a vision, something unearthly, something just out of his reach.
And he cannot get enough of her.
Her arm wraps around her middle, the first movement he's seen her make since stumbling upon her in the quiet of the witching hour. She looks as if she's holding herself together, as though she might break into if she were to let herself go, and he senses her whispered sigh against his cheek as it floats towards the stars, making him wonder if everything about her is magical.
Her eyes are fixed on the pair in the garden, Snow and Charming, he sees, and he watches as the couple huddle together, David's hand coming to rest on his wife's rounding middle as she leans in and kisses his cheek.
His heart clinches at the stoic expression she attempts to maintain, even when no one is observing her—no one except him, that is.
Is she thinking of her son?
She must be. She thinks of him constantly, more than she will admit to, he is certain.
Something glistens in the light, and he realizes it's a tear falling down her cheek, the small crystal finally dripping to the stones at her feet, a shimmering testament to the fact that she is fully human.
Yet she does not move, save her chest taking in air. She is hurting. But she is alone.
She doesn't have to be—it's her choice, this armor in which she seals herself, this moat of distance she has channeled to keep everyone at arm's length. Yet he's spied the chinks in her fortress, has witnessed how Snow can convince her to listen, has marveled at how she looks at Roland with the expression of a mother.
Many see her as an evil queen. But he sees her as a woman whom evil has scarred.
The couple's laughter carries towards them, and he sees them make their way back towards the castle, yet she still stands immobile, almost as if her feet have grown roots and her body morphed into marble.
"I know you're there," she states without looking in his direction, and he starts at her words before a small smile creeps up the side of his face. "Didn't anyone ever tell you it's rude to stare?"
He usually has a comeback, but tonight he is silent, knowing she's in a vulnerable position, one she must detest.
"I'm afraid I can be a bit of a slow learner," he shrugs as he reaches her side. Her head drops, her eyes stare at her feet, and he wonders how he has never realized just how petite a woman she is.
"You said it," she retorts, clearing her throat in an attempt to rid it of emotion. "Not me."
Then his arm slips around her, not tight, but secure, and he feels her shoulders sag as if the weight of the world rests upon them. She doesn't fight his hold, but rather leans into him, and he knows then that she is tired, that this world is sapping the strength from her in a way most others don't understand.
"You miss your son," he states, looking up at the moon rather than into her eyes. He doesn't wish to make her feel self-conscious.
"Yes," she breathes, and her head softly rests on his shoulder. "I'm empty without him."
He feels a slight shudder ripple its way across her limbs.
"I would be, too," he assures her. He cannot imagine such pain.
She can't hold it in anymore, she's crumbling in his arms, and he gently turns her into his chest as he pulls them into the shadows, allowing her to cry under the shelter of darkness and his cloak. His hand rubs her back, his other cups her head, and she clasps his tunic as so much empties out of her body and on to his shirt.
He will not speak of this tomorrow, not even to her unless she brings it up first. For by then, her persona will be firmly in place—hair up, cosmetics applied, shoes amplifying her height to bolster an aura of supreme authority.
But right now, he'll allow her to be fragile, will hold her as long as she needs, will let her weep in secret until all tears are spent. For here with him, she is not an evil queen, not a sorceress to be feared nor a woman with no heart. She is simply a mother missing her child.
And he is simply the man who has come to love her.