This was my fluffy piece for OQ Advent. I figured I would post it here because, why not? Merry Christmas!
In her 14 years of motherhood, Regina Mills has never once been called down to the principal's office. As her heals click along the linoleum she runs through the litany of scenarios that could have possibly landed Henry in enough trouble that the principal would dare to summon the queen turned mayor from her afternoon meetings. She knows whatever it may be to be completely baseless, of course. There was nothing reprehensible that her little prince could possibly have done, at least nothing without good reason. That was it then, she decided as she rounded the last locker-lined hallway. He'd been defending another student, Violet perhaps, probably against one of those beastly lost boys who were always vandalizing her town.
She raps on the door, entering before she was invited in and had the scathing lecture on proper disciplinary action on the tip of her tongue when she came face to face with an obstinate little boy. "Roland?" she questioned, all pre-conceived notions flying out the window. When her receptionist had given her the message about her son she never stopped to think that it could have been her sweet little mop-top boy. She bit hard into her bottom lip in an attempt not to laugh at the scene before her. Roland was standing on a chair, arms crossed tight over his chest, staring Mr. Little down with a scowl that would have made the bravest cringe. (If he hadn't been so darn cute.)
"I'm sorry to have to drag you down here in the middle of the day, Mayor Mills, but we seem to be at an impasse with young Mr. Locksley here and I'm really not sure what else can be done," John explained. They'd all agreed when he'd been elected to this position, that inside the school John they would remain professional, detached. It had never been an issue since neither of her boys ever found themselves in situations where the school's principal would have to intervene.
"I see." Regina took a seat next to the one Roland was balanced on. "Roland we do not stand on the furniture," she scolded.
"Sorry, 'Gina, but he wasn't listening when I was little," Roland calmly explained before sitting next to his mother, re-crossing his arms and resuming his deadly stare.
Regina did her best to hide her laugher in a feigned coughing fit. "May I ask what Roland has said or done that you are so obviously not listening too?"
"Roland would you like to tell Regi—Mayor Mi—Your Mother. Please tell your mother why you had to come to the principal's office." John was trying his best to be professional, but he'd known Roland since birth, had a fair hand in raising him. As much as he'd come to trust and care for Regina, it was hard for him not to be the parent in the room.
"Because I tolded everyone that my Daddy was better than Santa Claus and they all laughed!" Roland shouted. He'd obviously explained this more than once and was frustrated that John didn't understand.
"And?" John asked him.
"And I punched him," Roland mumbled. Regina was shocked. Roland was never violent, rarely even had the tantrums she'd fought through with Henry. "But he was lying about Christmas!" he explained.
It was Roland's first Christmas in Storybrooke. They had gone all out on the lights and the tree and cookies, read The Night Before Christmas again and again. She'd bought separate wrapping paper, hidden all his gifts away in the vault. Henry had spent hours helping Roland pick the best cookies that would be left for Santa. There was simply no way that he could have already lost his belief in the magic of Christmas. Unless someone had ruined it for him, her mind went right back to how she could punish the lost boys when John's hand on her shoulder pulled her back from her imagined vengeance.
"It's not what you're thinking," he whispered close to her ear. "It's so much better," he winked and leaned against the large oak desk. "Tell her why, Roland. Tell her what you told your classmates."
"I told them that Daddy used to break into houses and leave presents all the time, that he didn't have to wait until it was Christmas, that he was the best at sneaking in and out and he didn't have to use some dirty old chimney and catch his butt on fire! You were there too," he said directly to John. "You know it's true."
"His teacher and I think it would be best if he went home for the rest of the day," John explains to Regina. He can't bear to look at the betrayal he knows is in Roland's eyes, but he will do his job. "Because I do not tolerate anyone being violent in this school," he says directly to Roland. "Do you understand that?"
"Yes," he answered, dropping his head and staring at the floor. John looks down at the sad little boy until he feels Regina's hand on his arm. The smile she gives him is sympathetic, understanding and it makes him feel slightly less horrible for not blindly defending Roland.
"Am I in so much trouble, Gina?" Roland asks as she's leading him down the hall and out to her car.
"I don't like that fact that you hit another boy, Roland. We're going to have to talk about it." She tells him, trying to figure out what she's going to say.
"But they were lying!" he tries to pull his hand from hers, but she holds tight.
"In you go, mister," Regina says, opening the car door.
"So much trouble," he mutters under his breath, but still plenty loud enough for Regina to hear. For the second time today she finds herself biting her lip to keep from smiling at the little boy who wormed his way into her heart.
"We'll talk about it when we get home, Roland," she says in her best authoritative voice.
"Okay," he concedes then goes quiet. Good, Regina thinks. She'll have at least a 10 minutes (15 if she detours through the park) to figure how this conversation is going to go. She doesn't want tell Roland that there is no Santa Claus; she doesn't want to lie to him either, but she can't have him telling all the other kids that his father is the father of Christmas. Not when things in Storybrooke were just starting to settle into normalcy.
She'd never had this conversation with Henry, her son had easily (and ironically) believed in magic and fairytales, talking snowmen and flying reindeer. When he was nearing the age when his belief in Christmas should have waned, he still believed in everything. Everything but her. Regina swallows down the painful memories as she turned toward the park. They'd gotten through all that. They were a family now, Emma and the Charmings included, and they were all better for it. Henry loved her, believed in her when she still had moments of self-doubt. Like now. Why wasn't Henry here to help her come up with some witty and completely believable explanation that would help Roland understand all this? "Because he's playing hooky with Robin," she mumbles to herself. Because her husband loves her son as his own, just as she does his. "Get it together, Mills," she stares herself down in the rearview mirror before tilting it down so she can see Roland in the backseat. Big brown eyes lock with hers through the mirror and his little lip begins to quiver. No. Absolutely not will her little boy be in tears over Christmas. She turns left instead of right, heading back towards town, stops her Mercedes in front of Any Given Sundae just as she hears the first sniff from the backseat. "I do my best talking over ice cream, how about you?" she asks as he crawls out of the car, taking her hand and wiping his tears on the cuff of her sleeve.
OQ OQ OQ
They'd gotten home late, Henry and he, later than he'd planned. He knew Roland would already be sound asleep and that Regina would probably scold him for keeping Henry out so late on a school night. He held his finger to his lips, needlessly warning Henry to be quiet before soundlessly opening the door and creeping inside. The house was dark except for the glow from the Christmas tree in the family room; Regina was still up. He cocked his head toward the stairs and Henry didn't need to be told to get to bed. The boy gave him a wink that clearly said You're in trouble before heading up the stairs and disappearing into his room.
Robin made a detour to the liquor cabinet before joining Regina by the fire. She was curled into the corner of the couch, blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders, staring absently at the Christmas tree. He knew that look. And while he no longer made any attempt at concealing his presence, it wasn't until he was standing in front of her, leaning down to peck at her lips that she met his eyes.
"I think I screwed up," she confessed as their kiss ended.
"Tell me," he urged, handing her the whiskey and pulling her from the pillows into his side.
"Roland got in trouble for fighting today. John wouldn't tell me with who," Robin laughs at the irritation in her voice and makes a mental note to thank John for his discretion. No doubt he'd be bailing her out of jail if she'd found out someone hurt her children. "He was actually defending you in a round-about way," she explains. "He was telling another student, that you were better than Santa Claus because you brought gifts to people who needed them all the time. They laughed at him and, well I guess the other boy said that if that were true Roland wouldn't be getting any presents because Robin Hood steels from the rich and because he's the son of the mayor…"
"I would steel my son's toys to give away to other children," Robin finished.
"Roland punched him in the nose," she giggled into her whiskey.
"Good."
"Robin, it's not good," she tried to be serious, but couldn't help the smile that pulled at her lips every time she pictured her little boy with his balled up fists.
"Was the other boy hurt?" Robin asked.
"John said, no. He's five. He doesn't really pack much of a punch."
"I'll talk to him in the morning about fighting," he assures her. Then under his breath, "Maybe give him a few pointers," which earns him a well-placed jab to the ribs. "What did you tell him?" he asks because Roland standing up to a bully certainly isn't what's causing her melancholy this evening. She takes another drink and sinks down further against him, turning so her legs are draped over his lap. Robin combs through her hair waiting for her to continue.
"I may have told him that back in the Enchanted Forest you were one of Santa's elves." Regina rushes through the words, burying her face in his shoulder as soon as they are out.
"An elf?" Robin laughs, almost spitting out his drink.
"I didn't know what else to tell him, Robin, he was so upset and its Christmas. I didn't want to ruin this for him," she waves her hand toward the tree, the stockings, and the rest of the winter wonderland they've transformed the house into.
"But an elf?" he asks again, looking at the mischievous creatures that decorate the mantel. "With the pointy little ears and tights?"
"You do seem to be frequently associated with tights in this realm. Is there something I should know?" Regina asks playfully.
"Do not try to change the subject."
"I'm just saying, you might want to give them a try. You've got the legs for them." She runs her fingers down as much of his leg as she can reach and back up.
"Your feminine wiles will not get you out of this, Mi'lady," Robin tells her.
"Are you really upset?" she asks, concerned. "He thinks you're a hero already and when I told him that you help Santa Claus…you should have seen his face light up."
"It's not the truth," Robin says, suddenly serious. He's not mad at her, certainly not for saving Christmas, but he's prided himself in never lying to his son and funny as this may be, it feels wrong.
"No, it's not," Regina agrees. "But it's Christmas and he's a child and he's going to wake up on Christmas morning knowing that you helped make the magic possible." She feels him nod against her, feels is lips press into her temple, his hand massage up and down her thigh, and lets herself relax a little more. He's just about lulled her to sleep. The whiskey, the warm glow of the lights, the steady beat of his heart under her ear. She's just let her eyes close with no intention of reopening them when something is dropped into her lap. She opens her eyes to a red velvet box. "What did you do?"
"I've done nothing. An elf just dropped it by." He smiles down at her, biting at his lower lip, daring her to resist temptation.
"Robin, Christmas is still days away," she argues half-heartedly.
"Tell it to the elf."
She stares down at the box again, too big for a ring, besides he's already given her one of those. "You're impossible." A smile brightens her face before she's relenting and snatching the box up with a sigh. She opens it slowly, mostly to tease him, but once its opened he has clearly won. It's a simple design: gold masterfully sculpted into a woman holding the hands of two boys on either side; diamonds mark each of their hearts; her perfect family safe around her neck. "Robin," she breathes out, brushing her fingers over the design, eyes darting between his and the pendant.
She's not crying, but she's got that glassy eyed look she gets when he does something particularly thoughtful or when she reminds herself that what they have is true. He's knows he's done well. "They boys helped design it," he tells her, taking the chain from the box and fastening it around her neck. He pulls her hair out from under the chain, running his fingers through it before he lets it drop back to her shoulders. "Henry went with me to pick it up today. That's why we were so late."
"It's perfect," she whispers leaning back into chest, fingers brushing over the necklace resting over her heart.
"Of course you can't wear it until Christmas morning," he leans down and kisses her cheek. "And you'll have to act surprised. I shouldn't have given it to you early, but it seems you could use a reminder of how fantastic a mother you are. Don't ever doubt that."
They stay wrapped up in each other's arms listening to the crackle of the fire and watching the twinkling of the tree lights. Robin is quiet, but she can practically hear him thinking. His fingers draw up and down her arms, over her legs; he's planning something. "What is it?" she asks, reaching for his hand and drawing it to her lips.
"We should do it," he says simply.
"Do what?" she mumbles into his fingers.
"Christmas."
"We are."
"For everyone." That gets her attention, has her pushing herself up and sitting back enough to look at his face. "For the whole town. We could do it. The Merry Men would help, the Charmings, Emma and Killian. We could make Christmas magic real for everyone."
"You want to be Santa Claus?" Regina asks, shaking her head at the goodness of this man.
"No, mi'lady. I want to be an elf," he grins.
His smile is infectious and Regina finds that she's already planning. "I'll need some help. Everyone is quite a few people, but I'm sure Emma will be up for it." She unfurls her fingers, but instead of the normal fire she creates, delicate snowflakes dance in her palm. She blows them and Robin watches as they float through the room, out the window, then burst and multiply until they're covering the town, basking everything in soft white light. "Operation Christmas Elf?" Regina asks as she untangles herself from him and walks to the window admiring her handy work as the snowflakes silently fall.
"I think Henry will approve of the name," he laughs, coming up behind her and pulling her back into his arms.
"He'll love that we're doing this. He's always loved Christmas," Regina tells him as she watches the snow fall, smiling as the image of her son running through the yard trying to catch snowflakes on his tongue plays in her mind. "Roland was right," she says sleepily against him. "You are better than Santa Claus."