Prompt: PDA


She has nightmares about it all the time, foggy dreams of dark alley corners and a bleeding, panting Sidney pointing a gun at her, only to disappear just as he pulls the trigger and reappear in a crowd she finds herself addressing from a stage, her wound gushing blood even as she starts mouthing words she never remembers upon waking.

Last night's though, last night's was far more terrible than all the others, because this time, when she'd felt the phantom pain near her stomach, seen the blood there, she'd started screaming for help, begging the crowd to save her, looking up from her gaping bullet wound and realizing that the reason no one came to her aid, was because every single person in the audience now had Sidney's face, like evil clones of the man, just watching her bleed to death and choke on her own sobs.

She'd been so distraught in her sleep that her violent tossing and turning had made her land a hard kick to Robin's shin (quite the unpleasant way to wake up in the middle of the night, she'd wager). He'd had no qualms about his disturbed rest, though, hadn't even tried to go back to sleep after he'd calmed her down. Instead, he'd held her trembling body in his arms against him, her head buried in his chest, and he'd rocked her until her crying had subsided, squeezed her tight when her breathing had finally settled, and then proceeded to kiss away the tears still clinging to her cheeks.

But this particular nightmare is new, and she's not used to the effect it has on her, how it tilts her entire emotional balance, and she finds herself looking frantically around every corner, expecting Sidney to be there, gun in hand and ready to erase her from this world.

It's ludicrous, of course. He's dead, gone, unable to harm her ever again, and she knows this, so why the hell is it so hard for her to let go of the image of him, laughing maniacally as he watches her bleed on the stage floor, his hundreds of doppelgangers laughing right along with him?

She doesn't have time to ponder the answer though, because she has a very public engagement to attend today, right outside her very home, at 8AM sharp.

She's meeting with the families of the agents that were killed in Philadelphia, victims of Isaac and Sidney's reckless shooting. Her palms are sweaty, the sun too bright, and Regina can't focus on anything Tuck is telling her, all because she's still hung up on that stupid nightmare.

The press is just down the entrance steps, a small group of them hand-picked by Elsa to photograph and report on the reception, and all cameras are pointed at her, waiting for the event to start so they can begin snapping pictures left and right. It's more than she can handle, and why is it more than she can handle? She's been through worse, and yet the bloodcurdling terror that had bloomed in her after that horrible dream is still there, haunting her, impairing her senses.

"Madam President?" Tuck murmurs, trying to bring her out of her fear-induced trance, but he sounds far away, dull and gurgly, like he's underwater rather than standing next to her. She feels cold sweat break out on her forehead, her breathing becoming more labored with every passing second.

"It's okay to be nervous," Tuck tries again, and Regina almost laughs. Nervous.

She'd been nervous when she'd had to tell Robin she couldn't have children. Nervous when the elections happened and she had to wait for the results. She'd been nervous as recently as last week, when she'd told the world about her feelings for Robin. Right now, she's not nervous at all.

She's terrified.

She can feel it, the panic attack brewing inside her, gripping at her every cell and forcing her to relive the paralyzing pain and fear, the absolute despair she'd felt when that bullet hit her.

"It's going to be just fine, ma'am, you'll see," Tuck tells her, gently placing a reassuring hand on her arm, but it's the wrong hand, the wrong words, the wrong everything. She wants Robin.

She's become addicted to his touch, Regina realizes, to the calming feeling of having his hand pressed against her back, to the slow, deep breaths he takes as he coaxes her to do the same. She needs him, needs his soft-spoken reassurances and the welcome scrape of his stubble against her skin when he nuzzles her neck, his very presence making her feel safe during these... episodes.

The cars have started pulling in, the press corps flashing their cameras as they take picture after picture of the arriving families, throwing questions here and there when the parents, wives and husbands of the deceased form a small circle at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for her to greet them.

Regina is rooted to the spot, frozen in fear as she stares at them with wide eyes, and suddenly their faces are no longer their own, but Sidney's, repeated over and over again in every single person around her, and her chest hurts, her throat closes up, and she tries her best to hide the crippling anxiety, but judging by the concerned looks everyone is giving her, she's not doing a very good job.

Suddenly, the warm, familiar touch of Robin's hand is on her back, rubbing up and down soothingly as he leans in close.

"I'm here, my love, I'm here," he tells her, breathing deeply and murmuring reassurances into her ear, and it's like she can feel the tension slipping away, recoiling and fleeing from Robin's loving caresses, his soft words pouring over her like a balm to her soul, and suddenly her throat isn't so tight, relaxes enough to let her take a proper breath and follow the rhythm of his, their inhales and exhales synchronizing with each other and evaporating her pent-up consternation.

Robin's hand abandons her back as he takes a few steps forward, his other hand loosely clasped in hers as he stretches his arm to avoid breaking contact, and addresses her guests.

"She's just a bit under the weather, nothing to worry about, she'll be with you in a moment," he excuses, then turns to her, his back to the small crowd, the press standing off to the side, and if she wasn't so trapped in her own head, she'd hear the frantic clicking of the cameras, but as it is, she just focuses on breathing, on the feel of Robin's hands holding hers with a gentleness that is completely at odds with the firm and calloused texture of his fingers, an intoxicating sensation that makes her think of cloudless skies and waves hitting the shore, especially when he starts to rub his thumb over her hand in soothing circles, coaxing her out of her state.

When she finally regains control of her mind and body, the first thing Regina does is look up into his eyes, her own welling up with tears, one or two of the traitorous bastards leaking down her cheeks.

"It's alright," he comforts, "you're okay."

"It's that stupid nightmare, I can't get rid of it, Robin. What if it's always like this from now on?" she asks in a shaky breath, but he's already shaking his head, offering her a small smile before he ducks his head, to catch her eyes when she looks away.

"I won't let that happen, I promise," he vows, and somehow, she believes him, believes that he'll do everything he can to chase away her every fear, and she's so thankful, so damn lucky to have him, to be the person he decided to love like this. In that moment, she loves him more than ever, because he's putting aside the entire world, just to make sure she's alright.

The reception goes quite well after that, Robin's constant touches and whispered words of affection keeping her grounded and with her heart full, happy, and when pictures show up online that very night, of him holding her and kissing away her terror, the caption PRESIDENT MILLS AND BOYFRIEND ROBIN LOCKSLEY SHARE INTIMATE MOMENT AT WHITE HOUSE DOORS emblazoned in hot pink letters at the top of the article, Regina simply shrugs, looks back at the man she loves, sprawled on the bed with a book in his hands, and smiles...