A late birthday present for my badass dragon friend Carissa. Here's to many more!

Warning: Here be angst... and a tiny bit of smut. Not necessarily in that order.


Attorney General.

That was supposed to be her job in David's administration, that's what she was supposed to do after her time off.

And then the position for Secretary of State had opened up, and David had brought it to her.

She'd been foolish enough to let the title seduce her, to accept the job simply because it reminded her of the one she'd left behind maybe a good four years too soon.

Regina doesn't regret leaving office without a second term, though. Not when she thinks of all the things she's been able to do since then, of the freedom she's been able to enjoy with her family, now that the pressing worry of anonymous threats and the demanding schedule of the presidency are a thing of the past. As much as she misses the job, she doesn't miss the anxiety, the state of constant vigilance, the 22-hour days and the expressions of poorly-concealed panic in the faces of her staff whenever some new catastrophe hit.

The new job was the first of many changes she hadn't seen coming.

When they learned that Malcolm Spinner had been fired for getting a bit too handsy with the White House alcohol cabinets last November, it wasn't surprising to hear that David wanted Robin to take over as new Chief of Staff to the President. But Regina was due to start as Secretary of State in January, with Robin at her side. He'd been her Chief of Staff for so long that they'd floundered a little at first, and even discussed him turning down the position, but saying no to the President just didn't feel right, despite David's insistence that it would be fine if they did.

Thankfully, the shift provided the perfect opportunity for Ursula to return to her post, after Regina had a very stern discussion with her about how she never should've left in the first place. What happened with Sidney was not her fault, or anyone's for that matter, and it was about time they stopped living in the shadow of what that man had done. Time to embrace new things. Better things.

Regina can't deny she misses having her husband's delectable physique in close proximity during her work day. But for Ursula the job had been like riding a bike, and the transition between her and Robin has been smooth and without issue.

And really, as Secretary of State, not only has Regina made history by being the first former president to take up a cabinet position, she has also found a job that gives her the best of both worlds. So maybe the Attorney General position would've been just a little less high profile than this one, but running the State Department is exciting, full of its own challenges. Her staff is made up of people from different backgrounds and cultures, people who provide great insight into international conflicts and make her job not only easier, but more fulfilling.

So when Regina gets up on a cold Thursday in early April, it's a morning like any other, the same routine for the past four months. The same security checks, same last-minute change of clothes when she decides one outfit looks better than the other, the same WORLD'S BEST MOM (AND WIFE, as scribbled by Robin on permanent marker next to the bold lettering) mug full of coffee, and the same calls: one to Ursula, to see if there's any urgent business that needs tending to; one to her assistant, Ingrid, to go through her schedule for the day. And one to the White House, more specifically the office of the President's Chief of Staff, to let Robin's secretary know he is already on his way.

He leaves earlier than she does now, and it's bizarre still, to wake up and find his side of the bed empty and cold. But there are mornings where he rouses her when he's almost out the door, with peppered kisses along her spine and whispers of Good morning, my love.

Today had been one of those, and more.

His morning greeting tumbled out of him while he blazed a trail of teasing little pecks along her body, his arms moving to turn her on her back and strip her of the covers.

She'd been a little too sleepy to comprehend what he was doing at first, but then his tongue had found her clit and started flicking at it. Using her lazy cries of pleasure as cues, his mouth had sucked and nibbled at her, humming his enjoyment as little slurpy sounds and the exquisite feeling of his lips on her sex had turned her into a wet, panting mess.

"Fuck me," she'd gasped on a particularly hard suck.

He hadn't, though. He'd already been dressed, and already late for work, so instead, he'd stayed between her legs, burying his tongue inside her as his hands kept her legs open wide.

She'd whimpered at the delicious pull of his lips on her sex, getting wetter and wetter by the second. He'd pushed away for just a few seconds, just enough to take in the riled up state of her, and given her that smug smile she loves to wipe off with kisses, right before he'd gone back in and licked at her again.

Her entire body had been on fire, and it aches for him even now, as she remembers how raspy his voice had sounded when he told her how fucking beautiful she looked, how much he loved her.

"God, I love you too," she'd whined, "love it when you— mmh! eat me like thi— Yes! Just like that."

Her words had only spurred him on, his mouth ravenous over her sensitive nub, sucking hard as his hand gripped her thigh that much tighter, letting out a low Mmm that had driven her wild as the vibrations hit her heated skin.

He'd kept at it, eating her until she'd had to slam a throw pillow against her mouth to keep from screaming. And then his hand had come into play, two fingers pushing into her in deep, well-timed thrusts that hit that blissful spot inside her just right, his other hand moving up, up, up to grasp a breast and toy with her nipple.

The combined sensations had her practically mewling as she'd squirmed on the bed, her hand burying itself in his hair and tugging as she begged "Don't stop, don't stop, god, yes, your tongue feels amazing," in broken moans.

"Fuck, I love it when you talk to me like that," he'd grunted before putting his mouth back on her, flicking his tongue over her clit again as his fingers picked up speed.

"Yes! Yes! Right there, oh! Feels so good when you fuck me with your fingers like that," Regina had gasped, her hand pulling at his hair a little more, satisfaction blooming warm in her chest when he'd groaned at the feeling.

He'd added a third finger then, thrusting harder, deeper, his mouth sucking and lapping at her, and on his gruff Come for me, my love, she'd shattered, orgasm rippling in electric waves of pleasure throughout her body, her hand tugging him away from her and urging him to lie atop her, lips kissing his swollen ones wildly as his fingers wedged back down between them to toy with her too-sensitive clit with teasing little rubs.

She'd writhed under him at that, kissed him harder, moaning loudly into his mouth when his hand had found her breast again, his lips following right after, sucking at one nipple and then the other, prolonging her high.

He'd left her there with a goodbye peck and a self-satisfied smile, adjusting himself in his pants before he wished her a good day and walked out the door just three minutes before her alarm went off.

The memory of it all has her entire body tingling and wanting more.

Yes, she thinks as she sips her coffee, she rather loves mornings like today.

Her son is an active boy of ten now, always eager for adventure, but at 7AM he's as moody as they come, and getting him out of bed is an arduous task.

This morning he giggles, though, doesn't grouse the usual Mooooommmm it's earlyyyyy she's in the habit of hearing. Instead, he throws the covers off and pats the spot next to him on the bed, letting her climb in for a moment of sleepy hugs and lazy morning greetings.

"John will handle your detail again today, okay?" she tells him, kissing his mop of dark curls, reveling in the faint scent of that berry shampoo he thankfully doesn't think himself too old for yet.

"Alan still sick?" he asks after his usual Secret Service agent.

"Yep. He called in last night, after you went to bed. I told him to stay home and rest."

"'Kay," he agrees easily, cuddling closer into her and breathing deep. "Do I really have to go to school?" he whines, making her chuckle.

"Yes, mister, stop being lazy," she teases. "Come on, get up, there's a new box of Lucky Charms in the kitchen for you to tear into."

He perks up at that, and kisses her cheek before rising from the bed, scratching the back of his head as he walks to the bathroom. The action is so reminiscent of his father, Regina can't help but laugh.


She watches him climb into the car a half hour later, with a kiss to his forehead that he half-heartedly tries to squirm out of. Despite being a total momma's boy when he's at home, Roland is starting to become a bit uncomfortable with Regina's public displays of motherly affection, something that reminds her of the fact that her little baby is growing up. Way too fast for her liking.

Suddenly she's even more thankful that he still likes that berry shampoo.

The ride to the State Department is quiet, the vestiges of her lazy morning still clinging to her despite the fast-paced rhythm already overtaking the city. Her driver is chipper, and chats with her about the newest episode of Cake Boss, a guilty pleasure they both share. He tells her his wife is going to try her hand at buttercream, and she gives him a few tips to pass along.

"Thanks, Anton, and let me know how that frosting turns out, alright?" she says as she leaves the car, and he smiles and thanks her, wishing her a good day just before the window rolls up.

Her detail walks her inside, gets her through security clearance, and then she's on her own, walking briskly towards her office, eager to grab one of those blueberry muffins they serve in the break room before they're all gone.

She's got twelve messages waiting for her on her desk, and they're all about the China Deal. And all from the same person, she realizes upon closer inspection. Congressman Albert Spencer.

She should've known.

Spencer has been a devoted advocate of the China Deal for ages. He'd wined and dined her and her senior staff for weeks as a way to insist on making that agreement happen.

The China Deal is a prospective contract between the People's Republic of China and the United States of America to develop and use new fracking technology in Alaska. Regina has been against it since the last year of her presidency, when it had first come up. She'd refused to hear of it while in office, citing the many terrible environmental consequences of fracking, especially in Alaska.

Spencer had taken to pushing this deal again from the moment David took the oath of office. William Smee, Regina's predecessor at the Secretary job, had been afraid of Spencer, and therefore allowed the negotiations to begin. She suspects it's the reason the man got fired in the first place. David is less tough on environmental policies than Regina herself was, but he never would've allowed the China Deal to get that far.

Thankfully, the EPA had backed Regina up, and prepared a very poignant report on the negative effects of fracking in Alaska, including proper research and scientific analysis on the environmental complications.

Congressman Spencer had introduced her to the Chinese commission created for the negotiations, even led a few of those negotiations himself, always making sure everyone knew he was a big fan of the international cooperation statement that the deal meant. Regina is sure there'd been an ulterior motive to all of his pandering, but she's decided it's best that she doesn't find out what it is. After all, her rejection of the deal should not be seen as based on anything other than the environmental concerns she's so insistently voiced during negotiations.

The report had been shown to the President and his Chief of Staff and discussed thoroughly, then attached to a formal, written decision on why the State Department was rejecting the deal on behalf of the United States.

Regina had been expecting the Congressman to voice his latent disagreement and spill some venom her way, but as Ingrid had told her, he'd been at his country estate, celebrating his granddaughter's birthday, when the news broke two days ago.

It seems he's come back from his mini-vacation with a vengeance.

"Ma'am, Congressman Albert Spencer is here," Ingrid says, heels clicking as she enters her office half an hour into her morning.

"Of course he is," Regina mutters, and takes a deep breath and asking her to show him in.

"Congressman," she greets, her tone low and tired. The man rolls his eyes, ignores her offered hand, and sits down on the chair in front of her desk, fingers interlaced as he places his hands on the shiny wooden surface.

"I have worked tirelessly to make this deal happen, and you reject it just like that? How dare you undermine my efforts?" he seethes.

"Congressman, my stance on fracking is not a secret, and unlike my predecessor, I will not let you bully me into accepting this deal. Besides, the EPA concluded in their studies that—"

"I couldn't care less what those hippies think," he interrupts, "this is a good deal, and you're throwing it away."

"No, Congressman, it is not a good deal. It is an environmental crisis waiting to happen. The research is conclusive, and the president has signed off on this, so I suggest you stop pushing it, because no matter what you do, it will not go through, not on my watch."

He leans back in his chair then, stares at her with nothing but disdain as he vows she'll regret this.

"No, Congressman, I really don't think I will," she says as he turns to leave, and the man has the gall to scoff at her before walking out of her office, leaving her to let out an incredulous laugh as she tackles whatever's next on her agenda.

Just another day at the office.


By noon, she's exhausted, and her altercation with Spencer is all but forgotten, replaced with the adrenaline and urgency of solving the new crisis at hand.

There's a mosque at risk in Cleveland, threatened by a group of extremists, and she's in the middle of case reports and eyewitness accounts, putting in calls to her contacts in the Department of Defense to see what they know, when Ursula comes in.

"Ma'am," she says somberly, "I'm afraid we're too late."

She turns on the TV in the office then, and Regina watches as clouds and clouds of smoke billow and swirl where the mosque once stood. There are reports of dozens of casualties, and journalists scattered around the scene, visible in the background of the shot now shown on the screen. Regina's heart grows heavy as she watches a well-dressed young woman prattle on what little information she has on the attack.

"Get me the Ohio State Department," she orders. "Now."

Two hours later, the suspects have been apprehended, along with a stash of C4 large enough to blow the entire Capitol building. They vow their revenge, and spit insults at her and the president while cameras follow them as they're forced into police cars.

It's a retaliation for the new policy on refugees she's just helped pass, a taste of what some racist, fascist assholes think of her deciding to allow more refugees into America. She'll have to take Ohio off the list of available places for relocation, and ask the Canadian Prime Minister if he'd be willing to take some of the families being brought over next month if they haven't neutralized this entire terrorist group by then. She won't have those poor people feeling wary and unsafe when they've just fled from warring countries.

The perpetrators' faces, full of hate and anger, stay with her for the rest of the afternoon. They'd looked... disturbed. Scary. Somehow just the image of those rage-filled eyes on one of the young men as he told the world he would come for Regina and the president next, is enough to make her shiver. Enough to make her hand tremble as she reaches for her coffee.

And then, just an hour later, the men's threats become a reality.

She's not expecting it, and for a moment, when she's informed of what's happening, Regina doesn't register the words, can't wrap her head around what they're telling her.

The school has no idea what happened.

Agent Little was shot.

A teacher found him bleeding in the men's room.

No one saw anything.

They destroyed all but one of the security cameras at the school.

All we have is a short video of a man in a mask leaving with him.

We don't know who he works for.

We don't know where he is.

It's an onslaught of information and excuses all at once, and all the while the words whispered to her by Anton when he'd barged into her office, sweaty and panting, are the only ones that stick as she grips the edge of her desk and tries to make sense of it all.

Ma'am, your son's been taken.

The sounds around her are all muted, slow and nonsensical, like she's trapped underwater, alone and powerless to stop the atrocities from the world above.

"Where's Roland?" she asks. She means to scream it, to bellow an order for them to bring her son back to her, but all that comes out of her mouth is a dull murmur, barely audible to those around her.

"Ma'am, we're doing everything we can to—"

"Where. Is. My. Son?" It comes out a little louder this time, her desperation growing, her breaths coming quicker as her heart finally catches up to her brain and the realization of what's happened splits her soul in two.

"Where is he?!" she finally shouts. No one gives her an answer, and out of the corner of her eye she sees Ursula moving closer, extending a hand to try and calm her as she whispers her title.

"Madam Secretary, we should—"

"I want my son!" Regina screams, what's left of her heart pounding at too fast a rhythm for her to even register what she's doing. Suddenly her coffee cup is no longer in her hand, but smashed into pieces against the wall. The light clutter on her desk is now strewn over the floor, dread and fear and desperation overpowering her senses, her blood pounding in her ears as the agents around her try to reassure her.

"Don't you dare say that!" she barks at one of them. Which one, she's not sure, all she knows is that she'd heard some lame attempt at comfort and she'd snapped. "Don't you tell me it's going to be okay when you've just let someone take my baby boy away!"

She feels her stomach shriveling in time with the remnants of her composure, and tears sting as they fall from her eyes. She's yelling suddenly, not orders or insults but full-on screaming, clutching her stomach as she cries and cries and shouts Roland's name like that will somehow bring him back to her.

Panic builds inside her, cold and overwhelming as she thinks of that mosque, of what those men had done to all the innocent people there, of the lack of remorse on their faces. These people are capable of anything, and they said they'd come for her.

They won't hesitate in killing her little boy to get to her. She knows that.

She should act, should call the CIA and the FBI and every goddamn contact she may have in DC, mobilize the entire city and start a rescue operation. She should be efficient, should do something to get her son back. But the fear cripples her, keeps her rooted to where she's gripping her desk, standing over it and gasping for breath in between shouts of Roland! and I want my son!

Everyone around her seems at a loss, and only Ursula dares move forward, only she has the guts to grab her, shake her, and attempt to calm the tornado of despair inside her.

"Listen to me, Regina," she says, using her name in public for the first time in all the years they've known each other. "We're gonna find him, okay? He'll be fine, we'll get him back for you, but in order to do that, we need you. Breathe, and pull yourself together. Now."

It's a valiant effort, but all Regina can think of as she moves away from Ursula and paces around the room is her son, locked up who knows where, subjected to who knows what manner of abuse. She imagines his face, bruised and battered and covered in tears, crying out for her and realizing she's not there to save him.

She's not there, she's— she can't— he's... he needs her and she's not— she has to find him, she has to— what if they— no. No, no. They can't, he can't, he has to be okay, he's just a baby, he's—

Regina collapses near a bookshelf, too weak to hold on, her hands catching the broken pieces of china on the floor. She feels the sting of them as they puncture her skin, knows the cuts are deep and that she's bleeding all over the carpet, but her baby has been taken, and the physical pain of a few scrapes is nothing compared to the emotional torture currently overpowering her.

"Regina!" she hears Ursula yell, falling to her knees before her, trying to hold her up while also checking her wounds. Agents rush in to help her, but Regina thrashes in their hold. They lost her son, she doesn't want them anywhere near her.

A rush of footsteps from outside interrupts the urgent gaggle of voices around her, and suddenly Ursula's arms are gone, replaced with the warmth and strength of a body she knows all too well.

"Robin," she cries. He's talking to Ursula, asking her for the first aid kid. Right. Her hands.

She doesn't feel it, though, the pain from the cuts, and wraps her arms around his neck, clinging to him as he lifts her and takes her away from the onlookers, his voice soft as he kisses her forehead and whispers I'm here, my love, I'm here.

They're in the bathroom, doors locked as he sets her down on her feet and places the first aid kid on top of the nearest sink (she hadn't even realized he'd brought it with him from the office). Her legs almost give out again, but he holds her steady, clutches her to him as he lets out shaky breaths into her hair.

"They took him," she sobs, and he hugs her tighter, says nothing, but Regina can feel the warm wetness of his tears against her neck when he buries his face there and exhales, his body shaking even as he tries to reassure her through his touch.

"We'll get him back," he says when he finally finds his voice, pulling away to look at her as he cups her face in his hands. Regina wants to believe him. Wants it so badly, but...

"But what if—" she starts, but Robin's fervent reassurances cut her off.

"No. We're not playing that game. We are not going to even contemplate the idea of a life without him, you hear me? We'll find him," he insists. His voice is scratchy and shaky, but his gaze is steady on hers. Firm. Determined.

She closes her eyes, her face still in his hold, and cries as she hears him speak.

"We've taught him well," Robin tells her, not even pretending to hide his own fear. "He's smarter than you," he presses on, a humorless laugh escaping him as he adds, "he's tougher than me..."

"I love him so much, I just can't—" she starts, but he interrupts her again.

"We both do. And Roland knows that. He knows we're coming. But right now, we have to figure out where he is, and how to get to him. I need you, Regina, I can't do this alone."

She nods, taking a deep breath as she tries to regroup. Robin moves his arms back down to her waist, hugs her to him and breathes her in, the contact grounding them both.

"We'll bring him home," he insists, and Regina nods again, this time into his shirt, sniffling as her hand rises to clutch at the lapel of his jacket. The coppery smell of blood assaults her nostrils, and she realizes she's staining his suit. She can feel the pain now, but only a little.

"Now, please, let me look at these," he begs, prying her hands away and taking them gently in his, looking over the cuts and assessing the damage.

She cries while Robin cleans the wounds, and grabs a tiny pair of tongs from the kit to pull out the shards encrusted in her skin. Regina hisses when he dabs a bit of alcohol on the cuts, a strangled yelp of pain leaving her when he presses a little too hard.

"Sorry, sorry," he whispers urgently, punctuating each apology with a feather-light kiss before he continues, cleaning and checking over the dozen little gashes on her palms. Every shard seems to be out now, dumped into a bloody rag near the kit. There's a little tube of cream in the box, and Robin grabs it, covering the worst of the cuts with it before he wraps bandages on each hand.

They're silent throughout the whole thing, but Regina's sobs and sniffles don't stop coming. Robin is reverent in the way he touches her, tends to her, and as much as she loves him for it, the calm little bubble he's created inside this bathroom is stifling, and not helping her nerves any. Her son is out there, they need to hurry up.

When she starts tapping her heel against the tile, he picks up the pace, until finally the bandages are tightly wrapped and everything is packed back into the kit, the used materials discarded in the trash before they head outside, his hand holding gingerly onto hers.

When they enter her office, no one mentions her breakdown, her red eyes and puffy cheeks. The pieces of china from the cup she'd smashed are no longer in sight, and she's greeted by a large group of agents, all placing themselves at her disposal.

Her staff is there too, all of them ready to help. A fierce show of loyalty that would touch Regina deeply if she weren't so worried.

The security footage from the school is playing on her computer screen while her Chief of Staff stares and tries to look for clues, and Regina's entire body aches at the sight of Roland being dragged away by a man in a clear plastic mask. Her little boy struggles against his captor's hold, and there's a moment where he almost gets away, but the man grabs him and forces a rag against his nose, until he passes out and the monster is able to lift him and shove him into a black car without plates.

"Facial recognition is working on getting you an ID, but the mask makes it almost impossible," Ursula tells her, and Regina swallows, feeling a fresh wave of tears leak from her eyes as she rewinds and watches the forty-second video over and over again. Robin stands beside her, running an absent hand up and down her back as he watches with her, gasping when he sees the man handling Roland like a ragdoll.

It's his heartbroken, almost inaudible whisper of My boy that spurs her into action.

"What do you need, ma'am?" Ursula cuts right to the chase when she senses her change in attitude. Robin hastily turns off the video, and then moves away to talk to the agents.

"I need you to keep this place running while I get my son back," Regina answers. She appreciates their will to help, but there's work to take care of, like the new trade deal between Togo and Senegal, and the meeting at the New Zealand embassy, and the reception for the new Chinese Foreign Minister...

"We have a lot on our plates right now, the State Department will combust if we don't keep moving, so I'm asking you, can you run it for me?"

"Ma'am, I—" Ursula starts, but Regina cuts her off, tears building in her eyes again as she insists.

"Ursula, I need to find my son. Can you hold the fort while I do that?" She wants to be strong, wants her voice to be that command voice that her Chief of Staff respects and follows orders from, but all that comes out is a choked whisper, a desperate plea for her friend to help her.

"Yes," she says at last, "I'll handle it. And ma'am?" Ursula calls as she moves away to find Robin.

"You'll find him. Everything's going to be fine."

"You really believe that?" Regina asks weakly, fear and doubt creeping back in, but Ursula shuts it down with her answer.

"In all the years I've known you, Regina, I've never seen you fail. You've got this. Whoever took Roland has no idea who they're messing with."

She parts with that, calling out for the staff to follow her, they have work to do.

Some sort of commotion alerts Regina to the arrival of Agent Swan, followed closely by a very sickly looking Agent Alan Dale, who immediately offers his apologies for not being at his post.

"Alan, this wasn't your fault," Agent Swan assures him, and Regina is grateful, so grateful for her. She has no patience to deal with people playing the blame game right now.

"You should go home," is all she tells him, "you're sick and need the rest."

"Ma'am, I don't mean to impose, but I have watched over Roland for half his life. I love that boy like my own, getting rest while he's in danger is not an option," he says firmly.

For what feels like the millionth time in the past hour, Regina has tears on her face (maybe they haven't really stopped falling, she can't be sure). She nods at him, puts a bandaged hand on his shoulder, and whispers a heartfelt Thank you.

Alan nods back, then turns to look at Emma.

"Alright, boss, where do you want me?"

Regina leaves them to it, turning back to watch as everyone else gets busy with their respective tasks. There's a detail out in the city looking for Roland already, with the help of some FBI agents and a few handpicked DC police officers, who are helping clear traffic so that they can all move faster. There's no new information on the explosion, nothing else to go on other than the reports that are still strewn over her desk.

"Ingrid?" Regina looks for her assistant, who walks in quickly, her tablet at the ready.

"Yes, Madam Secretary."

"I need you to talk to Ohio. Get me in a room with the Cleveland bombers," she orders. "Now."

"Right away, ma'am."

"And call Agent Feuer, tell her we need her to come in."

"Yes, ma'am."

"The Cleveland bombers?" Robin asks, echoing Emma's question as they all stop to look at Regina.

"You saw them on TV, they said David and I were next, this is what they meant."

"It's dangerous—" one agent tries to protest, and then Emma chimes in.

"Madam Secretary, we should wait for the FBI to—"

"Those men took my son, Agent Swan."

"They are terrorists, ma'am. And the organization they work for could be planning another attack to set them free. Meeting with them, even while they're in custody, is dangerous right now," Emma counters.

"What would you do if you were in my position?" Regina argues back, appealing to the woman's motherly side, "What if it was Henry, Emma?"

The blonde takes a deep breath, then nods, almost imperceptibly, and grabs her phone.

"Fine, but you're not heading there alone. As soon as the President gives the all-clear, I'm coming with you."

And so it begins.

Her hands shake as she reaches for the files she'd been reading before she got the news. Reports from the bombings, character profiles for the terrorist organization that funded the attacks, and the newest data based on on-site recovery. Her eyes scan every single page, looking for anything that might help. Any detail that might jump out at her... hidden safe houses belonging to the organization, known supporters in Washington, anything that might give her a clue as to where they've taken her baby boy.

In her urgency, she's forgotten the rest of the information provided by the Secret Service, and it's only when she hears Robin asking after John that she remembers he's injured.

"How's Agent Little doing?" her husband asks Anton.

"He's got a broken arm, and was taken in for surgery to remove the bullet from his shoulder, but the doctors say it's nothing life-threatening. We've got some of the guys down there, keeping an eye on the situation so they can report back."

"Thank you, Anton," Regina says before Robin can.

In five minutes, calls have been put in to the FBI, CIA, and a few influential Congressmen who tend to favor President Nolan. A recent photo of Roland has been provided to the authorities they've briefed and to the rest of the Secret Service for search purposes. It's ridiculous, they all know what Roland looks like, but Robin insists that it's protocol.

Regina has another breakdown just looking at her son's face, ends up sobbing again, held in her husband's arms as she clutches the photo she's taken out of her wallet. She wants to shout for help over the rooftops, wants to involve as many people as possible in the search so that this nightmare can end faster, but they tell her the press cannot find out yet, they need time and can't risk scaring the kidnappers into doing something drastic.

She understands, has been on the other side of this kind of situation before and knows exactly why they can't inform the public just yet, but it doesn't make it any easier.

Regina feels her desperation growing, because it's like they're doing everything and nothing all at once, like whatever they're trying to accomplish won't happen if she stays here. She has to go out and find him. Her chest hurts, and she feels like she's drowning, unable to breathe or discern one thing from another. Everything blurs together, the people around her become foggy shapes as her vision clouds.

And then Robin's arms find her, wrap around her waist as he pulls her in.

"Let's go outside for a moment," he urges, already walking her to the balcony. The fresh air helps a bit, but there's a knot in her throat that won't let her speak, only choke out little wails into his shirt as her breathing becomes faster, more labored, her hands trembling as she fidgets with her bandages.

She hasn't had a panic attack in four years. For months after Sidney had shot her, they always accompanied her nightmares, and it had been Robin who had become in tune with her symptoms and helped her through them. He'd observed her, figured out the tell-tale signs of an attack coming on, and always made sure that when they did, she was in a secluded place where she felt safe, a place where he could be by her side and calm her down with simple breathing exercises.

Despite how long it's been since he's had to do that, it would seem it's like riding a bike for him, because here he is, using those same methods to soothe her as she fights the panic attack she can feel brewing. His hand is running up and down her back, his lips peppering kisses atop her head in between whispers of It's okay, it's okay and I'm here, you're safe, just breathe.

It takes her a few minutes (or maybe an hour, she's not really sure), but finally the storm inside her passes, and she's able to ground herself in her husband's loving touch, his warmth.

"I love you," she says, because it's all she can say, all she wants to say.

"I love you, too. We'll find him, alright?" he tells her.

Regina nods, and when he suggests that she go home and take a breather, she stops him, steels herself against the next wave of despair that's itching to overwhelm her.

"No. I can't just go and... no. I'm staying here."

"Regina, you're trembling, and having panic attacks, maybe it's best if you—"

"No, Robin!" she pulls back, offended, "I'm not resting until we find our son, how dare you suggest that to me?!"

"Alright, alright," he surrenders easily, and she knows then that he wasn't really expecting her to agree.

"I'm sorry, I'm just worried. You haven't had a panic attack in so long."

She sighs, closing her eyes when his forehead falls on hers and they breathe each other in.

"I know," she says, her voice quiet, neither of them moving, "and I understand, but I'll be fine, I just need to... I need to do something to find him. Honestly, seeing you so calm freaks me out."

He pulls back then, and it's like she can almost see the walls around him crumbling as he admits how terrified he is.

"I've been trying to be calm for you, not because I don't feel like ripping my hair out, Regina, I... they took our boy! They took him and I... I... he's alone and afraid and suffering and I wasn't there to save him from this. I should've been there. And then I see what this is doing to you and I just... it kills me that I can't fix it."

His voice breaks while he speaks, and that in turn has Regina crying silently as she listens, has her choking on a sob as she echoes his sentiment.

"I wish I could've been there, too. To stop this from happening. But that's not going to help us right now. We just have to focus, okay? We'll get him back. You said we would. You believe that, right?"

"With every bit of my soul," he rasps.

"Good," Regina whispers. "Then let's go get our son back."

"Madam Secretary?" a voice calls, muted by the glass doors closed behind them. Regina turns around to find Ingrid there, gesturing for her to come inside.

Mal is waiting for them there when they do.

The hug her friend wraps her in is tight and warm, murmured reassurances tumbling out of her and settling Regina's troubled heart. Mal has always had that quality. Regina calls it her superpower. She doesn't know if it's the timbre of her voice, or the connection they share through their troubled pasts, but somehow Mal always manages to breathe calm into her. Regina relaxes in her embrace, holds on tight and thanks her for coming.

When they part, Mal greets Robin, who acknowledges her stiffly and then calls back to Ingrid, asking her for an update on the Cleveland situation.

"The suspects have been processed and are being held at a local precinct, awaiting the Secretary's arrival. The FBI has already sent five agents to escort you to Cleveland, along with the Secret Service, we're just waiting for the Military Office to get Air Force Two ready to go—"

"That won't be necessary," a voice announces, and they turn to find David there, with at least a dozen Secret Service Agents on his heels.

Various murmurs of Good afternoon, Mr. President are heard throughout the office, and David waves them all off.

"Please, there's no time for formalities," he tells them, then looks at Regina. "I've got Air Force One ready to leave for Cleveland as soon as you get to the hangar. The car is outside, and half my detail will be going with you."

She sobs in relief, and thanks him profusely before she grabs Robin's hand and they walk straight out the door, with their detail, plus Ingrid, Mal and Emma following close behind.


The flight is short, less than an hour and a half, but it's long enough for fear to settle in her heart once again. The adrenaline from earlier has worn off, leaving her tired and worried all over again. She holds Robin's hand tighter where they sit, looking out the window and trying her hardest to keep her breathing slow and measured.

They're flying over a long stretch of bare land when Emma approaches them.

"Madam Secretary, Mr. Locksley, CIA just found the locations of the safe houses where the rest of this terrorist organization is currently squatting, they're sending in some special agents to dismantle them. If they've got Roland in one of them, we'll know within the hour."

With that, Regina throws her breathing exercises out the window.

She unbuckles and stands, pacing the length of the aisle with her bandaged hand over her mouth, her nerves mounting and mounting. Robin stands with her, tries to hold her and comfort her, but she just feels trapped, coddled, and guilty that he even has to take care of her like this. So instead of letting him help, she shakes her head, pushes him away and she resumes her pacing.

Emma grabs his attention, and Regina can hear them discussing the locations of the safe houses. There are two of them near DC, just a few miles out of the city. Twenty minutes. That's all it would've taken for them to drive out of DC and to that hideout with her son. Twenty minutes to take him away from her.

How did she let this happen? How?!

"It's not your fault," Mal says, suddenly standing in front of her, too close that Regina can't stop from crashing into her. Mal doesn't seem to mind, though, only embraces her fiercely and repeats her words. Regina tries to pull away, to stop her heart from cracking open, but her friend won't let go, only clutches her tighter and says again, "It's not your fault."

The dam breaks, and Regina is hugging her back, shaking her head and soaking her shirt with her tears. Mal's hand finds her hair, caressing the dark tresses and whispering the same four words over and over again.

"My baby, they took my baby," Regina cries, and Mal gently shushes her, promises they'll find him.

Robin is suddenly there, taking her out of Mal's embrace and into his. The sudden movement is jarring, and Regina pulls back and recoils from him as she tries to make sense of the rage in his eyes.

"I'm only trying to help," Mal interjects, her voice surprisingly worried.

"I can comfort my own wife, thank you," Robin's voice is cold, his arms still trying to hold on to Regina, even as she extricates herself from his grasp and stares at him in disbelief.

"Are you serious right now?" she seethes, and he has the gall to look offended. He opens his mouth to speak, and she puts up a hand to stop him. "Don't!" she barks, then walks away, locking herself up in the empty press cabin, her back sliding against the door as she sinks to the floor and cries.

There's a hesitant knock behind her, and Emma's muted voice asks to please let her in.

Regina doesn't answer, but moves from the door and removes the lock, grabbing a window seat and staring out into the vastness of the land as the blonde walks in and sits beside her.

"I'd ask if you're okay, but that's a dumb question considering..." she starts, and Regina sniffs, wipes tears from her cheeks, and says nothing.

"Look, he's bullheaded as they come, I get that. And his reaction was stupid."

"But?" Regina asks, the word tasting like ashes on her tongue as she crosses her arms over her chest and turns to look at Emma.

"But he's as broken up about this as you are. Maybe a marital spat isn't really the best course of action right now."

"He started this, not me," is all Regina can reply, feeling every bit like a petulant child.

"He couldn't stop those men from taking your kid, and he's miserable over it. The one thing he can do right now is be there for you, and you pushed him away and sought comfort in somebody else. What did you think he was gonna do? Throw you a party?"

Emma's tone is defensive, clipped. She and Robin have become like brother and sister over the years, and they share a fierce sense of mutual loyalty, of duty to one another. They understand each other, and Emma will take his side against anyone, even his own wife.

"Imagine if he came to me instead of you when he found out Roland had been kidnapped. If he had pushed your hug away for one of mine. How would you have felt?"

"Awful," Regina admits. She and Emma Swan are not friends. Not really. They haven't spent enough time together for that. But there's respect between them, and enough trust for them to have these kinds of talks every once in a while. Regina is thankful for the change in perspective.

"Look, he's out there freaking out because he hurt you, and we're gonna land soon. Please just let him come in and apologize for acting like a neanderthal. You're stronger together. Always have been."

With that, and at Regina's nod, she steps out of the room, leaving the door open behind her, and not two minutes later Robin is there, kneeling before her and taking her hands in his, kissing them over the gauzy fabric of her bandages before he rests his head on her lap. Regina keeps her eyes on the window, staring off into space, too afraid she'll burst into tears again if she looks down at him.

"I'm sorry. What I said back there was..." Robin murmurs, "I just wanted... I don't know what I wanted, honestly."

"You wanted to protect me. You always want to protect me," she says, her fingers playing with his hair as she continues to stare at the sky outside. "It's what you do," she continues. "You protect me and Roland. And I love you for it."

His voice is hoarse when he speaks, admitting with great embarrassment, "Clearly I failed on both counts."

That gives her pause, Emma's words echoing in her head as she gently pushes him off her lap and sinks down on the floor beside him.

"You did not fail," she assures him. "Babe, we're both hurting. And I know, I know you're trying to be strong for me, and that I've been all over the place today, but... he's our baby."

She breaks down then, tears streaming down her face. Robin stays there, caressing her hands with his own, waiting.

"Is Mal okay?" she asks when she finds her words again.

He nods, looking down at their joint hands on her lap as he tells her he's already apologized to their friend.

"You're allowed to be a mess, too, Robin, I don't need you to be strong all the time. And she was only being a friend, you know that."

Robin sighs and nods again, bringing his forehead to hers and softly rubbing her nose with his own.

"I know. I'm sorry, I just... I need you, too, you know."

"I do. And I'm sorry, too," she admits. "But we don't know what's gonna happen once we get to Cleveland, and I don't want you to feel like you have to hold me together through this when you're already falling apart at the seams."

"So what do we do?"

"We face it together, head-on. All we need is each other. We find strength in that, not in you trying to keep us both afloat when you're hurting. Okay?"

He kisses her, a fervent press of his lips on hers. It's a salty, wet kiss, made so by the tears they both can't seem to keep at bay. And this is better, this is what she needs. It's not fair for Robin to feel like he has to hide his pain from her. They're in this together.

The captain's voice comes on the speakers, announcing that their descent is about to start, and Regina knows they should head back to the main cabin, to await landing with the rest of their group, but she's reluctant to leave the calm quiet of the room they're in, and instead cuddles closer into Robin, crying silently as he does the same, holding her tight while they both bare each other's fears through quiet sobs.

"I want him back, Robin," she says into the silence. "I want him in my arms."

"So do I, my love," he answers. "So do I."


The precinct in which the bombers are being held is cold and gloomy. They are welcomed by the highest ranking officers, who inform them that a room has been prepared for them. It's one of those rooms you see in movies, with annoying, white neon lights and a two-way mirror from which Emma, Mal, Alan and the others can watch. There's a single table in the middle, with two empty chairs on either side.

The men are brought in first, and Regina watches from the outside as they are wrangled and handcuffed to their side of the table.

Robin squeezes her hand, not too much, just enough to show his support without affecting her wounds, and together, they walk inside and sit. The man whose rage had scared her just this morning now looks like no more than an insignificant parasite, a bug that she will squash if she has to, to get her son back.

It surprises her, how little she fears them now, after spending most of the day dreading their actions, terrified of what their people will do to Roland. Ursula was right, these men have no idea who they're messing with.

"Where is my son?" she asks, her voice steady, menacing.

"How the hell would I know, sweetheart?" the first one replies. She'd read their files before entering, and knows that he is Henry Jekyll, thirty-two years old, a chemist, released from a mental hospital in 2010, after spending many years there, being treated for various issues. His companion, Edward Hyde, is older, and decidedly less confrontational. He says nothing, only stares at her with something akin to curiosity.

"You said I was next, and then my son was kidnapped, where is he? And don't treat me like a fool. You're looking at life in prison, and I can make your time there a lot more complicated than it needs to be. So either tell me where my son is, or face the consequences."

Jekyll stares daggers at her, huffs as he takes her in and says nothing. Hyde is eerily quiet, locking eyes with Robin and smiling smugly before he speaks.

"Your son was taken?" he asks, slow-paced and amused. "Well, that's quite the news, isn't it?"

"You think this is funny?" Robin seethes. "Tell us where he is!"

"If I knew, don't you think I would've used that to my advantage by now?" Hyde drawls in reply. He's casual about it, while Jekyll laughs and spews insults at her, muttering things like how he hopes Roland ends up dead in a ditch, how that would be a fitting punishment for sacrificing the integrity of their great nation. They are words that would incense her, if she wasn't so enraptured by Hyde's easy assertion.

"It wasn't you?" She gasps, her question directed at Hyde exclusively. But it is Jekyll who answers.

"Of course it wasn't us," he laughs. "Don't get me wrong, it's a great idea, and whoever did it has my admiration, but darling, if it had been our organization who grabbed your filthy little half-breed, you would be collecting him in pieces at that mosque, not here asking for his whereabouts."

Robin launches at him, and Jekyll actually screams in fear, a high-pitched squeal that has the officers barging in to stop the altercation before it's truly begun. It takes four Secret Service agents and Emma's muttered chiding to hold him back, and Regina just sits there. In shock.

They don't have him.

No. That has to be a lie, they probably want to play with her, they...

If I knew, don't you think I would've used that to my advantage by now?

Edward Hyde's voice plays on a loop in her head, over and over again, each turn letting the knowledge sink in that much deeper.

Robin is suddenly not in the room, escorted outside by the officers while Regina remains in her seat, watching the prisoners being taken away and back to their cells.

"I hope he's suffering, wherever he is!" are Jekyll's final words before the door shuts behind him, and Regina cannot breathe.

Staggering, she walks out of the interrogation room, looking around frantically for her husband.

"Detective's office, down the hall and on your left," comes Emma's voice from behind her, and Regina turns to thank her, finds her looking worried as she adds, "he looked pretty shaken, said he needed a moment."

Regina runs down the hall, kicking her shoes off in the process and leaving them there like some warped version of Cinderella, her feet faster now that heels are no longer a concern.

She finds him on the floor of the detective's office, breathing fast and hard as he fights through his pain, his face buried in his hands as his entire body shakes.

"Robin," she sobs, falling to her knees beside him and pulling him into her arms.

It breaks her to see him like this, and all she can do is hold him, run her fingers through his hair as he cries it out. It's what he's been doing for her all day, and so she takes a page out of his book, lands kisses on whatever part of him she can reach and tells him that it's alright, that she's here.

Robin only cries harder, his tears hot on her chest where he's nestled his head. He's got one arm looped around her waist, holding her so tight, it's as if he thinks she'll float away if he doesn't. Regina only breathes, takes in the fresh pine scent of him as she lets herself cry, too.

It's how Emma and Mal find them when they appear at the open office door, hesitant to disturb them, but trying to keep things running as efficiently as possible. It's part of why Regina admires them both so much.

"Sorry to interrupt, but I've just spoken to the CIA. They confirmed there was no evidence of Roland ever being at the safe houses. Those men were telling the truth, they don't have him," Mal tells them, dangling Regina's heels from her hand and dropping them softly by the door.

"Engines are on, we'll head back to DC and figure out our next move from there," Emma reports.

It's enough to get them moving, and Regina tries not to think of what could happen, of all the time the real kidnappers have had to get away while they were so focused on the terrorists.

She's back in her office in less than two hours, and the FBI is poring over a list of suspects that may have some kind of ill wish toward Regina. Most of them are angry leaders of foreign nations, none of which would take part in something like this and risk retaliation from the United States.

"What if..." Regina swallows, not ready to even voice it, but she has to, she has to know, "Do you think there's a chance he could be..."

She doesn't finish the sentence, can't bring herself to utter the word dead, but everyone catches her meaning. Robin's hold tightens a little, but he says nothing.

It's Alan who answers.

"All due respect, ma'am, but if he was dead, we would've found a body by now."

His bluntness sends a shiver down her spine, and he cringes a bit before he continues. "Whoever is behind this doesn't seem to want anything in exchange for your son, or we would've heard from them already. What they want is to instill fear, to make you suffer. Based on that, if they had killed him they would've tossed him somewhere public, somewhere that would make headlines. If they haven't done that, it means he's alive."

His analysis gives her a little relief, but then there's the other million questions in her head, like is he being tortured? Will these people release him at some point or are they just biding their time to kill him at precisely the right opportunity? If they don't want anything in exchange, how are they supposed to get him back?

And then a woman comes in and interrupts her slow descent into madness. She's Asian, attractive, and impeccably dressed in a designer suit, her hair arranged in long brown waves, makeup flawless and fresh despite the late hour.

"Madam Secretary," she says, before Ursula or Ingrid can even announce her. "I'm Mulan Fa, I'm the new Chinese Foreign Minister, we weren't supposed to be introduced until the reception, but I had to come when I found out what was happening."

"How did you know what was happening? The press has not been informed yet," Ursula fires back, a little miffed at the leak. Regina says nothing. She's not doing this today. She has no patience for this. All she wants is to keep the warm weight of her husband's arm around her shoulder just as it is now, her own looped over his stomach, as they both work through their grief and try to find a plausible alternative that will lead them to Roland.

"That, Ms. Triton, is precisely why I'm here."

That catches Regina's attention, and she and Robin both sit up from their perch on the sofa, staring at the woman before them.

"Ma'am, I have reason to believe your son's kidnapping is a direct result of our fracking deal going south."

"What?" Regina asks, taken aback by the notion. China hadn't been too pleased when she'd rejected the deal, but kidnapping her son?

"First, let me state that my government has no part in this, I want that to be clear before we move forward."

"What do you know, Ms. Fa? And how do you know it?" Ursula claps back, but the woman's eyes remain on Regina.

"We have a few... alternative information channels. A bit of a pipeline, if you will. There was no leak from your staff, that's not where I heard about what happened to your son. It's why I was concerned in the first place."

"Honey, you're cute, but all you're doing is confusing everyone even more, so you either talk, or leave, but stop playing around," Mal fires, arms crossed over her chest as she stands beside Regina and Robin.

The Chinese Foreign Minister sighs, then brandishes a manila envelope in her hand Regina hadn't even noticed she was holding.

"We received word of strange, encrypted messages being exchanged after the deal was shut down. We've been monitoring everyone involved in the negotiations in order to keep a better eye on the legality of it all, as we know how sensitive of an issue fracking is. Our intelligence agencies picked up some messages in one of our monitored email accounts regarding your rejection of the deal, and of a possible revenge plan against you."

Regina's eyes widen at that, wracking her brain for anyone who would want to hurt her this badly over that deal, but the only person she can think of is...

No.

No, that can't be right.

But it is, as the young diplomat in front of her confirms two seconds later.

"Secretary Mills," she finally says, "we believe Congressman Spencer is behind your son's kidnapping."


Regina has never hated before.

Not her mother, not President Blanchard and the many other men like him, not even Sidney. She'd resented them, sure, despised them, wanted them gone from her life, but she never hated them.

She hates Albert Spencer.

His office can't locate him, neither can his family, and there are reports that he escaped his detail by switching cars in the parking lot before he left work. Emma has been busy in Cleveland, and the subordinate she'd left in charge didn't have a high enough security clearance to be briefed on Roland's kidnapping, or else the connection might've been made sooner.

Spencer's disappearing act is confirmation enough, but the emails that Mulan Fa shows her, of him describing to an unknown third party (presumably the people who had taken Roland from his school) how the best way to get to Regina was through her family, all but cement his intentions.

The Chinese Foreign Minister puts all her research and information at Regina's disposal, and leaves the office with murmured well wishes and words of hope for Regina and Robin.

They thank her, and Regina can almost appreciate the woman's kind message, but right now she is blinded by hate.

That wretch of a man has kidnapped her son, put him through who knows what manner of suffering, all to teach her a lesson.

She is livid.

"What now, Emma?" she asks, but it's Alan who takes over.

"I was assigned to the White House a few months after you took office," he starts, looking directly at Regina. "But before that, I was part of Spencer's family detail. He has a luxury cabin in Wintergreen, about two hours away from the city. It's registered to his wife, under her maiden name, so it doesn't show up in the books right away, but it's the only property he has that's secluded enough to..."

"To stash and murder my son," Robin finishes for him, his tone cold and angry.

"Yes. But like I said, if he'd wanted to kill Roland—"

"He would've done it by now, I know," Regina interrupts, exasperated. "Can you lead us to this cabin?"

"Yes, ma'am," Alan answers. "It's right smack in the middle of nowhere. No one will find it if they don't think to look for it. But I can get you there, no problem."

"We should make sure he's there before we head out. If we make another mistake it'll cost us time we don't have," Mal tells them then, her tone firm and authoritative, but she's placing a reassuring hand on Robin's arm as she speaks, a show of comfort that, while not directed at Regina, somehow helps her breathe a little easier.

"Way ahead of you, sister," a gruff voice chimes in, and they turn to find agent Leroy Grump by the door, brandishing his phone. Regina hasn't seen him since David's inauguration, and is so shocked to see him there it actually takes her a moment to react.

"How did you—" she starts to ask, but the man interrupts her.

"Your new Chinese Foreign Minister. Her father and I go way back. He was an ally of our forces before he passed, helped with some of our missions overseas. She called me when she found out about Spencer, wanted me to help if I could."

Regina is taken aback by the onslaught of information, but nods her head, taking a second to process before she tells him, "Thank you, Agent Grump."

"We're gonna get him, ma'am, don't worry," he replies, throwing his phone to Emma as he fills them in. "Traffic surveillance footage near Wintergreen shows a black sedan with no plates entering the area about an hour ago."

"Why is it always a black sedan?" Mal complains in a bored tone, rolling her eyes as they begin to grab their things.

"Hey, Leroy? Ms. Fa wasn't clear on Spencer's hidden motives," Emma asks, "got any idea why he did this, other than revenge for the China Deal being cut?"

"Oh no, believe me, this is revenge, plain and simple. The guy's not smart enough for 'hidden motives', Agent Swan, he's really just an asshole," Grump shrugs, looking to Regina and Robin before he speaks again. "You did a number on him by shutting down that deal. He's gonna miss out on a lot of money."

"What do you mean?" Robin asks.

"Spencer has a drilling company. Under other names, of course. The rat's pretty good at covering his tracks. Anyway, China was promising him exclusive rights to drill in Alaska if he made this deal happen. The Chinese government would get their chunk of the profits through the deal and Spencer would be making bank by exploiting the North Slope."

"How much are we talking about?" Mal asks then.

"Eight, maybe ten billion? Mulan said he was angrier than her bosses back in China when he found out the contract wasn't being signed."

Emma lets out a low whistle just as Robin huffs. Regina can see his anger pouring out of him.

"You mean to tell me that that petulant wanker took my ten-year-old because he didn't get what he wanted?"

"Yeah, he's a son of a bitch, alright," Grump replies.

"I could kill him," Robin seethes, and Regina hurries to soothe him. Her hand runs down his arm and over his, grasping his fingers and squeezing tight as she presses into him, her head buried in his neck, both trying —and failing— to calm their erratic breathing.

"Yeah, listen, I got a SWAT team waiting for us outside," Grump tells them. "Shall we?"

Robin nods, wrapping one arm around Regina as he says, "It's about time we end this."

"Couldn't agree more," comes Regina's answer.


"Okay, time to go! Faster, faster, people, come on, let's go, let's go! We have a kid to save," Alan urges everyone into action, and before she knows it she's being escorted into a car, with Anton on the driver's seat and Alan beside him, setting up the GPS.

The two-hour ride is quiet, interrupted only by the beeping of her phone whenever Emma or Mal send her updates from the car riding just behind them. The dividing screen between front and back seat is up, and Regina and Robin are blessedly alone in a little cocoon of temporary privacy.

They hold on to each other, and their voices shakingly reassure one another that things will be alright. She's tucked into him, her head resting in the crook of his neck, his lips kissing her hair as the arm he has around her shoulders loops tighter, fingers stroking absently over her arm.

"It's almost over," he says out loud, the graze of his mouth over her forehead tickling slightly.

"This is my fault. I jumped the gun," Regina admits through her tears, "I was so sure they had him and we wasted all this time... I'm so sorry, Robin. If there was one thing in my life that I could do over—"

"My darling, stop," he urges her, "I don't blame you for that, for any of this. You judged based on the limited evidence you had, and you chose the most logical option. We all did. Let's not forget every one of us assumed it was that terrorist group, this was not just you."

He must notice that his words are not having much of an effect on her, because then he's kissing her, and Regina surrenders to the familiar taste, to the softness of his lips and the pure anguish in his kiss. He clings to her, kisses wildly, his tongue fast and unrelenting in a desperate attempt to reassure her, ground her. Regina kisses back with the same fervent urgency, salty tears (hers, or his, or both, she doesn't know) adding to the flavor of him.

When they pull away, he finds her gaze with his own, his tone strong and full of conviction as he insists, "Our son will be back in your arms tonight, I promise you that."

Regina spends the rest of the ride in silence, exhausted but unable to sleep, her mind conjuring all sorts of horrible scenarios as they speed through city traffic thanks to the policemen clearing a path for them.

She hears reporters on the radio speculating on what could be causing all the commotion at the State Department tonight, and a few of the guesses come close, but thankfully they don't delve too deep into it. For the first time today, Regina is glad they chose to keep the press out of this. Thanks to the silence in the media, Spencer has no idea they're onto him, and that element of surprise might just be what they need to get Roland back.

It's nearing 4AM when they get there, and once they arrive, the SWAT team takes over. Regina and Robin are held back, and told there's not much they can do except wait.

It drives her crazy.

They park in a wooded area near the cabin, where tall, full trees hide the cars from view. An ambulance and the SWAT van arrive just behind the car bringing Mal, Agent Grump and Agent Swan, paramedics, officers and Secret Service Agents all ready to go.

The orders are spoken in hushed tones, the only thing louder than a whisper is the guns as they are assembled and loaded. The ambulance lights are off, and all cars except the van shut down their engines. Grump helps Alan and Mal get into the standard SWAT gear to join the mission, and in seconds, Regina is watching the people brought to save her son's life head off into the night.

The thicket of trees around them is dense enough to hide the clearing they're in, and Grump and the remaining officers set up a mini home base in no time. The camera the SWAT team leader wearing on his helmet has a live feed that's connected to the monitors now glowing in the open van, and Regina and Robin watch the giant cabin slowly loom into view as the men get closer.

It's an elegant structure, spacious and fancy, with two floors and large windows. There's an open garage, where the black sedan rests, its tinted windows reflecting the only light on in the entire house, the one on the top floor, where three shadows walk back and forth as they gesture wildly.

"Rogue One, we have three adult men in the main bedroom, two of them armed. Over," the leader's voice comes on the radio, and Agent Grump acknowledges the information, answering with a "Copy, Rogue Two. Approach at will. Over."

She's biting her nails now, tapping her foot on the dirt and asking, "Is my son there?" even though she knows they can't answer that yet.

"Suspects seem to be arguing," the officer says then, and Grump hums before speaking into the radio again.

"Copy that, Rogue Two. Any chance we can get sound going around the house?"

"Patching through now," the officer replies.

The sound is scratchy, voices a bit interrupted by static for a moment before they clear, and Regina feels Robin's hand grip her own when they hear Spencer on the speaker.

"...will not be paying you more money, Horace, and that's that!" he bellows, and one of the shadows on the screen —the stout-looking one—, starts moving frantically around the room as they hear the man named Horace yell back at Spencer.

"Our price wen' up the momen' we knew it was the Secretary's son you 'ad us take from tha' school, Albert. Now, pay up!"

"How dare you demand—" Spencer starts, but his speech is cut by a third voice. Another man, and the tallest of the shadows, if his wild gesticulations are anything to go by.

"We dare, oh, Congressman, because we have a target on our backs now, and that was not part of the negotiation."

"They don't know it was you, Jasper. They don't even know it was me!" Spencer laughs.

"And 'ow long do ye think it's gonna take 'er to figure ou' you took her precious brat?!" Horace spits back.

"I'm the one who grabbed him," Jasper adds, "it's me they'll be looking for, and I swear, Spencer, if they catch me, I'm taking you down with me."

"Unless you pay the new price," Horace adds, and Regina can hear Spencer's exasperated huffs as he begrudgingly agrees with a Fine, double it is.

"Rogue One, we are ready to engage, I repeat, we are ready to—" the officer says, but is cut off by a loud cough sounding on the speakers. Alan.

"Wait, did you hear that?" Spencer says, and all three shadows stop moving on the screen. "Something's out there."

"Fuck, sorry," he chokes out on the audio feed as he tries to breathe, and Robin blows a puff of air up into the night in frustration, one hand on his pocket and the other over his face.

"Oh, don't try to play that game with me, Albert, I know you too well," one of the men —Jasper, Regina recalls— spits back at Spencer.

"Who are these men?" Regina whispers, "How did Spencer find them?"

"Horace and Jasper are unusual names, it was easy to find them in the registry," Grump says as he passes her his phone, the browser app open to show the mugshots of the two men they now know are helping Spencer. "They're bodyguards, but they have a record for all sorts of non-conventional jobs. Have been busted once or twice for using illegal methods to obtain merchandise for the woman they work for."

"Their boss isn't Spencer?" Robin asks before Regina can.

"Nah, they work for Ella Feinberg, Spencer's mistress. She's a former fashion mogul, her brand was shut down a few years ago. Some scandal about torturing animals for their fur or something like that. She's been with Spencer ever since. Mooching off his money, most likely. She's from your homeland, you've probably heard of her," Grump digs, and how he can gossip like this when her son's life hangs on the balance, Regina does not understand.

She says nothing, though, her eyes glued to the screen as the SWAT team finally continue on their way, Spencer and the other men now back to arguing over money.

"Yes, I remember reading about it," Robin bites back. "Why would she want any part in this?"

"She's not in the country, probably doesn't even know Spencer is using her hired bullies to do the dirty job for him."

"Rogue One, we're approaching target. Over," comes the officer's voice again, and Regina can almost feel her heart jump in her throat.

"Copy that, Rogue Two, any sign of Sparrow?"

"Not yet, we'll search the house once we've neutralized the threat."

"Agent Dale, how's the cough?" asks Grump.

"Subsided for now. Sorry again, chief," Alan answers.

"It's fine, kid. Just don't do it again."

There's muffled chat on the radio then, and then the feed shows Mal quietly approaching the door of the house. Spencer and the other men stop talking for a moment.

"Gentlemen, we've got company," Spencer informs them, and Regina then hears something that chills her to the bone. The cocking of a gun.

"Mal, get out of there now," she blabs into the microphone, before Agent Grump can even realize she's doing it.

"Madam Secretary, we've got thi—" he starts, attempting to take the mic back, but Regina panics.

"Mal he's got a gun and he's coming for you, get out!" she urges.

"I can hear him, Regina, it's okay," Mal whispers back. "Emma's covering me and Alan has a rifle pointed at the door, I'll be fine."

Robin runs a reassuring hand up and down Regina's arm, then does something she's not expecting at all.

"Be careful, Mal," he says into the mic, and Regina squeezes his hand over her arm, turning back to kiss him on the cheek before her eyes jump back to the screen.

"The Dragon is approaching the front door with Swan and Dale, rest of the team is covering the other exi— wait. Rogue One, we have movement at the back door. Over."

"Copy that, Rogue Two, we have the EMTs standing by," is Grump's reply.

Everything happens incredibly fast.

One of the henchmen, Jasper by the looks of it, opens the back door to find three agents there, waiting for him. They catch him before he can do anything, but in the scuffle, Horace and Spencer walk out the front door and straight into Mal. Shots are fired, and chaos ensues.

The live feed doesn't show much, just blurry images paired with the hurried footsteps, yelling and panting they can hear over the speaker, and suddenly a shot is fired that kills the camera.

They still have sound, so they know the officer is alive when he yells out that the bullet hit the camera and blew his helmet off, but they hear nothing else after that. It's all yelling and panting and punching, pine needles crunching under boots and branches being knocked every which way.

"Is that him?!" someone yells.

"Is that who?! Roland?! Did they find him?!" Robin asks desperately, and Agent Grump shushes him, playing around with the controls on the speaker to try and clear the sound.

"Do we have eyes on him, Rogue Three— wait!"

More gunshots, a lot of them, and every passing second has Regina more and more on edge.

"He's down. GSW to the chest. No pulse."

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

It can't be Roland. It just can't be.

Her baby boy is not dead.

There's more yelling, more mixed up reports, but all she can hear is No pulse playing on a loop in her head, mixed with the distant echo of her son's laughter, a traitorous figment of her imagination that adds to her despair.

Things move in slow motion for a moment, as she tries to make sense of what's happening. But when she turns to Robin, and sees the look of fear on his face, it all clicks.

Regina screams.

There's a metallic screech on the line, some static, and then silence.

She takes off into the trees without a second thought, Robin following instantly, crying out a desperate Regina, wait! that she chooses not to heed.

He's just behind her, though, she can hear him, and then her heel digs into a patch of mud, and she lands face-first on the floor, her head knocking against a pine trunk with a nasty smack.

There's blood on her head, warm and wet as it trickles down the side of her face. Her hands hurt more than they have all day, a consequence of her trying to break the fall with her already wounded palms, and she cries as she scrambles, trying to stand and wincing at the pain in her left knee.

And then Robin is there, holding her by the waist as he pulls her up, until she's on her feet in front of him, his hands hovering over her face as he takes in the damage.

It's a testament to how well he knows her that he doesn't even ask if she's okay, doesn't even suggest she go back to the van, because he knows nothing is going to keep her from reaching that cabin. So instead, Robin only asks, "Can you walk?"

Regina nods immediately, and he grabs her hand quickly. He doesn't comment on the hiss of pain she lets out, when he squeezes just a little too tight and her cuts protest. Doesn't mention the state of her bandages, or the fresh bits of blood staining the fabric. All he does is pull her along as they weave through trees, the cold wind whipping against their faces.

When they get to the house, it's all over.

The SWAT team has Spencer face-down on the dirt floor, one officer straddling his legs as he puts the flex cuffs on him. The man they had identified as Horace through the live feed now lies dead near the sedan, with Jasper already being shoved around by Emma as she escorts him through the trees and to the van, and the unnamed officer who had overseen the operation is now calling for the EMTs on his radio, letting Agent Grump know they've got the culprits.

There's one thing that's wrong with all of this, though.

Her son is nowhere to be seen.

Relief and dread both swirl up a storm in her chest, her lungs finally taking in air when she realizes that the death the officers were talking about was Horace's, not her son's.

"Where is he? Where's Roland?" Regina asks the officer urgently.

"We're about to question Congressman Spencer on the whereabo—" Regina doesn't wait to hear the rest, runs to Spencer's struggling form and stands in front of him as the officers hoist him up and stand him before her.

"Where is my son?" she seethes.

"I told you you would regret screwing me over with the China Deal," he spits. "I was about to leave, you know. One more hour and I would've delivered that brat of yours to a terrorist group, let them radicalize him, enslave him, whatever they wanted. And you would not have been able to stop it."

"Where. Is my son?" Regina asks again, not allowing herself to contemplate what would've happened if she had arrived an hour too late.

"Why should I tell you? If I can't have my revenge the way I wanted it, then maybe letting that little mongrel rot where he is will be my consolation pri—"

The punch Robin delivers to the man's face draws blood. A lot of it. And two officers have to hold him back before he moves to deliver another.

"Where is he?!" Robin barks, and Spencer groans at the pain, spits blood onto the floor as he sniffs and tries to breathe.

"Tell me where he is or I will rip you apart until I find him!" Regina shouts, and Robin frees himself from the men holding him and lands another punch to the congressman's stomach. Spencer says nothing, but his pain and his fear betray him. One moment he's looking at them and the next he's throwing a quick glance at something behind her.

Regina follows his gaze, and sees Horace's dead body near the car... the car.

Robin, it seems, has also made the connection, because he's running with her, and two officers are just behind them, yelling at them to stop, to wait for them to check the vehicle first.

"It could have a bomb!" Mal yells, and that stops them in their tracks.

"We found traces kerosene in the basement," she says as she comes out of the house. "It might be from the heat lamps or from something else. Just let the team check the car first, okay? They know what they're doing," she says when she reaches them.

It's the most excruciating four minutes of her life.

After a thorough checkup of the underside and under the hood, they give them the OK to approach.

When the officers pop the trunk open, Regina's breath leaves her, and her body almost collapses into Robin's.

Roland is there, curled up in a ball, trembling and gasping, pale-faced and sweaty.

"Oh, my god, Roland!" she sobs, launching forward and taking him into her arms.

Her son says nothing, but his arms wrap around her neck as he cries. Robin hugs them both, his lips kissing the top of Regina's head and then Roland's in turn, uttering reassurances in a broken whisper.

It's okay, my boy, you're safe now.

We're here.

Nothing is going to happen to you.

We missed you.

We love you so much.

The EMTs are suddenly there, shoving everyone out of the way as they take Roland from her arms and place him on a stretcher, checking him for injuries and moving the stretcher out of the garage when they find none.

"Where— where are you taking him?" Regina asks stupidly, and the EMT that stays behind tells her they're just moving him to the ambulance so they can tend to him better.

But her little boy is crying, his arms reaching back toward her, and Regina's heart breaks all over again.

She and Robin take off, running behind the stretcher as they follow the EMTs back to the ambulance.

"It's okay, honey, I'm here, mommy's here," she keeps repeating, crying as she watches him scream and struggle against the EMTs. "It's alright, Roland, they're just going to make sure you're okay, I'm right here with you, baby."

She and Robin jump into the ambulance, both of them holding on to Roland's clammy hand and calming him down enough for the EMTs to finish checking him over.

"Looks like he was trapped in there for a few hours. He's a bit dehydrated, and his body temperature is a little low, but otherwise, there's no damage," the male nurse aboard the ambulance informs them, preparing a needle as he speaks.

"We should get some saline into his system. Think you can handle it, little man?" an EMT says, nodding towards the needle. Roland is still quiet, still crying silently where he lies, but he looks at Robin and Regina with wide eyes, panicking at the needle.

"It's only a pinch, sweetheart. It'll make you feel so better after, I promise," she tells him, trying to keep her voice as steady as possible. But it's too shaky for that, and she's still crying, the fear from the terrible events from before finally catching up with her.

"He's a brave boy, he can do it. Right, Roland?" Robin says then, and she watches her little boy shed yet more tears as he nods his head, squeezing Regina's hand as tight as he can (his grip is too weak even then, too weak) while the needle goes into his arm. It's blessedly quick, and once the IV is set up, Roland starts to doze off, the adrenaline of the moment draining out of him.

"Poor guy. He'll sleep for a while, you might as well do the same," the EMT says, before heading to his seat and sighing as he closes his eyes for a moment.

Regina cannot sleep.

She's exhausted, can feel every bone in her body protesting her every move, but all she can do is stare at her son, moving his hair out of his face and leaning down to press a kiss on the thick curls she missed so much.

He smells of cigarette smoke and dirt, no longer the sweet hints of berry shampoo she'd been so thankful for just this morning. Somehow that is what breaks her, what has her bursting into tears as she buries her face in Robin's chest and cries and cries and cries.

Robin cries with her, holds her tight and sobs even as he tries to remind her that it's over, that Roland is safe now.

The words are empty in the wake of such a day, but she appreciates his attempt enough to pull back and kiss him, a lingering peck before she hugs him again, crying all the while.

She spends the entire ride back to DC in tears, sniffling and watching Roland sleep while the EMT takes care of her hands and the wound on her head. She may have a concussion, he tells her, after chiding her for not alerting him to her injuries earlier. He also tells her she should get properly checked out at the hospital.

"I'm fine, just tell me Roland's gonna be okay," she insists.

"Like I said, he's dehydrated, and might need to stay overnight at the hospital, but he'll be fine, Madam Secretary. He's a champ."

"We should still get you properly checked out when we get there," Robin ventures, echoing the EMT's recommendation. Regina sighs, but nods when she sees the look of worry on her husband's face.

She refuses to let go of Roland when they get to the hospital (she's not sure she'll ever let him out of her sight again after tonight), and the doctors are gracious enough to let her stay by her son's bed while they check, clean and rebandage her hands, then look over the bloody bump on her head, checking her vision, hearing and reflexes.

After a few minutes, she's given the all-clear, and Robin hugs her tightly as they breathe deeply, calming each other after the nightmare they've just lived through on this hellish Thursday.

Roland is being kept overnight for observation, and so they're assigned a room in the far end of the fifth floor, away from prying eyes. Secret Service are posted at the door, and Regina has flashbacks to a similar scene back in Philadelphia five years ago.

"I never thought we'd be here again," she whispers, tears running down her face. They're both squeezed into the big hospital bed, on either side of Roland. Regina's cheek rests atop his head, and Robin has an arm draped over both of them, pulling them in as close as he can.

He takes her hand and brings it to his lips over Roland's sleeping form, planting a soft kiss on her bandaged knuckles as he tells her, "It's over now. We're safe, my love. Roland is safe."

Regina exhales slowly at that, her eyes closing of their own accord, and lets the hand he was just holding trail over his face, feeling the coarse stubble over his jaw, the wet trails of the tears he's just started to shed.

"I love you," she whispers, her eyes remaining closed.

"I love you, too," Robin answers, bringing his hand up to touch hers on his cheek, his finger rubbing over her wedding band over the bandages.

Exhaustion wins out, and begins to pull them under where they lie. It's not the most comfortable arrangement, but neither of them can bring themselves to leave Roland's side, and so they stay, both with an arm over their son, their breathing deepening and evening out to join him in slumber.


Two days after they return home from the hospital, Albert Spencer is charged with Roland's kidnapping and conspiracy to engage in child trafficking. The scandalous events are made public by several news outlets, all with very limited, controled details on what exactly went down (Elsa's work, Regina has no doubt). They give statements where statements are due, and the entire SWAT team, as well as Mal, Emma and Agent Grump, all get special recognition from President Nolan for rescuing Roland.

And then the hard part begins, as they all go back to their lives, and Regina and Robin start trying to rebuild the innocence and inherent happiness that was stolen from their child.

Roland's eyes are no longer bright and full of wonder, but dull and wide, in constant state of fear. Every time she sees him flinch at a loud noise, or cowers from the door when someone visits, Regina hates Albert Spencer that much more.

Alan is there every morning, guarding the house even when he's not on schedule, fighting through the remnants of his cold as he tries to get Roland to engage in the playful friendship they've had since he was six years old.

John tries, too, has him draw on the cast he's been wearing on his arm since he came out of surgery. He even brings Chef Lucas from the White House to cook Roland his favorite dishes. Regina watches her son pick at his treats, maybe eat a bite or two, but there's no enthusiasm behind it, not like there used to be.

Even cooking doesn't seem to be as enjoyable an activity as it was before. Regina asks him to help her make dinner, to teach her some tricks Chef Lucas may have taught him during their lessons at the White House, and while Roland still seems to have fun playing around with ingredients, he seems to do it more out of habit than enjoyment.

It breaks her heart to watch him, to see the once joyful light in him snuffed out like this. There's times when she sees it flicker back on, like when he and Robin watch cartoons together, or when she makes him his favorite cookies after lunch... but it's muted, diminished forever by the harsh experiences he's dealt with.

It takes a few days of readjustment, but little by little, and with the help of Dr. Hopper, a wonderful child psychologist Emma recommends, Roland seems to regain some of his spark back. He starts to smile more, starts to interact more, and Regina revels in watching him come alive again.

"Pancakes or eggs, sweetheart?" she asks him on Sunday morning, three weeks after that awful Thursday. Roland taps his chin, thinking for a moment, and then smiles, pointing at the pancake mix.

"Pancakes it is," Regina tells him, starting on breakfast.

And then Robin accidentally drops the hamper on his way down the stairs, and the noise has Roland wincing and running towards the counter, hiding behind Regina.

"It's alright, baby," she tells him, trying to keep her voice from shaking as she puts a hand on the top of his head and plays with his curls. "You know how clumsy your dad can be. How much do you wanna bet there's dirty socks all over the stairs now?"

He smiles tentatively at that, shakes his head in mock exasperation at his father, and Regina laughs lightly, wishing he'd tell her what he's thinking.

Roland hasn't uttered a word since his kidnapping. Other than breathy laughs and the occasional groan or grunt, he makes no sound, only pointing, gesturing and expressing himself by other means.

She has cried herself to sleep in Robin's arms so many times now she's lost count, hoping and begging to any deity out there that her child talks again, and feeling her heart break into pieces again when he doesn't. She's been bringing Roland with her to the office, hoping that being surrounded by the adults he trusts and has grown up with will help him feel safe enough to speak. So far, she's had no luck.

Regina has been thinking of quitting. She loves her job, but this... this is just too much. She doesn't want to go through anything like this ever again. She refuses to put her family in danger.

Robin has told her leaving isn't the answer, because it gives Spencer and others like him exactly what they want. But, wonderful husband that he is, he's also told her he will support whatever decision she makes, that he'll love her no matter what.

It takes another week of Roland's torturing silence before her choice becomes clear.

She's asleep. Nestled on her side of the bed while Robin snores away on his, his arm draped loosely over her waist, cradling her against him with her back to his chest. Regina doesn't know what wakes her at first, until she hears the hoarse, childlike whisper of "Mom?" coming from the bottom corner of the bed.

Her eyes open as tears fall, silent and endless as they stream into her pillow. She doesn't say anything. Dr. Hopper had told them that they should let him speak on his own time, but not make a fuss about it when he did. That they should treat it like he's always been talking, like this is part of the routine, so that he can get back on it, back to his life, and move on.

So instead of flying to his side and wrapping him in a crushing hug like she wants to, Regina forces herself to stay put, sniffs and hastily wipes away a few tears (they're only replaced with fresh ones, though, so she gives up the pretense on that), and answers him, her voice as steady as she can make it.

"Hi, sweetheart, everything okay?"

He doesn't answer her, only climbs into the bed and settles against her, his head tucked in the crook of her neck and shoulder as she holds him. One hand runs over his hair, the faint traces of berry shampoo comforting her far more than she should let it as she waits him out.

"Love you," he says at last, a mere whisper in the stillness of the night.

Regina sighs as more tears fall, and hugs him tighter, the hand on his hair now scratching gently at his scalp, luring him back to sleep.

"I love you too, Roland."

Minutes of silence follow, and she thinks he's perhaps dozed off at last, but then he speaks again, and her heart does a somersault.

"Mom?"

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Don't quit," is all he says.

Regina is shocked that he's been paying such close attention to the many discussions she's had with Robin about this. They've tried to keep it from him, only talked about it in hushed tones when he was playing video games or otherwise engaged, but it seems they've failed.

"Are you sure, Roland?" she asks, because she has no idea what has pushed him to request something like this.

He nods, muttering a low I'm sure, before he shifts a little on the bed to get more comfortable.

"Okay," Regina tells him, and just like that, her decision is made.

He drifts off then, succumbs to the veil of sleep as she watches him. She can't promise him no harm will come to him. Not after what he's suffered. But the tight grip of his hand on her shoulder is a reassurance, a reminder that they'll get through this.

Robin shifts behind her, moving closer until he's flush against her, his voice rough and sleepy as he asks, "Did he just...?"

Regina can only nod, her hand moving from Roland's hair to Robin's cheek as he leans in and kisses hers. And then he's crying, too, tears warming her hand, and she turns to kiss them away, to kiss his lips and press her forehead against his temple.

"We're gonna be okay," she tells him, and the deep sigh Robin gives her in return tells her he's been waiting to hear those words from her for a while.

She turns back a little more, seals that promise with another kiss to his lips before they settle back down on the bed and watch their son sleep, her heart feeling strong and unburdened for the first time in weeks.

"We're gonna be just fine."