For Dark!OQ Week - Day 2
Regina's Enchanted Forest looks very much like his own, with the exception that the few familiar faces he'd known as the elderly population of his own realm are all younger, and seem to recognize him as Robin Hood, rather than Robin of Locksley.
Explaining who he truly is and where he comes from becomes tiresome by day three.
He's cranky, and takes to drink more often than not, drowning his anger in pint after pint of ale as he ponders just how he let that woman talk him into coming here.
"I'm living in the shadow of a dead man!" he screams in frustration one night, when she tells him to stop the pity party and move on.
"And I'm living in a villainous shadow of my own making, we both have to prove ourselves, get over it."
"These people know you, they know you've changed and they're willing to give you a chance. Me, they just see as the boring, noble thief they know, and quite frankly I'm tired of it!"
"Don't talk about him like that," she seethes. "Don't you dare talk about him like that."
"I should not be expected to fill his shoes!" he argues, his voice rising.
"No one expects you to do that!" she yells back, her stance predatory, poised for a fight.
His answer is a humorless laugh, and a quiet, "Everyone does, Regina. Especially you."
That seems to shake her. Has her opening her mouth and closing it without uttering a word, as if shocked by the knowledge that he's found her out.
"I don't expect you to be him," she says lamely.
"Yes, you do," he tells her. "All you do is talk about him. Who he was, what he used to do, how honorable he was, how tender, how brave, how nice. Well, I'm sorry that he died, but I'm not him, and I am not your toy, you can't mold me into whoever you want me to be just because I come from a world that isn't real to you."
"You think that's what this is about?" she asks him, a curious eyebrow rising. "That I'm trying to change who you are because I don't think you're completely real?"
He shrugs then, walking away from her, plopping himself on an armchair by the fire and grabbing his ale tankard again. He takes an angry sip of the thing, swallows the bitter liquid now gone stale and huffs when she stands between him and the view of the fireplace.
"Talking about Robin feels like walking barefoot on broken glass," she says without preamble. "It pours salt on a wound that digs so deeply into me I sometimes wonder how I'm able to breathe."
She tears up then, her voice breaking as she admits, "I miss him so much that it tears me apart. But being with you, it... it dulls the pain. You're right, you're not the same man he was, but you behave so much like him sometimes that I almost forget that he's..."
That's... well, that's surprising, really. He was not expecting that.
The tears have yet to fall, but they shine in her eyes, her voice a warbling murmur when she confesses, "I talk about him not because I want you to be like him, but because I need to feel that pain. Because if I feel it, then..."
"Then it means you're not forgetting him," Robin finishes for her, letting that tankard fall onto the carpet at his feet and standing up to wrap his arms around her, holding her close.
"I'm so sorry," he tells her, because it occurs to him that it's only been a few weeks since she lost the man, and with all the magical troubles they'd been facing, she's probably not had a proper chance to grieve him.
She's shaking her head, trying to pull back, to not show any more weakness than she already has, but he keeps her there, because unlike Regina Mills, this woman sparks something in him, a protectiveness, a need to make her happy, a rush of feeling that thrills and terrifies him at the same time.
"I behave like him, then?" he asks, because that tidbit of information is clinging to his mind, a surprising revelation if he's ever heard one.
"I know you like to think of yourself as a scoundrel," she says as she pulls back, his arms falling at his sides as she does, "but you have more in common with Robin Hood than you think."
"Like what?" he asks.
"You're as stubborn as he was, for starters," she starts. "And brave. I know you don't think of yourself as brave, but you just left the world you knew to come to mine, that takes courage."
"We were being hunted, it wasn't a hard decision to make," he argues. "That wasn't bravery, it was convenience."
"Call it whatever you want," she snarks, "but you followed me into the unknown without a single argument. And don't think I don't know you've been helping out the villagers by giving them part of the spoils from that carriage you robbed. Whatever happened to 'I steal from the rich to give to myself,' Locksley?"
Damn. Caught.
"I know these people. Well, not these people, but their doppelgangers in my world, they often gave me a place to hide from Nottingham's guards when I needed it. As payment for their help, I'd leave them a few coins once in a while. It was force of habit, I didn't really think that it wasn't really the same people."
"So you stole from the rich to give to the poor," Regina supplies, and he's annoyed at the phrase, at the meaning behind it. He is not some legendary, noble thief, he is Robin of Locksley, and his ambition comes before anything else.
Except perhaps the woman in front of him, a traitorous voice whispers in his head.
"They're your subjects," he tries to defend, "I figured a some form of payment would spare us the hunting party."
She shakes her head at him, at his blatant attempts at hiding his good deeds. He's not proud of them, is not proud of going against his code of looking after himself above all else. And he refuses to admit that his growing affection for her has made him soft.
"I once put revenge and selfish anger over love, over hope, and it ruined me. Don't do the same."
With that, she takes her leave, feathered cloak swishing with every step, and he watches her go, watches her surreptitiously wipe at the tears she no doubt wants to keep him from seeing.
When he ventures into her chambers hours later, he finds her standing by the balcony, still dressed in tempting leather and ample, embellished cleavage. Her cape is strewn over her bed, though, and her hair is no longer the elaborate ponytail he's accustomed to, but a long braid that falls down her back. Her head tilts when she hears him come in, but she doesn't turn, continues looking out at the land that stretches far and wide, at the birds that sing as the sun begins to rise.
His arms find her, wrap around her from behind and squeeze gently, his lips placing a kiss on her shoulder as he asks, "Have you slept?"
Of course she hasn't, he knows she hasn't, can see the dark circles under her eyes even from this angle. Still, his heart breaks for her when she shakes her head in response.
"Neither have I," he informs her, not that it matters. This whole thing was his fault, he deserves the pulsing headache and heavy limbs. "I'm sorry for what I said."
"Yeah," she acknowledges, still looking out at the vast expanse of land, the landscape becoming clearer and clearer as the sun battles out the darkness.
Despite her stoic stance, she doesn't shake him off, lets him hold her close and press his chest to her back, the warmth of her a welcome, silky sensation against his bare skin.
"I like you, Regina," he confesses, "probably more than I'd be willing to admit. And I want you in my life, be that as a friend, or a lover, or as a mere acquaintance, if that's what you want. Whatever you're willing to give, I want it. But I want it with just you and me, with no shadows to chase."
"I don't want you to chase anything," she tells him, turning in his arms.
"You sure about that?" he interrupts, circling his fingers around her wrists and moving to rest her hands on his shoulders. "Because I am clearly not the person you want, I'm just a bad copy of him in your eyes, and I can't be—"
"I don't want you to be him," she snaps, cutting him off. "He's not a broken toy. I don't want him replaced."
"Then what do you want?" he asks, impatient.
"Time," is all she says, taking a deep breath in, deep breath out, calming that fire that he can still feel very much on the surface. "I just want time. To understand how we work, to... to figure this all out without you accusing me of molding you to his image every time I suggest you do something nice for others."
"Fair enough," he agrees. "I'll step out of your way, and you can take all the time you need. I can find a place in the forest and—"
"No, don't... don't leave," she whispers. "I'm tired of everyone leaving."
"Alright, then how do we do this?" He knows his tone is a little exasperated, but all these mixed signals are confusing him, and he really has no idea of what this is anymore.
She takes her time answering, seems to mull it over for what feels like ages, her hand absently running over his shoulder. His own thumb is rubbing back and forth on the small of her back, right over the fabric of her dress. He pretends that's not happening, though, chooses to ignore that he's showing her far more affection than he's ever shown anyone before.
"There's a carriage coming into town through the main road tomorrow. My informants tell me it's loaded with gold and jewels, property of Sir Ruber."
"Should I know who that is?" he asks, his curiosity spiking.
Regina shakes her head, "He's a waste of space, that man. And he's... well, he likes to pretend he can get access to the royal goods whenever he wants, despite my having turned him down many times."
"Sounds delightful," he jokes, glad when his sarcasm masks the hint of jealousy he suddenly feels at the thought of someone else's hands on her.
"Yes, well, I was thinking, maybe we could relieve him of his burdensome treasure... forget about all this for a while and just... have a little fun. See who we are without... everything else."
And that, Robin thinks, sounds absolutely perfect.
"As you wish, Your Majesty," he agrees, and resists the urge to land a kiss on her neck before he lets her go, stepping back and watching as she turns to him with this elusive but satisfying smile on her face that knocks the wind right out of him.
He'll think about that smile every time he closes his eyes from now on. He's sure of it. It's too beautiful not to.
It's not smooth sailing from there, not really, but stealing from Sir Ruber thrills them both, has them laughing and enjoying each other's company without the heavy burdens of their pasts. When the obnoxious noble comes looking for his gold, and attempts to seduce a confession out of the queen, she plays along expertly, turns the game around on him with a few well-worded threats that send him running, and then lands herself on Robin's lap with a smirk.
"You know," she says, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I could get used to this."
They don't need the gold, Regina has plenty of that in her castle, so they trade it for food, clothes and shelter for the less fortunate. But their little heists on the main road become a bit of a pattern, a way for them to bond, and surprisingly enough, Robin finds great satisfaction in giving away their stolen riches to those in need, finds joy in performing such acts with the stunning woman he's chosen to follow.
Maybe Hood was onto something after all...