Using my wildcard option for Day 2 of OQ Fix-It Week!
White.
Everything is blindingly white. Like the bright neon lights of a hospital, but multiplied thousand-fold in their intensity.
It's oddly warm, too, which feels like a contrast to the cold, white fluorescence of her surroundings. It's so bright. So bright. And when will it stop? It's giving her a headache.
The second she thinks it, the lights are dimmed, brought down to a warm, yellowy glow that feels cozy and familiar. So familiar, in fact, that it tells Regina exactly where she is.
The walls of her vault form around her as soon as she thinks of them, life erupting in the pops of color from the different nooks in the walls, crimson candles and green and purple phials that once held potion ingredients.
The firelight flickers every which way, wind blowing in slightly from the opening that leads to the main entrance. She hears steps, but no one ever comes down. Hears voices whispering her name, but none ever reveal themselves to her. She sees shadows, but they're probably just her imagination, there's no one here.
She's alone.
Her hands smooth over her thighs in an attempt to calm her nerves, and she startles at the texture of tight, stretchy fabric she hasn't worn in years. A look down shows her that her hands are smooth, her skin dewy and healthy and... young.
It's been forty years since she's had hands this young.
Something is wrong.
Her eyes have adjusted to the change in lighting, taking in every detail of her vault until the gauzy quality of it all has disappeared, giving way to a clear view of a large bed that holds some of her most precious memories.
Memories she hasn't revisited in decades because they hurt too much.
None of this makes sense. She hasn't been to her vault since they left Storybrooke all those years ago, and she tries to figure things out, to understand why she's suddenly here, and only when she thinks of it does she remember.
Sleep. She was so tired. All she'd wanted was sleep. Had fallen into it after wiping away tears from her son's cheeks. You'll always be my little prince, she'd told him, his graying hair doing nothing to age him in her eyes. Lucy had held her other hand, whispering a wet I love you, Grandma that Regina had gladly returned before her eyes grew heavy and...
Oh.
Well... that's that, then.
Something's not right, though. She's supposed to be in Underbrooke, isn't she? She's seen it. Had been there many, many years ago to rescue that damn pirate. She'd said her final goodbye to her mother there, had asked forgiveness from her father there... had lost the love of her life as a consequence of their "adventure" there.
This isn't it.
In fact, it looks very much like the Storybrooke she remembers, except everything seems... cleaner, somehow. Newer.
When her eyes land on a mirror, she notices it's not just her hands that are younger. It's all of her. Curves she'd forgotten she had are filled again, her skin smooth and firm, the crow's feet around her eyes no longer prominent, her hair dark and strong and shiny rather than white and thin. She looks... late thirties, early forties, possibly? But that can't be right. She's 84, or 112 if you count the years where time was frozen. There's nothing young about 112.
And yet...
She's wearing an outfit she never thought she would again. That tight pencil skirt and burgundy top that he had removed after settling her just on that bed there, hands roaming her body in reverence.
Regina has not felt that kind of love since he died. She'd engaged in relationships with others in her long life, but it never felt the same. She'd loved them, yes, been content with them, but every love connection is dull and unsatisfying after you've had —and lost— your soulmate. She'd eventually rekindled her bond with Mal, and that had been wonderful, but even then it was comfort, and friendship, and sex, the familiarity of it a cozy blanket for the nights she'd rather not spend alone. Loving rather than being in love.
So it seems fate has seen fit to taunt her even in the afterlife, by bringing her back to one of the happiest moments of her life, but without the person who made it so.
As if being dead wasn't enough.
She wonders, though, if the rest of the town is out there. Will she even be able to exit her vault, or will she be trapped here for however long the universe decides to keep her? That would be... excruciating, and she's long since learned that she's not a villain, that she deserves happiness, but maybe the afterlife isn't really into that idea.
She'd make do, though. She would. She could explore the cobbled streets of her old home, of the town that saw her transform and shed the vengeful skin of an evil queen in order to become a mother, a woman, a hero in her own way. She found happiness in that, and maybe just reliving those memories will be enough, even if she's stuck here by herself.
She's afraid to reach the door anyway.
Because yes, she could find happiness in all that, but she doesn't want to.
The sun shines in through the stairway that leads out of the vault, and it's brighter now, marking the passage of time (or the changes in weather, at least).
It's a recreation of that first morning after. All those years ago when being in love with a married thief was her biggest problem. A cruel recreation, because he's not here, wrapping his arms around her and offering breakfast by his campfire.
That sunlight is gone suddenly, leaving her vault cold and darkened, and she catches on then to the fact that it's her mood that affects the weather. And how curious, Regina thinks, that she will most likely be stuck in this strange version of Storybrooke where the constant turmoil in her soul will keep her under an overcast sky for the rest of eternity.
There's a shuffling upstairs, and she's not quite sure if it's the wind that's just picked up or if someone is coming, but she does know one thing: she won't find out what's happening to her while locked up in this vault.
So as scared as she is to venture out there, she's going to have to.
One step, and then another, and another, carrying her out in spike heels she hasn't worn in what feels like centuries. The air is crisp and clear despite the clouds overhead, and there's something pure about the wind as it blows, something fresh that enters her lungs on every inhale and turns on the sunshine as her exhales deepen and relax.
There's no one here.
She exits, of course, through the cemetery. Her steps are measured, head whipping every which way as she tries to assess her situation. It startles her how strange it feels to have weight in her hair again. It'd gotten so thin towards the end, she hardly remembers what it felt like to carry the shoulder-brushing waves that swish about her with every turn.
There isn't really anything beyond the graveyard, but as she thinks back to the streets and corners of her beloved town, those same features are suddenly there, forming before her eyes (or did they? It feels like they've been there all along now), opening the path to more and more of this home she built so many years ago.
Still. It can't be that she's the only one here. There must be someone. Anyone.
Please let there be someone.
Mother had taught her the art of concealing one's feelings (or better yet, squashing them altogether), and Regina had used it as a weapon for a long time, an extra layer of armor that kept her safe from silly things like love and compassion, things that counted as weaknesses. They'd later become her greatest strength, but that's not the part of her she needs right now. Right now, she needs the Queen, needs that bravado that kept her from showing vulnerability.
Because she cannot let this... place, this afterworld, win.
Granny's is there, standing tall and proud, like the beacon it always was for them. Regina hasn't been to Granny's since... well, since Henry was a teenager, and she hadn't realized how much she'd missed it until now, when she reaches its open door and finds the venue empty of its patrons. She misses the bustling, the constant sizzle of bacon as it fried, the smell of freshly brewed coffee or newly baked pie...
There's no point in staying here, in this lonely building with no one to understand its significance but her. However, her heart has other plans, and her feet are then carrying her to the back and up the stairs, until she's standing in the same hallway that had seen her throw caution to the wind so long ago. She'd kissed him here, felt his grip on her tighten as he pulled her flush against him, and god, how she misses him.
She hates this. Hates being in this town when all it does is remind her of happier times that will never return. This must definitely be some form of purgatory, punishment for all her past sins: to observe the one place where she'd been truly happy and remember she'll never have that again.
Her feet carry her out of Granny's and back to the graveyard, slow steps gaining more confidence as she goes (because who's going to stop her? She's alone. Alone forever). Her heels dig a bit into the earth, but she persists, walks on until she reaches her destination... and finds it empty.
She checks her location, and yes, it's definitely the correct one, there's no mistaking it. And yet his gravestone is nowhere to be found.
It should be here. At the very least as a reminder of all the happiness she can never have, but it should be here.
"Looking for me, Your Majesty?"
It's a soft whisper, carried by the wind through the distant rumble of thunder, the texture of his voice as rich as the autumnal colors of the leaves that fall and flutter all around her.
It freezes her on the spot. Her muscles contract defensively, her mind trying —and failing— to form that impenetrable shell around her heart as her breathing quickens. But she doesn't dare turn around.
"Regina," that voice rasps, and there's no mistaking it now that it's come closer. That reverence in the way it speaks her name, she's only ever heard that from one person in her entire life.
Tears spring to her eyes, and still she stays where she is, decides if she turns around now the illusion will shatter and she'll have lost him forever.
But he's walking her way, his every step crunching leaves underfoot as he moves closer and closer to where his grave should be.
When his hand grazes the back of her shoulder, she sobs.
"Oh, my love," he whispers, and it makes Regina shut her eyes tightly, one hand covering her mouth to stifle another cry as she shakes her head. She listens as he moves, taking slow steps around her until he's standing right in front. She can smell him. Rain and sweat and that strong presence of fresh pine that always clung to her pillows when he slept next to her.
"Please," that voice begs, "open your eyes."
Slowly, apprehensively, she does, eyelashes fluttering wetly as she tries to focus her gaze. And there he is, standing before her with that dimpled smile and so-blue eyes, just like she remembers.
This can't be real.
"Robin?" she asks dumbly, her voice a warbly thing that breaks through the quiet. Rain has started to fall, drizzling all around them in time with her tears.
"You're even more beautiful than I remember," he tells her, hands hovering over her arms, as if he wants to touch her but is afraid she'll run if he does. His calm smile never wavers, though, stays in place as he looks at her and his eyes brim with tears.
"Is it really you?" she asks, and those hovering hands are on her now, real and solid, rubbing up and down her arms, one moving up to cradle her cheek. Her own hand shoots up to grasp his wrist, the warmth of his skin cementing his presence as his forehead falls gently onto hers, their eyes closed and noses brushing.
"It's me," he confirms. "I've been waiting for you."
Her tears fall more heavily then, the rain above them joining at the same pace even as the sun shines through the clouds. He's been here all this time, waiting for her to join him...
"I've missed you," she cries, her eyes closed still, and then she gasps when she feels him kissing the tears away from her cheeks.
"I've missed you, too," he echoes. "So much."
They are both drenched by now, but they don't move. Regina lets the cold drops wash over her, the sunlight peeking through the clouds and warming her skin as she finally takes a good look at him.
The rain dissipates as her eyes rediscover him, giving way to that sunshine all on its own. The golden glow turns his hair the color of caramel, makes the sparkle in his eyes that much brighter.
Slowly, she moves her hand from his wrist to his face, running shaky fingers over the stubble on his cheeks. She never thought she'd feel this again, that coarse, delightful scrape of his beard against her skin. It's as wonderful as she remembers, and he's missed this, too, because he sighs deeply at the action, turns his head just slightly so he can place a kiss on her palm.
They're huddled together, faces framed by the other's hands, but Robin's lower now, roam down her body until his arms are looped low around her waist, palms resting solid at the small of her back. Regina lets her own hands fall in a caress over his neck and shoulders, down, down until they are mirroring his pose, his face so close to hers she can see the light dusting of freckles on his cheeks, the flutter of his lashes as he blinks away his emotion.
"I can't believe you're finally here," he tells her, pulling her closer, and one of his hands comes up again, thumb rubbing over her cheek as the rest of his fingers tangle in her hair. And gods, how she's missed that.
He kisses her then, leans in slowly and gives her lips a feather-light press of his own. It's soft, and warm, and perfect. There are tears falling from his eyes, and it takes her a moment to realize she's crying again, too, chuckling as her hand touches his cheek to brush the moisture away.
"And there's that smile," he whispers as he runs a thumb over it, closing his eyes before he kisses her again. His hands cradle her face and keep her close, slowly building their exchange to something deeper.
He gives her lower lip a teasing little suck, and at her low moan, he sighs, veering away from her mouth to dot kisses along her neck. His face stays buried in the crook, the hand on the side of her face moving a bit further back to her nape and keeping her close. He's trembling as he holds her, breathing her in and whispering another I missed you into her skin.
Regina shivers, and he chases it with more kisses, his touch warmer, firmer, perfect.
The rain is gone now, replaced forever, it seems, by that sunshine and crisp, fresh winds that blow all around them, brown and orange leaves flying about and wrapping them up in the magic of fall.
"You always said you loved autumn," he tells her by way of explanation, and Regina smiles.
"What is this place?" she asks, and Robin busses her lips gently, runs a hand along her hair and then toys with the ends, still looking at her like he can never get his fill.
"It's our life, Regina," he informs her, "if you want it."
"Our...?"
"I've been here since I died, watching over you and our children. Waiting for you."
"All this time?" she asks. "By yourself?"
"You're worth waiting for, Regina," he says softly, kissing the tip of her nose. "Others will join us, when it's time."
"Others?" she asks, her smile turning into a curious frown.
"Our children, and their children, and the rest of our... atypical family," he explains with a chuckle.
"They'll be here when it's time."
The words soothe her somehow, his love so palpable in each of them, wrapping warmly around her heart. And that's who he's always been, a mountain of support, of strength to fuel her own, a soft armrest for her weary soul to lean on.
It fills her with happiness, has her running a hand down his shoulder, feeling the hard muscles there. She sighs, leaning in close and letting her forehead rest on his shoulder.
"I just can't believe you're here," she insists, her voice breaking a bit. "I never dared to dream that we would have more time..."
When she pulls her head back to look at him, he's smiling, holding her hand in his against his chest as he kisses her.
And in his reply, she finds the courage to believe that this is real, that after countless years of tribulations, they've finally been awarded the second chance that was stolen from them.
"We have forever."