Some established future Dragon Queen, in a very sad day. Heavily OQ.
Who Keeps Your Flame
.
We were the victims of ourselves
Maybe the children of a lesser God
Between heaven and hell
.
She's been cranky all day. She has snapped at Henry – twice – and scolded little Robyn for leaving the cat alone with the laundry – that damned cat, he loves to crouch down between clean clothes, and she has to rewash them every time.
Her sister hasn't said a word, just eyed her with the promise of some late talking, and has taken her almost-crying daughter's hand, luring her with promises of ice cream and a movie.
Maleficent hasn't spoken about her edgy mood – she knows Regina too well not to understand that she absolutely doesn't want to talk about it, or to let someone in, so she simply squeezes her shoulder in a gesture of affection, trying to transmit her willingness to help, without being insistent.
Four years.
Four years ago, and precisely today, she has lost him.
Regina has her days to grieve – at least four, as far as she knows. Her mother, her father, Daniel – these are days of quiet melancholy, of content sadness, because at least, at least, she knows they moved on, to a better place, and she can just miss them.
But today – today it's another story.
She climbs under the sheets a good hour after her – curled on herself, she can only see her back, and she wonders if she's silently crying. Outside, a thunderstorm starts. She lies there, listening to the ever-growing noise, listening, and feeling Regina's breaths – they slow down, and then she closes her eyes, doesn't try to disturb her, and sleeps.
– § –
Her scream comes at the same time as a thunder falls.
She wakes, startled, and Regina is still asleep, but so still that it's scaring. Her eyes roam to find her face – a quick impulse from her hand, and they have a small-sized globe of fire fluctuating above them.
"Regina?"
Her hand finds her arm slowly, and she shakes gently, only now noticing the dried trails of tears on her cheeks. But Regina inhales and opens her eyes – there's pain, sadness, despair and fear.
"Mal."
She pulls on her elbows and sits – squeezes her eyes, and brings up a hand to wipe away the wetness she must feel. Mal thinks it's safe to touch her now that she's awake – her hand rubs her back, and she joins her in her sitting position.
"You okay?" she whispers – prays Regina didn't wake the kids, or Zelena, for that matter, she's in the next room.
"Yes," she murmurs, "just the – thunders, I think," and again, she doesn't even mention his name, but Mal knows it's not the storm, it's not the thunder, it's her soul aching painfully – it's her heart, broken and never mended.
She doesn't mind a broken heart. She doesn't mind darkness.
She can love both, she can take care of both.
But the one who was supposed to take care of her soul is gone, and Regina doesn't even have a little comfort in knowing he's happy – or in heaven, or at least that she can meet him again someday.
She is still sitting – she has her gaze planted upon the fire globe, and Mal wonders what exactly is she thinking of. She wonders, how did he die? Because this isn't the first time that a storm has made her scream – she wonders if there were thunders, involved in his death, or a blaze of electricity, or a loud noise.
She has never told her.
No one else was present – Zelena wasn't, she arrived and found her sister clinging to his body, death and rage in her eyes. Well, little Robyn was there. But she was a baby, and it's painful enough, when she asks of her dad.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Mal asks quietly, and as expected, Regina shakes her head imperceptibly. Then, she turns, leaning on, and Mal invites her in her arms.
"I'm so sorry, honey," she whispers to her shoulder, she feels tears falling and soaking her shirt, and holds her as she sobs, finally letting the gates of sadness open, and her grief flow.
She feels a pang of self-loathing, too – she thinks he would have known how to bring her comfort. She thinks the person Regina needs to talk with, about his death… it's him.
"He…" Regina tries to speak, a new hiccup interrupts for a second. Then she resumes, more firmly. "He was my best friend, you know," she tells her, and her heart breaks a little more. The shaking of her back increases, and she sobs more loudly. "Oh, Mal, I miss him," she sounds so little, and she can only hug her tightly, rocking her, stroking her hair.
"I know," she says, and those two words, it's like a drop in the sea, it's not a help, she feels so useless. She can't give him back to her. She keeps holding her, and waits, hoping that little hopeless girl she has met so many years ago can, one day, find some peace.
.
If I could spare his life
If I could trade his life for mine
He'd be standing here right now
And you would smile,
And that would be enough.
