for the OQ prompt party, 2019.
friday: prompt n.84
He's in for robbery. She's in for murder. A prison romance blossoms when Robin Locksley notices a quiet inmate across the fence on her daily one hour out on the yard.
p.s. i tried to be as thorough as possible with the details about life in prison, but of course this story will be inaccurate; sorry.
We Found Love (in a hopeless place)
.
He has heard of her.
Of course he has, they all have in this prison. And he believes, frankly, that a lot of the gossip about her is untrue. News spread like fire, in prison, and it doesn't matter that the women's sector and the men's are technically separated – the guards like to talk, as well, they're tough people and they spend their days amidst thieves, and forgers, and burglars, and drug traffickers. They're all in for minor offences, in Robin's ward, but he knows she's in the worst sector of the female half – because Regina Mills is in for murder, and her trial was so quick it was over in weeks, but he suspects someone powerful is behind it.
So he has heard of her, a lot, because Robin likes to talk with people. And he has come to know so many things in the last six months he's been in, you could swear he's actually the best of sweet-talkers. Except that when he finds a wall, he usually wants to see what's on the other side – he wants to see, to know more, because human connections are the only way not to go mad in this place. And Regina Mills is exactly that – a wall, a vault of secluded information that not even Leroy, one of his favorite guards, can manage to break.
Gossip travels fast, and gossip surrounds Regina like a cloud of perfume – wherever she goes, whatever she does, she's been here for two years now, and still has six months. This he knows. So the fact that they'll most likely be out of prison on the same day isn't lost to him.
And yet he thinks that not everything is true about her. Some things, yes. But not everything – definitely not, because some things they say about her are so weird and exaggerate that he can't possibly believe them. He knows that the only way to know the truth would be asking her. He can't explain why, but she fascinates him – the amount of information about her and the fact that she basically doesn't talk to anyone bar a couple of women she's friend of, and she doesn't , but he still remembers the day he has seen her for the first time.
It was in the first hours of the afternoon. They all have an hour of freedom in the yard, every day, and the women's yard is divided from the men's by a wire fence. She was in a corner, next to the fence, sitting down – even if other prisoners preferred to do sports during their time outside, she was sitting there, engrossed in a book. He remembers he has looked at her, and asked to someone who she was – and later, that same man, Will Scarlet, would become one of his best friends in the prison. Will has told him that She's not stuff for you, mate, that Regina was so reserved and she hadn't budged to any attempt to befriend her. He found out that she works in the kitchens, not all the mornings, and then goes to the library during the afternoon. He kept all these precious information to himself, as little jewels he has laboriously conquered. And one day, he wants to talk with her.
.
She has seen him watching her.
And she'd lie if she said she hasn't noticed him – Robin Locksley, the thief, so good that he's gone undetected for years before the Sheriff could finally catch him. And he only got one year of prison. He must have one hell of a lawyer, she thinks. (Well, she does have a hell of a lawyer too, if she's being honest, but that's not the point). She knows he looks at her, and she should find it creepy, maybe, but she thinks he's just working up the courage to talk to her.
In the meanwhile – she's gotten some information about him. He has a son, and his son lives with Robin's best friend and they go see him every Saturday and Sunday. (Regina gets her sister's and niece's visitations, so she can't complain, really.) And she has seen him at the library, but he's never interacted with her. It's become a game – a game she's happy to play, honestly, because it adds a little flavor to her time in prison.
She wonders when he'll make the first move.
Her cellmates have different opinions about it. Ursula told her not to do it, because it's more fun this way and actually gives her space to refuse. Ella Feinberg told her to do it, that the man is a snack, and if she doesn't, she will for her. Regina wants to wait… wait and see what happens in these six months.
.
Robin waits.
He's good at it, after all. And he found out that waiting can do wonders in their context – after all, they're not exactly in a rush, are they?
And when he first talks to Regina, they're in the library. And she's reading. Seated at her favorite table, he notices, she's reading Anna Karenina, and it looks like she's already devoured a good half of it. Thing is he hasn't actually read the novel, but he knows she likes the Russian tomes. He picks a random book from a shelf and goes to sit in front of her – for the first time, but he's silent for a good amount of minutes – stealing glances of her every now and then, until she finally says, "Are you going to talk to me one day?"
He looks up, and thank god, she's smiling.
"I, er, I didn't want to disturb," he tries, sheepishly. God, he's so lame. "But I'd like to talk to you, yes."
"Well, I know. After all, you sat in front of me… even though this table has six other chairs," she arches an eyebrow, looking amused.
"What can I say? You're one of the few things that I love of this place," he smiles. "I mean… the rest is pretty boring, don't you think?"
She tilts her head, looks curious. "You know me, though. What I did. You're not afraid of me?"
"Why should I be?"
"Well, you know," she starts, "I'm sure you've heard why I have had the pleasure of being in this place for the past months."
Robin shrugs. "I've heard. And I'm not afraid of you. I'm a thief, after all. No one here is a saint."
"No one is a monster either."
"Yeah except a couple of categories… I like to think that everyone had a reason to do what they did."
She is looking at him now, and looks interested enough that he thinks he has won something, somehow, even if he doesn't know what exactly.
"You're weird," she tells him. "In a good way. You aren't judging me, given that you don't know my true story. That's good." And then, with his enormous disdain, she smiles again and pushes back her chair, gets up. "We'll talk again, Robin Locksley."
.
She has managed to find a way, she thinks. It involves the help of three people, but she has set up a stream of pretty regular correspondence with Robin Locksley.
They meet, of course. At the library or outside, during their free time, they can talk to each other through the fence – but it's tricky, and it works when they sit with their back against the wall at one end of the fence and speak in hushed tones, trying not to move their lips too much. And yet, for her it isn't enough. So she has enlisted Mal's help and Robin has asked John, and even Leroy knows. So now every Saturday morning she gives a new envelope to her lawyer, and Mal gives her Robin's answer from last week, and empty pages, then Mal gives John Regina's letter and John gives it to Robin on Saturday afternoon. It's messy, but after a couple of experimental weeks they make it work, because it's the only way to speak – undetected, and Leroy has sworn secrecy and he lets them keep the letters until Mal and John come on Saturday.
And god, she loves writing to him.
She gets her letter ready during all the week, and it's always about subjects that they don't normally discuss in their secret rendez-vous. It's a stream of words, tales and experiences and questions.
So she finally gets to tell him what happened – why she has killed her husband. How he was an abusive piece of shit, but well connected, so she got prison instead of a self-defense sentence – but her mother and her mother's new husband are, also, well connected, and managed to get her two years and a half.
And he answers, Robin, oh he does, tells her of his thievery and that he tried to do good for the world, but it wasn't the right way.
.
By now, he's sure that half the prison knows that he and Regina are a thing.
And is it weird – that he feels so in sync with her, with her words and her smiles and her banter, to think that he's in love with her?
He has never kissed her – never made love to her, never shared a bed with her or made her breakfast or – he doesn't know what's her favorite food or movie yet, but he does know that he can't wait to find out.
They start talking about future.
He's the first to promise her a date – not on paper, but rather on a sunny afternoon, sitting in the yard, as they talk as always, and he slips in the conversation and says – I'd like to take you to that restaurant someday. He doesn't realize at first, but she… well, she smiles, almost shyly at first, and says, Is that true, Mr Locksley?
He grins at her – now he's gone, completely, and there's still four months to go. Four months. He knows he should thread slowly, that maybe she's a completely different person when she's in a different setting, and they're going to need a good dose of therapy and time to adjust after this experience. But he nods, and tells her, I can't wait to see if you're a girl who kisses at the first date.
.
She kisses him on a Sunday, three months two days to go, drags him behind the last shelves of the library – where no one can see them, and kisses him because she's tired to wait, and god it's exactly how she imagined.
He moans into the kiss, Robin, and she thanks the stars that he decided to finally come to sit next to her that day, and she thinks of all the letters and good moments he has gifted her.
"I thought…" she stops, looking at him, right into his eyes that sparkle of blue. "I thought that I was in prison, but I've never felt more free than now."
From his smile, she knows that he knows what she means – that she may be an inmate and who knows what the future will bring, but for now all that matters is him and what they have.
And it's definitely enough to be happy, even in a hopeless place.
