A/N: This is a repost of an old fic. This was written for the 2014 Santa Exchange for descaliers.
HOLLY, MISTLETOE, AND OTHER YULETIDE FIASCOS
This was Snow's fault. (As usual.)
It began at a council meeting. Regina was still adjusting to co-running a kingdom with the stepdaughter she had a vendetta against for decades—let alone letting others like Granny and Grumpy and that archer (who spent half the time at these gatherings giving her little grins, the insolent man) have a voice in government matters. It was so very democratic. And annoying as hell.
Regina was only half-listening to the usual blathering about their progress in hunting down the Wicked Witch, the measures taken to fortify their home and protect the people. Nothing new to report. Blah. Blah. Blah. This touchy-feely "everyone has a valid opinion" crap was pointless. They needed to be out there beyond the safety of the castle grounds, flushing out Greenie and her winged cronies. But no, there was no such thing as "acceptable losses" in Snow's bleeding heart universe.
"And that's why I think we need to do something to lift everyone's spirits," Snow was saying with her signature smile full of sunshine and rainbows. Which meant she was about to propose an idea that would make Regina's life infinitely more miserable.
"No," Regina interjected, hoping to head the young woman off before everyone else was on board with whatever ridiculous thing she wanted to do. "No balls." The dancing, the music, the happiness. Ugh.
"I'm not talking about a ball," Snow argued. "Well, not just a ball. David and I—" she glanced at her husband, "—think it might be fun to do a Christmas celebration."
"A what?" Regina's eyes grew wide. "You can't be serious."
"I'm afraid I don't understand." Of course this was when that stupid outlaw decided to speak up. (She knew his name. She'd cut off her right hand before she acknowledged it, though.) "Christmas?" He spoke the word slowly, as though testing the weight of its unfamiliarity.
The others started speaking at once, shouting as they attempted to explain the holiday with disjointed phrases. Caroling! Hot cocoa and eggnog and fudge! Presents! Trees and lights and music and Santa Claus! Regina smirked when the latter truly baffled the thief.
"There's a rotund old man who travels the realm on flying deer," he said, disbelief thick in his soft, raspy voice, "who leaves gifts for children in their stockings? I thought it was a land without magic."
Snow laughed and shook her head. "He's not actually real. It's—" She waved her hand helplessly.
"It's a story they tell their children in order to get them to behave," Regina finished for her with an eye roll. "If they're naughty, Santa won't bring them any presents."
"Ah, I see." The thief nodded, though it was clear he still didn't get it—not completely.
What followed next was a flurry of planning. Apparently the lack of holly and mistletoe in this realm along with the other trimmings and trappings of the holiday wasn't enough to stay everyone's enthusiasm. Soon sketches of the things they would need were passed around with the charge that everyone search for the closest approximation possible. When it came to the matter of lighting the tree, all eyes turned on Regina.
"Oh, no," she said, raising her hands. "You're on your own. I'm not taking part in this disaster in the making."
"Regina." Snow gave her a sympathetic look as if she knew the real reason why Regina was against this insane scheme.
"If we're done talking about the things that actually matter like—oh, I don't know—defeating the Wicked Witch," Regina announced, rising from her chair, "then I've got better things to do."
By the time she reached the door, the rest of the group was already babbling excitedly about the preparations. She glanced back at the fools and found the outlaw staring after her, brows furrowed in a thoughtful expression. She gave him a flat look in return.
He was so…so irritating.
Regina knew it would be bad, but this was beyond the pale. Granny was on a mission to reproduce every holiday favorite—which surprisingly wasn't too great of a challenge. The food in the Enchanted Forest wasn't all that different from Storybrooke, though the lack of modern conveniences was likely giving the older woman fits. (Good.)
Whenever Regina wandered near the kitchen, Granny would entreat her to taste this concoction or another. Did the pumpkin pie need more nutmeg? Was the spiced apple cider too spicy? Ham or Turkey for the Christmas feast—or both? How was the fudge? Thick enough? Rich enough? This should have been Regina's first clue that there was a conspiracy brewing.
Those who had been left behind during the curse quickly caught on to the foreign traditions, and soon Regina was being wished a Merry Christmas or Happy Holiday every three steps. And everyone was so nice. Even to her. (Especially to her, it seemed.) Being a monarch, she was accustomed to being waited on hand and foot, but she couldn't even breathe without someone offering to do it for her.
And the carols. The carols.
Apparently nearly thirty years in Storybrooke wasn't long enough for people to learn the lyrics. There was nothing more grating than dwarves belting the wrong words to "Deck the Halls" off-key.
Deck the halls with bows and lollies
Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la
'Tis the reason for our folly
Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la
Gone is now our grey apparel
Fa-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la
Trolls are ancient, stuck in barrels
Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la
No. Just no. Regina was fairly certain that Grumpy was purposefully steering the others wrong; he was as enthused about the celebrations as she was, but joined in anyway just to spite her.
She might have smiled, just a little, when she overheard Roland singing, "Jingle bells, Batman smells, Robin laid an egg" before turning to his father and asking what a batman was. She wondered where the boy learned that version of the song. She tried not to think about another little man who would have been the one to teach him.
Short of hiding in her rooms, there was simply no escaping the good cheer—no matter how muddled it was. The dining hall was lined with fir trees, decorated with eclectic ornaments and garland from simple creations made by little hands to intricate glass-blown designs. Blue and the other fairies happily solved the lighting issue with tiny stars glittering in orbit around each tree. Regina grudgingly admitted that it was…beautiful. (Henry would have loved it.) Her only consolation was they hadn't managed to find anything resembling holly or, more importantly, mistletoe. She didn't think she could stomach stumbling onto others using a bit of fungus as an excuse for nauseatingly public displays of affection.
But of course that persistent thief had to screw it all up.
She went to the ballroom late one night and stared at the twenty-foot tree in the center of the cavernous room, missing home so much that her chest ached. Funny how home wasn't in this realm—but then, it never really had been, had it? Not since Daniel died. Not since she found love again in the brown eyes of a baby boy. She would never admit this to Snow, but in the quiet, beneath the fairy lights twinkling on needled boughs, Regina felt closer to Henry—just a hair. She imagined him decorating a smaller tree in some apartment in Boston or New York, making a popcorn garland as he did every year.
She didn't turn when the door opened, thinking it was Snow coming to give her another one of her patented hope speeches or to commiserate over the fact that both of them had left children behind. But as the footsteps approached, Regina caught a whiff of pine and the loamy scent of earth. Oh, wonderful. Him. Just what she needed. Another purveyor of hope speeches—either that or snark. She wasn't sure which she liked less.
"This holiday of yours," he said as he stepped up beside her and dropped a leather satchel to the ground, "is quite something, isn't it?"
"It's not my holiday," she answered brusquely. Chances were slim that he'd go away simply because she didn't want him there (he never had before; why should he start now?), but that wouldn't keep her from trying to chase him off.
"Right, of course." He sucked in a deep breath. "Well, Roland is excited all the same. He's made presents for everyone—including you."
She smiled in spite of herself. It wasn't the boy's fault that his father was annoying, after all.
"Be careful, your majesty," the thief warned with a cheeky grin. "Your Evil Queen mask is slipping."
She rolled her eyes. "If you're here to mock me, feel free to go back to your campfire and sing another round of 'Koombaya' with your little ragtag gang. I'm not in the mood."
He huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head. "I've come bearing gifts, actually." He kneeled down and unclasped his satchel. "I'll admit that the quest turned out to be rather perilous. It required me to go beyond the borders of the protection spell and deep into the dark forest."
She glanced at him, mildly interested in what he deemed worthy of his risky trek. (Come to think of it, he hadn't been underfoot all day. It was nice.)
He fished something out of the battered bag and held it up for her inspection. "Your holly, milady," he said proudly, "or at least this realm's approximation of it."
She only half-heard him, though. Because in his hand was, yes, a very close cousin to the prickly-leaf holiday foliage but this…this was incredibly dangerous. How could she have forgotten the Hawthorn of Veritas? It was so incredibly rare, of course it wouldn't have occurred to her.
Unaware of her mounting dread, he went on, "The princess said the berries are supposed to be red, but I think this will do well enough. I'm particularly fond of how they seem to shimmer in the light." He gently pinched one between his forefinger and thumb and began to pull.
"No, Robin, don't!" she exclaimed, but it was too late. The berry released with a soft pop and then burst into a cloud glittering dust. He caught most of it, but she got enough exposure that there was no hope of escaping its effects.
"What the devil?" He stood up, scrubbing at his stubbled face before succumbing to a sneezing fit.
"You fool," she said through clenched teeth. "You reckless, idiotic bandit! You can't just go traipsing through the dark forest and picking up random plants! Don't you know anything?"
"Perhaps we might have avoided this unfortunate incident," he returned in kind, "if you had been willing to help with any of this!" He waved a hand toward the tree as if it represented the whole of Christmas.
"I didn't want to have this stupid holiday in the first place!"
"You stubborn, infuriating woman!" He worked his jaw, hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. "You drive me so mad sometimes that I want to grab you and shake you and…and kiss you senseless!" His eyes rounded as though he was as stunned as she was by what came out of his mouth.
He wanted to…kiss her? Her, the Evil Queen whose black knights once used to chase him?
"That was the berry, I take it," he said after a beat of silence.
"Yes." She sighed. "It's like a truth serum—mixed with alcohol and laughing gas."
He raised a brow. "Laughing gas?"
"Just something from the other realm." She waved the question off. "That comes later, though."
"And how long does it last?" he asked.
"A few hours." She pointed to the plant he'd dropped when the berry exploded. "We better store that somewhere safe while we're still coherent. It'll undo Snow's morale improvement project if everyone is running around telling each other what they really think."
"Agreed." He put the greenery back in the satchel, careful not to jostle any of the other berries, before gesturing for her to lead the way. "You're being strangely helpful."
"That's because I don't actually hate you, as much as I tell myself I do." She sighed again. This was going to be a long night.
"I think I'm starting to enjoy our odd little predicament." He gave her an impish grin.
She transported them both to her private vault—not wanting to risk running into someone in the torchlit halls of the castle while in this state. She led him past the wall of hearts to a small potion room and directed him to store the offending plant on one of the shelves.
"What now?" he asked as he dusted off his hands. "It's probably not a good idea for me to return back to my men, not when I'm liable to tell Little John that he should spend a bit more time in the practice yards and a bit less in Granny's kitchen. And besides, I'd very much like to stay with you and discover exactly how much you don't hate me." He didn't seem perturbed at all by his frank confession.
"I'm not going to stop you," she said with a shrug. Because she wasn't bothered either. (This was another side effect of the berry that was settling over them both now—this sort of blissful absence of inhibitions.)
He flashed his teeth in a broad smile. "Where shall we sequester ourselves, then?"
"My chambers." There was really no other place to go.
His smile grew even wider. "Excellent."
When they arrived in her private rooms, he untied his cloak and flopped onto her bed, patting the space beside him. "Come have a sit," he said, "and let's learn each other's secrets. I want to know everything about you."
"Don't you have anything more practical to wear?"
She pursed her lips and gave him a glower that was almost playful. "What do you mean by 'more practical'?"
He held up his hands in defense. "I mean clothing that offers a little more maneuverability—not that I mind the corsets. They do rather lovely things to your figure." He bit his bottom lip as his gaze dipped briefly south. "But if we're to sneak about the castle, I think you'll want to be less constricted."
"We don't have to sneak around," she argued. "I can just poof us where we want to go."
"Yes, but that's cheating." He narrowed his eyes. "You did want to know how I became the best thief in the realm."
It was true. She did. They'd spent an hour (was it more?) swapping their life stories. She was surprised to discover that he hadn't always been the honorable outlaw, that he had an unsavory past that nearly rivaled her own. He listened as she expounded on her struggle not to give in to her dark tendencies, especially now that Henry was gone. She learned how Robin met his wife, and how deeply her death affected him. She admitted that even though she knew her son wouldn't have wanted it, she couldn't bring herself to let go of the pain because it felt like betrayal (much the same way she hadn't let go of Daniel's loss).
After every deep, dark mystery was revealed, the topics turned lighter. Anecdotes about the Merry Men. Life in Storybrooke. She laughed while Robin tried and failed to understand modern technology. Airplanes and cars, cellphones and computers. He asked her if she was positive that the land had no magic—because it certainly sounded like it was full of unbelievable, fantastical things to him. He told her tales of his greatest exploits, and that's when she got the brilliant idea that he should show her how it was done.
She stood up and with the flick of her wrist, her clothing changed to something simpler: a peasant shirt like his, leather breeches, and boots. "Is this sneaky enough?"
He made a noise of approval. "Much better." He scooped his cloak up off the floor, draped it over her shoulders and tied it. "Now you look a proper bandit."
Her heart fluttered just a little at the way he stared at her. (She vaguely recalled that his singular interest annoyed her before, but she couldn't remember why.) She made a face at him. "I look like Snow White."
"Not at all." He pulled the cowl over her head, smoothing the fabric with rough fingers as he murmured, "You're far more beautiful."
"Really?" He thought she was prettier than the goddess of light and love? (And she wanted him to?)
"Truly." He nodded, casting a brief glance to her mouth. "In fact, I would kiss you right now if I was absolutely certain that you wouldn't turn me into a toad for my impertinence."
She laughed, harder than necessary thanks to the magical berry. "Maybe I'll let you try later." Would she? She didn't know; he was more likeable now than he'd ever been.
"Hope is all a man can ask for," he said, grinning, hand over his heart. "Now, shall we get into some mischief?" He waggled his eyebrows and she laughed again.
Being stealthy turned out to be a bigger challenge in practice than in theory, especially when she couldn't contain her giggles—no matter how often he shushed her. They snuck down corridors, flattening themselves in the slim space between doors and jambs when a member of the night guard passed by. (Getting caught wouldn't be a problem; both of them were recognizable—and most of the men on watch were part of Robin's entourage.) She felt…carefree, like she hadn't since, well, ever. A tiny rational voice in her head reminded her that this was all merely a product of an accidental spell, but she couldn't care less.
He was as good as he said he was. His boots didn't make a sound as he crept over the stone floors. She tried to imitate his light-footedness but she couldn't manage to be as silent as he was. Another guard turned down the hallway, and Robin pulled her into a small alcove. She held her breath as they waited for him to pass, keenly aware of Robin's body pressed into her back, his arm wrapped around her waist.
When they were in the clear, he didn't release her immediately. Instead, he leaned forward and whispered in her ear, "I daresay you're a much pleasanter companion to be trapped in a tight space with than Little John."
She snickered, and he clamped a hand over her mouth, warning her to be quiet. He tried to sound severe, but she felt him shaking with his own muted laughter. "Stop distracting me," he admonished with mock sternness, his beard prickling at her neck. "You've given me a mission, and I am determined to succeed."
It wasn't a mission so much as a bet. She dared him to steal David's sword, and she was pretty sure the man slept with the thing under his pillow. If Robin lost, he had to shave off his beard. If he won, he wanted a token to be named later. She had her suspicions what it might be, and she was beginning to secretly root for him.
They finally made it to the Uncharmings' rooms—sneaking was tedious work. Robin had the lock picked in short order as Regina stood guard. She told him that he lost points for using her as a look-out. He argued that the final score didn't matter so long as he had the sword in hand in the end. He had a point.
As they snuck through the antechamber with Robin directing her to stay in the shadows, a rumbling sound came from the bedroom. Somebody was a snorer. Regina bit back another fit of giggles. How on earth did either of them get any sleep with that roar? Robin pressed his fingers to his lips as he opened the door to the moonlit room.
It was Snow. Snow was sawing logs like an overambitious miller.
Regina pressed her palm against her mouth as she laughed silently, eyes welling with tears. With a smile he couldn't seem to restrain, Robin mouthed, "Be quiet," before absconding along the walls, careful to keep out of the ambient light filtering in through the windows. He made it to the other side of the bed where David was snoozing. His sword belt hung from the headboard, barely visible in the darkness. Robin was slowly reaching up to grasp the hilt when David suddenly shot upright.
"Princesses can't date pirates!"
Snow's snoring came to an abrupt halt with a loud snort, and Regina darted behind the door, heart pounding, chest constricting.
"David," Snow murmured, "you're dreaming again."
Regina heard the rustle of bedding and assumed that the prince was getting settled again. "Emma kissed Hook," he slurred, clearly still asleep.
"I know," Snow said in placating tones.
"Hang 'im for treason." The last of David's statement was almost inaudible.
"In the morning," was Snow's sleepy response, and David grunted in approval.
There were several precarious breaths of stark silence, and Regina didn't dare move until the snoring began again in earnest. She searched the room for Robin, tried to discover where he might have hidden as the brief, nighttime drama played out. She couldn't find him anywhere—not until he lowered himself to the floor from beneath the frame of their bed. Oh, he was good. Really good.
When he made for the sword this time, neither of the Uncharmings stirred. He was back at Regina's side in less than a minute and ushering her out of their chambers. Once he had the door relocked, he knelt before her, sword laid across his hands in offering.
"Your prize, milady."
She picked up the weapon, admiring how well-balanced it was. No wonder it was David's precious baby. "Well done, thief," she said in her best queenly voice—which was hardly passable with all that mirth threaded in it. "And what shall be your reward?" Her pulse spiked again as she waited for his answer.
"I believe you already know—but later." He rose to his feet and pointed at the sword. "First, what will you do with it?"
Her brows furrowed. She hadn't thought of that. Send it back to its scabbard? Hide it in the stables? She smiled at the image of David mucking through horse dung and soiled hay in search of it. That seemed to be the best option, and she was about to magic it away when another idea struck her. A wonderful, awful idea.
"I know just the thing," she said as a terrible grin stretched the corners of her mouth.
After they dealt with David's sword (Robin admired her creativity), the rest of the night became a haze of hijinks as the berry's spell reached its peak. She only vaguely remembered some antic to do with the Christmas decorations—something about making them more festive—and then Robin suggested they up the ante and mess with Granny's kitchen. Which was where they were now, throwing flour at each other after a botched attempt at swapping the salt and sugar. (How flour got involved in that fiasco, she didn't know or care.) Thankfully she had enough of her wits to put up a silencing spell around the room. Granny would have chased them out with a wooden spoon if she saw this disaster.
Regina doubled over at the thought of the old woman's face contorted in rage.
"What is it you find so humorous?" Robin was almost white with the dust, and she broke into a full guffaw. "Are laughing at me, your majesty?"
She nodded, unable to catch her breath enough to speak. He lobbed a handful of flour at her, and she yelped as she tried to dodge it. His aim was as good as it was with a bow and arrow, though, and she was struck square in the face. That naughty thief! She grabbed the teakettle, pleased to find that it still had water in it, and promptly doused him when he came close enough.
He wiped his face, leaving greyish-white streaks on his skin. "You are a diabolical woman."
"Evil Queen," she quipped with a shrug.
His responding smile turned unchaste as his gaze slipped down to her lips. "I'll have my reward now."
A wave of anticipation washed over her, smothering the last of her laughter. He was going to do it. He was going to kiss her, and she wanted him to. "Then take it."
"Happily."
He grasped her jaw with both hands and covered her mouth with his in a searing kiss. There was no tentative preamble, no gentle request asking permission for more. No, he took with every pent-up desire he must have been hiding these past months. And she gave as good as she got, fingers sliding into his hair, goopy from the flour and water. He pushed in closer to her, his satisfied groan making her knees weak. She didn't remember being so thoroughly kissed—not in decades—and she wanted more. So much more.
When she thought she might drown from the onslaught, he pulled back, smirking down at her. "And how was kissing a common thief? Not so terrible, I take it."
"You smell like forest and your beard is scratchy." She couldn't deliver the line with the same venom she normally would have—and she didn't want to. She didn't want to chase him off. She wanted another round.
His eyes widened. "My beard is scratchy?"
She bit her lip to hold back the giggle bubbling up her throat and gave him a nod.
"And you don't care for it?" He leaned forward and brushed his chin against her cheek. "Should I have lost our wager and shaved instead?" He was at her neck now, and the coarse hairs tickled more than scratched. She let out a burst of laughter, pushed against his shoulders as he continued his assault.
And then he was kissing her again, this time open-mouthed and wet, and she sank into him with a moan. It felt so good to be wanted this way. He wasn't afraid of her; he never had been, no matter how that fact irritated her. He saw right through her, and it wasn't as terrifying as she once believed. It was…easy. Nothing in her life had ever been easy.
"I think you actually like me," he said when they broke for air. The statement wasn't smug, but hopeful, and it sent chills dancing across her skin.
"I do," she confessed almost more to herself than him. "And it scares me."
He rested his sticky forehead against hers. "Why should it?"
She blew out a deep sigh and wrapped her arms around him as if he was an anchor in the coming tide of emotions. "My pain is all I have left of Henry. I don't know how to be happy without losing him."
Robin stared down at her, understanding written in his pale gaze. "You won't. He'll always be a part of you," he said, taking one of her hands in his and placing it against his chest, "just as my Marian is always a part of me. I promise you."
That was all. No superficial platitude about how Henry would have wanted her to be happy. Just honest empathy. A drop of wisdom from someone who had traveled a similar path. And with the feel of his heartbeat beneath her palm, she believed him.
She ran her fingers across his stubble and leaned in to press her lips to his—languid and soft to match her gratitude. "Thank you," she whispered.
"You've a stunning smile," he murmured, "and I'd like to see more of it."
"Is that so?" she asked, feeling more than a little flirty.
"Oh, yes." He gripped her at the waist and pulled her flush against him. "And perhaps other things as well."
Just when she thought his kiss couldn't get any more consuming, he was practically devouring her—and she liked it. A lot. This thing between them was as powerful as magic. Electric like a bolt of lightning, and true. Because the Hawthorn of Veritas wasn't a love potion. It merely stripped away the lies, the fears, the reservations, and laid bare the truth in all its unsightly, incredible glory. And their truth was surprising. Two pieces of a puzzle that fit together seamlessly. (Exactly who was this thief?)
He backed her into the preparation table and a handful of knives fell to the floor in a loud clatter. He cringed against her mouth but didn't pull back. She laughed, waving a hand to take them both somewhere more appropriate for making out like horny teenagers: her room.
"Are we going to recall any of this tomorrow?" he asked as she started yanking the laces undone on his leather jerkin.
"No." She'd forgotten to disclose that final effect of the enchantment. Pity that, too. Her walls would be up once more. She hoped he would continue to push at them. It would be a travesty if this special connection was wholly lost. She shoved him toward her bed, uncaring of the mess the pasty flour was going to make.
"So then you'll resume your ungenerous behavior toward me." It wasn't a question. He knew, but she felt compelled to answer anyway.
"Yes, unfortunately."
His hands stilled hers, preventing her from untucking his shirt. "I can't do this."
Her stomach soured at his announcement. He didn't want her. Of course he didn't. Nobody ever really wanted her—not since Daniel. (And she sometimes believed that even he wouldn't have wanted her after what she'd become.)
"Don't misunderstand me," Robin said as if reading her thoughts. "I want to. You've no idea how much. But not like this. Not when neither of us will remember." He cupped her cheek and smoothed his thumb over her skin. "I want it to be real when it does happen."
She stared at him as though he were some kind of mirage. How could he say these things to the Evil Queen and mean them?
He gathered her into his arms, and climbed into bed, holding her close to his chest as he placed a kiss on the top of her head. "You are the most frustrating and fascinating woman I've ever known," he murmured. "And when you are ready to open yourself up to the possibility of happiness, I hope you allow me to be a part of it."
"Don't stop trying," she whispered.
His arms cinched tighter around her. "I don't think I can."
She smiled into his shirt as the adrenaline from their escapades began to wear off and sleep folded over her like a warm blanket.
She dreamt of Christmas, of Henry and Daniel decorating a tree with a popcorn garland. Carols played in the background as they worked. Chipmunks roasting on an open fire, hot sauce dripping from their toes. No, that was wrong, so wrong, but it didn't matter. Daniel smiled at her from across the room, walked toward her with unadulterated affection radiating on his features, and joy made her eyes wet with tears. (That's what mattered.)
He caressed her jaw with calloused fingertips. "It's going to be all right, Regina," he said. "I'll always be with you."
He faded like an overexposed photograph, and before she could cry out, Robin was in his place, wearing the same expression of pure love. He kissed her with such familiarity and tenderness, her heart clenched.
"Happy Christmas, darling," he murmured before looking over her shoulder. "I think we'd better not leave the boys to their own devices."
She turned, laughing when she saw Henry and Roland hanging the ornaments by color and type. Robin squeezed her hand, whispering an "I love you" as he went to help their sons. She hung back to soak in the moment—this happy ending she never thought she could have—set to the odd soundtrack of "I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas."
Too soon, she felt morning's gentle but insistent pull. She tried to stay in this content, safe place, but the dream curled at the edges until there was nothing left but the amber glow of the sunrise behind her eyelids. She snuggled deeper into her pillows and comforter, hoping to recapture that beautiful image, but was startled by the sound of a masculine someone clearing his throat. She came to the slow, unnerving realization that her pillow was actually a muscled chest, and there was an arm draped over her side.
"There's a story here, I think," he said, and she recognized that quiet, raspy timbre. No. No, not him. "But I can't manage to remember what it is."
She scrambled out of his embrace, out of bed entirely. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.
He gave her a rueful grin. "I was going to ask you the same question," he said. "The last thing I can recall is bringing you the holly—or the substitute for it, rather."
Memory came back to her. The Hawthorn of Veritas. The berry bursting. And then…nothing. She looked over her clothes (what in the world was she wearing and what was this dust all over her?) and then she scrutinized him. His hair and the sides of his face were caked with some kind of white substance. What had they done? And even more importantly, why had she done anything with him at all?
"You wouldn't happen to know what we got up to last night, would you?" he asked, giving voice to her unspoken thoughts.
She opened her mouth to answer that she knew as much as he did, but she was interrupted by a banging on her door.
"Your majesty!" Grumpy yelled on the other side. "Snow White needs you immediately! There's been a breach in our defenses!"
That was impossible. There was no way the Wicked Witch and her minions could have broken through her protection spell. This thing with the thief would have to be dealt with later (if at all). Regina changed into something more befitting of a queen and swung the door open before she could think better of it. Fortunately Grumpy had already scuttled off—probably to rouse the others—and no one would be gossiping about Robin Hood being caught in the Queen's chambers.
"Your majesty?" the man in question said behind her. "Perhaps a little help?"
She glanced over her shoulder at him. He was gesturing toward his unkempt appearance, though he had managed to get back into his jerkin and cloak. (She didn't even want to think about why he was out of them.) It probably wouldn't do to have him show up like this. Too many questions. She rolled her eyes and flicked a wrist toward him, returning him to his usual just-fell-out-of-a-tent state.
She was out the door before he could utter a thank you.
Everyone seemed to be congregating outside of the dining hall. Snow practically sagged in relief when she saw Regina. "Oh, thank goodness you're here!" she exclaimed, pulling her aside where the rest of the council was convening. Robin was only a few steps behind her.
"What happened?" Regina asked.
"I'll tell you what happened!" Granny interjected, her face almost cherry with fury. "Those flying chimpanzees tore apart my kitchen!"
"We've been attacked," Snow spoke over the older woman. "Only, it's…strange."
Regina raised a brow. "Strange? What do you mean?"
"You would expect that the Wicked Witch would have taken out our guards or come after you," David chimed it, "but this… This is more like a prank."
A prank? Something twisted in Regina's middle. "Show me."
They led her toward the dining hall, shooing the crowd away before opening the double doors.
Regina's stomach sank through the floor. The twenty-foot tree which had been in the ballroom was now in the center of the hall, flashing with a psychedelic array of lights and singing. Singing.
Feliz Navidad
Feliz Navidad
Feliz Navidad
Prospero año y Felicidad.
I wanna wish you a Merry Christmas
I wanna wish you a Merry Christmas
I wanna wish you a Merry Christmas
From the bottom of my heart.
David's sword floated at the top, tip pointed upward and hilt down like a horribly disproportionate star, rotating in a lazy, wobbly circle. The other firs lining the hall looked as though they had been dyed in different blinding colors, and they were swaying to the music like backup dancers.
Robin stepped up next to her, making an indiscernible noise under his breath.
"You wanted to know what we did last night?" she said low enough that only he would hear. "I think I have an idea."
He looked at her, brows raised in shock. "You mean we did this?" He breathed a dry laugh. "It seems that you and I make quite the team, Regina."
She let out a sigh of exasperation. The man was downright incorrigible. "It's 'your majesty,' and I wouldn't hold out hope for a repeat performance."
"Never say never," he returned with a wink. He leaned in closer to her. "Considering the intimate manner in which we found ourselves this morning, I think we can safely assume that we had a lovely time last night. Perhaps, despite your protestations otherwise, you don't truly despise me."
She glared at him, uneasy with the filament of truth in his words. "Keep telling yourself that."
"Oh, I have and I will," he said with a smirk. "I should mention that I also found some mistletoe. You should probably have a look and make sure it isn't dangerous. I'll find you later after I help restore Granny's kitchen." He left before she could form a sarcastic rebuttal.
Snow took his place and watched his exit. "What was that about?" she asked as she turned back to Regina.
Regina didn't answer immediately, but first flung some magic at the tree to shut the damn thing up. "I…need to tell you something." She heaved another sigh. This was not going to go over well. Snow would probably think she was actively trying to sabotage Christmas. "This wasn't the Wicked Witch's doing."
Snow frowned. "Then who's responsible?"
Regina closed her eyes. This was all that thief's fault. And Snow's, too, for starting this whole holiday business in the first place.
"It's a long story."
~FIN~
A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Drop me a review and let me know what you thought! XD