A/N: Modern World AU loosely based on the movie "Sleeping with the enemy".

TW: Mention of non-con

It's beautiful, really. More so than anything she's ever seen in her life.

The moon is up and high, its reflection rocked by the restful waves. Scarred like her, yet it enthrals with beauty and mystery.

She glances at the dinner table and the empty bottles of scotch, their liquid now residing in her husband stomach and assuring his liver's soon demise. Not soon enough.

One is broken, pieces of its glass stained with blood. The rest, scattered on the floor.

"Mommy?"

It's Henry, cradled on her back, eyes still tightly shut like she asked him to.

"It's fine, baby," she whispers.

The blood she carefully splattered all over the table and floor of boat will soon be drying up. Time is running out.

The cold wind blows on their faces and Henry tightens his grip around her. "I promise. Just keep your eyes and your mouth shut for mommy, okay?"

His head rubs against her shoulder and she hopes that she isn't making a mistake.

She looks ahead at the blurry lines offshore, at the unknown place she hopes she'll soon find shelter in. A place where the shouting will cease, where the marks inelegantly dressing her body will vanish and the soreness in her heart will heal. A place where she won't have to hurriedly lock her son in his room before her husband, pissed again, would press her against the closest hard surface and pull his pants down to his ankles not caring that she's still recovering from the last time he's forced himself inside her.

It seems utopic. Unfulfilling - but she has to try if not for herself but for the six year old child whose life is worth fighting every single one of her fears for. For the day she saw the look of horror in his eyes just before the callous hand slammed hard on his cheek, she swore it would be the first and last time.

Her feet fidget at the edge of the deck. Around the railing, her fingers loosen hesitantly.

Time is up.

She jumps.

…

What she feels next is the burning cold clawing to her skin like a cat on a rug.

It's excruciating but she can take it. She's had to endure worse sufferings. She fights through the pain, fights through the numbness threatening to overtake every single muscle of her limbs. She learnt, just for this day, she learnt, went to classes week after week for months on until she was sure, certain she could do it. For her son. For her. For the life she owes him.

"You're okay, baby?"

"I'm a bit cold," he quivers.

She wrapped him in her sweaters. Two of them and Daniel's big brown jacket, the one she managed to convince her husband belonged to her father just so he would allow her to keep it. He's got on tights and three pairs of socks and the brown boots he loves so much and that are a bit too big but thick enough for him to play in the snow with and she convinces herself that it will be enough.

"Hang in there. Mommy's got you," she promises through chattering teeth and how dare she? How dare she make promises when the line offshore becomes blurrier and the weight of him on her back heavier?

For how long have they even been in the water? Did they even managed to put some distance between them and the boat?

She doesn't dare check, cannot bring herself to look back.

Tears gather in her eyes as it becomes more and more difficult to keep the water from slipping inside her mouth.

Please God.

She begs a god she hasn't begged since that time her mother almost left her to drawn just to teach her a lesson. A god, a long life of fear, loss and despair has made her stop believing in. She knows it's in vain. He never listened before. Why would he now?

Religion was her father's thing but her father is dead just like most people she's ever cared for. She has Henry now, just him and she loves him too much to trust God not to take him away from her. It doesn't matter how many times she's wondered if he'd be better off without her. But now, as she feels herself being dragged into the abyss, she prays and hopes that whatever God might rest up there will, for once, hear her lamentation.

She turns around and props Henry up on her chest, his back facing her and she lays on the water hoping that the waves will bring them to that place she so longs for.

…

There's comfort in warmth. She's always found it so and as she finds herself slowly drifting into nothingness, the harsh cold is no more and the arms of the sea envelop her into a pleasant cocoon. She smiles. Holds Henry tight against her and smiles.

She wonders if they'll see Daniel. She hopes so.

She closes her eyes and hopes to find peace. At last.

Suddenly she feels something grabbing her. She looks up and see someone swimming next to her. She tries to make out who it is, panics at the thought that it might be Leopold having come after them. His mouth is moving but she can't hear him. The last thing she sees as her lids close, tired, are his eyes. Blue.

Daniel?

…

She wakes up in a jolt.

The sun is up high and aggressive, forcing her to shut her eyes. She's is lying down on a couch or a bed and the comfort of it almost make her relax. Perhaps, she's dead. Perhaps it's over, she tells herself but then as those thoughts settle soothingly in her brain, another one appear and she is up on her feet within seconds. Henry.

She doesn't go far though. Doesn't even move an inch. Her limbs are so sore. They're numb and her head feels terribly heavy as if a rock had been placed in there.

It doesn't take long for gravity to do its job. She collapses.

…

The next time her eyes open, the light isn't so harsh anymore and there's a small bundle pressed against her.

Tears gather in her eyes at the sight of her son, breathing and well. He is sleeping soundly, probably wandering one of the fantasy worlds inhabiting in his brain. She presses a kiss on his forehead and whispers a relieved "I love you".

She's more prudent when she stands this time not wanting to wake him up or to meet the floor again. She's had a lifetime of that - she won't take anymore.

Outside, the night has fallen hence the gentleness of the light. The moon has always been kinder to her than the sun. The night falling was always synonym of peace and quiet and the beautiful white lady up in the sky, always a faithful confident.

Curiosity makes her want to explore some more but she doesn't want to leave Henry alone. She knows they aren't back on Leopold's boat, the raft is exactly that; simple and straightforward, no unnecessary extravaganza to make up for other personality defects, but she knows better that to let her guard down.

So, she sits back down. She carefully puts Henry's head in her lap and strokes his face, pushing the growing hair strands away. She notices it then, a glass of water on the small table by the bed and a note taped to it.

"Wouldn't want to deter you from your saline based diet but should you give this alien beverage a try, I promise you won't regret it."

Her teeth clamped around her lips and she fights back a smile. She places the paper down and brings the glass to her mouth. She hadn't realised just how thirsty she was until the almost unfamiliar liquid glided inside her throat, taming every inch as it went.

She hopes to stay awake, figures she's done enough sleeping already but her body has never really been the obedient type. She finds herself settling in the bed more comfortably, a warmth in her chest and a small voice, a voice she hasn't heard in a long time, telling her that everything is going to be fine.

Within a few minutes, she falls like a dead weight.

…

She finds him in the break of dawn, a cup in hand, sat on the rim of his boat.

He's handsome. That's the first thing she notices. Messy blonde hair with grey strands, a beard that hasn't seen the blade of a razor in a long time. He's got this rugged look that is weirdly attractive.

He isn't Daniel. That's the second thing she notices.

She is not sure how to approach him, isn't sure if she should trust this stranger but there's something oddly familiar and comforting about him, something that makes her feel safe, safer than she's felt in years.

"Oh, you're up?" He beats her to it, facing her.

British.

He's smiling, two beautiful dimples flanking each sides of it. Yes, he's handsome.

"How are you feeling," he asks, setting his cup down and getting to his feet.

He's walking towards her and she finds herself backing away instinctively. He stops but the dimples never falter.

She crosses her arms under her chest and wets her lips. She looks around, taking in her surroundings.

"Where are we?" She asks.

"Coast of LA."

She freezes, her heart stopping. Too close.

"I need… I need to go," she says more to herself and she pivots, heading back to the cabin to go get Henry.

"Don't," he asks. "We're heading north. It'd be easier on a boat than in the water."

She turns to look at him.

"Please," he continues. "I can't force you but whatever it is you're trying to… you want to leave behind isn't worth your life. I can help you. No questions asked."

"You don't even know me."

"No mother would jump in a 60° water with their child unless they had a good reason to do so. That's enough for me."

"You don't even want my name?"

"Unless you want to give it to me, no. Mine's Robin though," he informs. "Can I make you a cup?" He asks, pointing at his own cup.

She nods. He smiles.

…

Robin has a son. Roland. He is two years younger than Henry. He's got his father's dimples and charms and in the span of just a few hours he's become the closest friend Henry's ever had.

It's hard to form relationships when life at home is so fucked up. She closes her eyes, guilt rising in her chest.

The boys are running around on the boat and Regina tries not to worry that they might fall. Roland knows how to swim, he's told her so with pride. Henry doesn't. She let her fears keep her from ever enrolling him into a class when he asked to.

More guilt.

"I could teach him."

She jumps as Robin sneaks up next to her. She declines the beer he offers her. He nods and puts it down.

"To swim. If you'd like, I could teach him. We still have a long way up to Seattle and I'm a very good teacher."

"I…"

He brings his beer to his lips and she shivers. Images of glass bottles crashing against the wall, only a few inches from her face flash up before her eyes.

"Can you -"

"Huh?"

"I don't like it when… I…"

He glances down at the bottle.

"Oh." He smiles and puts it down. "I won't drink it."

"I'm sorry," she says.

"It's alright. I don't mind," he assures.

"Thank you."

She looks back at the children. They are now playing some kind of hopscotch. She smiles at the sight.

"I think he'd really like that."

She glances back at Robin and he nods. "Great."

From that point on, every time they stop in a harbour to buy fuel or refill their stock, Robin takes the opportunity to teach Henry how to swim in the quieter and warmer waters. At first, she was nervous, standing, hands grasping at the railing so hard, her knuckles would turn white. Now, she worries less- she trusts that Henry is in good hands and she hasn't heard her son laugh like this in so long she had almost forgotten the delicate melody it carried.

It's been a week and she hasn't heard from Leopold from exactly that long.

What a peaceful sound, silence is.

…

It's become comfortable as if they had always belonged here on this boat with these people.

Every time she looks in his eyes or she catches one of Roland's attack-hugs, she feels more at home than she's ever felt in most of her life.

She traded one toxic house with Cora to another with Leopold. In between, there was that one blissful year with Daniel but quickly, even that one turned into a nightmare.

The memories still haunt her sometimes. In the dead of the night with Henry cradled against her and the faint glimmer of the moon for only light. Every sound and shape, mysterious and alien is source of cold sweat and quiet whimpers of dread.

…

Robin is a widow.

Marian was her name. She was a one of a kind woman if the tales Robin told her are of any indication. The way his eyes lit up when he speaks of her, another evidence.

She doesn't tell him about Daniel but her quiet "I know" when he admits to missing her is enough for him to know.

He knows a lot. He knows more than she's ever said aloud. She isn't sure how but she seems to be an opened book to him. She's never been transparent to anyone, not that anyone's ever looked at her long enough to try to read her. Oh yes, Daniel did… but Daniel died.

Robin is alive and when he looks at her with his piercing blue eyes and beautiful dimpled smile, she feels alive too. Heart pumping, veins throbbing, flesh heating-ly alive.

Oh damn.

…

"Do you know why I love the sea so much?"

"Why?"

"It's unpredictable. It doesn't let itself be tamed by no one. Whether we're in it or on it, it's because it allows it. The sea is strong and fearful but quiet and smart. It doesn't bite, it prowls.

… It reminds me of you."

"You're mistaken."

"I don't think I am."

"Every inch of my body is beaten," she deadpans before she can stop herself.

She closes her eyes.

"Yet, you still stands."

She looks at him, and sees him admiring the city ashore.

"When a wave hits the sand, it doesn't die. No, it retreats and comes back stronger. You're stronger than you were yesterday or the day before. You're here with your son with nothing but your will. What happened to you won't anymore because you were strong enough to say 'no more'. You're the sea."

He turns back to face her and she doesn't move when his hand reaches her face and he wipes the tears with his thumb. She doesn't move either when he slowly leans in and presses a kiss on her cheek.

She closes her eyes, scared that the peace and comfort she feels in her heart will vanish if she doesn't.

Eventually, she opens them back and he smiles at her before retreating back inside.

"You said you love the sea," she notices.

But he keeps on walking and she realises that the words were never spoken aloud. Yet, he pauses at the door and spins on his heels. His eyes bore into hers and he smiles.

Once again, she didn't need to utter a word for him to know.

"Yes, I truly do love the sea."