AN: Hope you enjoy. Thank you so much for reading. XOXO, Jess
Hideaways and Roaring Rapids
Regina wakes up earlier the next day, before the sun and everyone else, making her way toward the meadow she wallowed in after snapping at Roland. That's how she finds herself crouching in the dirt and grass, not far from camp, gently snapping the stems of wildflowers and arranging them into a bouquet. It's another chilly morning, a light breeze bites at her exposed neck, she shivers, but doesn't stop picking flowers and a few sprigs of lemongrass. Burnt umbers, golden yellows, a touch of coral and peach – she gathers similar colors to the ones Roland gave her over a week ago, knows children often gravitate toward palettes they like themselves. Or at least Henry did, she smiles sadly.
Regina does this for him, for her little prince, because she knows what he would say if he were with her now, knows he would tell her to think happy thoughts, to believe in herself and the possibility of a happy ending. She really does want to believe, wants to have faith, because she is so tired of running, tired of placing blame. And if she is tired of placing blame, then she has to accept the role she played in Daniel's death. She allows herself two gut-wrenching, agonizing minutes to let that sink in, to grieve as her trembling hand dislodges tiny seed pods off a prickly rose. But she only gives herself those two minutes and not a second more, because she is finally ready to breathe deeply and live.
Regina's heart still aches, but now, she has something to hold onto, something to ground her and fill her with a bit of hope. She isn't the same woman who governed over Storybrooke or the woman who cast a dark curse. This person sitting in less regal clothes, smelling like horses and lavender and camp is different, in every way imaginable, and she isn't sure how she feels about the change, but her guilt and sorrow are less than they were yesterday, and that is certainly a start. There's another person in addition to her son who finally believes in her, and she clings to that, uses Robin's words as a tether.
I will help you find a way back to Henry.
Regina tilts her head back and closes her eyes, taking a slow, deep breath. Her hair falls past her shoulders to the middle of her back, its weight pulls at the base of her scalp. She lets her chest rise and fall and fill, the morning air freshens and invigorates, while she inhales the scent of chrysanthemums, asters and dahlias. She finishes collecting her apology for Roland and thinks about last night while walking back down the path from which she came.
Under the cover of midnight, she cried in Robin's arms for more time than she would have liked, clinging to his shirt, seeking comfort in his closeness. He rubbed her back, and she hiccupped and breathed in shaky breaths, and they sat in peaceful silence for a moderate amount of time. He soothed her with promises, and gentle touches, and her guard had been completely down. No walls to climb, he was already over them. No barriers to breach, he was already standing on the other side.
When did that happened? When did he steal past her defenses and work his way into her inner circle? Her very small, inner circle of one – herself.
Regina shuddered a few more times in his warm embrace. Tears slowed down, his hand at her back rubbed softly. Robin's chin pressed against the top of her head, and all of a sudden, she felt the mood shift. His soothing hands still moved up and down, but his touch turned tender. Only feeling more intimate as he drew up his knees to hold her more closely, leaned down to caringly place a light kiss at her temple.
She quivered a little, the small act unfamiliar and almost forgotten. Something she hadn't felt in a long time stirred up dusty butterflies in her stomach. Regina turned ever so slightly in his arms. Moonlight spilled across Robin's face as the far away celestial body inched its way higher into the sky, and Regina sighed, in awe of the man refusing to let her go.
Shouldn't she have pushed him away? Shouldn't she have fled?
Last night, she really studied the creases on his brow, chiseled jaw line, and crinkles around his exceptionally blue eyes, wondered where each line and peppered grey hair came from, which stories showed on his face. She couldn't deny her attraction to him, couldn't pretend he didn't churn up feelings as he affectionately ran his palms down her shoulders and across her back, gently pulling her against his chest. Regina rested her cheek near his collarbone and encircled her arms around his waist. She hugged him and closed her heavy eyes, lulled by his caressing hands, feeling cared for and safe.
Not long after, she had fallen asleep, and he must have carried her back to her tent, because a few hours ago, she woke up buried beneath furs. She vaguely remembers saying, thank you, grabbing his hand before he could leave. She still thinks about the way he looked at her, the way he seemed to see something more in her than others did. With a new day in front of them, Regina goes to Granny for three biscuits and three cups filled to the brim with milk.
"That's awfully thoughtful of you," Granny smirks, stoking coals and wiping her hands on a ragged apron.
"Yes, well, I have my moments," Regina admits. "Just as I'm sure you do from time to time when you're not poisoning people with your version of lasagna or poached eggs.
"I've never heard anyone complain about my food before, girl," Granny scoffs.
"That's because your price points are ridiculously low," Regina states. "Although, I'm not sure what that says about your ingredients."
"That a Queen created them in 1986 and never thought to freshen things up a bit," Granny chuckles. "I think that's more on you than it is on me."
Regina smiles at the old woman and bites the inside of her cheek. There aren't many people who could talk to her the way Granny does, but they have some sort of agreement. In another life, they were both called many things – monster, beast, wolf, villain, Evil Queen – and they've both spent time trying to redeem themselves, trying to be better. Granny for years longer than Regina, but still it's like they're in a club, and they understand each other.
"Thank you for the scones, old lady," Regina sasses.
"Hmm, you're welcome, girl," Granny humphs.
Regina doesn't have to wait, sitting on their log, for very long before she hears Roland's joy-filled squeal.
"Gina! Morning!" he greets, running across the last ten feet that separates them. Robin follows slowly after his son, hands tucked into the pockets of his beige trousers. He looks particularly handsome today, or maybe its just the fact that her eyes are finally open.
"Good morning, sweetheart," she smiles warmly, relief washing over her at how excited he is to see her. She's thankful Robin was telling the truth about Roland already forgetting her tantrum.
"You're up before me and Papa," the tiny lad exclaims.
"I am, and I have something for you," she says, showing him the biscuits and milk. "Would you like to sit with me?"
"Yes pwease," he responds eagerly, but he doesn't take the empty space she offers, instead he hops and skips over to her knees and crawls into her lap.
The look of astonishment on her face makes Robin laugh, and she doesn't stop a grin from spreading upon her face. She gives him a little squeeze, holding him close in her arms and apologizes for yelling at him a few days ago. She didn't mean it, and she shouldn't have raised her voice. He tells her it's okay, and she gives the tiny tot the flowers. He smells them and says they're pretty, and looks at his papa, holding them proudly in his firm, little grip, telling him they're from the Queen.
"I see that, my boy," Robin replies.
"I gots a present from the Queen!" he shrieks again. Robin fills the spot beside Regina. Roland cuddles into her arms, back against her chest.
"Only special little boys get gifts from the Queen," she tells the boy. "And you're very special, Roland."
"Because I'm your wittle knight," he says between chewing and smacking his lips together, enjoying his yummy, hot scone.
"Because you're my little knight," she agrees, brushing Roland's curls away from his forehead. He snuggles further into her warm embrace. They sit in silence for a while, drinking milk and eating their breakfast. Regina lifts a cup of milk to Roland's mouth, and he sips, some of it spills, and she easily cleans off his face. It's sweet and motherly and makes Robin grin as he watches the two of them together. He's so focused on them in fact that he misses Regina say his name two times. It's on the third call that he finally tunes in.
"Robin?" she tries again to get his attention. His eyes widen, and he nods to show her he is listening now. "Granny and a few of your men talked about a village that set up a barter system after I… after I cast the curse. Is it close to here?"
"Hmm, it's just a couple miles east," he clears his throat. "We could easily get there well before high noon. Are you in need of anything in particular?"
"I want to do something for..." she reaches her hand up and out of Roland's view and points down at him, while he happily eats the other half of the scone she offered to him.
"Regina, you don't have to do that. You-know-who is absolutely pleased with your gift already," Robin assures her, points to the bundle of flowers laying between them. "You could smile at him, and I'm sure he'd be completely content with just that, just as I - just as any would be content, that is, with a gift from their queen."
"I hope you're a better thief than a flirt, otherwise I don't know how you made such a name for yourself over the years."
"Well, I believe my wanted posters scattered about this realm serve as testament to that, wouldn't you agree, your majesty?"
"Hmm … I suppose that's an accurate statement."
Regina and Roland walk slowly past open stalls and wooden tables covered by blankets made on looms. Farmers sell their bountiful harvests: husked corn, plump tomatoes, dragon fruit, a variety of yellow, green and orange gourds and squashes, bunches of sweet clover, bundles of wheat, used potato sacks filled with exotic herbs and spices, signatures of the realm. Bread, meat, ale, candles, cloth, leather goods, wood and metal wares. Local craftsmen display their skills and peasants showcase their handiwork, trading goods or services for provisions and tools. Roland holds her hand, excitedly points at jugglers and musicians, puppet shows and games and rides. He loves the entertainment, his cheeks rosy and bright with enthusiasm. It pulls joy out of her heart and fills her spirit.
The market a hub of social life for gathering villagers.
Regina worked hard to set up a fair and flourishing kingdom, attempting to recover a number of losses after Leopold's reign ended. She smiles; it pleases her, seeing her people (regardless of whether they view themselves that way) thrive post curse, forced to rebuild and think innovatively in order to survive the crumbling of their domain. Bookkeepers record all transactions, denoting which goods go quickest, and publicly appointed officers keep the populace safe.
Leopold was a kind and benevolent man, but terrible with finances and unable to empathize with or relate to the plights of his subjects, having never experienced real labor or hardship in his entire life. He didn't understand where their true needs rested; Regina may have grown up a princess, daughter of Prince Henry, granddaughter to King Xavier, but her eyes and heart opened long ago to the poor and marginalized of their hierarchy. Her love for Daniel and his genuine kindness and want to help only opened her eyes more, and her many days spent visiting with local merchants as a youth secured her place among them as one of their own. That particular memory still sits a little bitterly in her mouth, the fact that at one point her people really did hold her in fond regard. That is, until anger and revenge transformed her in their eyes, and they started calling her the Evil Queen.
Looking from shop to shop for ingredients, Roland never leaves her side, tightens his grasp on fingers as they pass by a man, spitting alcohol and fire out of his mouth. The child's eyes widen, and Regina laughs. She can only imagine the look on his face if he saw her conjuring a fireball in her palm.
They stop in front of a stand with barrels and crates overflowing with persimmons, kumquat, star fruit, quinces, and apples.
"Gina, what about dis one?" Roland asks, holding up a bright, red apple. She takes it from his out stretched hand and breathes in the sweet, fresh scent of her favorite fruit.
"I think that'll do just fine. Why don't you pick out five more, we only have a few more things we need, and then we'll go watch the puppet show we walked by earlier."
"Really?"
"Uh-huh."
"Okay!" he shouts, reaching up onto the table for five more apples. "Gina, what's a turnedover taste like?"
"Turnover, sweetheart, and it tastes like the sun. Like a warm, golden, and sweet sun," she replies.
"But Gina, we can't eat da sun," he quirks his mouth and furrows his brow, and she laughs.
Originally, Regina was going to leave the turnovers a surprise, but after breakfast Roland didn't want to leave her side, spent too much time away from her already he said. Robin had just proudly grinned at his boy and said it couldn't be helped. He was stubborn. Regina mumbled under her breath, "Like father, like son," and they all journeyed to the market place together.
They walk back to the jugglers and stay for a while, oohing and aahing as performers toss knives and balls in the air with rhythm and ease.
Little does Regina know, Nottingham stumbles out of a tavern not a hundred yards behind her, a quarter of a bottle of whiskey limply held in his dangling hand. He pushes past peasants and barks insults. Everything annoys, everything clangs and beats against his already pounding head.
After meeting up with Mortianna in the Weeping, she took him back to his men at their old fortress built in the rock face of Devil's Peak. Brick and mortar crumble, the place was in shambles, a sorry disgrace, and the welcome was lacking. Men passed out on the floor, the air smelled stale and dank from boozing and living in filth. He roused them with bellows and hollers, demanded to know why no one was competent enough to find a way into Robin Hood's camp.
How could one thief elude them for thirty years?!
A rugged bloke with greasy hair and an unshaven face made a comment and spit at Nottingham's feet. He chuckled darkly, turning away from him, and Nottingham saw red, already enraged to hear his nemesis had been here after all these years, his group of Merry Men and rabble thriving under the Queen's dark curse. He unsheathed the dagger at his hip, hooked his arm around the man's neck, and slit his throat. The thug dropped to the ground, blood pooled, and Nottingham dared anyone else to step forward and challenge him. Mortianna stood at his back.
He shouted, Good, when no dared speak up. He kicked the gasping, dying man at his feet. Swiped his dagger on his pant leg and returned it to its place on his belt, then sneered for someone to show him to the ale, his tremors returned.
Mortianna's response echoed in his head, You've shown your machismo, now it's time to rally; it's not time to get drunk and fall asleep. That's why the Evil Queen captured you in the first place. Remember the plan. If we want to take this realm, we need to remove the Wicked Witch first, and she wants the Evil Queen.
He glared at her and said, You haven't let me forget that since I've returned.
Only for her to respond, Then act like it. I need something of hers to make the spell work.
I will get it. He bit back, spit flew from his mouth.
The hag was not amused, when she inquired, And how do you plan to do that?
I don't know. I'll figure it out later, but first I need a drink. He told her, stalking out of the keep.
Now, Nottingham trips and leans his weight against a wall in the closest market he could find. He downs the rest of his liquor; it burns, and he tosses the bottle, watches it crash and shatter. He looks up, licks his lips, and his body freezes.
Could he really be so lucky?
He sneers and places one foot forward, forcing his way through a crowd of peasants toward a woman and small child too busy watching jugglers and a puppet show to notice his approach.
Regina pulls an apple out of the basket hanging from her arm and takes a bite out of it. Juice dribbles down her chin, and she wipes the sticky liquid away with the back of her hand. She needs to be creative without the use of her oven or granite counter top or stainless steel appliances, but she has everything she needs to make mini turnovers for Roland – a special treat just for him, and his papa, of course, if Robin wants one. Cinnamon, and sugar, and flour, and apples, and love (that's what she use to tell Henry).
Roland glances up at her with happy, pleading eyes. She crouches down and rests on her heels; the apple changes hands between them. He crunches on the morsel; cheeks full of fruit as he chews, and he gives it back. For whatever reason, he giggles, accidentally spitting a piece of apple out of his mouth. A bit of the mouthful and red peel land on the front of her linen smock. Regina's laughter fills the air, and Roland giggles even more. His little body shakes with his laughter, his shoulders heaving up and down.
"Oops, sorry Gina," he grins at her and picks the food off her blouse with his fingers, drops it on the ground.
"Oh, that's quite alright, my darling," she replies, tapping him on the nose. A gesture she reserves for only him, his delicious dimples, brown mop of curls, and adorable grin. Save for Henry, Regina thinks he's the cutest child she's ever seen.
"Gina, are we gonna find Papa soon?"
"Of course, here, one more bite," she hovers the apple in front of his mouth, and he takes another nibble. She stands up and flicks dirt off her knee. She holds her hand out to him, and he doesn't hesitate to grab it. "Come on, let's go."
"Yay!" he shouts.
Regina turns around and begins to walk, still looking down at Roland. She takes a few more steps; they swing their arms back and forth, and something hard bumps into her. The apple falls out of her hand, tumbles over gravel, a couple of pebbles and blades of dried grass cling to its flesh.
She whips her head around and her piercing eyes meet hard crystal blues.
"Watch where you're going, peasant!"
"Excuse me, your majesty," the man sneers, his gaze never leaving hers as he bows. He straightens back up, looks her up and down. A blank expression on her face. "You don't recognize me, do you?"
"I don't make it a habit of associating myself with…" she glares at him from head to toe, can smell the alcohol on his breath even with space between them. "Drunks and low-lifes. Now, get out of my way."
Regina doesn't like the way this man is staring at her. The look in his eyes is one she's seen many times before, in the chilling, beady irises of criminals worse than curse wielding imps, fire-breathing sorceresses, and blind witches. Men that she locked away in the deepest cells of her dungeons, reserved for only the sickest monsters in the Enchanted Forest. Men sentenced to rot for committing heinous crimes against women, who took sick pleasure in torturing, gutting, and raping.
The old her wouldn't hesitate to break the necks of people fixing her with their eyes the way he is, but she isn't that person anymore, so instead, Regina hoists Roland onto her hip and walks away.
"You should've asked me my name, your majesty," he snarls out of her ear shot.
Nottingham grits his teeth and clenches his fists at his sides. He bends down and picks up the half eaten core. He pockets it in his satchel, glares at Regina's retreating form, his nemesis' son bouncing on her hip as she stalks away determinedly. He wants to chase her, wants to punish her for what she did to him in Storybrooke, blames her for his run in with Rumplestiltskin and the Dark One's precious Lacey (he can't remember her fairytale counterpart), blames her for his addiction to ale and whiskey that burns roughly with each greedy gulp. He ignores Mortianna's warning and advances toward the Queen, his strides long and forceful, leaving footprints deep and distinctive in rich soil. He's thirty feet away from Regina, when Robin appears in his line of sight. Immediately, he recoils and ducks behind a cart and haystacks.
"Papa!" Roland shouts, bouncing on Regina's hip. "We saw jugglers, and I helped Gina pick apples, and Papa, guess what?"
"What, my boy?"
"Gina's gonna make–" Roland looks at his queen. "What's it called, Gina?"
"Turnovers, sweetheart," she sighs, and Robin notices she seems shaken.
"Turnovers!
"Are you alright?"
"I'm fine." Robin doesn't seem convinced. "Really. I'm fine," she tries to reassure him. Regina looks over her shoulder, and his eyes follow, but he doesn't see anything to cause alarm. She shifts Roland on her hip.
"Here, I can take him," he offers, but she shakes her head and refuses.
"No, it's okay, if you don't mind, I'd like to carry him," she says, starting to make her way toward their tied up horses.
"Yeah, Papa! Gina wants ta carry me."
Robin grins at his boy. "Well, I suppose the matter is settled then. Do you have everything you need, M'lady?" he asks.
"We do. What are you hiding behind your back?" she quirks her brow at him.
"Ahh, this," he says, revealing a delicate daffodil. Petals a vibrant yellow. "This is for you."
"For me?" she questions, taking the flower out of his grasp. Her fingers lightly brush against his. "A daffodil?"
"Yes, my mother used to tell me they represent a new–"
"Beginning. Yes, I know."
"Oh, you're familiar. Then you know also know it symbolizes rebirth. I thought it fitting."
"Thank you," she replies and smiles at him. He smiles back, bites his bottom lip.
"May I?" he points to the basket on her arm. She nods and lets him take it. Roland still propped on her him. There's a parcel tied together with twine tucked under Robin's arm as well.
"And that?" she points.
"A surprise for later."
"I don't like surprises."
"How can you not like surprises?"
"Surprises don't usually end well in my family," she deadpans. The slight crease in her brow tugs at his heart.
"I can assure you, this is a good surprise, M'lady."
She raises her eyebrows. "You're awfully sure of yourself," she says, their horses coming into view, right where they left them outside the market.
"And you say that quite often," he teases.
The ride back to camp is easy and over quickly. Robin dismounts and helps his boy down from Regina's horse. He sets his little feet on the ground, and his boy scampers off. He turns back to Regina, who's in the midst of swinging her less dominant leg over the saddle. Before she has a chance to finish dismounting, his hands are at her waist. He means to help, but the sudden contact startles her, and her foot wavers in the stirrup. She tries to counter balance herself, but she over-corrects, falls backward. Robin isn't ready for the shift in her weight, and they both crash to the ground in a tangle of limbs. A resounding 'omph' escapes their mouths. The wind knocks out of them.
When Robin finally catches his breath, he offers a rushed, M'lady, my apologies, are you alright? Nervous about whether or not she'll be cross with him. She isn't, and he's surprised by her response, feels the subtle shaking of her shoulders before he hears her bursting in loud laughter. The sound is contagious, and it fills his soul with warmth and a joy he hasn't felt in a very long time. She snorts into his chest at some point, and God, if it's not the sexiest sound he's ever hear. It does something low in his stomach, and his muscles tense, aware of the way their limbs and cloaks are still tangled together.
Regina's thigh presses against the inside of his leg slightly, and he fastly realizes he needs to move them into a sitting position before she's aware of exactly what her closeness is doing to him. The smell of her hair, the feel of her body against his, the sound of her laugh, the smile of her lips as she held his son.
He most certainly needs to put a little distance between them.
Robin clears his throat, grins and helps her stand, she's still laughing. They brush dirt and loose leaves off their clothes.
"I apologize, normally, my hands are much more steady," he says.
"I assume they have to be given your particular line of work," she chuckles and pulls her hair so her silky locks drape over the front of her right shoulder. "Thank you, though, for trying to help. Even if it didn't work out the way you thought it would. It felt good to laugh like that."
"I'm glad I could be of service," he smiles, fumbles to unhook the basket of ingredients from the saddle and turning back to face her.
"Yes," she smirks; her eyes look him up and down and pause from a moment at the evidence of his gladness. "I can see that."
Robin furrows his brow and follows her gaze, his cheeks flush a rosy shade of pink, and he shifts awkwardly in place. Clearly, she isn't as oblivious as he assumed to his body's natural response to her touch. Regina chuckles at his reaction, and sways her hips back and forth, walking back into camp.
Christ, he thinks. She looks back over her shoulder at him.
"Are you coming?" she questions. He nods and follows, imaging what her lips would feel like moving against his.
No matter how many obstacles Regina seems to embark upon, there is always at least one weakness in her plan. Or plans, depending on which memory she chooses to scrutinize. One roadblock in the way of her happiness.
Right now, that roadblock is vanilla. She isn't picky. She'll take any version of the bottled gift from her modern world.
Pure. Imitation. Madagascar Bean. Gourmet. Grade A.
The first problem, she doesn't have vanilla, and she needs it. Fortunately for her and her current situation, she has magic. The second problem, should she use it in front of Roland or at all?
It's not that she minds using her magic for trivial things, she knows it all comes with a price, but this seems too small for there to possibly be one. And truthfully, a lot of that suppressing her powers crap was a part of not having hope and not wanting to disappoint Henry, but magic is apart of her, and if she's going to move forward, she has to accept every part of her. Her son told her to use her magic to help people, so that is what she is going to do, but that doesn't mean it can't be her and Roland's little secret.
As soon as someone mentions the Evil Queen is using her magic again, well… she doesn't want to find out what they'll have to say.
Roland stands beside her on a chair, smiling up at her with his sweet dimples and bright cheerful eyes, almost bursting with excitement. Since their trip into town, she promised him they would make turnovers, and turnovers they shall make. Regina bends over and kisses Roland's little cheek.
"Sweetheart, I'd like you to make sure there aren't any bugs in the flour," she instructs and Roland's little brow furrows at her.
"No bugs, Gina?" He looks down warily at the bowl as if something might jump out at him. "Why would it have bugs?"
"Some might have jumped in," she fibs, making something up with a shake of her head. "Just make sure for me, okay dear?"
Roland shrugs and grimaces, "Alright, Gina," shoving his little hands into the flour. His frown disappears, replaced by delighted giggles as he squashes and paws through the flour's soft depths. "This is fun!"
Perfectly distracted, Regina waves her hand over the table in the middle of the tent, and there before her appears one bottle of pure vanilla extract. Regina smiles to herself, then suddenly her smile fades. Setting the bottle on the table, she visualizes the ingredients from Storybrooke and realizes she will need a few more things. She looks back at Roland still busy sifting and inspecting for critters. He grabs handfuls of it, lifts it into the air, and releases it back into the bowl, a white cloud plumes out and over the bowl.
With a flick of her wrist, another three bowls of ingredients appear. Brown sugar, powdered sugar, and cinnamon. Roland watches as Regina places the ingredients next to him.
"What are those?" he questions, eyeing the strange fixings.
"More sugar to make your papa very grumpy come tonight."
"Why would it make him grumpy?" Roland asks, while laughing as Regina tickles his sides.
Regina crouches down to his eye level and tells him very seriously, "Because these," she taps the rim of each bowl, "will give you lots of energy all night long."
"Ohhhh," he replies gravely.
Regina grins at him and ruffles his hair, before they set to work.
They mix the turnover batter in segments. First, Roland helps her cut and fold butter and salt into flour. Second, powdered sugar, milk, and vanilla are added separately. Granules adorn sticky fingers and lots of "mmms" escape from Roland's lips. Finishing the white mixture, Regina sets it to one side of the table and begins slicing and dicing the apples.
She hears him before she sees him, and she turns just as Robin dips a finger into freshly made frosting and licks it clean.
"Robin…" Regina warns, pointing a long, wooden spoon at him. "Stop eating my glaze."
Robin chuckles and grabs another spoon off the top of the table, scraping a bit of crusted sugar off the rim of the bowl and eating it.
"I'm checking to make certain it's not poisoned," he says while grinning at her.
It is with mock indignation that Regina swipes the bowl away and places it out of his reach. Unfortunately, father and son are alike in more than just their stubbornness and the way they weaseled their way into her heart, and Robin's fingers might be unable to steal samples of pastry glaze, but Roland's aren't.
"It's not poisoned, Papa." Roland reaches his hand into the bowl and scoops a generous fingers worth into his mouth. "See! It's yummy!"
"I'm not sure. It tastes a little odd," Robin says while making a face. He is clearly having fun with her, but she doesn't feel like rising to the occasion at the moment.
Regina turns and places her hands on Robin's chest, walking him backwards toward the tent entrance. "That's because it's uncooked. Now," she pushes Robin out of the tent, "go away until we are done."
Robin makes a face and frowns, forming the most pathetic why-are-you-kicking-me-out expression possible. Regina rolls her eyes and sweeps back into the tent. As she does, Robin's voice rings in from outside the tent, "How long until I…"
"An hour, at least," Regina calls back as she re-entered the kitchen.
Roland looks up from where he's stirring (eating) the glaze, ceramic bowl held firmly in his lap. For his part, he looks like he's been caught with his hand in the figurative cookie jar (in this case a literal bowl of sugar), and thus suitably guilty. His little fingers fully loaded. "Did papa go?"
Regina can't help but give in to that face, his little dimples and sweet smile – the same face she just pushed out of the tent in a huff. "Yes, your papa left for a bit."
"Oh, okay," Roland shrugs and continues to lick off the sticky treat coating his fingers.
"Alright little knight, let's get you cleaned up, so we can finish these," she smiles widely, unable to hide her amusement at his tiny pout as she takes the bowl from him.
Once the apples are cooked and simmered in cinnamon, cornstarch, and sugar, and they're stuffed into doughy triangles, Regina looks down at the pastries and back at the cook top. How on earth is she going to bake these without magic? Shrugging, she leans down on the counter, her face stopping inches from where Roland is standing.
"Sweetheart, can you keep a secret?" she asks in a hushed whisper. A request that doesn't hold someone's life in the balance, just a little thing. If the truth is revealed, she will deal with glares and idle gossip like she has since a servant saw her practicing Rumple's instructions when her magic was still uncontrolled and disobedient.
Roland nods. "I can, Gina! I never tell secrets."
"Good," she smiles at him. "Because I'm going to use my magic to cook these so we can eat them right now, okay? But we can't tell anyone. It'll be our secret."
"Okay, Gina," he whispers back to her. He pretends to lock his lips with a key.
She stands up straight, takes a deep breath, and Roland's eyes grow wide as the pastries change from their pale, dough-form to steaming, golden, fluffy turnovers.
"Wow," Roland breathes, completely in awe. "Can I go tell papa they're all done?"
Regina laughs, "Yes, sweetheart. Go get him."
He jumps down from the chair with the help of Regina and runs out of the tent. Not long after just as Regina starts to collect the used bowls, Roland comes bounding back in, drags Robin in tow.
"See papa, all done!" Roland hops around the table, where the turnovers sit cooling.
Robin's tone is proud and filled with an eagerness that matches his sons. "I see that. Great job, little man." He grabs the boy and gives him a kiss on the cheek. "A kiss for a job well done."
"Gina helped, too," Roland points out.
Regina is sure her face is a bright crimson. Robin meets her gaze, and they both stare at one another for a moment, then Robin moves forward and kisses her quickly on the cheek. He is still only a breath away from her, when he says, "Thank you, M'lady, for not only the treats, but for making my son's day."
Regina fell into his ocean, blue eyes, so sincere and conveying so much she hadn't seen directed at her in a long, long time.
"Can I have one now, Gina?" Roland asks as he grabs the side of her dress, gaining her attention from his father.
Robin laughs heartily as Regina gathers the small boy in her arms.
"Of course, you can. You get the first bite, after all," she says, picking up a turnover.
Each flaky triangle is filled perfectly and smells delicious. Regina grins as she hands a warm one to Roland; he eats it with gusto.
"Mmmm, it's so good!" he squeals, mouthful muffled his voice.
Robin reaches around and plucks the spoon up that had been taken from him earlier. He sets to work on licking it clean. Regina rolls her eyes and hands over the spatula covered with the cinnamon filling.
"Do you want to just lick it all clean? It'll save me the washing up," Regina quips and Robin laughs.
"M'lady, you have something on your cheek."
"What?" Regina wipes at her cheek, but it's the wrong side.
Robin laughs again and walks up to her as she is still holding Roland; he swipes a streak of flour off her skin, and then smirks. "Were you two cooking or painting?"
"I'm surprised you wiped it off," Regina winks and moves to sit behind the table still carrying Roland. She's unable to bite her tongue before adding, "You lick everything else clean."
It takes Robin a moment to realize what Regina said, and by the time he does, she and Roland are wrapped up in their own little world.
They exchange flirtatious comments quite often after that. Regina tries to hide the way her cheeks flush a rosy crimson. Robin bites his bottom lip the way he has discovered she rather likes. And all the while, days pass by and they can't be bothered to be parted.
Snow asks Regina questions about the thief she claimed smelled like forest. The petite woman mentions that they're spending a lot of time together, but Regina doesn't take the bait, refusing to give into girl talk.
Little John asks Robin what he intends to do once the Queen and her company depart from their group. Once they reach their castle, what does Robin plan to do? He tells his friend, and right hand man, he isn't sure, he'll deal with that when the time comes, but for now, he just wants to give Regina the same chances each of the Merry Men were granted. That receives him a snarky, it seems you're giving her a lot more than that.
Fourteen more days go by, marking the passing of one month since Regina broke Pan's curse and brought them all back to the Enchanted Forest. Spirits are higher than they've been in weeks, everyone finally settling into a routine, use to life in their once again home.
"Tell me again why I agreed to this?" Regina sighs as she and Robin walk between the array of tents toward the large fire in the center of camp. They both wear heavy cloaks, as winter seems to be falling earlier than normal this year.
"Because it is a celebration, and what would a celebration be without its Queen?" Robin states. Regina groans at his response.
He stops and grabs her wrist gently. They've grown a lot closer since laughing in a heap on the forest floor. Regina flirts with him more openly, banters more freely, and meets his searching gaze more frequently from across camp. He still lets her set their boundaries, hasn't kissed her yet like he desires, but he started making up excuses to touch her a little more and more after her licking comment. A gentle hand at the small of her back to let her know when he was behind her. The brush of his fingertips against hers as they walked through the forest after breakfast (a part of their daily routine now) while Roland played ahead of them. The press of her shoulder against his when he sat intentionally close to her on a log in front of the campfire or anywhere in camp for that matter.
Robin cherishes those little moments, looks forward to them, and one morning, while sitting on their log, waiting for her with scones and cups of milk, she alerts him to her presence with a hand at his shoulder. As she sits, her touch travels down his arm and stops to rest at his hand. She gives it a squeeze, but doesn't let go after. He doesn't say anything, just bites his lip and smiles a bit smugly.
Robin holds her hand whenever he likes after that, and Regina doesn't stop him.
"How about this then, you agree to go, because I'm asking you to, and because spending the night sitting warm in my arms isn't really all that appalling."
"We'll see," Regina purses her lips to try and suppress a smile.
She settles down in front of the fire with Robin beside her. There are about three-dozen others present. She notices that Snow and David appear to be in their own little world, sharing a cloak across from her and Robin.
The others are just in the midst of finishing the old argument, if a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?
"That was fun. Anyone else have a pointless issue to debate?" Leroy scoffs sarcastically.
Friar Tuck speaks up, "How about the one with the princess and the lion?"
"I don't believe I am familiar with that one," David replies. "Please, tell us about it."
"A princess falls in love with a poor commoner. Her father refuses to let them be together, and subjects him to a cruel punishment. The man is sent into an arena, and must choose between two doors. Behind one door is a starved lion and behind the other is another bride to be. The princess is the only one who knows what lies behind each door, and as her lover enters the arena, she has to indicate which door she wishes him to choose. The argument is: what will he be greeted by once he opens the door, the bride or the lion?"
Belle shakes her head. "I don't see the problem. She should choose the bride, I mean issues of morality aside, if she loves him at all, then how could she possibly choose otherwise?" she asks.
"But perhaps he'd prefer the fate with the lion," Robin states into the crisp night air.
Regina looks at the man beside her, her eyebrows raise, surprised at his words.
"Wouldn't that be a little extreme? I can't possibly see how it could be the lion. She'd have to be..." Regina leans forward and whispers, "Heartless."
Chuckling, Robin meets her gaze. "I didn't say that she would choose the lion," he points out.
"Exactly," David says, smiling because he knows where Robin is going with this. "The question isn't just which door would she choose, but which door he chooses to open."
"What? Like he doesn't trust her?" Red supplies.
David now has a slightly different theory. "Well, actually, I think the real question is: how well does he know her, and what does he choose for himself?"
"I see only one course of action," Robin decides. "He shouldn't open the door she brings him to, but the other."
"That's what I would do," David agrees.
"How do you two nuts figure?" Leroy asks appalled. "You'd rather die than live without a woman? A woman, mind you, that might be sending you to your death?"
"If she loves him unselfishly, she'll send him to the other woman. In that case, she is worth dying for, and he should choose to pick that door holding back the lion," Robin explains.
"If she has chosen the lion, then he is better off to go on with his life without her. He should choose the bride," David finishes.
"Exactly," Snow nods in agreement.
Leroy snickers, "You people are crazy."
Before Regina can open her mouth to speak, Little John voices up again. "Choosing death is never suitable, yet will be the most likely outcome for the man."
"Don't you see, John?" Robin shakes his head. "It isn't about death, it's about love. He doesn't want her to have to picture him in the arms of another."
"So he chooses to die?" Regina questions his thought process. She's heard enough impractical sappiness from both David and Robin. "I think you two are both being idiots. And what about the bride-to-be? Why must she be a part of this sick, twisted game?"
Belle laughs, "I have to agree with, Regina. It's hardly fair to her at all."
"Do you think she'd be hurt that he chose being eaten to death, over life with her?" Neal joins, sitting next to Belle.
"My question is," Leroy says in all seriousness. "What about the lion? I mean, how does the beast feel about all of this?"
Regina rolls her eyes, but can't help smiling. She looks at Robin; he smiles back and laces his fingers with hers.
Robin chuckles, "The lion is probably content either way, Leroy."
This is better, Snow decides, watching everyone get along. In the beginning, she was worried, mostly about Regina. But now, she sees, her friend/stepmother or whatever she and Regina are now (still only eight years apart in age), enjoying herself, sneaking away with Robin and his son, and it delights her to no end. Regina deserves a happy ending more than most she knows, and she desperately wants her to have it. Snow exchanges a look with Robin, and his pleased grin tells her he probably would agree.
The evening ticks on as they talk some more about what if scenarios, modern mystery whodunits (details changed, an added medieval flare so the Merry Men can still participate), and favorite memories from in Enchanted Forest of before. Snow and David talk about the first time they met, a rock to the chin, and a tackle to the ground. Robin regales them with the time he and his men robbed Maleficent. Regina mentions that she heard about that for weeks after, the dragon upset over a missing looking glass.
The light pitter patter of rain drops intermittently, spitting on their faces and into their fire pit, making it sizzle, forces them to snuff out their flame and retreat to their tents. They say their good nights, and everyone save for Robin and Regina quickly turn in for the evening.
"Well it seems we'd better turn in ourselves," Robin sighs, and he directs his gaze up at the sky, rolling clouds block out twinkling stars.
Regina rests her head on his shoulder. "I think you may be right."
They walk in silence a few paces, then Robin's hand is warm on the small of her back, and he asks if he can escort her to her tent. She tells him it's unnecessary, but he is insistent, and she is reluctant these days to part from him.
They reach her tent too quickly for her liking, and she turns back to him before going inside.
"Thank you," she says.
"For what, M'lady?"
"For tonight, for dragging me along."
Robin smothers a smile. "Am I to assume you had a good time then?"
"I'll admit, I stayed warm," she hums, stepping a little closer to him.
"Ahhh, you are of the stubborn sort," he remarks, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"You have no idea," she licks her bottom lip.
"Something tells me I'm about to," he postulates, moving his palm down her shoulder, along the outside of her arm, until he is holding her hand. He loves holding her hand.
"Perhaps."
"Can I see you tomorrow?" he asks.
"You see me everyday," she chuckles.
Robin clears his throat. "What I meant is, would you like to come with me tomorrow? For a walk. Just us?" And just like that, her chuckling stops.
"I'd like that."
"Well, until then," Robin whispers gruffly.
He closes the distance between them, his chest presses lightly to hers, and Regina swears she thought he was going to kiss her. She swallows a lump in her throat, because she wants this, wants him, has for quite some time now. His eyes never leave hers, and his stare is so intense, she didn't even notice that he brought her hand up to his lips.
Damn.
"Goodnight, M'lady," he says.
"Goodnight, Robin," she sighs and ducks into her tent.
The next morning, the air has that expectant and leaden feel one experiences just before a violent, summer downpour. Only it's not summer, it's the end of autumn, and winter is coming. Robin is waiting for Regina to wake up outside her tent, thumbing a bit of twine on the parcel he has held onto since their trip to market days and days ago. He wanted to wait to give it to her, and now seemed like the perfect time. The ground beneath his feet is a little worse for wear from his pacing, when Snow meanders over to him.
"She's not here," the princess says, and at the look of disappointment on his face, she adds, "I think I saw her heading toward the river."
Robin extends his thanks to Snow and sets an excited pace. Clouds are starting to build, and he wants to take his solo walk with Regina before the sky opens up.
The trees stand tall on either side of the narrow path, and they shimmer radiant in the searing sunlight, but not a leaf is moving. There isn't a breath of wind, and the humidity hangs low and heavy all around. He swears a storm is brewing.
In an instant, he breaks beyond the tree line, and the features of the stream come into perfect view. A dull, sandy green of the grass grows thickly along the water's edge, dancing across the outer shore to emphasize the sandy beaches that lay just beyond.
The entire scene is beautiful, Robin thinks, and then he catches sight of Regina, and immediately he stops in his tracks, rooted to the spot, watching as she hastily disrobed her dress, fabric slipping off her shoulders. Oh, God. He should look away.
It isn't until that very dress falls from her fingertips and pools at her feet that Robin remembers to breathe. She heaves a sigh as the chilling breeze caresses her, naked and bathed in streams of sunlight. Robin watches enthralled as golden rays dance over her body, softening delicate angles and casting intriguing shadows across her skin.
Be a gentlemen, Robin. Look away. Look away. He chastises himself. Regina walks to the water's edge and steps into the glacial river. She shudders, and Robin shudders with her, but for an entirely different reason.
Time seems to slow.
Regina turns around, almost forgetting the tiny glass vial she brought down to wash with her left on the shore next to her dress and cloak. She picks it up and uncorks the stopper. She inhales and lets lavender oil perk her senses. She smiles and brushes away a strand of hair blown across her face by a sudden, damp breeze. She stands up, and her eyes meet a sight that makes her breath hitch and her pulse immediately begin to race.
Robin.
Regina grabs her cloak in a hurry and throws it around her shoulders. She isn't ashamed of her body, in fact, she likes the way her slender waist gives way to full curves, but for some reason, shyness grips her, and she wants to hide from Robin's unreadable gaze.
Rain begins to fall, and they both turn their faces up. Then their gazes meet again, and looks of dread and horror adorn their countenances. Within seconds, the heavens open up and drops, that were once sprinkles, transform into a full-blown torrential downpour, erupting out of the dark sky. A clap of thunder rips through the air. Regina squeals, and Robin breaks out in a run toward her, taking her by the upper arm and leading her to a row of thick trees. They huddle under protective branches and the cover of leaves. The tiny burst of adrenaline has them panting a little. Catching her breath, Regina looks up and finds that Robin is standing about eight feet away from her, just staring at her. Moments before, she couldn't read the look in his eyes, but now – now – now, she sees it for what it is. Desire. His eyes are practically devouring her. There is something else, but it is hard for her to pinpoint, she only knows it is magnetic.
Robin's hair, face, and clothing are soaked, moisture glistens on his skin, and she can only imagine what she looks like. As if floating, she glides across the wet grass to him, stands just steps away. He holds back from touching her, except with his eyes, which continue to roam her delicate features. His mouth opens slightly as if he is about to say something, but no words come out. Instead, his hand comes up; his wet fingers feather lightly against her temple as he smooths a sodden strand of hair out of her eyes. Regina is spellbound, only able to blink raindrops from her lashes as the pull of his gaze holds her captive.
Words like thief, outlaw, bandit, criminal, archer, leader, and father flash in her mind. Good, kind, caring, compassionate, strong, relentless, stubborn are just a few others that she's consciously aware are rolling around in her head. There are many others, but she can't seem to pull them forward, too entranced by his heated stare. No man has ever looked at her in such a way that his feelings lay bare before her. For a moment, a flicker of annoyance appears on her face. All she wanted to do was take a bath. It seems she can't even do that out here in the forest.
The rain, despite the frigid early winter air, feels wonderful on Robin's heated skin. Being around Regina makes his blood run hot, and the cool drops falling from the branches above them are a welcome respite after spying her bare as the day she was born.
Rain water drips off his nose and mouth and strands of his hair. Gazing across the space at the woman in front of him, a tiny smile lights his face as he thinks of how completely insane their situation is. He watches as she stands in frustration, not the way she imagined taking a bath, he ventures.
Even now, he muses, she can't just stop and enjoy the moment, however ridiculous it is.
There is a certain sensuality in her stride, and he wills himself not to allow his eyes to drop below her face, knowing he would be able to clearly see the outline of certain parts of her figure through the very soaked tan cloak. Already has a clear picture of her full breasts, naval, rise of her arse, and the apex between her thighs. He isn't sure he'll be able to hold back his reaction, can already feel himself rising to the occasion. Curses himself for having no control around Regina.
Robin swallows and swallows saliva pooling in his mouth, and he tries to contain his arousal, but his body will not have it. His body knows how much his heart wants Regina as much as it wants her. She gazes up at him with such wonderment with mesmerizing, dark eyes. What is she thinking? Each of them wants desperately to close the distance between one another, but they hold back. He waits for her, she waits for him. His mouth begins to open, but the sight and nearness of her renders his voice completely powerless, so he raises a hand to touch her, his fingers grazing her temple as he tries to allow his eyes to convey his feelings.
Then Regina's hands move of their own accord and gently grasp either side of his face between her palms, almost as if to hold him still, as if she fears he would turn away. Neither knows how long they stand thus, transfixed, oblivious of their surroundings as pouring rain and lightning strikes around them. She doesn't give him time to ponder any longer, pulls his head to meet hers, lips crashing in a fury, slowly increasing in force as he acquiesces to her advance.
The feel of her lips on his, of her touch, and smell, and taste is like nothing he has ever experienced before, and it pulls at his gut. Her very being calls to him, and he finds he has never found another woman more alluring. He loved Marian, will always love Marian, but this is different. A month spent getting to know her more deeply, weeks spent trying to scale the walls she built up high, days spent listening to her, watching her with his son, pulling smiles and laughter from her throat, and falling for her. This is fire, and undeniable, and powerful, and with Regina, everything seems more.
Her lips break away from his with a gasp. Oh, dear God, what has she done? Regina thinks, alarm quickly sets in.
Robin watches a storm of emotions play across her beautiful face. Uncertainty creases across her brow and fear sits at the tip of her tongue, ready to be voiced, but he won't have it, won't let those words come. Taking Regina in his arms, Robin crushes her to his chest as his head tilts to the right, his lips capture hers again, and he hears her let out a small noise in surprise, and soon her lips move under his, and they both moan in pleasure, deepening the kiss even more.
Neither cares about the rain, his wet clothing, or hers for that matter. His heart pounds fiercely, and then it jolts wildly when he feels the tip of her tongue, begging entrance to his mouth. Helpless to resist, he parts his lips to her, rewarded by the intoxicating sensation of her tongue, slipping past the barrier of his teeth and into his mouth, plunging deep inside. Robin turns them so her back rubs against the tree they're sheltered under. Another soft moan escapes her, and he stops himself from running his hands beneath her cloak, just one, thin layer of fabric separates him from her skin.
Regina shuts her eyes tight, getting swept away by this all-consuming wet, open-mouthed kiss with her thief. She is aware of every sensation, knows she should be concerned about the consequences of opening her heart to him, but she doesn't care. For once in her life, all she cares about is the feel of his hands at her neck as they tangle in her hair, the roughness of his stumble as it rubs against her jaw, the softness of his mouth as it molds with hers. Perhaps it's the situation, the vulnerability, and the rain. Perhaps it's all that or just her complete fascination with this man who so easily preoccupied her thoughts from the first moment he skillfully pointed his bow in her direction. Whatever the catalyst, she is helpless to do anything but pull him toward her.
Her arms rise to wind around his warmly sodden back and mold herself to his body, uncaring of their surroundings or her lack of dress. Camp and the long journey still ahead of them to her castle seem completely unimportant – even non-existent. With the tensing muscles of his chest pressing against her softness, and the added friction of his knee between her legs, Regina's lips break from Robin's, and she gasps. She arches her neck, and it gives him better access to a spot behind her ear that she didn't know would make her go weak in the knees. Robin uses his arms to hold her up and continues to suck and lap at her neck. She loves the way his tongue trails up her skin, and he knows she loves it, revels in making her squirm and whimper.
This definitely isn't what she had planned, when she trekked to the river this morning, but she isn't complaining, because this – this – this is so much better.
Robin and Regina have been teasing and toying with each other for weeks now, slowly building up tension behind a dam ready to overflow. His knee moves again, and Regina grinds herself against him. The dam bursts. And then, in the midst of it all, she hears what sounds like people shouting, Regina! Hazily, she wonders why she would hear Snow White's voice in the middle of a rain storm, thinks she must be imagining things, continues to writhe under Robin's touches and kisses, and then slowly her foggy brain clears, and she realizes the sound she hears is Snow's voice, and the downpour is now a light sprinkle. Taking in a quick breath, she pushes him away from her, he gazes down at her somewhat confused.
"Regina?" he whispers.
No words come from her plump lips. They're red and a bit swollen, and he aches to kiss them again. It doesn't take him long to figure out what she's about to do; he takes a step forward, but she takes one back, clutches her cloak more tightly around her, and disappears into a cloud of purple smoke.
With a soft sigh, Robin groans. She has to stop doing that. He looks down at his feet, the present he held under his arm earlier, now a sodding mess in the mud. He picks it up, and just in time too, because at that moment Snow walks into view. He uses the package to cover the evidence of pent up pressure.
"Robin, did you find Regina? David and I were looking for you both. We wanted to talk about when we could move onto the castle," the princess states.
Robin purses his lips, bites back what he wants to say, yes, thank you so kindly for ruining a perfectly good snog in the woods, and instead he says, "No, shall we head back to camp?" he motions for her to lead the way.
Snow looks over Robin's shoulder at the river, raging from the added inches of rain.
"That storm hit pretty suddenly, didn't it?" she says, unaware of the dalliance she nipped in the bud.
"Quite a storm, indeed," Robin groans, an entirely different storm in mind. He looks up at the tumultuous clouds above. "And I'd say it's not quite over yet. We'll have another downpour before tomorrow dawns."
The short jaunt helps cool him off, and by the time they walk back into camp, Regina is busy playing with Roland, fully dressed, dry hair, and as beautiful as ever.
Robin leaves camp shortly afterwards, needs a longer cool down to remind his body that he is in the company of men and women and his son. He can't be reacting this way to Regina's close proximity. He leaves a word with Celia, a young girl who often watches Roland, says he'll be back before the sun rises the next day, needs adrenaline and physical activity (albeit not the kind he really desires) and leaves for a hunt. Little John and Much call after him, wanting to go with. He motions for them to follow.
On the horizon, dark clouds gather, reaching wispy grey slivers in the midnight sky, slowly seeking to erase all light. One star covered and then two. On and on, endlessly moving, racing toward the bright sphere hanging low in the autumn night. Clouds, heavy with water, slow their progress to a crawl and allow the moon a few more moments to shine on before they blotted out the pale glow. The crescent is bright in the darkened sky, illuminating the ground with a watery light and shining through the treetops. A deep rumbling hints at the thunderstorm that is about to break forth.
Roland never liked storms, hates the sound of them, afraid of the shadows and noises that bang and crash as trees sway and branches bend. On nights like these, he usually clings close to his papa's presence, but tonight his papa isn't here. Instead, Roland's laying Celia's tent, while she snores.
"Celia?" his soft voice shakes, and he pushes on her shoulder. "Celia, I'm scared."
The younger woman mumbles in her own foggy sleep. "Back to sleep, Roland. It'll be over soon."
Wind blows in a new direction. A bright flash of lightning cracks through the sky, alerting Roland to the nearing storm and drawing him toward the front of the tent.
"Celia," Roland whines. Thunder follows a few moments later, and he jumps in response. He doesn't want to stay here, doesn't feel safe. He needs his papa, but he is gone.
Gina. He can go to Gina!
The rain begins at that moment, instantly pouring down in sheets of water. It drowns out the sound of movement from inside the tent, and Roland's disappearance goes unnoticed by the young girl who is meant to be caring for him. Just then, the night brightens by another bright bolt, racing from the heavens, and Roland runs faster.
A chill howls and bites into his skin, puckers goosebumps all over his little arms. He moves his feet more quickly. Almost there. Soon he'd be with Regina. He didn't slow as he neared her tent and barrels through her tent flap, landing with a soft thud just inside.
Regina sits up immediately; the noise startles her from sleep.
"Gina?" Roland's tiny voice trembles in the darkness of the tent.
"Roland?"
A shuffling noise, and then he is in her arms. Soaked from the rain and shaking from the cold. Regina holds him tight to her. "Roland, sweetheart what's wrong?"
"I'm scared."
She's about to ask what has frightened him, when a deafening clap of thunder reverberates within her tent, causing Roland to bury himself into the crook of her neck.
"Oh, sweetheart, it's alright," Regina rubs soothing circles on the tot's back. Her voice low and comforting, she asks, "Where is your papa?"
"He went huntin' with uncle John and the others."
Regina nods. She forgot about that, saw the way Robin stalked off, awkward gait, tugging at the crotch of his pants. She smiles smugly, and then frowns while asking Roland, "Who was watching over you?"
"Celia, she was sleepin', and I got scared, and she wouldn't wake up."
She rolls her eyes. Teenagers. "Does she know you came here?"
"No."
Regina bristles. She's not about to go over there in this weather. Besides, perhaps if she awoke to a missing child, she might think twice before sleeping on the job next time.
"It's alright you can stay with me, okay?" she offers.
"Okay," Roland sighs, snuggling into her shoulder.
Before laying them down into the warmth of heavy blankets and furs, Regina uses her magic and makes Roland a new pair of sleepwear. She tousle dries his hair and peppers his little cheeks with kisses.
"It's so soft," he giggles and tells her, his small hands running down the fleece hugging his arms and legs and tummy.
'Mmhm, and it'll keep you nice and warm," she says, and taps him on the end of the nose before he crawls in bed beside her. Roland nuzzles into her chest, bringing back memories that fill her eyes with tears, but she doesn't dwell on what she doesn't have, only on what she does.
Roland yawns widely, his little hands holding her close.
"Go to sleep, sweet boy," Regina whispers and kisses the top of his head. "I'm right here."
"Gina," his whispers again, slowly being lulled to sleep by her warm embrace and soothing circles she's rubbing on his back. "Can I show you my fort tomorrow?"
"Of course, my darling," she says, pulls him closer to her, and falls asleep with his head of curls tucked beneath her chin.
A wet and miserable Robin trudges slowly back into camp a little later than he anticipated, light already breaks for morning. Much and Little John, a good twenty feet behind him, laughing at his expense. He is drenched to the bone, despite trying vainly throughout the walk back to keep his heavy cloak securely around him. And, again, he doesn't have anything to show for his hunt. He really needs to get his head in the game; otherwise his reputation amongst his men is going to suffer. He glances nervously across at the stream that has now grown into a raging river – the heavy swell of the water level, cutting into the soil and washing out the soft, sandy shoreline. There isn't any indication of a problem, yet. Though it is obvious, if the rain continues on in this fashion, they will be forced to relocate further into the forest.
It seems quieter here today; though the noise of the driving rain combined with the heavy wind keep most inside their tents. He realizes there are fewer people around, probably due to the continuing rain. Robin spies a couple working on securing patches on the roofs of some tents, while two more are covering the supplies traded the day before at market.
Robin kneels down beside the entrance to Celia's tent and pushes the flap aside. The water from the roof trickles annoyingly down his neck as he does so. He curses under his breath, and then shivers as the coldness seeps down his back. He casts his eyes to the place where he left his son next to Celia, but he is gone.
"Celia?" he calls in an attempt to wake her. "Celia," his voice now louder, and the young girl sits bolt upright.
"What?" she replies groggily.
"Where is Roland?"
Dismayed to discover that the bedroll next to her is empty, Celia pushes hair out of her troubled looking face. "He was right here," she says worriedly.
Robin's heart begins to pound. "Well he's not now." Getting to his feet, his eyes quickly scan the camp. He hears the tent open behind him, and Celia's small frame catches his peripheral view.
"Robin, I'm sorry…"
He cuts her off, he doesn't have time for apologies, and he tells her that. "Go, find Little John and have the men look around for him. I'm going to see if he went back to our tent."
She nods and runs in the direction of the others.
Robin wastes no time and is back at his tent in record speed. However, his chest fills with another bout of unease, when he finds it also to be empty. He wracks his mind, and knows it must have been the storm that sent the boy off. But where? Where would his son go? Where would Robin go if he needed comfort during a storm? Where would he feel safest? And then it hits Robin. Of course. Oh, my boy. A smiles spreads on his face, and he scrambles.
Roland is with Regina, he is sure of it. Robin doesn't knock, doesn't clear his throat to alert Regina to his presence. He just softly pulls back the flap to her tent, light from the outside spills in, and the sight before him makes his breath catch in his chest. An ache settles there, one that has his eyes misting with tears, at the sight before him. His son lays against Regina; one of his small hands grasps the front of her nightgown as if he is afraid she might leave him. His little head is nuzzled into the crook her neck. Regina's hair is splayed out around her head, and sunlight shines of it, makes her look a lot like the ethereal being he saw in the woods when they first met. She is stunning, but it's the way her arms are protectively wrapped around Roland in her sleep that truly tugs at Robin's heart.
This is not the first time Robin has realized the depth of his feelings for her, but seeing them like this makes him want to finally tell her, makes him want to take that leap and not be afraid she'll run. He tells himself to do it soon, reminds himself that life is short, and we never know what may happen. For now, he backs quietly out of the tent and goes to look for the others to call off the search.
His son is right where he needs to be.
When Regina and Roland finally wake up, they get ready for a new day and go in search of his papa. After berating Celia for not watching Roland, she tells the girl to stop crying and just not let it happen again. The young adolescent gives her word and bows in front of Regina. She tells her that formalities are unnecessary, and the girl thanks her again. Regina and Roland spend time with his papa, memories of their heavy petting and searing kisses preoccupy her thoughts, and she asks Roland if he'd like to show her his fort now. She needs to put some distance between her and Robin, unable to act upon the fantasies in her head with his son sitting on this log in between them.
"Yes!" he shouts, jumping off the log and pulling at her hand to stand. "Yes, please!"
"Oh, you're taking Regina to our fort, are you? May I come?" Robin asks.
"Nooo, papa," Roland groans. "Just me and Gina today, you played with her yesterday. It's my turn today."
Regina spits out the water in her mouth, choking and blushing. At a loss for words, Robin just stares at his lad, he licks his lips, and then cautiously asks, "Who told you Regina and I were playing yesterday, my boy?"
"Hmmm, I ask Much where you were yesterday 'cause we didn't go on our morning walk like we do every morning. But he said you and Gina were playin', having growned up time." Roland pauses in his retelling and then furrows his brows before asking, "Papa, what's growned up time?"
Oh, my God, he was going to murder Much. How did he even know where he and Regina were yesterday morning?
"Roland, why don't you show me your fort now?" Regina suggests, and the little toddler doesn't need any more convincing. They leave his father, but not before Regina can squeeze his hand and place a chaste kiss on his lips. She whispers into his ear, "Don't think I haven't forgotten about what we started yesterday."
The low, sultry rasp of her voice caresses his earlobe, and Robin shivers, remembering the way she felt pressed against him.
The floodgates, so to speak, are open, and there is no way either of them are going to close them now.
"Roland, be careful," Regina warns, as they get closer to the river.
"I'm careful, Gina. Papa and I go here all the time. It's my secret place." He runs up to the fallen tree trunk that connects the shorelines on both sides of the river.
Skillfully, he starts walking across it, and Regina spots his fort on the opposite side of the shore. It's a whimsical little thing. Cut branches, rocks packed at the base, a green flag flies in the wind. A fort fit for her little knight. The only problem is that even though Roland and Robin have crossed this log many times before, the river seems awfully high today. Much higher in fact, and the speed of raging water causes a pressure to build on the fallen tree from the buildup of debris and rocks from the storm.
"Roland, come back from there," Regina runs up behind him. "It's not safe anymore," she tells him, nearing the tree.
"It's fine, Gina. See!" he holds up his hands and jumps up and down on the tree.
On cue, an ominous creaking comes from within the log. Roland abruptly stops, his little feet shuffling backwards, back in the direction of Regina. Regina knows what is going to happen before it actually happens, but she doesn't have time to react proactively.
Her eyes fix on Roland, he screams at the top of his lungs, "Gina!" and her heart jumps into her throat.
It seems to take forever, but in reality, it's over in seconds. With a thunderous crack, the fallen tree beneath him gives way, the log pile heaves, and then jerks haphazardly. Roland's foothold slides seamlessly into the rapid stream, taking him with it.
Regina watches in horror as Roland disappears below the water's surface, her heart pounds. A strangled scream leaves Regina's throat; she tears across the shoreline, and without thinking, plunges into the raging river. It steals her breath, when the frigid water hits her chest. Regina struggles to breathe and doesn't fight the urge to be swept down the current, anything to reach Roland. She rids herself of the heavy cloak pulling her down, but the fabric of her dress still drags her under; she battles to stay afloat, to get to Roland. Using all of her strength she swims as fast and as hard as her arms will let her, and then some. And she doesn't know how, but she finally, finally reaches him as he flails against the water.
Regina reaches out and takes hold of his sleeve, uses all of her might to pull him to her.
"Roland!" she gasps, tugging him to her.
Panicked, the boy wraps his arms around her neck, unknowingly pushing her back under dark, cold depths. Her strength is leaving her in a rush. If someone doesn't hear their shouts, they are both going to drown. She can't fight this much longer, can't kick her legs hard enough, and see the shoreline long enough to use magic, can't keep Roland high enough out of the water. Her lungs burn between desperate breaths. Water swirls, and pushes, and pulls, and drags. It batters, and beats, and knocks her about. Gasping for air, she finds the strength to push herself up, to pop both their heads above the surface, and that's when she notices it. A giant boulder. And they are headed right for it.
At the speed they're being tossed about in the rapids, Regina knows it's not going to be a gentle bump, and with the way she's holding onto Roland, he'll be sandwiched between the rock and herself, absorbing the full force of it. Regina pitches him sideways just in time, her side strikes the rock. A sharp pain radiates down her side, a cry leaves her lips, and she almost lets go of Roland, gulps down mouthfuls of water instead. Coughs, when her head meets air again.
Tears swept away by the river before they can be shed fill Regina's eyes as the pain intensifies. She wants to give in, needs to give in, might not be able to stop herself from giving in. She is so unbelievably tired, and she finds something darkly comical in that, because she had just decided she wanted to live, just started to open herself up, just started to believe in love or at least believe in Robin.
And now, she's drowning. They're drowning. Anguish fills her and something inside her shouts, No. She lost Henry; she will not lose Roland, too. Using everything she has left, she gathers her magic inside her, just enough, no more, no less. She has one shot, needs to be able to see a place she can set him, needs a visual. She can't just magic him without knowing where she's going to put him. Just like she couldn't pull Emma from Neverland's oceans. Not without a visual.
She thinks about the people who mean the most to her. Memories of their time together flash before her eyes. It's cliché, she thinks, but she knows why people talk about seeing the light just before their time. Death knocking. This must be what it's like.
Regina thinks about the first time she held Henry in her arms, thinks about the first time she met a twelve-year-old Snow, thinks about her first glimpse of her little dimpled knight, thinks about her first encounter with Robin.
Robin.
He would never forgive her if she let Roland die.
She would never forgive herself. She kicks one last time, breaks the surface of the water long enough to see a patch of dry land, and with a weak wave of her wrist, Roland's weight leaves her.
A high-pitched ringing fills her ears. The relentless, torrential sound of the rapids, and the overwhelming flow of water drags her under, prevents her from seeing a cloud of purple and illuminating white dissipate to reveal a sputtering and coughing Roland on the shore.
Regina slips below the surface, and then there's nothing.
Disclaimer: not mine