AN: Oh dear goodness, you guys have no idea how happy I am that this chapter is DONE. Work has been crazy, life has been insane, but this chapter is FINISHED. YAY. Big thank you to all the lovelies who kept me sane, listened to me drag my feet while kicking and screaming, and calmed me down from writer crazies. Writing is WORK, ya'll. But I love it. Without further ado, chapter 14.
Sinking into Shadow and Holding onto the Light
Wind whips between skeletal trees, spindly branches and through an unhinged door propped open, weaving its ghostly way into a dank corridor, seeping through cracks, crevices as it tries but fails to find its way back out into sunlight, into fresh air and sunshine. Instead, it's trapped inside Nottingham's dungeon, knocks against weathered stone, slowing until it's as dead as the dried straw on the mud-caked ground. Cold, wet clings to stale air, beetles skitter – beady, little, black things digging in the dirt beneath the sore-covered feet of moaning men, burrowing their sticky beetle legs into morsels of stale bread and rancid feces mucking up the floor.
Putrid. Filth. Everywhere.
Grime, mess, slim, creatures that crawl and creep. Unseen things that gnaw at flesh still on bone, bite and irritate while prisoners attempt to sleep. If they can sleep. If sleep will come. If they are of the few who succumb to darkness and chance a reprieve from the tortures of daylight.
Daylight that's marked, timed by the jailor rattling his metal keys. Metal rattling against metal while he plods past cell after cell, grinning wickedly at each peasant, sniveling man or ruffian behind locked bars until he pauses. Stops. Shifts his weight on the worn soles of his boots, his broken laces sopping up muddy water as he chooses his next victim.
Regina hates him. This balding, sweltering man who lurks in front of her cell for the longest each day he does as he's paid to do – taunt, tease, torture – peering in through the rusted bars of her cage. He leers, sways to and fro a bit, ever so slightly, before he sniffles, hocks up phlegm – a harsh, wet sound rattling his throat – and spits, putting his back into it.
He's close enough that his spittle lands and soaks into the dirt near her feet.
Not on her. Never on her.
But it's near enough that she knows, if he chose to, if he wanted to, he could.
Their eyes meet, the corner of his mouth inches up and he makes a sound she assumes is a laugh, a ghastly, rasp stuck deep in his chest. He grinds his teeth, tips his head in a half-assed bow and grumbles, "Your majesty," while stopping in front of her cell. He hocks up phlegm, rears his head back and spits; it lands near the edge of her cot and he grins, pleased with himself. His snarl like smile brings his yellowed teeth into view and they roll her stomach. She swallows saliva pooling in her mouth and turns her cheek to him, staring at the wall, eyes tracing over cracks, crevices and cobwebs.
She refuses to give him the satisfaction of seeing her squirm or glare in disgust. She may be behind bars, but she's not a weak damsel, nor a terrified girl stuck in a corner, left to die, left to ponder her fate. She's… more than that, but less than what she was a week ago without her magic, precious stone or diamond encrusted corsets. She hasn't any feathers, polished suits or steam-pressed slacks to hide behind.
No masks, no fronts. Just her. Behind bars.
It dawned on her when she woke up on this hard cot days ago that this situation she finds herself in is an awful lot like one from a few decades ago, when she sat in a cage just like this one in the prison beneath Snow and David's castle, awaiting her execution on a wooden stool while watching the flickering flame of a candle. Powerless then as well, biding her time, lying in wait for an escape, a glimmer of hope that was never going to come.
The jailor spits once more before moving four cells down from hers. She hears the shouting before his key turns in a lock, the usually loud click drowned out by a panicked shout.
"No, no, please, no! I didn't do anything, please! Have mercy! Tell the crone I didn't do anything! Tell Nottingham, please, no no no! I have a family! I–"
The jailor chuckles darkly, and Regina feels sorry for the unknown man on the other side of strangled wailing. Not everyone here is guilty of a crime. They're not all imprisoned for thieving, murdering or bribing. They aren't here to pay penance for wrongdoings.
Some of them, most of them if she's honest with herself, are innocent.
His cries get louder as he's dragged out of his cell; she can hear the man's feet shuffling against the ground, and as the jailor stalks passed her corner of hell, her eyes briefly connect with terrified, blue orbs. The man shouts for her to help him as he digs his heels into the dirt. It makes things worse for him. The jailor jerks on his arm harder and a sickening pop rips through the air.
Regina turns her head, curls into a fetal position and muffles a moan into the straw pillow beneath her face, head pounding, stabbing pressure between her eyes, the dank, musty air making her dizzy.
She doesn't want to think about him, about his pleas for mercy, the agony and desperation in his voice. It's like getting a front row seat to the horrific things she used to do to prisoners, like men or women she thought were aiding Snow. She put them in cages, like beasts to be tortured, animals to be tamed and broken. Visions of nameless peasants hanging at the gallows, the guillotine, piled up in pits fill her vision. Guilt chokes her like tar coating a pit, slow and quick all at the same time, making it hard for her to breathe. Her breaths come out in hasty, little pants as brutal truths expose themselves.
This man's doom is coming, her doom is coming. Just as it came for the person who sat in this cell before her – mercy and escape far out of reach as she rots in this godforsaken hell hole.
The Sheriff, whom Regina learned is actually Robin's long lost brother, is working with a crone named, Mortianna, and Zelena. But she still doesn't know why they've banded together.
She chuckles darkly, and then her voice cracks as she sucks in a sharp gasp.
"Oh, Robin," she whispers, hugging herself tighter as a chill whips through the room. The very thought of him makes bile rise up in the back of her throat, forces her to try and swallow it down. Its something she's done an awful lot of in the last few days, stomach twisting in knots, a burning in her gut that matches the one in her chest. She replays the last time she saw Robin over and over and over again in her mind. Him up on the lower bailey, facing Nottingham, his arrow notched and… then it's all a blur, a haze of shouting, arrows flying, Nottingham pushing Robin over the wall as she held onto Much's collar while blood seeped out of his belly. Robin disappeared out of sight, a flash of red, a searing pain at the back of her skull, and then...
Nothing.
Not until she woke up here to Nottingham slouched in a chair outside her cell, plenty of distance between himself and the bars. Regina grinds her teeth, thinking about the gloating, smug, snide look on his face. She misjudged him when she met him unknowingly in the village market all those months prior, took him for a coward, a drunk; and though those things are still true of him, she hadn't expected him to be Robin's brother.
How could she?
She hadn't even known until he told her proudly, unwisely trying to goad her, bold enough to call her the victim, prey caught by its predator. Though, not brave enough to get close to the bars. He kept plenty of distance between himself and her, perfectly aware (as she was) that if it weren't for the cage separating them, or the spell Zelena placed on this prison to keep her magic at bay, their roles would've been reversed, and she hated him for that. Hates him still. Hates the victory she saw gleaming in his eyes as she stood up quickly and tried to conjure a fireball only for her palm to remain barren. Hates the way he dared to call Robin a low life, scum on his boot that he'd never have to deal with again, hates the way he rubbed dirt in an open wound by bringing up Roland and the child in her belly.
Regina swallows rising bile again, claws at her throat as she sucks in shaky breath after shaky breath, fingers clutching tightly at the layer of fabric over her stomach. She pushes herself up into a sitting position, brings her knees up and leans against the stone wall, looking up at the tiny window in her cell. Brambles, vines and thorns blocking most of the opening, suffocating what little rays of sunshine attempt to break in. It's been… she tries to count on her fingers. Eight days, now… or 10? Has it been a two weeks?
Days and nights bleed together, hours marked by the uneasy rumbling of her stomach, reminders that she can't waste away. She's not alone, even if this is the most alone she's ever felt.
The jailor drags the screaming prisoner by the cuff of his torn collar toward torture devices shackled to walls, to knifes and a butcher's block, to ropes and chains, waiting to be used, begging for their next victim. The two of them disappear down the corridor, screams echoing and then dying out. The jailor will be gone for awhile now; he likes to draw out his time with the prisoners, takes pleasure in bleeding them dry, breaking bones and tearing muscle until life gives way to nothing. Besides, if she's right, if the rays of sunlight illuminating specks of dust in the air are any indication then the sun is slipping down past the horizon again which means…
The hinge of a door squeaks and heels clack on concrete stone.
Zelena has come to her twice, proud and cruel and annoying, talking to her about Mother, their history, Rumplestiltskin, all the things her green sister thinks she's taken for granted (she doesn't need the reminder. She's spent plenty of her life squandering away what little good she had, never appreciating it as much as she should have until it was far too late. Why would this be any different?). Zelena taunts her during her visits, always tiptoeing around exactly what she wants from Regina, but never revealing more.
Her blood runs hot again, tears prick at her eyes, and she shudders a breath. Plotting her revenge in her head does nothing to cease the waves of agony rolling inside of her.
Robin is still dead.
She is still alone; though, the soft pulse of energy within her reminds her that she isn't. Not really. A sharp pang shoots up her arm straight to her chest, and she whimpers, curling in on herself a little more.
There are worse things than being alone.
The clacking of heels gets louder down the hallway, out of sight, and Regina is quick to roll over, even though the fast movement makes her migraine worse, makes it pound, pound, pound against the inside of her skull.
By the time her visitor comes into view, Regina's sitting on the stool next to her cot, knees crossed, hands folded in her lap, back straight.
"How is my favorite sister this evening? Are you warm enough? Comfortable? Is your belly full?" Regina watches as Zelena gazes around at her sister's meager surroundings, eyes falling on the wooden bowl filled with untouched gruel and half a loaf of stale bread on the small plate next to it. Zelena hmmms, disapprovingly, flicks her pointer finger up and the paltry meal transforms into a hot stew.
Venison, potatoes, spices, parsnips, the savory aroma wafts up toward Regina's nose and her stomach grumbles, then lurches, a sickly pallor washing over her already pale face as she rubs her hand over her uneasy stomach on instinct, trying to quell the suddenly overwhelming urge to vomit. "Wouldn't want my little niece to starve just because her mother's a stubborn one, now would we?"
Regina glares up at her beneath heavy eyelashes, eyes prickling with tears, bile rising up in the back of her throat, threatening to make her heave. She imagines she's quite the picture right now – dark circles under her eyes, hair back in a long, low ponytail, palm still rubbing subconsciously over a slight bump concealed beneath her gray smock. She should be rounded, stomach fuller, cheeks filled out more, but she hasn't been able to keep anything down. Zelena waves her fingers and a fresh, gray dress and undergarments appear in her hands while she continues to jab at her sister's appearance, but Regina refuses to respond, bites her lip instead then says, "What do you want, Zelena?" sitting up higher on the wooden stool, straightening her shoulders, aware of how similar this feels to a time long ago when she sat in a cell just like this one, having an entirely different conversation with Snow. What she wouldn't give to be with Snow and the rest of her family instead of here. "Don't you grow tired of visiting someone who doesn't want to see you? Because if I wasn't clear before… I don't." Her reply is sharp, unforgiving, bitter. Loathing at the end of every word. "Not yesterday. Not today. Certainly not tomorrow. So do us both a favor, and stop wasting your breath."
Zelena clicks her tongue against her teeth. Tsk, tsk, tsk. "Always so quick to shoo me away, little sis. Didn't our mother ever teach you any manners? What would Cora say if she saw you here right now? I mean, look at you, Regina. A mere shadow of your former self."
"And why is that I wonder? Who could possibly be to blame for… this," she sneers, waving her hand at her current surroundings.
Zelena chuckles and waves her hands out in front of her. "Regina, you have no one to blame but yourself."
"You came after me, you attacked me," she points out, straightening her back and beginning to go on the defensive. God she's exhausted, so unbelievably drained, and Regina really doesn't want anything to do with Zelena today; she's doesn't have the desire to fight back at the moment. So she says what she knows will get Zelena riled up the most, and hopefully angry enough that she'll leave in a fury. "Because you were jealous, because your life was so hard," sarcasm dripping between each pause, "Newsflash, Zelena, the perfect life you think I had… well it wasn't. You have no idea what I lost, what I–"
"Oh, enough with your whining, Regina. You knew her, she wanted you," Zelena comes up to the bars, her gloved hands gripping around rusted iron. "Mother's prized pony," she spits out. "You had everything, and it was supposed to be mine! You're drowning in sorrow, wasting your life away over some petty thief and the love you think you lost, but Mother only did what was best for you." She spins away, turns her back on Regina, her arms outstretched, gesturing toward their surroundings while a malevolent bubble of glee slips passed her red painted lips. "It's what I'm doing too. If she were here, she'd thank me for orchestrating that backwoodsman's death."
"She would have ruined you! That's what she did. She took good things and she soiled them. You think I was better off, you think losing my first true love was what was best for me, but it wasn't. It nearly killed me and everyone I cared for. You have no idea what she was really like!" Regina practically springs off her cot – heart pounding, blood boiling – and rushes the bars, her face coming up as close as she can get to Zelena. "And I swear to God, I will make you pay for what you did to Robin."
Zelena chuckles, throwing her head back and then hums happily. "And how will you do that while rotting in this cage?" She saunters over to her, brings her hands up to the bars again, leans in closer and whispers, "You're not leaving here unless I let you, and unfortunately for you – fortunately for me – I'm not finished with you quite yet." She giggles wickedly as her eyes glance down at Regina's stomach, the curve of it much more prominent while she stands. "I have plans for you, little sis, and for the bastard growing in your belly. So enjoy this time you have with her, because you don't have much left," she sneers, and her cold eyes make Regina feel bare. It sends a shiver up her spine and seeps fear into her bones. "As soon as my beloved niece is born.. she's mine."
Fear is overpowered by a boiling fury and Regina snarls, "Over my dead body."
Zelena smiles and then replies, "Good, because that, Regina dear, has already been arranged." She steps closer, face centimeters away now and notes, "I have you exactly where I want you, dearie. Weak, powerless, alone."
"You won't get away with this," Regina snaps.
"Oh, but I already have," Zelena swiftly reaches up, caresses her cheek with the back of her hand and then grasps her face, her nails dig into Regina's skin as she continues with "dearest sister" and then tips her head back with a cackle before disappearing in a cloud of green smoke. The sudden release on her jaw makes Regina stumble back; she tries to catch herself, grabs at the bars in front of her and then quickly hisses, clutching her wrist as she catches her balance and glaring down at her widespread palm.
Blood beads upon her skin from where rusted metal cut into her flesh, and she sinks to her knees - alone once more with nothing but blood on her hand, the baby growing in her belly, and plaguing thoughts of everything she's already lost.
Henry, Daniel, her father… Mother… now Robin and the future she was foolish enough to believe they had together in the first place. Another happy ending ripped from her fingers.
She stares at the line of red now running down her palm and clenches her teeth, a familiar fire burning bright in her eyes as anger seethes from her pores. She won't let Zelena win; she won't let her have this baby. She'll make her pay. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but she will get out of here, and she will get her revenge.
For Robin, for Roland, for the child growing inside her that'll never know its father.
For Much.
For all of them.
She'll get back to Snow, and the Merry Men, and the rest of the ragtag group that have become like family to her, and she will make that green bitch wish she'd never been born.
Two weeks have come and gone since Robin last saw Regina, since he last held her in his arms and rubbed calming circles over her back while he told her everything was going to be alright, that everything was going to be okay. He rotates his shoulder and winces, healing layers of skin and muscle taut and sore. It'll be weeks yet before he's able to properly wield a bow. He shakes his head (even that makes his shoulder throb), pads over to the chair where his tunic is neatly draped over it.
Snow probably put it there, she's taken it upon herself to check in on him, to see how he's doing, how he's coping, and truthfully, he isn't doing well. And how can he be when he promised Regina that everything would be alright, when it isn't.
"Shit," he mumbles under his breath, dark circles under his eyes, skin a pale pallor. David had taken John, Tuck, Ruby, Tink and five knights with him into the depths of the Weeping Wood nearly 10 days ago, armed with enough blades, fairydust bombs and arrows to wipe out a small army, enough to storm his brother's keep and bring Regina home.
He could only hope, pray that she… that Andrew hadn't… Gods help him, if his brother hurt Regina...
No, no thinking like that. They'll find her, and they'll bring her home. She's strong, resilient.
Though, that's exactly what Robin is worried about the most – her strength and stubbornness combined that often lead her into life-threatening predicaments. When he met her, she'd been burying her heart in the woods, dirt smudged nightshift, leaves in her hair. The second time he met her, she'd been unconscious, tied to a pole in his camp. He's thinking about the time he pulled her body from the river, and the conversation he'd be more than happy to have with his brother, as he laces his boots and makes his way toward one of the winding staircases that leads down to an open courtyard.
Fresh air hits his face, immediately soothes his senses, calming him. He takes in deep breath after deep breath, savoring the smell of the surrounding forest, wind carrying the new scent of Yellow Trillium and Hellebore.
Spring is most certainly coming.
It takes him a few minutes more to get to the stables, stretching his legs, filling his lungs with air that isn't stale from being holed up inside castle walls. Granny is there, just like she said she would be with Roland, grooming one of the smaller Geldings from withers to croup.
Roland is standing on a wooden step stool with his back to him, but he pauses when he hears his papa's footsteps and turns, his tiny fingers dwarfed by the comb in his palm.
"Papa!" Roland shouts, jumping down from his little perch, his boots hitting the dirt with a soft thump. He drops the comb and runs to him, but just before he's about to jump off the ground and into Robin's arms, Granny pipes up with a swift warning to halt the tiny lad in his tracks.
"Roland!" He skids to a stop, shoulders tensing, back a bit hunched as he slowly angles his head around to look at Widow Lucas. "You have to be careful with your papa, little cub," she gruffs, straightening her glasses to peer Robin up and down from above clear lenses. "He's still healing."
"So they keep telling me." Robin rolls up his sleeves and couches down. "But I'd like to hug my son. Come here, my boy," he says, grinning and holding out his arms, even though there's a twinge of protest from his shoulder; it's a twinge he can manage. A twinge means he's alive to feel, means he can hold his child in his arms and breathe in the soft, sweet scent of his downy hair. Robin sighs, gives Roland a tight squeeze before releasing him, holding him at arms length. "Do you like that pony?" He asks, nodding toward the Gelding chewing on straws of hay and feed.
"Yes, Papa! Regina gave him to me!" Roland beams, face lighting up, apple cheeks rosy and bright and then his eyes darken, his brow furrows. His voice is quiet when he asks, "Papa, when's Regina coming back? She promised to teach me how to ride him."
Regina.
Robin's face falls. Roland's a child, it's not his son's responsibility to carry his papa's burdens, fears, worries… so instead of voicing his uncertainty, Robin turns down the collar of his son's tunic, saying, "John and Tuck and Prince David…" he taps the tip of his son's button nose, inching a smile back on Roland's face, pulling a warm giggle out of him, "And Ruby, they're some of the bravest heroes we know, are they not?"
Roland nods his head in earnest.
"And they're with some of the fiercest knights, yes?"
He nods again, exclaiming, "And Tink!"
"Yes," Robin chuckles, "And Tink, and soon they'll be back at the castle, and I'm sure Regina will be with them." He blinks up, directing his gaze toward Granny standing a few feet behind Roland now. He sniffs and then says, "Now, when Regina comes back, wouldn't you like to show her you've learned how to ride…" he points toward the pony, pauses, and his son seems to know what has his papa biting at his lower lip.
"Apple!" Roland squeals, gleefully. "Papa, can I ride Apple? Will you show me?"
"It'll be our little surprise for Regina when she gets back." Robin stands, points toward the tacked up horse. "Go on now, I'll be there in a moment."
Roland scampers off, excited, a skip in his step.
An hour or so later, Robin's rotating his shoulder, trying to distract himself from how sore it is, from the burning that he knows is more than tenderness. He's overdoing it, but truthfully he can't bring himself to care all that much. Roland is happy; there's a beaming grin on his face, and this bit of distraction is providing a respite from dark what ifs threatening to plague Robin's mind. It's nearly time for the afternoon meal, when Roland grumbles that he's hungry and tired so Robin slows the Gelding's trot to a walk, using the lead rope, and helps his boy down.
"I'll walk him out," Robin pats Apple's muzzle, "And then I'll join you and Granny for some lunch, yeah?"
"Alright, Papa."
Granny gives Robin a look that says, I know what you're up to, boy, and then grumbles under her breath, "When did I become the castle babysitter?" while ruffling Roland's hair, she threads her fingers with his, and they slowly walk across the courtyard and into the castle.
Robin laughs, turns his attention back to the horse, sighing, no longer trying to keep a strong face on for his son.
"Just you and me now," he murmurs, rubbing behind Apple's ear..
The horse whinnies.
He's outside much longer than he thought he was going to be, and now he's standing in the middle of the arena, walking Regina's mare out by lead rope – Apple long put back in the stables. He keeps thinking just one more trot around and then I'll brush her down, give her a few carrots and feed, and then I'll go in, but one circle turns into two and that turns into three, and he just keeps repeating the same pattern until noon time is far passed and sweat is dripping at his temples, his wound inflamed, burning each and every time he rotates his shoulder.
"What are you doing?" Snow's voice startles him, and he jumps in his skin before turning to look at her. Her head is cocked to the side and she's tapping her foot on the ground, taptaptap, peering at him the way a mother looks at a child doing something naughty, something they shouldn't. "Doc said you need to rest, Robin."
"I'm fine, " he replies, gaze focusing on the mare again as she changes her gait and canters.
"You haven't healed yet. You're overexerting yourself."
"Regina's mare needs tending, she hasn't been out to trot in days or properly ridden. I'll go once I'm finished."
"Someone else can do that," Snow offers, insists, opening up the arena gate and marching over to him, determined, her palm outstretched. "Here, let me, I'll–"
"I said I'm fine," he counters, jerking his hand away from hers, taking two steps away from her. "I can take care of it." The lead rope goes slack, the mare slows, halts in her step, shaking her head in annoyance, her mane wild and untamed, stomping at the ground with her hoof.
Snow deflates, smiles at him sadly, knowingly. "Robin, you need to rest."
"No, what I need is to do something other than twiddle my thumbs and sleep daylight away."
"Resting isn't doing nothing," she clarifies, and Robin sighs, grinds his teeth. "Resting is taking care of yourself for when she gets back."
"If she gets–" he starts, but she cuts him off with a hasty shake of her head and furrowed brow.
"You can't think like that."
He knows he can't, but he does, and comments about having hope and faith aren't helping. They just make him more frustrated that he's failed as a father and a lover. He's supposed to protect his family.
"No, what I can't do is sit on my arse while she's out there. God only knows what my brother is doing to her..."
"Regina's a fighter," Snow breathes, in a voice Robin knows is meant to be reassuring, calming, but it's not. And it's not the Princess' fault, she's just trying to help him, but with her every attempt at comfort, he gets more and more frustrated. "She always has been. They'll bring her back."
"How are you so bloody calm? Aren't you worried about them? Your husband and your friends. Aren't you twisted up inside at the thought of losing them? Of losing her? Because I am," he admits, on edge and riled up because he's been thinking about Regina and the baby all day, letting fear and anxiety seep into the marrow of his bones. It has his stomach in knots, has his knuckles turning white as his grip tightens on the lead rope.
"You can't lose hope. You have to believe, trust that it'll all work out."
"And how am I supposed to fucking do that?" he mutters, sharply, cheeks red, hair around his temples slicked with sweat.
"Robin," Snow's eyes glimmer with sadness, "If you don't have hope, what else is there?"
"Now I understand Regina's annoyance with you. You're hopefulness is infuriating."
Snow rolls her eyes and plants her fists on her hips. "I'd rather be infuriating than be an ass to everyone who's trying to help me," she states, pointedly, glaring at him. "Doc told me you threw a cup at him yesterday when he said you weren't fit to ride yet. You didn't really think you could mount Regina's mare, did you?" She glances at the shoulder he's favoring.
He deflates, meets her gaze and then closes his eyes. His shoulder throbs, excruciatingly. He knows he's overdone it and they'll be hell to pay with Doc. "I can't stop thinking about her out there, about them both, and I don't know what to do… I can't just sit here... If something happens to her and the baby– I already lived this nightmare once with Marian, I don't want to repeat it with Regina."
"Robin," she tentatively places her hand on top of his and gives it a reassuring squeeze before taking the lead rope from him grasp and guiding him and the horse back to the stables. "She's strong. She's the strongest person I've ever met. If someone can survive this, it's Regina."
Snow leads the mare into her stall, unhooks the lead rope and drapes it over the door.
Robin picks a comb up out of the tack box and offers it to her; she takes it with a smile as he replies, "I know she's strong, but you don't know my brother like I do, you don't know the Weeping. That place… it eats away at you, until you're nothing but a hollow shell of your former self. Andrew couldn't fight it, and I wasn't able help him. And now I failed Regina too. I promised her she'd be safe. I promised her our child would be safe, and I failed… I failed both of them."
Robin hangs his head in shame, tears spill out of the corners of his eyes. Snow stops brushing the mare's mane and angles her head to look at the him, to really look at him. Slumped shoulders, wrinkled trousers, unshaven face, askewed hair, dark circles under his eyes. She approaches him slowly, a deep pang of empathy bleeding out of her heart. She knows the agonizing burden of feeling like you've failed your family, and she won't let him carry it alone. Gently placing her hand on his arm, she squeezes comfortingly. "Robin, we're a team. All of us. Granny loves Roland, and despite Leroy's complaints about late nights on the watch tower, he's volunteered nearly every evening to wait and watch for David and the rest of our friends to bring Regina home. You're a part of our family now. And no one attacks our family and gets away with it."
Robin nods, scrubs offending wetness away from his face and then clenches his teeth. "I appreciate the sentiment, Snow, truly, I do. But it wasn't your man who betrayed our people."
Snow's eyes widen in shock. "John told you about Allan?"
He shrugs, regretting the choice immediately when the muscles in his shoulder flare like a red, hot poker searing into his flesh. He sharply sucks in a breath, and Snow frowns, opening the gate and pulling the collar of his tunic aside to look. The skin beneath his bandage is agitated, an ugly mark upon his flesh, warm to the touch around the edges; she can feel the heat on her fingertips as she gingerly checks his stitches.
"Come on," she huffs, sounding annoyed with him even though her doey eyes are soft, sympathetic. "Let's go find Doc. He needs to clean and treat that wound, and then you need to rest. And I mean it," she chastises and glares at him sternly, but then she smiles and says, "Or I'll chain you to the bed."
On their way back into the castle, Robin and Snow talk about Allan's betrayal. As far as Robin's concerned, his former Merry Man might as well have murdered Much himself. Afterall, it was Allan who led Jakan and Andrew's men into the castle through the dungeons. It was Allan who knew when the castle would be at its weakest between changing of the guards. It was Allan who knew about the secret tunnels because Robin and Regina had told the Merry Men about them so they could get in and out easily while hunting.
Allan had betrayed their code, their honor; he turned his back on his comrades, his family… and for what? Robin doesn't know. He only knows his gut churns up everytime he closes his eyes.
Flashes of Regina on the ground cradling Much's lifeless body in her arms, of her screaming his name as Andrew's arrow pierced his flesh, of Allan walking up behind her and knocking her out.
He's remembered it all over the last few days, every horrifying, heart-wrenching detail, and it stews a bitterness inside him.
"None of us could have predicted that Allan was working with your brother, Robin," Snow reasons as they walk passed the Great Hall. "You can't blame yourself. "
"Can't I? I've no idea how long Allan has been working with him. My brother wasn't here during the curse. Belle said he was in your Storybrooke as some Keith. Just as terrible there, I take it."
"Belle and Gold had more interactions with him than I ever did. But he… Emma had to detain him a time or two for being drunk and disorderly. He just spent the night in a jail cell and then he'd get bailed out."
"Sounds like Andrew."
They're standing outside the door to the healing rooms when she says, "David will bring Regina home. I have faith and so should you." She smiles, a rosy color filling the apples of her cheeks.
Robin laughs, lightly. "You never give up, do you?"
"Never."
"You know she loves you, don't you?" He utters, placing his hand against the door to push it open. "She might not say it often, but she does. Deeply."
Snow chuckles because of course she knows. "Regina and I have been through a lot. We've seen the best and worst in each other, and despite everything, she's family. There's only one time when I've ever doubted her ability to change, and I've regretted that ever since. The young woman who saved my life all those years ago, she's resilient, the most resilient, and I know I keep saying that but I believe with all my heart that she'll come back to us."
"We don't give up on the people we love," Robin echoes her earlier words.
And Snow echoes back: "We don't give up on the people we love."
Zelena has been gone long enough for the sun to disappear below the treeline, depriving Regina's cell of sunlight. Her cage is shadowed in darkness, the only light coming from flickering torches just beyond rusted bars and her sister's enchantment keeping her magic at bay. She's picking at the stew Zelena left her when a door squeaks open and swings wide on its hinges, crashing against cobbled stones.
"You don't have to be so handsy, alright. Bloody hell. It's no way to treat an old friend, mate." Regina listens as an unfamiliar voice complains.
She doesn't have to wait for long to see him, warm flame washing his features in an ambient glow. He has a thin face, big eyes and clean cut hair, tall-ish, lanky, and his hands are shackled together. Allan is behind him, dungeon cell keys in one hand while he grabs at this new prisoner's collar with his other, halting the man in his steps.
"Hey, alright, watch it. No one likes to be manhandled," the man says, cocky grin on his face.
Allan opens the cell door across from Regina's and forces him in.
"Oh come on, mate, this ain't funny. We used to be blokes, you and me, and Robin. Remember that? Stealin' from the rich and giving' to the poor, honor and duty and… somethin'."
Allan scoffs, "Some honor." He pulls the cell door shut, locks it, and turns around, facing Regina's direction. His eyes are downcast at first, but then he looks up, and their eyes connect – her steely browns with his cold greens. "Some honor, indeed," he repeats with disgust.
And Regina can't help herself. "What exactly would you know about honor?" She asks, harshly. Allan growls, More than you, and she sneers, "You betrayed your friends, your leader."
"Nobody but Robin betrayed Robin," Allan growls, taking two steps toward her cell and then one step back, eyes widening as she sets her stew down, pushes herself up off her cot and stands in front of the bars just a couple feet away from him. His voice starts off shaky when he continues with, "He chose you…" but his confidence seems to grow with each word tumbling out of his smug mouth, and oh how Regina wishes she could wipe that look off his face. "He's the one who fell in love with the Evil Queen. We used to fight against people like you, but he was blinded by a pretty face. He was the betrayer. He forsake our code, not me."
She shakes her head furiously, biting her bottom lip and clenching her fists. "Robin isn't the one who cost Much his life. You are to blame."
"He was trying to protect you. He made that mistake not me, and I wasn't the one wielding the knife."
"I doesn't matter who wielded the knife," she barks, eyes bloodshot and hands shaking. "Who let Jakan into the castle? Who showed him how to use my sister's blood to break through blood magic? Who sent ravens with information to the Wicked Witch and Nottingham? Who opened the front gate? You did, Allan."
Allan's mouth is shut tight and there's a mean, hateful glare in his beady pupils. She can see that he knows she's right, he did do all of those things, he so much as told her that himself after Nottingham revealed that Allan was a spy, that he'd been working secretly with Mortianna in his stead while he'd been sucked into Regina's Storybrooke-hell-hole.
He doesn't answer her. Instead, he walks away, leaving her alone, glistening tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. She huffs out a breath and starts to turn to go back to her cot and now cold stew, but then her new dungeon mate speaks up.
"Bloody bastard, that one, ain't he?"
She scoffs. "I can think of a few choice words to describe him."
And he chortles, stretches his arms above his head, inspecting his cell. "I'm Will, Will Scarlet."
"I'm…"
"The Evil Queen, I heard. I remember running from you back in the day."
"You and everyone else," she gripes and then sighs, "but I prefer Regina."
"Alright then, Regina," he states as she watches him crouch down, sift through the dirt, and pick something up, but she doesn't pay much attention to what he starts fiddling with between his thumb and forefinger. "Now, I couldn't help but overhear.. You know, Robin Hood?"
His questions knocks the air out of her lungs, has her subconsciously fidgeting with the fabric over the curve of her stomach again, his gaze follows her movements, he frowns and her hand freezes before she lets it drop to her side. She doesn't answer his question, though she doesn't know why, instead she asks one of her own: "You know Allan?"
"Aye, that bloody arse, ain't really a good mate now ain't he? Given that I'm in here and he's out there." Will peeks his head out between the bars of his cell and looks right to left before pulling his head back through again, his ears getting pinched slightly. "So how do you know Robin?" He asks again, not willing to let her forget his original question.
"Do you always talk this much?"
He smirks at her and rubs his wrist. "Only when I'm talking to a pretty lady such as yourself. So were you his girl or somethin'?"
"I…" she hesitates, voice taking on a slight tremble. She swallows the lump in her throat. "I'm- I'm not his anything…"
But Will is still talking, " So you were his girl or something? I wouldn't blame Robin for falling for someone with…" And she's half hearing him, half trying to gather her thoughts while swallowing down rising bile in her throat, nightmares coming to life flashing across her vision, Robin's lifeless body on the floor in a pool of his own blood, a screaming infant crying in her crib, walls closing in on her. "character like you… he's always liked headstrong women." Will's rambling now, every word piling more and more grief onto her already aching heart, if he doesn't stop soon, if he doesn't shut up, she's going to crack, and she doesn't want to crack. Doesn't want to break the dam of tears welling up in her eyes. "And I hope you don't mind me sayin', but you're not sore on the eyes..."
She doesn't want to crack, but he won't stop talking so she blurts out: "He died."
Will's shoulders slump, his mouth hangs open, way to be subtle, Regina, she thinks as he rubs his hand along the back of his neck. "Aw, that's… I'm sorry. He was a good man that Robin."
"He was."
Will shakes his head, running his hand through his hair. "That's a right shame" he continues. "I loved someone once and I know what it's like to lose them," he stops, and she thinks she sees a glimmer of wetness in his eyes. And then he's reaching his hands through the cell gate and fumbling with the padlock with bit of wire or thin piece of iron held between his fingers, jagged end sticking into the lock. "Her name was Ana, and she–"
"I didn't ask for your life story," she interrupts, pulling her stool away from her cot and sitting down.
"Suppose you didn't," he responds, looking up at her, going back to whatever it is he's doing with the lock and then saying, "Our happy endings don't always turn out the way we think they will, do they?"
Again, she doesn't answer one of his questions, brushes it aside and instead asks him another one of her own: "What do you think you're doing?"
Will smiles but doesn't look up at her. "I know what it's like to hurt, to just want it all to bloody end. But I'd prefer to not die in this stinkin' pit, letting Allan think he's won. He's a smug son of a bitch, don't you think? And the last time I saw Nottingham, I was stealing his horse so I'm not too keen on statin' here until he decides to give me a visit."
Regina watches as Will rests his forehead and palms on the rusted cell bars, sighing as he kicks at the dirt beneath his feet. "And what do you think you're going to do?" She asks, eyebrow quirked up questioningly. "Pick the lock free?"
"Precisely," he beams, turns his wrist and the padlock clicks and opens.
A smile inches it's way across her face, and she stands abruptly as he pushes against his cell door, it gives way. A tiny bead of hope takes root in her heart, the first glimmer of light shining in her eyes in days. And for a moment, she's distracted from thinking that Robin is dead, for a moment, she forgets that her life is in ruins again.
Just for a moment, and then her smile fades, and she steps back into the shadows behind her.
Will approaches her cell and begins picking at her lock as well.
"What are you doing?" She asks, a hint of fear in her voice.
"I fell in love with a woman a long time ago. We were thieves, the two of us, and for a while, the open road and bread on our table was enough. Until one day it wasn't. You see, my Ana, the woman I loved, our life wasn't enough for her. She wanted more, she changed. She made the bad choices we hope we'll never make in our lifetimes. She betrayed the people she loved, and she became somewhat of an evil queen herself. Now, you, well, despite your reputation, you seem like you've turned a leaf. I'm sure you've got people waitin' for you back where ever it is you came from, even if Robin's not there to greet you."
Regina's thumb starts rubbing circles over her small belly again, tears slowly easing down her cheeks and off her jaw. Will swings her cell door open, and Regina's eyes widen in shock. She stands up straighter as Will steps inside her cell. "And if I'm right, and that bump there's not Nottingham's generous portions of food in your stomach, then you're pregnant." Regina glares at him beneath her lashes. Will is a good foot taller than her, and without her usual stilettos or high-heeled boots, the look she gives him isn't as menacing or worrisome as she means it to be. "This is the last place you should be," Will continues, "so you can stay here, or you can come with me. But I'm not gonna make ya. S'up to you."
He's offering her a way out, offering her hope and another chance. They both look at each other as she contemplates what comes next.
"Robin save my life once; he gave me a second chance," he tells her. "So if he saw the good in you... helping you is the least I can do to pay him back, especially after the way I left things. We'll keep each other safe tonight once we get outta here, and as soon as the sun rises, I'll take you to wherever you need to go."
Regina lets his words soak in, reaches her hand out and then stops. "How do I know if I can trust you?"
She's afraid, afraid of what comes next. She's been alone in this cell for weeks, with just her thoughts and the weight she carries inside her. Alone but certain of what would happen each day she awoke – prison gruel and a visiting bitch of a sister day in and day out and the wailing sounds of prisoners begging for life.
"You don't. Same as I don't know if I can trust you. But I'd rather take my chances with you, than risk staying here."
She has a chance now to choose what comes next.
To choose life.
To not wait for death to come and for Zelena to win.
"Whaddaya say, Regina? I 'aven't got all day," Will comments, looking up and down the corridor again to make sure no one is coming.
"I–" And that's when she feels it for the very first time. A tiny flutter that grows into something stronger. A thump, thump, thumping really. Her hand tentatively reaches back to her lower abdomen, palm rubbing there, unsure of what she just felt until– there it is again.
A kick. More than a flutter, more than a feeling or a sensing of energy pulsing in her womb.
The baby.
And just like that her choice is clear.
Life.
She chooses life.
Robin is dead. Her son is gone. But this, baby and Roland– oh God, Roland.
Regina looks up at Will and he smiles, knowingly. "Well, alright then, let's go."
As soon as Regina follows Will out of her cell, she sucks in a sharp breath and doubles over as her magic comes roaring back to life. The abrupt sensation nearly knocks the wind out of her. Will grabs her by the elbow and helps her right herself.
"You alright?" He asks in a hurry, voice laced with worry.
She straightens her back, exhales and then flexes her fingers, a fireball flickering in her palm.
"Oh, I'm more than alright," she breathes, smiling wickedly, and then the baby kicks again, and Regina lets the fireball die out, and she thinks, Don't worry, little one, I won't let anything happen to you.
Disclaimer: I don't not own the characters in this story, their backgrounds or the world that they live in, but this plot came out of my brain.