AN: A long time coming, but here it is. As always, thank you so much for your love, encouragement and support of this story. There are a few friends who help me get through writer crazies and weeks of I can't do this. Without them, this chapter wouldn't have happened. So thank you, thankyouthankyouthankyou, and without further ado, let's get back to the story!
Last time on TIB (since it's been so fucking long even I forgot what happened last time): Regina sits in her cell, gets taunted by Zelena, finds out that Allan is a traitor that sold them all out to Mortianna and Nottingham; Robin is frustrated that he's not looking for Regina with David, Little John, Tuck, Ruby, Tink and some knights. Snow cheers him up, bonddddding. Regina meets a cell mate, who happens to be Will Scarlet. They banter, he breaks them out of the gross ass prisons, and they get the hell out of there. Regina has her magic back. Beware all who've crossed her. Hehehe.
Of Total Exhaustion and a Long Over Due Reunion
The forest passes in a blur of fading brown and gray and fresh green sprigs. Snarled thorns and high bushes tear at the skirt of Regina's smock of a dress and the length of Will's trousers. Their arms are saved from scratches and stinging nettles, but their spirits dwindle as they put more and more distance between themselves and Nottingham's Fortress.
It's been four days since he picked her cell lock and bargained with her for her freedom. Four days since they've had anything to properly fill their bellies, making due with a few handfuls of berries budding under fresh spring light, some grub Will pried out from between the bark and wood of a rotten log. It's enough to keep them moving, to keep them on their feet for a few hours each day, but it's not enough to sustain. They grow tired quickly, get fatigued easily, bicker and argue half-heartedly (because even that siphons off precious energy that neither of them can afford to sacrifice).
It's just after high noon from what Regina can tell; the sun directly above them, beating down on their backs and the tops of their heads, sweat beading at their temples and dripping down their necks.
God, she's exhausted, achy to the bone. Each hour that ticks by, each grueling minute feels like a lifetime she can't afford as her hands begin to tremble, and her teeth begin to chatter. When did she start getting cold? She looks up at the sky above her, and it's darker now, the sun dipping down behind the towering pines.
Time is starting to slip away from her, starting to fade from one moment to the next, and that's not a good sign. Can't be a good sign. A shiver rattles up her spine again and she makes up her mind.
"We n-need to stop," Regina mutters, her voice cracking with the edge of a cold coming on, an irritating tickle in her throat forcing her to cough and a heavy weariness stinging her eyes. She wets her dry lips with her tongue and brings her arm up to wipe her sweat slicked brow with her sleeve.
"Can't. Almost to the next peak," Will counters, wiping his brow as well and slowly ascending the steep side of a boulder, planting one foot in front of the other and beginning to hoist himself up. "Just a bit more."
"Will…" she starts to follow, legs shaking more and more with every labored step up granite. She's breathing heavily by the time she crests the other side, limbs feeling boneless and weighted down, heart beating violently in her chest to the point that she can hear it in her head–a cacophonous boom boom boom that drowns out the sound of pine needles crunching beneath her feet and Will calling her name. The trees around her spin, bleed into brown shrubbery on the ground, swirling with ochre, grays and mustards upon the earth.
It's Will's hand on her arm that keeps her upright, steadies her, and makes her blink her eyes open. He's fuzzy at first, his face so close to her, breath abrasively feathering over her skin. She can't quite hear him, but his voice gets louder, clearer with each word coming out of his mouth till finally:
"You alright, love?" He asks, worriedly, palms gripping her shoulders now, and eyes searching hers for an answer. "Regina?"
He sounds like him… with his monikers and his words of endearment that slip so easily off his tongue. Words that don't feel earned, but no less meaningful.
Only… he isn't him.
He's not Robin.
He's Will.
Nodding her head, she whispers, "I'm fine," and stands up taller. She tries to shake him off, brushing his hands aside and shifting his focus with: "Assuming we're stopped for the night?"
"For a bit, yeah," he says with a furrowed brow and an anxious look in his eyes. He doesn't believe her, not for an iota of a second, and she doesn't blame him. She knows what she must look like, can feel it down to her bones.
"I'll start a fire then," she offers, confidently, stepping out of his hold and stumbling toward the clearing in front of them with her palm outstretched and ready to conjure a familiar flame. This will be the perfect spot anyway for them to rest for a moment–an obsidian boulder at their backs, a sheer cliff face, and trees all around them, providing shelter enough for comfort.
But Will seems to have something else in mind. "Nah, don't want a repeat of you faintin', now do we?" He chides, gathering up a few dried twigs and leaves.
"I didn't faint," she bites, annoyed, her mind wandering to yesterday when she performed a location spell to track the distance left between them and the winter palace. She'd already been pushing passed her fatigue, using magic to mask their scent from Nottingham's dogs, sweeping away their footprints behind them, and maintaining a minor illusion to keep them out of sight. And all on less than four hours of sleep, no less, and an empty stomach. None of which agreed with her. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, Regina explains, "I just... passed out."
Lies.
She's making up excuses now.
"Faintin', passin' out. Not much of a difference if you ask me," Will counters with a cheeky grin on his face, tossing his kindling on the ground and crouching down to sit on his heels. He grabs a few decent sized rocks next to him to form a circular fire pit. "Point is, don't need that happenin' again any time soon. You just nearly did it again a second ago… I'm just gonna do this the old fashioned way, maybe find us somethin' to eat, and then we're gonna keep going and get back to your castle."
"We should've been there by now," she breathes, slowly making her way toward a tree so she can sit and lean against it. There's no use in pretending she's not as exhausted as she is; Will already knows, and at the moment, she couldn't really give a fuck if he thinks less of her for it. She needs to sit, needs to rest; she knows she's about to pass out again with the way black specks are dancing across her vision and how her stomach is churning uncomfortably.
"We'll get there." He stands, dusts off his hands and makes to walk past her, but Regina grabs his wrist from her place on the dirt, a confession quite close to slipping off the tip of her tongue.
She's just so tired, drained of everything, more weary than she's ever been before, which doesn't make sense to her. She's been tortured, left to starve in a tower for days on end, trekked through Neverland to rescue her son, shut down that foolish Dark Curse failsafe, been knocked out, knocked around, and still she'd been fine. She'd pushed forward, but now… now she's not so sure she has it in her to keep going.
Her feet burn, even while sitting upon grass and dirt and pebbles. Her head pounds, even while resting against the gnarled bark of this tree. It frustrates her, makes her grit her teeth and bite her nails into her palms.
Regina Mills is not a quitter.
She does not give up.
She eases her hand off the ground, gently rubbing along the curve of her belly and biting the inside of her cheek, silently grimacing, pursing her lips when hunger claws at her–their–insides again. Failure is not an option, but right now...now she's questioning tomorrow.
Will's other hand meets hers on his wrist, squeezes gently, and pulls her from her thoughts. "We won't make it on foot," he volunteers for her, doesn't leave room for her to doubt herself or place blame. His soft eyes tell her that he already knows they've reached the breaking point. "Not like this. Not without a proper meal and rest. We need food, good food. And I don't know about you, but I could use a bed. Maybe a fluffy pillow. Could really go for a pint, prop up my feet, and watch one of those movies back in Storybrooke."
Regina smiles, chuckles lightly, appreciating his sentiment. She could go for that, too, if it weren't for the fact that they're mucking through the Weeping Wood. He reassuringly squeezes her fingers once more and then she lets go of him.
He'd told her about his apartment in Storybrooke, his little hovel off Main Street that he'd locked up before hopping a portal to Wonderland. She knows about his Ana, about both of their ties to Cora, and the things Will had to sacrifice just for his happiness to be ripped away.
It seems, even when you're a hero, sometimes you still lose.
And he's not a hero. Not really. He's a thief.
But at least he'd had honor. Just like someone else she knew.
Regina leans back against the tree and closes her eyes, breathing in, and out, in, and out, listening to… well… silence. Besides the two of them, the beating of her heart, oxygen filling her lungs, and Will walking over to the fire pit again to strike two rocks against each other hoping to spark a flame, the clearing is dead quiet.
It gives her the creeps. This place, there's nothing but horrors to be found here, repressed fears and nightmares come to life.
She blinks her eyes open again, massages the back of her neck and then rests her hands over her stomach; it's subconscious now–her hand pressed against her belly, thumb rubbing over the fabric of her dress–something she doesn't have to think about, something that just happens, as natural as breathing.
Will looks over at her sitting there on the ground, back against the tree, and she thinks she might see something familiar in his eyes, the ghost of something flickering in his irises.
"Maybe you should sleep for a bit, get some shut eye while I do this, yeah?" He suggests.
Oh. Oh. That's it. He cares. He cares about what happens to her.
"I'm fine," she huffs, stubbornly, even though, really, she knows she's not. Just sitting on the ground is beckoning her to close her eyes again, and she knows, without a doubt, that if she does, she'll fall asleep. She knows she needsto, knows the baby needs her to, but despite the eerie quiet, she also knows they're not alone; there are things in this wood lurking in shadow, things that not even Regina is willing to meet with her guard down.
"You're not. You're wastin' away," he retorts, "and I won't dishonor my vow to get you home just 'cause you're stubborn and don't want to take a break."
"It's not safe," she argues, weakly, her body already caving to slumber's seduction.
"Safe as it's gonna get," he suggests.
And she can't argue him that so she huffs a breath, glares at him one more time for good measure (because damnit, she's the Evil Queen, or at least she used to be, still is in some ways, and she won't let him think she so easily yielded to him), and then she sinks more of her weight more deeply against the trunk of the tree, her eyes fluttering closed.
He's right, of course.
This journey is siphoning away her energy like a leech sucking away her life force.
There's a twinge in her lower back, the muscles in her shoulders are knotted, a flash of pain is flaring at her temples, even her hair is bothering her; it's heavy, pulls at the nape of her neck. That's probably the main cause of the migraine forming between her eyes. The gnawing hunger in her belly doesn't help. It makes her woozy, makes her want to double over, makes her want to curl up into a ball and just sleep. Sleep until this is over, sleep until her heart and body don't hurt in equal measure. Sleep and hope that when she opens her eyes again she'll be home in her bed.
She swallows, thickly. Seconds tick by, and then she's cocooned by the warm embrace of exhaustion.
:.:
Regina jolts awake to a high-pitched screeching piercing her eardrums, the foul smell of singed hair and something wet dripping on her cheek. She towels the moisture off with her sleeve, wipes what remains off with her fingers, and then squints through sleep-hazy eyes at the offending substance coating her fingertips. Her stomach rolls when the phlegm-like matter shifts into focus. Will is shouting her name, yelling at her to Get up!, kicking up dust toward her feet, and waving a flaming branch above them both like a maniac.
There's a dead creature on the ground behind him, half-in and half-out of the smoldering fire pit. But whatever's going on isn't registering with her, she's still partially asleep. Slow to respond, she blink, blink, blinks and then follows his line of sight up, higher and higher until she finally sees what has him panicking.
Damn it!, she knew sleeping was a bad idea, knew it would cost her, knew the benefit of staying awake far surpassed the benefits of a few measly minutes of rest. It's more of a struggle than she'd like to admit, but she's able to push herself up and off the ground much more swiftly than she'd been expecting. Will grabs her hand, pulling her toward him, and they're back to back now, looking out for each other, eyes circling their surroundings the same way a group of flying monkeys are currently circling around them, getting closer and closer with each flap of their wings.
She doesn't have long to adjust on her feet, doesn't have long to wonder why her cloaking spell didn't hold, doesn't have long to think about how Zelena's minions tracked her and Will down before one of the winged-beasts dives for her head, tries to claw at her and then at Will with sharp talons caked with mud and grime. Adrenaline pumps through her veins and Regina twists her wrist in a flourish, forming a fireball in her palm; she's not going to let that thing touch her, isn't going to die out here because of an infection, not after weeks of rotting in a cell with rats and her own filth.
The Evil Queen isn't going to be taken out by a simian beast from hell.
Will beats her to the punch, draws back the flaming branch in his hand and swings. Hard. It cracks against the creature's skull, dropping it to the ground. A cloud of dust puffs up around its body as it collides with the forest floor.
She purses her lips together, and it seems Will knows what she's thinking, because he smirks and nods his head toward her. "Not quick enough, Your Majesty. That's my second one. You still have… none."
"I'll catch up, dear, you don't have to worry about that," she boasts, smiling wickedly, and then she arches her arm back and casts the fireball in her hand toward a beast swooping toward Will's back; it's a breath away from his neck, fangs bared and dripping with drool, but it never touches Will. Instead, it ignites in a red hot fury, a sickening schreak careening out of its mouth as its body chars to a crisp. "Just stay focused on not getting too cocky. That one almost took off your ear."
Will's eyes go wide in shock, and then he nods. "Much obliged."
"Pleasantries will get us killed, Scarlet. Let's just get rid of these things and get out of here, shall we."
"After you, milady."
Another echo of pain lances through her heart.
Milady.
Her eyes soften, her face falls, and she tries to match his grin, but… she can't. Instead she focuses on conjuring familiar flame after flame and scorching wings and tails and the heads of her green-bitch-of-a-sister's mutated army. With every creature she fells, she thinks of Robin, thinks of Much, of Roland, of John and Tuck, and Snow and David. She thinks of Henry, of home, thinks of the gift she gave Emma and her son, thinks of the baby, and the days in front of her. With each beast's dying cry, she thinks of Zelena. Anger simmers up, boils beneath her skin, and it bursts hot, white flames in her hands, makes her see red, red, red.
Smoke pervades her senses, stings her eyes, singes the hairs in her nostrils, burns her throat. Soon her chest is heaving, sweat is blooming on her brow. Her hands are shaking, arms aching, legs trembling. She's ready to collapse, and so is Will.
They can't keep this up for much longer, ducking and diving, using magic, brawn and wit to outsmart multiple foes. These monkeys are getting on her last nerve, this… horde… do you call a group of flying monkeys a horde? A murder maybe? No. They aren't crows. The same rules don't apply. Damnit, Regina. Focus. Don't get caught up on a word that doesn't mean anything if you're dead because you were too busy contemplating a noun! Oh God. She's gone mad. She feels crazy. All those days trickling into the next, talking to herself, waiting for Zelena or Nottingham to come and annoy her, to pester and taunt her. When she survives this, when she gets home, she's finding Snow and she's going to apologize for all the times she pushed her away, for all the times she didn't want to talk to her. What she wouldn't give to talk to her now.
"Hey!" Will hollers, pushing her out of the way from the open jaw of a monkey too close for comfort. He bashes its side, and the creature wails, gnashing its teeth and flying up higher into the sky out of reach. "You insane? You're not payin' attention."
Maybe she is, she thinks. Maybe she is.
"We can't keep this up for much longer," he grunts, and she agrees. They can't. If she were leading her Black Knights, she'd tell them to fall back, but fall back to where? They have an obsidian boulder at their backs, which seemed like a strategic idea before she took a fucking nap, and now, now it seems idiotic, like something maybe David would do.
They don't have very many options, and this little pause has given the adrenaline coursing through her veins just enough time to taper out, for her to feel the burnout down to her bone. She's using too much energy. Soon, she'll have nothing left. She's already almost there.
"Whattya want to do?" Will asks, hastily, quickly, as the both of them slowly back up toward the boulder; the beasts herding them into a corner.
Her eyes meet his. "Thanks for getting me out of that cell."
"Hey now, none of that."
"What do you think comes next, Scarlet?" She challenges him, because she does know.
They have nowhere to go, and they're gravely outnumbered.
He tilts his head, shrugs his shoulders, and says matter-of-factly, "I'm still hopin' for that pint, to be honest."
Regina's eyebrows rise toward her hairline, her lips inch up into a small grin, and she cocks her head to the side before a dark fit of laughter bubbles up and out of her chest. The sound surprises her, and him, but not as much as the thunderous sound of hooves pounding against the ground.
Arrows cut through the air, steel swords slice simian beasts in half, pixie dust shrinks those same beasts into squash-able bugs, and the war cries of men and the howl of a wolf ring through Regina's ears. She and Will lean heavily against each other; she grips his arm tightly, and then she sighs in relief as Ruby shreds one of Zelena's pets into an unrecognizable crimson heap of fur, feathers, ligaments and innards. Tinker Bell dusts off her wings, and a few of the Merry Men draw their bows back, surveying the clearing for more foul creatures.
There are none. None that are alive anyway.
David dismounts a blue-gray stallion, one that reminds Regina of an Appalachian breed back in Storybrooke, his cape cascading down his back in a display of gold and red. The are five more knights behind him upon their steeds, and Regina wonders for a moment what brought them all this far beyond their kingdom's borders? Not that she isn't grateful, without them… well… she doesn't care to ponder that too long. But why are they here in the Weeping Wood?
"David?" Regina whispers, wavering on her feet.
"Regina," he grins, making her wonder if that is actually relief she sees in his eyes. Tinker Bell lands on the ground in a shimmer of pixie dust, mirroring David's smile before unfastening his saddlebag and lifting out Ruby's red cloak. She unfolds it, flinging it over the wolf who's panting between bared teeth.
"What are you doing here?" Regina asks, her voice quiet, small, uncertain.
"We've been trying to find the fortress for days, but the Wicked Witch must have some sort of protection spell around it," David replies, looking over his shoulder as Ruby stretches out her arms and legs, standing up straighter, and pulling her cloak more tightly around her.
"I couldn't pick up your trail," Ruby explains, scrunching up her nose.
Regina's right hand begins to shake; she wraps it around her stomach, her fingers trembling against the abrasive fabric of her smock. "Decoy spell," she states, bile burning in the back of her throat again.
David frowns, pauses a foot in front of her. "Regina? Are you alright? Maybe you should sit down."
"No…" no, that's not what she meant, she quickly shakes her head but that makes more black spots dance across her vision. "I mean, yes. Yes, I'm fine." She waves him off, just as she did Will. "David, why are you–"
Will interjects, placing his hand on her shoulder. "She's not alright. She's been sayin' that for days, but it's a lie."
She rolls her eyes, abruptly brushes his hand away before blinking twice more and meeting David's gaze. She's about to finish her question when the scowl on his face makes her pause.
"Who's this?" David asks, his fingers tapping against the hilt of his sword.
Will steps in front of Regina. "Names Will Scarlet. And who the bloody 'ell are you?"
Regina lets out a long exhale. Really. Are they really about to have a pissing match?
David raises his eyebrows before scoffing. "That's none of your concern. I'll be asking the questions here considering I'm the one who found you with the Queen."
Now it's Regina's turn to raise her eyebrows in surprise. Clearing her throat and standing taller like the Queen she is, she clarifies, "Will and I met in Nottingham's dungeon; he helped me escape. We've been walking through this tick infested forest for days. But enough about us, why are you here?"
"I told you, we couldn't figure out how to get inside the Fortress, so we've–"
"No, I know that, but why are you here?" She repeats herself, a bit annoyed that he doesn't understand her question. Is she not speaking clearly? Did she give the idiot Charming too much credit before?
And then… David's eyes widen and his features soften. "Regina… you didn't think we'd leave you? Did you?"
No… yes…?
"Regina, you're family." He declares with such assurance, it almost knocks the air out of her lungs.
It didn't even dawn on her that they came for her; they're here for her. They put their lives at risk for her.
The hint of her first genuine smile in weeks tugs at the corner of her mouth, and her eyes water. She takes it back. He's not an idiot. He's her idiot. And then the world spins and her legs buckle.
Before blackness consumes her, David catches Regina in his arms, and she hears him whisper, "I've got you."
:.:
A Day Later, Back at the Castle
The kitchen is filled with the warm smell of sugar, dough and baked apples, and one good pull of the aroma into his lungs has Robin's spirits lifting, his body feeling lighter. He's leaning against the door jamb with his fingers stuffed into his trouser pockets, waiting like an obedient child as he was told to by Widow Lucas, keeping his muddy boots and dirty hands out of her kitchen while she pulls a piping hot apple pie out of the wood-fired oven.
In the last few months, he's discovered there's almost nothing as delicious as the tasty morsels that Widow Lucas whips up.
Almost nothing.
The phantom taste of Regina's apple turnovers make his mouth water, and then his eyes sting as his mind wanders and he thinks of her, of rich brown eyes, quick wit, and a mother's heart. His thoughts aren't allowed to linger on his absent love long though, a gruff voice cutting through bittersweet recollections, pulling his attention across the room.
"I didn't say you could come into my kitchen just so you could sulk, boy."
"I'm not in your kitchen, though, am I?" He posits, pointing toward his feet, firmly upon the threshold.
"Don't be smart." Widow Lucas rolls her eyes, folds up a towel and opens the oven door, releasing a waft of warm cinnamon goodness; he can practically feel apples and butter melting on his tongue. "You're thinking about her again."
He crosses his arms and sighs, "I'm always thinking of her."
There's a pause between them, a minute or two where Robin is quiet, where his mind wanders to Regina again, to the last peaceful moment they'd shared before betrayal and blood and darkness flung him over the castle wall. He thinks of her asleep in his arms, her head tucked comfortably under his chin, her ear pressed against his chest, his fingers combing gently through her hair and his other hand rubbing smooth circles over her belly.
Tranquil. Serene. Easy.
What he wouldn't give for that again, to hold Regina in his arms, or to just know she's alright, to know she's free and well, to know their baby's healthy and safe in her womb.
"They'll bring them back," Widow Lucas utters, sprinkling a pinch of sugar over piping hot pie crust.
"So I've been told."
"And for good reason. You'll see." She dusts her hands off on her apron and then looks him in the eyes, softly. "Don't give up on her so easily."
"I haven't."
She dips her head, her glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose. "Really? 'Cause from where I'm standing, it sounds like you've lost faith."
"I have faith… I just…" Robin rubs the back of his neck, sighing and uncrossing his ankles.
"You just what?" She tsks.
Robin exasperates, flinging his hand into the air, "The Weeping is only a gallop's ride from here, and then another back, why haven't they returned yet? Or sent word if they needed reinforcements? It's been 10 days!"
"I don't know, I'm not the magical one," she bites, "If you ask me, that green bitch probably did exactly what any good sorceress would do–fortify. But if there's one thing I know about the Charmings, it's that Regina is their family. It doesn't matter what the Prince finds during his journey, doesn't matter what he faces, he's not going to stop until he brings her home. Same as your Merry Men. Or have you lost faith in them as well?"
Robin's shoulders sag and he breathes out a shaky breath, hanging his head.
"Boy, look at me," she requests with earnest. And he does. "They are bringing her home."
He nods, sighing and toeing at the kitchen floor as Widow Lucas quickly slides a knife through the pie, dishing out four pieces onto two wooden plates, two pieces quite a bit bigger than the others. "Now here, I said I'd make that lad of yours a pie, and I've made him a pie. Don't ruin it by letting it get cold."
She pushes the plates across the table between them, waves four spoons toward him, wordlessly telling him to come retrieve the cutlery.
In a matter of seconds, she's managed to change the tone of their conversation, and Robin's grateful, takes her spoons, her pie and her peace offering.
"You know, you spoil him, don't you? Roland's gonna think he can request this whenever he likes now and you'll just do as he says."
"S'not my job to say, 'no'. That's up to you," she laughs, turning her back and pouring herself a cup of port. "You're his father. I'm just... Granny. It's my right to spoil the cub."
Robin grins, swiping up the plates of dessert.
"Now get out of my kitchen. I've got a supper to prepare."
:.:
Robin finds Roland just where he left him, with Snow and Miss Paige, playing and shrieking gleefully in the gardens as they chase after each other, their laughter filling the air with joyfulness and warmth. Robin chuckles as Roland stumbles over his clumsy feet and almost face plants into a mud puddle, his son correcting his balance, of course, by catching himself with his hands pressed into the wet earth. His lad giggles, kicks at the ground and pushes himself up into a swift run, his four year old legs no less heavy and uncoordinated.
Snow's eyes meet Robin's from across the field of lilacs and irises and she smiles as he approaches. "Roland, Paige," she corrals, "time to wash up if you want those treats from Granny."
The children's unison Yes! is followed by Paige skipping over to Snow and Roland wiping his muddy paws off on his trouser.
"Roland!" Robin chastises, smirking and trying to look as stern as possible. "What have we said about washing our hands?"
Roland ducks his head. "Not on our clothes, Papa."
"Right, my boy. And what did Regina teach you? What do we wash them with?"
"With water," Roland sighs, looking up at his papa beneath his long lashes. "But Papa, I don't have any water." He lifts up his arms in a shrug with his fingers splayed out in a see-Papa-no-water-here sort of manner.
Robin grins, chortles, walks over to Snow and hands her the plates of dessert and spoons. "I'll fetch a pail from the stables and get water from the well, meet the lot of you over near the front steps? We can eat our pie there, after," he stares back at his son knowingly, "we wash up, yeah?"
"Sounds like a great plan to me," Snow agrees, the apples of her cheeks beaming. "Come on, children."
Roland and Paige gladly follow in her wake.
:.:
The leisurely clip-clopping of horses' hooves wakes Regina. Her head lolls against a hard chest and her throbbing headache is reduced to a dull ache between her eyes. She groans and the hard chest pressed against her ear moves.
"Good evening, Sleeping Beauty." David's graveled-honey voice rumbles against her head as he shifts in the saddle. "You're just in time for the sunset."
"I don't think Aurora would appreciate that reference," Regina whispers, groggy, the corner of her mouth inching up a centimeter or two. "We have a… complicated history."
"You have complicated history with everyone, Regina."
Her eyes flutter shut and she smirks, "Yes, well, tell me something I don't know, Charming."
He chuckles but then the cadence is off a bit, drops a little lower than his normal tone. Shifting in the saddle again, he adjusts his grip on her and hoists her into a higher seating position. "Actually, now that you mention it, I should have said this when we first found you, but..." he pauses, slipping the reins as they amble down a slope. "I didn't have the chance."
She expects him to say something else, however, the words appear to be lost on his tongue.
"Spit it out, David," She tells him, deep lines forming on her brow.
He opens his mouth to answer, but then Tinker Bell zips in front of them, hovering and landing on the saddle horn, her wings jittering behind her little fairy body. "We're home! They're opening the main gate," she beams and then exclaims, "I'm flying ahead to check in with Blue," before fluttering her wings and returning to the open air.
"Already?" Regina croaks, feeling like she has a sock in her throat. (She clears it and licks her dry lips.)
"You've been asleep for most of the day," David speaks, drawing her attention back to him. Their eyes meet, and she becomes keenly aware of how intimate their position is with the way she's cradled in his arms. "Seemed like you needed the rest. I didn't want to wake you."
She hmmms and licks her dry lips a second time, clicking her tongue on the roof of her mouth.
"Here." He bends them both forward a bit so he can move his cape aside and unfasten a canteen from his hip. The angle allows her to peek behind him. Will's riding on the same mare as Little John, but neither of them appear to be talking. The knights and Tuck are meandering behind them, and Ruby's dashing in and out of the tree-line, visible for seconds as she bounds over fallen logs and shrubbery before disappearing into the wood again, the wolf looking free and magnificent. David nudges the canteen into Regina's hands and she takes it as he insists, "This'll help."
Popping the cap off with her thumb, she sips slowly, lukewarm liquid waterfalling down the inside of her throat, quenching her thirst. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
A few minutes tick by and she finds her body begging to lean into David's chest again, finds that her eyelids are once more heavy, but just as she's about to slip back into slumber, she jerks her head up and shakes away the edges of sleep.
That is, until David finally jests, "You know, it won't kill you to relax. Close your eyes. Seriously, if you need to lean against me, go ahead. I don't bite."
She hmphs, "Debatable," but doesn't let the sarcastic upturn in her voice prevent her from doing just as he offered, resting her head against his shoulder and wrapping her arm more tightly around her stomach.
"What did you want to tell me? Before?" She eventually asks, watching as they slowly pass by conifer after conifer. The trees are becoming less dense, they'll be in the meadow before the castle soon.
"Hmmm?"
She huffs out a breath, letting her eyes drift closed. "You know how much I love repeating myself?" Her snarky remark doesn't have its usual bite to it, lacks a sharpness she once delivered each time she and David traded barbs, but now, now her voice is softer, less impassioned, and instead filled with something akin to friendly jesting.
My how things have changed, she thinks as the two dwarves standing guard outside the main gate let them pass. Regina misses the way they both smile at her as the stallion walks her and David into the front courtyard.
"It's about Robin."
Oh. Her body tenses. The friendliness in her tone all but disappears, and when she speaks, each word is like a rock she's forced to swallow.
"David, I don't want to talk about… him." He's dead. There's nothing to talk about.
"Regina, he's–"
"What part of 'I don't want to talk about him' do you not understand?" She snaps, pushing herself away from his chest and sitting upright in the saddle, and that's when she hears it, a burst of laughter so warm and infectious she'd recognize it anywhere. Wiping her head around to follow the magical sound, the air immediately leaves Regina's lungs and she grabs onto David's hands on the reins.
Roland.
Roland skipping, laughing, spinning in circles with Jefferson's daughter near the entrance to the castle, spinning in circles and still unaware of her and David and their small company. And Snow, there's Snow. Snow whose back is facing their approach but is no less recognizable to Regina.
"David, stop the horse," Regina orders, quietly, calmly.
"Alright, just give me a moment. We'll tack up with the others, and then I'll get Doc. He'll need to look you over," he replies, beginning to turn them toward the stables (their small company is already making for the paddocks). His horse whinnies, and the children finally stop spinning in circles long enough to spot them across the yard.
Snow turns around and brings her hand up above her eyes. Roland leans a bit forward and bounces on the balls of his feet, and then he squeals, a high pitched joyous keen that has tears pricking at Regina's eyes.
(It doesn't even dawn on her that Roland looked happy moments ago, carefree, unburdened by the loss of a parent.)
"Seriously, David. Stop the horse."
"Seriously, Regina. We're almost there."
"David, DavidfuckingNolan, you stop this fucking horse, right fucking now." She doesn't wait for him to stop. (Roland is running, running toward her, tripping over his feet as he goes, his laces undone, his mop of curls bouncing on his head, and a smile that could pierce any darkness beaming on his face. It's all for her, and she will not make him run the whole way, she will not make him wait a minute more.) She grabs the reins herself and halts the stallion in his steps. He whinnies louder, paws at the dirt and cobble stones, and she mumbles a quick apology while pushing at David's arms and trying to get down herself.
"Regina, wait!" David yells, urgently, but she's not waiting, she's sliding off the side of the stallion and David is hastily grabbing under her arms to try and ease her drop to the ground, to keep her up on her feet, and yes, that wasn't smart, that was stupid, she shouldn't have jumped down so quickly, she should have waited, but she can't. Roland is just there, and she can't. She starts running, stumbles on her weak legs and pants a bit as she goes, but each step brings her closer and closer to her brave little knight and his small little arms, and she's exhausted, everything aches, but she doesn't care, she doesn't care because Roland is here, and she's home, and her limbs are clumsy, they fumble against cobbled stones, and she's shouting his name, and he's calling hers, and then–
"Gina! Gina!" The little boy squeals as she falls to her knees in front of him. It hurts, the impact of her knees against the hard ground hurts, but what's a sore knee or two when the sweetest four-year-old is jumping into your open her arms? She isn't sure who hugs who first, who clings more tightly to the other, but it doesn't matter. She's holding him, pressing her lips to the crown of his head and breathing him in, weaving her fingers through his brown curls as tears stream down her cheeks and his tiny arms wrap more tightly around her neck. He's got mud all over his hands, and now it's on her dress, in her hair, on her skin, but she doesn't care (she hasn't been clean in days anyway), she doesn't care. She's holding him, touching him, hugging him. What's a bit of mud or grime or dirt when her brave little knight's hands are wrapped around her neck?
Snow is behind Roland, a hand covering her mouth, but she doesn't step any closer, doesn't stop this moment between Regina and Roland. She lets them be. Lets them have this. And that's another thing Regina will have to thank her for later.
For now, her heart's too busy beating rapidly in her chest, so hard she thinks it just might leave bruises, but then, then her heart stops as Roland practically shouts into her ear.
"Papa, Papa! Look, it's Gina!"
Regina's heart stops and she forgets to breathe. Something hits the ground with a thud behind her, followed by the sound of splashing water. It takes a moment for her heart to catch up, for it to start beating again, but when it does, Regina nervously hugs Roland one more time and then pushes herself up to stand. She turns, timidly, her rich brown eyes locking with crystal blue orbs.
A smile breaks onto Robin's face, small, and it's almost like he can't believe what he's seeing, but that can't be right, because she's the one who's supposed to be surprised, she's the one in shock. He's supposed to be dead. She saw him, watched him go over the wall. He was dead, he should be dead.
And then it hits her.
"You're alive," she gasps, and then they're tangling limbs and chaste kisses and hands roaming up and down each other's arms. Soft sobs, desperation and relief. Robin's hands swiftly coast up Regina's arms, wrapping around her, pulling her into his chest, and she goes, willingly, as he fists his fingers into her hair, touching their foreheads together, tears streaming down their cheeks.
Roland hops up and down and runs toward them, hugging Robin and Regina's legs.
She never thought she'd have this again, thought it was lost to her forever, but here they are, and it's overwhelming–the tightness in her chest, the pounding of her heart, the way her fingers are a bit numb at her fingertips.
She feels–she feels happy–so unbelievably happy. Zelena tried to steal that from her, tried to rip it away, but she's lost, her wicked sister has lost. For now. She knows the battle isn't over, knows there's more yet to come, but the important thing now is that she's here, with her family, and she finally knows what she needs to do. Finally knows who they need to talk to next about getting back to Storybrooke, getting back to Henry. She won't sit by any longer, won't wait for fate to decide what it wants to do with her.
She has Robin, she has Roland, and Snow, and the baby, and fuck everything, she is going to get her son back.
"Are you alright?" Robin asks, brushing a strand of hair away from her face with the pad of his thumb.
"I am now," she reasons, giving him a watery smile and then skating her hand up over his shoulder (her heart beats harder) to the nape of his neck (her palms sweat) where she can weave her fingers through his hair (her breath is unsteady). She pauses for a moment, wets her lips, watches as Robin's eyes dart to her tongue, and just as the longing becomes unbearable, as their chests press as close together as they can get, as he gazes down at her parted mouth and his Adam's apple bobs in his throat, Regina crushes her lips to Robin's.
God, she's missed him so much, had only thought this would be possible again through her dreams. But he's here. He's real. And she's angling her head back, parting her lips to his eager tongue, and this kiss is heated, sloppy, a clumsy knocking of teeth as they find their rhythm.
But Regina doesn't care.
She's kissing him and kissing him, and he's kissing her back, lips warm and greedy, the warmth of his mouth thrumming a current from her head to her toes, pooling liquid-fire low in her belly, and she moans into him.
"Yuck," Roland complains with a grimace on his face.
Reality jars their lips apart with a wet smack. Regina's cheeks flush and Robin chuckles.
"Sorry, my boy," he replies, his palms gingerly falling out of her hair, coasting down her arms to squeeze her hands and release. He steps away from her for just a second (even though that second feels like eons), bends to pick up his son and then Robin's back to touching her again. Only this time, Robin just holds her and Roland in his arms, caressing the small her back and touching their foreheads together so he can brush the tip of his nose against hers.
"I thought I'd never see you again," he breathes, breath feathering across her jaw.
And she whimpers, voice cracking, "I thought you were d–dead, I thought…"
"It's alright," he soothes, his stubble coarse but familiar and calming against her cheek. "I'm alive. You're alive. I've got you."
"I missed you."
"And I you." She leans into his touch, her belly pressing into his stomach.
"How's…?" His palm curves gently over the rounded bump between them, rubbing and rubbing until she laces their fingers together and holds their hands in place.
How is she?
She's a jumble of emotions, wet eyes, blurry vision, a swirl of magic and an active child making their presence acutely known within their mother's womb. This isn't the best she's felt, but it's also not the worst.
"We've been better," she smiles. "But we're both fine."
It's then that their audience finally makes themselves known with the clearing of a throat and a slight disagreement.
"Actually, she isn't," David reveals, holding onto Snow as her eyes well with tears and she smiles so wide her cheeks look like they might crack. Everyone else seems to have disappeared (or gone inside in search of the evening meal and libations–her stomach rumbles and her mouth salivates just at the thought of food). "She needs to be checked out by Doc. She slept most of the way here."
And it's the right thing to say, she does need to see Doc, she and the baby need to be examined, but all of a sudden Regina remembers that David never told her Robin was alive. She's thought he was dead for weeks while she rotted away in that cell, while Zelena and Nottingham taunted her, while she heard the crone's cackling in her nightmares and tossed and turned because of a prophecy about the baby she's carrying, while she dreamt of Jakan throwing a dagger and Much dying in her arms and an arrow shooting into Robin's flesh before he fell over the castle wall. For nights she's gone without sleep for fear of seeing Robin's dead eyes in her dreams, and here David knew, he knew Robin was alive and he never told her.
"You," she snaps, sharply, her eyes clouding over. "You didn't you tell me Robin was alive."
"What?" Robin questions, but he's ignored.
"I tried to tell you," David smiles, "That was what I'd been trying to tell you before you jumped off the horse. You were just too stubborn to listen."
(Robin's fingers press into her side in a reassuring squeeze that seems to say, I'm here now. We're here now.)
He did. He did try to tell her. But she'll be damned if she relents. They may be friendly, they may be family, he may be her idiot, but she's still the Queen, and he's, well, he's still Charming.
"No one likes a know-it-all, David," Regina quips; David guffaws, and then she's resting her head upon Robin's shoulder for the first time in weeks.
"I'm right, and you know it."
"David told me you've fainted three times now," Snow cuts in.
Regina purses her lips. Tattletale, she thinks.
"You need to eat something, Regina. Rest," David adds. And are they tag-teaming her now?
"I slept the entire way here." Now she's just being ornery.
"Being unconscious doesn't count," David retorts.
"Well, I believe that settles it then, yeah?" Robin finally speaks up, letting Roland slide down his side until his boots touch the ground.
"Settles what?" Regina scoffs, crossing her arms, but he doesn't answer with words, instead he scoops her up, one arm under her legs while the other supports her back. She gasps along with Snow, who shouts Robin–your shoulder!, surprised, wrapping her arms around his neck.
"I'm alright, Snow," he replies, and he is, better than fine. He grins, looking at Regina who smiles back, and says quietly, "This I can do."
"Robin of Locksley, put me down. Right this instant." She tries very hard to not let her smile get any bigger than it already is.
"Apologies, love. But I'm afraid, I cannot oblige. Not now, not ever. Never again."
Of course, he isn't being literal, but the sentiment is there–an unspoken promise glistening in the reflection of his love-filled eyes, eyes she trusts with both her own life and the one she cradles for them both.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters or the OUAT universe.