This is from a prompt I received for on tumblr for a fic set in the missing year involving a gift. Hope you all enjoy, as always comments and criticism are welcome! Xx
He doesn't like to let people know, but he has a bit of a gift for drawing. He loves the therapeutic process of taking graphite and charcoal and transforming a blank piece of white parchment into something beautiful. He loves the power it gives him to capture things, trapping them in grayscale depictions that can be carried around and cherished long after the moment they represent has passed. It's something private and cathartic, one of the few things in his life he has that is truly his own because after all, what would it do for his reputation as a fearsome outlaw if people knew he spent his free time doodling?
He has never felt the urge to share his secret talent with anyone until the evening she tells him about her son. They have been meeting in her courtyard every night for nearly three months before she finally mentions Henry freely. It's a small thing, just a passing comment about how Henry would have loved the story he had just told her about one of Little John's less than graceful escapes on one of their jobs. He'll never forget the way her eyes sparkled, still glittering from the full bellied laugh his story had just pulled from her, or the way her voice softened when she said his name, wrapping around the syllables in a tender caress the way only a mother's can. That one comment transformed her whole face and for a moment, every ounce of the Evil Queen bled away and he was simply with Regina, the woman and the mother, and oh how he longed to keep that woman with him.
Desperate to keep her from slipping back behind the façade of the queen and stay with him just a little longer, free and open, he tilted his head to the side and asked her simply, "Tell me about him? Tell me about Henry," and he held his breath in anticipation, expecting her to leave and daring to hope that she would answer him.
Surprisingly, her lips turned up in a slight smile, she cast her face up to stare at the moon hanging over them, and she began to speak. He listened with rapt attention as she described a clever boy with a sweet round face and coffee colored eyes that always reminded her more of her own than his birth mother's shocking blue. He absorbed every detail she offered, every anecdote of their lives together, the good and the bad, until his fingers were itching for paper, desperate to try and capture the image she painted for him in solid lines and delicate shadow. He watched her as she watched the moon and he marveled at the way her eyes filled with joy simply from the thought of her beloved son, but then clouded over in sorrow so acute he had to fight the urge to reach out and pull her into his arms.
They sat together for hours under her apple tree, sharing stories of their boys until the sky began to lighten and their eyes were heavy from lack of sleep. Somehow he knew this was a conversation that belonged in the quiet of the night, with darkness pressing around them from all sides and a warm blanket of silence and stars overhead. As much as it pained him, he knew it was time for them to call an end to the evening and try to catch the few remaining hours of sleep they could before the sun fully rose in the sky. They stood together in the approaching dawn and let the silence wash over them until she reached over and tangled their fingers together, and turned to face him.
"Thank you for listening," she stated simply, rich brown eyes shining up at him full of warmth and gratitude.
"The pleasure was all mine Milady. Thank you for telling me about him," he replied, letting his free hand come up and cradle the base of her neck, fingers tangling in her dark hair. "Allow me to escort you to your room?" he questioned as his thumb drew circles on the base of her neck causing her to close her eyes and sigh in pleasure.
"Not tonight, you should get back to Roland before he wakes wondering where you are. I'll see you both later today." Before he could protest further she closed the gap between them, sealing their lips in a tender kiss. It was just a gentle press of her lips against his, a physical representation of her gratitude and the comfort his presence brought her. She pulled away and gave him a sleepy smile, running her thumb along the stubble on his cheek, reaching up to give him one last peck on the lips before turning and walking back to her chambers.
It takes him an entire week after that evening before he's willing to show her what he's made. He's spent every spare moment he has trying to recall her descriptions and put them to paper with as much accuracy as he can muster, but he's still nervous as he carries the simple piece of parchment with him to meet her at their usual time.
She arrives as she always does with the gentle clacking of heels on stone and the light swish of fabric. She stands to the side waiting for him to join her for their usual stroll around the courtyard, but when he fails to stand and accompany her she furrows her brow and tilts her head to the side in confusion.
"Robin? Is something wrong?" she questions, moving towards where he is still seated on the bench below the apple tree.
"No, just come and sit her for a moment. I have something I'd like to show you before we take our walk," he pats the seat next to him and tries not to fidget as she closes the remaining distance and sits beside him, her face still creased with concern and confusion.
"I made this for you after our talk the other night. It may not be exactly right, but it was the best I could do given the circumstances," he says handing her the piece of folded parchment and drawing his bottom lip up with his teeth in a nervous smile.
Her eyebrow quirks and she shoots him a look as she takes the parchment from his fingers and slowly unfolds it. The moment her eyes fall on the drawing she gasps, her free hand coming up to cover her gaping mouth as her eyes well with tears.
"But this is…how could you? You've never even met…"she struggles to get the words out around the knot developing in her throat and the tears threatening to spill from her eyes.
"I did the best I could based on your descriptions. If there's anything that's not quite right let me know and I'll try to fix it," he begins, but he's cut off by the desperate press of her mouth against his. He responds immediately, swiping his tongue along the seam of her lips and tasting a trace of salt. Knowing some of her tears must have escaped, he brings his hand up and rubs his thump along her cheek, swiping the moisture away as she pulls back.
"It's perfect. Thank you." She punctuates her statement with another quick kiss before looking back to the drawing of her son, delicately running her fingers along the curve of his nose and the roundness of his cheeks as if trying to memorize what he looks like all over again through her fingertips.
He never intended to share his secret with anyone, but the look on her face as she drinks in the simple sketch of her boy, her precious Henry, is worth whatever damage his reputation may suffer. He never thought he would be willing to give up such a private part of his life, but as he stares at her, overcome with emotion from such a simple gift, he finds that he wants to share every secret he has with her.