He finds her beneath her apple tree, the moonlight filtering through the clouds casting a shimmering glow across her skin. She seems guarded, her hair swept high and tight, secured with a single sharp pin through the back; she's wrapped in a fitted black gown, all leather and corsetry as if she is prepared for battle yet wrapped in mourning all at once. For a moment he just stands there, unsure of whether or not he should intrude upon her solitude despite the worry that has been simmering underneath his skin all day; Snow's desperate request that he find her and make she is alright reverberating in the back of his mind.
"For a thief you're terrible at sneaking up on people." Her voice fills the courtyard, worn, gravely and rough around the edges as if she's been crying.
"I wasn't trying to sneak up on you M'lady, I simply wanted to make sure you were well. Roland missed you at the evening meal," he answers carefully, unsure of how she will respond.
"Only Roland?" she purrs, turning to face him, one eyebrow quirked and a sly grin spreading across her face.
"I believe you already know the answer to that," he challenges, watching as she takes a slow sip from a glass he hadn't seen she was holding on his approach. "The princess was worried, but she said you wouldn't want to see her tonight."
"She would be correct," she bites back before sighing and turning her weary gaze to the liquid swirling in her glass. "We've come a long way, but even Princess Snowflake knows to stay the hell away from me on this day unless she wants to be on the business end of a fireball."
He's heard rumors about the reasons behind the blood feud between the queen and her former step-daughter, but he never knew what to believe. There's clearly a story there, but it's hers to tell, in her own time; he won't push her.
"I'm sure you have your reasons," he replies noticing the way her eyes widen slightly in surprise. "Do I need to be worried about various body parts suddenly catching fire?"
"Why don't you come over here and find out?" she questions, a spark of flame igniting in her hands, casting an eerie glow across her face. He stares back at her, unafraid of the flickering orb dancing within her palm. When he doesn't take the bait, she douses the flame, shrugging her shoulders and wobbling a little with the movement, her balance thrown off by the alcohol coursing through her veins. "Don't worry thief, your forest-scented hide is safe for now."
"Why,Your Majesty, was that an invitation to stay?" he sasses right back, chuckling as her eyes narrow into a piercing glare. He throws her his best dimpled smile, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth in a way he knows she has a particular weakness for. Sure enough, her gaze flickers down to his lips and lingers there for a moment before she rolls her eyes and turns away from him.
"Fine, but if you stay you're drinking." She sighs, not bothering to look at him as she speaks. She twirls her hand carelessly to the right and a swirl of purple smoke erupts from her fingers; when it clears a glass appears on the bench beside her, half filled with an amber liquid.
"What is this?" he asks.
"It's called whiskey. And that's crystal, a much more civilized drinking vessel than the clunky goblets and shoddy glass we have here, but it's fragile. Don't manhandle it, thief."
He settles beside her and lifts the glass to his lips. It's smoky and sharp, tastes of campfires and rich tobacco with a smooth caramel finish. It burns pleasantly as he swallows, filling his chest with warmth as it goes down. He wonders if her lips are tainted with the taste of it, if he leaned over would he be able to smell it lingering on her breath before sealing his mouth to hers and sampling the flavor mingled with her own? He shakes his head, trying to clear the tempting image from his mind; he's here to check on her, to provide comfort, not to take advantage of her misery like some lech.
They sit in silence for a moment, nursing their drinks and savoring the silence until the air grows heavy, thick with unanswered questions.
"Why are you here?" she finally asks, her brow knit in confusion.
"Whether you believe it or not Regina, I care about you. I want to understand, to help if I'm able to."
"You really want to make me feel better?" she asks, swiveling her head in his direction as she places her glass on the bench behind her. She reaches over and plucks his from his fingers, placing a hand high on his thigh as she leans across him to deposit his on the opposite side of the bench behind him. Her hand stays as she leans back to look him in the eyes. "Kiss me. Make me feel something besides this." Her eyes are open and vulnerable, clouded with lust, but an acute ache lingers in their warm brown depths.
"Milady, as much as I'd love to do that," he swallows thickly as she leans in and presses a kiss to his neck, the hand on his thigh inching upwards, "I won't take advantage of your pain. And I will not be a one night fling," grasping her shoulders, he pushes her away, until he can meet her eyes. "I think we both know there is more to this, whatever this is. I won't ruin what we could be for one night."
"Fuck you and your damned chivalry," she growls grabbing the lapels of his jacket and hauling his mouth against hers. It's sloppy, hurried and rough, their lips at the wrong angle as she presses her body as close to his as she can with her arms trapped between them. He doesn't have time to get over the shock and kiss her back before she pulls away, their lips separating with a wet pop.
"Regina, I…" he starts, but he's quickly cut off.
"Robin, please," she implores, eyes swimming with pain.
"Not like this." He peels away her fingers clutched around his jacket, running soothing passes of his thumb across her knuckles as tears gather in her eyes and spill over, carving wet trails across her cheeks. Leaning over, he rests his forehead against hers, trying to pour every ounce of comfort he can into the simple gesture, and savoring the contact as her breath washes against his skin.
With gentle hands he reaches around and removes the pin from her hair, enthralled as it tumbles in loose ebony waves down her back. He won't be an escape, he refuses to be nothing but a warm body and a temporary distraction, but this he will do; he will run his fingers through her hair, pull her into his arms, and simply hold her. He will collect each of the missing pieces she chooses to share with him and cherish them as the gift they are until she is ready to be whole again.