Prompt: A kiss on the; forehead (#8/25)
Setting: Fairytale Land

She was draped across her dead lover's chest when he entered. He'd been paid to do this, and had no qualms with doing whatever it was that his benefactor might want. But the aftermath that occurred because of it still somehow managed to cause a little twinge of guilt to bubble in his gut — sending his limbs to going after her even when he had little to offer in the way of comfort or consoling. And yet here he was anyway, in the utmost of uncertainty of how to go about prying her off of the man, bringing her somewhere else so that he could be moved back to his glass resting place.

He started with a simple gesture, just about all he knew to muster in a moment like this — a hand placed comfortingly on her back as he began to speak. "Your majesty," he offered quietly, trying to call her away from the man she'd lost. He'd helped her lose a second time.

"Don't call me that." Her voice had a bite to it despite how watery it sounded. But when she repeated the same line again it wasn't even half the strength with which she said the first. All but begging him not to say those words.

"Regina," he corrected himself, and felt her shudder once as she let out a silent sob. She held on tighter to the man's jacket, obviously realizing why he had come in, and not at all ready to let go yet.

His hand began to make soothing circles on her back as he stepped closer, trying to silently encourage her when he knew it was going to take more than that. If he'd ever loved, if he was even able to, and that person had been taken he knew enough about the emotion to say he would not be ripped away from them without a significant fight. And as the young queen clung to her lost love, refusing to leave him, Jefferson struggled with how to get her to do so.

But it would seem his methods were not to be needed, as he suddenly felt her body become more alert. He watched as her fists unclenched and she stood tall for a moment before abruptly turning and pushing past Jefferson, leaving him in the tent with no idea what had come over her. He followed suit a moment later, and saw her running into the surrounding forest. The doctor he'd been hired to find staring dumbly after her as if he had no idea what to do.

"You're just going to let her run to who knows where?" He said as he took to running off after her.

She was fast even in the dark but he made a lot of headway with quick long strides until he got to the forest's edge, and then slowed a bit so as not to trip, trying to keep sight of her. That proved easier said than done, as he lost her quickly and found himself simply pushing forward in hopes he chose the same path she had.

He could hear her somewhere up ahead but not enough to place where she was, not until he heard her trip and hit the ground hard some ten paces different than where he thought she'd been.

Whatever sudden determination she had found was gone, as he followed the sounds of her crying to find her sat awkwardly on the ground, balancing on her hands as her head hung downward. He wasn't good at this. And truthfully he didn't know why he'd pursued her to begin with. It wasn't in his nature to care much about the victims of his crimes. But something about this had been different. He usually wasn't around to see all that was caused by whatever job he was sent to do. And while the young queen had been little more than a nuisance, she had saved them from being crushed to death in her mother's vault, and she had trusted so easily, so much so that for once, Jefferson actually felt responsible for what he'd done.

He approached cautiously as she stayed in the bent and broken position she'd fallen into, finally crouching down beside her and returning his hand to her back. But the minute he touched her, and before he could even speak she reacted, turned and lunged at him, arms encircling his neck, seeking comfort he didn't know how to give. And that he doubted she actually wanted from him. But something was better than nothing he supposed, as he now sat on the ground with her at his side, twisting to hold onto him.

He held her there as she cried, sobs that wracked her small form. And all he could do was wind his arms around her, pulling her up until she sat on his legs; trying to make the position more comfortable, as it was the only thing he could think to do.

She rested her head partly against his chest, face near the crook of his neck, and he felt her hold tighter and tighter as she curled closer in to him. He'd never had someone, least of all a woman seek comfort in him. It was almost daunting to imagine he could ever become a sufficient place of solace for much of anyone. But as Regina stayed as close as possible, with miserable sounds escaping her despite how much it was clear she tried not to let them, he thought for a moment perhaps one day maybe he could be.

Feeling a little more capable than he had been, Jefferson turned his head just enough so that his lips pressed just below her hairline, a kiss meant to be reassuring where he knew there was no assurance he could give. And he felt her breathing change almost immediately, before she was pulling her face entirely away from its spot at his neck.

She stayed close for a moment, eyes swollen from crying, and even in the darkness the moonlight shone on the streaks of her tears. She stared at him for what felt like an eternity, giving no indication to what was going through her head. And Jefferson found himself at a loss for much of anything, simply returning her stare and loosening his grip around her just enough for a space to stay maintained between them. He had no idea what she could be thinking, and he wasn't going to learn, it would seem, for a moment later she was disentangling herself from him without a word, and hurrying to her feet, running back in the direction they'd come from.

Jefferson stayed sat on the cold ground, having no idea what any of that had been about. When he finally stood and returned to the camp that had been set up, that had all been a set-up, with him at the reigns — he found the heart the doctor had tricked her for, and hid it away in his satchel as he'd been instructed to do.

The next day he met with Rumplestiltskin, and turned the whole evening into a conversation piece. He joked about how the queen had cried, how easy it had all been, and both the dark one and the doctor believed of his indifference.

Jefferson was nothing, if not a performer.