Finally, hey? Well I work a LOT and between that and art and well, life, this is dragging. Sorry guys.
Regina woke slowly to the smell of something baking, a heady aroma that filled the room and made her think of warmth and light and rich breakfast pastries. The blankets she'd cocooned herself in were warm and rumpled, bunched up around her legs and shoulders. She'd managed to snuggle right down into the broad couch cushions, feeling the soft, dark leather against her ankle as her foot hung off the end of the sofa.
She grumbled, keeping her eyes closed. Her heart was terribly conflicted. With her eyes closed there was blankets, cushions, warmth and a sweet aroma that filtered into her dreams - so much so that she didn't want to wake.
But then there was movement and rustling and she could feel the sharp touch of sunlight on her cheeks, breaking the chill of the morning air in a single beam of light across her eyes.
Slowly, she opened her eyes. She shifted away from the warm beam of light, avoiding it so that she wouldn't have to squint - though what she saw when she looked up from her pillow, through her heavy curtain of tousled, raven hair, was a gentle pair of curious eyes watching her with a tilted head, a pursed lip and a stuffed monkey held tightly to his chest.
"Hello," She tried to smile, clearing her throat of her croaky greeting.
"Hello." The small boy responded, scratching his hip with his spare hand before wrapping both arms back around his monkey. He stood before her in Robin Hood pyjamas, covered from neck to ankle in little archers with bows and arrows and red feathered caps.
"What's your name?" She ventured, realising Robin hadn't actually told her.
"Roland, what's yours?"
"I'm Regina."
They fell into silence once again and Regina felt almost awkward, unsure of where to look with the boy staring at her so intently. The shirt Robin had lent her the night before had been far too large for her to sleep in comfortably, which had left her in his sweats - synched tight at her waist, and the tank top that had managed to survive the dousing of rain between the car and the house.
She could feel Roland's eyes scanning her, curious of the strange woman sleeping on their sofa where he'd no doubt spend his early morning watching cartoons with his beloved monkey.
"I like your pictures." Regina blinked, not entirely sure what the boy was referring to for a moment, until he seemed to realise her dilemma and moved a little closer to the sofa. "It's a flower." He touched her shoulder, where the edge of a rose crept out from beneath the black cotton.
"Yes," She laughed gently. "It is."
"What is the rest?" The boy was curious, and the feel of his little fingers trailing along the line of vine he could see around her shoulders, made her smile.
"They're my stories."
"Will you read them to me?" He grinned. "I like stories."
Regina smiled sweetly, feeling tears prick at her eyes as the little boy scrambled up onto the sofa beside her, making himself as comfortable as she had been, curled up in the piles of blankets, cushions and warm dark leather.
"I'm sorry Roland, but I don't think you'd like them very much."
He furrowed his little brow, craning his neck to look up at her. "But stories are magic, with heroes and princes and adventures. They're happy."
Regina frowned though she kept her voice gentle and free of any anguish that she may have felt in her heart. She didn't see Robin appear in the doorway, or catch the smile on his lips as he stood watching them with a tea-towel over his shoulder and flour dusted on his shirt.
"These aren't happy stories, Roland."
"But they're so pretty, I don't understand."
"Come on, Roland, how about you leave Regina alone now." Robin took that moment and Regina's floundering for words, to break the tension. Clearly she didn't want to upset the boy and for that, he was grateful. But he had to admit, he was as curious as his son to know everything he could about this woman.
He had been asked by David to sponsor her and to help her; but with each passing moment he felt more and more drawn to her. She was mysterious and damaged in an almost Shakespearean sense - her issues were so deeply engrained in her self that he couldn't barely see Regina for her scars - but she was beautiful. What he'd gathered from her friends and from looking into her eyes; the gruff, rock n' roll exterior masked something inside her that was both stunning and so very broken.
She wanted to change, he could see that clear as day. But her fingers itched for the neck of a bottle when her eyes rimmed red and memories clouded them over.
She'd opened up a great deal the night before, covered by the shroud of thunder and lightening and the promise that Robin was there, that he'd stay there, for as long as she had need of him. He hadn't expected her to take up the offer - from what David had told him, Regina was the kind to fight tooth and nail to hide her problems from anyone who might be willing to care - but he could see what she'd told him wasn't the whole of it.
Leo had damaged her and Daniel's death had brought her to her knees, but to break this stunning, powerful woman, would take something profound indeed. He got the sense that it was long ago - before Daniel and before Leo, before Mary-Margaret and the rag-tag band of misfits and their music. David's eyes betrayed the truth of it, he'd seen it when they'd met.
Whatever made her heart ache was written on her skin as clearly as the roses. And he wondered what exactly it was.
"Waffles?" Robin gestured over his shoulder to the kitchen and Regina was about to respond when Roland's excited squeal made them both laugh. The small boy bounced off the sofa, dashing past his father and into the kitchen. "Before he devours them all?" Robin smirked and Regina could feel her cheeks flush at the warmth of his smile.
"I should really go."
"Come on," He stepped into the room, moving to crouch in front of her. "It's just waffles - have breakfast with us and then I'll drive you home."
Regina didn't know what had come over her. She knew that David had probably tried calling her a million times, Killian was probably desperate to find her and make sure she was okay, but looking into the soft blue of Robin's eyes, she struggled to find a bone in her body that cared.
"Okay," She spoke softly, her voice hoarse as Robin smiled again, standing up and heading back towards the kitchen.
Regina sat at Robin's kitchen table. It was covered in legos, sliced bread and a steaming mug of hot cocoa that Robin set in front of her with a smile. She'd quirked her lips at that, avoiding eye contact with the little boy that continued to watch her every move.
He was perched across from her on a booster chair with a plastic T-Rex in one hand and his fork in the other, chanting for the waffles, eggs and bacon that Robin was cooking up, to get in his belly.
Regina couldn't help the small smile that touched her lips, listening to his voice full of joy and excitement; completely untouched and sweet and happy. She turned from him, marvelling at the man across the kitchen and the lean muscles that moved beneath his white cotton shirt as he flipped the bacon and laughed at his son.
Her head was still aching from the night before and there was a chill in the air that had her huddling deep in the over-sized Oxford hoodie Robin had given her, but she felt at peace. With the little boy's laughter and the smell of sizzling bacon, she felt safe for the first time in a long time.
"Is there something wrong?" Robin's voice startled her and she looked up at him. He stood before her holding the still sizzling skillet in one hand, tongs in the other and that tea-towel still tossed over his shoulder. His shirt was old and loved, stretched and pulled at the neck so the slim v-neck revealed more of his muscled chest than intended. Regina licked her lips, cleaning her throat as she shifted in her chair.
"What?"
"Your cocoa," He smirked, having caught her eye line. "You haven't touched it."
On the contrary, there was a deep dip in the whipped cream he'd put on top where she'd shoved her finger in, lifting it to her lips to find it lacking. "Do you have any cinnamon?" She blushed and with a grin, he placed the skillet down in the middle of the table, on a large slab of cedar that doubled as a cutting board, she imagined, before warning Roland not to touch it and heading back to the counter.
The cinnamon was placed before her in a flourish as Robin sat down at the head of the table, Roland in his booster to his left and Regina, with one foot up on her chair and her arm wrapped around her knee, to his right. They were the picture of domesticity and, with a shuddering breath, Regina couldn't fathom how she barely minded that at all.
"Waffles?" The man question and she nodded slowly, sprinkling the cinnamon on her cream. "I haven't tried that before," She could hear the smile in Robin's voice and turned her eyes to him, holding the cinnamon out to him with a shrug.
"You should," She nodded as he took it. "Adds a little kick."
"Me too Daddy!" Roland beamed, watching eagerly as his father sprinkled the tiniest amount over his chocolate milk. "Mmmm," The boy beamed as he sipped it, grinning at Regina over the rim of his glow-in-the-dark Iron Man cup.
She felt her heart flutter; never had she felt the warmth of anyone so enamoured with her for the right reasons. Roland's unabashed excitement over her being in their home and sharing with them, such a simple thing as breakfast, sent her for a tailspin. But Robin's gentle hand on her forearm, as she rested her hand on the hardwood table, somehow grounded her.
After a drawn-out moment of feeling the warmth of his touch through the soft fabric of his hoodie, she slowly pulled her arm away. She cleared her throat, realising that awkward habit of doing so when the situation stretched beyond her comfort zone. This man was her sponsor - he was her guide to sobriety - but there she was, flustered and warm on the inside because of how his fingers touched the side of her hand, or how his son laughed and played with his food or how, out of the corner of her eye, she could see Robin smiling at her.
"How's your head?" He asked and Regina chuckled slightly, chewing on a strip of bacon; ignoring her cutlery in favour of picking at the food with her fingers.
"A little fuzzy, but alright." She looked up to meet his eye. "You came just in time, thank you."
"Anytime," He grinned and Regina found herself blushing once again. Dropping her feet back to the floor, she sat up straighter and reached for the other end of the table where some paper and a pile of crayons were sprawled across the surface. Clearly Roland had left them there, having drawn his father a masterpiece and Regina grinned as she took a piece of the paper in her hands.
"Have you ever seen a paper crane, Roland?" She smirked, looking up at the boy.
His eyes sparkled with excitement as he clapped his hands and shook his head. She started to fold the paper, doing her level best to ignore how Robin's eyes never left her face. They sat in silence, just watching her as her little bird came to life and she sat it, with a grin, before Roland. "For you," She nodded and Roland stared at her, amazed.
"There's no shaking him off now," Robin quipped and Regina turned to him, eyebrows knitted as he casually cut through his waffle and tossed a piece - dripping with syrup - into his mouth. "You've got a fan for life."
Show and tell day was everyone's favourite activity of the week. Mary-Margaret liked to have it on Mondays, so the children could have a chance to regale their peers with tales of their weekend adventures whilst they were still fresh in their five to six year old minds. Quite often she heard embellished stories of decrepit grandparents on their last legs, who had come to visit on their final trip south; the origins of that strange piece of shrapnel pulled from Daddy's leg during his tour in Afghanistan, or the more banal tales of picnics and throwing sticks for their dog in the park.
Everyone took their turn, on their own special day, to have show and tell. Today it was Esther, with a porcelain-faced doll given to her by her mother, that had once belonged to her great-grandmother. Then there was Toby, who shot a BB-Gun at the wall with gusto before having it unceremoniously reefed out of his hand as Mary-Margaret sent him back to his desk with a look of firm disapproval.
Last but not least, Mary-Margaret smiled sweetly - with Toby's BB held firmly and safely with her prim hands in her lap as she sat perched on the broad window-sill - as one of her more shy students, who's bubbly smile was infectious once you could coax it out of him, shuffled up to the front of the class with something small and clearly precious, held carefully within his little hands.
"It's your turn, Roland," She gestured with encouragement and the little boy blushed, deepening those precious dimples. "Go ahead."
The little tiny boy - short for his age and sweet for his gender - took a deep breath and lifted his hands out before him. Many children in the front row leaned in, with others craning to see over their heads as the boy raised his hands, palms up before him with a delicate paper crane perched along his life-line.
"This was a present from my new friend, 'gina." He stated with pride, raising his hands a, giving the precious paper creature a higher perch. "She made it for me this morning at breakfast, after she put cimonnon,"
Mary-Margaret smirked, cutting him off gently. "Cinnamon, Roland?"
The boy glanced at her, startled at being interrupted for a moment before he nodded. "Yup, on my chocolate milk," He grinned back at his rapt audience. "It was yummy, 'gina says it gives it some kick."
The children didn't seem to understand the statement, nor did Roland for that matter, but Mary-Margaret could see the sweetness in the boy reciting this woman's words from the morning.
"'Gina called my bird a paper crane," He beamed and there was a few ooh's and a few aah's from his audience. "And she made it by folding up one of my drawing papers." He turned for a moment, resting the small bird on the edge of Mary-Margaret's desk before facing his class once again. "When my Daddy read me a story last night, 'Gina wasn't there, but when I woke up I saw her in my lounge room and she looked like a princess, I think my Daddy got her for me because I've been good and done all my homework," He turned to Mary-Margaret with hopeful eyes. "Do you think that's why, Miss Blanchard?"
"Perhaps, sweetheart," She shrugged. "But people don't normally give other people as gifts, perhaps she's a friend of your Daddy's?" Mary-Margaret worried her lip, hoping they weren't stumbling close to dangerous territory, frightened that perhaps Roland had seen something he shouldn't have between his father and what was potentially, a girlfriend - with Roland having no understanding of the concept.
The boy shrugged his shoulders, turning back to his classmates. "Well she can be Daddy's friend too, because she's really pretty and she has brown hair just like my Mama does in all of the photos my Daddy has and she has stories painted on her skin, but they're not just any stories," His little face fell, with his chin pressed to his chest as he looked at the crowd through his lashes.
Mary-Margaret swallowed, watching how his little face, all of a sudden, became distraught. "They're sad stories."
"Did she tell you that, Roland?"
He nodded his head slowly, watching his teacher as he continued. "I heard my Daddy talking to 'gina too and she said her head was fuzzy, but I thought it looked fine. I wasn't supposed to be listening but, because I had a dream about going to the park, I wanted to know where 'gina came from," His eyes widened, astonishing himself with the story, no doubt blown out of proportion in typical five-year-old fashion. "I heard my Daddy talk about the park and that 'gina likes bottles but not anymore…"
He scrunched up his nose. "I don't know what's so great about bottles, but 'gina is my new favourite person, ever because she had waffles with my Daddy and me and she made this paper crane." He rolled on the balls of his feet, puffed out his chest and stood proud, indicating the end of his story. Mary-Margaret smiled tightly at the boy as he toddled off, back to his desk; but on the inside her mind was reeling.
This boy, her student; sweet little Roland Loxley, had told a story of a woman named Gina who his father had brought home from a park whilst the boy slept, who had stories painted on her skin and liked bottles. She couldn't help but wonder, chewing on her bottom lip as she remembered tossing and turning, aching for David's arms around her the night before when they'd both mourned the damage they'd caused their friend. She couldn't help but wonder if Roland's Gina was their Regina, who oozed bitter resentment and yearned to be saved from herself - if not by herself.
She'd disappeared and Mary-Margaret, once able to understand just what they'd been doing to each other for years, had felt such an ache in her chest as she feared for the woman's safety and sanity. She couldn't help but hope for the serendipitous notion that Regina may have found some comfort, somewhere without a bottle or a baggie or a lonely rooftop in the rain. Her lips twitched, warming with hope that she was safe.
Half the lights in the club were off when Mary-Margaret pushed through the heavy stage door. The hinges creaked and the bottom scraped on the tarnished concrete; she cringed, hoping the sound didn't disturb the club's one, lonely occupant.
The building is old and every other night that Mary is there, watching David and the band play, she wonders if Mr Gold has ever hired anyone to clean the place. The lounges have torn edges, the ground is almost always sticky and the air has a smokey hue more prominent in the spotlights that flicker intermittently.
She found Regina in the middle of the lounge, resting on a tall stool with her feet up on another, those signature leather stiletto boots hooked over the backrest of the stool - she was bathed in half a spotlight, twirling an empty tumbler around with one hand. There was a bottle in front of her, unopened and Mary-Margaret's brows pinched at the sight.
"I know you're there." Regina growled, turning her head just slightly, but not looking her in the eye. Instead, her eyes were cast off to the stage and her voice lacked the venom it usually did when they spoke; however rare that may be.
"I wasn't trying to hide."
"Good, because you suck at it." She muttered and Mary found herself smirking gently to herself at the return of Regina's malice. She wasn't entirely sure when she'd started to see Regina's snide remarks and insults as an endearing quality in her former Step-Mother.
Mary edged into the room, every now and then glancing at the bottle on the table, wondering why Regina kept staring at it, but not touching it. She moved slowly towards her, making her way carefully, twisting her fingers together in front of her as she turned to face the seated woman head on. "I came to say I'm sorry."
"For which transgression do you refer?" Regina's vengeful eyes turned upward, meeting Mary-Margaret's with an uncharacteristic red rim around dark, auburn gemstones. She'd always known Regina was beautiful, and a part of her had known that was the sole reason her father had pursued her so fervently. She'd also known - in the dark part of her heart where she truly knew her father - that it was also the reason why he so venomously despised any man who'd tried to look at her.
"We've done and said a lot to each other over the years," Regina glared and Mary-Margaret flinched, but didn't stop. "But what I'm talking about is yesterday," She took a deep breath, knowing how she'd treated her, how thoughtless and blind she'd been, was hurting this woman who had been nothing but kind when they were younger - teaching her to braid her hair and make pumpkin scones for Halloween when all she'd wanted to do was escaped her father. "I should have known better," She paused, meeting Regina's eyes again - those beautiful dark eyes that refused to turn away, even as they were wet with tears. "I do know better and I didn't think. I was selfish."
"Yes, you are."
"I'm sorry, Regina." Mary edged forward. "I truly am."
"For bringing him here or for purposely breaking my trust?" Regina questioned but didn't let Mary answer, before she continued. "Because that's what you did. And you broke David's and what's worse, you broke my trust in David. Because how can I trust my best friend when the woman he loves, doesn't even care about the people around her?" There was a hitch in her voice and Mary noticed it, but instead of mentioning it, it only made her heart break more for the woman. "I used to trust David with everything, I even trusted him when he chose to love you. But you've broken that," Regina kicked her feet off the stool and stood, resting the tumbler on the table next to her untouched bottle of Scotch. "I hope you're happy about that."
"Please, Regina," Mary-Margaret chased after her as she turned to walk away, her voice pleading. "Please don't blame David for this."
"How can I not?" Regina hissed, facing her. "He loves and trusts you, and you did that to me," She crossed her arms over her chest defensively. "You did that, knowing what would happen."
"No," Mary pleaded. "I swear, I didn't. I didn't think."
"No," Regina nodded, regretfully. "You really didn't, did you?" Regina sighed. "You didn't think about how that man tortured me and ignored you, for years. All you've ever wanted was his love and approval and you've damaged the one good, positive relationship in my life, to get it. You selfish, thoughtless little girl."
Mary arched back, taking the metaphorical punch to the gut, with a creased brow. "I'm sorry." She choked.
"You are now, now that I'm sure David has reproached you and your father has walked away from you, spitting insults in my direction. Now that it hurts, that's when you're sorry."
Mary watched her carefully, twisting her fingers nervously in front of her as she remembered a little boy's words. Regina turned from her again, stepping out of the spotlight and resting her palms on the bar with her back to her.
Her gentle, quiet voice carried through the bar, making Regina's back stiffen as she asked. "Have you met someone?"
"Is this really the time?"
"No," Mary stepped closer. "No, I mean, I heard something this morning that made me think." Regina turned around, arms folded and back rested against the bar, listening. "A little boy in my class talked about a new friend he'd made. Last night his father put him to bed and this morning, there was a woman there who had breakfast with them and put cinnamon on his hot chocolate." Regina flinched, hugging herself tighter. "See, this little boy, Roland is his name," Mary-Margaret watched the recognition in Regina's eyes, but pushed on. "He talked about how his new friend had sad stories painted on her skin and she made him paper cranes."
"So?" Regina swallowed, her voice hoarse.
"It wasn't the hurt that made me sorry, Regina," Mary's eyes were filling with tears. "It was that I remembered when there was a woman that used to have breakfast with me and make paper cranes that would would watch over me."
Regina released a sob, turning her eyes away.
"I remembered when that woman was my friend too."
To Be Continued