It's the pain she registers first. The cold pierces her skin like knives and needles, over and over, unrelenting and unstoppable. Her lungs are robbed of what little air she managed to gulp down before her body fell into the ice water. She's vaguely aware that Robins hand is still squeezing her own ... she thinks ... could be wrong because she can't really feel anything other than the pain, the panic.
Regina kicks and trashes against the water, her body desperately trying to fight from sinking further into the icy lagoon and why, oh why did she think crossing this would be a good idea?
Henry flits through her mind, and her legs kick harder. She has to swim, has to ignore the stiffness creeping over her limbs because she has a child. She won't leave him, not like this, not in the midst of a crisis with a witch who seems hell bent on killing Emma. If the blonde goes down, he will be left an orphan, and that is a notion her mind can simply not process.
Roland will be too. Another concept she won't stand for.
Suddenly, her head is above water. Her lungs burn as she gasps for air, gulps over and over for oxygen that doesn't seem to let up the tightness in her chest. Robin is holding her up, holding them both up, taking in breaths as deep as she is, and it's only when their eyes meet does she stop flailing so erratically.
"C-can you g-get us out o-of here?" He stutters, teeth beginning to chatter, lips turning blue.
Regina doubts she's fairing any better, and looks around desperately for solid ground that isn't ice. "I d-don't kn-ow."
Their faces are close, so close she can feel each ragged breath he takes cool her wet skin further, their knees bump together as they fight to stay above the ice water. Cracked ice moves around the waters surface surrounding them, the only white that stands out against the black lake they're submerged in, and as her eyes search for the closest piece of land, her limbs start to stiffen. Robin is still holding her up, the arm that isn't trying to keep his own head above water circled round her waist, and she knows, without doubt in her mind, he will make sure she is safe before he is.
"You n-need to keep us u-u-up. I-I need m-my hands to try a-and g-get us out," she stammers.
He manages a nod, then lets go of her middle as she throws herself closer to him to wrap her arms around his neck. Water sloshes around them as he treads more vigorously; her coat makes her heavy and drags them both a little deeper until Robin's mouth is nearly drowning once more.
She needs to get them out. Right now, or they'll end up ice cubes on the bottom of the lake, and that is just not how she imagined death would finally take her. Death is supposed to come in a magnificent magical battle, she's supposed to go down in a blaze of glory and fully ensure no one ever forgets the name Regina Mills.
That is how she's supposed to die.
How she *wants* to die, is warm in Robin's arms, when they're old and have lived a long, happy, peaceful life together. When their children have children, when their bodies have withered but their love never has.
It's hard to concentrate as the cold numbs her body slowly, painfully, and it's all she can do to hold her body against his and throw her arms up in one swift motion.
It doesn't work, and a noise that lands somewhere between a sob and a groan escapes her mouth.
"I c-can't," she starts, but can't bring herself to finish the sentence. The pain, both physical and emotional is too much.
Robin kicks a little harder, brings his own head up again to stop himself from swallowing ice cold water instead of air when he opens his mouth. "You c-can. I b-believe in you."
His words break her heart all over again. She turns her head and looks into his eyes; the eyes that have seen straight through her from the moment they met. A deep breath shudders through her body, and the silence of the park presses in on her ears as her mind swings back round again, to Marian, to Roland, to Henry, to him ... to them.
The smoke engulfs them before she even moves her hands.
Regina's lungs rasp as she coughs up the water from her chest and takes in sharp breaths that burn her lungs. The ground is cold under her palms as she crawls up the bank she's managed to send them to. Robin is behind her, pushing her body up and away from the water, retching and gulping for air just as much as she is. Sodden, heavy clothes stick to her skin, make the cold almost unbearable, and she thought when she got them out it would be better, would be easier to breathe and focus.
It's not.
"You did it," he huffs out, a small, proud smile twitching at his lips.
All she can do is nod back; there was a reason she didn't use magic to get the damn plant in the first place ... she wasn't strong enough. And while she may well have proven herself wrong, it doesn't mean it hasn't knocked the stuffing out of her. She's exhausted, she's dithering, she's just ruined her most favourite boots by being submerged in dirty pond water, and now quite frankly, she is in a mood.
Robin stands, then drops his arm to pull her to her feet, and it reminds her of a different time, a different place. One where she was decked out in full regalia and he had a quiver slung across his shoulder, only this time, she will gladly accept the hand he's offering.
"We need to get back to the camp; warm up before we freeze to death," he says, voice stronger now than it had been moments ago when half lost to the icy depths of the lake.
She doesn't argue.
They're back at his camp before she really registers they've even moved. Walking isn't what she's been focussing on; it's the shivers, her wet hair and the wind that makes her ears hurt and her skin bite. He pulls her forward into his tent, now unoccupied by the five year old currently snoozing with Tuck.
Regina wraps her arms around her body and closes her eyes, wishing for the cold and the wetness to stop, willing her magic to hurry up and revive so she can dry them both with the click of her fingers. She's pulled from her concentration though, a moment later when he pulls her arms down and moves to push her coat from her body. When her eyes open, she's met with the sight of his bare chest.
"What are you d-doing?" She says, teeth chattering.
"We need to get warm ... that's not going to happen if we stay in these clothes."
Oh.
He's bare to the waist, and while it's a wholly inappropriate moment, her eyes still appreciate his physique; the tone of his muscles, the colour of his skin. Any other circumstance would have her audibly gulping.
Her coat's on the floor now, his fingers working their way down her blouse, slower than they have in the past, and she guesses they're seizing up from the cold. It's only when he reaches the button just by her navel does she huff out a chuckle (even though really, there's nothing funny about any of this).
"You know, last time you undressed me, we w-were in front of a fire. Just for future reference, I pr-prefer that method of seduction to this one."
A quick grin springs onto his face, deepening those dimples, and then he looks at her with teasing eyes. "Oh, I don't know ... the cold seems to have its ... perks, too."
There's a mischievous glint in his eyes as they glide down from her face. The last button of her shirt pops open with ease, and when he slides the garment off her shoulders, Regina follows his gaze, suddenly sees the reason for his words.
Her nipples are standing on end, completely visible through the thin t-shirt bra she'd picked out that morning. She blushes, throws her arms in front of her chest to cover herself as he chuckles again and wraps his arms around her body in a way that completely envelopes her.
She should feel alarmed, should be telling him to stop, that they shouldn't be doing this. But his skin is warm against her own, and she knows despite the flirting words they've carelessly thrown back and forth, this isn't sexual. It's necessary. Regina lets her head rest against his naked chest, is soothed into a lull by the beat-beat-beat of his heart, and sighs contently.
It may not be sexual ... but that doesn't mean it isn't wonderful.
A certain amount of time passes; one minute, one hour, she isn't sure. It's only when she hears him take in a long, slow breath does she pull back and look at his face. He looks tired, she notes, and his hair is still wet, but there's a warmth in his eyes that tells her he is exactly where he wants to be, doing exactly what he wants to be doing. It's the first time since Marian's return she can't see conflict in his eyes, can't see her own pain reflected in his expression, but instead a content sort of acceptance.
It fills her heart with hope, and before she can stop it, a loving smile spreads across her face that he matches tenfold.
"Are you alright?" He asks quietly, bringing one hand up to brush away the wet strands of hair that have stuck to the side of her face when pillowed against his body. She nods into his touch, feels her body shiver as his thumb strokes her cheekbone so softly she thinks she may have imagined it.
"I'm sorry," she says, an overwhelming rush of emotion hits her heart, and she presses her lips together as her eyes shine with tears. "I shouldn't have been so reckless, I-"
"Stop it, Regina. There's no point in beating yourself up, we're fine." His words hold a firmness she hasn't heard from him since their days in the enchanted forest, and while she knows full well he isn't going to hear anymore of her apologies, she tries them anyway.
"We could have died, Robin-"
"But we didn't."
He won't let her say another word.
She dries them not long after; her magic finally having gained enough strength to cast the small spell that warms her skin, makes her toes wiggle in her now dry socks. Her boots are still ruined, the leather scuffed, the colour faded, and her lips purse with ire at the site of them.
Why does she always destroy perfectly good shoes running around forests?
They dress in silence, turn back to back, trying with all their mite now that moment has gone not to brush against each other in the small confines of his tent. He catches the yawn though, the deep, wide reflex that she's sure makes her face scrunch up hideously.
"You must be exhausted," he says, stating the obvious.
She smiles coyly, giving her shoulders a small shrug. "Nothing a few hours rest won't solve."
"Why don't you stay here tonight? You're too tired to walk back home, or use magic to get there."
She bites the inside of her cheek, telling herself over and over he's only offering because it's polite, not because he wants her to stay, (she knows deep down he probably does want her to stay, but neither will lend voice to the feelings they're both having for fear of what that would mean). She brushes her now-dry hair back, looks down at the mounds of blankets carpeting the floor of his tent, then gives a small nod.
They fall asleep with a foot between them, back to back, and for the small time she lies there awake, she tries desperately to ignore the longing sitting on her chest.
She wakes hours later in his arms; feels warm and completely at peace as sunlight creeps through the crack of the tent opening, lies there for a moment in her sleepy haze not registering anything but the fact that her body is pressed to his, that even in sleep his arm holds the back of her head in place against his chest.
In an instant, that's gone, and an awkward alarm creeps through her veins as she preys to every god imaginable that when she detangles her limbs from his, he won't wake. Of course while comatose their bodies would still find away to stick together like magnets. Fucking soulmates, she thinks.
It doesn't work, and when she's half sitting up, half lying on top of him, he stirs, frowns at her unusual position as her face scrunches while she mentally curses herself.
"Good morning," he says, an amused, arrogant smile playing on his lips, and she sighs.
"Morning," she replies, getting up to her feet. A small groan escapes her throat as she straightens, shifts her back from side to side, wincing when it cracks. A scowl falls on her face. "How the hell do you sleep on the ground every night?"
"You get used to it," he shrugs.
They exit the tent together, making small talk, both avoiding any conversation that involves mentioning the fact they woke locked in a tight embrace that is absolutely inappropriate for ex-lovers.
He tells her he's going to go and retrieve the plant while she goes home to change, and he will meet her at Granny's with Roland in a couple of hours.
They have a moment, a pause where neither speaks or moves, just staring into each others eyes. She knows now this will probably be the last time they're alone for ... god knows how long, that as soon as they wake Marian up, all this will stop and her heart weighs down even more. She wants to say something, wants to do something ... touch him, kiss him, anything to let up the feeling that someone is standing on her chest.
But she can't, and it hurts. He must see it in her eyes, because after a brief second, he takes her hand in his own and brings it up to his mouth, presses his lips against her knuckles in a way that makes her nerves light up.
"I'll see you later?"
She nods, takes her hand back, then disappears in a cloud of purple smoke.