Part 3
"Hi."
.
..
He's here.
.
..
It's him.
.
..
Standing in front of her. In a green oversized jacket spattered with white fluff from falling snow, and brown khaki pants with the hem soaked.
He is not two feet from her. Real and breathing. 18 inches away.
A face she hasn't seen in eighteen years. Had lost forever ago without the chance to even say goodbye.
Resentful anger had been her only companion for years after learning they let Roland just leave. Deciding it was best that he simply hold Little John's hand and walk through a portal not days after his father died, leaving Regina behind without even giving her the goddamn chance to fight for him to stay. He should have stayed. With her. He was hers.
She had to find out from Ruby, of all people in this god forsaken town, the wolf was the only one brave enough to walk up to the frantic Queen in search of her youngest. Had called her name, grabbed her hand, and devastated her with two words. "He's gone."
It was all she said before the questions flew.
Gone? Gone where? Who took him? Is he okay? What Happened?.
Finding out her little archer had been taken was a nail in her coffin. A day she'd rather forget given how scorched she'd left parts of the town. Abandoned warehouses, old run down cars, forgotten grass fields no one cared about really, but it was the start of her "meltdown" as they called it.
The first puzzle piece in the emotional destruction that thundered and pulsed from the Mayor's palms. Waving torrents of black purples swirling around like a cloud, cracking like hard thunder, shattering the sky with violent lightning. It corroded, melted, and destroyed everything around her till it was nothing but ash beneath her heels, matching near everything else in her world.
She doesn't like to remember that day.
The shock in people's eyes, fear in their faces, tension in their bodies as she turned to face them, desperate for something, for anything or anyone to give her a grain of peace. It never came. Gone were the days of the Evil Queen, but still, forever and always there are memories of the past.
They were scared.
Though Snow may have shakily reached out to touch her, it was there, behind green watery eyes that tried to prove resilience weathering another storm, it was just anxious fear. Waiting like a scared deer for a wolf to pounce. Snow had been the one to find the Merry Men...had let them know there was a way the could go back to Sherwood Forest...she thought it was for the best, what they would want...never once considering who was being left behind. Robin's death may not have been her fault, but losing Roland…that certainly felt like it was.
She's ashamed of that day. Kind of. At least it's what people tell her now she should be….ashamed of the raw outburst and how poetically it was put by some who spat at back at her that "It's not our fault."
But wasn't it?
It was all their fault. Each and every single one of them who didn't run to that portal and haul Roland back. Whoever thought it was okay that her son be taken from her without even a single question...it dredged up far more painful memories than she liked to admit. It happened once before and it happened again.
For weeks she'd locked herself in away in her house, sitting on Roland's green checkered covered twin bed (never her own, she hadn't slept there since the other side was left horridly vacant), resting against the headboard, staring at the ceiling covered with plastic glow in the dark stars, clutching a grey plush monkey to her chest, and letting tears silently fall.
Her pain was quiet. It always has been. There is no over the top emotional sobbing, clutching to someone's hands for strength, no wailing or cursing the gods above for all to hear (they never answer anyway).
She just cries. Without sound.
Henry said it was worse that way.
Not hearing her sadness when walking into the kitchen, a smiled greeting faltering on his face, replaced by a feeling of utter uselessness at seeing fat droplets curl down her cheeks as she held a plastic fork and spoon. Child's cutlery, his cutlery, lime green with silver painted R's on the handles, utensils that wouldn't be touched ever again. It burned his heart, seeing his mother drowning in quiet anguish over the littlest of things, like a green plastic spoon.
It happened everywhere, without control, without any warning, for years before people became optionally blind to it.
She cried.
So many times at Granny's over pancakes (which she refuses to eat now, syrup is no longer sweet, but stale and cloyingly thick when not accompanied by little giggles) that it had become almost regular that Granny would lead Regina into the back, to a private table away from prying eyes, where she could sniffle away over orange juice and bacon.
She'd cry. Nearly every morning sitting on her porch with a cup of cold coffee, or walking through the school yard waiting vacantly alone for one boy instead of two to come rushing out of the doors, never hearing a gaggle of happy pleading to go for ice cream, or feel a tiny hand clutch the one not held by his father. She'd cry when passing by massive oak trees with wooden swings left empty, swaying with the wind instead of a playmate, sitting at home on the floor folding laundry loads that were too small, the fact she barely changed didn't help either, the abysmal single stack of perfectly folded clothing only screamed that there were two people missing.
It didn't matter what it was, or who was around, even seeing the leaves change color, fading away the rich lavish green's she so loved into soggy rusted mucky browns that moulded into the dirt, she would cry, silently to no one, unable to keep the tears at bay, but never allowing her voice to join.
She hasn't cried in a very long time though.
"Roland."
Her voice cracks, dry and watery at the same time. If this is another one of those times her mind is playing games with her, it's just cruel.
His skin is cold underneath her palm, chilled and pink tinged. He's real. Is so incredibly different than she remembers, but is exactly the same. Shaggy, chocolate curls smushed beneath a charcoal beanie. Hickory brown eyes that stare at her with trepidation, the exact same look that melted her heart back in the Enchanted Forest, solidifying the moment the Queen fell in love with a little boy.
She suddenly thinks of his room. Left the exact same way not 200 feet behind her, a green checkered blanket, painted trees on the walls, plastic bow and arrows tucked into corners, and a grey plush monkey gently laid on winter coal pillows. He could see it all again. Could sleep just down the hall from her like he used to, and she could make him breakfast in the morning. He will need a bigger bed given that he stands a good 8 inches taller than her now. She smiles, he's at least as tall as...oh...dammit.
The heat builds behind her eyes instantly, a trigger that is his name but she will not cry. She can't. Not right now.
He's stuck, the words dying in this throat as he just stares at her. Is rooted looking at her eyes, warm walnut colored and brimming with unshed tears along dark lashes. He can't look away from them. He's waited what feels like a lifetime to see her eyes again. His heart clutches tightly hearing her voice whisper his name, the feeling of her hand pressed against his cheek, stark in contrast to the cold that surrounds them, it's too much and yet not enough.
Her hair is longer than he remembers. Curls around her shoulders, odd strands wisping around her pink tinged cheek in the slight of wind. But she is everything he remembers. And for the first time, in a long time, he feels tears burning behind his eyes and he smiles, for a half beat she matches with a watery disbelieving grin.
They move at the same time, his arms wrapping around her shoulders as she clutches around his waist. He curls into her, burying himself like the little boy lost so long ago into the crook of her neck, breathing in the honeycrisp apple of her hair, relishing in the feeling of her hands gripping his jacket as she hugs him back fiercely.
"I can't believe you're here."
She stammers between laughing and choking back tears, running her hands around his torso to cup his face, his beautiful perfect face, all filled out and chiseled but it's still him. Her thumbs smooth along his cheekbones, over his eyebrows and eyes, into the fallen wild curls on his forehead, tracing every feature over and over again.
"I missed you." She wraps her arms around his neck, standing on tiptoes thanks to their new height difference, tucks into his jacket with a repetitive shaking of her head, letting her fingers drift into the back of his hair, just like she always used to do.
It's freezing, but he can't really find the willpower to move, to let her go just yet. He's missed her too. Has spent nearly his entire adult life trying to find her, to get back to her, hoping that for once, there are answers waiting. He needs those answers. Needs to know why he was shipped off, passed from one family to the next, left alone by his father without a word, and orphaned by the only mother he knew. For all he understands, his father didn't love him enough to stay, and Regina cared too little to keep him.
Anger. It flushes through him. And though half of his heart begs him to stay, to hold onto her a little longer, resentment wins out and he pushes her off slowly, clearing his throat. It will do no good to give into temptation when there is so much on the line. She was home for him once. But that was a long time ago. His smiles fades, a gloved hand quickly wiping away the remnants of emotion on his chilled cheeks as he sniffs back hard. The bitterness returns quickly as he steps away, righting his coat even though Regina frowns in confusion as his sudden departure, wiping away her own tears and gauging him anxiously.
And then there is just silence, a dead hollow space.
Where two feet separate them in reality, an ocean lies between.
He shoves his hands in his pockets, tamping down their need to reach out to her again. It was nice, better than standing here vacant and alone. He can't though. He wants to. But he can't. A lifetime filled with abandonment isn't so easily swallowed down.
She's unsure of what to say. Is completely taken aback by the way he pushed her off and avoids her eyes now, opting to stare off to the side, focusing on the willow tree with an indignant sullen glare.
He's upset.
With her she isn't exactly sure, but his hostility punches her in the gut.
She hears Mal clear her throat from behind them, a gentle questioning if she should say something. He must be cold, she is damn cold without his body heat, hadn't really noticed it until he forced her back. Chewing on her lip warily, she turns slightly to find Mal leaning against the white pillar, cocking an eye at the stranger she doesn't yet know, well she knows of Roland, but much like Regina's departed soul mate, it's all just memories.
She'd like Mal to be here, instead of thirty feet back. To have some sort of reassurance and guidance in place of standing in the middle of her front yard completely uncertain of what to do.
He liked hot chocolate with cinnamon.
Her voice shakes slightly as she turns back to him, "Do you want to come inside?" followed with a small trepidatious smile. For a moment, he doesn't even acknowledge her question, just scowls harder into the darkness of the night, she can see his jaw tensing behind a thick swallow and her heart cracks.
He is most definitely angry with her, has every right to be furious.
She never went to find him. Had tried, more than once. Still has the scars from magic gone wrong to prove it. But he doesn't know that. There is so much to explain.
"I could make you some cocoa? You must be freezing." It's a feeble attempt, but it does get him to cast a quick glance in her direction, a slight nod that has her soul swirling.
It's a start.
.
..
…
..
.
It's completely the same. The white walls, pewter greys and accents of black. It even smells the same. The rich amber infused foyer hitting him like a block. Fourteen steps up and two doors down on the left would be his room. Twenty two steps away from where his papa used to sleep, nine away from Henry's door and sixteen to the bathroom. He wonders if it is all the same.
"Can I take your coat?"
He turns, seeing Regina standing just behind him, wringing her hands gingerly, playing with a single silver band on her middle finger, a deep green emerald twisting between her fingers. Papa gave that to her. On a night where nothing special had happened, he heard them in the kitchen, irritatingly talking over the Lion King. He had gotten up to scold them, it was his favorite part coming up, Simba and Scar about to battle in the fire ring, it was the best part of the entire movie and they knew that. He remembers stomping into the kitchen, seeing her smiling as papa held her hand and both looking down at something he couldn't exactly see. Much to his annoyance, they kissed, a gross thing only they did, but she was still smiling, lopping a hand around papa's shoulders, and there it was. A sparkly green ring he'd never seen her wear before. Why they were making such a big fuss, he wasn't sure, but they were still kissing and that was enough, the volume on the remote would just have to drown out their ickiness.
It strikes him odd she would still be wearing it.
He noticed it. Is staring blatantly at her hands, watching intently as she fidgets with the ring Robin gave her. It's been on this finger for eighteen years. She'd almost lost it once washing dishes, had panicked beyond measure, and begged Mal to enchant it, ensuring it never could slide off again. It's the color of his coat he used to wear. A deep brilliant green gem he'd given her, just because he thought it was pretty, and she was pretty and therefore the two went hand in hand.
Shaking his head no in response to her question of taking his jacket, Regina nods, stepping around him awkwardly and leading him to the kitchen. Thirty three steps, now reduced down to a small seventeen. The blonde woman already there, heating up what smells like chocolate, and Regina walks around the granite island, brushing past the other woman with a smile. It's strange to him, and he feels strange standing in the archway, watching as Regina moves two cupboards to the right where he knows the mugs are, lacing her fingers around two and carefully places them down on the counter.
Everything is far too similar. It's all in the same place, appearing to be untouched, frozen in time. It's claustrophobic. He see's his dad everywhere. In front of the stove where Regina is now, leaning against the fridge with a dumb grin, even sitting at the expansive oak table to the left, in the chair beside the cabinet where the whiskey was kept, on the right of where Regina sat at the head, across from where Henry would be...and beside where he himself used to sit.
"Do you still like cinnamon?"
He shrugs, not really caring what is set down in front of him. Not when his head is spinning like a tabletop, memories punching from every side, every bloody thing in this place attacking him all at once. Why couldn't she have at least changed the color of the walls. The friendly companion of anger boils deep in his stomach, brewing steadily as he turns to watch her stir the pot of milk, acting like nothing is wrong, like she hadn't just abandoned him all those years ago. He hates her for it. Hates everything about being here, sitting on this same stool, leaning over the same counter top, being in this god damn awful place. He hates it.
Mal bumps her from the side, throwing a curious, cautious glance over her shoulder silently. Regina figures she is just trying to get some answers as to what is going on, but in truth Regina herself doesn't really know. Shifting to turn back to Roland, she figures he'd be waiting with a happy smile like he used to, but the sullen tempered look she finds stalls her. His fists are clenched on the island, tensing and shaking slightly as he scowls deeply into nothingness. His neck is rigid, tendons flexing under a flush of rogue as he leans over the counter.
From what she pictured in her mind, this is not the boy she expected. Where there had been light in his eyes as a child, only a slow burning storm lives. There is no trace of the smile he had worn minutes ago outside. No disbelieving happiness exuding from him. For a second, she is a bit afraid. No, not afraid, it's Roland, he wouldn't hurt her. But maybe daunted at the thought of sitting down beside him and his tense state. She could stand. Or would that be to obvious she is wary of him?
She's not. This is Roland. There is no reason for her to be this nervous. Absolutely, unequivocally ridiculous that there are jittery butterflies bouncing about her stomach as she steps forward, settling both mugs of steaming hot cocoa on the island, gingerly sitting down as though he is some sort of deer, about to be startled at any moment should she move to quick. He likes foxes. Was utterly enthralled with the disney version of his father's life, would topple over in a fit of giggles at the way Little John was portrayed as some big googly bear. Robin was completely abhorred at the fact he wasn't some manly tiger, but a scrawny rodent. It had taken her quite some time to convince him that the sly fox was rather handsome, amusingly so, and they had the same smirk, he didn't believe her, but was easily persuaded by some pretty lingerie and a few well placed kisses.
"Where's Henry?"
"He's here. Went to University at NYU and then decided to come back and work at the school as a history teacher. He and Violet live a few blocks away."
He nods, tapping the mug on the counter.
"I'm sure he'd love to see you."
Again, he nods. But it's less enthusiastic this time. Non committal in response. It has her wondering if he would even want to see Henry. Would it just be another wound reopened. Another of several she imagines. And yet. It's Henry. The boy who still has the heart of the truest believer. Pure and good. With hazel eyes that have this way of settling any tormented soul. He's done it for her time and time again.
"Maybe we could go have dinner tomorrow?"
Henry. His brother that vanished. A hero that came to be, and left without a trace. He'd be lying to say his heart didn't jump at the sound of his name. A stuttering of hope. But the nights in a tent alone listening to the thunderous rain come rushing back. Back when things made sense, and the rain would fall, he would grab his stuffed monkey and quietly sneak into his brothers room, curling into a ball at the end of the larger bed, feeling just that much safer, and waking up tucked into the blankets with him. It went without fail if he asked, he'd get a story. One from Henry's big brown book. But there was no one to snuggle in beside in the Enchanted Forest. Maybe Little John, but he snored like an ogre. So Roland would lay on his small cot, shivering in the chill, wishing his papa was there to warm him up, or Regina around to scratch soothing lines up and down his back till he fell asleep. But he was alone, and would be alone for a very, very long time.
So would he like to see Henry? The truth? Yes. And No. For a boy who was the "author" and could technically rewrite any story, it never made sense to Roland that Henry became a bystander. Letting people be taken away without reason. He could have changed it. Could have made everything better. But he didn't. He did nothing. They all did nothing.
The last gulp of her cocoa is cold, gritty chocolate powder coating her mouth as she attempts to swallow the sweet, sandy concoction down. It's been a long time since she has had hot chocolate. It probably isn't helping that her heart is thundering a mile a minute, her brain working overtime to halt the clicking of her heel against the stool foot rest. Waiting is awful. Silently sitting here, anticipating Roland to say something. By the way he clenches and unclenches around his untouched cup, she figures he doesn't really know what to say. Mal's hand curls around her shoulder, squeezing softly before she too settles down beside Regina, tilting her head, taking in the new tense company in her home. Nothing is going to get accomplished if they all just sit here staring at the walls.
"I've heard quite a lot about you Roland." Mal starts, doing her best to smile when his dark brown eyes flick up to hers. He has the same shade as Regina, nearly, they are a touch darker in their hue, but similar still. The wild, curly brown hair crammed underneath his cap could even rival the long wavy locks Regina sports after a shower. In a weird thought, he almost looks like he could be her son. "I didn't get the chance to meet your father, but from what I know he was an incredible man. I'm sure you must miss him."
How the hell would she know if he misses him. She didn't know his dad, has no clue who he himself is, or what he feels. This strange tall blonde with wide peircing blue eyes who sits close enough to Regina their forearms brush against one another. He shrugs, irritated, and focuses on a small silver picture frame tucked behind a basket of red apples. It's them. Within seconds he can't hear what the other woman is saying, can only focus on the bright blue eyes that smile back at him, his heart pounding in his chest. He has no photo of his father, not a sketch, nothing, goes off of what he remembers in his mind, and even then sometimes it's a little foggy. But his eyes, he will never forget papa's eyes.
Regina casts a glance to where his attention is suddenly glued to, and she grimaces. A happy grimace if that is even possible as she spies the photo. A memory frozen forever in time, back to easier moments, happier ones. A beautiful sunday morning with her boys still clad in checkered pajamas, covered in a soft wool blanket tucked around the three of them, all beaming up at her from the couch as she snapped the picture. That was their first sunday waking up together in the same house. The blessed sunrise after she'd asked Robin, well more so told him, that he and Roland might as well move in, given that they spend six nights a week here anyway, with all their belongings, it just made sense, to make it official.
"That was a good day." Hot tears burn the backs of her eyes as she reaches for Mal's fingers, holding tight though her jaw trembles slightly when she turns back to see Roland running a palm over his face, cheeks slightly reddened, eyes painfully shining. She acts on instinct. Leaning over to rest her hand on him, squeezing the muscular forearm in hopes it will do something to appease his agony. He shoots a wary look down at her hand, the green emerald sparkling on her middle finger. God he misses her. Misses all of them.
"I miss him too."
He swallows thick at the crack in her voice. If she missed him, she should have done something. She has magic, there had to have been a way, she just needed to try harder. The torment rips through him as he looks back at the photo. Did she miss him? Or just his dad?
"You never came back." … "Either of you."
He shrugs her arm off, glaring down at the brown goop in his mug, wishing it didn't hurt so much listening to her sharp inhale and shaky exhale as she tucks her hand back into her lap. He shouldn't have shook her off. Her touch was warm. And he feels so cold.
"I tried, Roland."
"Did you though?"
Her heart skips when he looks up at her with angry disbelief. Searching her face for some fraction of the truth that she did in fact to everything in her power to find him.
"Yes. I did. I promise you, I did."
"Your magic was just faulty that day?"
It's low, hits her hard, punching straight into her gut as he scowls, shaking his head and shifting further away on his chair. He has no idea just how hard she tried. How many hours she spent buried underneath a mountain of spell books in her vault, forgetting to eat, to sleep, giving in only when her body begged her to. She could show him. Though it would probably terrify him even more should she reach into her chest and rip out her heart, lay out all the scars from the past eighteen years that crater and scratch it. It seems over dramatic right now though, even if it may convince him.
"The portal that Zelena created with the black fairy's wand malfunctioned. It cut off the entire Enchanted Forest to anyone."
Mal sighs beside her, heavy and heartfelt as Regina wipes away a few stray tears. She knows just how hard Regina begged for anyone to help her. After the destruction of the Evil Queen, it's all she did. Bargained with her entire soul for someone to figure out a way she could get to the Enchanted Forest. Emma couldn't, Gold couldn't, even Maleficent herself used every last incantation she knew in an attempt to open a portal. It almost worked a few times. The bright golden swirl appeared and Regina would rush towards it, only to be thrown back by electrocuting cracks, the portal would collapse on itself, and Mal would be left sitting in the hospital, again, waiting to see if the Queen would open her eyes this time. More than a few of her hidden gray hairs and fine worry wrinkle lines could be attributed to near death experiences Regina's lived through.
"What about him? Did you try to bring him back?"
"Yes. But the way he died...there's nothing that could reverse it."
"So you gave up? On both of us."
Regina stalls, biting back the slowly rising guilt in her throat. It felt that way for a long time. That she just threw in the towel and opted to cower away in her mansion instead. Crawl under her covers, lick her wounds and vow to never venture into the outside world again. There isn't enough hope speeches in the world that will ever take away that bubble of shame. Maybe there was more she could have done. Another book she could have read. Travelled somewhere unknown, where someone unknown could have had the answers. She didn't though. It haunts her to this day. Almost more so giving the steeled angry brown eyes that scowl at her.
"Roland. I need you to believe me that I have spent everyday wishing you and your father were here. Please."
Wishing. Everyone can make a wish. But wishes don't come true. He knows that far too well. Had asked the stars so many times to bring his family back, to let him wake up and it all just be a dream, begged that the next morning he would be in his old bed, with his stuffed monkey, in their house, with the smell of pancakes coating his room, and his father's laugh the first sound he'd hear.
His knee jumps furiously up and down, an anxious tick accompanied by the tightness in his chest that has followed him around for over a decade. She sounds convincing. The slight tremble in her voice and desperation in her eyes build a strong case that she maybe had actually attempted to find him.
It doesn't change the fact he was left without his family though. Stripped away from the only real home he knew, away from people he figured would just always be there.
He wants to believe her. The words muffling out as he sinks into the dead space. He can. If his brain would just shut off it's petulant pandering that one apology isn't enough. She owes him more than just an "I'm sorry". She hasn't even said that yet has she? Is she sorry? Or did she simply decide to carry on with her life, replace his dad with some tall legged blonde and go about her business like they never even existed.
"I missed you, Roland."
It's just not enough. He doesn't know if it ever will be.
The screech of the stool has Regina and Mal both wincing as he hauls himself to his feet, "I should go." muttering out hastily as he strides to the door. Answers won't make his dad come back, nor will they ease the constant pain in his heart he has carried for eighteen years.
"Roland wait!" Regina clambers after him, knocking over his half full mug onto the floor, paying no attention to the brown liquid that seeps along the stone inlay. He can't just leave. But he is, and she can't let that happen. Everything inside her screams to make him stop as she chases him to the door, furious, frozen air bursting into her house as he swings it open.
"Roland! Please! Don't leave."
She catches him, finally, on the bottom step of her porch, clinging to his coat desperately, begging him to turn around. His face is all sharp angles, his body filled out by thick muscle, but his eyes are the exact same. Big brown swirls that stare at her helplessly, identical to the very first time they met.
He is hers, and she lost him once, nearly destroyed herself trying to get him back, and he is about to walk away from her again.
"Please. Don't go."
His breath puffs out around her, eyes flicking to Mal who stands just behind Regina, looking as though she is ready to eat him alive for making Regina cry.
But what does it matter?
He can feel Regina's hand squeeze around his arm, gripping his own palm tight, her fingers are freezing, shakingly ice cold. She'll get sick if she doesn't go inside. As much as he hates, no, he doesn't hate her, he doesn't think. But the feeling rolling around in his gut, brewing between silent longing and bitter confusion fueled rage, that isn't as easily tamped down begs to differ.
"Don't leave."
He shakes her hand off.
"That's the thing, Regina." She winces at the hardness in his voice. "Sometimes people just leave, they don't say goodbye, and they never come back."
"Ro— "
He turns into the darkness, running away from the white mansion as fast as his legs will allow, away from her, away from the sound of her voice begging him to stay, away from all the memories he didn't want to relieve, just away, from everything.
.
..
…
..
.
Granny's.
He can go to Granny's. Spend tonight and then figure out how to get back home tomorrow.
Where home is though, is another question.
TBC.