Finding Home 6 - Regina's Heart

Dinner is...nice. Quiet and somewhat strange at points, but it's the first time in quite some time she doesn't spend throwing silent glances at the empty chair beside her throughout the meal. There are spans of time that fall into awkward pauses, and words have seemed to fail her for the majority of the night, stuck in her throat behind the cemented lump that holds the emotional waterfall from cracking. Thank goodness for Henry and Mal, who seem more than happy to not let the elephant in the room get the better of them.

It started with mindless small talk. About nothing of real importance, but it helps put the entire table at ease. They've found out just how Roland found his way to Storybrooke. It appears Jefferson is behind most of it. The thought of the Hatter being involved is confusing to Regina. Irritating and enraging at points. He acquired Roland, so to speak, as his newest realm jumping partner, having him take things that were in the possession of others when the Hatter decided he wanted them for his own, needed them for reasons he never let on. It was Roland's way to pay for housing, food, and eventually his way back here. She can see the strange expression crossing his brown eyes as he relays the stories. Regret over it? Possibly. But there is something else. Something sad that resides deep down.

He became a thief.

The thought sparks something odd in her chest at memories of another thief. One who had stolen things that weren't always given to him honestly, all except for one. Her heart thumps in her chest, hard against her ribs, clawing painfully as she listens to Roland's stories. Noticeably, he is purposefully leaving out spaces of time. Moments she figures he'd rather not think back on. Most of them, however, revolve around the first few years back in the Enchanted Forest. His sudden change in home. Walking through a portal and being abruptly moved from a comfy bed and warm house back into the forest, on a cot, with nothing but the chilled wind smacking against canvas walls to keep him company at night.

She wants to ask why. Wants to understand the reason he barely mentions the Merry Men. A family that once was his entire world, but now remarks on with barely more than an uncomfortable shifting in his chair and obtusely apparent shift in conversation. Clearly something happened with them. It breaks her heart.

Swirling her wine in an attempt to keep her hands from fidgeting incessantly, she listens to how at sixteen he decided to leave the camp. Shrugs his shoulders when Henry asks how come, and by passes the question with a simple, "Just felt like I needed too." She watches the way her son's eyes crease and frown, feels Maleficent's gaze flick to her. They know it must be hard for her. To hear of his life alone when she was here desperately trying to find a way get him back.

She hasn't told him. Hasn't really figured out the best way to broach the subject of the current state with her heart. It may terrify him and she doesn't want that. But if it will help him understand that he wasn't forgotten. Wasn't someone she just simply let go without a second thought. Maybe he will be able to find some sense of internal peace with her.

She knows he is still angry, still harbours resentment over being abandoned. It's understandable. It's okay. That little spark of hope buried deep within still glows. How can it not? He is here. Sitting at her table. Eating dinner beside her. It may have taken eighteen years to get this back, and while it may not always be completely whole, it's far better than before. Even though the looming thought of an eighteen year death anniversary creeps closer each day, perhaps this year will be easier. The thought spreads a tingle of ease across her skin. Not quite reaching down into her core, but having hope on the surface is at least better than nothing.

"Anyone have room for dessert?"

Henry swigs the last gulp of his beer, reaching to clear everyone's plates as he stands. Mal passes, claiming she can't possibly eat another bite as she pats her rather taut, flat stomach. Regina rolls her eyes, chuckling lightly at the action.

"What?"

"We both know that come midnight you'll be down here for a plate."

"I don't snack."

"Oh Please, Mal" Henry joins in, passing her a dessert plate regardless of her initial no, "It's a fact you can't say no to mom's apple pie."

The dragon deadpans a stare at him, but grabs her fork anyway, ignoring the jibes sent her way. It's true, she can't ever honestly pass up pie. She's a glutton for it. Side eyes and chuckles be damned. One slice can't hurt.

"I should probably be going."

She stills, turning to find Roland slugging his coat on. The string that holds her together frays. He's the decisionmaker of his own choices. If he wants to leave, he can. Regardless of the urge she has to beg him to stay, it won't do them any good if she pushes too quickly.

"You sure? We could watch a movie or play cards or something." Henry is quick to reply, eyes filled with hope that Roland may stay. Apparently she isn't the only one not quite ready to say goodbye just yet.

She sees the hesitation in the younger man, the way his fingers fiddle with the rusted zipper. The way it struggles to close has her eyes frowning, and for the first time she truly does take in his appearance. The tatters in his jeans, frayed edges on a jacket that is patched to the enth degree, gloves that have too many holes to keep him warm, even his boots, the soles are cracked, laces broken and barely reaching the ruined leather top. It hits her harder than she anticipated. Listening to his life in the Enchanted Forest had been hard, but she hadn't even realized what it meant for him to live alone there. No money for new clothes, no house to walk home to and find dinner on the table. The idea that he had potentially been freezing and starving for lack of necessity has a hot line of tears skimming quickly into her lashes.

She failed him. Failed to protect him. To care for him. Love him. Be a mother he deserved. Self-loathing thunders into her blood, searingly hot, pumping violently in her heart and around her brain. How did she let this happen?

"Maybe next time." Roland shrugs, reaches his hand out to grasp Henry's, and for all the perfectness that is her son, it shines brighter as he hauls the other man into his arms, clapping a heavy hug on his back. It's his way. His own beautiful way to show security. She just hopes it isn't in vain. Not everything can be solved with an apology and a hug. Some things run much deeper than that.

She feels Mal's hand on her shoulder, pulling her back from the eternal self revulsion that begins to eat away at her once more. They stand, leaving plates of half consumed pie behind. The sight of her door grips her heart. If he leaves, walks out of her house, will he ever come back? Her feet stop moving, frozen solid into the hardwood below. Panic sets in. She can't lose him. Not again. The shaking of her hands trembles all the way up her spine as she watches him button up the rest of his coat, it's missing two buttons, barely closes, will barely keep the biting wind and snow out.

"Stay."

The words fall before she can stop them. She kicks herself because she promised she wouldn't push him. Shouldn't beg anything of him. But she can't let him walk out that door.

Confliction pours through his eyes as he stares back at her, clutching the worn tunic in his hands. He shouldn't stay. This isn't his home anymore. He doesn't want to be an imposition for her. Not when there are still so many questions gone unanswered. Not when he isn't actually certain he can sleep in the same house where there are far too many memories painted into the walls. How is he supposed to find peace when there are photos of him and his dad framed and staring at him.

"Yeah! Come on, Roland, we can make popcorn and watch a movie or something?" Henry chimes in, smiling hopefully from the stairway.

It takes him a second, thumbing over the thought of walking back to Granny's and laying on a not so comfortable spring mattress, or staying here. Staying with them. With her. Maybe he could do it.

"Just for the night."

The breath that claws at her lungs finally releases at his agreement to stay. A flush bruises through her heart. He is staying. She can keep him for a few more hours. Maybe it's all she will need. Enough time to convince him she didn't just let him go without a fight.

It could be her only chance.

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She doesn't really watch the movie. Couldn't care less about committing her attention to a random group of mythical beings while they traverse across a realm to destroy a ring when she could be reveling in the moment of having both her boys sitting in her living room, munching happily on cinnamon popcorn as though nothing has changed. They are bigger, and no longer fit on the couch with her like they used to, but it's good enough.

The credits rolling and thunderous booming finale music are the only things that pull her back into reality, away from the carding of Mal's hands through her hair. She hums and sighs into the contact. It's nice to have someone.

"Well, I'm exhausted." Henry stretches, cracking his joints in one go as he sleepily smiles up at her. "Mom, mind if I crash here tonight?"

"As if I'd ever say no." She chuckles back, running a hand through his hair, relishing in the memories of doing it when he was so much shorter, just her little prince. He stands, presses a quick kiss to her cheek. "I'll make breakfast."

"Such a good son you are."

"Well you did raise me."

She smiles, beams in all reality, because it's true. She has raised an incredible boy who's grown into an even better man. Internally she pats herself on the back, job well done Regina. Below her, Roland shifts, running a large hand over his tired eyes.

"I can take the couch if that's alright with you."

She stills.

"Actually your room is still here if you want to sleep there." Henry chimes in.

Confusion clouds his mind, Why would she have kept his room? For eighteen years? Why just not decorate it? It's not like he was here anyway… He gapes open mouthed at Henry for a second. Trying to understand why, but there isn't much of an answer that comes, just a shy smile from Regina sitting on her couch. It's odd though. The couch. It's different from when he lived here.

It used to be cream colored. Soft and comfy. Not that she doesn't look comfy on the charcoal leather, but it's not the same. The one he remembers has memories of his dad strewn about each thread.

The four of them all crowded onto it, stuffed with popcorn bowls and ice cream between their legs, watching whatever cartoon fit their fancy. It has his dad in every thread. The soft warmth of his arms wrapped around Regina laying on his chest, their little giggles that escaped over the fact she could never stay awake for a whole movie. It has pillow forts built into it, caverns and caves they made with blankets, adventures created as they hid in the dark depths beneath soft textured coverings. It's where he used to come down late at night to find his Papa sitting with a drink in hand, the storybook propped up in his lap, a safety spot where he could bring his stuffed monkey and crawl in beside him, listen to the deep timbre of his voice reading stories of very real fairytales.

This couch has none of that. It has harder lines and cushions less giving. It doesn't seem to suit her. At least not the Regina he remembers.

Regina can see his mind rolling, the curious meandering behind sad eyes that flick back between the stairs and where she sits on the couch. It's probably odd for him, to have the option of sleeping in his old room. She hasn't touched it. Not a single pillow out of place. There is still a box of split crayons sitting on the floor, scattered between half colored pictures that were meant to adorn her fridge. After that day, she couldn't find it in herself to disrupt the room. It's her only physical reminder of what she once had and what was taken from her.

"There is a guest room as well if you'd rather that." She echoes quietly, smiling gently as he nods a mumbled thank you. The urge to follow her boys up the stairs rivals the voice in her brain telling her not to do it. They are grown men, they don't need to be tucked in and read bedtime stories until their eyes finally gave in and she could leave them with a forehead kiss. There is none of that anymore. Her heart clenches tightly. Painfully hot stitches that split open. She can feel it bleeding from the inside. Dripping like sizzling acid into her chest cavity. It burns. And she wants to cry.

The silence follows their footsteps as they bid her and Mal goodnight, engulfs her whole being even though Mal still sits beside her, running long fingernails down her back, soothing through irreparable pain that will always be there. "You ready for bed?"

"I think I'm going to stay here for a little while, but you go ahead."

"You sure?"

Regina nods, leans into the kiss Mal bestows on her cheek, the quiet whispered parting and then she too glides up the stairs, leaving Regina to a half drank glass of wine and empty popcorn bowls. Slowly, she cleans it up, battling each step forward with shaky knees that threaten to give out. The red liquor drains lazily down the sink, staining the steel momentarily. It looks like splattered blood. She wonders if it's a mirror into herself. Torn and bleeding, draining slowly into a dark abyss.

Her fingers flex against the stainless steel. Gripping white as she grits her teeth through the pain that grips her heart again. She knows he is right there, staring up at her inside the silver picture frame. Dimples on display, bright blue eyes beaming, his arms encircled around her blushing smile hidden by a curtain of longer dark chocolate hair.

She can't look at him, not now. Not when everything is so fragile inside. She reaches for the frame, turning it away from her though she clutches it to her chest and makes her way silently back to the couch.

She moved the other one into her own personal office. Barely uses it anymore. It just sits there beneath the patio window. Perfectly folded green wool blanket laying across the back. It's there when she needs it. Or rather when she can't find the strength to stand up anymore and curls into it with low hushed tears dropped onto the soft cream cushions.

Setting the frame face down on the glass table she sighs into the hard charcoal couch in the living room. Her mind wanders up to the two boys that sleep just above her. She hopes they can sleep. Wants nothing more than to check in on them. Make sure that the demons and monsters in the night haven't disturbed them. But she can't. So she sighs into the leather, curls a black blanket around her body and turns to face the window, watching the gentle swirling of snow outside.

She didn't go see Robin. It jars her. She's never missed a day. How could she forget? He is with her every single day, and yet she completely let it slip that she was supposed to go see him tonight. Guilt riddles her. She could go now. But her body aches. Tomorrow. She will spend extra time with him tomorrow. Will be able to tell him about Roland staying here, how nice it felt to have him beside her at dinner. Can seek silent advice on how to help his, no, not his, how to help their son heal. What words she can use to explain what happened. How does she fix it? She needs to fix it. Robin will know how. He always did.

She cringes as heat spikes into her heart again. It's crushing and suffocating. Bloody thing. Her hand shakes as she reaches up towards her chest. It's been awhile since she's done this. Ripped out the emotional steam engine from her body. It knifes her when her fingers curl about the organ, roars hot as she grips it tight and tugs, tearing it from her chest and through her skin. A tight anguished scream catches in her throat at the action, but cold dead relief fills the empty cavern quickly. She's thankful for it. For the reprieve. Maybe for tonight she can sleep soundly without thoughts of him or what lies ahead.

It's ugly. The red glow that peaks through black bleeding veins. Half a heart. Battered and bruised. A memoir of the things she has done, both good and bad. Evil and heroic. She doesn't feel heroic. The furthest thing from it in fact. The threaded gold shimmering strings that hold the pieces of her heart together through gaping holes is a reminder of that. She isn't good enough, didn't deserve it, didn't love hard enough, didn't try hard enough to have them back. Her heart is proof.

It thuds heavily onto the table beside the photo of her and Robin, drumming slowly against the vibrating glass. Maybe it will break the table and slice her heart open, let it all be done swiftly and quietly in her sleep. It should worry her. And yet it doesn't. There isn't much fight left for her to really care anymore. It's that sad solemn thought that carries her into sleep, and she prays to no one in particular that she does sleep.

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He tosses and turns for the majority of the night. The blankets are too heavy, pinning him down into a mattress that is far too luxurious for him to be craving. The walls are too clean, the sound of wind whipping through shaky leaves muffled by paned glass windows. It feels false. Like he doesn't belong here. Most of the night he's stared up at the snow that falls gently. He can't sleep. It's more than apparent there isn't going to be a good night's rest found tonight.

Slowly, he draws the soft blankets away, bare feet hitting comfy carpet below as he stands and cracks open the door. A glass of water. Maybe that will help quench the dryness in his body. He passes by Henry's room, lingers for a second looking at the door just to the right of it. His old room. He hadn't even opened the door earlier. Decided that it would be too difficult to go inside and find everything that was stolen from him without asking. He doesn't want that. To sit and lay inside the memories of what once was.

He passes by it again.

A shiver licking his spine as Regina's bedroom door comes into view at the end of the hall. His father should be sleeping in there with her. He should be able to crack open the door and see them curled up into one another, be able to listen to the soft snores of his dad lulling Regina deeper into sleep. But it's not the case anymore. Someone else sleeps with her in there now.

He doesn't know really what to make of the Dragon. She is a shadow to Regina, lingering everywhere she goes, watchful blue eyes that smile, delicate hands that roam through brown hair. She seems different. Is quiet and thoughtful in her phrasing. Carefully constructing easy words that he can see Regina grip onto. They seem happy. Or content. He isn't really sure.

Padding quietly through the foyer the thought passes him that he could just grab his coat and leave. Without having to say any goodbyes and seeing her brown eyes shine with tears at the anticipation of his departure. He doesn't like seeing her cry. Kicks himself for making her do so in the diner yesterday.

He can't leave.

At least not in the dead of night without an explanation. Tomorrow, however, is a different story. He can leave tomorrow. Without asking the questions he desires the answers from. Can find the strength to simply walk out and go back to the Enchanted Forest and live his life in solitude. It may be easier that way. To not have to relive the past. His father is everywhere here. It's harder than he expected. Knowing of the life that used to chime through the mansion. Maybe it was a mistake coming back.

He makes his way to the kitchen, stilling when a dull red pulsating light glows from the living room. Frowning, he turns, forgetting the cold glass of water he came down for and makes his way silently to the other space. He freezes when he sees her. Sleeping soundly on the couch. Blanket barely covering her curled up torso. Even in sleep there is distress that lines her face. It strikes him as sad. She can't even sleep without torment.

His fingers ghost over her temple, brushing back the soft layers of hair that hide her eyes. She whimpers and the need to wake her blooms, but something else catches his eye first. It pulses on the table, a low drumming beat, small enough to fit in his palm as he cups it, a sparking tingles over his skin as his thumb runs over the dark veiny lines. It looks so sad. So small and feeble in his hands. Her heart. Treacherously thumping a blood merlot glow behind black iron bars. There are threads of gold that stitch the meaty, gaping flesh together. His own heart clenches as he turns hers over and nausea bubbles in his throat.

There are holes. Tiny little bullet spaces chunked out of her heart. The gold stitches laces over top of each deep crevasse. Something sticky coats his fingers as he thumbs about the wounds. It's like tar, but thinner, softened out molasses that stains his finger tips. It's bleeding. Her heart. Weeps from the lesions that speckle the tender organ. What catches his eye again though is not the anguished pain that clearly pulses from it, but the light glow where his fingertips touch. No matter where they move and trace, the silvery shimmer follows. And for the chill that runs up his spine, his hand feels warm hugging the small life in his hands. It feels like her. Soft edges, gentle glow, hard lined skin that hides the love inside.

Why would she take it out though? It can't be good for her. He's heard very few stories of the Evil Queen and her chamber of hearts. But he knows them nonetheless. Has even heard the tale of how a Queen willingly gave her heart to a thief. His Papa used to say that was the moment he knew something was different between them. He would cuddle Roland tight, though his eyes remained trained on Regina, as he explained the way his own heart had thunderously shook at the feeling of holding hers. How he knew that it was the moment he had started to fall in love (for the second time apparently, what with the missing year forgotten) with the Queen.

He liked hearing that story. Their story.

"You should ask her."

A low voice cracks the silence. He hadn't realized anyone else was down here, nor the fact he was currently sitting cross legged on the floor beside a still sleeping Regina. Blue eyes watch him carefully from the bottom of the stairs. Eyeing him up curiously, flicking down to the bruised heart in his hands. She seems more menacing from his sitting position. Her height obtusely apparent even without the staggering slim heels.

She cocks an eyebrow towards him as she steps forward, saddling herself into Regina's knook between her stomach and thighs, humming quietly as she brushes away the lock of hair Roland had wanted to move himself.

"This isn't easy on her either. I hope you are aware of that."

He shrugs, because he doesn't really understand why. He was the one abandoned. Not Regina. And yet, his eyes follow as Maleficent's hands turn over the sliver frame he'd yet to notice. The blonde woman smiles sadly, exhaling a quiet heavy breath as she shakes her head, turning the frame upright.

It's his dad. His Papa with arms strewn about Regina's chest, nuzzling into the crook of her neck. They look happy. He remembers that day. They'd just gotten home from Camelot, and his father prophetically decided that instead of dealing with another villain right away they all needed to escape for a night. Escape meaning camping on the outskirts of the Merry Men's site. They'd set up base at the bottom of the lake, had played in the water all afternoon. Robin had tried to teach Henry how to fish with his bare hands, not very well, but it didn't matter. It was warm, and he had felt so happy that day, squished between Regina's thighs in front of a warm tender fire, roasting marshmallows and hot dogs till his stomach felt as though it would burst. They'd sat there all night, watching the changing color of the sky from soft petal blue, into dark tangerine and mahogany reds, pointing out each new blossoming star as they listened to the rumbling in his Papa's voice as he sang till Roland had passed out. It had been a good day.

Regina whimpers, and her heart skips and flutters in his hands.

"Why does it look like this?" He frowns down, cradling it like the most precious piece of gold he'd ever stolen. Maleficent, for all her mystery, simply sighs, bites down on her lip and trains her eyes back to Regina.

"Magic isn't always kind."

"She did this to herself?"

"She was trying to get you and your father back."

Silence hangs heavily around them.

"I don't understand."

"There are certain spells that require far more from the creator than most are willing to part with."

"She gave up pieces of her heart?"

Mal nods, eyeing the bleeding vessel in Roland's hands. It's so fragile. There have been far too many times Maleficent had been panicked in finding her, feeling the violent pulses of magic in the air, knowing she was trying again to do the impossible, logic be damned. She wanted her family back, self inflicted pain wasn't exactly a thought. How many times had Maleficent found her love laying on the ground of her vault, or in the forest, her office, the townline, unconscious and barely alive?

She thanks the bookworm for having enough of a hold over the Dark One to help Maleficent stitch and piece back together the former Queen's heart time and time again. She knows though that Regina isn't strong enough to survive another attempt. One more time and she will lose her for good.

"I didn't know…" Roland trails off, blinking back the stunned tears lining his eyes. There is so much unknown still, but sitting in her living room, holding her tattered beat down heart, his anger is quietly waved over by a strange sense of sympathy. Maybe he's been too hard on her.

"She missed you both. And I want you to understand something." Mal cuts into his train of thought, her voice edged darkly, "She missed you, but she doesn't deserve to have her pain tossed back in her face again. I know you want answers, and if you ask her, she will tell you. But I will also say this to you." She shifts, effectively hiding Regina behind her like a barrier. "If you open wounds you aren't ready to help heal, I ask that you leave now and don't come back again."

She holds her hand out, and Roland drops Regina's heart into the Dragon's palm, watching as it momentarily pulses bright rose red. "Good night, Roland." Maleficent stands, twirling her fingers gently, rising Regina with an invisible thread before they both are swept up silently into a dark plum cloud, and he is left sitting on the living room floor, stunned at what he's just been told. More by what he has just seen, and by most of all, the fact that his father is still seemingly staring at him from the silver picture frame.

I'll do better Papa. I promise.

TBC.