OQ one shot I wrote a while back. Set during the missing year.
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At first, the panic builds slowly.
At first, she simply thinks she’s misplaced it. She thinks nothing of the empty space that occupies her jewelry box, and continues dragging the brush through her hair. It’s long again now, and as she vainly admires her appearance she realizes that actually, she’s missed this part of her nightly routine. She’s missed running her fingers through the thick, lustrous waves that cascade down her back and fall softly over her shoulders.
It is the first and, along with her beautiful wardrobe, only thing she’s missed about this god forsaken place.
Her brow furrows as its absence becomes more obvious; and she suddenly realizes that, no, she could not have simply placed it somewhere else on her dresser, or in her chambers. She could not have done that because since she has been back here, Regina hasn’t once touched the thing once.
She looks for it anyway. She looks in the hope that she has absentmindedly moved it whilst rediscovering this new, yet old, routine she performs at night.
But she hasn’t. It has gone.
The panic that built slowly at first is now fully fledged in her heart and mind. It runs through her veins as easily as her blood; as though it is now a part of her that will not leave.
She tears her chambers apart. The drawers fly from her dresser and her regal gowns fall from their home in the wardrobe; they lie forgotten on the floor.
The panic turns to anger.
The obvious fact that nothing else is missing, that all the other much more impressive pieces of jewelry she owns lie untouched, goes out of her head without a second thought.
She falls back on her bed; now ripped of its heavy throws and silk sheets. They lie in a mess on the floor at her feet, and had she not been so overcome with emotion she would have noted how ridiculous it was to have looked in the bed anyway.
Why on earth would it be there?
Someone has definitely taken it.
He is the first person that comes to mind. The Thief.
Her lip trembles with anger, despite a small voice at the back of her mind reasoning that, he would most definitely not have taken such a precious object. That if he really is the thief legend would have her believe, he would have cleaned the castle of its magnificent ornaments and portraits weeks ago. If he really is the criminal she had once hunted for, he would have taken much more then just this.
It is by far the ugliest piece that sits in her jewelry box. The one thing in there that she most definitely wouldn’t be caught dead wearing. It also happens to be the only thing she has left in this castle that actually means anything to her.
So when she sees it’s missing, when she sees someone has quite clearly targeted it for the taking; Regina sees red.
“Where is it?!” She demands as she enters the great hall.
The kingdom, or what’s left of it anyway, are sitting to eat their supper, and she is fully aware she’s making a scene.
“Where’s what?” He asks lazily, sighing. As though he really doesn’t have the energy for yet another fight with her.
Dark eyes meet blue as she stands over him, trying to intimidate with her very best ‘Evil Queen’ glare. The problem she faces with this particular individual is that he never does feel the threat that others would, should she choose to look at them like this.
He looks, instead, slightly amused. And it drives her crazy.
“Don’t play innocent with me, you obnoxious son-of-a-bitch. You know exactly what I’m talking about. Where. Is. It?”
“I’m afraid I haven’t a clue what you’re on about, your Majesty. Although, I do admit the fact you feel me important enough to know anything about you is rather flattering.”
She knows he sees the outrage on her face, and he stands from his seat before she can completely blow her top. He’s the one standing over her now. Nose inches from hers, and she narrows her eyes as her breathing becomes erratic.
“I had a broach on my dresser that’s miraculously disappeared! You expect me to believe that you and none of your fellow …” she looks dirtily at the Merry Men sitting around them, “… pilferers had nothing to do with it?!”
Robin looks at the men curiously. They stay silent. The whole room barely breathes; waiting for Regina to explode, or kill. Or both.
“Men? Have any of you braved stealing from the Queen’s chambers?”
“Well, your highness, I think you have your answer.”
Her fingers curl, quite suddenly, around his shirt and yank him down towards her. Her eyes are full of tears now; tears that give her away, that tell him she really does care about this particular item, that tell him she isn’t getting angry just for the sake of it, and suddenly she registers the … concern … that flashes across his face.
“If I find out any one of your Merry Men have pawed they’re way through my things … I will kill you.”
She doesn’t blink as she talks, through gritted teeth and a clenched jaw. Her grip releases him back with a force stronger than he thinks she has, and she leaves the room as grandly as she entered.
His eyes follow her, they can’t seem to help it. They’ve been staring at her quite a bit just recently, he realizes. Talk and relief fill the room once more, but he stays exactly where she’d pushed him, looking back at the doors as though he can still see her there.
There is a large part of him that longs to chase her. It wrestles with another, more sensible part of his being that instructs him to sit back down and finish his meal, that his words will do nothing to comfort her right now. This is the part he listens to.
She is still on his mind later, as he lays his son to rest in a bed far too big for a child his size. The regal ignorance of Royals still makes him uncomfortable, and he hopes everyday that Roland will not become accustomed to this new, grander way of living.
“Papa?” His voice is sleepy, and his little mouth yawns. “Why was the Queen mad at supper?”
He sighs. It seems he isn’t the only Hood with a fascination for Her Majesty. The major difference between the two of them being she will actually tolerate Roland.
“I believe she has misplaced something very dear to her.”
He stares at the boy in surprise, and rubs his hand gently along his son’s full tummy. “How do you know about the broach, Roland?”
The boy’s lip wobbles, and a sudden understanding washes over him. He closes his eyes, scolds his parenting skills and has to swallow the urge to yell.
“I didn’t think she wanted it. I’ve never seen her wear it. I just wanted to pin it to my hood like Prince David’s. I’m sorry, papa.”
The tears that leak from his son’s eyes break his heart, and he doesn’t yet know how to explain to the child that he should not have taken things that don’t belong to him without sounding like a hypocrite.
Small hands reach under the large, overstuffed pillow and pull out an old, battered looking broach. He guesses its worn appearance is the exact reason she wants it back so much. It clearly holds great value to her. He wraps his hand over his sons and leans in to touch their foreheads gently.
“You shouldn’t have taken this without Regina’s permission, Roland. Why did you want to be like the Prince?”
He is slightly afraid of the answer, and his ego is definitely bruised from his son’s admiration for someone other than himself.
“We live in a castle like they do now.”
He feels like a failure now. He has failed his son and his dead wife by not teaching the simple the difference between right and wrong. But things are never simple, he reasons. If they were, he wouldn’t be the man he is.
“That doesn’t mean we always will, my boy. It doesn’t mean we’re royals.”
Sniffles and nods meet his words.
“Tomorrow you will apologise to her.”
More nods, and then nothing more is said. He tucks the child in and whispers goodnight, leaving the room with a heavy heart, and makes his way, duty bound, to her chambers.
Her eyes are surprised to see him when she finally opens the door.
“It appears I have an apology to make,” he sighs, holding up the broach.
The surprise is replaced quickly with relief, and then just a rapidly, anger. She snatches it from his grasp and wraps a small hand around his throat, digging her nails into his skin.
“I knew you had it.” She spits her words, glaring into his eyes and drawing his face closer to hers.
Air leaves his lungs quicker than he anticipates. She really is stronger than she looks without even using magic.
“My son-” he manages to choke out, and her fingers release their hold immediately.
Regina steps backwards into her chambers, and he follows her, uninvited, closing the door behind him. His neck feels bruised, and his lungs long for a gulp of air. But he is too stubborn to give her the satisfaction.
“I’m sorry. He is too … I realise this doesn’t excuse his behavior but I believe he thought he was a prince now we live in the castle. He said you never wear it.”
She looks down at the pin in her hand, gently stroking it’s face with her thumb. “I don’t.” Her words sound small.
She looks small, too, he decides. She stands readied for sleep, in a long flowing black gown that doesn’t match the angular lines or overdone detail of her other outfits. Her hair falls loosely down her back, and her face is rid of the heavy makeup it usually holds.
She looks small and young, void of the stature she usually forces down onlookers throats. He thinks he has never seen her look more beautiful.
“May I ask whom it belonged to?” He asks it cautiously, all too aware that the question could see him thrown back with magic by the walls she defends her heart with.
“It belonged to a man I murdered.”
Her words are grave, and filled with a regret she has never shown him before. They give him yet another reason to believe she has not got the evil soul legend would have him believe. Her lips press together tightly, as though she is desperately trying to hold her emotions in check. She swallows the tears before they take control though, and her strength is proved once more.
She meets his eyes, and they’re nowhere near as hollow as they had been earlier that evening. “It belonged to my father.”
“I’m sorry.” And he truly means it.
In an instance, her heart rules her feet, and she walks towards him without thinking. When she stops, her body is inches from his, and even though she is the Evil Queen, even though she has slaughtered hundreds and could murder him with the mere twist of her wrist, Robin doesn’t move.
He looks down at her with sympathy and, dare she think it, understanding. Her eyes only move from his when she presses the broach back into his palm, and then they fall on the ink etched in on his wrist.
It is the first time she’s let her eyes drink it in up close, and she can’t help but run her fingers along it gently. The pattern mocks her. It stands out, black and angry against his skin and she hates it. She hates the tattoo for taking him away from her. Not that he has ever been hers; but now she can never let him get close like she thinks he wants. She is a villain. She doesn’t get a happy ending, so if she lets him get close, if she listens to the voice in her head screaming to follow her heart, she knows fate will intervene. Fate will kill him for daring to fall for the Evil Queen. She will kill him, and that … that she cannot bare.
His other hand pulls her from her thoughts. It reaches slowly to hold her and suddenly, Regina remembers her place. She steps back, leaving her prized broach in his possession.
“Tell Roland he can keep it. At least while you live here.”
He shakes his head, looking alarmed that she should even suggest such a thing. “Regina, I can’t-”
“He’s four years old, Robin. And he’s living in a castle. Let him have his imagination for a little while. He’ll keep it safe for me until you leave.”
It hurts; the idea of giving it up.
But when she next sees the little boy, showing it off, proud as punch to Snow White and her Prince Charming, she knows in her heart … it was worth it.
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