Robin was fascinated by the Queen from the very first moment he saw her. She looked just like Regina, the woman he wanted to forget, and yet she was different, she had something that pulled him to her no matter how much he wanted to fight it.
He couldn’t stop thinking about her.
When he came back to the Wish Realm, he thought he would never see her again.
So he was stunned to see her in the tavern, offering a drink and a new beginning for the both of them. He’d accepted her drink and enjoyed her company and her laugh, and then it was him who ordered another drink and then one more and all of a sudden he was sitting right beside her with his hand at the back of her head as he pressed their lips together for the first time.
It felt like magic.
That first night Robin figured out that she’s quite a good kisser (the best, if he was being honest) but that was all. She asked him questions and talked about everything but when he thought about their conversation again he realized that he knew nothing about her.
She had stone walls all around her, Robin realized. She had spent her whole life living all by herself (he knew that from Regina, she’d told him that much) and didn’t trust anybody but herself.
He was determined to break her walls down and get to know the real her.
Robin worked on his task very carefully and slowly, trying not to push her too far, watching her closely. But everything was useless. Every question he asked, she answered but not with the answer that let him know her better.
It took time, lots of time.
They’ve lived for a month together and yet he knew only her name and what she let him to know (which was basically nothing) while she knew everything about him. But one night everything turned upside down.
She was sleeping peacefully beside him as he watched her – she’d threatened him that if he fell asleep and let some bug touch her again she’d set him on fire - when all of a sudden her face turned into a frown and she started shaking her head from side to side, her whole body tensing. Robin was surprised – that had never happened before.
He waited for a moment or two, thought it will pass and she’ll fall into a peaceful sleep again but her shaking became even worse. He had to wake her up!
Robin shook her slowly, gently, not wanting to startle her even more but she just murmured something he couldn’t quite understand and continued to shake. He tried again, this time his shake was a little more insistent.
It worked!
Her eyes shot open, desperately running around the tent and he pulled away a bit, giving her space in case she needs it. Her eyes focused on him and her mouth opened but nothing came out except harsh breaths.
“Everything’s okay,” he says quietly and she nods her head, presses her lips together in a thin line. There are tears in her eyes and she struggles to breathe.
Robin touches her cheek gently, not actually knowing what else to do – he never had to comfort anybody, he’s not used to it – and all of a sudden she lets out a sob and breaks down.
It’s the first time he sees her like this. She’s been always strong and confident and sassy around him, never showing her true feelings. But now, now something’s changed.
Without thinking he pulls her into his arms and holds her close to his chest, whispering words that are meant to comfort her.
“Please, talk to me,” he asks her later when she’s calmed down and looks almost just like her old self despite tear tracks on her cheeks and red eyes and running nose.
He’s still holding her in his arms and expects her to pull away but she surprises him by taking a deep breath and whispering that it was a dream about her past, she remembered things she would like to forget.
That night she tells him bits and pieces about her life as the Evil Queen.
He gets to know her that night, it’s nothing compared to the mystery she still carries around herself, but Robin thinks that he’s getting somewhere.
A few days later Robin comes back from the woods to find her sitting in a tavern with a little boy, playing what looks like a card game. Her smile is bright and her eyes are lighter than he’d ever seen and for the first time she looks actually happy.
That day he realizes another thing about her – she has a weakness for children.
She seems to be getting more and more relaxed around him, Robin notes, because she tells him more about herself, about her likes and dislikes and she’s smiling and laughing and kissing him more carelessly and more often.
But he thinks they’ve reached another level in their relationship when she tells him about her dreams.
“I’ve always wanted to live a happy life,” she tells him one day when they’re laying near the river. “But I also wanted to live a life everyone talked about. You know, like some kind of a legend,” she tells him and when he hums in response, she continues, “I thought we should start living this life of my dreams together.”
“What do you mean?” he asks interested, lifting himself a bit so he can see her better.
“The Evil Queen and Robin Hood, we should really make something out of our lives,” she explains with a laugh and turns back to look at the sky for a moment. Then she takes a deep breath and turns to look at him again, “We could steal from the rich and give to the poor. Or keep some things to ourselves,” she adds with a smirk and he laughs at her before pulling her into a quick kiss.
“I would’ve never thought you wanted to be a thief,” he teases and she rolls her eyes at him, but the smile is still on her face.
“You still don’t know many things about me, thief,”
Indeed, he thinks, but doesn’t say anything, instead wraps his arms tighter around her and kisses her again.
It’s two years later when they’re celebrating their relationship anniversary with wine and delicious food and him between her legs that he realizes he will never get to know her completely. Bits and pieces of their life together, her reactions and fights and breakdowns helped him to learn some things about her but she’s still a mystery to him.
She’ll never be an open book.
However, it doesn’t bother him anymore.
He’s realized that he will be the happiest man in all the realms if she lets him spend the rest of his life trying to figure her out. Because life with this mystery woman beside him is more than he could ever dream of.
So this is my first belated offering for OQ week. I hope you all enjoy it even though technically OQ week is over. I do have another adoption day idea as well as plans for a “Teach Me” drabble. But I think I’ll finish the next intalment of “Her” first.
For the precious and talented starscythe who inspired this train of thought.
Hindsight:
It’s his scent she first notices. Clean. Woodsy. A mixture of pine and earth muted by the sweat of physical work and dirt beneath the fingernails. It’s a scent she likes, one she finds appealing and soft, not soft in the sense of cotton or silk, but rather in the manner of moss, or grass, or piles of freshly fallen leaves left alone for the enjoyment of children and the occasional spontaneous adult.
He moves towards her then.
His warmth approaches in steady strides, not to fast, not too slow. He stops a comfortable distance from her, allowing soft billows of air brushed by human breath and skin to tickle her senses, giving her a moment to size him up as best she can at a first meeting.
“Miss Mills?”
His voice is deep, but not overly so, a bit rough around the edges yet plump with gentleness. It’s a texture that reminds her of a broken in quilt, one that’s been hand-stitched and pieced together with care, one capable of warding off the chills of life by its mere presence and pliability. A good sign, she thinks, especially for a man who does what he does, and she allows herself to take a step forward, extending her hand with what she hopes is a confident smile.
“Regina,” she clarifies. The hand that greets hers is neither soft nor rough, but one of a working man who takes care of himself but doesn’t bother with niceties. “And you’re Mr. Locksley?”
His grip is firm, not painful, and his hands smell of Irish Spring soap. She scrunches her nose without thinking as fragments of clover and mint dust through her nostrils and into her sinuses, simultaneously noting a coarseness to his skin she rather likes.
“Robin,” he states. His grin gives his voice a melodic lilt. “Please—just Robin.”
He’s closer now, and her pores react as if on cue. He’s taller than she is, she realizes, feeling his breath feather across top of her hair, and although she’s not sure why that should matter, she finds that she is pleased by the fact.
“Robin,” she echoes, noting that he steps in just hair nearer as she utters his name. He clears his throat as he shifts slightly on his feet, and she hears him rub the back of his neck with the hand that isn’t clutching hers.
“You’re here to meet Miss Belle, then?” he asks, releasing her hand, exposing it to the coolness of empty air. She misses the warmth immediately and clutches the stick she holds in her other hand even tighter.
“Miss Belle?” she questions, hearing Henry’s hurried approach from behind. He’s breathing somewhat heavily as he moves to her side, the keys dangling noisily from his fingers, and she makes a mental note to discuss with him just how much is too much after-shave for a sixteen year old to wear.
“Short for the name my son bestowed upon her,” Robin explains, his attention now divided between mother and son. “Tinkerbelle.”
“Strange name for a Labrador,” Henry muses with a laugh, piping down rather quickly when she shoots him a reprimanding look. “Sounds more like a name for a little dog.”
“Not necessarily,” Robin contradicts, his tone infused with the texture of warm honey, hinting at a wry grin and well-exercised sense of humor. “Wait until you’ve met her. She’s a beauty, our Miss Belle, both inside and out.” His stance shifts, and he extends his hand, the denim of his jacket whispering into the space between them. “I’m Robin Locksley.”
“Henry Mills,” her son replies, shaking the man’s hand with enthusiasm.
“She’s white, if I’m remembering correctly,” Regina notes, now more than anxious to meet the canine that has brought them here, a nearly forty mile drive from their home, one she entrusted to her son with more than a small amount of trepidation.
“She is,” Robin confirms. He rubs his hands together quickly, the sound vaguely reminiscent of soft leather rubbing up against freshly sanded wood. “And she’s my son’s favorite of all the dogs we are training. I apologize ahead of time if he gets emotional while you’re getting to know her. He knows we can’t keep her, but…”
There’s a catch in his voice, one of a parent knowing that life is about to sting his child.
“Children become attached so easily,” she offers, sensing his smile of gratitude. “Henry was that way with Merlin. The two of them forged an instant connection, even though he was technically my dog.”
His resulting sigh is heavy.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he states. “Dogs, especially dogs like these are irreplaceable.”
Tears sting her eyelids, swelling stubbornly until two break free and forge parallel tracks down her cheeks. She wipes them away as quickly as she can, hoping he didn’t notice, fairly certain that he did.
“Shall we introduce you, then?”
She hiccups slightly, trying her best to disguise the indiscretion by clearing her throat.
“I suppose so,” she answers, despising the nerves threatening to pull her under at this juncture in their lives. God, she hates this, times when she’s certain her face is giving her away. It’s at moments like these when she balks at the unfairness of it all, that others are given an advantage she’ll never again possess, that her emotions sometimes betray her no matter how schooled she’s become in reining them in and holding them close. They have color, oddly enough, her emotions, sometimes taste and texture, as well. She’s currently awash in muted swirls of gray and white, yet there are blurred strokes of earth tones just beside her, tones that infuse his soft baritone and make her relax a measure at the mere proximity of his presence.
“Let’s go, Mom,” Henry cuts in, his brightness moving towards her as he takes her hand and gives it a squeeze of reassurance. His nails are rough, his skin as warm as towels freshly taken out of the dryer. She loves the feel of his hands--the feel of home. “Let’s go meet Miss Belle.”
“Let’s,” she agrees, hearing two distinct muted grunts of laughter that naturally accompany smiles. She clasps on to them for good measure, cradling them close, absorbing the strands that tingle like starlight, pressing them into her ribs and skin. She then extends her arm, taking a hesitant step forward as they move out of the shade and into the sun. It stings her cheeks, and she raises her face towards the sky, careful to follow the footfalls of the man in front of her as she breathes in the air of where he lives. It’s open and free here, noise is sparse and travels without restriction, including the light clicks she makes on the smoothly paved walkway that takes them into the heart of the training grounds. Sounds and smells are borne upon breezes that move without interference, tugging at her skirt, brushing past her neck, making her long for a place like this for her and Henry to live in rather than the apartment they rent in the city. But its convenience that keeps them there--proximity to her workplace and his school paramount in choosing a place both suitable and comfortable for their family of two.
“How long have you been running this place?” she questions, his gait coming to a halt a few feet in front of her.
“Five years now,” he answers. There’s something else there, something hidden away in his voice, a shadow peeking out without permission, pecking on her shoulder, whispering in her ear. “My wife and I built this place together.”
The word wife rubs against her in the wrong way--abrasive, intrusive--and she shrugs it off immediately, knowing she has no right to harbor such odd sensations, especially when the word was voiced with such reverence.
“Is she here?” she asks, schooling her voice and tone into threads of raw silk.
“In a manner of speaking,” he answers. “She’s buried by the stream at the edge of our property, under her favorite tree.”
The words shatter at her feet. She feels their shards scrape her ankles as a heaviness infuses her lungs.
“I’m sorry,” she answers, reaching out to touch his bicep, rubbing her fingertips against worn denim as his muscle flexes instinctively underneath.
“It’s alright,” he states, even though she knows that it isn’t. She drops her hand from his jacket.
They’re close to the kennel now, the smell of clean dogs is pungent and alive. It weaves around her, tugging her forward into a doorframe of coarse wood she caresses with care. There is activity here, canine and human, their mingled scents calling forward memories that both embrace and cut. It’s her moment of truth, she muses, realizing she’s anxious over whether or not the dog will actually like her.
How her mother would chide her for such childish notions.
She tries to swallow down her nerves, knowing Miss Belle won’t be Merlin--no other dog can ever be Merlin--but hoping the two of them will hit it off well enough to begin building a bond. Her life has felt so restricted since they lost him, and it’s been hard on both her and Henry, damned frustrating, if she’s honest with herself. She can’t stomach being dependent, can’t stand having to ask her teenaged son for things she and Merlin had tackled with aplomb for most of Henry’s life.
Its then she feels a touch to her arm, a large, confident hand applying just enough pressure to feel assuring but far from dominant. It’s a touch she welcomes.
“She’s just here,” Robin tells her, and she takes another step towards the dog, biting her lower lip, reminding herself to breathe in and out as she allows him to help her kneel down gracefully. It’s then she realizes that someone else is sitting just in front of her.
He smells of fresh dirt, bubble gum toothpaste and dog hair, and she can’t help but smile as the boy shuffles nervously, obviously taking her in from his seat on the ground beside Miss Belle.
“You’re here for Miss Belle?”
His voice is tentative, and he sniffs then, once, twice before his father moves to kneel beside both of them. The man’s warmth is a balm, one she cannot quite understand or categorize but lets rush over her with the freshness of a mountain stream.
“This is Miss Regina,” Robin explains, his touch on her arm still soft and assured.
“Miss ‘Gina,” the boy repeats, and she laughs, she can’t help it. He sounds five or six, older than four but by no means seven or eight. “I’m Roland. And this is Miss Belle.”
Small fingers take her hand, and the boy’s father removes his touch from her elbow, allowing her the freedom to extend her arm towards warm fur and an even warmer tongue. The dog licks her, sniffs her, then nuzzles her head beneath her hand, breaking a wall of reserve inside of her she’s been constructing since they’d lost Merlin. The coarse fur invites her fingers to lose themselves in its depths, and they do as tears form through yellowed hues of relief.
“Miss Belle,” she voices, not caring that her voice is broken and full of life. “I’m Regina.”
They’re matched. She feels it already.
“She likes you,” Roland states, and she leans into the dog, relishing the contact that wafts through pores and nerves to the core of who she is. The white lab is a mixture of vanilla, shampoo and earth, so different than the cinnamon that was Merlin, yet comforting all the same.
“I like her, too,” she replies, hearing two decidedly masculine sniffs over her shoulder.
“I can tell,” Henry laughs. “She’s a beauty, mom. Just like you.”
“You don’t have to butter me up,” she smirks, remembering how rebellious her hair had felt this morning, stubborn strands waving in all the wrong places. For some reason, she wonders how it looks now. “You’re already driving home.”
Robin laughs at that, a musical, fuzzy sound that brushes over her arms like fleece.
“Forgive me,” the man adds, the emotion in his voice palpable. He’s still kneeling beside her, Henry’s standing to her left, and Roland is still touching her arm, just in front of her, still attached to the dog, still taking care of Miss Belle. “I love what I do, but I don’t always get this emotional when one of our dogs finds her match. I think you two were meant for each other.”
“So do I,” she agrees, her world now awash in pinks and yellows, as if the sun is washing over her insides, painting them in its own whimsical hues. “It’s odd how things like this just happen.”
There’s a pause that carries meaning, a movement beside her that allows his body to barely brush up against her own.
“Yes,” he murmurs, his tone so personal she wonders if he’s even moved his lips. “It is.”
A sniff in front of her alerts her to the fact that this is difficult for the smallest member of their assembly, and she reaches out to touch Roland’s arm, clasping it gently when he offers no resistance.
“I’ll take good care of her. I promise.”
The boy goes practically boneless as he moves into her space, the lingering scent of oatmeal on his breath somehow nudging its way inside her. He touches her face, something that astonishes her, something that catches her completely by surprise. Small fingers begin to map the contours of her face, touching her forehead, her eyebrows, her nose, cheekbones and mouth, his palms cupping her when he finishes, a new connection now forged, one of shining metal wrapped in sweets and cotton.
Roland is blind, too. Just like her.
“You are beautiful,” the boy states, and she’s crying now. She’ can’t help it, and she lays her hands over his, the small ones still attached to her face. Yet his touch moves far beyond the physical, reaching inside of her and squeezing her heart, branding her, marking her, binding the two of them together in a world of sound, smell and touch.
“May I?” she asks, and he nods, knowing she wants to see him, too. His skin is soft, bearing the texture only young children possess, one that begs to be snuggled and kissed and tucked in at night after rounds of stories and hugs. His nose is pert, his brows thick enough to match the curls that fall recklessly over his forehead, curls that bounce and smell faintly of baby shampoo. He giggles as her nails graze his cheek, revealing deep dimples that quickly catch her attention and make her grin in response. Then she traces the contours of his eyes, eyes that should be seeing the world around him rather than abandoning him at such a young age. They’re round and full, those eyes of his, and she somehow knows they’re dark like her own, that Roland is made of chocolate and midnight, that he is a kindred spirit in more realms than those simply devoid of sight.
“What a handsome young man you are, Roland,” she states, and he giggles again, his father sniffing beside him, affected as much by this as she. His emotions are transparent, they roll off of him in crystal waves of salt, of loss mixed with hope, of determination fueled by a personal crusade, of single parent meets struggling adult.
“You learned to train service dogs after Roland was born,” she muses, and she feels him nod beside her. It’s then she realizes there is another dog present, one lying perfectly still at Roland’s feet. It’s Roland’s dog, she knows it without needing confirmation from anyone. He’s the boy’s eyes, his guide, his companion in a world that is inherently solitary, even when people press in.
“Little John was our first,” Robin states, reaching out hand to gently caress the canine bearer of that name just in front of them. “Once we started, we couldn’t stop. It became a passion for me and for Marian, and after she died…”
He breaks off again, remnants of grief playing tug of war with the passionate resilience she senses in this man.
“Well, I knew she’d want me to keep this going. For Roland. And for me.”
She wants to touch him but knows she doesn’t have the right.
“I’m glad you did,” she states. “Think of all the people you’re helping.” She wonders if he’ll touch her again instead.
He doesn’t.
She could get used to these people, she realizes with a start, could enjoy their nearness and easy manner, could revel in their scents and broken, earthy textures. But she no longer has a reason to stay here, her decision has been made, the only thing now left for them to do together the simple working out of finalities and arrangements. Icy wisps of pale blue wrap around her shins from the bottom up. She doesn’t want to leave.
“Shall I deliver her to you on Friday? Or do you need some time to think things over?”
She shakes her head, allowing Robin to help her stand upright again, wondering why his touch reminds her of summer. Her legs ache from the prolonged crouched position, and he grunts in understanding as she stretches her lower back.
“I can’t stay in that position for a long time, either,” he muses, his words feathering across her ear. Perhaps it’s her emotional state, the rawness of the moment, the loss of Merlin, the touch of his son, but she can’t fight the heat that rushes to her face and pools in her cheeks at his nearness. She’s blushing, she knows it. And Robin can see.
“Friday will be fine,” she replies, gathering her lost composure back to herself as quickly as she can manage. “Henry?”
She hears her son rustling in his jacket pockets as he locates and extracts the paper she’d had him write, one that contains her contact information and their address.
“You live near Marco’s Pizzeria?” he questions, and she nods, hearing a deep chuckle in response. “Roland and I don’t go into the city all that often, but when we do, we always make sure to stop and eat at Marco’s.”
“It’s our favorite, too,” Henry adds as he moves to stand beside her. “We eat there at least once a week.”
She senses a shift, a crossing of an invisible border as Robin’s body temperature rises in time with her own. He’s sweating, she realizes, such knowledge making her smile and sweat a bit herself.
“Perhaps we can all go out for a bite together once we’ve introduced Miss Belle to her new home,” he proposes, the timbre of his voice about a third higher than it had been just seconds earlier. “That is, if the two of you are game.”
She feels her son’s eyes on her face, and she laces her fingers together, wondering how they’re so icy when the rest of her is burning up.
“We’re game,” she states, Robin’s and Henry’s joined sighs of relief brushing her skin from both sides at once. She smiles then, understanding that Robin is as nervous about all of this as she is.
Good.
“How about you, Roland?”
The sound of rubber meeting wood draws ever nearer as the boy’s sneakers deliver him back to her touch. He takes her hand before answering her question, she accepts it readily, and their fingers intertwine, a visual representation for those who can see it of what has already happened between the two of them in secret.
“I’m always game for pizza,” Roland answers, and they laugh in time together, wrapping the four of them in translucent rainbows they can all feel everywhere at once.
DAY 1: OUTLAW BANDIT AU
DAY 2: FAKE RELATIONSHIP
DAY 3: LOST TOGETHER
DAY 4: THE NANNY AU
DAY 5: ADOPTION DAY
DAY 6: TEACH ME
DAY 7: LATE NIGHT CONFESSIONS
Big thank you to mah girls outlawqueenluvr & htoria for your wonderful accompanying stories! Mwah! x
Now I can go catch up on all of the wonderful fics I’ve missed this week! *runs off*
Okay folks. For today’s OQ week prompt late night confessions, i’ve decided to give a sneaky peek of a new AU I’ll be posting either after NG, or towards the end of NG, depending on what the demand is like, or what I’m inspired to write :)
It’s only a rough cut, so keep in mind when it’s properly posted it will have more sections added in, and some bits may have been altered slightly. starscythe has made THIS BEAUTIFUL PERFECT MANIP FOR THIS FIC AND I COULD DIE IT’S SO PERFECT. Go and kiss her feet, I implore you. And a huge thanks to everyone who has given this the once over. You know who you are. Mwah!
It's just for one night.
That is her mantra, the five simple words Regina Mills tells herself over and over as she makes her way down the sidewalk, heels sounding with every step she takes. They're pinching her skin, squishing her toes and oh god, there's a burning in the balls of her feet already and she hasn't even been wearing them an hour. She is going to kill him for this, for arranging this godforsaken party, for telling their son every detail so he gets so excited she has no choice but to turn up, slap a smile on her face and pretend she’s absolutely thrilled to be celebrating her birthday.
Her thirtieth birthday.
Just when exactly did she get so old? she wonders for the millionth time that day, sidestepping the subway grate in the sidewalk and very nearly falling on her ass in the process. These heels were an even worse idea than turning up to this thing. This ‘surprise’ party that was firmly kept a secret until Tuesday night, when Henry had accidentally let slip that she was just gonna love her cake, and by that time it was too late for her to demand it be canceled because out-of-towners were coming, people she hasn’t seen in years, the venue booked and paid for, and it might well be in the back room of one of her dear best friend’s favorite bars, but I can’t very well cancel now, Regina. Everyone will be really put out, he had moaned.
She had nearly blown her top, had told him time and time again she wanted nothing more than to let the date pass by like any other - no fuss, no celebrations - just their family and maybe a bottle of scotch to wash down the bitter taste that’s been rising in her throat since the year began, because she’s about to enter the third decade of her life and has nothing to really show for it. Except her son.
But no, apparently, Regina outright telling them she wanted no commotion was code for please throw me a giant-ass party, invite a load of people I don’t like, nor care to talk to, and in the process, tell our son so he gets really excited and I have to slap a smile on my face and actually show up.
So here she is.
Standing outside the Rabbit Hole, making a face for the hundredth time tonight (and really, could he not have picked somewhere a little nicer for her birthday? If she has to endure this evening, does it really have to be in their local bar?) and contemplating just how easy it would be for her to turn and run away now before she even enters the building - not very, in these heels. She takes a deep breath, and pulls at the door, listens as the hinges creak and her ears are met with the usual hustle and bustle of Friday night drinkers, and steps inside.
The party's in the back room, the one that comes just off of the bar and is closed off to anyone not privy to an invitation of whatever event is being hosted. Her party, in tonight’s case. She shimmies through the crowd, edges her way between the corporate business men in sharp suits that are mixed among local drinkers. She recognises a few faces, gives a polite wave to the group of men surrounding the pool table that she knows are good friends with John, the landlord. The youngest - Will, she thinks his name is - raises his bottle of beer her way and shouts Happy Birthday!
So much for a low profile, then.
Regina forces a smirk, bobs her head and then pushes her way closer to the bar. She scans this side of the room; Ruby isn’t in her usual spot with the other bartenders, isn’t pouring pints or mixing cocktails like she usually is on a Friday night, and Regina thinks her friend is probably hiding with the other guests in the back room, awaiting her arrival.
Her eyes, instead, fall on a man.
A man she’s never seen. With blue eyes and dark blonde hair, a warm smile that deepens the creases by his eyes. He has dimples, the kind that make his face more inviting and his laugh more enticing. That’s what he’s doing now - laughing - he’s pouring a row of brightly colored shots for a small gathering of twenty-something women, and ugh, she won’t ever be in that category again in her life. That thought alone makes her throw daggers at the girls currently going gooey-eyed for this new bartender.
This new, extremely handsome bartender. With those eyes and his stubble and the way he’s pulling his bottom lip inward with his tongue, not letting it go with his teeth and-
“There you are!”
Regina’s pulled from her highly inappropriate trance, feels a grip on her elbow and a slight tug towards the back room door as she turns from looking at one pair of baby blues only to find another, more familiar pair.
“Dan’s throwing a fit thinking you weren’t gonna come,” August tells her, slides his hand down her arm to grip her hand, and it’s only as he guides her away that the new bartender finally looks over. Their gazes are locked, if only for a second that feels like a lifetime, and then Regina is swallowed by darkness. The buzz of the bar is left a dull muffle as the door swings shut behind her, and the new bartender is gone from her mind.
-§-
“Can we get two bottles of your house white, too, please?”
The girl’s voice pulls him from the woman being dragged into the back room - she must be here for the private party, he thinks, must be a friend of Ruby’s - and when Robin looks back around, snaps himself out of his trance, the girl he’s spent the last few minutes serving is holding cash out in front of her with a somewhat bewildered look on her face.
Perhaps he was staring at the raven-haired beauty a little longer than he realised.
“Sorry,” he tells her politely, shaking his head slightly and letting the other woman fall from his mind. “Shots and wine? You’re brave,” he adds with a laugh, moves to grab the bottles from the fridge at his feet as the girls start giggling and he hears one shout from the back, we’re starting as we mean to go on, and well… all right then. Shots and wine it is.
The bar is heaving. He knows now why John was so desperate for the extra pair of hands when he called and informed Robin that his best barmaid wanted the night off to celebrate her friend’s birthday. “In the back room of my bar, no doubt! She’s got a cheek asking for time off just so’s she can party in the same place!” he had moaned. Robin had thought the better of reminding John that he’s always praised her in the past, she’s not his most popular employee for nothing, and maybe he ought to cut the girl some slack. He’d offered to lend a hand, had told his old friend that he was more than happy to serve a few punters for a few hours, if anything to get him out of unpacking all the boxes that are still cluttering up his living room.
He needs to do that. He knows he needs to do that… but he also needs to start making a few friends, needs to catch up with all the guys he hasn’t seen since he was deployed to Afghanistan the first time around, and reacquaint himself with everything ‘New Jersey’ again. What better way to do that then pull the local’s pints for an evening?
He’s been back six days. Six days after years away from a place he once called home and he’s felt nothing but an odd sense of nostalgia since landing at Newark. Nothing is the same anymore. Not the street he came to live on when he and his mother first emigrated, not the high school he attended nor the malls he used to hang around in. He isn’t the same, either. Is unrecognisable now from the seventeen-year-old boy that used to cause havoc and break hearts on these very streets, and of course nothing would be the same. He’d been ridiculous to ever imagine it would be after fourteen years of absence, and as he heaves a crate of dirty glasses from one side of the bar to drop in the kitchen, Robin finds himself praying for the millionth time that this was the right thing to do.
He had to follow her here, follow them here, no matter how pissed off he’d been at the move in the first place, no matter how wrong it had felt. He’s pushed those feelings aside for the sake of his family (because she’ll always be family, Marian - they’ve been through too much over the past decade for him to not think of her as family), and he’s swallowed his pride - Robin has followed his ex-wife and her new husband across the country in order for him, Keith, to take this new job and he’ll be damned if he’s not going to make a real go of it now he’s finally here.
And it starts with tonight.
With helping out an old mate and hopefully regaining some of his former glory with the gang he once called his family. They’re in the bar right now, his old friends, the lot of them. Will, Tuck, Al, John (he’s not drinking, is too busy playing boss man, but he’s here nonetheless), even Killian’s dragged himself out - no mean feat according to Al, ever since Mila went back to her husband, his Irish friend has been a depressed mess - and Robin hopes as he goes on the hunt for more olives that he’ll be able to join them for a drink once the crowd has simmered down.
Perhaps he’ll see that woman again… the one with the dark hair who was wearing a scowl that made her face no less striking.
He finds himself glancing back over to the door to the back room, the last place he saw her being pulled off to - by a man who was holding her hand, no less… she’s probably already taken, and why on earth wouldn’t she be? She was the most beautiful creature he’d seen this side of the Atlantic in so many years, of course she’s seeing someone, and-
“Yoohoo!” A loud voice rings in his ear, and Robin turns back, eyes falling on the same girl whom he’d served the wine and shots to earlier on. She’s a pretty little thing - young… young enough for him to have asked for I.D. - blonde hair, blue eyes and a smile that hasn’t yet been broken by the world. “Any chance of a round of tequilas?”
He raises his brow, warns, “You’ll regret that come tomorrow,” but heads for the back of the bar to find a tray regardless, and the dark-haired woman he’d been thinking of not ten seconds previously slips from his mind all over again.
-§-
She’s going to kill him.
That is Regina’s new mantra. The one thing she’s saying over and over in her head as August pulls her through the crowd of people she hasn’t seen in years mingling in with the crowd she has to see almost every day. Sure, there are a few people here she likes. She’s already spotted Belle and Mulan, seen that Emma and Ruby are propping up the bar - have already signaled her from across the room with a bottle of something Regina has a strong suspicion is champagne and ugh. Of course he would load them all with champagne. Stupid man.
She really is going to kill him.
“Way to show up late by the way,” August shouts down her ear, has her straining to hear over the music pumping out through the speakers they’re standing nowhere near (did she really just notice how loud it was in here? Oh god… she really is old now). “We really thought for a minute you weren’t gonna show.”
“Yeah, well… for a minute you were nearly right,” she tells him dryly.
He rolls his eyes, shakes his head a little before leaning back in and saying, “Can you just behave yourself for a few hours? He’s been working hard on making this a special night for you… don’t… you know, be you.”
Regina scoffs, scowls, fights the urge to bulge her eyes out and protest she has no idea what he’s talking about but… well, she does, and so instead asks, “Where’s my son?”
“Uh, last I saw he was doing body shots off of the waitress I paid to dress like a bunny.”
“You paid a waitress to dress like a rabbit? That is the tackiest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“That is so not the part of that sentence I thought you’d focus on,” he says, their hands still clasped together as he pulls her through the sea of people smiling and nodding their heads her way. Some shout Happy Birthday, others that it’s great to see her - one man in particular hurrying over and announcing he was thrilled to get an invite and laughs at how long it’s been since they’ve seen one another.
Regina smiles, hopes to god vacancy isn’t apparent on her face because she has no idea who this man is. Jesus. Just how many people did he invite?
“Mom!” She hears her son’s voice, looks around in search of his dark hair and feels the first genuine smile she’s felt all night spring onto her face when she spots him standing next to his father.
“Hi sweetheart!” she says with a grin as he pelts forward into her arms.
“Do you like the party?” he asks, looking up from her torso, and she squeezes him even harder, drops a kiss on his head that she lets go with a loud smack of her lips.
“I love it,” she lies. Although… maybe not such a lie now she can see how happy her son is. “Thank you so much.”
“Dad put me in charge of the cake,” Henry tells her proudly.
“He did, huh?” Regina arches one eyebrow, shoots a glance up to meet said father’s eyes.
Daniel. Her best friend in the whole wide world… father to her child, and it’s as he throws her a sheepish grin and shrug of his shoulders that the urge to throttle him for hosting a birthday party she never wanted in the first place ebbs just slightly. August takes a place at the bar, hollers for a drink as Daniel finally speaks up.
“We all helped. August did the decorations, Henry did the cake-”
“And I organized the booze!” The unmistakable tones of Ruby Lucas meets her ears, and she snaps her head to her right.
Ah. So maybe Daniel isn’t the one to blame for the champagne then. "Oh so I can hold you accountable for the raging hangover I'll have tomorrow?"
“You know it, sister,” she replies with a waggle of her eyebrows before leaning over to Emma and muttering something in her ear. The blonde meets Regina’s eyes and smirks.
“I thought this was supposed to be a surprise party?" Emma questions Daniel, and then points to Regina. “She doesn’t look all that surprised.”
Daniel sighs, opens his mouth to answer when Henry’s voice fills the gap between the circle of adults around him. “I accidentally told Mom the other day,” he tells Emma with a sheepish smile that matches his father’s so much Regina feels her eyes blink.
Regina moves her eyes from her son and around at her friends, feels the irritation that’s been grating on her all week slowly fading away as she takes it all in. The people, the food, the decor, the music… Daniel really has gone all out, and suddenly she feels guilty for even bitching about it in the first place. She leans over to her best friend, plants a kiss on his cheek and says, “Thank you.”
Daniel frowns, a skeptical smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he wraps one arm around her shoulder, bumping their hips together gently before quietly (or as quietly as he can manage in a room filled with a pulsing base of music in the air) asking, “You're not just saying that because Henry’s in earshot?”
She chuckles, shakes her head and tells him that no, she really isn’t just saying it. Wraps both of her arms around his middle after Henry skips off hand in hand with Emma to go and find the candles for her cake - the “Now that you’re finally here,” muttered by her blonde friend doesn’t go unnoticed by Regina.
“Sorry I’m late,” she apologizes, throwing a guilty gaze up to Daniel.
He squeezes her against him, kisses the top of her head before rocking them gently back and forth. “That’s okay. I figured you were still at work. Or sulking,” he laughs.
“As a matter of fact, I was doing both.”
Daniel grimaces, says, “Leo kept you working this late on your birthday?”
“He might not know it’s my birthday,” she mutters with a small shrug, tipping her chin down until she’s no longer staring into the blue eyes of her best friend and instead studying the wooden panels of the floor, dancing with colors that flash from from the DJ decks close by. Purple, pink, blue, red - the whole rainbow lighting up the room around them - distracting her from the niggle in the back of her head that of course Leo had known it’s her birthday. Daniel had sent her one of the biggest bouquets of sunflowers she’d ever received in her life, and Belle had hung a huge banner up in her cubicle, the words HAPPY 30TH BIRTHDAY sprawled above her desk like a well-intended but all-the-same cruel reminder that she’s another year older and no better off in life than she was ten years prior.
Well. That’s not strictly true. At least now she only pays one third of the mortgage.
When she looks back up, she’s met with a deadpan expression of skepticism on Daniel’s face, watches for a second with bated breath as he works his jaw back and forth, clearly fighting the urge to bring up yet another fight about the way her boss of eight and a half years treats her. It always goes around in circles, that particular argument. He works her too hard, he treats her like shit, never gives her any benefits for the fact that she goes above and beyond her required job duties - and paid hours, for that matter - on a daily basis, and she knows Daniel's not wrong, hell, even feels the same way, but she'll be damned if she quits after years of paying her dues. Leo has promised her she'll be editor one day, and it's that exact notion that has her strolling into the office with a fighting smile every morning and not leaving until well past sunset. Besides, she reasons every time this argument arises, if she quits then she'd have no way of paying for... well, anything.
She knows deep down Daniel would never expect a penny off of her if the situation ever came to pass, but she spends most of her life feeling like the third wheel in his life as it is - and Regina knows she'd never feel comfortable living in his pocket as well as his house.
He lets it drop, apparently thinks the better of dredging up his opinions on her life while her birthday party is in full swing around them, and instead gives her another squeeze. "I'm glad you like the party."
"I do," she confirms, looking back up at him with a warm smile before it drops into something more humorously serious. "Just... don't ever throw me one again."
-§-
He’s just wiping down the bar when he sees her again - the same woman who had stopped him in his tracks earlier, and he’s floored by her beauty all over again as she steps through the threshold and takes a deep breath, closing her eyes and tipping her head back slightly. It distracts him - she distracts him, dressed to kill in a dark blue dress that hugs her curves, and that long, silky black hair cascading down her back in loose waves. He stops his slow, continuous movements of cleaning sticky bottle rings off of the bar as he watches her roll her head from side to side, as though she’s cracking her neck, and it’s only John’s voice that tears his eyes away from the woman he finds entirely alluring at the end other end of the bar.
“Yo, Rob! Will you grab some more ice please?”
Robin nods John’s way, slings the cloth over his shoulder and moves into the kitchens to find the freezer. It’s calmer in here now too, is no longer a chaotic mess of staff navigating their way past crates of glasses and piles of dirty plates that had ended up in stacks next to the industrial dishwasher.
"You new?" the chef asks him - a surly man just sitting down to eat his dinner despite the hour - and Robin stops as his fingers grip the handle to the freezer, turns his head to the grumpy cook as he tears apart an eight ounce steak with his cutlery.
“Ah, no. I’m just helping John out for the night so Ruby could go to her friend’s party,” he tells him politely.
The chef nods, swallows his food before he snatches another bite from his fork and says, “So Red’s not leaving? That’s good. No offence dude, but she’s a far nicer sight than you to look at.”
Robin chuckles, mutters I’m sure she is, grabs the ice from the top shelf and heads back outside.
She’s sitting at the bar when he gets there - hair curtaining the near-empty champagne flute sitting in front of her, inspecting her nails with an expression on her face that is entirely too glum for a Friday night, and it’s the heavy sigh he overhears as he refills the ice bucket that makes him approach her in the end.
“You look like you could use something stronger,” he says (possibly trying a bit too hard to keep his voice smooth), nodding down at the flute. She looks up, brow raised in a way that makes Robin instantly regret his choice of words, and he opens his mouth to backpedal, to tell her he’s a bloody idiot with a bad habit of putting his foot in his mouth when she smirks, and relaxes back on the stool she sits on.
“You can say that again,” she says quietly, eyes blinking open and closed a touch too slow for him not to think she’s already tipsy. Her voice is every bit as enticing as she is - slow, deep, sultry, and he wonders just how much of that is down to how much she’s had to drink (and perhaps the fact that she would have had to have shouted over the music he could hear vibrating through the walls earlier on).
He huffs out a laugh, all too grateful he hadn’t offended her with his first careless remark and throws her a smile while asking, “What can I get you?”
“Vodka,” she shoots back, order ready on the tip of her tongue. “On the rocks. Thank you.”
His smile turns knowing as he nods, murmurs that it’s coming right up before he sets about making her drink. He’s pretty sure she’s staring while he serves, can feel those big, beautiful eyes (the ones he had been sure were as black as night at first glance, only to find they’re a lot more like chocolate up close) watching his every move.
“I haven’t seen you here before,” she says as he pushes the cool glass her way, notes the spark that shoots up his spine as their fingers brush against each other for a split second.
Robin leans forward, rests his weight on his elbows before shaking his head and replying, “That would be because I don’t actually work here.”
“Ah,” she says, mirroring his stance and bringing their faces closer together. “You’re one of those goodwill people who do hard labour for no money.”
“Apparently so. Does that make me a fool?”
“Probably,” she shrugs. “But then you’re talking to someone who works nearly sixty hours a week and only gets paid for forty. Who’s the fool now, huh?”
“I wouldn’t know,” he quips back. “You’ve yet to tell me your name.”
She smirks again, scrutinises him slightly before telling him, “Regina.”
-§-
She’s drunk.
She isn’t drunk at all. She’s aware of the champagne now flowing through her veins, is rather enjoying the boldness it’s brought with it, but there is no way in hell she’s inebriated enough to excuse the way she’s currently flirting with this new barman… or… not new barman at all, as she’s just discovered.
But apparently turning thirty has done something to her brain, has her acting in a way she wouldn’t have dreamed this time last week… maybe she’s having an early mid-life crisis? She smiles as she tells this man her name, pushes her chaotic thoughts to the back of her mind as he offers his own name back.
“Robin,” he tells her with a smile. One that makes the knee-weakening dimples in his cheeks deepen, one that has her eyes flickering down to watch his mouth and makes her tongue peek out to wet her lips.
“Well then Robin,” she starts - can’t quite believe she’s about to say what she is, but well, it’s her birthday. So she gets to be somewhat audacious, and if nothing else, she will only berate herself later if she doesn’t at least try hitting on this ridiculously attractive man.
From England.
“Do they let you take breaks when they don’t pay you, or not?”
He snorts, tells her he’s sure he can leave his post for a minute or two before shouting down to the landlord - John… she’s sure she’s heard Daniel talk about him before - that he’s taking five. The man nods, and then goes back to happily chatting away to the customers at the other end of the bar. She sits back on the bar stool, angles her body away from the bar and follows Robin with her eyes as he heads to join her in front of it as opposed to behind it.
She likes this idea. Likes the fact she can now see him fully and that they’re no longer blocked from each other by a three-foot hunk of wood. He isn’t overly tall (not an issue, she’s a shrimp even with these murderous heels on, she thinks), but even under his shirt, she can tell he’s fit. Well-defined. He’s older than she is, can tell that much, carries himself in a somewhat… rigid manner, and scans the room quickly before standing still before her.
“You’re not gonna join me for a drink?” she pouts, and okay…. she might be slightly drunker than she first gave herself credit for.
He laughs (she likes that she can make him do that), “Are you trying to get me fired?”
Regina holds her hands up, mocks a guilty expression before saying, “Sorry, I know how much you love this job. I mean, it just… it pays so well.”
He drags his bottom lip between his teeth - a move she meets with a crossing of her legs because apparently, this obsession she’s got with his mouth has moved to other areas of her body - and she watches as he throws a glance at his ‘boss,’ checks to make sure John is properly occupied before sneakily leaning over the bar and snatching up the bottle of vodka he’d poured for her earlier.
“Ohh,” she says, raising her eyebrows and nodding down at the bottle. “So that’s what you do when you’re not pretending to be a barman. Steal stuff.”
“Ah, you caught me,” he says with a nonchalant shrug, reaching down for a glass and pouring himself a small drink of neat vodka.
“I did. You wanna catch me then you’re gonna have to pour yourself a bigger drink.”
“I doubt your boyfriend would be too happy with me if I did that,” he says.
“My boyfriend?” Regina frowns back.
“I saw you with him earlier, before you went into the private party?”
She gapes, and ugh, he thought… “You thought August was my boyfriend?” she asks, and then screws her eyes shut at the thought, shakes the image that comes with it out of her head and says, “well that’s nauseating.”
“He’s not?”
“He is most definitely not.”
“My apologies,” he chuckles, “I just assumed,” and yes, he would assume that. Just like everyone else seems to when she’s alone with him. Or Daniel, for that matter. A silence settles between them, one that would be entirely awkward if she weren’t on her way to being tipsy (one she thinks he can feel far more than she can because he takes three gulps of his vodka before setting the glass back down). “So is the party over?”
She shrugs, “It’s still going I think. I only really turned up because my son was so excited, and his dad’s just taken him home, so...“
“The party was for you?” he asks, not hiding the surprise in his voice, and she nods.
“It was,” she confirms, and then quietly adds, “today is my birthday.”
She watches as her confession dawns on him - watches his face as his brow perks up and the creases in his forehead become more visible, as he throws a look over his shoulder to the back room entrance, where she’d left her party in full swing after saying goodnight to her son. He lets out a laugh that’s edging on bewildered when he looks back around to meet her eyes.
“And you’ve chosen to spend it with an unemployed thief?”
She giggles. “I suppose I have.”
They talk for a while after that, exchange random facts about their lives as she watches Robin begin cleaning down the bar. It’s near empty now, save Will and a dark-haired man who looks too drunk to stand upright talking to John over by the exit. She has no idea if her party is still going on, knows the fire exit had been opened up for people to come and go shortly after her arrival, and prays her mood had turned just sour enough after Henry’s departure for Ruby and Emma to believe she’d snuck off in order to go home too.
Not snuck into the adjacent bar to gain the attention of the man standing behind it.
“So how old is your son?” Robin asks her (and she notes his words are verging on slurred now - the bottle he’d snatched away earlier is near empty now).
“He’s ten,” she smiles. “Going on forty-five. I swear he’s more mature than me or his father some days.” Robin returns her grin, nods in a way that has her asking, “Do you have kids?”
“I do,” he says. “Two. Twins. Roland and Rosalie… they’re five.”
“Wow, twins. That sounds… exhausting.”
He chuckles, agrees, says, “it most certainly is when I have them.”
A crease pulls her brow together, “You don’t see them that much?”
“I didn’t,” he sighs, expression suddenly changing into one that looks guilty, and if she weren’t halfway hammered, she’d probably voice the questions that roll through her mind at the sight. She looks down at her drink, throws back the last dregs at the bottom before signaling for him to pour her another. “I’ll hopefully be having them every weekend now I’ve moved here, though,” he tells her as he pours. “Marian… my ex-wife, she’s pregnant with her new husband, and I doubt she’ll have the energy to be running around after two five-year-olds soon enough. They don’t start kindergarten until autumn.”
“You two on good terms? You and your ex?” she asks, because she always finds herself wondering that. How other people who aren’t in a relationship co-parent. Often catches herself comparing her situation to other couples’ before realizing she and Daniel are in a very tiny minority.
“We’re amicable,” Robin says with a light shrug, stowing away the last few cocktail shakers that had been abandoned on the bar. “We split not long after the kids were born, so. What about you and your son’s father?” he swiftly changes the subject. “Do you get along?”
Regina snorts. “Oh yeah. We get along great. As a matter of fact, we live together.”
“You do?” Robin says, stopping in his tracks and shooting her the same look she receives from everyone she tells that she lives with her son’s father, but isn’t in a relationship with him. “Have you only just recently split?”
She shakes her head, gulps down more vodka before giving up on the glass and reaching for the bottle Robin had swiped earlier. “We’ve never actually been together,” she tells him, rather enjoying the confusion on his face. “Henry was the product of a… rather stereotypical drunken night Daniel and I had in college.” And oh. She should probably stop with the alcohol now… she doesn’t usually tell people that.
“Is that so?” Robin chuckles. “And you and Daniel just… live together? I can’t imagine that’s easy.”
“It certainly has its moments,” she says, resting her chin on her hand.
He shakes his head (has completely stopped whatever work he wasn’t being paid to do) and says “I don’t think I could ever live with Marian after we broke up. No matter how friendly we are.”
She shrugs. “We moved in together when I was pregnant. It’s easier that way, and neither of us has to miss out on anything Henry does. I’m not saying it wasn’t a little awkward when August moved in-”
“Wait, what?” he frowns with another shake of his head. “I thought you said the two of you weren’t together?”
Regina feels her mouth twitch, tilts her head to the side before saying, “We’re not. August isn’t my boyfriend. He’s Daniel’s.”
I like to think it took Robin a while before he gave in and slept with Marian aka Zelena in NYC... This is my take on it. thanks to the lovely waterbaby for betaing :)
Retention
It had been over a month . A month since their last meeting at the town line of Storybrooke, four months since their last kiss, their last unspoken words, their last touch. Time had gone by, but the pain was still there. The ache for the other's presence, for the others touch, it still had a hold on him.
New York was a rat hole if he'd ever seen one. Living in Storybrooke had been a huge change for them already with all the technology, electricity, the weird clothes, the food and of course the crazy villains who were either trying to kill or curse them. New York was not much better. Of course, there were no villains, but it was dirty, it stunk, and it was loud, oh God it was loud. He'd give anything to be in the silent comfort of the forest now, where he could hear the wind sweeping through the crowns, only disturbed through the singing of a few baby blue birds that were looking for their partner. Little John had told him once these little blue birds mate for life and each tune they carried was a little different from the other. There was only always one male and one female bird that sang the same song and they had to find each other, otherwise they wouldn't be able to mate with anyone else. Each bird had their soul mate, their perfect match, as weird as it may sound. The forest was big, as was the population of the blue birds, but somehow still they all managed to find their counterpart no matter how frustrating and hopeless their situation might seem.
Once upon a time, Robin thought he'd found his perfect match in Marian. They were just like two of these blue birds; made for each other. They had found each other but then lost each other. For a moment, Robin had wondered what one of the blue birds did when its partner died. Would it die too, having lost the love of its life? Or would it live on, maybe somehow changing its song, so another partner would find them?
When Marian had died his whole world had shattered into pieces. The loss of a loved one was already hard to bear, but had been made worse because he'd considered her death as his own fault. A chill ran over his arms when he thought about the moment it had happened. Was this a chance from the universe to redeem himself? To make good? She was dead and gone, leaving him behind with sweet little baby Roland, his only ray of hope at that time. Roland had been his only reason to continue living and not just end it all.
He remembered like it had happened yesterday. He'd been in a haze, cold, numb. People had been trying to talk to him, to comfort him with words and their condolences but Robin had not listened. Only when Friar Tuck grabbed his arm and dragged him into the tent where a woman was sitting and watching over his ten-month-old son, had he started to feel something. Robin had sat down, had pulled the baby boy into his arms and cried. So had Roland even if the little boy had not understood why at that time. For some moments, Robin wondered how Roland had remembered his mother in Granny's diner. He'd been so young and innocent when she'd died.
Back then, Robin would have given anything to bring Marian back from the dead. Anything. Losing her had been the most horrible thing and he'd thought his chance to get a happy ending had passed... until the moment he met Regina. Regina... Just now, when he'd found his luck again, Marian had reappeared. He was incredibly happy she was alive but so much time had passed... He'd changed. Robin of Locksley wasn't the same man he had been before her death all those years ago. Well, to him it seemed like years, to Marian it seemed like only days.
Although he knew going to New York with Marian and bringing Roland along had been the honorable and most of all right thing to do, he couldn't stop thinking about how lost he felt in this big city with the strange thing, the strange people, the music and even weirder people called tourists. A strange kind of humans who ran around with little magical boxes upon long sticks and stopped in front of every store, every street, held the stick with the box up and smiled. The boxes looked almost like the phone-thingy Regina had given him. Technology, as they called it, was a strange thing, scary.
Robin missed his life in the Enchanted Forest, his life in Sherewood Forest and all the other places. He had not longed for it quite as much while he'd been in Storybrooke, but back then he'd been occupied... otherwise.
All his life, Robin had lived by a code. The thing right now washe just wasn't so sure anymore if living by this code was the right thing to do. Not when he had to pretend, not when he wasn't completely sure it was the right thing to do. Gold had advised him to not push his chance of a Happy Ending away like he has done many, many times. His family was reunited, he had the happy ending he'd always wished for, the one he could grasp and hold on to. But it still felt so... unnatural. What were they supposed to do in New York? They did not know anyone, they only had each other. Marian was his wife and he loved her. He always had, his love had never stopped, but spending a lifetime in this big city felt like a curse all over again.
Robin swallowed hard. Maybe this was how it was supposed to be. Fate had thrown him a challenge and he now had to try and make the best of it. He'd never believed his vision of a happy ending could change. For Roland, a happy ending it was. He had his mother and his father. Robinliked going out and playing with him in the big park where he felt the closest to the forest and nature as it was possible in New York. As for Marian... Robin didn't really know if this was a happy ending for Marian.
She was happy; she was with him and Roland. Their family was reunited and some great power had prevented her from a cruel death. Instead, she'd been given a change, a chance she'd taken and so had he. He loved her. She was his wife, the mother of his son; of course he loved her. He'd made a choice.
"No matter where we are or what we face, I'll always wanna be with you." Robin wanted to be with her, wanted to be happy with her, but for some strange reason he sometimes wondered if she was really still the Marian he'd fallen in love with all those years ago. Only last week, she had snapped at Roland for dropping a cup, which seemed so unlike her. Roland had stared at her with wide eyes and stated crying immediately. Of course she'd apologized only moments later, but Roland wasn't used to being yelled at, especially not from his mother.
On another day, she'd snapped at Robin for something that in his view wasn't even worth getting worked up about. Once again she had apologized and then kissed him deeply, as though showing him how sorry she was. Marian was under a lot of pressure, a lot of tension. They all were. So he knew she was trying, trying really hard to cope with their situation. He had to give her space and love.
She'd found a job at a bakery where she worked in the early hours of the morning and would be back when Robin would go to his job as a barkeeper in a small tavern... no, pub as they called it here, in the afternoon and evening. Roland always had one of his parents with him and was not alone. They all tried to make the best of their situation, they really did. Still, the longer Robin was with her, the longer he felt like she was different from the woman he'd once loved. He still loved her, but he loved her differently. It was hard to push yourself into the happy ending you once thought lost, especially when you lost another one in the process. He sighed. They all had changed while trying to accommodate to the difficult situation they were in.
Robin entered the apartment with a sigh. "I'm home," he called into the small space.
Two little feet came up running, crashing almost into his legs. "Papa!"
Robin smiled down at his little boy who'd adjusted just fine to the strange new world around him. He was fascinated with everything, especially with the box that showed moving pictures all times of the day and night. "Woah, careful little boy. Shouldn't you be long asleep?"
"He should," a voice in front of them said, seriously.
Robin looked up, gazing into Marian's warm eyes. She smiled at him and walked over to give him a kiss on the lips. "It's good to see you."
"You, too," he mumbled, returning the kiss softly.
"Ewwww!" Roland scolded before he turned around to walk to the sofa, which turned into his bed at night. He quickly put his blanket over his little head, hiding underneath it so he wouldn't have to see his parents kissing.
Robin and Marian watched their son with big grins, before they walked over to both press a kiss on his forehead and wish him a good night. Afterwards, they retired back to their small bedroom.
"Are you hungry?" Marian asked sweetly, "I made some apple pie earlier. I can go and fetch you a slice from the fridge."
His face darkened with regret, but only for a second. Apple pie was what Regina had made him for dessert on their second date. It almost topped her famous lasagna. Almost. They hadn't gotten to eat it for dessert, since they had a way nicer form of dessert in mind. Robin forced himself to smile at the memory. He would just have to live with the fact that sometimes things would remind him of Regina. It was not Marian's fault, how should she know about his memory with the apple pie they had eaten the morning after instead of toast? It had been almost as sweet as their night together. Apple pies were her thing. His smile grew wider when he remembered how good she had tasted after the pie, how he hadn't been able to stop kissing her.
"Robin?" Marian asked concerned.
"Yes. I mean no, thank you, I'm not really hungry. I'm very tired. There was a brawl at the pub. You must be very tired, too, my little early bird. You have to get up for your next shift in five hours."
Marian rolled her eyes. "Oh I know. You can have the cake for breakfast then."
He smiled while getting rid of his clothes. "I will. I bet it's delicious."
Her next move caught him in surprise. Marian was kissing him, her hands trailing over his bare torso, caressing his chest and muscled arms. Robin returned the kiss; surprised Marian acted so spontaneously. She moaned a little, deepening the kiss, her hands going down to his belt.
Over the past few weeks they had shared many kisses, some more heated than other ones, but this one... it was almost like Marian was ravishing his mouth, desperate for more. She opened his belt, sucking at his tongue. Robin smiled into the kiss, returning her every favor. His hands cupped her buttocks while his mouth sucked at her taste. She tasted delicious. Like apple pie with cinnamon. Apple pie. Regina. His body stiffened slightly. God, she was his wife for god's sake, why couldn't he... No. It felt wrong. He couldn't do it because as much as he loved her... this just didn't feel right.
Carefully, he put his hands on her hips while pulling back from the kiss. Instead, he left a trail of soft, warm pecks on her face.
"I really have to take a shower," he whispered into her ear, pressing one last kiss onto her forehead before he turned around and fled for the bathroom.
Xxxxx
Zelena watched the door close behind him. She wanted to crush something, to kill something. Little Roland in the room next door would do just fine right now. How long would it take for the idiot to finally give in and share the bed with her?! Not that she really wanted to sleep with him - he was attractive of course, but she only had one goal. Destroying Regina.
Oh what would be nicer than for her little sister to find out her oh-so-honorable-ex-boyfriend didn't sleep with his supposed-to-be-dead wife but actually her? Her face would be worth a million destroyed happy endings.
"Patience. You have him almost where you want. Just a little more patience," she told herself, annoyed there was no magic in this world which she could use to destroy something. Soon Robin would give in. She just had to wait, and before her little sister could see, she would have taken everything from her.
With a satisfied grin on her face she got rid of her clothing and went to bed. "No matter what, I will destroy you, little sis."
This is a courtesy post for oneresilientheart in April I sent her request after poking and creeping around her blog for a story where Regina adopts Henry when he is older. She in turn wrote me a story that has answered dreams more than I could've ever imagined! https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11260035/1/To-Foster-a-Heart not only did she agree to write this but it's also multi-chap. and trust me from what the sneak-peek revealed for Ch. 3 it's going to be pretty damn amazing!
Please read this beautiful, heart-breaking but hopeful fic of a boy finally finding his Forever Home. Thank you Carol for writing this and dealing with my requests of personal head-canons that I've developed for this story. Last I heard from Carol OQ will be in the next chapter too, along with all the regal believer feels. I absolutely adore this story (not just because I requested it) and y'all need to read this!
Regina Mills is not easily distracted.
Her focus does not waver very often, mind does not pull from whatever she sets it to, and when it comes to her son, that steely determination only intensifies.
And that's what this is, she tells herself (lies to herself). She is listening so intensely to Henry's new fifth grade teacher because his school work, his progress in Math and English and Science and every subject in between is that important to her. It had nothing, absolutely nothing, to do with the fact that said new teacher is... Well...
He's hot.
And British.
He is hot and British and has a scruff along his jaw that she's usually find unappealing but is secretly wondering what it would feel like against her skin. What's more is how much Henry loves him. How often during the past few months she's had to listen to her son go on and on about how much great Mr Locksley is at this and that and everything in between. She'd known from day one he was from England, had sat and listened to Henry when he'd raced towards her at the end of his first day to excitedly inform her that the new guy told him he used to live not far from where they filmed Harry Potter, and "Harry Potter, Mom! He's so cool!" Henry had gushed.
And Regina had laughed.
Well the joke’s on her now, she thinks, crossing her legs under the desk, pressing her lips together in a thin line as her knees bang the underside of the tiny desk she's sitting at, and for the first time in her life (she's finally admitting to herself) she is... Distracted.
"I'd like to start working more with Henry on his Math. He struggles to apply himself from time to time there, but I have every faith we can work together to bring his grade up a bit," Mr Locksley - Robin, he's told her to call him Robin - is saying, not letting go of her gaze as he talks, and she wishes for a second that she had the ability to tear her eyes away from the depth of the blue that stares back at her.
"I know. I try to work on it with him at home, but... He doesn't enjoy it as much as English."
Robin's face cracks into a smile. "Now English... English, Henry is fantastic at. He's got a real aptitude for stories, your son. You should be very proud of him."
Regina feels her heart swell with pride, makes a mental note to reward him with some sort of new video game this weekend. "Thank you, I am. I've been worried about how he's coped with... Well... Everything last year," she adds quietly, finally unlocking their eyes and glancing down to her hands. She twists the rings on her finger; they've lost their shine now, look sad and pathetic on her hand but she hasn't quite been able to take them off since it happened.
"I heard about your husband," Robin says, and it's the edge of... Empathy... Yes, that's it, not sympathy, to his voice that has her looking back up. "I'm very sorry you had to go through that."
"Thank you," she replies, the manners falling from her mouth like the automatic reflex they've become whenever someone has apologised for Daniel's death.
"You needn't worry about Henry. I've kept my eye on him. He's doing great."
"I really appreciate that," she says honestly, a small smile twitching at the corners of her mouth.
"I-" he starts, and the stops with his lips pressed together and a slight crease in his brow, as though he can't quite decide whether to carry on or not. The former, he must choose, because one moment later he's leaning forward, mirroring her stance with his elbows on the tiny desk not quite big enough for both of them to be leaning on as he tells her, "I've... Been there. And if you ever need to talk to someone who knows firsthand how you feel, rather than some friend of a friend who asks how you're doing because they just want details to how it happened, then... I'd be only too willing to sit and listen."
Regina feels herself smile, despite the subject matter, because yes - she's noticed people do do that (her mother's friends in particular), thanks him with a bob of her head before he's launching back into a project Henry is currently working on.
It's later, as she's strolling happily down the corridor to where Henry sits and waits, as he asks her, "Did you like my new teacher?" And she replies with a nod and a yes, that she thinks perhaps it's time the rings did come off...
And that maybe, just maybe if a man can drive her to distraction like he has done today, with nothing more than a few kind words and an offer of a drink sometime at this pub he's found to be quite good not far from the school... Maybe it's time for her to move on with her life.
And give into this new distraction.
- Fic by htoria, manip by me.
Meh... I’m not keen on this manip coz I feel like it’s shit and blurry and low quality, but I wanted to post something today and the lovely htoria has made it so much better with her writing! Thank you Hayley! x
"This isn't a good idea." Regina says. "Oh, stop it." Robin says playfully. "You'll be fine." "But it's embarrassing, Robin." Regina whined. "Oh please, it's just you and me." Robin kissed her lips chastely. "Now, are you ready to begin?" "I'm going to make you deaf." Regina muttered. "Regina." Regina sighed. "Fine," she pecked his lips. "I'm ready," she kissed his lips one more time. "Teach me how to sing."
