Chapter Text
He stares into the fire and presses his fingers to his brow, fully aware that he should be sleeping—something far more practical and sensible than sitting up awake thinking about the former Evil Queen.
But he can’t help it.
There’s something about her that he finds alluring and intoxicating—something about the deep contrasts of her personality—her sharp tongue and her soft smile, her quick wit and her sincerity, her bravado and her humanity—that fills his thoughts and compels him to want to know more, that keeps him awake at night and wondering.
He’s no stranger to the folklore that surrounds her—the Evil Queen with her blackened heart, merciless and cruel. He lived through her reign, spending years of his life evading her Black Knights; and the harshness of her rule had struck him close to home, costing him a precious piece of his heart. Yet, when he met her in the woods that day, the person hadn’t matched the persona, and he’d found himself offering her his hand. And, when her eyes cast upward, there was a spark of something that felt strangely familiar, something he couldn’t quite pin-point, and so his sleepless nights had begun.
A rustling of fabric snaps him back into the present, and he blinks a few times in the darkness, suddenly aware that he’s no longer alone. He watches as she tears through the room—over turning pillows and cushions, ducking to check beneath pieces of furniture and rubbing her hands over the ledge of the mantle and over the rug—frenzied and manic.
For a brief moment, he’s amused as he wonders what the Queen has lost—a gem from her tiara or perhaps…
And then suddenly she turns, and he can’t finish the thought; instead, he feels his heart clench and he watches her face crumble—and then she begins to sink.
He’s up in a second, rushing to her and slipping a steadying arm around her waist, catching her and keeping her upright. “M’lady,” he murmurs, unable to keep the concern from his voice and eyes.
For a moment, she just looks at him—her eyes staring into his, filled with such sadness—and once more he’s reminded of the person she is, rather than the persona she created. And for that moment, he feels something—something he can’t quite describe.
She pulls back and her brow furrowing into a scowl as she gains some composure, squaring her shoulders and smoothing her skirt of her nightdress. He expects some quip, but she offers him none. Instead, she looks away from him and he watches as she tries to summon the bravado that usually carries her through the day—but she falls short, and her jaw betrays her as it begins to tremble.
“You lost something, m’lady,” he says, needing something to break the silence.
For a moment, she doesn’t reply. Instead she just stares into the darkness. He watches her closely, watching as she presses her eye closed and takes deep, deliberate breaths in an attempt to calm herself and regain composure; but her jaw trembles on.
“A thief would know a thing or two about that,” she snaps in an effort to maintain leverage in the situation—a defense mechanism he finds infuriating, yet endearing. He watches as her eyes close and she inhales a deep breath, features soften as she slowly opens her eyes. “A bracelet,” she says in barely more than a whisper. “A gift from my son—and the only thing I had left of him.” Swallowing hard, she turns to face him with tears welling in her eyes. “And now it’s gone.”
He takes a cautious step toward her and reaches out, touching his fingers to her elbow. She flinches, pulling back as soon as his fingers come into contact with the fabric of her nightdress, leaving him to murmur his apologies. She sucks in a breath and once more her face crumbles, and this time, she can’t control her tears.
He feels a clenching at his core, and once more, he reaches out to her; and this time, she doesn’t pull away.
Tentatively, his hand slides over her shoulder, moving slowly to her back and settling between her shoulder blades. He rubs his hand slowly against her back and takes another step inward, holding her against him in something close to an embrace, holding her as she cries.
She’s tense and he can tell she doesn’t want to be here, like this, with him; yet in that moment, he finds himself wanting nothing more than to comfort her and to take away even just a fraction of the pain he knows she’s feeling. He closes his eyes and takes a breath, still rubbing her back as he holds her against him, and suddenly the feelings he couldn’t quite pin-point and couldn’t quite describe seem all too clear.
She pulls away and bats the back of her hand over her eyes, pushing the tears from her cheeks, and once more she squares her shoulder as she reaches for her lantern. “I’m sorry,” she begins, embarrassed by her show of emotion. “I shouldn’t…”
“Please, don’t apologize,” he tells her, stepping closer to her. “You’re entitled to your grief.”
She only nods in reply as she looks away from him. Slowly, he reaches out and takes the lantern from her hand, smiling gently as she turns back to him and scowls and snaps, “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Helping, m’lady,” he answers simply as he places the lantern back on the mantle.
“I don’t want or need help,” she retorts, her voice cold as she presses her eyes shut—once more trying to keep her tears at bay—and crosses her arms over her chest, “Especially not from the likes of you.”
He reaches out once more and takes her hand, drawing her back to him; and he’s surprised when she doesn’t resist. “I don’t think you should be alone tonight,” he whispers quietly, as his thumb rubs over the back of her hand.
“I hardly think you have the right to an option on that matter.”
He may not have the right, but he knows better than most the damage that grief and loneliness can do to a person’s soul; and he also knows the healing benefit of comfort and care—and finds himself compelled to provide to her the later, no matter how brash her words or cold her demeanor—and oddly enough, because of them.
“Perhaps I don’t have the right,” he tells her as a soft smile forms on his lips, “But I’ve never had a problem assuming the right to anything.” At that she scoffs and his smile deepens. “After all, I am a thief.” She rolls her eyes, but doesn’t pull away when he slips an arm around her waist and guides her toward the chair he’d once occupied at the hearth.
“Not a detail to keep reminding me of when precious things are going missing,” she remarks with a glare, nonetheless sitting down in the chair.
He watches as she stares into the fire—and he knows where her thoughts are, he knows she’s thinking of the boy forever lost to her and he can only imagine the pain she feels. He wants to ask about him, but chooses against it, deciding that’s a conversation better suited for another time. He sits on the arm of the chair and tentatively slides an arm across her shoulders. She flinches, but she doesn’t pull away from him.
“So, this bracelet,” he begins in a soft voice. “Can you describe it?”
She turns to face him, her brow furrowing, “Why?”
“Things have a way of turning up once the sun rises,” he tells her softly. “And two sets of eyes are always better than one.” He grins as her eyes soften and once more well with tears. “I promise you, we’ll find your bracelet.”
“You shouldn’t make promises that you can’t keep,” she says quietly, as she looks back to the fire.
“I never do, m’lady,” he replies sincerely. “As I’ve said before, I may be a common thief, but I am a thief with honor.”
He hears her inhale sharply and once more her eyes pressed shut, and again, she’s unable to suppress her tears. He squeezes her shoulders and reaches for her hand, and to his surprise, her fingers lace through his. He looks down at their hands, fingers entwined—and once more, he feels something stirring at this core.
“Blue beads,” she murmurs softly, “And three white-and-black ones that spell out ‘Mom.’” She pauses and adds, “I usually keep it pinned on the inside of my dress.”
He smiles at the sentiment and gives her hand a soft squeeze, “And now we have our starting point.”
She looks back at him and her brown eyes are teary and wide and her jaw tight, and she looks at him with such a raw vulnerability and he more than understands—he’s falling in love—and as her hand tightens around his, he’s unconvinced that those feelings are one-sided.