#reanncee

But Regina’s attitude changes in a second when her bag is torn from her shoulder. Not only does it probably bruise her arm, but that’s her bag. The bag that Daniel gave her so long ago, the last physical remnant of their relationship ever existing.

The punk who grabbed the bag is streaking down the alley in a green hoodie, Emma fast on his tail. A small perk to having a friend who’s used to chasing criminals. It’s a huge help because, by the time Regina catches up in her tasteful-not-meant-for-running-but-for-putting-the-fear-of-God-into-people heels, Emma’s got the thief cornered against a dead end chain link fence.

“Give her the purse, ass,” Emma threatens as Regina catches her breath, “and maybe I won’t arrest you.”

The shithead just stares at them for a moment before catching Regina’s eye. He’s older than she thought at first. A man closer to her age than a teenager look for adventure. And his eyes. They’re blue. Not exactly piercing or anything, but blue enough to mentally mention. Softer than she expected, with a story novels long behind them.

The corner of his mouth tips up in a smirk and she opens her mouth to say something – what, she isn’t quite sure, but there’s something about this guy that makes her want to say something – but he bounds off the wall and over the fence like he’s a monkey or a karate kid.

“What the fuck?” she mutters beneath her breath.

The man lands soundly on the other side of the wall after landing a twist a pro-skateboarder would be proud of. Barely glancing back at Regina, he runs off, her purse in hand, as Emma ties in vain to run through the fence after him.

“Dammit,” Emma growls, gripping through the links and shaking. Turning back to Regina, she asks, “Was there anything super important in there?”

Regina shakes her head. “I mean, my wallet and my ID and stuff, but nothing that can’t be replaced.”

“But that bag. It was…” She doesn’t finish her sentence. They both know how it ends and how important it is to Regina. Resignedly, Emma wraps her arm over her friend’s shoulder, ushering her back to the main road. “Come on, I’ll help you file a report,” she says. “I’ll keep my eye out for the asshole when I go on patrol.”

Regina thinks that she nods or gives some sort of verbal agreement, but she’s still stuck on the thief’s upturned smirk and intense eyes. There’s something off about them. Something that screams that he stole her purse from necessity and not desire.

0000

Emma calls her a couple days later, her phone ringing while she’s standing in line at Starbucks.

“We got him,” her friend says by way of greeting.

“What?” Regina asks, trying to balance her cup of coffee, pay the barista, and maneuver her cell between her ear and her shoulder. “What are you talking about, got him?”

“The shit who stole your purse the other day,” Emma explains. On the other side of the line, Regina can hear flipping and shuffling of papers. “One of the deputies brought him in for another case of petty theft. The guy’s called Robin Locksley.”

She nearly drops her latte and her phone in surprise. “Like Robin Hood?” she clarifies.

“Exactly. And he lives up to that name. Steals from the banks, street stores, and it all somehow ends up in the Glades.” Emma goes silent for a second, then sighs. “Even if it’s all illegal, it’s still impressive how much support he singlehandedly brings to the people in the Glades.”

Regina hums. She’s a little distracted, between the people she’s convinced area trying to knock her off her feet on her way to the club and this intriguing conversation. If she doesn’t show up to work before Zelena, her sister will rip her a new one for ‘not being responsible’ even though she’s the one Mother decided to neglect until it was most convenient for her, but that’s Mother’s way.

“So he takes the things he steals and sells them to people out there?” Regina asks offhandedly.

“No, he sells them to the people around Park and Bauer Avenues for higher prices and then takes the money to the Glades. Daycares and the shelter.” She’ll admit, it all sounds very noble. Truly living up the character’s name he bears. Maybe that’s what causes the layers Regina spotted in his glance.

Bu then Emma’s voice pulls her from her own reveries when she says, “He’s still got your purse.”

“What?”

“The purse,” Emma repeats. “He hasn’t sold it yet, or at least that’s what he said.”

All Regina can say is nothing. She’s actually speechless, coming to a halt in the middle of the sidewalk. She really shouldn’t care – it is only a purse, after all, she’s got a million of them – but it’s a bit more special because it’s the first Christmas present Daniel gave her. It’s her favorite because of the sentiment that accompanies it: Daniel saved up for a whole year to buy her the gift, skimping out dinners and treats for himself just to earn the heart that was already his. She’s taken better care of that purse than she has some of her own friends, sometimes.

“Regina?” Emma asks. “Are you still there?”

Nodding, Regina begins walking again. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“So what do you want me to do?”

Regina bites at her bottom lip while she deliberates, then takes a sip of her drink in hopes that caffeine might inspire her.

“Okay, this is what I’ve got planned. As a cop, tell me how wrong this is going to go.”

0000

The address comes from Emma, after some pleading and promising that she’s not going to commit murder or anything else illegal. Honestly, after long hours of thinking, all she wants is the purse back. She doesn’t even particularly care if everything inside of its gone – the replacements are already in the mail on their way to her doorstep.

No, Regina ventures to a rundown, shabby-looking duplex on the way to work after a couple days of preparation because she needs to talk with this guy. She doesn’t know him, but if the way Emma spoke about him is any indication, there’s a story behind his theft.

She knocks on the door hesitantly, mentally going through her prepared speech for when Mr. Locksley opens up the door. “Hi, I don’t know if you remember me, but – no, don’t close the door, I’m just here to talk” and the like.

Nobody answers the first time, and then Regina thinks logically about it – it’s about 11 in the morning. In theory, no one should be home. This Locksley fellow was probably at work on the streets, stealing from the rich and bringing it back for the poor.

But she’s surprised when the door opens and she has to look down to meet the person holding it open.

“Hi.” His voice is squeaky, but oddly happy. “Who are you?”

After stumbling over the weight of her tongue, Regina shakes her head and smiles best she can. “I’m Regina,” she says. “What’s your name?”

“Roland,” the little boy responds. He can’t be more than four or five. Obviously, he’s too young to be in the local school system, because those students haven’t been released for the day yet. But maybe daycare or preschool. She can imagine his bouncy little voice and equally bouncy curls atop his head making him a lot of friends in those places.

It’s then Regina hears the heavy thumps of adult male footsteps and the thief with the smirk and the intense eyes appears behind the boy.

“Roland, what have I told you about opening the door without my permission?” he asks.

The boy shrugs. “Don’t do it.”

“Exactly, my boy.” His hand falls to the boy’s hair and ruffles it, gently pushing him away from the door. “Now run off.” Roland runs into the other room and Robin looks up. His face pales when he realizes exactly who Regina is.

“Please don’t close the door on me,” she say quickly, watching as he reaches for the door. “Look, I’m not here to cause any more trouble for either of us.”

Robin chuckles heartlessly. It’s cold and, at least in her limited opinion of him, not suitable. “That’s what they all say.”

“I mean it,” she implores. Taking a deep breath, she skips to the part in her prepared speech that would get to the point. “I’m Regina Mills. My friend told me you still had that bag you took from me. I was hoping I could have it back.” Robin tilts his head to the side in contemplation and confusion. “It’s kind of important to me,” she explains. “You can keep whatever’s it in, I just want the bag.”

He doesn’t say anything for a while, merely looks her up and down. It’s the first time since…well, since before Daniel died that a man’s gaze doesn’t make her skin crawl. It’s not lewd or disgustingly sexual. It looks like Mr. Locksley is trying to figure her out just as she’s trying to do the same.

“May I ask why?” he finally asks.

She hesitates, but ultimately decides to answer truthfully. “My ex-fiancé gave it to me the first Christmas we were together.”

“Ex?”

She nods. “He died a couple years ago.” His eyes widen and Regina shrugs. “Boating accident.”

“Oh,” he says softly. “I’m sorry.” Though she isn’t completely recovered – and, as she reasons with her mother, never expects to be fully done grieving Daniel – Regina waves away his remorse. A hand still on the door, he gesture further into the house behind him. “I do still have it, though I don’t promise the contents are still there.”

“That’s okay,” she says. “I’ve already called and ordered all the replacements. I just want the purse.”

Robin nods. “Alright. Please, come in.”

As he leaves and disappears into the darkness of the house, Regina steps in and closes the door behind her. She can see through the spots of the bookshelf to her left to the living room, where some cartoon entertains the little boy. He’s entranced by it, the lights reflecting back on his face. For a moment, he glances up at her through the spaces and gives her this shy, silly grin that Regina can’t help but return.

Footsteps have her looking forward once more. Robin returns with her purse, a little thinner and worse for wear, but still in pretty much the same condition as when she last had it.

“Like I said, most of the things inside of it are already gone,” he tells her again, “but I think it’s in good enough condition for you.”

When he offers it back to her, Regina takes it in her hands and simply holds it for a second, relishing in the feelings of the little piece of her – the little piece of Daniel she’d lost a couple days ago – coming home.

Before saying thank you, she just has to know why. “Is that why you did it?” Regina asks.

“What?”

She jerks her head toward the noise coming from the other room, of little cartoon characters dancing about on the screen in front of his son. “My purse,” she explains. “Did you do it for him or are you just really intent on living up to your namesake?”

“Pardon?” he asks with a small chuckle.

“C’mon. Robin Locksley?” At his vacant expression, Regina herself chuckles. “You know, Robin Hood? Stealing from the rich and giving it to the poor.”

A smile grows over his lips. “I’m aware, I just wanted to see you struggle through the explanation.”

Sighing, she snarls, “Mr. Locksley-”

“Yes,” he interrupts her. In a quieter voice, he continues, “The only food we had to eat was peanut butter and I wasn’t going to let my boy starve.”

“Do you not have a job to go to?”

“Of course I do, but it doesn’t make enough to pay and it’s the night shift, so Roland ends up spending more nights with the neighbor than with me.” Sighing in frustration, Robin runs a hand through his hand, making it haphazardly fall in every which-way direction. “It’s a catch-22 of the biggest proportions.”

“I can get you a job.” The words are out of her mouth before her filter has a chance to register what she’s already said.

Flabbergasted, Robin stares at her. “Haven’t you heard me, I’ve already got one.”

“You can bring Roland. Even when you’re at your other job,” she says swiftly. And now that she’s actually thinking this through, it makes sense. “The new club down the street, Verdant? My sister’s the owner. I manage. I’m heading there after this.” She’s thinking on her feet, but it could actually work. “You can work the early shifts at the club and I’ll watch Roland in my office. The place doesn’t close until three, so I can watch him until you finish your other shift. There’s a TV and I’m always in there crunching numbers.”

Even as she’s shaking her head, Regina doesn’t know whether this is a very good idea or a very bad one. She looks up and meets Robin’s eyes, a small smile on her face. “We can figure it out.”

But he’s not giving her the same sort of response. Instead of seeming excited, he’s frowning. “While I’m honored, I don’t need your type of charity,” he growls.

“My type of charity?”

“Yes,” he says strongly. “Adopting a poor fellow and his son so you can waltz us around and tell all your rich friends you’re a saint. I’m not subjecting myself to that, let alone him.”

Regina’s jaw nearly hits the floor. “I’m trying to help,” she says simply. Digging through her purse, she manages to pull out an old business card with Verdant’s address on it. She hands it to Robin as quickly as she can. “Look, I’ll talk to my sister tonight. The position is yours if you show up tomorrow at 1:30.”

She doesn’t allow him time to answer, turning around and marching out the front door before he’s fully taken hold of the card.

0000

He doesn’t show up the next afternoon. Or the one after that. Regina doesn’t see him for a week. At first she assumes he’s sick or his son’s sick, but then she sees him on the way to work looking perfectly healthy. His arm is curled across his waist like he’s trying to keep himself warm as he’s drinking from a Styrofoam cup.

She can’t help herself: Regina storms up to him, her heels clacking against the sidewalk. She all but shoves him against the closest building wall, causing him to wince and the drink in his cup to slosh over his hand.

“Look, I’m not doing this for you out of charity, I’m doing it because I want to,” she tells him menacingly. “Do you want your son to grow up in the Glades when an offer like this comes your way?”

“Your highness,” he growls, “that’s not at all -” but his words are cut off by another wince, this one not caused by her own gruffness. Regina watches the arm around his waist tighten with the muscles on his face.

It clicks.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, much more softly and concerned.

“Nothing,” he grounds out. “Nothing’s wrong. Excuse me, I need to go get Roland.”

Robin tries to push her away, but Regina drags him over to a nearby alley and throws his against the wall. Again. This time, he loses his grip on his cup completely, the liquid escaping from its confines and spilling on the concrete.

“You’re going to tell me what’s wrong right now or I’ll call the police.”

“What are they going to do?”

“I don’t know or care,” she say. “What’s wrong?”

Slowly and with much hesitance, Robin lifts up the side of his shirt. Regina would have unabashedly ogled the toned abs he had if it weren’t for the gash up his side. It looks like something sharp – a knife or a scalpel or, hell, even an arrow tip – came from behind and headed into the ground after slicing into him.

“I got into a fight the other night,” Robin tells her. When she looks up at his face, he grimaces. “You should see the other guy.”

“Christ, Robin, what in the world were you thinking?” It’s a rhetorical question because honestly, she doesn’t want to know. Jumping into action, she asks, “Where’s Roland?”

“He’s with a neighbor.”

Regina nods and takes his hand. “You’re coming back with me.”

“What?”

“I’m going to treat this so it doesn’t get infected.”

“No, that’s fine, I really need to get -”

“You’re coming with me.” And that’s the final word on the matter. She sends a quick text to Lena, telling her something’s come up, but she’ll be at the club soon, and drags Robin back to the Mills family home. She’s always the last one to leave, so the house is empty when she walks through the front door, up the grand staircase, and into her private bathroom.

“Sit.” She directs him to sit on the closed toilet lid. “And take your shirt off.”

“Ms. Mills, I really don’t need any help.”

Despite that, he follows her directions with no arguments, but the expression on his face tells her Robin’s got at least 10 different problems with the current situation.

“It isn’t a crime to ask for help, Mr. Locksley,” she scolds him. “Especially when you have no idea what germs and infections you’ve been exposed to in the Glades with a cut like that.”

She’s got peroxide and Neosporin and band aids, but this large of a wound probably needs stitches. Really, she should take him to the hospital, but if he isn’t receptive to coming into her home, she doubts he’ll be any more so to the idea of going to the hospital.

“You know this is going to hurt a lot, right?” Regina asks.

He nods, his face already scrunched up in discomfort. “Just get it over with.”

“You’ll be fine,” she says quietly and comfortingly. She begins dabbing the peroxide on his wound at the same time she presses her lips to his.

It’s nothing like she thought it would be. She expected Robin to have chapped lips, hard and scabbed like his exterior. But they’re soft and he meets her move for move. Regina soon finds herself forgetting to clean the wound and getting lost in him.

When she pulls away, Regina turns away from him and wets another ball of toilet paper with peroxide.

“What was that for?” Robin asks.

She shrugs, suddenly feeling uncharacteristically bashful. “I thought it might distract you from the pain.”

“I should say,” he says on a laugh. “Took my breath away.”

Regina chuckles. She bends down to address his wound again when Robin initiates the kiss this time, curling down toward her and taking her face in his hands.

“You’ll start the bleeding again,” she whispers against his lips.

“Sod it,” he mumbles. His hands come up to frame her face. “If it means you keep trying to distract me like this, then so be it.”

The job should take maybe fifteen minutes. By the time she’s managed to patch Robin up the best she can – a mish-mash of band aids and medical tape coating his side – she’s two hours late for work.

She couldn’t care less.

Leading him – fully clothed – back downstairs, Regina hands him a small slip of paper with her number on it. “If anything hurts, or Roland’s being too rowdy, text me and I’ll try and help out,” she tells him, gently pushing him out the front door.

“Thank you, Ms. Mills.”

“Regina,” she corrects him with a shy grin. “Please, you were half-naked in my bathroom. We’ve reached that point.”

“Of course,” he agrees, a similar expression on his face. “Thank you, Regina.”

“Be careful, Robin.”

“I’ll do my best.” He leaves with a wink.

Regina leans up against the door frame as she watches him walk down the driveway. She doesn’t know exactly why she’s trying so hard for this guy. She reasons that she wants the best for him and his son. Put good into the world and good comes back to you.