I had this idea of why Regina cut her hair (I'm already in mourning over the loss of Lana's perfect locks thank you very much) and it got my Evil Charming feels flowing. Post season 5. BroTP EC

She's barefoot and pajama clad in the kitchen when it hits her. Finally, fully, hits her: he's gone. Its nothing at all that breaks the walls she's painstakingly built up. The mundane rinsing of the breakfast dishes in the sink, the stray hair that wouldn't stay out of her eyes. He would have pulled it back. He would have stood behind her as she rinsed, or chopped, or stirred and held her hair. Run his fingers through inky locks, occasionally giving attention to her neck, her scalp, rubbed tired shoulders, but always returned to her hair. For a moment she smiles, leans her head back to rest against the shoulder that should be there, stands frozen with head tipped back when she realizes her error.

She drops the dishes in the sink, ignoring the clamoring of china against steel, and swipes her wet fingers through her hair. They stick at her nape, moisture instantly bringing the unruly curls she hides from everyone but the person who will never see them again. "Stop," she tells herself, untangling her fingers and wiping them roughly across her cheeks where unwelcome tears begin to fall. "Stop," again as she picks up the discarded plate and tries to steady the shake of her hands, the shutter of her breath.

It starts with his coffee cup, a gaudy mishmash of green and brown clay that would leak out the side if he tipped it the wrong way, but Roland had molded it all on his own and Robin would drink out of nothing else. It hit the wall, pieces disappearing behind the refrigerator, under the kitchen island. Her hand covers her mouth muffling the sob that escapes. There's a moment when she realizes what she's destroyed, when she can see Roland's quivering lip and watery eyes staring up at her. In the next moment she realizes her little knight is lost to her as well. The next sob is a full-throated, guttural thing that clinches her stomach.

Regina grabs the counter to keep herself upright, eventually leaning her weight on her forearms and letting her forehead fall to the cabinet. "Stop," she mouths, her shoulders shake as she holds her breath against the cries she won't let come. The wine glasses are inches from her face and she pulls one from its secured slot under the cabinet, turns it over and over in her hands. She feels his fingers wrap around hers, remembers how he would take the glass from her hands, setting it aside so he could pull her closer without spilling her merlot. She closes her eyes and hears him moan quietly in her ear as he would taste the wine from her lips. She lets the glass roll from her hand, keeps her eyes closed as she hears the fragile thing shatter at her feet. The other 7 quickly follow, swiped blindly into the air and crashing against the counter and floor.

She sees the whiskey tumblers next. They know too many secrets, have witnessed him quieting too many of her of her fears. They were there making the hard conversations easier, easing them into sleep when their minds had been too frantic to let them rest. She always held his hand when they drank whiskey, it was an automatic gesture. She watches her left reach for his as her right curves around the thick glass. "Stop!" she screamed hurling the tumbler across the counter. It collides with the canisters, toppling sugar and coffee, spoons and spatulas.

He's still here, still everywhere, although he'll never be anywhere again. She still feels his warm breath against her neck, surprisingly soft lips against that spot behind her ear, nimble fingers forever weaving through her hair. "Stop," she begs his memory as she buries her fingers in her hair and pulls to the point of pain before slamming her palms against the counter. The strands will never know his touch again, gentle fingers will never again caress her into sleep. Kitchen shears are in her shaking hands before she even thinks to look for them amongst the fallen utensils, dark curls fall to white marble before she realizes she's begun to cut. She doesn't see anything through the tears blurring her vision, doesn't hear over the blood pounding in her ears, doesn't feel anything at all but empty.

He's walking up to the porch when he sees her through the kitchen window. She's shaking so violently he's not sure how she's still on her feet. He doesn't bother knocking; he doesn't bother shutting the door that she never bothers to lock. He's at her side in seconds, wrapping strong arms across her shoulders. "Stop!" he yells so close his lips brush her cheek, but David can tell his voice doesn't register. "Regina, stop!" He's got a better hold on her now, has her arms pinned to her chest as he's prying her fingers apart and tossing the shears into the sink behind them. But the damage is done. Her locks speckle the counter, the floor, breaking up the stark white of her normally spotless kitchen. A few still clinging to the sleeves of her t-shirt as if they haven't realized they're no longer attached.

She flinches in his hold, jerks her foot up and for a moment they both stare down at the small cut and the thin line of blood beginning to flow across her bare foot. He hadn't even noticed the glass before, but now David is acutely aware of the crunch under his boots. He moves his arms lower on her waist, holds her up just a bit more as she continues to stare blankly at the floor. Something flies by the window; David catches a glimpse of it out of the corner of his eye. Its then he realizes that he should move them. There aren't many visitors to the mayoral mansion, but the image of the former queen tear stained and swollen, hanging in the prince's arms, with her hastened haircut is certainly something the rest of the town need not see.

He makes to move her, turns slightly so at least his back is to the window and he can shield her from the outside world. It causes a single drop of blood to fall from her still raised foot. Something in her snaps when the droplet lands on her discarded hair. Regina screams, slams her foot down into the broken glasses and tries to push away from his hold. She screams again when the shards slice into her skin, again when David doesn't spare a second before hoisting her gracelessly into the air. He puts her down on the dining room table, again pins her arms to her sides, and presses his body into her legs to stop her thrashing. "Stop!" David holds her tightly. "Regina, stop. I'm not going to hurt you. Stop!"

"Why!" she screams it at him and the ferocity of it has him slacking his grip, but only slightly. "Everyone hurts me! Everything hurts me! You want me to stop? I can't. I'm trying and I can't, David. They're gone, but they won't leave. They're everywhere in this damn house, this godforsaken town, my head, my heart… I want it to stop. Make it stop!" She breaks. The thin, cracked shell that had been holding her together shatters and she's left raw and exposed. David says nothing; there is nothing that can be said. She's staring into his eyes, pleading for there to be a simple end to this suffocating grief, knowing nothing is ever simple.

He releases her arms and she collapses against his chest. David takes half a step back, just enough to untangle their limbs before resituating himself to hold her without holding her down. Her feet are bleeding, he notices as he moves her legs into a more comfortable position than the contorted one he placed her down in. And her hair…he runs his hand along her neck, pulling out what has been cut but has yet to fall. It's above her shoulders now, most of it at least. She hadn't quite got to the left side before he'd interrupted her. There's a few spots that are almost to her scalp, he feels out the different lengths as his fingers massage her nape.

"Is it bad?" she sniffs against him, hasn't moved an inch since the fight left her.

"Horrible," he admits, smoothing down the back of her head repeatedly. "You never were one to do something halfway." She almost laughs at that, it comes out in a more of a wet sigh, but David can feel her coming back. "Where's your first aid kit and some sharper scissors?" he asks, still cradling her against him.

"Upstairs." Her grip tightens on his shirt. "Can we stay here a little longer?" she asks weakly. She's terrified to move and it's ridiculous. But it's quiet here, safer than she's felt since everything went to hell, and if there's a moments peace to be found sitting on her dining room table with David's arms around her who is she to question it?

"As long as you need," his grip tightens as hers relaxes. David rests his chin against the top of her head, content for now to just let her be.

"Okay," she announces after what was probably a ridiculous amount of time to make David stand in one spot, but he isn't complaining so she resigns herself to take his compassion for what it is. He unwraps his arms from around her back, runs his hands down her arms and squeezes her hands before stepping back. Regina starts scooting off the table when David places his hands on her knees, stopping her movement. "What?" she asks only getting a grin and cocked eyebrow in response as he hooks his arm under her knees. "I appreciate you helping me David, but I'm not an infant. I can walk just fine." Regina stiffens. He may have carried her in here, may have held her while she cried herself dry, but she has to draw the line somewhere and being carried up to her bedroom was where she will make her stand. Or so she thought.

"No, you can't," he says simply as he lifts her legs until she's forced to grab onto him to keep from toppling over. Her quiet Oh, tells David that she realizes that the glass likely still embedded in her feet. She wraps her arms around his neck as he lifts her off the table and heads upstairs.

"Second door on the left," she tells him once she realizes why he's stopped at the top of the stairs. He walks straight through the bedroom and into her en suite, setting her down on the edge of the tub, holding her until she finds her balance without having to put her feet down. "Under the sink," she tells him before he asks and David pulls out peroxide, tweezers, and bandages. He settle on the toilet, pulls her bloody foot into his lap, and gets to work. "Thank you," she says once her cuts are treated, one foot wrapped thickly with bandages.

"Try not to put too much weight on that one for a few days," he instructs as he packs up the kit and tucks it back under the sink.

"David," her voice was firm, causing the prince to meet her eyes. "Thank you," she says again.

"I heard you the first time, Regina. There's nothing to thank me for. You needed help. Friends help." Her eyes water again, but for entirely different reasons. They were friends, he was one of her closest friends, but she still wasn't used to this concept of people caring. "Scissors?" he questions, snapping her away from the demons in her head.

"What on earth are you going to do with scissors?"

"I'll have you know, I was a shepherd before I was a prince, Your Majesty." David ignores her skepticism, opening drawers at random and rummaging through them.

"Is that so?" she feigns shock at his admission.

"I've sheared many a sheep in my day."

"I am not a sheep." She shifts from the tub to the toilet for a better seat.

"Hair is hair." He can tell she's not convinced. "I can at least make it even enough for you to go to the salon and have someone else make it queen worthy."

"I didn't mean…" She hadn't meant to hurt his feelings. The sarcasm just comes out.

"I know," he assures her with a smile. "Where's your scissors?" She leans forward, pulling open the bottom drawer of her vanity and placing the rarely used object in his hand. They go quiet after that, the only sound is the scissors coming together as he deftly shapes her hair. He starts with the longest side, cutting until it's mostly even with the rest then sets about trimming the random sections that she'd missed.

It's a good half of an hour of him tilting and turning her head, of wetting and combing, stepping back and leaning in. "How did I do?" he asks when finally satisfied with her cut. He hands her the mirror on her vanity and watches with a self-satisfied smirk as her eyes widen in surprise and she runs her fingers through her hair. It's cropped at her chin, layered up a bit in the back to hide where she's practically bald, and feathering slightly to frame her face. It looks…well, it looks damn good.

She turns to him and her smile is genuine for the first time in far too long. "I'm impressed, Charming. Perhaps the Sheriff's station isn't the right career for you."

"I have many hidden talents."

"Thank you."

"You've said that already. Twice."

"It's worth repeating. Not many people would do this for me."

"More people than you think, Regina. I wish you'd start believing that. I'd thought Robin had just about gotten it through your head that people can and do care about you." He regrets the words the minute they're out of his mouth. He shouldn't have said that, shouldn't have brought her lost love up only moments after she'd finally stopped trembling with her grief for him. He's ready to wrap her up in his arms again, but instead of crumbling, she softly smiles.

"He did drill it into my head daily, hourly sometimes," she's still playing with the ends of her hair, but her mind has gone somewhere else for the moment. David leaves her to the memory, setting about putting her bathroom back in order until she's talking again. "I haven't had it this short since the first curse. Robin liked it longer," she confesses almost shyly. It was hardly a revelation; the thief always had his hands in her hair in whatever realm they happened to be in. "When we came back here, when we got our memories back, I could tell he was missing it. I wasn't going to grow it back to my waist, but just below my shoulders seemed like a reasonable compromise." It shouldn't be so easy to talk to him like this. She doesn't share things about herself, especially things she considers so intimate. But David's told her time and again that he's here, has been here, and it feels good to be able to talk about Robin with someone who will simply listen. "I miss him. Both of them."

"I know." He drops his hands to her shoulders, squeezing there a moment before taking a seat on the edge of the tub. She shifts to face him. "You know, Emma and Zelena think we can keep the door open to the Enchanted Forest. Roland can come here or you could-"

"I don't know if that's a good idea," she stops him mid-sentence, looking quickly at anything but the confused look on his face.

"The portal or Roland?" he asks, concerned about her answer and what her reasoning could possibly be.

"He'll be better off just forgetting me." It's a whisper, one he wouldn't have heard if it hadn't echoed around the tiled walls.

"He won't forget you, Regina. You were his mother for almost 3 years. He adores you. And you'll see Robin again too. Stop." He puts a finger to her lips before she can voice her protest. "I don't care what Hades said. I don't believe it and neither do you."

"I don't?" she asks with his hand still on her face. She wants not to believe it, wants it desperately, but she's still not sure she can.

"No," he tells her firmly, "you don't. Because my wife has finally gotten to you and you have hope." Regina can only nod. She knows her voice will break again and she's too exhausted for another breakdown. David sees it: the bone-tired weariness that seems to have suddenly engulfed her. "When's the last time you slept?" he asks, squeezing her knee.

He watches her turn the question over in her mind, can see her memory going back and back. "Camelot?" it comes out as a question, but she's not expecting him to answer. "After the ball and before we found out Arthur was a sociopath. I think I slept pretty well those few nights." She laughs and it breaks his heart.

"To bed with you," he orders, scooping her up again (before she can tell him how 'just fine' she can walk on freshly bandaged feet) takes her the few steps to her bed and plops her in the center of it.

"It's the middle of the afternoon." She protests, but it's weak. Her mind and body are beyond tired and the mattress beneath her is a welcome feeling. "Henry will be home from school in a couple hours," she turns on her side and reaches to set the alarm to give herself enough time to get everything back in order before her son comes home.

David pulls it out of her reach. "I'll pick him up and take him to Grannies. You may join us later if you're up."

"I'm his mother," she argues, but she's already fighting to keep her eyes open.

"I'm his grandfather," he counters, pulling the duvet over her and turning off the bedside lamp. She props herself up again, despite her own body's protest, but David easily pushes her back to the pillows. "Stop. Sleep," he tells her quietly, tucking her freshly trimmed tresses behind her ear.

"Thank you, David," she mumbles on the edge of sleep. It may be needless, but she'll tell him as often as she can.

"You're welcome, Regina." He closes her bedroom door and heads back downstairs.

When she wakes hours later the sun has set. She hears Henry's laughter from downstairs, David's groan, and the sound of revving engines. It takes her a few minutes to figure out that they're playing Henry's new video game and is that pizza she smells? On cue her stomach growls loudly, a friendly reminder that she'd slept through lunch and coffee hadn't been enough of a breakfast. She eases out from under the blankets and flicks on the light, laughs outright at the pair of crutches leaning against her nightstand with a note stating simply USE THEM.

She takes a few practice laps around her bedroom. She's unsteady, never used these things before, but the cut on her foot had been deep and for at least a couple days she will humor him and hobble. She makes it to the top of the stairs, instantly deciding that she'll have more than an injured foot if she attempts the descent and poofs herself into the kitchen.

It's spotless. The only evidence of her morning melt down is the empty rack where the wine glasses hung. There isn't a thing out of place except for the misshapen mug and a bottle of glue on the island. Her tears come again, quick and hot spilling down her cheeks. She's wiping them away when Henry comes into the kitchen for another soda his grandfather is letting him indulge in.

"Mom!" he startles at the sight of her. She's got her tears under control, but Henry still stares at her face, her hair she realizes. She's going to have to explain the obvious change. "I like it," he finally declares, stepping closer and pulling her into a hug. "Are you feeling better? Grandpa said you fell at the salon and cut your foot."

Of course he did. Of course David would come up with a perfectly logical explanation that wouldn't have Henry asking questions she wasn't ready to answer. She is eternally grateful for it. "Much better," she smiles and nods and asks "Grab one for me to?" lifting a crutch in each hand in defeat.

"No problem."

She follows her son into the living room, falling onto the couch next to David as Henry places her drink in her hand and a plate of pizza in her lap and goes back to set up the next match. She leans slightly into David's shoulder, not enough for Henry to notice, but enough to get the prince's attention.

"Stop," he moved his arm to the back of the couch, causing her to lean further into him. "If you thank me one more time I'm going to announce to everyone in Storybrooke that the queen sleeps in Mickey Mouse pajamas. She hears the snap of his phone's camera and whips her head to the arm not so innocently resting behind her back.

"I'll destroy you." She fixes him with her most menacing evil queen glare, but she can't hold it against the smile pushing its way through. "Henry, give me that," she holds her hand out for the third controller. "I need to show your grandfather how things are done." She's smiling as she situates herself on the couch in preparation to thoroughly humiliate them both. For the moment she can be content, happy even in this simple act that means so much.

For a moment all the pain and the sadness stops.

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