Run Down

Waking Up

The sign alone was enough to send a surge of nausea cruising through him, but then his eyes landed on her, and he almost fell to his knees. Pressing a hand to the doorframe at the side of him to keep him steady, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath before stepping into the room.

There was a steady beep emanating from a square machine near the top of the bed and about a dozen wires connected themselves to various parts of her body. She had a long cut across her forehead which ran down to her temple, but apart from that she looked relatively unscathed. Other than the fact she's unconscious, Robin reminded himself. Her raven hair fell across the pillow, haloing her head and framing her face. Lips still slightly stained plum coloured from yesterday's makeup rested in a relaxed not-quite-frown, a bold contrast to her pale olive skin. Robin could only stare at this woman who's life he nearly, still could have, ruined. How had this happened? He trusted his car with the road, allowed himself a glance across to his son without thinking, and he felt sick, completely and utterly sick.

The machine which displayed her heart rate and some other things which Robin didn't bother to look at made a different sound, a longer sound and he snapped his head up, flicking his eyes across the moving lines as if he could understand them.

He looked back down then, and it was her eyes, her deep brown eyes which were groggily peeling themselves open that caught his attention. She took a deep breath, the sort that hits you unexpectedly and fills your lungs to the brim, and Robin moved towards her, placing a hand on her forearm instinctively. She looked over at him, brow pinching in the middle, then down at the wires attached to her arms and ran one of the grey plastic tubes through her fingers.

"What happened?" Her gaze fell back to him, words strained as she tried to push herself up with her elbows. Robin managed to coax her back down and instead reached for the handle which raised the bed.

"You're in hospital, you were in an accident." He said, trying to keep his voice even.

"I feel like I was hit by a car," her words were slow, scratchy and thick from sleep as she lifted a hand to feel the damage done to her forehead. "Are you the doctor?"

"I'm afraid not." Robin rubbed a thumb across his brow, his mouth suddenly dry. "I called the ambulance," just tell her! the voice in his head was screaming at him over the sound of her thanks. "But, I-- I was also the one who ran you over." He expected her to recoil from him, to tell him to leave, maybe even to shout at him, but she didn't. She nodded and fell back against the pillow, taking another visibly deep breath.

"How are you feeling?" He asked hesitantly, his hand still firmly placed atop her arm.

"How do you think? You hit me with a car," she replied, not looking at him but not flinching under his touch. He began to apologise, lifting his fingers finally from her skin and she missed the warmth it was giving her, but she shook her head, cutting him off, "don't worry about it."

"Given that I put you in the hospital, I will worry about it." His eyes were so blue, transparent almost, like a window to his thoughts ticking just behind the surface. She knew he meant that. There was something about the intensity of his gaze and the firmness of his words that made her believe it.

She smiled then, ever so slightly, just enough for him to notice her lips curve up at the edges. "So who do I have to thank for this?" She asked, pointing to the scrape landing on the side of her head.

"Robin," he held his hand out and she shook it (a firm handshake he noted) "Robin Locksley."

"Well, even though you ran me over, it's nice to meet you Robin." He smiled, unable to keep the small chuckle falling from his lips. "I'm Regina."