As do so many of my stories, this one began with a prompt on tumblr. :) I hope you enjoy this non-magical AU. And yes-I shall be updating "The Shadow of Death" very soon. Thanks so very much for reading! And of course as much as I adore them, I own nothing but an overactive imagination and a passion for writing.

This is a nightmare.

As if the storm weren't bad enough, as if taking refuge in this cheap motel room wasn't adding insult to injury, as if not having service for her iPhone wasn't the last straw, now the power has blown and the phone lines are down.

She can't call Henry to see if he's OK, can't check her email or even watch the progression of the hurricane as it makes its way down the coast. If only she hadn't been so stubborn about staying behind, if only she had swallowed her pride and followed Emma's advice, she would have been well away from the storm's fury right now.

She'd be with Henry. She wouldn't be alone.

But she is used to being alone. Women in power live solitary existences, and serving her second term as mayor is an accomplishment of which she is quite proud. She doesn't have time for the men Mary Margaret and Emma keep sending her way. Just because they have someone to warm their beds at night doesn't give them the right to assume that her life is lacking.

A knock on the door makes her jump, and she digs for the small flashlight she carries in her purse, turning it on immediately. She steadies her hand, moving quietly to the peephole to get a glimpse of who is standing on the other side.

A man. One soaked to the skin and looking as desperate as she had been thirty minutes ago.

She hesitates, knowing this dump is in the middle of nowhere, knowing he could be a rapist, a murderer, a drug dealer or just your average asshole. But she opens the door, leaving the chain in place, staring into a face that looks oddly familiar.

"May I help you?"

Her voice is sharp, her tone steady as her eyes narrow in his direction.

"I'm looking for a room," the man yells into the gale, his rain coat offering him no protection from the elements.

"Check in at the front desk like everybody else," she instructs, shouting to ensure she is heard.

"I did," he returns. "All the rooms are taken. The man told me to see if you would share."

Her heart pounds loudly, and she swallows down a surge of panic.

"I'm sorry," she yells. "But I'm not in a habit of sharing my room with a man I don't know."

He reaches into his pocket, and she stiffens reflexively, only to see him pull out a badge and hold it up for her inspection.

"Federal Marshal, ma'am," he clarifies. "I promise to do you no harm."

She wavers, wishing she could see his face more clearly. He could be lying. Then again, he could be telling the truth.

Her fingers release the chain before she can think about it further, and she steps back, still unsure of why she let him in as he steps in out of the storm.

"Thank you," he says, the earnestness in his gaze somehow reassuring. "I appreciate this more than you know."

His jacket slides off, his shirt plastered to his chest, and she can't help but notice how well-formed he is.

"Would you mind shining that thing somewhere else?' he asks, blocking his eyes from her flashlight's direct beam.

"Sorry," she mutters, setting it down on the dresser, its light pointing upward casting the room in an eerie glow.

"I'm Robin," he offers, extending his hand. "Robin Locksley."

She takes his hand, its wet state doing nothing to deter its warmth.

"Regina," she returns, finding this stranger far too attractive for her own peace of mind. This is neither the time nor the place for a mindless dalliance she would most certainly regret, especially under such undesirable circumstances.

"I'd lock that if I were you," he states flatly, indicating the door. "After all, you never know who might show up on a night like this."