(A/N: Hello! Why am I writing another fic, that's a good question and I'm currently having the same argument with my muse. lol. So the new season of OUAT has started and I'm cautiously optimistic. 5x02 was all around fantastic and I liked how in 5x01 and 5x03 we've gotten small glimpses, finally, at Robin's POV. Keyword being small. So I've decided that perhaps, as a follow up to each episode, I shall write a oneshot, nothing fancy or too extravagant, detailing more of his POV, of him and Regina, etc, but giving Robin the dedication I believe he deserves. Moment of awe and applause for Sean Maguire, though, because no matter how little material he is given, he sells it so fantastically! Though, again, that begs the question of: WHY ARE YOU NOT GIVING ONE OF YOUR BEST ACTORS MORE AND BETTER MATERIAL?

So this shall be 5x01. And I would like to start off by saying that this Zelena storyline is one of the worst things I've seen on television, it is utterly ridiculous that a show about fairytales, who do not have adequate abilities to properly flesh out these serious topics, is truly doing this story, and the whole thing makes me uncomfortable. BUT that is what my writing is for. It helps me be- okay, let's not say "comfortable" because that's a bit of a stretch, lol- adapt more so as not to toss my remote through my screen. lol.

Sorry that this is a tad long-winded. Hopefully in future chapters my rantings and ravings will be smaller in size. Though I make no promises. ;) I hope I can do Robin, OQ, and all my fellow Hoodies justice in these vignettes. Thank you for anyone who reads.

I'm just putting a big ol' TRIGGER WARNING TRIGGER WARNING TRIGGER WARNING on all of these since most will deal with Robin's headspace revolving around Zelena assaulting him, the pregnancy product of the deceit, etc. Nothing graphic, but the last thing I want is to make any of my fellow fans uneccesarily umcomfortable. And, side note, if anyone has felt triggered by this storyline onscreen, I'm so sorry.)

Disclaimer: I do not own, nor claim to own Once Upon A Time or it's characters and other properties. It all belongs fully to Adam Horowitz, Edward Kitsis, and ABC. This is written purely for fun.

Well, at least he's alive.

Even if other aspects of his life are in utterly rubbish states, at least he has a life to cling to.

Regina makes quite sure of that.

"Are you sure you're alright?" She questions, her tender fingers skimming over the skin of his neck with a gentle ease, now that they're sequestered in Regina's quarters in Camelot's castle. It's the first moment they've had alone together since Zelena's magical ambush earlier in the day; hell, it's the first respite the two have really had since their interrupted walk in the moonlight not one day ago.

Robin slowly takes her roaming hands within his own, peeling them from his neck, and bring them to his mouth, bestowing a kiss on either of her appendages, "My love, this is not the first time I've been strangled and lived to tell the tale."

His attempt at teasing, at lightening the mood amidst a bevy of unfortunate circumstances, is not recepted with her sensational smile or her lovely laugh. No, the comment seems to fall between them, a heap of words plummeting to the inch of space separating where he sits on the edge of the bed and where she stands between his open legs, with a resounding thud as her features contort to something of a grimace, she bows her head before he can truly examine her expression. "The last time I had been the one choking you."

He almost wishes she would do it again. It's what a sod like him deserves.

Robin groans, is sure he would have a concussion if his own mental kicks to his head manifested physically, tightens his grip on Regina's hands, fearful that she'll revert to her habit of pushing him away, of running from him (Perhaps she should, a self-loathing voice berates inside) and his ill-advised reminder of the past. "Regina," He sighs, his tone aching , his body aching, every inch of him suddenly feeling suffocated by the distance, no matter how miniscule, between them, "Can you please sit with me?"

He, regretfully, releases one of her hands, pats the mattress beside him, his calloused hands feeling foreign against the elegant linens of the palace, asking her to join him. She glances at his hand, then meets his eyes. Her stare is unwavering, but unsure. Doubt, not doubt in him, but doubt in herself, an omnipresence in her life as he's come to learn and despise himself (one he wishes to extinguish, banish, so her present and future is never burdened as he knows her past was), lingers in her chocolate brown orbs as her teeth sink into her bottom lip.

The "Savior", my savior, is nothing if not surprising, he thinks, as Regina steps closer but, as opposed to sitting beside him on the bed, she maneuvers his arm and perches on his leg.

It's as if, after Zelena's poaching, her stand-off on Storybrooke's Main Street, the tornado whisking them to Camelot, and aiding in finding Emma, Robin can finally breathe again.

He sucks in a deep breath through his nose, allowing his senses to be overcome by Regina Mills, by her aroma of apple and vanilla, by her perspiration marking worry and strife, by the intoxicating energy that he feeds on whenever she's in his arms (Is it her magic burning at her fingertips? Is it a scent embedded in soulmates? He's not quite sure and bloody well doesn't care!), leaning his face down to rest on her shoulder. He puckers his lips, planting a few stray kisses over her blazer, and he feels, rather than hear her hum in contentment.

He's loathe to break the serene scene that's enveloped them, but knows he must. He wraps his arms securely around her waist as he murmurs, softly, but fervently, "Do not ever compare yourself to that woman."

Regina laughs, bitterly, "It's hard not to; we're two apples that fell from the same poisoned tree."

"No," He exclaims, the edge of his voice even coming as a surprise to him and it seems to slice through the tension, pulling her gaze to his own, "Her apple is rotted to the core, Regina."

"People would say the same of me, Robin."

"Who?" He questions, has murderous thoughts trickle through his mind about anyone who would dare to question her progress, her growth, her capability to love and nuture and save, "It's damn sure not the Charmings, not when you are the reason we're here, rescuing their daughter. It's not Henry, your son who looks at you with adoration and respect. It's very well not my own son, who acts as if you hang the moon."

"Robin," She weakly protests and it astounds him that for an "Evil Queen" (a moniker that he can never seem to attach to any version of the woman nestled on his lap), for one so boastful in her abilities in all other areas, how demure she becomes when she is complimented, praised, deservingly.

Robin swoops his hand lower, jostling her knee, playfully, drawing that smile he, no matter the days, miles, realms, shall always see when he closes his eyes, out of her, "As Granny's was to be whisked away, who did Roland want to be with? Not me, his ol' Papa. No, he wanted Regina and you protected he and Henry."

"You were busy securing Zelena in place, Roland knew you were busy. Though I wish you could've been over with us. I hate the idea of you having to be around her after what she did to you."

"Which time?" Regina shoves at his chest, rightfully so, another poor attempt at a jest, yet they both find themselves chuckling, regardless, "I'm sorry, milady. I just had to make certain for myself that there was no way she could escape and I wasn't bloody well leaving that up to Killian."

"Don't remind me." Robin hears the ire in her voice, spoken through clenched teeth and causing her fists to ball, seething just below the surface. He can't blame her, really. In another life, when he was another man, he would have taken his own fist to the git's face.

"Don't be too cross with him. He was just doing what any man in love would do," And he sincerely believes the words as they tumble off his tongue. That Robin of the past may have felt rageful, downright indignant, but the person he is today, who knows the power of all-consuming love (is fortunate enough to have his, currently, in his arms), cannot fault the former pirate for his actions. Hook wasn't to, solely, blame, either. Robin continues, with a shake of his head, trying to sort out the right words, as well as the right feelings, "I don't know, it could've been anyone in charge of securing her and I wouldn't have felt right if I hadn't seen to it, myself, that there was no exit strategy available, nothing giving her free reign to terrorize you or this town again."

"Or you," She reminds, leaning forward, nuzzling his cheek with her nose, her breath a solace and a punishment against his skin, "But that's who you are, you're always looking out for everyone else above yourself, even if I know it's torturing you inside, because you're good man."

"Am I?"

It's been plaguing him for hours, for days, if he's being truthful. But today's events had caused the emotions to bubble up, to burn and scrape and tear, to pummel the lining of his stomach like a galloping steed, to squeeze at his head like a vice, to pierce his heart like one of his arrows. The guilty has been steadily balancing on his shoulders, has for weeks, a never-ending struggle since "Marian" had returned, but recalling themomentns of today, while being observed by Regina's warm, empathetic eyes, he feels that weight crushing his bones, one by one, into ash.

"Robin, why would you say that?"

"When Zelena was talking about escaping back to Oz, about taking the child and raising it beyond the rainbow... Regina, I almost wished she'd succeed."

He feels as if he can't speak, yet simultaneously can't spit out the words fast enough. He feels like a right failure, feels ashamed for the path his thoughts had led him down, mortified for admitting them outloud now. But he also feels a relief, baring his soul, his darkened, pitiful soul. It's a heaviness and a lightness battling for dominance within him.

"For a brief second, I thought: 'This is perfect. She can go back to her wicked homeland and I can move on with my life, with our life.' But how could I even consider that? That's my child, my flesh and blood, and I thought of abandoning it to that-"

Regina is swift to interrupt him, carding her fingers through the hair at the back of his neck. Comforting him, as well as herself, he realizes, "Robin, you said yourself, you were an unwilling part in that baby's conception, it's perfectly natural for you to think these things."

"That baby could be a reminder of what she put us through every day, of how she made us her victims," He swallows the bile that tends to form, rises and rises without the relief of purging so much pent-up emotion, whenever his mind lingers too long on that brief, but still too existent, period in his life, "But, then, that baby didn't ask to be conceived under those circumstances, either."

"He or she is also one of Zelena's victims."

Robin silently concurs, bobbing his head, "How, as a father, as a human being, could I have imagined permitting that psychotic witch to raise an innocent child?"

"Your child," Regina emphasizes, not out of malice, yet not out of celebration, just stating simple fact. But oh how he can't help but wish, still, that it's their child, a product of their love, pure and passionante. Don't dwell, he chastises himself, and focuses on her voice. "Robin, you are still a good man. You are. And, as you said, you are also human. I'm sure you will have many more thoughts until this child is born and, maybe, even occasionally afterward. Your situation is more complicated than most and, it'd be more difficult, but if you didn't want to raise this child, we could find someone, not Zelena, who would. But, dear," She uses the term of endearment differently with him, he notices, employs it with love as she pours her knowledge, her knowledge of him, out.

"I also know you and, as I said, you put others ahead of yourself and this baby will be the same. You will love and nurture your son or daughter no differently than you do Roland, or Henry for that matter, it's who you are. But, no matter what, you, this man, this heart," one hand slides down over his collarbone, down to his chest, her palm sitting flat against the surface where, just beneath, his heart is still pumping, reminding him that he is alive, that loving this woman touching him is reason enough to be grateful, "is who I love and who I will continue to love."

He stares at her, just fixates on her, until she is grinning impishly at him, amused by his behavior, while he, as always, amazed, mesmorized, and impressed by hers. "How can you ever even question the differences between you and she? You have the most magnificent heart I have ever seen- or held." That last part has her rolling her eyes, though he doesn't miss the blush that rushes her cheeks and it has him smiling brightly, for the first time since that swirl of darkness had targeted Regina yesterday.

She lazily removes herself from his lap and he can't resist a moan of protest, already feeling her absence despite her barely detaching from him, "Yes, well, if we want to stop Emma's heart from darkening further, I have to get to work."

"I will not impede your work, as long as I see you at the ball later this evening."

Something crosses her face, something he can't quite detect, the same energy that had appeared after one of the King's men had offered her that necklace earlier in the day. But she seems to not want to discuss it and he is resolved not to push her- not yet, not until he senses it's a danger to her well-being.

Instead, Robin allows Regina's hands to finds purchase on his shoulders, his still at her hips, as she ducks down, connecting their lips in a loving lock, with one or two pecks to follow, before she instructs, "Go be the amazing father I know you to be and check on our boys."

"Or deny an order by the Savior?" He questions, cheekily, mirroring the smirk that paints across her own mouth, as he catches them for one last kiss, then sends her off, "Oh, I wouldn't dream of it."