A/N: This is a follow-up to IDEALISTIC. It takes place about three years after that. The timeline (thanks to the show) is a bit soft, but basically this story occurs right before Regina coerces Snow into taking a bite from the apple. It moves a bit out of canon at this point.

Warnings: Mild language and a wee spot of violence.

"My Queen," the guardsman says, his back as straight as a board as he addresses her. He's young, one of her newer men, and he's so very earnest and hopeful. He believes in the mission that he's been sold. The idea of how power is necessary to protect this land. She knows that time will grind him down, and it will become about money to him, but for now, she's pleased.

"Go on, Vincent," she says with a lazy wave of her hand. "What's the trouble of today? Are the peasants angry about the rise in ale prices?" She smirks when she says this because yes, she's somewhat responsible for that. A few weeks previous, a couple of young drunkards had attacked one of the royal coaches, and had caused it significant damage. They'd been stripped and whipped, of course, but she'd decided that others needed to pay as well.

They should have been watching their drinking buddies, and keeping them from doing stupid things like destroying royal property.

And so now, they get to learn that lesson through higher prices.

She's not the least bit sorry for it.

"They are," he admits, and she thinks she sees a small smile on his lips for just a brief moment before he grows serious again. "But there's a bigger problem. We appear to have caught a known fugitive from Nottingham."

"Nottingham," she repeats thoughtfully, narrowing her eyes and leaning forward. "What fugitive and how did we catch him?"

"He goes by the name of Robin Hood according to the many wanted posters of his that are everywhere to be found, and we caught him because he attempted to rob one of Her Majesty's tax men," Vincent replies.

"Oh he did, did he?" she purrs, her eyes glittering maliciously. "Well now, that's just fascinating. Where is he now, this…Robin Hood?"

"He's in the middle of interrogation with Claude and Nathaniel in the dungeons. Claude said you'd want to hear of this immediately."

"Claude was right," Regina replies, a cruel smile overtaking her face. "Return to him, and let him know that I will be down shortly."

"You, my Queen? Personally?"

"Oh, yes," she says. "Personally. This thief requires…special handling."

He doesn't understand her interest, but that hardly matters because orders are orders. He nods sharply and obediently. "Of course."

"Oh, and Vincent, dear? Tell Claude to be gentle with him. While I don't mind him a little bruised, I'd like to be able to speak to him."

"So his tongue should stay in his mouth then?" Vincent replies. Almost immediately, the color drains from his face as he realizes that he'd actually utilized sarcasm in speaking to the Queen. But to his surprise, she laughs.

"Indeed," she says with a broad smile, amused by his cheek. "For now."

"As you wish," the boy says with another nod. He salutes, and then snaps around and exits her office, his steps deliberate and precise.

Such a good soldier.

It's a shame that bitter cynicism and the reality of exactly whom it is that he's serving will eventually intervene to destroy everything.

She sighs and drops against her chair, her mind whirling as she ponders a man that she hasn't thought about for almost three years now. They'd met so briefly in the forest after he and his comrade had dared to try to steal from her coach, and she'd allowed him to leave with his life after extracting a promise from him that he wouldn't conduct his raids on her land.

Stuck in her own nightmare – until recently she'd found it quite difficult to get her hands on the sleeping curse touched magic (it's not lost on her that now that she finally possesses the apple that she will soon give to Snow, she can make such a curse blindfolded, but she'd always needed a sample of the magic to feel and touch before she could replicate it) – she hasn't had much time to think about the thief with a golden heart. The one who had presented himself as a man of honor, and thus walked away with his life.

Apparently, he had forgotten their agreement as much as she had.

Well, he's certainly about to learn the wisdom of such foolishness.

With his life.

The truth is that she rarely takes notice of small crimes unless they're forced in front of her; typically, her guardsmen handle these things. Such pettiness means so very little to her these days because honestly, very little about her kingdom means much. All that matters is Snow White and as it is, she can feel the acidic taste of her impending victory in her mouth, and there's a hot something in the middle of her chest that tells her that the end is coming.

She has a poisoned apple and a wicked plan and soon it will all be over.

Soon Daniel will be avenged, and then perhaps, she will finally be at peace.

Once Snow White is finally slumbering away for all eternity, and her witless beloved (she reminds herself that she really does need to get ahold of him so he doesn't find a way to step between she and Snow when the moment of truth between them finally arrives) is wondering how he can possibly survive another day without her, then and only then will Regina feel as though the balance of this terrible world has been set right once more.

Until then, though, she finds little interest in the affairs of peasants.

She figures that they already detest her enough, who cares if their hatred grows a little bit while she's taking care of other more personal matters.

Still, she finds herself intrigued by the reappearance of the thief.

And perhaps even a bit disappointed. She's no longer the naïve girl who'd believed so desperately in true love nor is she the freshly monikered Evil Queen who had still had a bit of hope for herself deep down, but she finds herself feeling a bit betrayed by the thief who she'd foolishly thought to be at least somewhat honorable. He'd presented himself as a man of ideals.

Well, all ideals die eventually, she reminds herself with a heavy heart.

Perhaps his had and with it, his word and his honor.

And now, there will be blood.

There is blood.

A lot of it.

Claude is viciously good at what he does, and Nathaniel is even better.

The infamous criminal known as Robin Hood is learning this first hand.

Gone now is the cloak and the hood that once hid his identity away from more than a few guard patrols. He's stripped down to the waist now, hung up by chains and facing a dirty wall that's already splattered with his blood.

"Again," Nathaniel hisses out, and Claude swings the whip.

Robin lurches forward, but doesn't cry out. He grits his teeth and spits blood, his eyes closing for a moment as he fights for strength.

"I don't know why you're wasting so much time holding out on me. We both know that you're going to die," Nathaniel laughs out as he walks in front of Robin. He reaches forward with grimy fingers and lifts the thief's face up.

"This is true, but not by your hand," Robin hisses back.

He'd been listening when the young guard had told these two that the Queen would be arriving shortly to attend to this personally. He can well imagine that it both frightens and annoys these men to know that their boss wants to butt in on their business. And well, Claude was there the first time the Queen had saved Robin's life; he likely fears a second occurrence.

Robin is counting on it.

"You think it's a good thing that the Queen wants to do you herself, do you?" Nathaniel laughs. He nods to Claude who snaps the whip.

Once the pain in his back cedes enough for the archer to find his voice, he replies, "I think it better to die by the hand of someone with actual strength as opposed to a vicious little sociopath who gets off on the pain of others."

"Yeah, well you remember you said that when Her Majesty rips your heart out and shows it to you. Me? I'd just as soon take your head and be done with it, but our Queen, well she likes to play with her food just a little bit. And you boy, you are definitely food."

"If you are expecting me to beg for my life –"

"Nah. I mean it'd be nice if you would, but I don't much care one way or the other. Once the Queen is done with you, if she wants anything else, she'll let me have my fun and if she does, I promise you that you will beg then."

"I promise you that I will not."

Nathaniel scowls at that, clearly not used to getting lip after a prisoner has already taken a beating. "Claude," he says, his accent making his words hard to decipher. "I think he needs a few more. Maybe we should take a finger or two." He leans in towards Robin's face, his breath terribly rank. "Or maybe we should take something else you might really like. I bet you'll beg if we do that." He grins widely, showing off his many missing teeth.

"I will not beg," Robin repeats, his voice pained. "No matter what you do to me or take from me, I will not beg for anything from you."

"You seem so sure of this, Thief," a honeyed voice says from the doorway of the cell. He hears the sound of heels across the broken stone floor, and then he can feel her presence as she stands above him, looking down at him.

"Your Majesty," he grates out, aware that both Claude and Nathaniel have stepped backwards, moving into positions of submission and respect. They might see themselves as the biggest sons of bitches on the block when she's not around, but the moment she shows up, they know who their boss is.

"We had a deal, Thief," she reminds him as she moves even closer. He feels her hand slide over his naked back, a single finger gently probing at one of the wounds. There's a deep and warm sensation, and then it occurs to him that she's closed up the cut. It's not healed completely, he realizes, because he can still feel the slight radiating pain, but she's stopped the bleeding.

How…strange.

"We did," he agrees. "And I never meant to break it."

"But you did break it," she replies, her voice almost musical as she all but mocks his useless statement. "You broke a deal with the Evil Queen. You must know that there's only one way that this can possibly end, right?"

He swallows, and it's the tightening of his jaw that tells her how very afraid he is right now. She wonders what his eyes look like "I do."

"Tell me, Thief, where is your confidence and bravado now?" she asks as she circles around to the front of him, and gets her first full look at him. Before, he'd been wearing a hood and she'd seen little but his eyes and his jaw.

Now, she can see all of him.

Handsome, strong and defiant.

She doesn't know if she likes or hates that.

Not that it really matters, she reminds herself.

She can play with her food all she likes, but she'd been right when she'd told him that there was only one way that this could end.

"Buried," he replies quietly, almost completely echoing her thoughts.

She tilts her head. "Interesting." She turns then to Nathaniel and Claude. "Have him cleaned up and put in one of our nicer cells. We do have those, right? Some without rats?" She wrinkles her nose when she says this.

"We do," Claude confirms. "But, Your Majesty –"

"Fear not, Claude, our unfortunate friend here will still see the gallows for his many crimes against the crown come the morning, but I have a few questions of him before that, and I would very much prefer him to be at least somewhat conscious for them. After all, I do like to play with my food."

She smirks when she says this, and then again run her elegant hand lightly over Robin's back, closing up yet another one of the bloodied wounds.

"We had a deal," she says again before slowly drawing her hand away from him and settling it upon her hip, her elbow sharply bent in a way that allows her to exude power. He's slightly surprised that she hadn't ripped the wound back open, but then he thinks that such barbaric actions might be beneath her. "It's a shame that you chose not to keep it." She shakes her head and then turns and stalks from the cell, her heels again clicking loudly.

Robin takes a breath, and tries to ignore the laughter from behind him.

These men think that they'll get to watch him get hung in the morning. They probably will, but Robin doesn't plan to go down without one last fight. It won't be with his hands; the Queen has magic, and even he knows that he's no match for her. Nor would he consider striking her. The risk-reward on even considering such a thing is absurd, and he dismisses it immediately.

No, his only chance is to find a way to again appeal to the woman he'd caught a glimpse of a few years prior; the one who'd been jealous of his ability to still have hopes and ideals. He needs to find a way to speak to her.

It's his only chance to get out of this castle alive.

It's his only chance to get home to his son.

No one will ever claim that the Evil Queen is boring.

Her guards will, however, admit that she makes them anxious with the risks that she takes. Yes, she is exceedingly powerful, and she could clear out whole armies with just an impatient wave of her hand, but it's this impatience that often gets her into situations that are security nightmares. Such as requesting that the Prince of Thieves be brought up to the Dining Hall so that he can dine with the Queen.

It's all a show, of course. Even her guards – as on edge and displeased with this turn of events as they are - know this. She's playing with him for her own amusement. And because she's furious with him for breaking their deal.

She'd forgotten completely about it, forgotten about the second chance that she'd given to a man with bright eyes and strong words.

But she remembers him well now, and what she feels in her gut and in the middle of her cold dark heart is the violent fury of betrayal.

Because he's just like everyone else.

He's someone who lies and takes care of himself first.

Pretty words about the good of others may have fallen from his lips, but he's just a thief.

So she smiles at him with all white teeth and darkly glittering eyes when he steps into the Dining Hall dressed in clean clothes that will tomorrow be burnt with the rest of his belongings. The linen shirt on his back is light, and meant to keep him from being in too much pain but she can see small dots of red through the fabric, and the lines around his eyes tell so very much.

He hurts.

Good.

"Sit," she says, her voice disturbingly and deceptively sweet. "I insist."

"Who am I to defy a Queen?" he replies as he drops into the seat opposite her at the table. He can see the guards lurking around, nervous and anxious and the youngest one keeps moving his hand to the hilt of his sword.

She laughs loudly at that, and it's the most humorless and cold sound that he's ever heard (aside from similar sounds that the Imp had made). "I was going to get to that question eventually, but perhaps we should start with the introductions instead. Last time we met, I let you keep your hood on because I didn't want to know who you were. I believed you when you said that you might be someone who deserved to live. That was my mistake."

"It wasn't a –"

"Be silent," she snaps, her dark eyes for a moment glowing bright purple with magic and anger. "You may be dining with me this evening, Thief, but you are still a criminal. It would not do you well to ever forget that."

"I fear you have no intention of ever allowing me to," he answers.

"And why should I?"

"Because this isn't personal, Your Majesty."

"On the contrary, it's quite personal. You stole from me," she snaps back.

"I did," he admits. "But it was not without purpose."

She laughs again, and then signals for wine to be poured in both of their goblets; he doesn't dare to refuse. "Purpose? Really. Enlighten me."

"I'm allowed to speak now?"

She glares at him.

"Apologies," he says. "It's been a long day, and I've lost a good deal of blood. Tends to make a man forget his manners."

"I just bet it does. If I didn't know better, I'd almost think you're trying to goad me into killing you. But I do know better. You don't want to die."

"No, I don't."

"Then tell me why you stole from me. And make it a good story."

"And if I do, will you spare my life?"

"Probably not," she admits. "But I'm known to be unpredictable."

"I suppose that those are odds that I will play with," he allows. He thinks for a moment on his words, and then says, "A debt had to be paid."

"A debt to whom?"

He says nothing, his jaw tightening. It's his eyes that draw her curiosity though; they're so sad and they're in the past in a way that reminds Regina rather uncomfortably of what she sees when she looks in her own mirror.

"I asked you a question," she says tersely, tearing herself away from the miserable darkness of her own tormented reflections.

"And you are not my Queen," he replies. Behind him, he hears the sound of the guards shifting, and he's pretty sure he can hear a sword being pulled.

"Do you think that protects your life? Come tomorrow morning, it'll be my gallows that you are hanging from. If you would like, though, I can delay your execution a day or perhaps two. That way, your Sheriff of Nottingham will have enough time to arrive. I'm sure he'd like to be here for your end."

"I'm sure he would appreciate that," Robin answers, meeting her eyes.

She studies him for a moment, and then smiles slightly. "Vincent," she says.

"My Queen," the boy immediately responds, jumping forward. His eyes dart over to Robin as if to suggest that this is how the thief should have replied.

"You have the night off."

He blinks. "Your Majesty?"

"You heard me, Vincent. Go find yourself a beautiful girl for the night. Or perhaps a handsome boy. Whichever happens to please you the most. This thief – though impertinent – is of no threat to me, and I wish to speak to him without an audience. And without him fearing immediate beheading."

She directs a sharp look towards Robin meant to tell him to still his tongue.

Vincent looks around, clearly displeased by this. Claude and Nathaniel had pushed off the watch to him, which makes him the senior guard on staff for the evening. He hasn't a clue what he's supposed to do here. If the thief were to escape and in any way harm the Queen, it'll be his neck stretched.

But no one says no to her.

Even those who might have her best interests at heart.

He's not about to be the idiot who thinks he can do so and get away with it.

The archer is going to learn that lesson for all of them as is.

Vincent nods his head slowly, "Thank you for your kindness, Your Majesty."

"Of course. Don't get so drunk that you end up in the stockades."

"You have my word." He bows his head, and then exits the room. A few moments later, the rest of the servants and soldiers clear out as well. That the queen is now alone with a prisoner is unorthodox, but then so is Regina.

"Your boy is well trained," Robin notes once the door closes the last time.

"He's young," she replies. "And hasn't lost every bit of his heart yet."

"So you haven't taken it yet?"

She sneers at him. "I don't take their hearts."

"Word around is that you do. Word around is that you have a vault of hearts. Full of ones belonging to those whom you need to control."

She sips from her wine, savoring the rich bold taste. "Part of that is true."

"Which part?"

"Is it your impending death that makes your tongue so free?"

"If I'm going to die, anyway, I see no harm in a bit of honesty."

"Honesty, right. From a thief." She snorts in derision.

"You keep calling me that. Like it should wound me."

"It did before. Tell me, do you care less now because you've lost the moral ground? Do you no longer care that I call you little more than a greedy –"

"I am not greedy."

"Then what are you?"

"My name is Robin."

She tilts her head. "Pardon?"

"You said before that we had not yet had proper introductions, and you are right. If I am to die tomorrow, I will not be known to you only as Thief. My name is Robin." He offers a small smile when he says this. "Hood isn't my last name, though. It's simply one that was given to me by Nottingham."

"Because of your hood. How creative."

"He's not the brightest lad."

"No, he's not. Is this the point where I am supposed to give you a name besides the only one that you're allowed to call me by?"

"I know your name," he tells her. "I know all about you."

"Do you?"

"You spared my life when almost every other King or Queen would not have. You have a reputation that suggests that such a thing is not common."

"So you thought you would read up on me."

"Impressed?"

"Surprised. I wouldn't have guessed you knew how."

He chuckles. "I'm from noble blood," he tells her. "Locksley."

"Wasn't he burned for –"

"He was," Robin says quietly. "Nottingham is an idiot and a bastard."

"I see. Since you know my name, there's no purpose in telling you it, but I am curious, what did you determine about all the rest of your research?"

"That you're a very unhappy woman."

"I make my own happiness."

"Do you? Is that why you're dining with a man you plan to execute in the morning? So you can remind me constantly of the fragility of my mortality?"

She narrows her eyes at him. "We had a deal," she counters once again.

"And so that's why I'm to die? Because I broke a deal with you? You have no issue with me stealing from others, but from you, it's a problem?"

"Why did you break the deal?" she demands, ignoring the rest of his words.

"Because I had a debt to repay," he reiterates.

"Are we really going to continue going around in this circle until my guards return to escort you to the gallows?" she demands, her dark eyes suddenly blazing with anger. "Because that could get exhausting for both of us, and I must warn you that I am not known for my patience. You live at this moment because I want answers as to why you threw away the mercy of a woman that most believe incapable of it. If I decide that you can't supply them, I'll be happy to see your body dragged through the streets. Understood?"

He considers her words for a moment; he's not afraid of her, he's not even afraid of dying, but his goal here is to live and as much as he finds himself intrigued by this woman enough to want to push and prod a bit more, he knows that he lacks the time and freedom to do so. She's different than she'd been when they'd first met. She seems darker to him, angrier.

She seems like the walls are caving in on her in some way or another, and this conversation is being had simply so she can try to remind herself that there might be a reason behind all of the darkness within her soul.

Still, he thinks that even if she, too, is intrigued with him, she won't hesitate to do something dramatic, rash and even deadly if he pushes her too far.

"I was married," he tells her quietly, his voice full of what can only be identified as deep sorrow. "When I met you three years ago, Marian was but a lover and a good friend, but love grew and we married soon after. She became pregnant with what we had then hoped would be our first child."

"Marian," Regina says thoughtfully, finally remembering something. "As in Nottingham's betrothed? The one that he never shuts about having lost?"

"She was not meant for that life anymore than I was."

Regina chuckles. "You broke up a years-old political agreement that had been brokered by George, John and my late husband."

"I did no such thing. I simply offered her a place to be that was not there."

"You're quite good at the pretty words," Regina observes, her eyebrow lifted in suspicion and clear doubt. "Quite skilled at being able to twist and turn them so they sound more noble than they actually are."

"Then I will make it plain, Your Majesty; Marian was a friend and she asked for help. She didn't want to marry him. I had no designs beyond being there for a friend when she needed me the most. What happened after that between us was not part of any plan that I set in motion. It just happened."

"She was lucky to get away," Regina murmurs.

"You well know the unhappiness of a forced marriage."

"Watch your tongue, Thief," Regina reminds him, but she seems only mildly annoyed. Because he's right - that's exactly what she'd been thinking about.

She'd been thinking about a beautiful white dress and a foolish old man and a selfish young girl who had wanted a mother so badly that she'd forgotten that there had actually been a real person behind the plastered on smile.

"Apologies," he says, dipping his head. "That was out of line."

"Just about everything that you have said this evening has been out of line," she drawls as she refills her own glass of wine. She motions with her eyes that he should do the same, and though he typically likes to stay clear-headed while discussing matters of life and death with clever royalty, he sees no reason to refuse her now. "But your story interests me. Continue."

He chuckles low in his throat. "When Marian was perhaps six months or so along, she started becoming desperately ill. All of the so-called healers of this land told us that it was a lost cause and that I was fated to lose both my wife and my child. They told me this at great expense to me, mind you."

"Of course they did. They're thieves just like you."

"No," he replies. "They are not just like me."

"Tell yourself that if you must."

"I would never prey on love or the weakness of others and especially not for my own gain," Robin insists. "I may not always be the honorable man that I like to believe myself to me, but I am not that."

Their eyes meet for a moment, and then she nods. "Go on."

Relieved that she seems to have understand his need to differentiate between himself and the snake oil salesmen who had left him both financially dry and emotional broken, Robin continues with, "I became desperate; Marian was my life, and the child my new beginning."

"You hardly seemed as though you needed one," she counters. "You had the love and loyalty of your men, and a reputation that will surely outlive your life. Your legend is the kind that repeats for centuries, each version becoming more outlandish and ridiculously. You quite literally, dear, stole from the rich and give to the poor. You're famous. You always will be."

"Believe it or not, Your Majesty, I never wanted any of that. I certainly never wanted to be a legend. I did what my conscience told me to do because I have sins that I will always be making up for. I tried to help those who needed it, and have been successful at times, but fame has never meant anything to me. I would gladly have departed to a quiet place in the woods with my family."

"But that's not how your story was fated to go, was it? So you did something desperate to try and change things," she states, reading the sadness in his bright blue eyes.

"As anyone who has ever loved truly another would have done as well," he admits. With a shake of his head, and a look of chagrin, he says "It was perhaps not my wisest choice, but I went to find the Dark One."

Regina laughs loudly, the sound a sharp bark that echoes through the room.

"This amuses you?"

"Amuses me? Not at all. It makes me think you a far less intelligent that I had initially believed you to be. The Dark One…what could you possibly have been thinking to go that duplicitous Imp. No matter what he might have given you or promised you, there's no way you could have ended up on top in any kind of deal with him. Believe me, I know that better than anyone."

"I knew that as well, which is why I didn't go to him directly. I had nothing to bargain with of value, and the value I did have was something that I was unwilling to bargain with. So I fell back on…other skillsets."

"You tried to steal from him," she notes dryly.

"I did steal from him. A wand."

"And you're alive to speak of this?" She chuckles and takes another sip. The wine is rich and thick, and it's dulling her senses enough to calm the anger that seems to always be swirling within her; it's allowing her to actually hear Robin's words.

"Barely. Thanks to him, I was able to absorb the whipping I received earlier today."

"Yes, he does quite enjoy a good whipping," Regina allows. "But that doesn't explain how you're still breathing."

"He has a woman with him. A woman that talked him down from putting a magical arrow into my back."

Regina leans forward, all teeth and malicious eyes. "He does?"

"I believe her name is Belle, and she seemed...special to him. And a kind girl. Not someone you would think would be with a creature such as him. She had a strong heart, and a good soul."

Regina smiles. "Interesting. And she talked him into sparing your life?"

"I believe that she did. He meant to kill me and then he didn't."

"Is he who you stole from me to repay?" she asks, then, a dark look passing through her eyes.

"No, that's an entirely different debt," he sighs. "I am indebted to him as well, but not through you."

"Well, that's good at least. All right, then, you got the wand and –"

"And it worked. It appeared to heal Marian."

"But all magic comes with a price," Regina states, though she clearly takes no pleasure in this reminder; she's been hurt too many times by it.

"Indeed. And that price was her life, though of course we didn't know it at the time. The wand didn't actually heal her; it simply strengthened her body enough to allow her to bring my child to term, and then birth him."

"So the child was born?"

"Yes. His name is Roland. He's almost two years of age now." He smiles when he says this, a father's love rushing across his face and brightening his eyes.

"The debt?" she prompts.

"The wand strengthened Marian enough, but she was still dying by the time she was in labor, and we were not close to allies who could help with such a difficult delivery; I made a deal with a less than scrupulous though able young healer who could help me bring my son into the world, and in exchange I promised him whatever he wanted. I was desperate and…"

"And frightened."

"Yes. I would have laid down my own life if he would have taken it in exchange."

"Since he clearly didn't ask for that, what did he ask for?"

"That's the strange part. I didn't hear from him for almost two years – had almost even forgotten about him - but a week ago, I had the misfortune of stumbling across him in the marketplace outside of George's walls."

"You get around, don't you?"

"I try to be where I'm needed. The King is as much of a bastard as Nottingham is; the only difference is that Nottingham is too busy tormenting prostitutes to actively damage the interests of his people. George would happily starve an entire village if it would allow him to pay for a party for his monster of a son."

"His monster of a son is dead," Regina chuckles.

"He is?"

"Nevermind that," Regina sighs, not at all interested in discussing George's family issues; bad enough that the shepherd parading around a prince has found a way to irritate her. "What did the healer request of you?"

"Well first, I don't believe that he's much of a healer, anymore; when I saw him a few days ago, he was dressed in rags and he had a wild look about him. As though he's spent a great deal of time underground or in the woods. He's not from a band I'm aware of."

"And his request?" Regina urges again, for the moment not nearly as interested in the healer's odd clothing choices.

"The destruction of one of your royal coaches. Preferably one lined in red."

She reacts with surprise to this. "So you were trying to sack the coach? So much for being a man of honor," she says, giving him an entirely unimpressed look. "Do men of honor usually murder innocent transport guards simply carrying out their duties?"

"That I am here in front of you now tells you that I was not able to go for their lives," Robin retorts. "I was going to scare them away, and then I would have burned the coach to the ground, and returned with your crest."

Her eyebrow lifts. "Interesting. Do you know what the red lining signifies?"

"I don't know the color system of the coaches on your land," he admits.

"Typically, ones lined in red carry funds meant to assist allies from various neighboring kingdoms. That specific coach was going to King George in order to shore up our agreement of military cooperation."

"Seems as though the King is dealing with an uprising."

"Yes, and I'm sure I know exactly what honorable soul is behind it. I suspect you were used." She chuckles, then. "I wonder if dear sweet perfect Snow White is even aware of how many of her precious every-man rebels are unscrupulous killers just like the ones she wants to put down. Probably not; she likely things they're rebelling with the sound of their melodic voices."

"That's not my business, but for what it's worth, Snow –"

"Stop," Regina says. "I can promise you that any word of support that you utter for that spoiled little princess will only end up in pain for you. I don't care if she's your long lost favorite babysitter, that woman is pure poison."

"Understood," he says. It's probably a good idea, he figures, not to let her know of his tutelage of Snow from several years earlier. That's the past, anyway; he hasn't seen Snow since early on in her exile from the castle. If she is behind this rebellion – and he has doubts that she's as deep into it as the Queen who is admittedly biased about Snow – believes her to be.

"I still don't understand this," she says, happily changing the subject away from the girl that she already thinks entirely too much about. "Why would you go along with their demands if you had no interest in their plans?"

"I had a debt to pay."

"And what could he have done to you to enforce it?" she sneers. "You live in the forest; if you had disappeared again, he never would have seen you."

"I was not alone when he saw me, and nor was he."

Her eyes widen as realization hits. "Your son was with you."

"Indeed. Threats and promises were made, and yes, I could have vanished into the forest again, but I always have the law looking for me, and I didn't want to spend the rest of my time hiding from everyone in a cloak as well."

"You really got yourself into it, didn't you?" She shakes her head. "Did you make a single good deal? You get a wand that gives you three months of life for your beloved, and then pay a healer who forces you to break a deal."

"I would do it all again," Robin says quietly. "Because I have my son."

"And now your son is going to grow up without a father and a mother."

For the first time since the meal had begun, his eyes fall to his plate. He looks as though someone had just kicked him in the stomach; devastated by the idea that he really might not make it home to Roland.

"Did you really think that I was just going to be swayed by a sad story?"

"I suppose that I hoped that the woman who had released me three years ago could find it in her heart to do it once again," he confesses.

"So you can return to the rebels who are trying to kill me and my allies?"

"I have no interest in this rebellion or any other. If I were going to be involved in anything of that nature, it would be against Prince John and Nottingham, but I assure you that I want nothing of such; I simply want to get home to my son. That I would do anything for him, I won't apologize for that, Your Majesty, and if that means that I have to die, then so be it."

"You're quite bad at begging for your life," she notes with a slight chuckle. She scowls at the empty glass of wine, for the moment annoyed by the lack of servants. A quick wave of her hand and a flash of purple and the glass is once again full. She thinks she should probably slow down on the alcohol for the night considering the insane thoughts of mercy that she is once again having, but well, she's never done what she should and probably never will.

Which even she understands explains so very much about why her life is the way that it is.

"I believe that I told you that I would not beg."

"And if I told you that the only way to return alive to your son was to beg?"

He licks his lips, feeling the proverbial wall at his back.

"Does your pride mean that much to you, Thief?"

"My pride means nothing to me," he replies. "If you give me your word that you will let me return to my son tonight, I'll do whatever you want me to."

"You really shouldn't make any more deals," she tells him. "You're in the situation that you're in right now because you made such a bad one the last several times you had the opportunity to. I'd say stop while you're ahead, but that sounds like a bad joke."

"And I still have no regrets."

"Fool."

"I'm a father, Your Majesty," he says softly. "And Roland is my son. My family. I would do anything for my family. Even make a bad deal a thousand times over if it guaranteed me the chance to be with him for even five more minute."

He knows immediately that he's said the wrong thing – though he has no clue exactly what it was – because she's suddenly jumping from her chair and wine is flying off the table and splattering the walls bright red.

"Family," she growls. "Everyone always throws out that terrible word."

He blinks.

"It's always so easy for everyone else, isn't it? Family always finds each other. But only if they love each other."

"Your Majesty –"

"It's that word. Love. Everyone says it. Those two idiots throw it around."

"Regina," he says, his voice loud and clear.

She snaps towards him, surprised by the use of her given name.

She hears it so seldom these days.

"I'm sorry," he says simply, perhaps even sadly. "I don't wish to fight with you. I just want to go home to my boy. But if that's not what you choose to have happen here, then I ask for your protection of him. You were right when you said that I made an unwise deal; he shouldn't have to pay for it."

Her eyes close. "I should have your heart for saying my name."

"I meant no disrespect."

"And that's why you get to keep it."

He exhales, but doesn't speak, realizing he's on very thin ice.

She snaps her fingers and a red crest appears in her hands. "There's something that the man who sent you on this mission likely failed to tell you; though those coaches lined with red are meant to carry funds to my allies, they often do not. Whenever we send one out, we send several others that don't carry anything besides supplies with them. Often useless supplies."

"Decoys. I'm aware of them," he tells her. "I have been interfering with coaches from Nottingham for a very long time, and suffice it to say, he still uses a system that even my son could figure out with twigs and sand."

They share a small chuckle at that, momentarily on the same side if for no other reason than that they really both do dislike the Sheriff of Nottingham.

"I'm pretty sure that they knew that the chance of you getting the right coach was quite slim; they meant to martyr you," Regina tells him after the mirth fades away and it's just the two of them in a big room again. "You make a very good symbol for the rebellion against George, and then eventually against me. You're far more useful to them dead than alive."

He doesn't deny her words. "I don't like politics," he sighs.

"Then don't ever marry into a crown," she replies dryly. "In any case, that's not how this is going to go tonight." She crosses over to him and offers him the crest. "You will return to the man you owe, and you give him that and let him know that your mission was successful even if the coach you located wasn't carrying funds. He can wave the crest all around, and I'll have him found and publicly beheaded. Then you and your boy won't have to worry."

He stares back at her like she's grown a second head.

"I'm still the Evil Queen," she reminds him, her voice dry and an unsettling smirk set upon her brightly painted lips. "And someone will pay for this."

"There's going to be a war," he notes.

"Perhaps, and if there is, you'd be best to get…your family away from it."

"And what of you?"

"What of me?" she laughs, her low voice harsh and cold in a way that chills him. I'm hoping that this war can be avoided entirely, but if it can't be, then I will lead my armies into battle, and we will win. With blood and fire."

"War isn't good for the soul."

"Who is to say I have a soul left?"

"You're letting a man go home to his son."

"Tell yourself what you need in order to soothe your heart, but the truth is that I'm preventing you from being used as propaganda against me." Her hand settles for a moment on his back, and he feels the wounds that had been threatening to break open all night suddenly pulled close again, as if sealed with magical sutures.

"Of course," he nods. His hand settles over the crest. "Thank you. I am indebted to you."

"You are, but don't thank me so soon. Our deal is back in effect, and this time I don't care if your son has the plague. If you steal from me again, I will personally remove your head with one of my butter knives. Are we understood?"

"You won't see me again," he promises.

Their eyes meet for a moment, and somehow they both know it's a lie.

And then she lifts up her head and yells, "Guards."

It's only a moment before the door swings opens and Vincent – still dressed nearly in his guardsmen uniform - is entering. "My Queen."

She smirks at him. "How was your night, dear?"

"I –"

"Yes, I thought as much," she sighs. "Vincent, I need you to escort our friend here to the edge of the kingdom. Once you are absolutely certain that no one is following you or watching you, you are to release him."

Vincent's eyes flicker up towards Robin, but instead of the protest that surely would have flown from Claude's mouth, he simply nods.

"The official explanation will be that he managed to slip away during a guard shift change; everyone will be questioned, but no one will obviously be able to remember what occurred. Off-duty privileges will be taken away for a week."

Vincent nods, like he's waiting for the other shoe to drop. He's tense, and it's clear that he believes that he'll be asked to absorb a whipping for the sake of appearances. Which he'll do without complaint, she knows, because he's still loyal.

He still believes in her.

It would be so easy to make him prove it.

But then she's looking over at Robin, and he's watching her and not saying anything, but she knows that he's searching for that soul he thinks he sees still insider of her.

"No one will be punished beyond that," she assures both men with a tired sigh.

He stumbles to try to tell her that he hadn't thought otherwise, but she waves him to immediate silence. "Very good. Oh, and Robin?"

The archer turns to face her, as surprised by the use of his actual name as she was when he had called her by hers. He doesn't say a word, just waits.

"Don't ever lose your son," she says softly, her dark eyes intense.

"I won't."

"And don't you ever let him down. If you do, you'll answer to me."

"And why is that?"

"You asked me to protect him," she reminds him. And then she stands and walks away from him, her heels hard against the ground.

"Sir," Vincent says. "We should get going if we're going to pull this off."

"So we should." He listens until the sounds of the queen's heels disappear and then he turns to the boy and nods his head. "Lead on."

"You're getting soft," Rumple chirps the moment she enters her room. He's watching out the window as Vincent leads Robin away from the castle, their movements slow and careful so as to avoid the detection of any other guards.

"Go away," she hisses, slamming the heavy door behind her. Her mood is dark, and ugly, and all she can think about is how very much she wants to storm the marketplace – George's marketplace – and burn it and all of those righteous little peasants to the ground. She wants to make them scream.

Because come morning, she's going to have to ride down to George's palace and speak with him about all of this uprising nonsense.

She hates speaking to him. He really is a bastard.

"I'd be happy to kill him for you. The thief, I mean. Not George."

She narrows her eyes, but doesn't ask. Instead, "I require nothing of you."

"Oh, but we both know that's not true."

She glares at him. "I require nothing of you," she says again. Her eyes flicker over towards the bag with the red apple in it. "I'm so very close now. Once she takes a bite, then this will all be over, and I will have my vengeance and I will have my peace, and then hopefully you'll just disappear."

"You'd like that."

"More than just about anything."

"Well, we shall see then," he grins.

He might as well be telling her that he'll never leave her alone.

"Go away," she grunts as she starts undressing.

"Well, all you have to do is ask politely."

She bares her teeth at him.

He laughs.

"I should really be going, though," he says. "So much to do."

She snaps around to look at him fully, and then a malicious smile slides across her face. "Yes. Go. And tell your new girl hello for me."

His own smile disappears.

He's done a great job with her, he thinks; she really is a terrible person.

Though, he thinks with a bit of annoyance, maybe if he had done an excellent job with her instead of just a great one, well then perhaps the thieving archer wouldn't be walking away from the castle right about now.

But he is, and Belle would be so disappointed were he the one to kill the thief; he'd been hoping Regina would do it for him, but oh well.

There are sure to be other opportunities.

"I'll see you around," Rumple tells her.

"Not if I have anything to say about it."

"You don't," he giggles.

Then he's gone, and she's left with the cold air coming in through her window as she watches Vincent and Robin slip away.

She wonders if she is going soft.

No, she can't be.

She can't afford to be.

Not when she's so close.

She picks up the bag with the apple, and brings it to her breast.

So close.

She'd let the thief go for exactly the reasons that she'd told him, she assures herself; as a fallen martyr, he would have been used against her and his brutal death would have rallied people even more than Snow's ever could.

Or ever will.

Snow is a spoiled princess who fancies herself a savior.

Robin is an actual hero who wants to just be a father.

Snow is a royal pretending to be a peasant.

Robin is a noble who actually is a peasant.

Her believed death at the hands of the Evil Queen will bring tears and grief but not the blood and rage and anger that his would have.

Once she's gone, it'll all be over, and everyone will have peace again.

Sure, they'll hate their queen even more, but that's a small price to pay.

Because one day, they will all realize that it was worth it.

So, soon, she thinks with a growing smile.

Soon.

-Fin

Happy Birthday, Frivo.