AN: So, this started out as a smutty, OQ wedding night scene, but then the little backstory scenes got out of hand and it became something else. I'll do the wedding night for the next chapter I guess, it didn't seem to fit here.

Title is taken from the Margret Atwood poem 'Habitation'.

The first time the topic of marriage comes up, she says no so vehemently that he actually laughs. She calls him a simpleton, but he's unoffended. He knows that Regina is at her most prickly when you've hit upon an emotion. Things don't go any better the second time. Or the third. It doesn't stop him from asking.

Sometimes it's a game and he spins her down into a dramatic dip and pleads all mournful actor "No pity milady, for a poor and humble thief?". She pushes him away, her most queenly, refusing to pay court to him.

Sometimes it's playful, draped over his lap and half undressed. "You wouldn't grant a simple birthday wish?" he whispers hotly against her throat, and she pulls away breathless. "I've another gift in mind" she promises, and leads him to the bedroom.

And sometimes, sometimes, it's a quiet entreaty into her hair, somewhere between sleep and wake, and she hates these times the most because it's not a game anymore. So she pretends to be asleep, and waits for the inevitable day when he's going to tire of asking with a gnawing dread. One day they're going to be awake and it's not going to be a game, and he's going to leave her.

But he doesn't leave, and now her sheets smell like him and they've stuck stars to the ceiling of the room down the hall for Roland to watch as he drifts off.

It's in the darkest parts of the night that she starts to tell him bit and pieces of her story, given courage by the inky black blocking him from view. Memories she doesn't want to see the light of day making her voice hoarse and crack as she tries to explain to the man who married his first love that marriage isn't about love at all. That it's prisons that look like castles and loneliness. That it can bring out the worst in people. Sometimes he pulls her close and whispers comforts against her neck, hand smoothing over her hair, and sometimes words are clumsy, inadequate things, so he slips her underneath him and kisses her until she rises up, and the only sounds he can make is to softly intone her name Regina, Regina, Regina as he slides in and in to her.

He still doesn't leave.

It's a year after that first proposal, nearly two years since she'd found him in the forest, that they walk Roland to his new school. A year of sleepy breakfasts and morning kisses, of movie nights and bedtime stories. Of catching him looking at her a moment before he sweeps her up and dances her around the living room with surprising finesse. Of catching her looking at him as if he'll disappear at any second and holding her, warm and content, chin resting on her head. It takes her a while to recognise this terrifying wonder as happiness. A while longer to wake up expecting him to be there instead of bracing herself for him not to be. But slowly, artfully, they seep into her, wearing down the doubt like stones in the river.

Roland is all excitement, a quick hopping gait and big melting eyes made even bigger by his newly shorn big-boy haircut. Unable to let it go entirely she'd taken a curl from the cuttings, a keepsake to add to the growing collection of their family. She can hear the low rumble of Robin, telling him of all the adventures he'll have in class and how they'll be waiting right outside when he's done. When the bell rings they watch him rush inside, and she threads her fingers through his. They stay until every child has disappeared, until he forces himself away and they walk in the sunshine while he collects himself.

They settle on a bench in the park, deserted at this time on a Thursday morning. She understands why his hand is gripping hers a little too tight, that juxtaposition of pride and loss as you watch your child walk into school for the first time. She leans her head on his shoulder; it feels nice to be his anchor for a change. "Our little man" he mutters, not quite to her, and her heart; this cup doth overflow. Our little man.

They sit for a while, peaceful and quiet. She takes a deep breath, and before she can talk herself out of it says "What if I were to be bold?"

He stirs and looks at her, the quip tucked in the upturned corner of his mouth silenced by whatever he sees. He shifts and moves himself to the grass in front of her, resting his arms on her knees to better study her face, waiting for her to continue. She coasts her fingers over his hair and trails down to the back of his neck.

"What if I were to be bold and audacious?" she asks, eyes resolute and bright as stars. "What if I were to say, I can have you, and Roland, and Henry and everything I want?" emotion is making her husky, but she carries on. "What if I take my happy ending, and refuse to be parted from it?"

His eyes skim over her face, alert and searching. Then he softens, hands going to her wrists to move them to her lap. He reaches in to his pocket and pulls out a faded velvet box.

"Such bravery would deserve a token, to mark the occasion"

She laughs, a huff of air around her filling eyes. "You have such a token ready sir?"

"For a long time now"

They look at each other for a second, the box unopened between them. His hand dwarfs her as he checks, "You're sure?" quietly, as if not to spook her. She smiles wider than she intended, she can't help it.

"Ask and find out" her smile is trembling now.

His eyes are light as he pulls himself up and on to one knee. He flips open the box to reveal not a traditional diamond, but the deep blue depths of a sapphire. A perfect match for her. Once again he asks, "Regina, my heart, would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"

And this time, this time, she says yes.