Roland collects twigs and sticks into his arms, snatching a handful of earth each time he plucks one from the ground, dirt assembling itself around him in a cloud. He smiles up at Will as he spots another branch dry enough to fuel their fire and runs to add it to his collection, dropping three of his sticks in his haste. Will follows in the boy's footsteps, picking up the trail of firewood with a resigned expression, but when Roland spins around, the small branch he's just found brandished high above his head in victory, Will doesn't have it in him to admonish the little guy.

And then Roland's tiny arm drops, stick pointing to another similar one lying a few feet away in the moss, and he runs to it, hugging his precious collection to his chest, oblivious to the two that slip out when he steps too quickly and almost tumbles (but catches himself just in time).

Will sighs, but still goes after the boy, face now more amused than anything else as he grabs the discarded branches off the ground.

Robin watches their antics from a log by the fire, poking at the charred wood with a stick of his own, smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

His boy is happy.

It's the one consolation to be found within the different nightmarish thoughts clouding his mind.

Regina's potion seems to have worked, given his son a free pass through this whole mess, and as guilty as Robin had felt – feels – at taking away his boy's memories, he knows it was the right thing to do.

(He wishes it was the right thing to do.)

If only it would work on him.

Only when Will plops down next to him on the log, seemingly extenuated for Roland's benefit (his son is squealing with laughter, celebrating his victory), does Robin realize he's lost track of what's been happening around him.

Will veers his scrutinizing gaze away from him and back to Roland, making sure the child is too busy playing in the dirt to listen to their conversation before saying, "The boy's havin' the tim'of his life making fun of me. Now tell me, why's the father such a moody sod?"

Robin throws him a glare. "Language, Will."

"Your lad ain't hearing a word of this. Don't try and change the subject," the man scoffs.

And he's right. Roland's at the edge of their little clearing, still in sight (his boy knows to not venture in the forest alone) but far enough away that the wind won't carry their voices to his ears. Even if it does, the littlest Merry Men is too entranced in his task to pay them any mind, prodding the insect of the day with a leaf he's stolen from the ground far more interesting in his five-year-old eyes than anything his father and Uncle Will are talking about.

"You're going to see Regina again," the younger man adds when Robin remains silent. A statement that is not meant to be accusatory, yet that gets the leader of the Merry Men to start a defense.

"Will–" But the man in question waves him off with a hand.

"Hey, I told'ya – no judgement from me, mate." Robin loses some of the tension that had gathered in his shoulders. "But this lot," Will points to the rest of his men, scattered throughout camp, chatting and drinking away their evening (Robin had set up his tent nearer to the edge tonight, wanting to avoid the judgemental stares), "might have a harder time swallowing it. Especially after having Marian back."

The mention of his wife prompts Robin to finally look at his friend, his voice cold when he replies, "She's been dead for years," but even to his ears, his tone sounds desperate.

It's what he's been telling himself to ease the pain, that Marian's been long gone, that the last few months don't change anything, he's already mourned her passing. It's easier than reliving the lies.

"Ain't matter," Will says, dragging Robin back to their conversation. "She was alive for them."

For them.

Well, that makes Robin sound entirely uncaring of Marian's fate, and he can't have that. For years, he's loved her more than words could say. She was his whole world before Roland came along. He'd tried to be a honourable man for her. To reduce his feelings over her death like Will just did sits sorely in Robin's heart.

"She was alive for me too," he states, bitterly.

Will corrects right away, "Ne'er said she wasn't, but you didn't need her when she came back." Robin stares off into space, watching Roland gather rocks and create some kind of fort for whatever insect he's found himself fascinated with. "Your heart'd already moved on. Marian wouldn't want you to feel guilty 'bout that."

Guilt. That's what it is, isn't it? The emotion weighing on his mind, shackling him to the past.

"And quite the lady it moved on to," Will adds in-between chuckles, but his words only half-register in Robin's mind.

What would Marian want? There goes the one thought he's stuck on.

There'd been a time he could have said exactly what was going through his wife's beautiful mind, or what would have gone through her mind had she been alive.

Today, everything he knows of Marian is false, corrupted, just like his memories.

She was always so kind to nature, nursing wounded animals back to health and denying his men an easy kill. It is not fair to attack those who can't defend themselves, she would say, and they would listen. They would always listen. She never took no for an answer, his Marian.

Robin looks at Roland now, taking care of some unknown small creature, and he sees her, dark irises and hair, marvelling at every new discovery, perceiving the world not only with her eyes, but with her ears and hands and heart, following her senses wherever they lead her. His son and wife are so much alike, two halves of a whole, born out of the same stars.

Marian would be so proud of him, their baby boy, growing up into a thoughtful gentleman.

Robin sighs as steals a look at the canopy of heaven above their heads, little dots of shining light peeking through the pink hues of the sky at sunset. The stars are faint here in Storybrooke, city lights stealing away most the beauty of the sky. He wishes for another land, one where the forest runs for miles, where the land is green and overflowing with life instead of an abundance of manmade commodities.

One where the stars are bright and fill up the sky down to the horizon line.

There are days where Robin misses it, the simplicity of life in the Enchanted Forest. It's where he was born, met Marian, and had his son. It's where he long thought home was.

Until recently.

Until home became a person – people.

Regina doesn't want to go back. The forest reminds her of her past, of dark times in her life she'd rather forget.

Robin had seen for himself the regalia of her apparel reach new heights during the missing year, the way she'd dismiss Snow White every time the Princess attempted to talk to have a heartfelt conversation with her, or how Regina would avoid certain parts of the castle at specific times of the day, shying away from her own shadow if she so much as glimpsed the treacherous places.

Storybrooke had offered her a chance to start over, given her Henry, and a place of honour amongst the family of those she once swore to destroy.

She's earned every victory, and Robin wouldn't even wish to take that from her.

It's why home isn't the Enchanted Forest anymore. His son enjoys Storybrooke, his men will learn to, and so long as his family stays out of danger, he'll follow Regina wherever she goes.

He's not losing her again.

Will gets up, "Enjoy your evening, mate," and pats Robin between the shoulder blades. "I'll keep an eye on Roland." He ends on a suggestive wink, scampering off before Robin can think of anything to say and scooping up his boy from the ground.

As if this evening is about that.

But it does succeed in making Robin smile, genuinely this time. He is, after all, as besotted with the woman as he was when they first met, and probably just as foolish.

He even chortles as he thinks of the witty remark Regina would throw back at Will's unseemly suggestion, and just as the man is about to carry Roland over to the others, Robin calls him over warmly, and tells him, "Thanks, Will."

"Anytime, mate," the younger man replies, returning his leader's smile with one of his own.

And then he's tickling Roland and the child's bubbling laughter fills the night, chasing away any remaining demon looming in the dark.

::

Regina stares at herself in the mirror, squints and stares, and stares longer, as if sheer force of will could change her appearance. (It can, in theory. She could shapeshift into any shape or form she liked, a power that had taken her many years to master, but her problem sadly can't be fixed with a simple magic trick.)

She breathes in, flicks a rebel strand of her hair behind her ear; straightens her spine, arches her back, puffs out her chest; pulls on her jacket, smooths down the wrinkles in her pants at her hips.

Her shoulders slump; a loaded exhale passes her lips.

This will have to do.

She's already tried on two different outfits, both of which have been lying in a heap atop the bed since she decided they wouldn't do. The red dress was too bold (he'd ripped it from her body in seconds last time she wore it; she doesn't want to send that type of signal tonight, no matter how much her body yearns for the tender touch of his callused fingertips), the black and white suit too formal (there was no chance of even getting close to something more if she hid away all temptations). Tugging at her current attire to get a better fit is proving frustrating and pointless, seeing she's no more time to change anyway – Henry's called her from downstairs twice now – so this… this will have to do.

The fit of the pants is a bit snug, makes her hips look uncharacteristically large, and while Robin has always appreciated the curve of her arse, she doesn't recall it ever sticking out like that. Maybe it'll put him off. She has taken on a bit of weight in the past nine weeks. All those late nights drinking with Emma had been fun, a welcome distraction from how alone she'd felt after his departure, but they'd done nothing to help her form. At least the jacket is covering her waistline, so that part of her reflection looks slim enough.

Perhaps.

If she doesn't move too much.

She sighs again.

It's stupid. She feels stupid – feels like a teenager. She's not in a competition with anyone, has got nothing to prove to Robin, could show up naked at Granny's for all he cared (wouldn't he just love that). He's got no other wife coming back from the dead and, to her knowledge, she's only got one sister, who's locked up under the hospital and won't show up to steal her boyfriend a second time. So why does she feel like such a nervous wreck? Nitpicking at every little detail she sees in the mirror the way Cora used to do.

This is not this Enchanted Forest. Mother is long dead and never coming back. Regina should know better.

"Mom?"

Henry's voice startles her from the doorway as he sneaks his head into her room. She jumps slightly and turns around, just in time to see Henry's brown eyes narrowed and studying her suspiciously.

"Are you coming?"

Willing away every last memory of Cora's criticism, Regina fixes a smile on her face and tells him, "Give me a minute, sweetheart," keeping her tone as light as she can manage. A futile attempt, she realizes soon enough; Henry has already seen right past her.

He walks right in. "Is everything all right?"

"Of course," she lies, and she must be trying too hard because he glowers at her, unimpressed, the expression making him look at least five years older than he actually is.

"Did Zelena say something to you?" he asks, eyes searching for hers, and she doesn't have to bend down for him to meet her gaze anymore. Her little prince is getting so tall. And smart, too. He knows she won't lie to his face when he looks at her like that. "You barely spoke to me when you came home."

There's no blame in his voice, only concern, still Regina drops her chin in shame, her actions from earlier replaying in her mind. Zelena had shaken her confidence. She'd spared her son naught but a quick look on her way to the bathroom as she came home. She thought she'd been subtle enough, but her odd behaviour hadn't slipped his notice. He knows her too well. She's staring at the proof of it just now, his unrelenting pupils fixed upon her own, patiently waiting for an explanation, and this is exactly the conversation she wanted to avoid.

Her lungs deflate, air leaving her throat in one achingly long exhale.

Her son presses on, "You know, whatever she told you, she's wrong."

Regina looks up at his words, and oh, what she would give to have such faith. He's still looking at her like she's everything, like she makes the Earth move around the Sun and the stars shine in the sky. (Her past is ugly, filled with so much bloodshed, the darkness ever-present. Who could ever love someone like her?)

"Is this about Robin?"

His tone is quieter now, and he's approaching her slowly, one hand outstretched ready to comfort, like one would a scared animal.

Perhaps that's what she is, she thinks sadly.

But she's the mother here, and Henry shouldn't have to worry about her well-being. He's already done more than enough; it's time she act like the adult in this relationship.

"Henry," Regina scolds mildly, but he's already shaking his head, though his hand drops back to his side.

He stares her square in the eyes. "Mom, I know that look," he insists. "Something's up."

It's her turn to deny him with a quick move of her head, but then she looks at him kindly – her beautiful son, with such a big heart. "You're too young to–"

"No, I'm not," Henry cuts in, crossing his arms, and she doesn't have time to even think of a reply that he's already adding, "I know Robin hurt you," as if it was that simple.

But it's not. It's never that simple, and despite her confused feelings and jumbled up emotions as of late, Regina is quick to defend, "Robin didn't–"

"Zelena, then," Henry interjects, and well, yes, he's right on that one.

Zelena is the one to blame.

Her sister has done nothing but made her life – their lives – a living hell ever since they first went back to the Enchanted Forest. She's responsible for every heartache Regina has suffered in the last three months, from Marian coming back from the dead to her most recent trickery. She truly is one of the vilest and wicked individuals Regina had ever crossed paths with, and yet...

Again, life's too messy for it to ever be that simple.

When she doesn't answer, Henry takes her silence as a sign of victory and beams at her, this look of triumph on his face she'd find adorable under any other circumstances.

Except all she can think about is how nothing will ever be the same anymore. How they can never go back to what they had. And her heart only sinks deeper and deeper in her chest, hitting the bottom of her stomach (her deeply toxic and forever empty stomach) with a hollow thud. She's a shell, empty, undeserving of anything resembling love, doomed to spend the rest of her existence looking for something that doesn't exist: her happy ending.

"Mom."

The soft timbre of Henry's voice breaks through the thick fog that has gathered around her mind and pulls her out, back to present. Back to him.

He's still looking at her with wonderment, seeing something in her only his eyes seem to catch. And then his gaze softens. "You know you're not alone, right?" he asks quietly, and the simple question leaves her stunned.

She's already forgotten.

Habits are hard to break, and she's spent so much time on her own it's easy to forget she's not, easier to think no one cares. It's a force of habit, default behaviour. Loneliness is familiar, something she knows how to deal with.

But Henry's right. She's not alone anymore. She has family now. Friends. Annoying princesses, saviours, and thieves, who will stand by her side when times get rough.

The rest of her journey doesn't have to be made alone.

Maybe, together, they can get through this.

Her eyes are suddenly wet (she's tired, so very tired, desperately needs a good night of sleep), and Henry is by her side in seconds, worried though he need not be. "What can I do to help?" he asks gingerly, coddling her.

The breath Regina lets out is shaky, but she cracks a smile, a small, tiny thing as she reaches out to cradle her son's jaw, rubs her thumb on the apple of his cheek. "Oh Henry," her voice cracks, and she pulls him into a tight hug, his arms instinctively wrapping around her as she does so, "you're already helping." And she buries her face in his neck, inhales a scent that inevitable soothes her frazzled nerves.

She feels safe here, with Henry's heart faintly but steadily thumping against her ribcage – feels like nothing can touch her.

It's wrong of her to rely on her son so much. He's young, still, and pure; his life shouldn't be shadowed by the ghosts of her own, but for this moment she'll allow it. For this one moment, she'll draw strength from his presence because she's weak and he's offering it, and she wants nothing more than to hold her son against her chest like she did when he was little.

"That doesn't make much sense," Henry points out. "I haven't done anything."

Regina can't help her chuckle, her hold on him tightening. "It will," she sniffles, her hand stroking up and down his back, a gesture that used to comfort him but that now brings her the solace she needs. "When you're older, it will."

His exasperated sigh is a welcome sound in Regina's ears, makes her laugh again, softly. She can picture the way his eyes just lifted up to the ceiling, his know-it-all attitude one he'd definitely inherited from her.

She lets go of him then, and he's giving her a once-over and nodding.

"I like the outfit," he says, and she pauses – how could he have known? "But you might want to fix your makeup," he adds, chin jerking up to indicate her eyes.

Regina swipes a finger along her lower eyelid and the digit comes out splotched with black when she brings it back in her field of vision. What a mess she must be. She's definitely not setting foot out of her house like this; she's got a reputation to uphold.

"Give me five minutes?" she requests, somewhat sheepish. They're already running late because of her, and she knows Henry's looking forward to the celebration. He always is when he gets to have both sides of the family in the same room.

But her son is kind and compassionate, and has come to read her moods better than she cares to admit. "You've got ten," he tells her, a knowing smile on his lips, and Regina's heart swells with gratefulness.

"Deal."

She returns his smile effortlessly, feels tears prickling at the corner of her eyes, born out of a far happier cause than her previous exhaustion.

And then, Henry's retreating, leaving her to finish getting ready on her own. She can't resist calling him back.

His head turns at the mention of his name, and he stands under the doorframe, the light coming from the window giving him some kind of glow, an angelic look.

He is, Regina thinks. He's her angel. Her little prince.

"Thank you," she says, and he just stares back at her, affectionate and understanding and far-too-grown-up for her taste.

"Anytime Mom."

He smiles, and Regina does too, stepping towards the bathroom to fix the state of her face.

"Oh, and Mom?" her son's voice reaches her again, and only then does she realize Henry hasn't moved a muscle. He's is still standing in her doorway and scrutinizing her to see if she's truly all right or just trying to get rid of him. (She's more than all right, she thinks. At least, for now.) "If Robin makes you happy, nothing else matters. You deserve this." And the hopeful look he gives her makes her believe that maybe she does. Maybe she does deserve this.

When he leaves, Regina looks at herself in the mirror again, and she grins – grins satisfactorily and unashamedly, feels this surge of confidence bloom inside her.

She feels good.

She feels good, and she looks good, and if a certain thief happens to have a fondness for her legs, then all the better for them to be on display in these tight leather pants.

She's going to enjoy her evening, and leave her bitterness at the door.

::

Regina guides him out of Granny's intently, enticingly.

They leave behind her son, who'd briefly nodded his approval to Robin when he'd asked his mother out, and don't stop until there's at least two blocks of corner shops and small houses standing between them and the festivities.

Robin is more than happy to let her lead.

He waits until she slows them down, until they're alone before the pitch-black curtain of the night and her grip on his hand loosens. He takes that as a cue to tuck her against him, slides an arm around the small of her back and pulls her body to his, her arms wrapping around his belly when their hips knock together. If the angle is a little awkward for her, she doesn't say anything, only nestles her head between his neck and collarbone and sighs contently, leaving him to enjoy the scent of her shampoo – pomegranate, this time – and the way she fits loosely against his side. His fingers clasp her hip as he drops a kiss to her hair, sending a silent thank you to whoever has made this second chance possible.

"So," Regina starts after they've walked in companionable silence for a few minutes, "Roland is taken care of. Henry is at Granny's with the other side of his family..." She trails off, and Robin hums a Yes? prompting her to continue. She tilts her chin up to look at him. "And you're stealing the Queen for yourself." He smirks. "Tell me, just what areyour intentions tonight, thief?" she asks, eyes sporting that flicker of playfulness that sends his heart thumping against his ribcage.

He brings them to a full stop; shifts Regina in his hold so that she's facing him, hands finding the slope of her waist under her jacket, thumb inching towards her waistband. "I thought I made it pretty clear inside just what my intentions were," he flirts outrageously, aiming for that carefree, dazzling smile she saves for when they're alone, that bares her face of any trouble currently weighing on her beautiful mind.

She's fighting it just now; he can see it in the way her jaw clenches and lips press together, gaze tense with resolve.

But he's won this round, he's confident in that. The corners of her mouth are not-so-subtly steering upward despite her best efforts.

Being the gentleman that he is, though, he amends, "Only the purest, I assure you," winking at her for good measure.

Still, she keeps on her falsely stern face, goes even as far as frowning at him. "Shame," she says, and now it's his turn to scrunch his eyebrows his confusion. She moves closer, scrapes her teeth over bottom her lip, and then whispers in that deep-toned, sultry voice of hers that stirs something inside him, "What a waste of our evening," raising a suggestive eyebrow, the slight upturn of her lips now calculated, and unmissable.

There's a pause, then, a weighted moment, where they stare at each other – a challenge to see who will crack first, and that's him. Robin can't resist a chuckle, a warm and loving breath of fresh air, followed seconds later by her own, as Regina abandons all pretence and lets affection wash over her, and Gods, she's beautiful like this. How did he get so lucky? The small wrinkles at the corner of her eyes, the faint blush rosing her cheeks, the street lamps lighting her face just enough for him to make out all the details he's missed terribly. She's stunning, and the overwhelming urge to hold her close overtakes him. To feel her beating heart resting against his. To know her alive and well not only with his eyes but with every single one of his senses.

And so he does, because he can. He reaches for her and she goes willingly, into his arms as he wraps them around her shoulders, because they're togethernow, and for the first time in too long, neither of them is going anywhere.

They stay like this for the next little while, half-laughing, Robin rocking them gently, happy to just be, because nothing in the last few months has felt as right as this: the simple realisation that they can be together, if they want to.

But there's a reason, a mildly sad one, why Robin will only go so far this evening. He's broken her heart, and even if she'd trusted the pieces to his clumsy handling again, he intends to do right by her before this goes any further (and by her son, who's made it clear Robin was not to blunder this second chance he was given). There will be no rushing what they have. Regina will be properly wooed this time, as is befitting of the Queen that she is.

Robin pulls back from their embrace first, just enough to look at her. "I'm afraid your boy has made sure this foolish man treats his mother like the treasure she is," he tells her, and she scrunches her eyes quite adorably, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

Robin chuckles, "We had quite the interesting chat earlier."

He can see her mind speed to catch up, but when it does, she gasps in horror, "He didn't!" face falling down and red creeping up her cheeks. "Robin, I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," he reassures, giving her hip a light squeeze. "You've raised a wonderful boy, Regina, one who cares about you deeply. It's only understandable Henry doesn't want just any ruggedly handsome outlaw dating his beautiful," he drawls every last syllable, "wonderful," stares into the dark brown of her irises, "amazing mother." The overwhelmingly sweet praises roll off his tongue easily, and Regina makes a face like it's too much – like he's too much – but makes no move to stop him.

She does, however, cock her head to the side and repeat, "Dating?" putting a stop to his string of compliments. That wasn't the part of his speech Robin thought she'd make a fuss about.

He fumbles for words, "I believe that's the term he used…" and pauses to look at her expression, but he can't decipher the frown she wears – a good thing, or a bad one? – and wonders, "Is there something wrong with it?" Maybe it was presumptuous of him to assume they'd reached the dating stage. Though to his understanding of the strange ways of this world, they'd done far more than that.

"No," she says quickly, shaking her head, "no I– I just never really thought about us as dating." She says the word like it's foreign to her, even after thirty odd years or so in this realm.

Robin hastens to say, "We don't have to be dating if you don't want to."

Far be it from him to impose anything on her. Should they not go on dates as is customary in this world, he'll find some other way to make it up to her.

He muses out loud, "I do find it an awfully condensed view of courtship."

"So now you're courting me?" she questions, and her comment makes him tense immediately.

Perhaps that wasn't the wisest thing to say.

But when their gazes meet again, her lips have tilted up, and Robin thinks yes, that's exactly what he's doing.

He keeps going, leaning his shoulder into hers, "What else would you call this moonlight stroll?" They're not strolling, haven't been for a while, but that had been his intention before she distracted him with conversation.

A mischievous gleam appears in her eyes and she closes part of the distance between them, too, breasts brushing against his chest as she ghosts her lips over his jaw, gossamer touches that send a jolt of electricity down his body.

Robin tenses again, for a completely different reason.

So much for being a gentleman.

Her body is so tantalizingly close, a nightmare to resist, and she only stops moving when her mouth has reached his ear, though he's been riveted to this very spot ever since she started inching forward.

He can feel her intake of breath on his skin as she parts her lips, her tone low and sultry when she whispers, "Foreplay," and then she pulls back, lips barely grazing his stubble as she goes back the way she came.

Robin doesn't let her go far, wraps his arms tighter around her frame before she's had a chance to pull away completely.

"You are a devious woman," he tells her, and he can feel her thigh pressing against his half-hard member – a fact he'd be ashamed of if she didn't look so smug.

He watches her eyes dance with mirth, her hands stroking his sides until they're clasped behind his back. "What are you going to do about it?" she asks, bumping her hips against his, and that's it.

Screw propriety.

He's going to snog her.

He's going to snog her right here, right now, if it is the last thing he does.

There's no author around, no one to prevent him from tasting her, from eagerly running his tongue against the seam of her lips, and so he does, captures her upper lip and sucks gently, weaving his fingers into her hair. Delicious sounds leave her throat as he moves his mouth against her, moans that shoot straight to his belly.

He wants to get reacquainted with her taste, with her scent, with every sensation rippling through his body at her presence.

So he presses her close with his free hand, breaks contact once to gasp for air, and dives right back in.

::

Regina lets him take control of the kiss.

Her head falls back, lips parting willingly when his tongue runs along the edges, and a moan escapes her throat, low and wanting. Their tongues tangle, slide one against the other in long-awaited caresses that have her thighs pressing together, searching for any kind of friction where she's already wet and aching for his touch. God, it's been so long.

If it wasn't for the empty street, she'd feel ashamed of the display they're currently putting on for the world to see, but then Robin is pulling back slightly, swiping his tongue against her top lip, and all senses of public decency effectively leave her.

If there's someone spying on them around the corner instead of enjoying the free food at Granny's, let them enjoy the show.

Robin moves away from her lips then, kisses the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her nose, making his way to the other cheek before capturing her mouth anew. Her hands fist at the collar of his jacket, bringing him even closer. She wants more, wants him, but his ministrations also spark something new, a feeling she hasn't experienced in a very long time. A giddiness builds up in her, and she can't help it, she giggles, the sound breaking free between little pecks of his lips, before he shuts her up once more, another tongue-filled kiss that sends small jolts of pleasure through her body, has her panting and riled up like some horny teenager.

When finally their need for oxygen outweighs their need for each other, their lips part with a wet smack, breaths uneven and gazes fixed upon each other.

It's as if a fire's been ignited inside him, flames of passion dancing in his eyes, and Regina feels like she might topple over from the mere intensity of his gaze. Their deep blue reminds her of the ocean, of nature and freedom and things that were long denied to her. Things that are now hers to grasp and take.

"I've wanted to do that since you showed up at my apartment last night," he tells her at last, still out of breath. His gaze flicks down to her lips, and she licks them self-consciously, her own eyes zeroing in on his mouth.

She finds that, despite their heated exchange, there's still a bitter comment at the tip of her tongue – call it self-preservation.

Even if Robin has done nothing that warrants her anger, Regina's reflexes kick in. She momentarily forgets that Zelena has manipulated him from the start, that he's been tricked in the worst of ways, and when she asks, "Even with Marian about to come back from the store?" there's an unmistakable sharp edge to her tone.

And she doesn't feel the least bad about it.

Not at first, anyway.

Robin tenses at the mention of his dead wife, takes a step back from her, and the shift in the air is palpable; a cold shower couldn't have done a better job at stopping their raging hormones.

She's completely ruined their evening.

Robin's retracting into himself, this whole Marian-Zelena business burning heavy with both resentment and guilt, and it's her fault. Her own messed-up emotions meddling with her ability to view the situation objectively. (It'd been the same with Zelena; her sister had known exactly which buttons to push to send her into a downward spiral. And it seems, she knows Robin's.)

She should have been more tactful.

Rationally, she knows Robin isn't to blame for their current predicament. She's not heartless.

But she's not heartless either; she feels. She feels every damn emotion she has no right to feeling – she doesn't want to be feeling – like the flare of jealousy that had launched through her spine at the thought of Robin indulging in the body of another woman the way he's just been enjoying hers.

Be it Marian or Zelena or anyone else he could have fancied during those nine weeks, the image of someone taking her place leaves a sour taste in her mouth.

She'd told him to move on, expected him to, but he wasn't supposed to come back when she'd said it. It'd been goodbye. Forever. Not see you in nine weeks.

And now he's here, and she should be elated – she is. She wasn't lying when she'd said they'd be dealing with this together, but the situation isn't as happy as she'd made it seem in front of Henry. (This is hers and Robin's problem to deal with. She won't let it affect her son's mood. That, she's adamant on.) She has scars that run deep, wounds that will take more than a few kisses to heel, and her sister has set up the perfect plan to rub salt into them.

A few weeks. Three? Four at the most. That's all it'd taken Robin to sleep with her.

To get her pregnant.

The child he's going to have with someone else (as if she even could give him that) already poisons her mind with visions of a happy family that doesn't include her.

"She wasn't Marian."

Robin breaks the thick silence that has settled between them with few words – an explanation or an excuse, Regina doesn't know. (They're grasping at straws, slipping away, failing to connect. This isn't going to work.)

His eyes, though – his eyes tell her of how revolting the mere thought of intimacy with Zelena is to him, the exact same way it disgusts her.

"But you thought she was."

She doesn't mean the reply to be cutting, but there's a distinctive accusation in her tone, one that has Robin lower his gaze, eyes darkened with a fresh layer of pain, gulping down the lump in his throat.

Regina lets her lashes fall shut, the sight of him deflated and resigned a hard one to watch. She bites her tongue until it bleeds, berating herself for speaking before thinking. Mother had always said it'd get her in trouble.

It'd been going so well. Just the two of them and the moonlight and kisses that left her breathless. It's what she'd wanted for tonight, couldn't have asked for a better evening, and she had to go and destroy it all.

It seems the only thing she can do without fault is hurt the ones she cares about.

She'd just died; she doesn't have the strength, nor the heart for an argument tonight. She just wants him, if only her mind would shut up and let her tell him just how much.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't hav–"

He kisses her. Desperately, frantically, passionately – he kisses her.

Regina freezes, confused and stunned, body refusing to obey her commands.

It isn't until Robin breathes his answer in a fraught yes against her lips (yes, he would have kissed her even with Marian about to come back is what he means), raw with honesty and bleeding with pain, that she kisses him back – fully, ardently, heatedly.

His hands wander to her backside, hers move up to his neck, and she grinds her hips against his, a whimper escaping his throat at the contact. It makes him bolder, has one of his hands stroking its way to her front, thumb brushing her hardened nipple through the fabric of her shirt, and she wishes for less layers, wants nothing between them but their respective flesh.

They're breathing heavy within seconds, and Regina contemplates poofing them elsewhere, away from prying eyes, but something suddenly tickles at her senses.

Something magical.

Robin must sense the shift in her behaviour because he breaks the kiss, looking at her questioningly, before he hears it, too, and duplicates her frown.

Voices. Whispers.

They're everywhere, dark, hunting, carried to their ears by the cold night wind.

One glance between them is all they need. Hands loosen their grip and shirts are fixed. A few minutes is all they need to head towards the noise, unaware of the fresh new hell that's been released from its prison.

::

For the second time in twenty-four hours, Robin sees his world collapse around him.

This doomed destiny of theirs, he's starting to feel it to his very core.

Gone are Regina's smiles and caresses, lost like her being to the tornado of Dark One's unleashed form. Robin's not sure he understands the magic behind what's happening, but he frankly doesn't care – doesn't care about anything or anyone else other than the woman who's currently fighting for her life against the darkest of powers.

He shouldn't have let go.

Less than a minute ago, she'd been in his arms, happy, carefree, kisses sealing promises they were too scared to speak out loud. They'd bury their demons as they'd do everything from now on, together, but this stolen moment in the middle of the street had been their only respite.

They are back to being the pawns of destiny, Regina its ultimate favourite toy.

He sees the resignation on her face. She believes she deserves this. That she'd been wrong to be happy, to hope. She's trapped in the darkness again, and no one is moving to help her. No one should.

It's that thought alone – his desire to make her feel cared for and cherished and important – that gives Robin enough courage to charge into the inferno. No matter how dangerous it is, he won't stand idly by and watch the woman he loves die for the second time today.

The darkness hurls him across the street before he can reach her.

He crashes to the pavement, gets the wind knocked out of him, head solidly hitting the ground.

Robin feels like he's going to be sick. He can't move, has to wait for the nausea to recede before he can look up. When he does, the sight that meets his eyes has his heart sinking in his chest.

Regina is struggling, fighting, and losing.

This can't be happening, he thinks with horror. Not again. Not her.

But then Emma is moving forward, taking center stage, and she's better armed for this task than he'd been. She succeeds where he'd failed, and Regina is back in his arms.

Safe.

But at what cost?

::

She's caught in the eye of the storm.

The darkness engulfs her, swallows her whole. Now that it's found its next victim, it won't let her go. She knows – she knows because she's stood at its mercy before.

It's an old friend of hers, the darkness. Her insides have been charred by its inferno, her heart turned to coal by its sickening presence many a moon ago. It's only a matter of time before she ends up like her former mentor, with poison so deeply ingrained in her heart she'll have no chance of ever being saved.

He'd warned her, Rumplestiltskin. He'd told her the darkness was a part of who she was, of who she'd always be. No amount of good deeds or innocents saved could change what was rotting on the inside. She'd been chosen, and it was too late to turn back.

Sometimes, Regina wonders why she even bothers trying.

Her eyes drift to Robin on the other side of the swirl, and she thinks maybe this is better. She never truly deserved him, this thief with a heart of gold that had shared her burdens when no one else would look at her – her thief, infuriatingly courageous and imperfect, but hers.

He'd bruised her heart (she wouldn't deny it if asked; she still had a fresh wound to prove it), but he'd kept it safe. He'd held it, all dark and toxic, and he'd sworn to protect it.

It's all she would have ever asked of him, to keep his intentions pure, to act from the heart.

And now, he'll never know. He'll never know what he means to her. She'll leave him, and Robin's last memory of her will be thinking he's failed her, when all he's ever done is help her feel at home.

He's staring right back at her.

The cerulean blue of his irises is poignant in the monochrome landscape that's becoming Storybrooke, a last spark of colour in a world where everything is slowly fading to a grayscale. He's poised to act, ready to fight, calling her to him with a silent plea, but even their soulmate connection can't seem to break through the barrier that separates them.

He wears a mask of horror on his face; looks frightened, terrified.

Regina isn't.

She's been expecting this.

She was happy.

For half a second, maybe less, she's allowed herself to be happy, to feel loved, and fate had felt it necessary to course correct. Because Regina Mills can't be happy.

She feels small, and weak. The voices keeping her down are back in full rage, more powerful than ever, keeping her rooted on the spot, caught in the whirlwind of her own darkness.

Cora. Zelena. Rumple.

There's no room for Henry's or Robin's in her mind; corruption is everywhere, screaming in her ears, blocking her vision. All she can think about through the noise is how she's let everyone down. How she always lets everyone down.

She's not mother material. Not alone. She should have listened to Cora, should have had a son while she was Queen. Someone would have raised him for her, and Zelena wouldn't have been a threat if she'd kept her royal status. If she hadn't let heroes sway her into the light, her life would have been be better. Undisrupted. Unburdened.

Rumple's right. For some people, happy endings don't exist; they have to be taken.

How could Robin ever love someone like you?

He shouldn't.

Regina spies him moving in the corner of her eye. He's agitated, talking to someone – Emma, he's talking to Emma – but she can't make out the words, can only stare in defeat as he refuses to hear reason and runs to her, only to be thrown across the street by the powers that imprison her. Robin! she wants to yell, but she's still shackled to her memories, still trapped in the darkest corner of her mind.

She's the darkness' next meal. There's no stopping it.

She gasps.

Her ribcage constricts around her lungs, and she spits out air in rough coughs, probably damaging her throat as he tries to hold on to the last few remnants of light she possesses. (It's no use. It's all gone. All of it. Every filament snatched away from her one by one.)

Emma approaches. Regina catches sight of her in her peripheral vision, dagger in hand, and– No. No, she can't.

Regina knows where this is going before her friend has even uttered a word, and she won't have it. Even through the shadows of the Dark One's energy, the Savior is bathed in white, as if the darkness knows, as if it's mocking her, wants her to watch the destruction of the purest of magic, and Regina can't let it – won't let it.

That light can't go out.

That light is too pure. That light is the very reason they're here. If it gets taken over, they won't survive. She won't survive. Once the darkness has chosen its victims, it never lets them go. They can believe themselves free, but it's always there, lurking, waiting for the right moment to strike again. (And if Emma dies, that light that follows her becomes Regina's burden to bear, and she can't do it. She's no Savior. She's not Emma.)

"Emma, NO!" Her voice cooperates this time, but it's already too late. The blonde's inherited her stubbornness from two of the of most pain in the ass individuals Regina has ever met, and there's no changing her mind once it's made up.

The dagger glints under the streetlight, and plunges into the darkness.

Regina is forced to take two steps back and watch, to stare, powerless, as the energy starts its descent onto Emma. Too late. She's too late.

Her eyes flick to Robin, looking back at her with mixed feelings of relief and dread, and her feet carry her to safety, into two strong arms that wrap tightly around her body as soon as she's within reach. He's solid and warm, everything that the darkness is not. His chin rests atop her shoulder as he tightens his hold on her, mouth next to her ear when he whispers her name – a thank you, to whichever Gods are watching over them.

Regina curses them. Almost pushes Robin away because of it.

After everything they've been through, she should be relieved, too.

She doesn't know how.

Emma is giving up her own happiness to make sure she gets to keep hers, and it's a sacrifice Regina can't take. She's not worth it. The Evil Queen is not worth it. Everyone could tell her that – why doesn't she just listen? Her heart is already tainted black, smeared with violence and rage. A little more darkness wouldn't have hurt her.

She needs to get away – tries to. One step forward only lands her right back into Robin's embrace, his arms restricting her movements. He tugs her back against his chest, gasping a strained and tenuous, "No," right beside her ear.

There's a plea in his voice, a lick of hypocrisy, for her to stay close to him, to not run head first into the tornado like he did. Like Emma did.

He's shaking.

Regina hadn't realized until then, the darkness had obscured her thoughts, but the Robin standing beside her isn't all presumptuous and confident like she's known him to be.

He's greedy.

Like any human who's hurting, he's putting himself above others, clings to her as if she might disappear any moment, as if letting go for one second could be their downfall. (It almost was.) They've lost each other so many times, who's to say this isn't it?

He needs her, too. It hadn't occurred to her just how much so before now. (And what could she do to save Emma when she was already gone?)

She presses back into Robin's chest and hears his sigh of relief. She'd already died in his arms once today. It was probably enough.

She doesn't attempt to leave again, drapes her arms over his across her stomach as they stand and watch, together, as the darkness engulfs one of their own. A good person.

A hero.

Silence greets them like an old friend.

The dagger plummets to the ground.

Minutes ago, she'd been gleefully kissing Robin, not even a block away, his hands hovering inappropriately over her body. Now, she feels numb. Adrift. Empty.

Victory has a bitter taste on her tongue. (It's not victory. They've lost. They've lost a great deal today and for once, it hadn't been solely hers to lose.)

If this is the cost of happiness, Regina wants nothing of it.

A/N: My apologies for the wait between chapters. Life is crazy busy. I'm afraid I can't promise things will go any faster because I just started working a second job. Sadly, fanfiction doesn't pay bills.