In honour of the friggin' cold that's been trying to catch me all day, I've finished a drabble I started months ago. Regina is sick, Robin takes care of her. As always I just type and post, so all mistakes are mine (or in this case, mine and my cold medicine's…)

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The tissues littered around her on the bed rustle as she reaches for her phone. Her body protests at the movement, still feeling the effects of spending the last four days turning her inside out. Though, thankfully, so far today the water and mouthful of dry cracker she'd dared chance this morning had managed to stay in her stomach, to say she was feeling better would be premature to say the least. Her throat still feels like somebody scoured it with sandpaper and she hasn't been able to breathe through her nose for quite a while now.

Not that she's planning on telling Robin that. The phone pings again, reminding her to read his message. Of course, it will be his message - she's been fielding them the last few days. She's not used to having people who care enough to check in with her, and the warmth it brings is nothing to do with the fever. Still, call it vanity, but she'd rather see him when she felt stronger, and looked (Smelled? Probably, but her nose wasn't up to checking) less like death.

She slumps back into the pillows as she types.

Don't worry so much, just busy catching up on some paperwork. Stay with Roland, I'm feeling much better.

She presses send and closes her eyes, still sleepy. A moment later she hears a message alert and frowns slightly, her sluggish mind unable to place what was wrong with the noise.

"Liar"

Her eyes flash open - that alert hadn't been from her phone. Her gasp of surprise is too quick for her abused chest, leaving her coughing helplessly. When her eyes clear and her body relinquishes back control, he's standing over her with frank concern, hand hovering over her back as if unsure it would help.

"I'm f-fine" she manages to croak out, and the hand drops down the final inch to rub a warm, soothing line down her back. Here at least he's on familiar ground. "All evidence to the contrary milady" and she doesn't need to look to see the tiny smile he keeps tucked in the corner of his mouth for her. The scowl she tries to level at him is altogether ruined by the little sigh of pleasure she can't keep back when his cool hand rests on her warm forehead, checking her temperature.

"Paperwork?" he inquires mildly. The flush on her cheeks isn't entirely from the residue on her fever as she shakes the tissue box closest to her, "This is, technically, paper" she tells him virtuously.

"You are, technically, what's that word Henry uses?" That crinkle around his eyes "Ah! Busted"

He can see her about to protest and gives her a gentle push, settling her back into the pillows, "It's useless arguing my love, better to surrender now". She peers up at him from the muddle of blankets.

"I'm not one for surrender" she sighs, and he gives a quiet huff of laughter; never a truer word spoken. But he can see from here that her eyelids are heavy, and she doesn't stop him from tucking the blankets to her chin.

She only meant to blink, but when she opens her eyes again the light in the room has changed into the cooler tones of late afternoon. What woke her? She lets out a breath and winces a little at the wheeze, realizes she can only breathe through her mouth again. That was probably it. She reaches for her tissue box, only to give a jolt when she realizes the area around her has been cleared of debris, a fresh box placed carefully within reach on the table beside her. Robin had cleaned up (my God how far gone had she been?). The outlaw was being sweet, but she couldn't help a small frown; this really wasn't the image she wanted him to have when he thought of her.

"I'm told this land has many wonders, but I admit, in times like this I like to rely on things familiar to me. Things I've put my trust in before"

Robin's form fills her door frame. In one hand he holds a steaming mug, and in the other a small plate of toast. The tea has flecks of herbs in them, though she still can't smell anything to guess their nature. "From the forest" he explains, and she's a little touched that he won't trust her health to something he isn't sure of. Instead of reasoning the advancement of medical science with him, she drinks the tea down and lets both the hot mixture and his attentions warm her through. After the tea settles her, he plies her with the simple food, she'll need her strength if she expects send him packing, he tells her affably.

He stays with her for hours. Going from the chair to lying next to her on the bed, entertaining her with stories of Roland and the men, the town news for the week she's been out (no new death threats from anyone, must be a town record). The room grows dim and they both grow quiet, satisfied just to be each others company awhile.

When she begins to shuffle around, looking fruitlessly for a position she can breathe comfortably to give in to pressing sleep, he tries to help. After three different attempts led to her jolting herself of the light doze she's managed to fall into, he stands up and strips off his shirt and slides into bed behind her. Gathering her upright to relax against him, relieving the pressure in her lower-back from being in bed all day, and weight on her chest from lying down. He kisses the spot behind her ear as the night finally takes her, and says softly "Rest love".

She wakes up just before dawn, his warm body still a firmly supporting her, head turned gently into the crook of his neck. Whatever was in the tea has served its purpose, she feels clearer and more alert. Unwilling to break the spell of pre-dawn, she moves her head only just enough to look up into Robin's sleeping face. His arms are cradling her loosely, stubble lightly prickling her lips as she dares the lightest whisper a kiss on his jaw. She can't remember the last time someone took time to care for her. The thought dampens the contenting glow blooming in her. As if bidden, Robin's arms tighten a fraction, his eyes opening the tiniest of lines to check on his charge. Whatever he sees sends a sleep-roughened sigh rolling through him, and he pulls them both down into the depths of bed. He tucks her carefully under him, soft sheets and warm skin and a reassuring heaviness of his limbs encircling hers. "Stop thinking so hard" he whispers hoarsely, his gaze already tipping half back into oblivion. She looks back at him a long moment, and when the shadows in her eyes turn velvet, melting soft, he nuzzles her a little closer. She takes a long breath and slips back into dreams.