A/N: The inspiration for this fic came from an actual love story, that of Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton, two actors most popular in the 1960's. Anyway, I really adore them and their story and decided it would make a lovely, yet rather angsty Outlaw Queen fic.

Leaving her was his first mistake, among many others, he was sure. She was always in the back of his mind, has been ever since he first laid eyes on her. Love did not come easily, but it did eventually, in probably the most unexpected of ways.

He recalled their first meeting, if it could even be called such. He had attended a rather exclusive party, years ago when he was young.

He was a womanizer, much to his mother's displeasure. Not a single girl could hold him down. Or so he thought. He spotted her across the pool, lounging in a chair, reading a book. And suddenly, she let her sunglasses slip down the bridge of her nose as her eyes met his. But just as swiftly as she dropped her sunglasses, they were back in place and her nose right back into her book.

She was extraordinarily beautiful, lavish, unquestionably gorgeous. She was, in short, too bloody much. And she was completely ignoring him, as he recalls. He laughs at the memory. They didn't meet formally until years later. But since that party, he had discovered she was the daughter of wealthy decent, though to his knowledge, the money had long since dried up. Yet, they still had their connections. At the time of the party, she was to be engaged to a wealthy business man whom had recently been widowed, a man well past his prime. A man old enough to be her father, he learned.

Scandal arose between them, though. She had expressed loving another, a man closer to her in age and probably in heart, as well. But her mother would have none of it. Cora Mills, he soon found out, had high hopes for her daughter. She wanted the lavish lifestyle she was so used to, but to Robin, it sounded as if her daughter didn't agree. But alas, what her daughter wanted did not seem to matter to Cora. He later found out she married that man. Against her will.

That had all been in a period of at least ten years. He had settled down with a girl and had a child. He was thirty-one. But things didn't work out so well between him and Marian, and soon he was divorced. His lower moments were met with booze and wondering thoughts of the girl lounging across the pool.

The memories washed over him as he sat at his desk, in his cozy study, in a small house in Ireland. Pushing sixty now, Robin couldn't help but want to relive those days; to be young again, with her. He looked out the window, rain pelting the glass, wondering what she was doing now. Yes, he was really beating himself up today. It wasn't until Roland had had his own family that Robin really began wondering what he wanted. His son was grown now. Roland told him to think about the happiest times in his life and to try get back to them. And for the most part, Robin had been. He reconnected with old friends and attended parties with them, went out with Roland's family and enjoyed every minute with his grandchild. But nothing truly made him smile these days.

Unless, of course, he was thinking of Regina. And today was no different.

He began to recall their official meeting. In a dingy bar in New York of all places. He was still freshly divorced and she, recently widowed, he learned. He bought her a drink and she smiled; a beautiful thing, really. Made his heart flutter in ways he never thought it would. They spent several hours there, talking about anything and nothing. She made him laugh, recalling her noticing him ogling at her at that party years before. He quickly apologized to which she brushed away. She admitted she caught him staring because she was staring at him. She told him of her son, then ten years old, Henry. Her whole life really. Maybe it was the companionship, maybe it was the alcohol, but she opened herself up to him. Speaking of things he thought must be terribly personal, but she didn't bat an eyelash mentioning them to him. One, he recalled, was that of Henry's father. Not the man she was forced to wed, but the man she loved deeply, who was taking from her too soon. He never knew it before, but the man had been shot. She confided in him she thought her mother and Leopold had something to do with it, considering his murder had happened after they found out about her surprise pregnancy. She never had the chance to tell him of his child. Maybe it was that night he fell in love with her. He couldn't quite put a date and time to when he knew he couldn't live without her, he just knew he couldn't.

Of course, not every memory was a fond one. They had plenty of fights. But there were only ever a handful that left him nursing his emotional wounds in a bar while she silently sat in her apartment. He'd come back, apologizing for his idiocy, which she met with her own apology of being too stubborn. They'd end up making-up, which lead to the best sex Robin had ever had. When they both needed it. When it soothed any previous tension and made everything right, them being so close, so together in one moment. It didn't take Robin long to realize that having her in his life, made everything right.

He looked away from the window and back to his desk. He cupped his hands and covered his mouth, leaning on the desk with his elbows. He stared blankly in front of him then reached for a pen and the stationary that sits on his desk. The pen touched down to the paper and he stilled himself. Gathering his thoughts.

Having her in his life, made everything right.

He then remembered the first time she met Roland, or even he, when he met Henry. He fretted to no end that Roland would be off set by Regina. He didn't see his mother often, she was a wild life photographer and basically was in the United States only a few weeks at a time, seeing Roland then, of course, but not as often as she should. That being said, he was worried Roland wouldn't know what to do with Regina. His worry, though, was quickly put to rest. Roland adored her, much like he had. She ended up being the only mother figure Roland ever knew. He of course acknowledged Marian as his mother, but Regina was more a mother to him. Him meeting Henry, was even more nerve racking. The boy was five years older than Roland, but he was wise beyond his years. He asked Robin serious questions, like what his intentions were with his mother and that before this became serious, he needed Henry's blessing. Robin admired his tenacity, couldn't even be offended by the boy's bluntness and outright care of his mother. Robin accredited this to Henry being partially raised by a man not his own father. One who probably didn't love him like he greatly deserved.

He then recalled a time when Henry was about sixteen, he and Regina had been married for about five years at this point. Anyway, Henry had had a rough day at school, shutting himself away in his room, not even letting Regina in. Robin asked if he could try and she let him, deciding to take on the younger Locksley and help him with his homework. Robin entered Henry's room, upon invitation, and asked him what seemed to be bothering him. He spilled his guts to Robin. Something he only did rarely. He told Robin he had been thinking about his father lately, his birth father. Regina only told him so much about Daniel, more for her sake of reminiscing than Henry not being able to understand or take it. He told Robin he missed him, even though he never knew him. He also asked him why Leopold never seemed to love him, why when his mother and he lived with him, he treated him as some bastard. Robin assured Henry that Leopold's lack of affection was actually a blessing, that it had nothing to do with Henry and everything to do with the man. He also told him that his father would be proud of him and that there was a piece of him inside Henry and that as long as he held onto his memory, he would always be with him. After that, Henry and Robin seemed to connect on a better level. They took more time together, Robin teaching Henry how to shoot a bow and arrow. They bonded quick and strongly. It seemed everything would be perfect, but things didn't last. They never do.

Robin couldn't quite put his finger on what really made their relationship spiral out of control, it just happened. They'd fight and make-up, then fight again a week later. They were hardly in sync anymore and ultimately they decided to take a break. Eventually though, that break turned into divorce. It smacked him in the face. He felt like he had been punched in the gut. Soon after he realized what was happening, he connected his heavy drinking habits and occasional outbursts as the cause of the separation. He agreed to the divorce, more for her sake than his. If it had been up to him, he wouldn't have signed the bloody papers. But it seemed like it was what she wanted. They had been married thirteen years. Of course he still saw Henry and she still saw Roland. They even saw each other, with other people. Robin had to admit seeing her on the arm of some other man didn't sit well with him. He couldn't tell if she was jealous of his date that night or not. He really couldn't tell.

That fling, though, didn't last. And he later learned, neither did hers.

His hand still sat motionless on the paper, the sharp end of the pen pressed softly on the paper. He thought, for once in his life, he should do what his impulses were telling him to do. So, he began to write. Once he managed the movements of pen to paper, the words flowed easily. He poured his heart into this letter. Composing it like a melody. He looked out the window once more, the rain seeming to let up. Robin turned back to the letter, read it thoroughly, then folded it neatly and slipped it in an envelope. He sent the letter off in the mail and then retired into his room, gazing out the window and the golden sun that seeped between the dark storm clouds.

. . . . . . . . . . .

There was a ringing in her ears. She felt weak and unstable.

"Wait...what?" She asked shakily, asking for them to repeat themselves.

"Robin. He's passed."

She felt her vision blur and darkness began to creep in her line of vision from the outside in. Then suddenly, darkness.

Never had she imagined this. Never had it even crossed her mind. Any moment now she was expecting to wake from a horrible nightmare, but this was reality. This was all really happening, she realized as she stepped from the car to attend Robin's funeral. It was being held in Ireland, his home country. Where he'd be buried with his family. The service was beautiful and she was met by Roland and his family. He still had his mop of curls, something Regina always loved, and it appeared so did his son. His wife and son walked away, giving them a moment. She could see Roland trying to keep a strong demeanor, but she placed her hand on his lightly bearded cheek, much like his father's she might add, and said, "I loved your father very much."

He broke down then, wrapping her in his ams tightly and crying. She held him, too, letting several tears escape her before he pulled away.

"I know." He said. "He loved you, too. More than you know."

She gave him a watery smile and kissed his cheek. Leaving him, was the hardest thing she ever had to do. But he promised to visit her in New York, so she let that soothe her aching heart.

. . . . . . . . . .

She returned home, exhausted and with a heavy heart. She had her neighbor collect her mail for her, which she promptly retrieved before she entered her home. She set her one suitcase by the door, telling herself she'll unpack later. She striped herself of her coat and walked to the living room. She flipped through the junk mail and bills with a flick of her wrist until one stopped her suddenly. It was addressed to her, in handwriting. Very familiar handwriting. She looked to the corner and saw Robin's name. The other envelopes fluttered to the ground as she stared at the cream colored envelop, her name scribbled on the front in his hand, in black ink. She brushed her fingers over it before she carefully opened it. She pulled the letter from the envelope and unfolded it. She began to read it, easing into a chair, her eyes never leaving the words scrawled on the paper. Her eyes studied each word, each period and comma. Tears pricked her eyes as she read his words. In it he mentioned first meeting her and telling her how gorgeous she was, stunning in every way, how much he longed for her. He wrote about how those years married to her were the best years of his life. The highs and the lows. He regretted none of it, knew himself to be a fool for messing it up.

She flipped to the second page, a page with only several words on it, but they were probably the most important words of this whole letter. There, in black ink, he wrote, "Home is wherever you are, and I want to come home."

She clasped her hand over her mouth, tears suddenly spilling from her eyes. She held the letter to her chest, hugging it almost, as she closed her eyes tightly, several more tears escaping.

Home is wherever you are, and I want to come home.

A soft sob escaped her as she realized what he meant. He wanted to start over. He wanted her back in his life. She tried to calm herself, taking in a deep breath. She looked at the words one more time, brushing thin fingers over the words, slightly imprinted in the paper. The letter was dated 3 days before today. Another tear escapes her, gently sliding down her now flushed cheeks. She looked then to the bottom of the last words on the letter. There, his signature lay. She folded the letter back up and slipped it back into the cream colored envelope. Gently placing it in her lap.

She kept the letter by her bedside ever since.