Someone tried to take her away from him, and the truth of that makes the blood hot in his veins, but anger isn't productive, especially not right now when her grip on life is still tenuous. She might not pass through to the next minute with him, and that nearly stops his heart, makes each beat so uncertain.

He doesn't want to exist within a moment that she doesn't inhabit, doesn't want to live a life where her name is just a phantom, and the utterance of it is met with nothing but silence. He refuses to let that happen. There's been enough loss between them both to last for far too many lifetimes, and he tells himself that he's not watching her slip away from him, he's watching her fight her way back to him, strengthened by the love entwining their hearts irreparably.

"Don't you think for a single moment that I'll let you leave me now," he whispers, lips pressed against the pulse so faint in her wrist he has to let his thumb glide across her neck just to assure himself her heart is still beating. Her chest barely rises and falls, and he wonders if she knows what she's done to him, that he's so in love with her the faltering of such a rhythmic thing as breathing sends his heart down a dark unending path towards the hell that life without her will become.

Knowing that she was trapped and alone, tortured by people who would have rejoiced at her death, haunts him, and it's a torment he knows he won't escape for quite some time. Robin has always been good at moving forward, not letting terrible things from the past keep him from the good things he knows await him, but this type of pain is the product of guilt, of knowing and believing he could have stopped this somehow if he had realized sooner what had happened and where she was.

Each burn mark on her skin is a shard of glass to his heart, keeping the pain fresh and unbearable. While she lays there struggling to breathe, his heart is bleeding, and he can't think of anything else to help him cope with this uncertainty than speaking to her, murmuring words of love, trying to infuse her with all the strength he has. Truthfully, when she wakes - when she wakes - he wants to keep her tucked within his arms forever, as irrational as that thought is. He won't delude himself into thinking they'll never have another threat to face, that there won't be someone else eager to hurt her, or him, or those they care about. But if he keeps her right there with him, maybe it'll be enough.

"I believe I'm owed a proper date soon," he smiles, letting out a huff of breath, though that smile immediately falters when he hears a faint whimper fall from her lips.

Leaning in, Robin cradles her hand tightly between both of his, the pad of his thumb stroking back and forth across her knuckles, as though hoping that on the precipice of consciousness, she'll know it's his touch, she'll want more, and she'll open her eyes at last and make her way back to him.

His forehead is pressed to hers, words of love now a caress across her lips: "Come back to me, my love."

She whimpers again, and though her eyes still don't open, that sound is infinitesimally louder and stronger, and it's all he needs right now.

One hand remains wrapped firmly around hers - and he can't help noting how small and limp it feels in his grip, such a stark contrast to her strong hands moving with purpose to divest him of his clothing, her nails scraping passionately across his chest only a week ago as they made love to one another - as he tucks it against his heart, keeping his head pressed close to hers.

Maybe it will help her breathe, having his breath against her lips; maybe he can breathe a little bit for her.

As the minutes drag on and turn into hours, a strange thought takes hold; he wishes, for the first time in his life, that he possessed a bit of magic, that he could reach out and stroke his fingers across her temple, taking the burns away, alleviate her pain. He's never much cared for magic, always wary of it, even though he acknowledges that occasionally, good things have come of it.

But one becomes desperate in times like this, thinking of anything that might keep the one they love with them.

When she finally shifts and whimpers again, he strokes her hair gently, and a tearful smile lights up his face when she at last blinks her eyes open, looking right at him. Her gaze is a bit distant, murky, and he knows she must be struggling through a fog to be completely coherent again.

"Robin…"

That's the best sound he's ever heard, and he kisses the palm of her hand so tenderly, over and over again before pressing her hand to his scruffy cheek.

"Right here, darling."

I'm sorry I couldn't save you.

"You're...here…" She looks so confused, either because she's not quite sure where she is, or she's not sure why he would be with her, as though some part of her still isn't sure she deserves him.

"Well, I don't make a habit of being far away from my own heart," he says, matter-of-factly, though the words hold so much meaning.

She is his heart.

Everything.

Regina seems stiff as she tries to move, eyes closing for a moment as her body is bent in ways it's not quite ready for yet. And then she looks up at him, more focus in her eyes now; they're wide and open and vulnerable, and his heart is blown open at the sight.

"Robin…"

She doesn't even need to ask.

He kisses her knuckles tenderly, then takes off his boots, gingerly stretching out beside her, and slowly, carefully, tugging her into the safety of his arms. One hand remains on the back of her head, the other protectively on her back. Her head tucks against his chest as he nuzzles against her, kissing her skin tenderly.

"I have you. Always."