a|n: i'm pretty sure everyone is heartbroken over that finale, yes? my fingertips were itching to resolve this in the best way, in my opinion anyway, and so i hope that this helps you to read as much as it did me, to write. it will either be in two or three parts. i'm not sure entirely, this was meant to be a one shot but i thought it might get too long to be read comfortably as one, so i will post the next part(s) as soon as possible— already planned, I promise, just needs some fleshing out.

WARNING: Smut. Unfaithfulness.

.

…

He sees her at her most vulnerable, most down and defeated, and it sets them off on the wrong foot almost immediately.

In that awful chamber, after she has dealt with her sister, she is smiling and almost striding, chin held toward the sky and although he doesn't know her properly, doesn't pretend he does, he knows that what he's seeing is a heart aching, albeit impressively perfected, façade.

And it becomes clear that what he sees of her in those moments, what he sees beyond her exterior, and how he reacts to it, and how she reacts to it, sets the tone of their further interaction, acts as a foreboding of their time together in the enchanted forest.

Shooting an arrow in the general proximity of her head, feeling her breath against his cheek, offering her a drink and having her run out on him surprisingly is not a foreboding of their time together in storybrooke, but rather a momentary peculiar disappointment. He feels drawn to her, like he knows her, and he wants to know her in that moment, and wants her to want to know him too.

He calls after her, calls out to her, but she keeps running, and he doesn't know why it frustrates him so much.

But when she turns up later, without her heart but with a wild look of panic in her eyes, a kiss waiting on her lips, it's unexplainable the way he feels, the way he goes from shock to hesitancy to recognizing the fear in her eyes, the one that tells him she might run, and then kissing her again becomes his only coherent thought.

When she kisses him back with the same intensity, he pulls back to see the dark look burning in her eyes, barely having a chance to breathe her in before her mouth is on him again like a storm, hot and impetuous and she tastes like alcohol, but he gets lost in her kiss, feels like he is floating and he fails when he tries to recall ever feeling the way she makes him in that moment, her hands on his back, breasts pressed against his chest.

…

Roland loves her, and when their memories return, remembers that he always has.

He loves the very bones of her, to his boy she is perfect, and he is simultaneously pleased and cautious of that.

Robin knows his son, had raised him alone since he was barely a year old, and like any child when given a new shiny toy, everything else becomes insignificant, seems dull and boring and no, of course Roland doesn't want to go with Little John when Regina lives in the big white house only ten steps away (much, much more, but Roland, amid chattering and shrieking, loses count of his numbers and what he says, goes, and it is ten on any given day.)

Regina isn't a toy. She is maddening, temperamental, complex, magnificent, and breathtaking; she is endless things, but not a toy.

So Robin waits. Roland asks for ice-cream with Regina, asks to visit the play castle with Regina, asks for almost every activity he knows, even the necessities such as brushing his teeth with his new toothbrush, bed time and stories (from books now, not his mind) to be done with the queen. And soon, Regina becomes almost a crucial fixture in their lives, becomes a part of their odd routine in this strange, wonderful land.

But still, although Robin knows that Regina is not a toy, and he would die before treating her as one, he waits for the other shoe to drop, for Roland's enraptured interest to wane as a young boy's mentality should, because although Regina has the touch of a mother, surely his boy can't be this in love with her already?

He has hope, and belief, but surely this is too good for him? Surely?

As though every wish he voices has been heard and granted, however, the shoe doesn't drop. Roland becomes enamoured with Granny and many others, new people with new stories to tell of fascinating adventures from realm across realm, but Regina, when it is at all possible, he always picks Regina.

His boy is smitten.

And when Regina offers to show him the beach front one evening, allows him to press her against the doorframe and thoroughly kiss her goodnight when they've returned home, sand between their toes and the scent of sea water clinging to their coats, Robin thinks that he might be too.

…

He takes her, right there, right in front of the fireplace.

Soul mate: a deep natural affinity, an instantaneous connection, a shift, pieces and fragments and particles, all sliding in together, becoming whole. Her words put names to what he feels, deep in the confines of his chest, what tornados throughout his entire body when he sees her, Regina, and why he feels so entirely drawn to her that it's hardly something he can fathom, it's maddening, makes him feel like he is going to drown in it just by sharing her air.

She is his soul mate, and he smiles, so wide and for so long that by the time Regina edges closer, running her hand along the broad expanse of his chest, his cheeks are throbbing. He kisses her, deepens it immediately and she tastes like the food they have been sharing, and both of their boys are elsewhere, and he wants her desperately, without reservation and shame, so he tells her as much.

Regina draws back, licking her lips, and she smiles, "Then have me, I want you to have me."

"Milady," Robin starts, but falters and has to clear his throat; he's aching for her, "Surely later on this evening would be more appropriate?" But the way he toys with the hair at the nape of her neck, and uses his strength to pull her small body nearly atop his lap belies an element of the hesitation in his words.

"I wouldn't have guessed a thief would be so concerned with such matters," She teases, but it is gentle and the coy smile falls away from her lips, a tentative one replacing it.

"Perhaps not usually, but it's not every day a common thief has the pleasure of his Queen," He is smirking, his broad hands resting in the dip of her slender waist, pulling her forward until she is so close that he has to tip his head back to find her eyes, those beautiful eyes, just the sight of them deep and brown, and they make his stomach bottom out, "And not nearly one as beautiful as you."

Throaty laughter filling the space between them, Regina clasps a hand over his mouth to silence him, "You already have me, your charms are unnecessary," she tells him, although they are not, her eyes give her away despite the amusement that also glistens in them, and the heat there, too.

And his eyes widen with his smile when she blushes, catching herself, "I have you?" he inquires, tone light, and Regina rolls her eyes, pushing herself away from him to settle on the floor once more, and he follows her, sees her open and exposed, vulnerable, and he wants to devour every inch of it, of her.

and he does.

….

…

When everything crashes down around him, it crashes hard, shatters every part of his heart.

Only, his wife, his lovely Marian, he is not sure she knows where the pieces fit now, to put him back together again, and he keeps holding her in his arms, Roland pressed between them, to chase away the terror that comes with such a thought.

…

….

Robin wakes up to Marian on his left side, and Roland on his right.

They're in a bed at Granny's, the old woman kind enough to grant them privacy for as long as they need, and he feels as though he is suffocating, parts of him were expecting to wake up and find it was a dream, to wake in Regina's arms.

It's not a dream however, she's here, along his side she's here and she is clinging, Marian, hands clenched around the shirt Regina had taken off his body, not twenty four hours earlier, kissed her way down until her tongue had painted a wet line across the leather of his belt, teasing.

He is here with his wife, but his heart is heavy and aching, and he can't stop thinking about her.

With all the discretion he can muster, his surreptitious footfalls find him outside the door of where Little John had talked himself into staying the previous evening, saying he needs somewhere to recuperate after such a traumatic experience, insisting that being a flying monkey is not an easy task.

"John," he whispers into the old door, the paint is dirty and flaking, but it looks well-loved at least.

Two heavy thuds, what he thinks might be blasphemous mumbling, and his friend swings the door open, yawning.

"Robin," he says, shock evident in his voice, even though his eyes are glittering with happiness for him. It falls quickly, though, his expression darkening, and Robin wonders what it is he sees on his own features. "What troubles you?"

"Roland," Robin fumbles out, shaking his head to correct it immediately, "Not—not Roland, I need you to watch him, if you would...I wouldn't ask but this is important, and Marian has only been—" He is somewhat aware that he is rambling, sounds incompetent and his face feels like it's on fire under John's scrutiny, but mercifully, he is nodding, his face still dark but graced with understanding, judgment too, but not nearly enough to say no to ensuring Roland's safety for a time.

"You're going to regret this," Little John states, mouth curled down in a frown.

Robin turns his hands palm up, motions his confusion with his shoulders and confesses, "I have to at least try and put this right."

"Right for who?" John calls after him, but he is down the stairs, almost by the hallway where he had kissed Regina softly, over and over, said use mine for the both of us, and he doesn't turn around to give a response.

…

Regina opens the door, barely an inch, and slams it shut the moment she sees who it is.

"Please," Robin grits out, his fist beating the door with frustration, he can see her through the glass, "Regina, please," but she doesn't move, or answer.

A long beat passes, and he knocks again, before resting his forehead on the glass panel.

"Please," he says, and his tone is soft, defeated, he just wants to see her face and make sure she's okay, which she is not if she's fairing as he is, but he needs to see her, if only for a moment. "Regina," he pleads, "Let me see you for one moment, and then I'll go. I swear to you I'll respect whatever it is you wish, please."

Breath leaves him in a rush that fogs the panel when he hears the latch sliding, and the door opens, and he inhales more greedily when he sees her, red eyes swollen and bloodshot, a pallor in place of her beautiful olive.

"You can't stay long," Regina says in a voice like gravel.

Nodding, he toes his shoes off like she has told him, those muddy boots, she hates them, and he says, "You don't look well," partly because she really does not, but also because he doesn't know what to say, isn't sure he can managing using his words at all when she's so close.

But she scoffs, rolling her sore eyes, "Forgive me for not putting on some make-up," she snaps, and it's not possible but he swears that if he reached out, fingertips raised to the sky and his palm open, he would feel the walls she has reconstructed through the night, her defences stronger than ever. "I wasn't expecting company."

"Regina," He exhales, heavy with sorrow and it shows, "We need to talk, please don't shut me out."

"I have nothing to say," she answers quickly, and he hears the unspoken to you as plain as if the words had left her mouth.

It doesn't make sense to him, but in a way it does, too, because he knows her, he has to believe that Marian hasn't changed that at least, "You must have, because I have so many things to say to you," so many things, so so many, "This- this confliction—"

"There is no confliction, thief," she interrupts, and his stomach coils tight at the name she uses, no longer an endearment but now it is scorching hot, a weapon meant to wound, and he is not ashamed to admit it does, "You have a wife, Roland's mother is alive. What more is there?"

He is caught off guard.

What she is saying, logically, should make sense, but she has been the woman he's been with, whose days he has shared up until now and it isn't making sense, Regina isn't making sense, "I don't believe that you can shut yourself off from this," and he can't truly, or perhaps he is the problem, can't bear to think that this is so frivolous to her, "It's not that simple."

"No, it's not," her tone falls soft, and she continues, "But what is there to say? She's your wife, your family."

"I—it's not that simple."

"As you've said," and the exasperation and irritation that colours those words, as though he is a distraction for her, something impeding her from going about her business and he can't stand it, not that kind of indifference when he sees what she is hiding, those brown eyes continue to give her away, even now

"Then hear me," he snaps, regrets it when she startles, gasping, but doesn't reign in his temper, "Listen to me!"

She strides closer to him, so close his fingertips twitch involuntarily and puts a finger in his face, pointing, "If you're looking for answers then you've come to the wrong person," her voice trembles, only just, not strong enough to carry her anger, "I don't know what you want from me."

"I want you to stop pretending this is a simple everyday occurrence, Regina," He slams his hand down, hitting the door behind him and uses the force to propel himself forward, and he grabs at her hands, brings them up between their faces as he whispers out his words, thick with apology. "Of all the things I could have ever anticipated, never this," And it crushes him, he is so so glad to see Marian, to feel her, but it crushes him too, "In every realm I've ever known this was impossible."

Regina shakes her head, pulling her hands away.

"Well the saviour and her love-sick puppy have proven otherwise," Robin watches her struggle between anger and heartache, appearing to settle on the former for a moment before it ruptures into the latter, "You're a good man, and she's your wife."

She turns away before she finishes, shoulders slumped with the burden of her resignation, but he knows her cheeks will be wet when he reaches her, a knot forming in his throat and he abhors that he has made her cry, she has cried far too many tears for one person.

"And what are you to me?" he prods, a cruel thing to ask her when he cautiously appears around the doorway to her office, to where she has walked off, and the next words shouldn't leave his month and he knows it, but doesn't swallow them down again, "Because yesterday you swore I had you."

Regina's eyes shoot up to his from her spot at the decanter, she has dented it quite impressively, he notices with a grimace, "I swore no such thing to you."

Robin rolls his eyes, a smile hinting on his lips for a tiny second before it drops away like water, because of course the woman who has lived her years with the dark one would deal in such semantics.

"Said, swore, what does it matter?" Does it? He is confident in what he saw in her eyes, what they shared together, what they revealed when she finished with him still inside of her, but he wouldn't dream of putting words in her mouth, not seriously, "I believe I know what you meant, Regina, and you must know it too."

She doesn't answer, takes a long pull from her tumbler instead, captivating him with the jut in the column of her throat for a moment.

"She's your wife," Regina eventually repeats after she swallows, raising her shoulder like it is some kind of full stop, a clear ending.

But he can't let it end; he is trying so hard but is failing miserably.

"As you've said," he retorts, frustration rising as he throws her earlier words back at her.

"Then I have nothing more to say," again with the resignation, another pull from her tumbler, and it simultaneously angers and tortures him, even more so when she looks at him with wet eyes and says, "I'm sorry."

After refilling her tumbler, and finally pouring him one of his own, she moves to the sofa and sits down heavily, rubbing her forehead.

"It wasn't supposed to be this way," Robin whispers, sitting beside her and he doesn't know why, except he does, but he pulls his legs apart enough to have her knee brush against his, and if Regina wants to stop it then she makes no move to.

She only blinks slowly, smiling a sad smile, "No, I don't suppose it was," and fate and destiny has told them it was not, they know it, but even without that in their hearts, free of anything that says otherwise, they know it was not supposed to be this way, that something does not belong and it is not them.

He wouldn't feel like this if it was.

He wouldn't be the reason she has silent, but sorrowful tears slipping down her cheeks.

"But," her voice cracks, sounds like the words she is trying to force out might end her, "But you owe it to yourself to love again, with your family."

"And what of you, and Roland?" Amidst the chaos he has thought of this, over and over, he loves the very bones of her, to his boy she is perfect, "We were something of a family Regina and you know it," he bites, vehement, "Don't insult me and deny it."

And she puts her face in her hands, shoulders shaking, barely managing to deny it with, "Henry is my family."

He knows it hurts her as much as it hurts him to say, it is probably the reason she said it, along with this denial and rejection of everything they have shared, Marian can't change that even if she wants to, and he knows his lovely wife and she would not, but it hurts, hurts beyond what he imagined her sharp words could.

Her mouth has always been a valuable weapon, though, he knows better than many.

"No matter what happens between us Regina, no matter what is happening, it's not Roland's fault," he is openly pleading, crouches down in front of her where she is trying to regain her composure, more than sure enough to tell her this, "And I know your love for him rivals the depth of his love for you, so please," her skin is cold, but soft, and he puts his forehead to hers, his nose against hers and their lips brush a tender whisper of contact, but she edges backwards ever so gently and it is not a kiss he swears to himself, it is not, "Don't let him hurt like this too, I beg you."

…

She doesn't give him her blessing, and he doesn't want it. She gives him heartbreak with her acceptance, makes him sick with guilt because he hates, he hates it how she lets him go, and hates himself because he gets to go home to his family, his healthy safe family and he loves them so much, he shouldn't want her to fight and he does not want a fight, not one bit because he has lived long enough and fought enough of them to know that nothing good comes from them.

But he just, he just

Little John can barely meet his eye when he comes back, Robin notices, but he wears a look of apology because Roland is sleeping in his arms, far from his mother.

…

Roland asks for her every day after that.

Every day, numerous times, sounding more miserable as the hours go on.

No one has seen her beyond a trip to the grocery store, and some people look at him like he has been spared of the greatest terror, some look at him with sympathy and some glare, men of Regina's black guard, those loyal to her even now, look at him with such contempt that he aches to see her, but every time he tries to do that she denies him, and he tries more than any good man should, with his wife and his child and his healthy safe family.

"We are going to Regina's today, Papa," Roland orders, sullen, around a mouth full of pancakes.

Marian looks across over breakfast, courtesy of Granny's, where they have stayed up to now. "You're rather taken with the ev—," she quickly censors herself, and for that Robin is grateful, but Roland has a tiny frown on his face, and it becomes clear that his son has caught it when he shouts.

"'Majesty is Regina," his elbow narrowly misses the cup beside him, his gesture so zealous.

"Of course, my son," she placates him, and catching the opportunity to hold Roland's interest, something that has taken more effort than initially anticipated, she gives him a smile, strained where it once was bright and unburdened and she asks, "Regina, she must be kind to you, Roland. What is she like in storybrooke?"

Robin reels in the urge to silence Roland, his stomach twisting, and he is not at all surprised when his son gives a childish variation of the same answer he himself has given over and over, "Stun'ng, in all ways," and he looks proud, puffs out his chest like the valiant charming knight Regina says he is.

But Marian's smile hardens, only for a moment, and Robin questions who he disservices more when he offers no praise at the words, his boy or his queen.

Later, when Roland is shrieking with joy in the hallway, causing mischief of some kind with his merry men, Marian approaches him from behind, alerting him with her soft footsteps, and she slides her arms around his waist.

He doesn't stiffen, even now he is familiar with her and appreciates her comfort, but he hesitates before cupping her hands. Clenching and unclenching his own when she moves away, Robin watches her round on him, smiling reassuringly before she states plainly, "You were involved with the Queen."

Marian is an understanding woman, she is kind and open and she doesn't cause conflict for the sake conflict, she never has, but they are struggling.

Struggling to reconnect, to fill in the gaps, when Marian last saw their boy he was a baby, and now they are strangers and it must hurt, Robin is no fool, and he knows it is not ideal, not one bit, but it is hard for all of them. And he feels sick to his stomach when he thinks about how it shouldn't be, sick to his stomach when he questions why the pieces won't fit in his heart like they had, once.

Sick to his stomach when he considers that time has rearranged them, when he questions, how can he love with a heart mended for her, but broken for another?

Robin takes a steadying breath, feeling like he might vomit, and knows what she is really asking him.

It should be a simple question to answer, he is a good man, an honourable one, but his wife is regarding him, accusation as clear as day on her lovely features, and he has grieved and found closure over this, understands her but also breathes and fights because he won't fall into ever feeling that way again, not even for her.

"I didn't do anything wrong," he says, and his voice remains strong.

"No, I know you didn't," Marian assures him with a frown, and she pauses from wiping the mess of Roland's dinner to cup his cheek, kissing his lips. "But what if I was the one who had lain with another?" She says, and it is so unfair that Robin's vision threatens to colour red, more so because her voice sounds enticing, and it dawns on him, her words more statement than question, that she most likely expects the flaming barb of jealousy that would have shot through him, years before.

A part of him expects it too, for a slow beat, but then he feels strangely calm, taking a moment to truly think about what she is asking him, telling himself that she is his wife and the mother of his child and he loves her and even then he simply concludes, "I would want nothing but your happiness," and finds that he means it.

Marian looks up sharply, moving out of his immediate space, makes him wonder if perhaps that was a trick, but it can't be, not from her. She does nothing but exhale, and maybe she is glaring at the answer but her features have always been too soft to pull it off, not sharp like—

"And the Queen?" a question now, the same one, and his wife still looks dissatisfied with his previous answer.

"I would want nothing but her happiness," he repeats like a reflex, even before the visions fully assault him of Regina, back arched and head pressed into the comforter, the tops of her thighs slick, another man enjoying her, and he has to wonder, in the back of his mind, if concealing his emotion was always this difficult, if it makes him insane to want to slaughter a figment from his mind.

But it doesn't matter, not really, his wife, his lovely Marian; she has known and loved him for years,

And she could always spot a liar.

…

…

Night after night Robin finds himself lying awake, and as he stares at the rise and fall of his wife's chest, every thought in his head is of Regina.

…

…

a|n: i understand this toes the line of a sensitive subject, so i am sorry if any of you are offended.

i hope it was enjoyable, and i'm so sorry for any mistakes— thank you so much for reading, and part two will be up asap.