AN: Hello again!
This one is less 'action-packed' if that makes sense, but more of a thoughts and feelings kinda thing. I imagine Robin has quite a bit of stuff to figure out now, so this is about his conflicting emotions and the internal battle he's undoubtedly having with himself as we speak.
Hope you enjoy.
Robin Hood was a gentleman.
The fact that the general law didn't always agree with him – which made him a wanted criminal throughout the realm during his years in the Enchanted Forest, well… never mind all that. He considered himself to be a man with a strong moral compass, who always went out of his way to do the right thing – or more accurately, what he thought was right – for which he was widely admired as well as respected in his circles. But either way, his beliefs were his own and they had nothing to do with the way he treated women.
In a word: with care. Recognising – and appreciating – the beauty and grace with which the members of the fairer sex carried themselves was one thing, underestimating their strength and aptitude in any given situation was quite another. There was a reason he never made that mistake, and he genuinely pitied any man who ever has.
He wasn't in the business of entertaining grand romantic ideals of destiny and The One. He was dreamy, yes, but he made a point of drawing a line between fantasy and reality. Having a strong grasp on his present was sometimes the only way to ensure that he had a future. However, he always imagined that if he ever did marry, it would be out of love, and to a woman he would consider his equal partner in every aspect of their shared life. And he had been so fortunate.
His wife was amazing. His Marian. The mother of his son. And the woman he loved, with all of his heart, and with a certainty that comes but once in a lifetime… well, she was also amazing.
What now?
As Robin emerged from the bathroom – even though he wouldn't admit it to anyone, sometimes he still missed the forest with its quiet tranquillity, but admittedly from a practical standpoint, a shower was much more sufficient than a lake, so he would have to adapt – he could already hear the ringing laughter echoing through the hall.
He stood in the doorway, content to merely watch, as mother and son got lost in the game they were playing, smiles plastered across their faces as if left by a permanent marker. It was such a familiar scene, and yet, he was struck by the strangeness of it all. He didn't feel included; it was as if he were watching his own life unfold before him, but through someone else's eyes.
He tried to shake this feeling, whatever it was, but he knew it would be back eventually. Ever since his wife has been back in their lives – all wonder and smiles, and a voice that was sharper than he remembered, or was it the hair that was shorter? – something just didn't sit right with him. There was this feeling in the pit of his stomach every time he looked at her, right where the butterflies should have been, and were, once. Of course, he figured it out in the end. It didn't take a rocket scientist, just a touch of honesty.
Marian was the same as she's ever been. She hasn't changed one bit. How could she have? She was brought into this world from the past. His past. One they used to share – together.
And they had a good life. It wasn't perfect, he knows that now, – the idyllic picture his mind conjured up for him is more a product of grief than anything else and he shouldn't have expected it to be more than that, it's not fair to her, not fair to any of them, but he can't help himself – definitely not perfect, but it was good. And he loved her.
At that moment, as if feeling his eyes on her, she looks up at him. She smiles at him, just like she used to, and he loves her. And for a brief moment it's just like the picture in his mind.
But it can't be. He let her go. He'd been to hell and back, and there was not a single day when he didn't regret losing her, when he didn't feel the pain and grief of it all in every cell of his body. It was an excruciatingly long and hard journey, but he managed to come out on the other side – bruised and battered, but alive. The truth was harsh, but simple. He wasn't the same person she fell in love with anymore. Losing her had changed him. There was a time when she was his life. But he had a whole new life now, and she didn't fit into it, not the way she had before. He had moved on.
Looking at his wife and son, Robin acknowledged and swallowed his conclusions, all the while keeping his eyes fixed on his family. His family. The child had been through so much already, despite his young age, the woman even more. Life didn't spare them of their fair share of misfortunes, that was for sure.
Robin promised himself that he wouldn't break their hearts as well.
After seeing Regina at Granny's two things became quite clear to Robin.
Number one: he wasn't alone in his feelings for her. Which was a relief, really. Despite reaching the conclusion that he was irrevocably in love with this extraordinary woman, he still had reasonable doubts about whether or not she might feel the same way.
One look into that familiar pair of brown eyes, and he had his answer. It always was the eyes with Regina. She had a remarkable control over the rest of her face, which was a neat trick and worked on anyone who didn't know any better. But the thing about Regina was, that try as she might, her eyes always seemed to give her away, sooner rather than later. He had never seen such expressive eyes before. He had heard the phrase 'the eyes are the window to the soul' a thousand times, and he thought he knew exactly what that meant. He didn't. Not until he met Regina.
A wave of fresh sorrow washed over him at the memories of their most recent encounter. Between the sudden and unexpected return of his wife and figuring out how to deal with the Ice Queen, he almost managed to forget how much he missed her, every single day. Almost. Now, her absence hit him in the face like a solid wall of bricks. The longing he felt for her squeezed his heart with an intensity that was bordering on ridiculous, but was definitely past the point of being physically painful.
He sighed. His feelings for Regina were a force to be reckoned with, just like the woman herself. How fitting. He wanted nothing more than to hold her in his arms again, – for it was exactly where she belonged – run his hands through her beautiful hair, look into those eyes and soothe away the pain that was so clearly reflected in them. Nothing else mattered. Regina was hurting. And it was his fault.
Ah, right. Number two: He would not be able to keep his promise.
