With the Apprentice now released from his hat prison, they're forced to split up.

Snow, David and Hook head towards the loft with Henry to get to the page and key before Isaac can carry out his plan; Blue and August set off for the church to warn the other fairies, leaving Robin alone with Regina, Emma, and the man who's supposed to save them.

The outlaw should be following their example and be on his way, too – it's what the trio is waiting for to move on Gold's shop – but he can't bring himself to do it. Regina and he have just found each other again. If something goes wrong while he's away, he'd never forgive himself. The chances of coming out of a confrontation with the Dark One and some maniacal author hell bent on destroying their lives unscathed are slim to none. Robin doesn't want their few stolen minutes under the hospital to be all he's had to make up for the months of heartbreak they went through – months he feels responsible for.

But as he looks around, takes in the sights of the three people standing next to him, he recognizes he's a tad useless amongst this group of powerful magic practitioners. He'd only get in their way if he stayed – something Regina has forbidden him to do many times over – but his feet are loath to take the first step towards the sidewalk. He knows it's a reckless course of action, that Regina is far safer surrounded by two magicians than his comparatively lousy crossbow, but he'd prefer standing by her side as she heads into battle. They've been separated long enough; he can't stand to be again.

Lost in his thoughtful contemplation of the rooftops across the street, he doesn't register Regina's movements until she's standing right in front of him.

Her head cocks to the side, and the look on her face tells him she knows exactly what he's been thinking and won't hear it. "Go," she utters before he even has a chance to speak, "make sure Roland's fine." Her body sways forward at her words, as if to reach out to him, but her arms stay glued to her sides, leaving Robin to tuck his hands in his pockets in turn.

The Apprentice is keeping Emma entertained a few feet away. This moment is as close as they'll get to time alone, but Regina is busy composing herself, mentally going through every spell and trick or combination thereof she's learned over the years. Now isn't the time to distract her with his need to touch her – his need to make sure she's real every chance he gets. She'd been a dream more often than not in recent weeks (dreams where her death was the last thing Robin saw before waking up in sweat, startled awake by the acute pain in his chest, and the only way he could go on another day in this godforsaken city he'd been forced to call home was remembering his Regina was alive, even if lost to him forever), so there are times, like right now, where he looks at her and can't quite believe she's here.

And while he respects the distance she's putting between them for his supposed safety, he'll politely disagree with her request that he stay away from the action – since when does her glare stop him? – but before Robin can say anything, Regina's already asserting, "Emma and I have got this," and his mouth snaps back shut. There's no questioning her when she's using that tone.

He changes tactics then, settles for a simple, "You're sure?" that won't have them arguing, but that'll give her a chance to change her mind. (A man can only hope.)

Regina's shoulders fall, but still a smile slides onto her lips – a small, tight-lipped upturn of a corner of her mouth, but a smile nonetheless. "I'm sure," she replies quietly, her shining dark irises pleading him to do as she says.

His lungs deflate, and a sigh escapes his mouth. He never could refuse those eyes.

Any argument he might have had dies short of his lips, and with this victory, Regina's soft edges disappear. Her gaze hardens as Robin stands and watches the tenderness with which she'd looked at him dissipate. She straightens her spine, takes a step back, square shoulders and lifted chin completing her transformation: a picture-perfect show of self-confidence.

Ever the Queen, he thinks bittersweetly, if it weren't for her eyes – eyes that tell their own story, independent of her body language, often times betraying the assurance her words and stance carry. The problem is very few care to spare a second look, and most of her life her misgivings had gone unnoticed, her insecurities unheard.

But Robin had noticed – notices. He'd spared many a glance in her direction over the last year and had learned the truth behind the mask. While she may fool the others with her demeanour, he isn't so easily gulled. This false show of confidence is one she's put up regularly in the forest, and it probably doesn't convince Emma either (the blonde has turned her head in their general direction despite her conversation with the Apprentice). The older man is probably the only one not picking up on Regina's reservations, but none of them one call her out on it.

Robin allows himself one last thoughtful warning before he lets her go. "Be careful," he says, only patronizing enough to make her smile.

"Aren't I always?" she responds, and he shakes his head at her cheeky attitude, unable to remove the half-grin anchored to his lips.

He's missed her. So much.

But, just like that, it's over (again). He has to leave her, and can only hope she'll come back to him in one piece.

He's already turned around when he hears his name being called, followed by a quiet Wait.

Robin cranes his neck back toward the house, giving him just enough time to brace himself and turn on his heels before Regina crashes into his chest. His hands grab her waist as one of his feet darts behind for stability. Her hands fly up, yanking him to her, hungrily covering his mouth with her own.

It seems like his need for her is only rivaled by her need for him.

Robin spends the succeeding seconds too stunned to move, but when the surprise wears off, he returns the kiss with equal (selfish) passion. Spurred on by her appreciative moan, his hands grip her hipbones tighter to tug her forward, his mouth pressing harder against hers. Regina's breath comes out in short puffs of air against his lips whenever her lungs empty, but each time she closes the distance between them anew, showing no intention to stop just yet.

Her palms cup his cheeks, fingers running over his scruff in swift, greedy caresses that have him grunting at the back of his throat, but are so unlike Regina – unlike public Regina, anyway. Throwing herself at him when others are about to see isn't something she's in the habit of doing, and Emma and the Apprentice are just a few feet away, quite possibly enjoying this little show they're putting. Whatever is troubling her beautifully complex brain, whatever she's trying to erase with imprints of his touch, she doesn't want him figuring out because her hands keep him distracted. They brush down his neck and knead the muscles there, making it hard for Robin to concentrate on anything but the warm sensation of her palms on his flesh, but her nails suddenly dig into his nape, snapping him back to reality.

She's scared.

(He is, too.)

His neck stings where her fingers have surely left crescent-shaped dents on his skin, but that twinge of pain will go away in a moment, contrary to the one he's involuntarily caused her heart. The one neither of them is completely over.

Behind the fiery eagerness with which she'd thrown herself at him, Robin detects a slight tremble to her body. Her hands fumble to stay in place, losing their grip then smacking back against his flesh, and the whimper that passes her lips is not a statement to how good a kisser he is.

Her urgency feels final. She clutches at him, arms wrapped around his shoulders and pulling him closer as if the sky might fall on her head any moment, as if this kiss might be their last, and Robin can't have her thinking that. She can't lose hope after just finding it again.

This isn't goodbye.

They're done letting fate win, she'd said so herself. This parting of ways is only temporary; they both need to remember that.

Robin finds his focus again, even as her teeth bite into his bottom lip, a diversion that could have worked if he hadn't known her as well as he does. His hand leaves her waist and travels up her body, pushing a rebel strand of hair behind her ear as he slows down their kiss, tries to ease her desperation with a soft massage to her upper lip. His calloused thumb brushes against her jaw, tender and affectionate, stroking away the tension from her body.

Under his ministrations, the kiss comes to a natural end, but Robin doesn't release her just yet, cradling Regina's nape in his hand, bumping their foreheads familiarly. Their eyes remain fixed on each other's mouths, in need of more but forced to contemplate less, as their breathing evens and with it, their pent-up fears. Regina isn't shaking anymore, and his own heart is slowing down, though her knuckles are white with tension, still fisted at the lapels of his jacket.

Robin keeps one hand steady at her side, thumb rubbing mindless circles on her hip. He doesn't know if she can feel it through the fabric of her dress, but the action is soothing even for him, so he keeps it up, and she doesn't tell him to stop. They stand still for a few minutes, as long a rest as their current situation allows. Once he's confident that her intake and release of air are again a calming process and not a taxing one, he pulls back and looks at her. A smile forms on his lips when he catches sight of her more relaxed state, and this is better. Definitely better.

"I'll see you when this is over," he promises, keeping his tone as light as he can manage. "And then we'll talk."

Regina licks her lips, offers him small nod. She takes the first step back, disentangling their arms, and it's all it takes for their moment to be over. Her brows furrow in determination, her intention to give the author a piece of her mind clearly written on her face. With the cracks in her armour sealed tight, she's a striking picture of unshakable resolution, and Robin's heart swells with pride, struck again by how much she's grown.

Mind relatively at peace, he's finally able to make his way down the street, but before he turns around, he casts one last glance, not in Regina's direction, but toward Emma, waiting patiently a few feet away with the Apprentice.

He may only have been in town for a short time, but he knows he and the sheriff both wish for the same thing: for Regina to find the happiness she has long sought. And that's enough for Robin to trust her, this woman everyone calls the Savior – an awfully exacting job around these parts, or so he's gathered.

It's as if she's waiting for him; Emma is looking straight at him before he even tilts his head, and their gazes lock instantly when Robin glances her way. Regina would probably be appalled should she become aware of their silent agreement, but the whole exchange goes unbeknownst to her for she has her back turned to Robin and Emma appears to be looking out in no particular direction. The blonde acknowledges him with a nod, message received loud and clear: she's in charge of Regina's safety.

Robin thanks her with a slight bow, and only then, armed with the reassurance that someone will have Regina's back while he's away, can he bring himself to walk back toward his camp.

::

The fiery warmth ricochets down her arms and to the tip of her fingers.

Her knuckles are stiff when she opens her hands, her nails biting into her palms when she fists them again. The action quells the flame before it erupts and burns, keeps Regina on her toes and her mind from wandering too far.

There'd been a time when a sentimental slip such as her behaviour outside the Apprentice's house would have resulted in a firm scolding. Only meek and weak people give in to such displays of affection, Regina, Mother would say, and by letting herself be guided by her emotions, she was no better than a lowly commoner. How could she set her sights so low after everything Cora had sacrificed for her? How could she, when she could achieve so much more? Even now, with her mother long dead and buried, Regina braces herself to hear her cold, reprimanding tone in her mind any minute.

But Mother remains silent, and so does every other voice usually raging for control: the dread, the self-loathing, the hatred. They all keep quiet.

It's a reprieve Regina hadn't dreamed of, another victory to add to the list, one that has a drop of water prickling at the corner of her eye with relief. Hopefully, Isaac's name will soon follow Cora's, and they can be done with this quest for her happy ending. She knows now it's been within her grasp right from the start; she'd simply needed multiple trials to realize it.

A lick of guilt still remains, though, at the thought that her search for the author has allowed the villains the upper hand. Gold has the author on his side, and Gods know what kind of wrongful universe they've planned for everyone the town. They must be stopped, and Regina won't let herself rest until they've been taken care of. It's the least she can do.

She's mentally cataloguing their chances of success – feeble, at best – when she suddenly loses her footing. One minute she's walking next to Emma; the next, she's lying on her back, an invisible force preventing her from getting up.

Dark spots start filling her vision, each one carrying with it a memory, successive flashes of her greatest triumphs and failures. She feels them being stripped from her one by one, plucked from her brain forever, everything that makes her who she is slipping away and leaving her to fend for herself: Daniel, Cora, Snow, the King, Rumplestiltskin, Henry – both of them – and Robin. She knows without a doubt this is the last moment she'll ever think of them. How she knows, she can't say, but she takes the given time to say goodbye, before she's completely forgotten them.

The black kernels expand until the sky is painted black and Storybrooke is but a fragile string of memories threatening to break. As much as she'd like to, there's no fleeing this. Whichever evil is responsible for the current destruction of their past, and possibly their future as well, has made sure escaping this plight is an impossible task.

Regina wonders if this will turn out to be another one of those times when her soul almost succeeds in withdrawing from her body, only to be yanked back to a reality even harsher than the one it tried to leave.

That's how it'd been the other times she'd nearly died.

The darkness is thick around her now. A dark, unmovable velvet cloud, lulling her to sleep.

When she wakes up, sunlight filters through the trees and reaches the opening of the trunk she inhabits, casting shapeless halos of light around her hiding place. There's a ragged wool blanket thrown hastily over her, greying due to years of exposure to dust and dirt, covered with holes, a negligible protection against the chill in the air, and the fire that had been her only source of warmth turned to ashes overnight.

Regina tries to get up, but pain lances through her skull before she has a chance to sit up completely. She falls back on her elbows and scrunches her face, bringing a hand to her forehead. It feels like wild horses have taken residence there, running around, hooves endlessly hammering her brain – what in the world did she do last night?

Her memory is blurry; her whole past seems fuzzy. She can't even recall what she's doing here, in this hole in a tree she recognizes as home.

Strange.

She should remem– Snow White.

The name shakes up her memories, and when she notices the bow resting at the head of her makeshift bed, it's like information rushes in: David and James, her betrayal, Snow offering thousands of gold crowns for her capture. She needs to buy passage out of the forest; the kingdom isn't safe for her anymore. Each additional day she spends in these woods risks her head ending up on a spike by sunset. She has no intention to finish her days as a piece of decoration at the royal palace.

Whatever she'd thought she'd forgotten can wait. It isn't as important as the tax carriage coming through the woods today. That is something she can't miss.

The sudden crunch of dead leaves startles her.

Her head jerks toward the entrance of her hideout, pain lancing through her skull at the sharp movement. She grits her teeth, holding back a grunt that could give away her position, and forces herself to remain still despite her building headache. She listens to the forest, to the sounds it makes. She knows them by heart after the many days she's spent hiding in these woods. The intruding footfalls are faint, but they're closing in assuredly, skillfully avoiding the traps she's set. Whoever is coming knows their way around the forest, which means they could be dangerous to her. She has no time to lose.

She needs to run.

::

Robin is in the middle of the road when it happens.

His feet are leading him mindlessly back to his camp, where all but one of the most important people in his life (those alive, at least) await him. He does what he can to keep his thoughts from wandering back to the evil forces the woman he loves is about to face, but it's a waste of time because even thinking about his son and his men inevitably brings him back Regina. What a lovesick fool he is.

So he lets his mind wander, and finds himself reflecting back on the missing year.

Despite his initial shyness, his boy had rapidly grown attached to the stoic, grieving Queen. A trait he'd shared with his father. Roland had welcomed Regina with open arms and irresistible dimples, charming her almost instantly (something that couldn't be said of his father, despite his best intentions). The Merry Men had been forced to follow in the footsteps of their littlest member, but Robin hadn't been blind to their struggles to accept the Queen as a part of their lives.

Even now, he's not delusional as to where his men stand. His son is the sole reason why they've never outright detested Regina, and probably never will. She's always been good to Roland: a welcoming, protective presence in his life – the closest thing his boy has had to a mother for a full year – and for that, life at the castle had been peaceful, if unusual for a band of thieves.

But Marian's return had changed all of that, had brought back old wounds to the surface: the high-pitched cries of prisoners being publicly executed sending a chill through the forest, making even the trees shudder with horror, the ground trembling under the hooves of the black knights' horses, their faces gracing wanted posters throughout the kingdoms, and countless days of running from the Evil Queen's forces.

Robin wonders if it's wishful thinking, to dream of a peace similar to the missing year, once the author has been locked up and the magic quill disposed of; to imagine everyone he cares about, Regina included, standing together in relative harmony. The Merry Men may never have rejected her, but they had never been exactly welcoming either.

She's the odd one out amongst the ragtag group of people he considers family, he's quite conscious of that. Sometimes, it feels as though she's from another world, and to his men, perhaps she is, one they'd been stealing from for most of their lives. Robin guesses it's only a normal reaction, that they don't know what to make of her; if he's honest, most of the time, neither does he. But where the untameable nature of the Queen thrills him, it scares his men. She's like a lightning strike in the middle of a storm, waiting for the right moment to catch them unaware. He loves it; they fear it.

He tries to imagine a different life, one where Regina isn't the Queen. If she were just any forest dweller like they are, hunting and trading to survive, would his men have an easier time accepting her? Is Regina the one they resent, or what she represents? Under different circumstances, would she be embraced as a friend, like Robin wishes she were now?

It's as he's thinking of the possibilities of that other life that an invisible hand hauls him down. He collapses to the pavement, and never makes it to his camp.

When he tries to get his bearings again, all Robin encounters is blackness. It fills his vision, his mind, blocking out the town he's come to call home. He yells, but the sound doesn't even reach his ears, the emptiness he's found himself in having robbed him even of his voice.

The world starts to spin, and spin and spin, the centrifugal force of the rotation threatening to rip him apart. He drives his feet into the ground, bends himself in half to try and fight it, but he shortly realizes that what's being absorbed into the void isn't body parts.

One after the other, his memories are snatched from his brain while he stands there, powerless to stop it. He holds on to his men (every one of them braver than the next, merry with life, hearts bigger than they'll ever admit), to his son (young Roland with dimples he's inherited from his father and with brown eyes and curly hair that are distinctively Marian's), to Regina (the love of his life, if only he'd have had a chance to tell her properly). He holds on to them for as long as he can, but it's still too soon before they're gone from his mind, along with everything else he's ever known.

Robin is left adrift, seemingly dreaming, never to wake up. His name his only identity.

A lone figure approaches him, casting a light just bright enough for him to make out her curves in the shadows that surround them.

She's a vision, his dream woman, all wrapped in darkness, yet shining from the inside out. He has no clue as to who she is or where she's from, but she's a marvel. A thing of beauty. A ghost from another lifetime.

And her eyes – her eyes are what draw him in, dark, peering up from underneath long lashes; eyes that could quite possibly swallow him whole if he isn't careful. His heart swells, pumps fresh blood through his body, faster and faster, a constant ebb and flow of yearning he can't explain. He's never met this woman before, yet he looks at her and sees eternity staring back at him.

A speck of red at the periphery of his vision reveals plump, scarlet lips begging for a taste, and he's but a weak man in the presence of such beauty. All he can do is indulge, celebrate the splendid picture in front of him the only way he knows how.

When their lips meet, he can almost forget this is a dream. She feels real, raw, tangible under his hands, and even though it lacks rational sense, Robin feels like he knows her. His memory is empty, but he can touch her, taste her, feel her – soft skin and sweet mouth and her entire being encircling him, souls communing on a different plane.

An indistinct whisper scant inches from his ear makes him shiver, the cold breath hitting his skin feeling out of place as his body ignites under warm hands and tender touches. He's a live wire of sensations, heat blooming at the bottom of his stomach, but his arms are stuck underneath something heavy and he can't move; can't bring her closer to him like he wants to, and the voice next to him is steadier, stronger, reluctantly tugging him out of her embrace.

Consciousness slowly bleeds in, stirring him awake.

Through bleary eyes, Robin can finally take in his surroundings: wood, stone and straw, barrels of ale stacked up against the far wall, finer brews to the right. Ragged blankets are crumpled at his feet, his uncovered, half-dressed state doing nothing to hide his half-hard member tenting his trousers.

He exhales and brings a hand to his face, rubbing away the remnants of sleep and fantasy that stick to his mind. It was all just a dream.

A very good dream.

When he tries to move his second hand, a weight on his left arm prevents his limb from following his command. Considering the uncomfortable tingling in his fingers, his arm must have been crushed underneath it for the whole night.

The same honeyed voice that roused him breathes a "Good morning," right beside his ear, and this time, Robin is awake enough to recognize the dulcet timbre of a woman.

But where he expects to meet the lovely dark eyes of his imaginary lover, icy blue ones hover above him, a loving look he can't reciprocate in his half-awake shock.

Her wild, red mane curtains around their faces as she leans in to steal a peck from his lips, forefinger dragging a tenuous line down his naked torso. "Someone's eager," she teases, finger stopping when it reaches his waistband. She hooks it around the fabric of his trousers but makes no move to remove the restricting piece of clothing, preferring to tortuously run her hand along the edge of his pants. It sends a small jolt of electricity through Robin's body, an uncontrollable reaction after the dream he's just had. The blue-eyed woman lets out a small laugh, drops her gaze down and asks, "Is that all for me?" eyes flicking back up to meet his, a wicked smile stretching her face.

Before Robin can speak, she casts a nervous look toward the corner of the basement, where the flickering sunrays of dawn are visible through the murky glass of a small window, and pushes herself off his chest.

"I ought to get back home," she states as she straightens her dress. "Father will wonder where I am." Robin can only acquiesce.

When she's put on her shoes and fixed her hair, she glances back at him, dragging her teeth on her bottom lip.

He must be quite the sight, mouth agape and gaze lost, unresponsive to her obvious attempts at flirting. He should be fully awake by now, but his brain is still hazy. He knows this woman is important to him, but he can't place her, especially after his imagination had conjured a magnificent raven-haired beauty who'd lit up every single one of his senses.

Zelena – her name comes back to him like an arrow hitting the bullseye (how could he have forgotten?) – scoots back toward him, eyeing the now softening bulge in his pants. "Soon, my love," she says with a caress to his cheek, and then she's up again in no time.

Her massive red locks flit back when the morning breeze rushes in through the door. (Robin finally recognizes the back door to the pub the Merry Men use as shelter – what's wrong with his memory this morning? John and Will are surely upstairs already. Robin had told his men to map the route of the tax carriage coming through the forest today; hadn't told them why. He needed to ask a fellow thief a favour. Contacts had told him that's where she'd be.) Zelena turns to him and blows a kiss before heading out, promising to stop by later when all is set and ready at the church.

Right. The church.

He's getting married today.