She's shaking, she can't help herself, her lower lip trembling so badly that she has to suck in her cheeks to rein it in.

"Regina."

He's moved closer to her than she'd realized, his presence so overwhelming she can barely think, much less explain the hell and confusion that have dominated her life over the past five years.

"Regina," he repeats, reaching for her hand, thinking better of it just before they make contact. His hand hovers over hers, his fingers clenching almost imperceptibly before he lowers them to his own leg. "Tell me. Please."

She's not certain if she wants him to touch her or not, if the contact would bolster her fragile emotional state or reduce her to a pile of ashes. But it doesn't matter now. He didn't touch her—he may never touch her again.

"It's a curse, Robin."

He doesn't blink, having obviously figured out this much on his own.

"Cast by whom?" he questions, his head leaning forward in search of her eyes. She stares deliberately at her hands, knowing full well what those eyes of his are capable of doing to her, especially when her defenses are practically non-existent.

"Maleficent," she answers. "It's a curse cast by Maleficent specifically towards me and those I…"

The words stick in her throat as if attached by glue.

"Those I care most about."

She hears him exhale, watches as he leans over his joined fingers.

"Then why were you the only one who had to leave? Why not Henry? Roland?" He hesitates, pressing his lips together into a tight line. "Or me?"

It's a logical question, and she angles her body towards his slightly, knowing at some point she's going to have to look at him again.

"Because the curse is complicated," she begins, hoping she can make him understand. "It's a blood curse, one directed at me and any other person who has my blood running through their veins."

His inhale is sharp, slicing the air between them as his body freezes in time.

"Lark," he mutters, his tone barely above a whisper, as if speaking her name any louder will bring the curse down upon the entire house.

"Yes," she nods, finally looking him eye to eye. "Lark."

He rubs his beard absent-mindedly.

"Maleficent and I have a past," she expounds. "A rather complex one, you could say. My presence in Storybrooke was evidently detrimental to her plans, so she gave me an ultimatum. I could leave of my own free will and never return, or she would kill…"

She stops, swallowing hard, the sudden onslaught of emotion almost too much to shoulder.

"Those you love," he states, finishing her thought as he touches her hand.

"Yes," she whispers. "Those I love."

Warmth and cold rush through her all at once, sparks of raw fear and feelings so deep they tear at her from the inside out consuming every nerve with the speed of lightening. His eyes are so blue—she'd forgotten just how intensely they can gaze into her, as if any secret she has left is his for the taking.

"Did you know then…"

He cuts himself off, looking from her to the window panels then back to her.

"That I was pregnant?"

He nods, the pain etched in his features almost too much for her to take in.

"Yes," she answers, physically pushing the words out of her mouth. "I'd just found out, actually."

His grip on her hand tightens, and she feels dark edges of his loss.

"I was on my way to tell you when..."

His shoulders stiffen and hunch forward, his face dropping half-way to his lap, and she hears his inhale, rough, jagged and raw.

Oh, God. He's going to cry.

Then he's gasping, trying to breathe, trying not to sob, but he can't help himself as so much comes pouring out of him all at once. It's killing her, seeing him like this, and she wraps her arms around him, leaning in as he pulls her close, his body wracking and heaving as the enormity of what was lost hits him. Her shoulder is wet, but she doesn't care, she just hugs him closer, cupping his head, breathing into his skin, loving this man even more in this moment than she did the night their child was conceived.

"God," he manages. "Oh, God, Regina." Her hands are in his hair, on his back, pressing him as close to her as she can as the dam inside her own heart finally cracks. "Our baby…our…our…"

"I know," she whispers, and it's all she can say, all she knows to say, all her throat will allow besides the fragmented noises of pent-up tears finally given leave to fall. "I know."

She holds his face, wiping his cheek with her thumb, allowing him to cry as he must, wishing she could ease the pain for both of them. But she can't, for to do so would lessen their love for Lark and diminish the beauty of what they had shared. That would be unthinkable.

"You were on your way to tell me?"

His tone is thick and fractured, his nose a mess, and he rubs his shirt sleeve against it with no shame as he tries to gather himself back together.

"I was," she nods, remembering the odd giddiness to her step, how it felt to be nearly bursting with the most glorious secret in the world. Just before everything she knew came toppling down around her yet again.

"I was so happy. Scared half out of my mind, but happy."

He smiles at this and cups her face, the dampness of her own skin pressing into his own.

"So, you…you wanted her? You wanted our baby?"

For a moment, she cannot breathe.

His question pierces right where it hurts, knocking the air out of her lungs, her ears ringing as she fights down the urge to be sick.

"Yes," she whispers, the word scraping her larynx, the sensation nearly as painful as labor. He didn't know, she reminds herself, had no idea that Lark even existed until just a few hours ago, had no realization of anything other than the fact that she had left him without a word or an explanation.

Of course he has questions. Of course he has lingering doubts.

"I wanted her with all of my heart."

He nods, biting his lower lip so hard she fears he may draw blood. More tears escape him, and he wipes them away just before dotting the wetness from her own cheeks.

"She's perfect, Regina."

Her ribs expand all at once.

"She's yours," she returns as her fingers slide into his hair. She can't stop touching him now, can't fathom breaking contact from the one whose touch she has imagined every day and night since she'd left.

"She's ours," he corrects, and their foreheads are touching, so much rushing back over her that's she's nearly swept away by it all. If she closes her eyes, she can imagine they've never been apart, that he's been with her and Lark since their child's conception and birth.

"I'm so sorry," she mutters. "So very, very sorry."

He's holding her then, nearly scooping her into his lap as her head comes to rest on his chest.

"I never wanted to leave, you know," she breathes, and he's nodding as he places a kiss to her temple. "I wanted you here with us. I wanted us to be a family."

"We are a family," he assures her. "There's no question anymore." She melts into him then, bone and muscle, body and soul, resting in this man who has invaded her life in every way possible. "Just a family that's had difficulty finding each other."

She smiles at him, missing him even though he's holding her in his arms.

"You once told me that sometimes things are all about timing," she recalls, absorbing his exhale of acknowledgement.

"You once told me you were doomed to be unhappy," he whispers, and she shudders everywhere at his words. "You don't still believe that, do you?"

"It's hard not to," she confesses as she sucks in her lower lip. "With all that has happened." He opens his mouth to correct her, but she lays a finger on his lips. "Maybe I'm supposed to live alone, Robin. Maybe that's my ultimate punishment for all that I've done in my past."

His head shakes with more fervor than hers, his brows raising up into his scalp.

"That's nonsense," he disputes, his fingers moving into her hair. "And you're not alone."

"No," she agrees. "I have Lark. And I occasionally have Henry."

"And you have me," he states. Her chest caves in as noses rub and fingers intertwine.

"For now," she breathes. "But you can't stay forever."

Defeat presses in on her shoulders as a cold sickness crawls up her spine.

"Maleficent is dead."

She pushes back from him, just far enough that she can study his expression.

"I know," she states. "Tinkerbelle told me."

"So this curse should no longer be an issue," he states. The hope in his eyes is just too much, and she draws a deep breath. "Right?"

"I don't know," she sighs. Her gaze drops, and she feels him tense around her.

"But if she'd dead…"

"Blood magic is complicated," she interrupts. "It runs deeper, lasts longer than regular magic. A blood curse can follow a family for generations, depending upon the complexity of the curse and the skill of the sorcerer."

He's quiet, his brows coming together as he processes what she's telling him.

"And Maleficent?"

"Was one hell of a sorceress," she finishes, his nod of acknowledgement feeling like a nail in her coffin. "This curse is specifically tied to magic—my magic, and the magic of anyone related to me by blood. I can cross the border back into Storybrooke without an issue, but the first time I use magic…"

She clears her throat and shrugs.

"Well," she murmurs. "Let's just say it would be the last spell I would ever cast."

His gasp draws her gaze as his eye widen in understanding.

"That's why you were so frightened in the forest," he voices. "You thought Lark had used magic."

She nods, swallowing down that sickening fear that had nearly dragged her under.

"The dog," she breathes. "She summoned that dog, but she's still…she's still alright. I'm more thankful than I can ever explain, but I don't understand it. We should both be…"

"Don't say it," he cuts in. "Please."

She nods as ice creeps through her veins.

"Maybe the curse has weakened," he surmises. "Maybe it's a sign that it's safe for you to come home."

"But if it's not?"

No answer is necessary.

"I can control my magic," she states. "I can wield it when and if I want to, although it was sometimes unpredictable when I was pregnant."

"But Lark can't," he observes, and she shakes her head, her mouth almost too dry for speech.

"No," she affirms. "She can't, not yet." She sighs yet again, adjusting her body on his hip so they're face to face. "Magic doesn't always reveal itself at such a young age, Robin. The fact that Lark can already use hers attests to the fact that it is very strong."

"She's your daughter," he murmurs, his fingers threading through her hair. "It's only logical that her magic would be powerful."

She'd forgotten how much she needs him, how she craves all parts of him—his ease with her, his warmth, his ability to understand her when her own reasoning seems like a whirlwind spinning out of control in her head.

"My magic didn't manifest itself until much later in life," she explains. "She's rare, Robin. Very rare. It's not just her magical lineage at work here. There's more to it than that."

He studies her, somehow possessing the ability to caress her insides without saying a word.

"What?" he presses, leaning back into the cushions. "What is so different about Lark's magic?"

Her heart thuds rapidly in her neck, her head buzzing, her palms hot.

"True love," she breathes, sealing her eyes shut as the words leave her mouth. "She's the product of true love, just like Emma."

He's quite, too quiet, and she feels naked—utterly exposed and raw as she waits for his response. Has she overstepped her bounds too soon, bringing up emotions that must sting? Could she have rephrased it, toned it down, made him understand without throwing out the assumption that he's her true love, even when she's hurt him, stripped him bare, left him without a word as she cradled his child in her womb?

"And soul mates," he whispers, catching her by surprise. "Don't forget that detail, Regina. She's the child of soul mates."

Oh God, she can't breathe.

His arms are around her again, and she's nodding, gripping, binding herself again to this man when she knows he may have to leave all too soon.

"Yes," she affirms, finally daring to look at him again. "It's a combination that doesn't come together all that often, but in her case, it did. Almost like the perfect storm of conceptions."

He smiles at this, a low chuckle rumbling across his chest that vibrates into her skin.

"Not that our life together has been stormy or wrought with complication," he adds.

Her throat thickens, her breathing becoming more labored.

"Because of me," she breathes. "Because of my choices and my mistakes."

"Because of circumstances," he corrects. "God only knows how many mistakes I made that might have prevented our being together sooner."

"But you didn't…"

"That's the past, Regina," he insists gently, his arms now stroking her own. "We have to leave it there and focus on the present—on Lark. Doing anything else will just weigh us down and muddy the situation."

"You're right," she nods, swallowing hard. "It's just all so damned complicated."

He rubs her back, slow and steady, even and smooth.

"How was your pregnancy?"

Her breath catches in her throat as her eyes widen in shock at his change in direction.

"It was fine, I guess," she answers. "As far as pregnancies go. They're not exactly a walk in the park."

His chuckle lightens her insides.

"Yes," he agrees. "I know." He stares into her, skimming her cheekbone with his thumb. "But I want to know, Regina, all of it, everything I missed. Were you sick a lot? Did you crave certain foods? Were you plagued with back aches or leg cramps? Tell me all of it—please."

She hadn't expected this, but she smiles, she can't help herself as her hand inadvertently settles on her stomach.

"Yes," she replies. "To everything. The leg cramps were horrible, by the way."

His hand drifts to her calf, giving it a small squeeze that makes her shiver.

"And food?" he prods, his face inches closer than it had been just seconds before.

"Pizza," she admits under her breath, enjoying his chuckle more than she should. "And cottage cheese…with dill pickles."

He smiles at this, nodding as if a puzzle piece just fit into the right place.

"Dill pickles," he echoes. "No wonder Lark loves them so much."

"She tries to drink the juice," Regina laughs, shaking her head. "When she thinks I'm not looking."

There is pain in his smile, marked loss in every line, regrets in every gray hair.

"And your labor?"

His question brushes across her cheek.

"Long," she returns with a flick of her brow. "Too long."

"But no complications?" he asks, his hand rubbing her back as she shakes her head.

"She was a big, healthy baby," Regina answers, feeling the relief radiate from him palpably. "Eight pounds, seven ounces, extremely healthy lungs."

His eyes widen at this, and he bites his lower lip yet again.

"She was a big baby," he grins, and she strokes his hair, hair the color of her daughter's.

"And she was an excellent eater right from the start," Regina continues, her tone softening a degree. "I thought she was going to milk me dry."

His fingers are on her neck, pausing their ministrations just under her ear.

"You nursed her?" he breathes, his eyes full of something she can only describe as wonder.

She nods, feeling an odd tug on her nipples.

"I didn't have that option with Henry," she expounds with a slight shrug. "It wasn't easy at first, I mean, who would have thought it could be so difficult to get a baby to latch on? There aren't that many options there, you know." She pauses, encouraged to continue by the gleam in his eye. "But once we got the hang of it, it was almost magical in a way."

His exhale fills the space between them.

"I wish I'd been here," he utters. "To see it. To support you. To hold her…"

He's breaking again, she senses it all over, and she pulls away from him, raising a hand as he stares back at her in confusion. She moves to the bottom right drawer of her desk and extracts a large, white photo album, one embossed in lavender and silver that she places in his trembling hands.

"Her baby book," she explains. "I know it doesn't make up for me keeping her from you all this time, but at least you can see what she looked like."

He rubs his lips together back and forth until they're nearly as white as his knuckles. She moves to sit beside him again as he slowly opens the cover, tracing the edges as if the book is sacred.

"Oh, God," he whispers, seeing a photo of Regina's belly, round and extended, the photo snapped by Tinkerbelle just before they left for the hospital. "You were beautiful."

He sketches her form with his fingertips, making fresh tears press against her eyelids.

"I was fat," she retorts, and he shakes his head.

"You were glorious," he corrects, mesmerized by the image staring back at him. "Did she kick a lot?"

"Some," Regina replied, easing into his side. "She was more of a stretcher, though. And she liked to sit right on my bladder."

He laughs at this and looks at her, his gaze making her feel like she's just given him the world.

"I wish I could have felt her move inside you," he confesses, and her heart squeezes again.

His breath catches as he turns the page, the picture of a pink, confused newborn gazing back at him wide-eyed.

"Her hair was so dark," he states, blinking repeatedly. "Almost as dark as yours."

"It all fell out a few weeks after she was born," Regina explains, touching the patch of hair bound by pink ribbon pressed on to the bottom of the page. He strokes it as if it is a talisman, bringing the finger that touched it to his lips, closing his eyes as he presses into himself what he can of his daughter. She's shaking all over as she watches him, guilt and joy competing for dominance in her confused landscape of emotions.

"And then she was nearly bald for months," she murmurs. "I was tempted to cast a growing spell on her scalp."

"You certainly don't hear that from every mother," he grins through his tears, and her head comes to rest on his shoulder, making her feel more complete than she has since she first learned of her pregnancy.

Tears continue to leak from his eyes as photograph after photograph holds him spellbound, and he shuts the book at her one year photo, sandy curls, brown eyes and a pink jumper snapping him into.

"I'm sorry," she breathes again, and he falls into her completely, sobbing from the depths of his soul, all pretense and pride thrust out the window.

"What I'd give to have all of that back," he murmurs. "To hold her to my chest, to rub her back, to rock her to sleep."

"You can do that tonight," she offers, and he looks back at her, his eyes sodden, his cheeks splotched and red. "It would mean everything to her."

Something moves across his face, an expression she can't quite read, but she feels the air in his lungs shudder.

"I'd love that," he whispers, and she cups his head again, sensing the gulf of years melt away into a single decision that nearly tore them both to shreds. "More than you know."

"Can you ever forgive me?"

Her question takes him by surprise, and he gathers her hands into his own, swallowing several times to reclaim his voice.

"For saving our daughter's life?" he questions. "And your own, as well as mine and Roland's?" He brings her hand to his mouth, kissing her palm with the passion of a broken man. "I owe you everything, Regina."

"You owe me nothing," she insists, her own tears falling freely. "You gave me Lark."

Foreheads connect as breaths intermingle, lives merging yet again with the force of soul and blood.

"I still don't understand everything," he admits, his tone husky and rough-edged. "And I'm not certain I can honestly absorb anymore tonight."

"You don't have to," she states as she cups his face. "We can talk more in the morning. Besides, I think we're all pretty exhausted at the moment."

He nods in agreement, rubbing his cheek with the back of his palm. She feels raw and freshly scrubbed, unwilling to let go of this man she will undoubtedly have to send away within a few days' time.

Her stomach tightens at the mere prospect.

"I agree," he states. "But I promise you this, Regina. Our family will not be separated again."

She leans back, shaking her head, her mind spinning nearly as madly as her heart.

"But how?" she asks. "Emma and I have both been searching for answers, for a means to end this curse, and we're coming up with nothing. You and Roland can't stay here indefinitely—and what about Marian?"

His smile is subdued but free.

"She remarried a few months ago," he returns, grinning as her eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. "Archie."

"The cricket?" she exclaims, her eyes fluttering so quickly they nearly impair her vision.

"Yes," Robin affirms. "Although I think he prefers to be referred to as a psychologist."

Everything is spinning around her, and she's mindful of his hand squeezing hers.

"We'll figure something out, Regina," he continues, cupping her chin with utmost gentleness. "You've somehow managed to maintain contact with Henry through all of this."

"With Emma's help and a forgetting spell," Regina states. "Henry remembers nothing about my current whereabouts or Lark's existence once he leaves this house. His memories only return when he's inside these walls. Once he leaves, it's like we don't exist anymore."

Her shoulders deflate noticeably.

"He remembers you in Storybrooke," Robin states.

"Our past," Regina corrects. "But not our present situation. It would have put him in danger when Maleficent was still around, and I don't trust Gold with the knowledge of Lark's birth."

His nostrils flare out.

"I agree," Robin breathes. "No good can come from him knowing about her or her abilities."

"So you see?" she expounds. "It's complicated. And there's no guarantee that Lark and I will ever be able to return to Storybrooke. You need to know this."

His eyes narrow as his brow creases, his head leaning forward until it nearly touches her own.

"There's also no guarantee that you won't," he whispers with a light stroke to her jaw. "Somehow we'll figure this out, you and I." He's looking into her again, reaching deep, implanting something inside her that feels precariously like the beginnings of hope. "And magic or no magic, God help anyone who tries to stand between me and my family."


Penny for your thoughts? Or a pickle if you prefer. ;)