"I think I want to go riding this morning," Regina murmurs, almost absently as she stares as herself in the long, oval-shaped mirror in the corner of her bedroom, lost in memories of a life that seems to belong to someone else. "Maybe I'll see if Henry wants to come along."

Belle turns and her lip catches between her teeth, and from the corner of her eye, Regina can't help but notice how suddenly she looks so unsure of herself. Regina blinks a couple of times as she watches her through the mirror, watching as she holds a lavender dress with lace trimming–and she finds herself thinking she's not sure that she'll ever be used to this sort of arrangement. It's nothing personal–if anything, she's found the perfect ladies' maid in Belle French–but it's simply that she'd never envisioned a life for herself that included another person lacing her up into too-tight corsets and fastening her into dresses for tea; she never thought she'd spend her days picking out complimentary jewelry and changing for dinner at the sound of a gong. It all seemed like part of a past life that didn't belong to her–a dream that every morning she expected to wake from, but of course, she never did.

Growing up, there'd been a maid who dressed her, and for most of her youth she was treated much more like a China doll than a child. Her hair was always perfectly curled and held together with a ribbon, her dresses always crisp and pristine, and her mother revealed in the compliments about how well-mannered she was, how beautiful she was, how quiet she was. It was all a part of the facade, the illusion that she rather unwillingly helped her mother to keep–after all, her growing up, she quickly learned the important societal lesson that appearance were more important than no one, not even her father, seemed to notice how she was screaming on the inside.

She'd thought she finally escaped it all when she ran away with Daniel. Everything had been such an adjustment and she struggled more than she cared to admit, but he'd been patient with her, reminding her that it would get easier, that she'd settle into her own before she even realized–and he'd promised to help her through it. And despite how hard it was to start a new life that was so completely different from everything she'd known, it'd felt so good and it'd been so freeing. For the first time in her life, she was able to choose things for herself–and though the choices were scarce, they were still hers, nonetheless.

"No one told you," Belle says in a tentative voice as she turns back to the armoire, carefully hanging the dress. "Celeste has planned a picnic for the boys… a walk and I suppose it'd be a late breakfast by the old church yard." She offers a regretful little smile. "They've already left."

"But it's… it's barely eight…"

"She wanted to make a day of it." Belle tells her softly. "Henry seemed excite."

"Oh, I'm sure that he was," Regina says, sighing her her hands smooth over her silky nightdress. " just… wish someone had to told me."

"I'm sorry," Belle is quick to say. "I should have thought to…"

"Not you," Regina cuts in, doing her best to offer a reassuring smile. "It wasn't your place."

Belle nods, and her stomach tightens as she tells herself that this isn't the sort of thing she should get upset about–reminding herself that Henry will likely have a good time and return with all sorts of wildly exaggerated stories to tell, and it's been so long since he's had any sort of adventure outside of the walls of Sherwood. But there's something–something that nags at her, something the refuses to sit right, something that feels like it's slowly slipping away.

"They can't have gotten far," Belle tells her in a tentative voice. "I could send…"

"No," Regina cuts in, turning away from the mirror and putting on a smile. "It's fine. It's… absolutely fine."

"I really did think that someone would have…"

"Told me?" Regina asks, her eyebrow arching at her maid. "There are very few people in this world who believe my consent is worth anything." Her smile tightens as her eyes fall away from Belle's. "And the nanny is not amongst them."

Belle only nods as she takes a step back, turning away from her as she reaches into the armoire and Regina finds herself drawing in a long, shaky breath–she doesn't want today to be one of those days.

She pushes away her thoughts and forces herself to think of her own morning plans–thinking of how good it'll feel to get away for a little while, to be alone and surrounded by the earthy scent of forest that had always been such a comfort to her. Perhaps, she thinks, she might find herself riding along the edge of the old church yard. Pushing herself forward, she reaches into the armoire and her fingers touch a white camisette that she hasn't worn before–and she sighs, thinking of how uncomfortable it'll be to ride side-saddle in a long and confining skirt.

"I suppose your mother is also one of that number?"

Regina's eyes widen and her head turns sharply at the mention of her mother. "I'm sorry?"

"Your mother is here for breakfast." Again, Belle's bottom lip catches between her teeth and she grimaces slightly. "Again, I just… assumed that you knew."

Her jaw tightens and her mouth goes dry as she roughly pulls the camisette from the hanger, her eyes sinking closed as a feeling of dread washes over her. "Belle," she begins, taking a breath as she looks to the maid. "Are those trunks still in my dressing room? The ones I brought with me when I married Mr. Locksley."

Belle nods. "Yes, I… I believe so."

"Good," she murmurs as her smile brightens. "There's a pair of riding pants in them. They're brown and…" She watches as Belle's eyes widen. "I'd like to wear them today."

"You… want to go riding… in… pants."

"Yes."

"Is that…"

"Allowed?" Regina interjects with a flippant shrug of her shoulders. "I've done far worse than go riding in something inappropriate on private property." A tight, uncomfortable grin stretches across her lips as a knot forms in her stomach. "Besides that, what's the worst thing that could happen? Someone might see that I have knees?" Belle's cheeks flush and she feels a twinge of guilt–but for what, she's not quite sure. "It's just more comfortable," she says, her voice softening. "All of that extra fabric draping down will just get in the way, and I actually want to ride my horse, not… let him walk as slowly as possible down a path in the woods so I don't fall off or get tangled up in my skirts."

"Yes, m'lady," Belle murmurs as she disappears into the adjoining dressing room–and when she's out of sight, Regina's seemingly confident smile fades and her stomach drops. She selects a deep brown riding jacket–again something new that she hasn't had the opportunity to wear. Her fingers traced the gold buttons and dark green piping–and for just a moment, she let her eyes close and she imagined herself atop Rocinante, running through the forest, running as far away as he could take her.

Belle returns and helps her dress–and when it's done, the maid can't help but hide her giggle.

She descends the stairs wearing the tightly fitted riding pants that end just about where her boots begin. Her shoulder square and she lifts her chin, tugging at the fanned waist of her jacket as she takes a long, deep breath, ignoring the sinking feeling at her core as if to prepare herself for battle.

"Mother," she says in a flat, even voice as her stomach churns. "I didn't expect you."

A smile curls onto her lips as Cora's eyes widen with shock. "What in god's name are you wearing?"

"A riding outfit."

"Honestly, Regina!" Cora snaps. "You look positively ridiculous."

"I'm dressed quite practically for the occasion."

"And what occasion is that?"

Regina blinks. "I thought it was obvious. I'm going riding. That is why one wears a riding outfit."

"Riding…" Cora scoffs. "Will you never grow up?" Her jaw tightens, remembering all of the times they fought over the time she spent in the stables–time she spent there under the guise of riding and tending to her beloved horse. "So childish…"

"Are you here for a reason?"

"As a matter of fact," Cora says, the indignation rising in her voice as her eyes trail disapprovingly over her daughter's choice of clothing. "I am."

Regina nods and her stomach flops–and she wonders if this will ever end, if there will ever come a day when she doesn't feel like a child about to be lashed whenever she and her mother find themselves on opposing sides. "And I suppose your intent was not to come here for the sole purpose of chastising my wardrobe."

"No," she returns coolly. "I'm here to chastise you for something else entirely." Regina flinches as Cora reaches out and grabs her wrist, her fingers pressing to the bone and forcing their eyes to meet. "You made quite a scene last week at the Blanchard's."

"I… don't know what you're talking about, mother," Regina sighs as she tries unsuccessfully to pull away. "You'll have to be more specific."

Cora's eyes widen, her grip tightening as Regina struggles against the urge to wince. "Rumor has it you and your new husband were practically fornicating on the dance floor."

"Fornicating…"

"I'd like to say that were uncharacteristic of…"

"I don't believe this," Regina cuts in. "Were you… were you spying on me?"

"Oh, you daft girl," Cora sighs, clicking her tongue as her eyes roll. "There are eyes and ear everywhere. You should know that by now." Taking a breath, her eyes sink closed–she knows exactly what her mother is talking about, and she can't help but remember the way she and Robin had danced so closely at the Blanchard's ball, how they'd laughed and smiled, how he'd held her and refused to let her stumble despite how dizzy the champagne had made her. She'd felt them all watching, but that night, she'd been too drunk to care–and she's certain whatever the story that made it back to her parents was one of overly exaggerated details that painted her in the worst possible way. "You should have heard the ladies at tea!"

"Right," Regina says in a loud whisper as she yanks her hand away. "Because whatever gossip is spread over tea and biscuits is what's really important, after all."

"I notice that you're not denying anything."

Regina's shoulders shrug and she feels her breath catch in her chest. "Why bother? You've already decided what actually happened. Why confuse your story with actual facts?"

For a moment, Cora holds her gaze–and a fleeting second, she feels a thrill of possible victory run up her spine as her mother seems speechless, or perhaps even giving her the benefit of doubt. But almost before that short, curious thought is complete, it's quickly thwarted by the clicking of Cora's disapproving tongue.

"Then the two of you went upstairs together," Cora says, her voice suddenly lower and edgier. "They said that the two of you shared a room."

Regina's jaw tightens, remembering her discomfort when they were shown to a single room and remembering how Robin had smiled, promising he'd be a perfect gentleman–and how he'd honored his word. "He is my husband," she says, her voice quiet and unsure. "It's not so uncommon for two married people to share a bed."

At that Cora scoffs. "My god, Regina, are you really so thoughtless? Getting drunk at a party and letting him have his hands all over you in a crowded room where anyone could see it? And then, if that weren't bad enough, you allowed him to take you upstairs!" She shakes her head as her eyes widen with disgust. "Like you were putting on some sort of show."

She feels her cheeks burning and she tries in vain to keep her jaw from trembling–there's a part of her that wants to defend herself, that wants to tell her mother just how uncomfortable that evening had been, to tell her how she'd been ignored, and that the only saving grace of the evening had been Robin's sweetness–but she can't because as much as she hates to admit it, there is some truth in the story that's been told. While the memory of the evening they spent at the Blanchard's little soiree is fuzzy, she vaguely remembers Robin's hands on her hips and the way his forehead rested against hers. She remember champagne they drank and that her laugh was too loud, and she remembers how Robin had to help her keep her balance–and she can just imagine the whispers and giggle from the women who'd once been her friends, and how they couldn't wait to trade little bits of the sordid details of her behavior.

"Is there a point to this, mother?"

"The point is that you are far too old for this," Cora replies in a biting voice. "Your new husband may find your antics amusing now, but pretty soon, he's going to lose interest… if you don't do something more to keep his attention." Again, her grip tightens. "Something that would tie you to him and protect… our arrangements."

"Of course," Regina says with a nod. "Protecting your status is the only thing that really matters, isn't it?"

"Don't be foolish," Cora's quick to say. "And quit dragging your feet." She takes a step in and Regina hears herself hiss as the knot in her stomach tightens. "He's going to tire of you, Regina. Your beauty will fade and that quick tongue of yours will become a nuisance. He'll grow tired of being mocked and the center of gossip, but if you have his child, none of that will matter. He wouldn't so easily cast you out."

Regina's eyes narrow. "Is it so unfathomable that he might actually like me?"

"You should be pregnant by now."

Swallowing hard, her mouth feels dry. "I can't just… make that happen."

"Certainly not if you don't try," Cora snaps. "You need to have his child, Regina. You need to give him a reason not turn you–to turn us–away." Again, Cora's fingers tighten at her wrist and she feels her knees growing weak, but still, she refuses to give in. "What the hell are you waiting for? You won't be young and desirable for ever, and…"

"It isn't like that between us," Regina cuts in, her voice faltering as her cheeks flush. "Robin and I aren't… no matter what your friends saw at the Blanchard's that night or whatever they think they saw, it's not like that between us. We're not…"

"Not like that?" Cora cuts in as her brow furrows. "There's only one possible reason a man like Robin Locksley would have chosen to marry a woman like you. He expects things… things you're obviously willing to give."

Regina can feel the tears starting to well in her eyes and her jaw tenses to the point of being painful. Closing her eyes, she takes a breath, scolding herself into maintaining her composure, not wanting to let her mother know that she's gotten to her–especially not on a day like today–but fully aware that she's failing. "I… I just… don't know that I can do that."

"Of course you can," Cora scoffs. "Just lay back and…"

"Mother! I can't!" The tears well in her eyes as her voice cracks. "I can't just… give myself to him when I'm…"

"How can you be so selfish, Regina? How can you not even consider what will happen to your father and I if this so-called marriage falls apart?" Her eyes narrow and her voice drops. "At least this time you'd be married."

"You don't understand. I can't just… fall into bed with him. It… it wouldn't be fair."

"Can't you, though?" Cora asks, a sardonic chuckle rising into her voice. "You certainly didn't have any qualms about it before."

"That was… different."

"You act like you're the only married woman who has these sorts of marital obligations, like you're the only one who has to make sacrifices."

"It… shouldn't be an obligation. It should be about… trust and love and…"

Cora laughs. "Oh, Regina. What does love have to do with anything?"

For a moment, neither of them says anything–and for a moment, she feels like she's seventeen again. The tears burn in her eyes and she can practically still feel the stinging of her mother's hand as it sailed across her cheek. She remembers the embarrassment she felt as her father's eyes sank closed and he hung his head, and her mother ranted about how vile she was, what a disappointment she was. And as she looked at her now, she couldn't help but think that some things never changed.

"You can't do that," Regina says, her voice hushed as her eyes meet her mother's. "You have to decide. You can't have it both ways."

Cora's eyes narrow. "I'm sorry?"

"I know that I will always be a disappointment to you," she begins, taking a breath and blinking back her tears. "But you can't stand there and insist in the same breath that I'm both a prude and a whore. It… just doesn't work that way." She can feel her hands shaking as she takes a step back. "Next time, let someone know you're coming for breakfast–that way, I can make myself scarce and you can enjoy the free meal."

Her head is still swimming when she reaches the stables–thinking of her mother and of Henry, weighing whether or not holding onto her principles even matters and if it wouldn't be easier to just give in to what everyone wants and expects of her–after all, where has fighting it gotten her? She tries to focus her thoughts on Daniel and their memories, and not on what should have been, and she takes a breath as she pushes open the heavy stable door. A smile edges onto her lips as her eyes close and she breathes in the smell of hay. It's an odd mix of memories that the scent conjures, but they all lead back to a simpler time when any of her troubles could be solved by saddling up Rocinante and allowing herself to get lost in forest for an afternoon with Daniel. No matter how upset she was, he could always make her laugh and he could always make her forget–and for just a moment, she can almost see him, looking up from one of the stalls and giving her that sweet smile that let her know everything was going to be alright.

Son of a bitch.

Her eyes fly open as she's brought back into the present moment, and almost immediately, her eyes settle on Robin, standing at the other end of the stable. He doesn't notice her as he continues to mutter slurred words beneath his breath and her eyebrows arch as he pulls off his shirt in a hasty manner. She feels her cheeks flush as she tips up her chin, craning her neck as her eyes widen as they fall to the curve of his hip–and she comes to the startling realization that his shirt isn't the only piece of clothing he's removed.

Catching her lip between her teeth, she thinks to turn away–obviously, he's unaware of her presence and obviously, she shouldn't be standing there gawking. It's rude and inappropriate, she tells herself, and if he knew she was there–there and watching–he'd be embarrassed. Taking a breath, she decides to turn away–go out and come back in, louder and more noticeably–but a sloshing sound has her stepping forward instead of back, and she leans onto the tips of her toes, watching as he plunges his shirt into a barrel of water, forcing water up and over the edge–and she feels a grin pull onto her lips as she watches the muscles in his back tighten.

A loose floorboard gives him away and he spins around just as she steps around the stall, and he turns around–and immediately, he flushes red.

"Regina!"

"I'm sorry, I…" She feels heat rising into her cheeks–and though she keep telling herself to turn away, she's rooted in place. "I was…" She watches as he bends his knees, trying in vain to cover himself up with his arms and hands, and she feels a giggle bubbling up in her chest. "I didn't mean to…"

"Why are you here?"

"I have a better question," she retorts as a grin twists onto her lips. "Why are you naked?"

"I…" He sighs. "Can we table the conversation until…"

"Oh," she murmurs, reaching for one of the hoses's blankets that's draped over the edge of the stall. "Here. This might… help." She extends the blanket to him and he reaches awkwardly for it, trying unsuccessfully to keep himself covered up–and once more, a giggle escapes her. "I shouldn't laugh, but…"

"It's really not doing much for my ego," he tells her plainly as he wraps the woolen blanket around his waist.

"I'm not laughing at you… just… at the situation."

His eyes narrow as he adjusts the blanket, making sure that it's secure. "That's not convincing."

"I assure you," she says, her voice suddenly sincere. "I'm not laughing at you. I wouldn't. I just… didn't expect to find you, stripping down to nothing and dunking your clothes in a barrel of water."

He nods. "Turns out the foal that was born last month is… quite a spirited little fellow." Regina grins as she looks to the foal, sitting on and munching at a bed of hay. "He kicked mud all over me."

"Mud," Regina repeats, her eyebrow arching as he looks back to Robin. "Are you sure… that's what it was?"

"No," Robin sighs. "Nor am I sure that's what I slipped in."

Again, a giggle bubbles up in her chest. "Oh… that's…"

"Hilarious. I know."

"Unfortunate and…" Her lip catches between her teeth. "Hilarious, yes."

"So, I figured…it's a beautiful morning, why not save myself the embarrassment and wash my clothes here."

"And how is that going for you?"

"Not well." Taking a breath, he finally steps out of the stall and sits back against the hay bales. "You can… go about your business. I assume you didn't come here to watch me make a fool of myself or… to sit here with me as I watch my clothes dry."

"Well, no, but… I could," she says as she turns back to face him. "Wait with you, I mean."

"Oh, you don't have to…"

"I could use the distraction," she cuts in. "And, you could use the help." Robin's brow furrows and she nods to the barrel. "The clothes would dry much quicker if they weren't submerged in water." She laughs softly as his eyes sink closed and she walks to the barrel, pulling out the wet clothes. "You seem to have gotten… whatever it was that was all over you off."

"Well, that's the upside, I suppose." She nods and wrings them out, then lays them over the edge of the stall. "So, tell me," he begins, taking a breath and making an attempt at composure. "What do you need to be distracted from today?"

"My mother, for starters," she says, sitting down beside him and leaning back against one of the bales. "The fact that my son is on an outing I knew nothing about…"

"Oh, that… might be my fault," he says, grimacing slightly. "I told Celeste she needed to… make more of an effort with the boys."

"The boys," Regina repeats. "You mean with one of the boys."

Robin nods. "I honestly thought she'd tell you about…" His voice halts suddenly and she looks over at him, watching as his eyes fill with concern. "Your wrist," he murmurs, looking up at her. "What happened?"

"Oh, it's nothing…"

"It's bruised!"

"My mother just…" Robin blinks, and his eyes widen. "She can be a little rough."

"Regina…"

"It's nothing and I'm fine…" Her eyes fall away from his. "Just a not so gentle reminder of the constant disappointment I bring her."

"I don't like her," Robin says, his voice hesitant but abrupt. "She's too much like my father for my liking."

"They're certainly cut from the same cloth." Tentatively, he reaches over and takes her hand, gently turning it in his as he examines the bruise. "But truly, I'm fine." Taking a breath, she forces a smile. "And if it's alright with you, I'd prefer not to talk about her."

For a moment, he doesn't respond. "For what it's worth," he says finally, rubbing his thumb gently over the back of her wrist. "I'm glad you're here and not there."

"For what it's worth, I am too."

"Are you?" He asks, a slight smile pulling onto his lips as his eyes meet hers. "Are you glad to be here?"

She nods. "This… isn't the life I planned to have," she begins, her voice a little wistful as she looks down at his hand loosely around hers. "But I… can't say that I'm unhappy."

"No?"

"No," tells him as she looks back up. "You're a good man and a good friend, and Henry and I are lucky to have you on our side."

She's not sure when it happened, or even how it happened, but there's a comfort between them. He's one of the few people who has never expected anything from her, who never asked her to be something or someone that she wasn't. He's been patient and a kind, thoughtful and courteous–and she'd be a fool not to love him.

Before she can continue the thought–to lead herself to thought that should naturally occur next–she feels a sharp pang of guilt at her core. Looking away from him she pulls her hand away, and she can feel warm tears brimming in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs in a hushed, barely audible voice–and then her breath catches in her throat when Robin slides closer to her, stretching his arm around her shoulders and rubbing her arm, offering her comfort without explanation. And for a while, she just accepts it. Every now and then, feeling that discomforting guilt that squeezes at her core and tugs at her heartstrings–and she hates that it's on a day like today, that she feels herself moving on, moving forward in a life that doesn't include Daniel.

Robin continues to stroke her arm. And every now and then, she feels a giggle bubbling up inside of her chest, stomping down the guilty feelings as she remembers his awkwardness when he discovered her in the stable or as she imagines him covered in mud as the sweet little foal munches at the mountain of hay, completely unbothered by his state–and it occurs to her that while this isn't the comfort she thought she'd find in the stables, perhaps it's the comfort that she needs.

For the rest of the day, she avoids him–she avoids everyone.

It's nothing personal–at least not where he's concerned–but it's hard for her to keep her emotions in check, hard to watch world going on around her, watching everyone go about their day, realizing that it means nothing to them, that it's just another, just like any other. And, if she's being perfectly honest with herself, she's not sure that she feel guilty enough for the way she feels when she's near him or for even considering the notion of moving on.

All through dinner she barely utters a word, and when Richard announces that they'll go onto the drawing room, she quietly excuses herself, making her way out of the dining room before a footman can even lift her plate from the table.

She finds herself up on the roof–a spot that's become her favorite get-away at Sherwood.

Sitting there, with her knees drawn up, she stares out at the starry sky, trying to remember the constellations Daniel had taught her years before. A smile tugs onto her lips as she remembers it–remember lying on her back in the tall grass, staring up at the night sky as Daniel pointed out patches of stars. Everything had seemed so perfect then and those moments felt they could last forever–and she finds herself thinking that she'd been such a naive fool.

"You've discovered the best seat in the house." Her head turns sharply at the sound of Robin's voice and she watches as he steps out onto the rooftop. "I'm not sure if it was intentional, but whomever designed this estate created the perfect spot for stargazing." He grins. "I've been coming up here since I was a boy."

"Do you still come up here often?"

"I used to."

"Should I go?"

"I'd prefer it if you stayed," Robin says, sitting down beside her. "Unless… you want to be alone, then I can go."

Looking back out at the night sky, she shakes her head. "That hardly seems fair. This is, after all, your estate."

"Sherwood is no less yours than it is mine," Robin says as he sinks down beside her. "Besides, after you disappeared so quickly after dinner, I was hoping to find you. I… wanted to see that you were alright."

"I'm fine," she says too bruskly to be convincing. "I always am." Then, taking a breath, she looks over at him. "I was actually hoping to catch Henry before he went to sleep, but… alas, I missed him again." A sad smile edges onto her lips. "Tonight is the first night since coming here I haven't been able to sneak into the nursery and read them stories before bed."

Robin blinks. "You read stories to… both boys."

She nods. "I could hardly turn one away." Then a grin pulls onto her lips. "Besides, Roland is a captive audience. Henry always falls asleep halfway through any story."

A soft chuckle escapes him. "I… had no idea you read bedtime stories to my son."

"I don't have very many positive things to say about your father, but he has quite the collection of adventure stories and things that strike the imaginations of little boys." She laughs a little as her bottom lip catches between her teeth. "I should mention that your son is rather convinced that you're Robin Hood."

"Robin Hood," he repeats slowly as his eyebrows arch. "I assume those are the stories you've been reading…"

"Yes," she tells him. "And I have to admit, I… see the similarities. You share more with the legendary hero than just a name."

"You flatter me."

"No…"

She watches as grin pulls onto his lips, and even in the darkness, she thinks she sees his cheeks flushing slightly. "I certainly chose well," he says, drawing in a breath and slowly releasing it as he looks back to her. "Did I ever tell you that between you and Marian, there was another woman… an almost-wife."

"No," she murmurs as her eyes widen. "Did you… love her?"

He shakes his head. "I was still madly in love with Marian. I hadn't even accepted that she was truly gone before my father was attempting to arrange something. He said I needed a wife and Roland needed a mother, and…" He sighs. "I was too caught up in my grief to argue it."

"You didn't marry her though, so… what happened?"

"Well, for starters," he begins, smiling as a chuckle rises into his voice. "She kept calling my son Ronald."

"Ronald…"

"Yes, and one day she was here for dinner at my father's request and I was sitting across from her and I just… realized that my son would be better off with just one parent than with a woman who couldn't be bothered to learn his name, a woman was only a part of our lives for the money."

Regina sighs and nods. "My mother didn't learn Henry's name until he was four."

Robin blinks, "But he's named after your father."

"Yes, you'd think that'd have made it easier, but… it didn't," she says, shaking her head. "He was "the child" to her for his first four years."

"What changed?"

"I moved back in with them," she replies flatly, trying in vain to ignore the churning of her stomach. "Daniel died and I was desperate and… completely out of options." Taking a breath, she shrugs her shoulders. "So I went back, a Scarlet Letter and a son in tow…and, then everything was impossible for her to ignore." For a moment, he doesn't reply; instead he smiles wistfully and narrows his eyes, as though trying to size her up, as though trying to decide what he wants to say. And it's then, that she realizes he's figured her out and knows the secret she's been holding to herself all day, or, at the very least, he's close to it. "Today is the anniversary of Daniel's death," she confesses, her voice cracking–it's the first time since it happened that she's said it aloud. "It's been three years and…"

Her voice trails off, and she doesn't finish her thought–but nonetheless, Robin nods. A sad smile edges onto her lips and there's something comforting about the way he's looking at her, his eyes full of understanding because he knows exactly what she's feeling.

"What happened?" He asks quietly "You don't have to answer, but if you… want to talk about it… I'm here to listen… or to just be…"

"You're sweet," she says, batting the back of her fingers over her eyes. "All I wanted today was to spend time with our boy, to… try to keep his memories of his father alive and…" Her voice catches in her throat and her eyes press close. "He doesn't remember, though," she murmurs as she looks to Robin. "He only remembers the stories I tell him. He remembers my memories, not his own."

"It's hard…"

"It is," she nods. "But… I'm… I'm glad that the memories are fading, in a way. I'm glad that he doesn't seem to remember what today is or… any of it." Shaking her head, she shrugs. "I'm glad he won't live with those memories."

"A blessing and a curse…"

"Exactly," she nods, looking back to the starry sky. "I found him that morning," she says, somewhat abruptly as she looks back at him. "There was a large party at the pub, and he used to make sure the guests' horses were tended to whenever they stayed." She pauses to take a breath, and for a moment, her eyes sink closed and force out the tears. "Something was leaving, I think, and it was unexpected, so he went to the stables to get their horse and prepare their carriage, and it was… raining that night, and I guess the horses was spooked by something and threw him and…" Her eyes open and tears fall down her cheeks. "He always woke me up when he came in after a late night. He'd slide into bed with me and we'd talk about whatever had happened in the hours we'd spent apart, but that night he didn't do that, and I woke up alone… and so, I went downstairs and then to the stables and…"

"Oh, Regina…"

"It was a really hard day… followed by a lot of really hard days."

"I know," he murmurs in reply as his arm folds around her shoulders. "Losing someone you love is never easy, but… that…"

"I was pregnant," she murmurs, her voice abrupt. "I didn't know it until I lost it a few days later." She sucks in a breath as her tears fall freely, and his arm tightens around her. "That day was… the beginning of the end, it seemed."

"You still had Henry."

"Yes," she says, nodding against his shoulder. "Henry saved my life that day…I don't think I'd have…"

"Regina…"

"It's true."

Robin sighs and she feels him press a comforting kiss to the top of her head–and once more, she feels a sharp pang of guilt. "I know it is," he murmurs. "I know it because I remember thinking something very similar once upon a time."

"We're quite a pair, aren't we?"

"I'd like to think so," he says, rubbing his hand over her arm in a way that's soothing and in a way that makes make the pain feel duller. "I'd like to think we could help each other through it."

"Can we talk about something else?"

"Of course," he readily agrees. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Do you know anything about constellations?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," he tells her with a nod. "In an odd way, I used to find them comforting. I'd come up here and spread out and stare up at the sky, and think about other worlds beyond this one…"

"I used to do that too," she murmurs, leaving out that it was Daniel who'd taught her. "I used to imagine what it'd be like to run away from everything and… find another realm." She hears a little laugh bubbling up from her chest. "Places with unicorns and and castles made of clouds and stars."

"My realms were a bit different," he tells her. "You know, after you and Daniel ran away and…"

"Everyone was talking about it…"

"Well, yes, but… after that, I used to envy you."

"Me?" She asks, finally picking up her head from his shoulder. "Of all people in this world, you envied me?"

"You got away," he says simply. "You found that other realm, and I imagined you were happy there."

"I was."

They don't say anymore about it; instead, they sit back against the brick, looking up at the night sky. They talk about supernovas and craters of the moon; they talk about the North Star and Halley's Comet, and they speculate about Ceres. To her surprise he can quote Phaenomena to her and he readily points out the Big Dipper. He laughs when she tells him about an astronomer that wanted to name all the constellations after lizards and leeches, and then she finds herself smiling in awe as he fold down his arm, revealing his lion tattoo representing the Nemean Lion killed by Hercules that went on to live in the stars.

And it's then that she feels a smile pulling onto her lips–a soft and genuine smile, and before she loses her nerve, she leans in and presses a kiss to his cheek, catching the corner of her mouth. She lets herself linger there longer than she should, and he turns a little, pecking gently at her lips before pulling back, allowing a smile of his own to form.

"What was… that for?" He asks as his eyes meet hers.

"For reminding me that… I'm not so alone in this world," she replied easily as she rises to her feet. "I needed that today." A grin twist onto her lips and she feels a light fluttering at her core, and she finds herself thinking that Daniel would have liked Robin, and that perhaps he wouldn't want her to feel so guilty, that he'd want her to be happy, even if it meant that she was with someone else. Taking a breath, she doesn't linger for too long on the though, not letting herself doubt it; instead, she smiles again. "Good night, Robin."

"Good night," he murmurs back as she turns away–and as she slips back in through the window, she turns back and watches as a bright smile stretches over his lips.