I personally refuse to believe any of the horrible rumors of Robin's potential death, but if (very very big IF) it happens, this is all I will accept. Thank you for reading. :)

We Have Forever

They're at the docks, finally ready to free themselves from this hell. Henry is secured in the ferry, Snow and the Pirate as well and Regina has his hand in hers leading him down the dock when she feels the resistance. She turns to him, notices instantly the tears forming in his eyes. "I'm not going, Love."

"What are you talking about?" she scoffs. "Of course you're going. Come on!" she pulls at his arm, stomps down the feeling that this is New York all over again. But it isn't. There is no bar they can escape to and talk it out. This is the Underworld. The end. And she is absolutely, under no circumstances, leaving him behind. "Robin!" her voice is getting desperate, angry. He's still not moving and she notices he looks past her to Emma, to David. "What the hell is going on?" she asks the pair behind her, who are both unable to meet her eyes so she turns back to Robin, lets him pull her into his arms. "What's going on?" She's growing frantic, stammering against neck.

"I love you," he tells her. Says is over and over into her hair. Commits the feel of it to memory, the texture, the smell. "I made a deal with Hades. I have to stay." He pushes her away just enough so he can cup her cheeks, wipe his thumb over falling tears, and kiss her forehead. He looks up from her again and Regina feels a hand on her back. They knew, she realizes. Emma and David knew he had done this. She spins around, seething rage and it's the first time Emma has truly seen the evil queen.

The blonde steps back just before Regina's hand can close around her throat and the brunette screams. Raw, violent, sinks to her knees and Robin's arms are around her once again. "No. This isn't happening. I'll stay. Whatever deal you made, I'll stay," she's adamant, nearly hysterical as he pulls her to her feet; he's going to be the one to go home.

"That would defeat the purpose of the deal, Love." He kisses her again, holds her as she tries to pull away. "Take care of them," he whispers, his breath warm against her neck. "Love them."

"Robin," she's sobbing now, shaking violently and he knows its past time for them to go. He never intended to leave her with this tearful goodbye.

"I love you," he says again, gripping her shoulders, resting his forehead to hers one last time before pushing her back into David's arms. She stumbles, but is caught and swept up in Emma's magic before her mind can comprehend that she'll never see him again.

She doesn't remember getting in the ferry. Everything is silent except for the gentle pull of the water and the shuddered cries that she's absently aware are coming from her. It's a sound she's never heard before, a full throated staccato that lacks the energy to turn into a scream. There are arms around her. David's. He's rubbing up and down her trembling form, holding her back tight against his chest. She hates him. Hates that he knew about this, hates that he did nothing to stop Robin from making a deal she still doesn't know about, hates that he didn't warn her, hates that she knows she'll implode if he lets go. She's adrift, everything is wrong. She's not meant to be the one of them that escapes this hell.

There are back in Storybrooke in a matter of hours. She's quiet now, still leaning into the prince as he helps her out of the boat and walks her down the dock on shaking legs. "Do you want me to go with you?" It's the first thing anyone has said since they left. His voice is soft, but it echoes in her ear. She's going straight to Roland and the baby, he knows it before she does.

"No," her voice is weaker than her body and she tries to shake off the feeling. She needs to be strong for him, for them. "I need to see them, but later…later you're going to tell me everything." She shoves half-heartedly against his chest: angry, but exhausted. "You're going to tell me why." She gives in again to the sudden rush of grief; lets David wrap his arms around her long enough for her breathing to even out.

"I will," he promises as she peels herself away. "As for why: he loves you, Regina. It's as simple as that. He wanted you to live."

Walking up to Roland was the hardest thing she'd ever done. She didn't even have to tell him that his father didn't come home. Robin not being beside her told the boy everything he needed to know. He threw is small arms around her neck the moment her knees hit the floor and cried himself dry against chest. They cried together, rocked back and forth on the floor of Grannie's diner neither noticing when the matriarch ushered her patrons out the door to give the family some privacy.

Regina hurt. For days, years. She hurt, but she kept her promise. She'd lived. She'd protected his children, hers, theirs from the moment her feet were on solid ground, she had held them and never let them go. She'd raised them well, loved them with everything she had, gave them everything of her and everything of him. They'd grown fast, lived well, loved truly, and now had families of their own. She's a great grandmother now. Roland's granddaughter, Robyn, had just celebrated her first birthday. Regina sees her Robin looking back through his namesakes deep blue eyes.

It has been a good life, a better one than she deserved, but maybe after all this she's finally been redeemed. It's late when she makes her way to her room and settles at the vanity by the bed. She stares at the silver framed picture of Robin and herself that Henry had snapped so long ago. It was one moment of hundreds, but the only one she had a physical memory of. He had been kissing her (upon close inspection her lipstick is smeared). They're both smiling, eyes closed and his fingers disappear into her hair. She puts the picture back and stares at the woman in the mirror. She supposes she still looks good for her age, but she's far from the woman in the red dress. Her hair is gray now, and has been without his gentle caress for almost 50 years. The lines at her eyes are deeper, veins more prominent, and those infuriating spots that even magic won't get rid of mar her once porcelain skin. She wonders, not for the first time, if when they meet again he'll even know her at all.

She takes a moment to look at the other memories that line her walls: Henry's family vacations, Roland's diplomas and various graduations, their daughter's wedding. It's been a good life. She finally climbs into bed on limbs that have grown stiff and tired with age. Cracks and pops until she settles into the pillows. The nights are always better. One would think it just the opposite, that she would miss him more when alone in a bed she still considers theirs than when she's busying her day with the nuances of life, but it's when she's alone she feels that she isn't. She remembers him, closes her eyes and forces the feel of him next to her, the sound of his breathing, the scent of his skin. She talks to him, tells him of their family, the life he's granted her, and hasn't felt absurd for doing it in decades. She misses him tonight. Misses him always, but days like this, days spent surrounded by family for the "special" moments, days that he gave up so she could have, she misses him more.

There are nights she can't seem to find him through the maze of her mind, but tonight he is crystal clear. She can feel the stubble against her thumb as she strokes his cheek, see his dimples deepen as he smiles and raises an eyebrow to her. It's different tonight. She can sense it. Tonight he's more than just a fantasy dreamed up by her lonely heart. She feels his hand in hers, strong and assuring, and lets him lead her into sleep without hesitation.

She doesn't need to open her eyes to know that she's no longer in her bed, no longer in her withering body. She should be panicked, but instead she's overcome with an overwhelming sense of peace. Her knees don't ache; the absence of the constant dull pain is the first thing she notices as she shifts her feet and hears the rustle of leaves beneath them. She inhales deeply with unlabored lungs, the smell of night air and the wafting smoke of a campfire. When her eyes finally open, she knows exactly where she is, and more importantly, where she's going. Her lips stretch into a smile as she tucks her hair behind her ears, toying with the jet black ends of it. She looks down her body and notices that she's wearing the dress she wore when he kissed her in the hallway, when he'd rescued her heart. Of course she is; it was his favorite and one she had never worn again after her return. She walks faster than she has in years, her body younger, stronger, no longer her enemy. She is surefooted and confident in her heals as she makes her way through the familiar forest.

He's there, just as she left him, younger even, less troubled as he pokes at the fire with that tattoo poking out from his sleeve. "Robin," she whispers and her voice is excited and scared and hopeful all at once and she has to force herself to remain where she is, not to jump through the growing fire and into his arms.

His eyes snap up, rake her body then settle on her watering eyes. For a long moment he doesn't move, doesn't even blink. She is as beautiful as he remembered, the image he sees when he closes his eyes: hair long and waiting for his fingers, lips painted the same red as her dress. He stands slowly, still hasn't made a sound. Time is different here, seconds and years blend together, but he knows it's been a good long while since he'd forced her back to the land of the living. It's a convoluted mixture of emotions: he's wanted to see her, to hold her again, but he's fully aware of the circumstances which brought her back here. She's died. And he has innumerable questions of how and when and where and she seems to see them all flicker like the flames in his eyes.

"It was good," she tells him, nodding away his uncertainties with a wide smile that brightens her eyes. "My life was very, very good."

He closes the distance between them in a heartbeat, crashing against her lips and weaving fingers into her hair. She can't contain the choked sobs that vibrate against his lips as she clings to him, inhaling his scent that has faded from memory over so many years, but that she has never completely forgotten. She buries her face into the his neck when he releases her lips, wraps her arms around his back and holds, lets him rock her gently back and forth as his arms rub up and down her back and he kisses her neck, her shoulder, her nose as she turns closer into him.

"Tell me everything." He walks her back to the log he was perched on and she settles, pressed firmly against his hip as he keeps his arm around her shoulders. He has no intention of ever not touching her again and if the way she leans into him is any indication, Regina doesn't mind one bit.

"Everything will take a while," she laughs, kissing his cheek and resting her head against his shoulder as she tries to batten down the pang of guilt that washes over her. Everything. He missed everything.

He feels her tense against him and will have none of it. "Hey," he tips her chin up and pecks at her lips. I haven't regretted it for a moment." She nods, wants to believe him and almost does when she sees the same certainty in his eyes that she saw when he forced her into David's arms and away from him. He let her live his life; all she can give him is her memories. His fingers trail up and down her arms, free hand lacing with hers that rests on his thigh. "What's her name?" he asks. He means it to calm her mind, to give her a place to start, but it only breaks her heart more.

Tears spill from her eyes and she grips his fingers tightly. He doesn't even know her name. They'd tossed a few back and forth when trapped in the Underworld, but had never settled on anything before it was too late. Thank the gods for Roland. "Ella," she turns so she can look into his eyes. "Roland named her while we were gone." He laughs at that, smiles knowingly because leave it to his boy to take care of business. "She's beautiful, and kind, and smart. Even if she did marry a Charming," Regina shakes her head absently at her daughter's choice of a husband, but stops abruptly at the confusion in Robin's eyes. "Neal," she clarifies and watches as he comes to grips with the fact that the babies he left aren't babies anymore. "I'm sorry," she rushes out, tears spring again. She's getting so far ahead of herself, bounding over years of bed time stories and scraped knees, first days of school and broken hearts. There are so many moments that make up a life.

"He's a good man?" Robin asks, knowing full well that he is. She nods into the hand that holds her head gently, fingers again weaving through her hair. The Charmings would have raised no less and Regina would never have let his Ella (he turns the name over and over in his mind) marry anyone that wasn't worthy. "Take a breath, Mi'lady. You don't have to tell me everything before this fire burns down. And none of it need be in order."

"I missed you." She leans in, kisses him softly, deeply.

"And I you," he kisses her again, will kiss her every chance he gets for as long as this eternity lasts. "We have forever."

Sorry?