Robin rubs her back in circles until she falls asleep. He swallows and looks up at the ceiling. His is jaw stiff and he still feels a hot need for her, but the sight of her tear streaked face, turning away in shame, it has him desperately sad, and filled with rage.
What has been done to her, he wonders, but he dare not think too hard, because he at least knows some of the answer; she had been called The Child Queen. There's a bad taste in his mouth at the thought, he's seething as he squeezes her a little. The blanket slips down her bare shoulder.
He tucks it back up and shifts her so he can look at her, at her beautiful face. He puts her on her back beside him. She grumbles before settling with her hair spread upon the pillow behind her. Robin bites his lip and turns away, shaking his head. She is still ill.
She is still ill. She is still in need of care and tending to.
Regina had kissed him though. Robin stands from the bed with his fingers tugging at his hair. He had known she was ill but thought and reason had flown straight out the window at the feel of her lips against his. He had wanted and wanted for so long, to feel her, warm and alive, her hands running over him. He had wanted and wanted to hear her moan and whimper and sigh. She was soft, so soft, his fingers twitch remembering the softness of her.
He moves to the foot of the bed and leans down on the bed frame. He grips it with both hands, white knuckled, staring at Regina. The blanket has slipped again as she's curled onto her side with her knees drawn up. It's how she sleeps. The blanket is down to her waist which leaves her breasts beautiful and free to his gaze.
Robin turns away with eyes slammed shut. She is beautiful, so beautiful and the feel of her body, all her curves free to his hands, the taste of her in his mouth, her panting breath and weight grinding down on him, it's playing through his mind and he wants her so badly, so, so badly, more now than ever before.
But her hiccupping breath, her hands pushing him away, they haunt him and he feels guilt, she said he had not hurt her, and perhaps not, but she was obviously in pain.
Always in pain, she was always in pain, he could see it in those dark eyes and even when she smiled she was in pain, if he could take it all away, he would, all her pain, every last drop of torment and he would destroy it, but he can't, and it leaves him feeling useless and afraid.
He is afraid all the time.
Afraid now for Roland, the sweet boy with his magic, magic strong enough to bring back the dead. Robin had looked and looked for a way to bring back Marian, he knows better than anyone, he knows that magic cannot bring back the dead, but Roland had done it. Robin knows all magic has a price. He knows the boy is powerful.
He is afraid for Regina. He remembers the pull in his chest, the painful tug and then Regina's panic, the panic fit that had Robin running to her. She had seen a man in her panic, and Robin had seen it with her. He had seen the man, the man had a vicious grin, he flipped a switch and Regina screamed and screamed, pain beyond telling, the man smelled her hair and called her evil and she'd believed him, she believed him and had thought it was right for her to have that pain.
And when Tom had a knife at her throat, she had not looked frightened, it makes Robin so, so afraid.
He is afraid even to close his eyes, and this is the fear that eats him alive, the fear he denies existence but it is there, because every time he closes his eyes it is Tom staring back at him.
Tom, who had loved to laugh, Tom, who had been a violent boy and he'd tortured a rabbit once. Robin had not confronted him then and he should have, but he hadn't and years later Tom was a man and it was a guard being slaughtered in the most torturous way and Robin had still done nothing, and then, Tom's final act, it was Regina in her puddle of blood, dead, she was dead just like Marian, her throat slit open and her sightless eyes pointing up, up, and it had been Robin's fault, for not stopping Tom torturing that rabbit.
Robin walks to the door, opens it, quietly shuts it and then he is pounding his right fist against the stone wall, over and over and over, his eyes slammed shut. Tuck is speaking with Arthur by Arthur's door, Tuck who had asked for Regina's forgiveness and she had lain her hand on the crown of his head with sunlight streaming in through the window. Tuck left the room weeping, but it should be Robin asking forgiveness, because of that stupid little rabbit and the boy Tom with bright hazel eyes who'd grown into a man who loved to laugh and Robin should have stopped him, should have stopped it.
There is no pain, there is no noise as he slams his knuckles against the stone over and over until a large hand grabs his shoulder and turns him, grabs him and shakes him harshly. Robin is panting and looking up at John. John has worried eyes, deep worry, his hands still holding Robin's shoulders.
He's broken his hand.
When he returns to his chambers after Granny has bandaged his hand he finds Regina gone. The bed covers ruffled. The ripped dress draped over the chair.
He finds her in her rooms.
He knocks against her doors and calls her name and she opens them immediately. She smiles at him, a shy thing and he wonders how many other people have seen the expression on her lovely face. He follows her steps closely as they retreat further in the room.
She's changed into a dark dress, it's bodice tight against her ribs, and with a skirt that swishes against the floor softly. Her hands move swiftly down her hair as she braids it.
"What are you doing here?" Robin asks.
"A ripped dress and Little John's shirt were hardly wardrobe fit for a Queen," she tells him as a smirk races across her face under concerned eyes. She ties off her braid and steps close. She cups one hand against his jaw. "What happened to your hand?"
He shakes his head. "An accident," he lies.
She looks at him doubtfully.
"You're feeling better?" he asks.
Her head tilts to the side, a vague frown on her lips. "Yes," she lies and rubs the pad of her thumb against his bottom lip.
"Will you return to your own chambers?" he asks, and she swallows, indecision crosses her face.
"I don't know."
Robin reaches up and cradles her hand against his jaw with a small sigh.
He doesn't think he could bear to be away from her, not after having her sleep beside him, warm and soft, perfect against is side, their breaths soft and easy. But he would never force her hand.
Robin leans down and touches his nose against hers. "Can i kiss you?" he whispers into the space between them.
She licks her lips and her eyes flutter closed. "Please," she answers him, but it's her that moves forward until their lips meet. Robin kisses her, feelings welling in his chest, he could not bear her absence.
His hand goes to the back of her head and his fingers tangle in her braided hair. He grips lightly and she gasps a small little sound in the back of her throat.
Regina opens her eyes, her beautiful dark eyes. She says his name, and the sight of his name on her lips and the sound of his name breathed so desperately has him hot blooded in a mere moment. He backs her up until she hits her vanity, all the little glass bottles rattling against each other, the furniture skidding backward. She's grasping at his shoulders.
They kiss until they're panting.
She breaks them apart and swallows and steps away from him, pushing away from the vanity, and all the little bottles rattle again as she steps quick little strides away. "What are we doing?" she asks. "Robin, what do you want from me?" the uncertainty in her expression makes Robin frown.
Robin doesn't have an eloquent answer. "You. I want you. I care about you," he tells her and walks up to her and she lets him. He does more than care, but he is not ready, and she is not ready, and he has known her for so little time, but he feels more than care.
"Why?" she breathes and looks absolutely confounded.
Robin takes a another step forward and she raises her hand and puts it flat on his chest, and when he still walks forward she takes a step back. "I lost something when my wife died," he says. He places his hand over hers on his chest. "She took a piece of me. I was hollow for so long, until Roland needed me. I lived for him. Without him I…" he drifts off and shrugs, he would have died without Roland.
"Robin," she whispers.
"When I hold you something inside me is alive again. I lost something and when I hold you, it's like I've gotten it back," he says. He walks her back until she hits the wall. Her breath stutters and her splayed hand is still on his chest. He leans forward with his mouth by her ear and he nuzzles her hair. "When I touched you," he whispers and relishes the way she shudders, "and you were writhing and moaning my name, it was like I had fire in my veins." It's all truth, it had been like something alive was swimming in his veins, something hot and powerful and it burned for her, ached for her.
He kisses her again, her back against the wall and her hands reach up to thread in his hair. He feels it again, the sense of home, of fire in his veins, and she's perfect against him. Her mouth is perfect, and her body is perfect and when he bites her neck, hard enough to leave a mark she pushes her hips out to meet his and he grunts.
Robin pulls his mouth away, breathing heavy with their hips still pressed against each other. He looks down at her and he smiles. He presses one peck, closed mouth, to her lips and then steps away.
"You are always welcome wherever I am," he says to her. Her mouth opens softly. She looks flustered and flushed leaning back against the wall. "All that I have, you are welcome too. All that I am is yours," he vows and doesn't stop to think what these words could mean. They mean a great deal.
She's staring at him still, as if she has never seen anything like him.
"If you wish to remain in your own chambers, know that it will not stop me from caring for you."
He leans in for one last kiss and then leaves her to ponder in her chambers. He prays to a god he doesn't believe in that she will come to him.
That night there is a soft knock on Robin's door. He calls out a welcome with Roland cuddled against him. The boy is listening to his bedtime story. The boy smiles wildly when he sees Regina.
Regina smiles softly back. That shy expression so few have seen. She looks hesitant, walking to the bed Robin and Roland recline on, she's wearing a robe and when she pulls it off she's got a nightgown on underneath, airy and white, light. She climbs onto the bed next to Roland, and the boy instantly turns his affections to her.
The boy is half asleep already, and even with the excitement of Regina's arrival he is sleeping within five minutes. The boy does not stir at all as Robin picks him up and carries him to his own room.
When Robin returns to her, Regina has a smile for him but frightened eyes. Does he know her so well to know her fear? She need never be afraid of him. She lays in the bed, the bed she'd lain naked on, naked and panting. The bed she recovered from death in. Robin's bed.
Robin lowers the lamps and goes to her and wraps her up in his arms, tucking her against him, he kisses her hair. "Sleep," he tells her and she lets out a broken breath. He holds her in the dark and pretends not to notice her crying.
But it's not much longer until she's got his hurt hand, and Roland had asked, shyly, nervously, if Robin wanted him to heal it, but the boy still hadn't gotten all his color back since healing Regina, bringing her back to life, and Robin had told him not to worry. But Regina has it in her gentle grasp, she does not ask, she unfurls the bandages in the dark and when it's open to the air she brings it to her lips over and over, kisses and after every touch of her lips the pain subsides, not completely, but bit by bit, but she is still ill, worse off than Roland, Robin only allows a little while before he tugs his hand free, only a little while but the bones are knitted.
"Thank you," he whispers as he runs his fingers through her hair, soft long hair, she sighs and relaxes against him and she is perfect against him as her breathing evenevens, as her body grows lax, she's warm and soft.
Robin wakes in the morning with her against his shoulder and she is warm and alive and soft next to him and he gathers her up in his arms. She does not wake, even when he turns her body over and crushes her back to his chest, spooning her, their knees tucked up together and he's got his nose buried in her hair. He closes his eyes, breathing her in, and she is safe and she is warm, and he's woken up to the sight of her beautiful face and it feels right, absolutely right.
No one will ever take this from him, no one.