RATING: K+
GENRE: Angst (with a resolution), Memory Loss, Season 4A Canon Divergence AU
SUMMARY: He's drawn to her, though he doesn't know why. Not until his young son mentions a history with the former Evil Queen that Robin has no recollection of.

FORGET ME NOT

Bells jangle as Robin opens the door to the diner. Roland wanted a cheeseburger, begged for it with a dimpled smile. Robin is turning out to be a poor father with how often he spoils his little man, but in truth, he has grown rather fond of the meal as well. And considering the upset in their lives as late, Robin can hardly be blamed for succumbing so easily to his son's guile.

Emma leans against the breakfast counter, exchanging words with a dark haired woman in a hushed argument. The Evil Queen—or once was, as the story goes. He doesn't know her personally, never had any cause to, but it's difficult for him to imagine the woman with sad eyes as the same monarch who had swept through the Enchanted Forest with terror and destruction in her wake. The same monarch who had, apparently, executed his Marian.

But that, too, doesn't sit quite right with him. Not that he doesn't believe—he does. And neither because Emma miraculously saved his wife from the Evil Queen's clutches. (Only to be cursed by another malevolent sovereign, but that is a matter he'd prefer not to dwell on at the moment.) No, it's an inexplicable sort of disassociation between lore and reality he feels when his gaze meets the former queen's.

Perhaps it is merely that this new realm seems to be a land of second chances. After all, his family is whole again—or will be when he finds a way to vanquish the Snow Queen's curse. It stands to reason that the Evil Queen might have found a new beginning for herself as well.

"Mary Margaret made the same mistake," Emma's frustrated voice reaches his ears as he and Roland take a booth nearby, "and it backfired on her."

"She was a lovesick fool who couldn't bear the thought of Charming marrying someone else," the other woman returns with derision thick in her tone. "This is hardly the same thing, Miss Swan. Not that I owe you an explanation."

"It is the same thing," Emma argues. "You can't just erase the past without consequences!"

"Oh, I'm intimately aware of the consequences." The queen shakes her head, though Robin can't see her face. Quite a beautiful face as he recalls from his brief glimpses of her. "You made this mess, and you don't get to complain about how I try to clean it up."

It's then that Emma sees him, and he feels guilty for inadvertently eavesdropping. He ducks his head in silent apology. The other woman turns to follow Emma's gaze and—oh, yes. She's really rather stunning, isn't she? And quite troubled by his presence as she often has been in the rare times they've crossed paths. Is it guilt over Marian? He wants to tell her that he bears her no ill will, that he doesn't mean to be a reminder of the dark past she is clearly attempting to move on from. But he's never able to get a word of greeting out before she's fleeing him.

This afternoon will be no different by the panic tightening the corners of her eyes. Her escape this time, however, is oddly impeded by his son.

"Regina!" Roland exclaims with naked delight. The boy is out of his seat and dashing headlong into her legs before Robin can catch him.

"I'm sorry, milady. I—" Robin begins, but Roland speaks over him.

"You were going to take me to the park, remember?" He gives her a hopeful smile. "Can we go today?"

Robin frowns as horror washes over the queen's—over Regina's features. How is it that Roland knows her name, speaks as though he's had some previous association with her outside of this first meeting? Roland has only ever been his care or tended by Little John. Unless—

You can't just erase the past without consequences.

Robin's frown deepens. They couldn't have possibly been talking about him. The notion is ridiculous. Why ever should she have taken his memories? Had he been bent on vengeance over Marian? If that were so, he doubts his son would greet her with such ease.

She's extricated herself from Roland's grasp with a muttered apology and out of the diner before Robin can think to pose his queries aloud. Emma lets out a sigh of exasperation, but offers no explanation before leaving too.

He stares after them, confused—alarmed—but a tug on his sleeve draws his attention back to his little boy.

"Can I have a milkshake?" Roland asks.

This is another area where Robin really ought to stop caving to his boy's pleas, but— "You can have one," he says, lifting Roland back into his seat, "if you tell me about Regina."

Roland giggles as though his father has said something silly. "But you know Regina!"

Robin smiles despite the dread prickling in his middle. "Let's play a game," he says, "and pretend that Daddy's forgotten."

"Okay," Roland agrees, though it's obvious that he finds the entire affair dubious at best. "One time, she caught a flying monkey that was going to eat me and turned it into a doll. And then you sneaked into the castle with her, but I didn't get to come because you made me stay with Uncle John."

Robin listens as his son recounts every encounter with Regina in as much detail as an exuberant five-year-old can muster. Each tale is like a lead weight sinking into the pit of Robin's stomach—turning sour when Roland speaks of Daddy and Regina kissing (yucky, he says) and then Mommy was home.

Kissing? Robin supposes it's not entirely out of the realm of possibility. Regina is attractive, very much so, and if this all occurred before Marian's surprise return, then there would have been no dishonor in the interlude. But why remove his recollections? He cannot believe he would have asked her to, not when he's aware of the exorbitant price that comes with using magic.

Roland turns the conversation to attending school with the other children of Storybrooke in the fall, and Robin tries pay heed to the boy's disjointed ramblings. But the pesky questions won't leave him be. They cycle in his thoughts throughout the meal, as he walks Roland back to camp, as he takes his turn on patrol, as he helps Little John build a campfire.

Why?

The moon is high in the heavens when he finds himself on her porch, rapping his knuckles against the door. His heart pounds as he waits for her to answer. What if he had requested that she expunge his memories of her? It's not an undertaking he would have embarked on lightly. Is he being a fool now in wanting undone what's been done?

The door flings open, and she looks ready to incinerate the person who dared to disturb her—until her gaze falls on him. There it is again—the sadness, the panic in her expression. She rolls her eyes. "I'm not in the mood."

For what, he wants to ask but says instead, "I apologize for the late hour, milady, but can we talk? I have questions that apparently only you can answer."

"Of course you do." Her voice is a laced with bitter laughter, but she steps aside and grants him entry. She smells like lavender and honey as he follows her to a room of stark white and black, and that unique scent makes his chest lurch—as though his body recalls what his mind cannot.

She gestures for him to take a seat on the divan and when she sits opposite of him, her back is unnaturally straight, as though every muscle in her body has been pulled as taut as a bowstring. Again, he is beset with a desire to comfort her in some manner.

"Well?" she prods him with a canted brow.

"It would seem," he says, unsure how to broach this difficult topic, "that you've taken something from me."

She sighs heavily. "I made a mistake." A strange relief washes over him until she adds, "I should have taken Roland's memories, too. But then—"

"You never thought you would see him again," Robin finishes for her as understanding constricts his throat. He already has the answer to his next question, but he feels compelled to voice it anyway. "Did I agree to this?"

Her gaze drops to the span of alabaster cushion between them and is silent for several beats before she replies softly, "No. But you were too stubborn to see that it's the only way to save Marian."

His brows furrow at this. Forgetting Regina in order to break Marian's curse? That makes no— But then he remembers Elsa's admonition that only an act of true love can save his wife. He remembers covering her chilled mouth with his. He recalls the hurried explanation from the prince about the cold being a barrier, but he knew better as guilt made a barbed vine in his chest. He failed Marian because he didn't—he couldn't love her. Not the way he once had. He remembers rationalizing his lack of passion for her as only a side effect of years spent overcoming grief and learning to live without her. But as he looks at the woman before him—the one who has begun to intrigue him, the one he would like to know better, but doesn't because he is duty-bound to another—and he realizes that she's eradicated the most crucial fact in this story.

"I was," he says, words sticking to his tongue in a halting revelation, "I am in love with you." Or would be if he remembered. Who is she that he would lay his second chance at happiness at her feet? He is not an impetuous man, especially when it comes to matters of the heart, and resentment curls behind his sternum. She has taken something infinitely more precious than merely his memories.

The anguish in her eyes, now glassy with unshed tears, douses the flames of his budding ire, though, and another truth dawns on him. He's wounded her with his love. No, not just his love. His honor. He knows himself, knows that Marian's unexpected return must have forced him to make an unsavory choice. And oh, by the gods, what has he done? To the both of them? To himself?

Perhaps not remembering is a blessing after all. Except he is still hurting her. And he still doesn't love his wife—as much as he wants to rescue her.

"You failed," he says, allowing a measure of frustration in his tone.

She brushes his statement away with a wave of her hand. "It's only been a couple of weeks. Give it time."

"Time?" He shakes his head. She doesn't understand. "Already I'm drawn to you without the virtue of my memories, and—" He cuts off as he recalls the year before in the Enchanted Forest. And though he has no recollections of her then, because of Roland's tales, he knows his attraction to her did not begin in Storybrooke. "It's been twice now, and I still find my way to you."

There is so much pain in her expression that he wishes he could unmake this reality for her sake. "Pixie dust," she whispers. At his confusion, she explains, "Tinkerbell used pixie dust once to help me find my soulmate, and I was afraid to meet you then."

A moment passes before her implications become clear to him. "And you think my feelings for you are born from some magical compulsion?" he says. "Did it never occur to you that we're soulmates because we're well matched? I don't know you, not anymore, but if I loved you before, I will love you again." And he wants to. He wants to at least know what endeared her so deeply to him.

"You loved Marian before," she argues. "And you can—you should love her again. She's your wife and you chose her." The last bit is a jab, meant to cut him down as surely as he's unintentionally cut her.

But her accusation doesn't sting. He doesn't remember making the choice, and perhaps then he was naïve enough to believe he would be able to resurrect his adoration for Marian, that he could ignore whatever affection had blossomed between himself and Regina until it withered like a dried vine. It's apparent now that he was mistaken. Extraordinarily so if Regina believed that this was their only recourse.

"Restore my memories," he says. It's not quite a demand, but neither is it a request. He needs to find a way to set things right, but he cannot do so without knowing everything. Even the unpleasant truths she's hidden from him.

"You won't be able to save Marian if I do," Regina replies. Her steady voice is belied by the near terror in her gaze.

The smile he gives her is meant to placate her fears—whether she worries that he'll ultimately blame her for Marian's unremitting slumber on the precipice between life and death, or if she's afraid he will resume crushing her under the weight of a love she desires but is barred from her. In truth, he cannot entirely predict how he will proceed once he is whole again. He doesn't know the man he became during his association with her.

"I can't save her now," he confesses. "And I don't believe I ever will—not with True Love's Kiss." This much he knows to be true, with or without memories.

She rises abruptly, crosses the room, her back to him as she says, "I can't do this."

"You can't or you won't?" Now he is afraid. More than ever he wants this, but what if she refuses him? He supposes he could go to Rumpelstiltskin for aid, but the imp will likely require a price beyond what Robin is willing to pay.

Regina looks heavenward before answering, "I don't know." She turns back to him. "I don't know how to give you what you want. You want to be a man of honor, so you chose Marian. You want me to save the very woman who stands in the way of my happiness, and I tried. I tried everything, Robin—even taking your memories so you could love her again."

He doesn't recall any of this, and so he aches on her behalf for the man who has required so much from her. (And is he so different when he's asking for even more?) He stands and closes the distance between them, hands balling into fists to keep from gathering her into his arms—because the notion feels terribly natural.

"I am sorry for all of the pain I've caused you, Regina."

She makes a derisive noise, takes a step back from him. "How can you be sorry? You don't even remember."

"I can imagine," he answers, and he can. He knows how much he once loved Marian, that he suffered torture at the hands of the Dark One in the hopes of stealing something to cure her illness. And if he loved Regina with the same depth—no, it's more, he thinks, so much more—then how devastating it must have been to have it all ripped from them when he was forced to choose between her and his code of honor. (He doubts very much that the choice was ever between her and Marian.) He doesn't know how he behaved after making his decision, but he surmises that he must not have been able to stay completely away from Regina. He should have—if only to ease her suffering.

No. He shakes his head at that last thought. He should have chosen her. Because where was the honor in giving Marian a husband who pretends at love while he yearns for another? He doesn't know the weight of his crimes against Regina, but he imagines the reformed Evil Queen wouldn't have pinned her hopes for happiness on a mere whim. She chose him. He should have chosen her.

"Restore my memories," he says. Let me fix this, he wants to add but thinks she's not ready to hear it— that she doesn't trust him. He can hardly blame her.

"I don't know how," she whispers, tears now spill down her cheeks, making her appear small and vulnerable.

Oh Robin, he chides his past self. What have you done, you fool? She's lying, he knows, but he cannot begin to guess whether it's because she doesn't want him to remember or because she finds the act required to undo the spell too objectionable. And what would that act be? He only knows the stories from their former realm—something as simple as—

"Do you love me?" he asks. When she won't answer, he advances on her and repeats the question. "Do you love me, Regina?" He regrets the pain that pinches her brow, the crimson that rims her dark eyes, but he needs her admission.

"I don't want to."

It's enough.

He murmurs an apology (and another silent one to Marian) before taking Regina's face in his hands and pulling her into a kiss. Her mouth against his is like a firebolt, electrifying his skin, his bones, his sinews. That she has this effect on him when he doesn't know her— And then he suddenly does as every memory she's stolen slams into him like a deluge of arrows, each so incredibly painful in their beauty and heartache. He remembers the relentless fire she ignites in him, the passion that sears him into ash and reforms him anew. Of course he couldn't abstain from being near her for long. He feels as though he's slowly drowning when he's away from her. But he tries—oh, how hard he's tried. Because he loves her.

His love, though, is so much more than needing her. He's driven to defend her, support her, protect her, have faith in her—especially when she has no faith in herself. He's desperate to be everything she thinks she doesn't deserve, but absolutely does. He was made for her as inexorably as she was made for him. His feelings for Marian were child's play compared to what he shares with Regina. This was why he refused her offer to take his memories.

But even more: he had chosen Regina. He had come to his senses, realized the error of his choice. He told her as much, explained that they would find another way to undo the Snow Queen's freezing curse, but that he is and ever will be hers.

The infuriating woman had gone through with her rash plan anyway—immediately after his confession.

He breaks off the kiss, presses his forehead into hers as he tangles his fingers in her hair. "You willful, insufferable woman," he says with a smile, though he is angry. "How could you?"

She huffs a mirthless laugh. "Of all the things I've done, including executing your wife," she says, "you're upset about this?"

"Damn right, I am," he returns without hesitation. He takes a deep breath before continuing, "I know I've been unfair to you, but you could have at least let me attempt to make amends before wiping out our past."

"I was afraid," she says in a voice so small that it makes his heart clench. That's the crux of all of this, isn't it? She feared that he would leave her again. Because if he could rescind his decision to be with his wife, he could change his mind about Regina as well. And she took matters in her own hands to protect herself from the poor choice he mightmake. (And, perhaps, because she still doesn't believe she deserves the happiness he would give her—no matter how she proclaims otherwise.)

She tries to pull back from him, but he doesn't release her. His lips ghost over hers as he murmurs, "I love you."

He knows this will not cure all their ills, won't erase the mistakes they've made. But he hopes that it will bind up their wounds (hers especially) as they begin to heal.

"I love you, too."

It's a start.

~FIN~

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Let me know what you thought!