Based on the hilarious -and now deleted- tweet from Sean Maguire commenting on Robin's "narcoleptic" tendencies (bless that man and his sense of humor, I swear).
Also, because I thought we could all use something nice after the horrible way we were treated by the show last night.
Thanks to the ever incredible SomewhereApart for the idea for this little story!
The first time it happens, it's during sex.
She's writhing, enjoying the sinful rhythm of his hips against hers where she straddles him, her sex wet and ready as it slides teasingly along his cock, his hands squeezing her thighs as he guides her movements.
And then suddenly those hands fall slack, his hips still, and just as she's about to panic, thinking something is wrong, a light snore tells her that no, nothing's wrong, not exactly.
To have all that exquisite foreplay so rudely interrupted has Regina seething, makes her grind herself against Robin's hips in a frustrated attempt to wake him up. He's still hard, and the action has echoes of arousal stirring inside her, but she can't really enjoy it. She's too annoyed.
"Robin," she calls, her tone level. No answer.
She shakes him a little around the shoulders, leaning closer to him and calling his name again.
Nothing.
"Robin!" she finally snaps, irritated, and he wakes, startled, looking around frantically for a few seconds until he realizes what's happened, his tone immediately apologetic as he utters her name when she moves off him and plops down on the bed beside him.
"I don't know what happened. I'm so sorry."
What happened is clearly he wasn't as interested in the sex as she was, Regina thinks but doesn't say, muttering a low It's fine, don't worry about it and moving away from him when he tries to get things started again, guilt written all over his face as he seeks out her naked breasts with his mouth, finding her back instead as she turns and lies down on the bed, pulls the covers over her body, and shuts her eyes tightly.
She hears him sigh behind her, feels his lips plant a soft kiss against her shoulder blade, muttering another apology against the skin there before he tentatively wraps his arm around her from behind, tightening his grip when she doesn't push him away.
He falls asleep before she does, and it only makes her roll her eyes harder.
The second time it happens, they're in the forest, with his men and Roland, looking for a critter that has been messing around with the food at the camp.
He's got his bow in hand, arrow notched and ready to fire at the slightest movement, and then they reach the cluster of bushes at the end of the clearing, where Roland said he'd seen the animal run to, and all of a sudden Robin is no longer there at her side, but rather slumped against a tree, knees giving out and letting him fall slowly against it, his back sliding down the trunk until he's on the floor, asleep.
Roland chortles at the mishap, and John barks out a laugh that wakes Robin right up, has him looking wide-eyed at his surroundings until his eyes fall on hers, and he smiles sheepishly, gets up and is back to hunting mode in an instant.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're under some faulty Sleeping Curse," she jabs, raising an amused eyebrow at him.
"Does this mean you'll kiss me awake if it happens again?" Robin retorts, wagging his eyebrows at her as he leans in close and whispers, "I must warn you, though, I might be in need of a more, ah, thorough seeing-to, if I'm to fully wake from my involuntary slumber."
Regina laughs then, thinking back to three nights ago, when he'd fallen asleep precisely in the midst of one of those thorough seeing-tos he's alluding to.
She shakes her head, mutters a "Don't push your luck, thief," and shoves him away, much to his men's amusement.
The next time it happens, they're at Granny's, and his body starts shifting lower and lower in his seat, his head sliding from where it rests on its side against his hand and into his plate right in the middle of their conversation, prompting Henry and Roland to look at him strangely, while Regina pulls him off of his breakfast platter and gently pats his face to wake him, cleaning the bits of egg and bacon clinging to his cheek.
It happens again that very evening, only he falls headfirst into his bowl of steaming hot soup this time, causing minor burns on the tip of his nose and chin, the pain of it waking him upon impact.
Two days later, they're walking down Main Street after lunch, holding hands and discussing ideas for Henry's birthday gift. Robin releases her fingers and wraps his arm around her waist to bring her closer, his cheek resting atop her head as they walk. And then they're not walking so much as Regina is having to drag his weight along, after he falls asleep and bumps like a dead weight against her.
"You need to get checked out, something is obviously wrong," she insists later that night, and of course it would be. He's just endured a trip to the Underworld, where time is strange and plays with your head as it pleases. He'd had to be on constant alert from the moment they set foot in that terrible place, helping, protecting, staying vigilant without proper rest.
And now, now they've come home, only to be up half the night with a newborn who will scream bloody murder if her father doesn't feed or change her when it is due.
"Regina, I'm fine. Just need to catch up on some sleep, is all," he assures her as he sips the last of his tea, kisses her brow and stands to rinse his cup.
He falls asleep at the sink, and the shattering of ceramic against the floor makes Regina cringe because, sure enough, there's the baby now, screeching angrily after having her sleep so harshly disrupted.
"No wonder he fell asleep on his bacon the other day, and on his cereal yesterday," Henry says when they discuss the issue over donuts at Granny's a few days later. It's been a week since Robin's strange narcoleptic episodes began, and Regina doesn't know what to do. He refuses to go to the hospital, says he's fine, and in her desperation, she ends up spilling everything to her son, who lends a friendly ear to her tribulations.
"He fell asleep on his cereal?" Regina asks. This is news to her.
"Milk bubbles formed when he snored," Henry replies, trying to hide his boyish grin, and Regina is sure it must've been a funny sight, but can't bring herself to find amusement in it at the moment, she's too worried for that.
"Ruby has it, too," Granny interrupts gruffly, refilling Regina's coffee cup. The young wolf had returned home a few days ago, with a wide-eyed Dorothy Gale in tow. "The change in dimensions affected her."
"You think that's what Robin has?" Henry asks before Regina can.
"Most likely. The Blue Fairy said it'll go away eventually," the older woman says, turning to Regina to add, "I've been brewing a special tea for Ruby. It... sedates her a little, helps deepen her sleep, so that she gets rest is sound and uninterrupted while her body readjusts to this world, I can have some for your thief in a few minutes, if you wait?"
"Thank you," Regina breathes with an urgent nod, both hands wrapping around her coffee cup, her eyes drifting down to watch the dark liquid as it jiggles from the trembling of her fingers. She hadn't realized how scared she was of the consequences of the Underworld until now.
"He'll be okay, Mom, don't worry," Henry reassures, placing a gentle hand on her wrist and giving it a supportive squeeze. She nods wordlessly, gives her son a watery smile, and ten minutes later she's out the door with a thermos full of Granny's special tea.
Robin is reluctant at first, doesn't appreciate the idea of being sedated by the herb combo Granny has put together, but it'll help, she tells him, it'll work, she's sure of it.
"Please, Robin, let's just try."
Something in her tone must convince him, because his expression softens, his frown disappearing and giving way to a gentle smile as he sighs. They're sitting on her couch, pressed close together, her knees bent and up against the cushions, and his hand rises from its position on her thigh, threads his fingers in her hair and rubs a thumb against her cheek.
"Alright. Let's try."
He stands up then, stretches out his arm to offer his hand to her, and she takes it gladly, grabbing the thermos from the coffee table on their way upstairs.
It's quiet. Unusually so. Henry had convinced Snow to let him and his siblings crash at the loft with her and Charming for the night, so that Robin could get some proper sleep. Regina misses the soft snores from the boys as she passes their room, misses the baby's fussing as she walks by her empty crib, but she's thankful to her son for doing this, for making sure that she and Robin have the house to themselves for the evening. It'll make things easier if there aren't any interruptions.
Robin pours some of the tea into the thermos cap and grimaces at the smell. It's certainly not pleasant, rather pungent and rotten, it reminds Regina of manure, somehow, and she feels almost nauseous as she watches him gulp down three large sips, setting the little cup on the bedside table with a loud clank as he sputters and wipes at his mouth.
"I've had my fair share of foul tasting things in my life, but that... that takes the prize," he says, his voice hoarse as he gags and struggles to breathe properly. Regina shifts closer to him, runs a soothing hand up and down his back and presses her face into his neck, running her nose along the stubble there and planting tiny kisses in a path up his throat, to his jaw, culminating in a chaste peck against his cheek.
They lose their day clothes and change into comfy pajamas (she makes sure to pull out his softest ones from the drawer), and then they climb into bed, Regina on her side facing him, Robin on his stomach, his hands buried under his pillow as he stares at her and smiles.
For a moment, they stay like that, just breathe and watch each other, but then she starts to notice things, the little purple bags under his eyes, the pallor of his skin, the not-so-trimmed stubble across his jaw, the bloodshot aspect of his eyes. He's tired, so tired, and it makes her lower lip quiver, because how could she not have seen this coming? She should've known, should've predicted that he'd be so affected by the stress of, well, life in general (life with her, says the accusatory voice in her head that still sounds so much like her mother's).
"It's not your fault," he whispers, breathing out a little laugh when she widens her eyes, an instinct reaction at how well he knows her.
"I—"
"Regina," he interrupts, "it's not your fault. And I'll be fine once my body catches up to the fact that we're no longer in the Underworld."
She sighs, nods, and then he gives her that smile, the one that is mischievous, dimples on full display, like a child about to get his way.
"Now," he says as he pulls a hand from under the pillow and seeks out hers, tugging her closer. "Get over here, and rub my back?"
At that, she smiles, shakes her head as she blinks back tears and sits up from her current position, climbing atop him and stretching just a little to the side so she can turn on the bedside lamp.
All other lights are off now, and the dull glow helps build an atmosphere of calm, of relaxation, as her hands find the hem of his white cotton T-shirt and venture under it, caressing their way up his back, thumbs pressing firmly.
Robin moans from under her, and she leans forward as her hands reach his shoulders, pressing, always pressing. Kneads the muscles in a slow rhythm, and she can feel his limbs loosen, can hear his breathing deepen, and somehow it eases the frantic beating of her heart, soothes her troubled mind, her hands continuing on their path up and down his back, until she chances a look down at him and finds him asleep.
Regina climbs off of him then, goes back to lying on her side against him, head resting on her hand. He's not snoring, she notices, too deep under for that to happen, and it's like she's able to breathe again. It's working.
She watches him for a while, takes comfort in the deep in and out of his breathing, absorbs every detail of his face. He's so handsome. It often catches her off guard, how attractive he is, and then there are moments where the light hits him a certain way, or he smiles at a certain angle, that has her going weak in the knees just looking at him, feeling the pure love and devotion that radiates from him and onto her. She's lucky, so lucky.
Robin's rest is peaceful, uninterrupted by the fidgeting Regina's become accustomed to. She'd chucked it up to the fact that he's not completely used to sleeping on a bed (and that stint of time in the Underworld forest hadn't helped), but now she realizes it wasn't the mattress that was bothering him, it was everything else.
"I'm sorry," she breathes, because he's not awake to rebuff her, and this is her fault, and she'll fix it, no matter what.
Regina doesn't know how long she stays there, watching him, guarding his sleep, but at one point her eyes start to droop. She shifts closer, free hand hovering over his form. Her fingertips play with the stray lock of hair that falls over his forehead, gently graze his lashes where they rest against the tops of his cheeks, run softly down the bridge of his nose and over his lower lip.
"Sleep well," she whispers, then leans in and ghosts a kiss over his brow, moving as close as possible and snuggling up to him.
She succumbs to sleep almost instantly, and when she wakes the next morning, it's to his gentle kisses and soft murmurs of "Good morning, your majesty."
"Mmm. Good morning," she says, drowsy and cozy under the blankets and the arm he's draped over her waist, fingers trailing in circles over her belly. His lips land a kiss on her shoulder blade just before she turns around to look at him, his fingers now drawing random patterns across her back. "How do you feel?"
"Better," he admits, "rested."
"I'm glad the tea worked," she says with a smile.
"I'm glad you made me drink it," he smiles back, his eyes closing as he leans forward to place a soft kiss on her lips. She sinks into it, revels in the languid, delicious passes of his mouth against hers, her breath hitching a little when he shifts them, landing himself on top of her, hands now placed on either side of her face, fingers tugging a little at her hair as it splays on the pillow beneath her.
"That'll teach you to never argue with a queen," she quips, scrunching up her nose as she speaks, and Robin laughs quietly.
"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it," he claps back, his head dropping to her neck, warm breath touching her skin.
"Breakfast?" Regina asks after a moment of comfortable, sleepy silence.
"Mm. Give us a few more minutes. I quite like being all pressed up against you like this."
And who is she to deny him? Truth be told, she likes this, too. Loves waking up to Robin and his sleep-slurred voice, to his kisses and his hands wandering, caressing.
She tilts him a little, so that he falls back beside her, and cuddles up into his arms, sighing in satisfaction at the feel of his arms wrapping tightly around her.
Breakfast can wait.
She administers the tea in nightly doses, and the following week, they start seeing some real changes.
Robin has almost completely stopped falling asleep without warning, save for the time he'd suddenly started snoring into the baby's diaper bag, and the time he'd dropped his glass of wine and was out cold on the floor of Regina's office during their picnic. But still, it's progress.
Little by little, she sees those purple bags disappear, sees the tiredness lift from him, until the tea is no longer needed, and her beloved thief is back to normal.
She enjoys that normal, cherishes it, and finds her own good night's rest in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.