The kitchen floor was cold. Thank God Robin was too numb to notice how uncomfortable it was or to worry about how his lower back would ache tomorrow when he forced himself to get out of bed.
No. Numb wasn't the right word. That would imply that he felt nothing, and that wasn't true, not in the slightest. The problem was that he felt too much.
His body had shut down, as if it had overheated while trying to absorb too much information at once or was trying to reboot with a system update gone horribly wrong. One moment he'd been rubbing his arms, trying to stop his skin from sliding off of his bones, reminding himself that he couldn't leave Roland alone no matter how badly he wanted to run out into the frigid air and scream until he was hoarse. The next he'd plopped down on the tile, his back propped against his stove as everything around him seemed to freeze in time and place, including his insides.
The woman he was falling in love with was alive because his dead wife's heart beat inside her body.
Of all the things Robin ever anticipated having to deal with, this assuredly wasn't one of them. How did one process this? What was the right response? Was he supposed to shun one woman because she lived while another had died? Would embracing a chance at happiness mean dishonoring the memory of the woman whose death had made it possible?
Marian. Her name pulsed a steady tattoo against his temples, and he closed his eyes, summoning up images of the woman he'd loved over half of his life, one who'd given him a son he loved with every bone in his body, a woman who'd been taken from him unfairly and left him to raise their child on his own.
He stared at his hands for no reason, hands that had held and loved two women, wondering what to make of all of this, of the fact that another child raised by a single parent was the one who'd written him that letter, that bloody letter that had just turned his world upside down. It had been Henry. Henry Mills was the child who'd thanked him for saving his mother's life, who'd felt the need to reach out to the person who'd helped ensure that he hadn't been left an orphan. It had been Henry Mills who'd benefited from his rather befuddled decision to donate Marian's organs because he knew that's what she would have wanted, Henry Mills who'd been given back his mother because of that action, the only parent he'd ever had. Marian's heart had saved his mother-Regina Mills, pediatrician, adoptive mother, single parent, child advocate, new lover, bruised soul.
Regina. God, Regina.
His arms almost hurt with the need to hold her, yet his heart cinched at the thought. What did it say about him that he was relieved she lived when the only reason her heart still beat was because Marian hadn't needed it anymore? Was he betraying his wife's memory if he allowed himself to pursue a relationship with the woman cradling her heart in her chest? Would he see two pairs of deep brown eyes whenever he gazed into one? Would their tastes and textures mingle? Would a ghost take up residence where uncertainty now dwelled?
Would he be making love to two women as he broke apart and spilled out into one?
Was he losing his fucking mind?
He buried his face in his hands, rubbing his beard, reminding himself that he needed a shave even as he knew he wouldn't touch a razor today. He needed to see her-Regina-to hold her, to comfort her, to tell her….to tell her what, exactly? What the hell was he supposed to say when he didn't know how to feel? How was he supposed to comfort her when he feared that doing so would be a betrayal of his marriage vows? He was thankful Roland was sleeping, then cursed himself for taking advantage of the fact that his son was sick. What sort of shit dad was he, anyway, sitting here, worrying about his love life when his boy was upstairs battling a fever?
He jumped at the soft knock on the door, startled back into the present. How long had he been sitting here, he suddenly wondered.
Robin adjusted his sweats as he stood, rubbing a hand over his hair, hoping neither his breath nor body stank as he paused to clear his throat before opening the door. Before him stood Alonzo, holding a silver pot.
"Soup," the older man stated. "For you and Roland."
Robin stood there, mutely staring at his father-in-law before shaking himself out of his stupor and motioning Alonzo inside. The cold followed him through the front door, chilled air stinging Robin's face, a sensation he welcomed before he closed the door and locked it.
"You didn't have to do this," Robin stated as he followed Alonzo into the kitchen. How had he missed the fact that the older man's hobble had become more pronounced, that he favored his left leg over his right, that his spine seemed to curve inward at a more inclined angle than he had remembered? But the man's smile was as bright as ever, completely in synch with dark eyes he'd passed on to his daughter and grandson, and he fastened them directly on Robin after setting the pot on the stove.
"Chicken and gnocchi," he stated, touching the lid. "And you know I had to. It's Roland's favorite."
"Thank you," Robin said, doing his best to smile, failing miserably. His voice was hoarse, ragged, even, and he cleared his throat. "Would you like something to drink?"
Alonzo stepped forward, reaching into his worn, khaki overcoat's inside pocket and pulling out a small bottle of Maker's Mark.
"I brought you something to drink," the older man said, placing the bottle in Robin's hands. "I thought you could use it."
Robin stared at the bourbon, craving its burn before setting it on the counter and looking back at his father-in-law. That's when he saw it. That's when he knew.
"August told you?"
The question tumbled out over his lips, the words chilled and uncertain.
"About Marian's heart?" Alonzo asked, touching Robin's shoulder when the younger man nodded. "Yes, mio figlio. He told me."
Tears pushed against his eyelids again, and he swallowed hard, trying his hardest not to break down yet again as Alonzo guided him wordlessly into the family room. He wiped his cheek, doing his best to remain quiet and not wake Roland, but self-control eluded him when they finally sat down on the couch and the older man put his arm over his shoulders. Something cracked open inside of him, something dark and misshapen, and he sobbed freely then, unable to help himself as Alonzo gathered him to his chest and comforted him the same way his father would have done when he was younger.
"Let it out," Alonzo whispered, cupping Robin's head as if he were a boy. "It's alright. It needs to come out of you, all of this grief. It only hurts you by staying inside."
It poured out of him as if a dam had been broken, all the grief and guilt he'd been keeping at bay for longer than he could remember, guilt for not being the one behind the wheel, for sometimes forgetting the sound of Marian's voice, for wishing he could let go and move on even as he did his best to make certain her son never forgot her. Guilt for surviving when she-the better one of the two of them-had died. Guilt for craving the kisses of another woman, one who'd run out of this very house when she'd realized she carried a part of his late wife inside her body, guilt for needing to make love to that woman right now to somehow drive out the inner demons tearing both of them apart. Alonzo absorbed it freely, rocking him, holding him, giving him permission to feel emotions he couldn't begin to label.
He didn't know how long they sat there, only knew that he felt both drained and cleansed when the tears finally stopped and his breathing began to even out. He blinked repeatedly, surprised to see that Alonzo had been crying, too, and he drew back from him then, taking the older man's hand within his own and giving it a squeeze.
"Thank you," he muttered, his words barely audible. "I know this can't be easy on you, either."
Alonzo shook his head then, squeezing Robin's hand in return.
"That's where you're wrong, figlio," Alonzo returned, his eyes still wet. "I'm now more at peace than I have been since our Marian died."
Robin sucked in a breath, his eyes widening at the older man's revelation.
"You're surprised?" Alonzo asked. "You shouldn't be, you know. Knowing that my daughter's heart lives on, that it gave another little boy his mother back, and that that mother is a good woman with so much love to give that Marian's heart feels at home in her chest...yes, it gives me incredible peace. It's exactly what she would have wanted."
He swallowed again, shaking his head, trying to process.
"I'm glad for that, too," Robin managed, withdrawing his hand to rub his face. "And I know...I know she'd approve of Regina, that she'd be happy that Henry still has his mother, that she'd want her heart to give another mother life, but…"
He paused, seeking words that wouldn't come.
"But…" Alonzo prompted gently. "What's troubling you so much?"
Robin exhaled through his mouth, blowing out air in place of words.
"It's...I…," he began, shaking his head in frustration. "Can I love them both, Papi? Am I being unfair to Regina or unfaithful to Marian if I do?"
Alonzo smiled before inhaling sharply.
"You haven't called me Papi in years, you know," he said, eliciting a small smile from Robin. "I didn't realize how much I missed it until now." He then paused, looking up at the wedding photo that hung on the wall, the one Regina had stared at nearly a week ago when she'd come over for their date. Marian smiled down on both of them, looking radiant, beautiful, and so very much alive that it hurt. "As for your question, I can't answer that for you, figlio. Only you can know the answer to that."
Robin chuckled, casting Alonzo a wry look.
"Some help you are, old man," he said, making Alonzo laugh out loud.
"I prefer Papi, thank you," he stated before looking back up at the picture of his daughter. "Robin, if you need my permission to love Regina, you have it, you know. You also have Frankie's, Marco's and August's. We all want nothing more than for you and Roland to be happy."
His chest tightened, and he gazed into the eyes of the first woman he'd ever loved as he stood and walked directly to the photograph, touching the frame, stroking her face through slick, cool glass.
"What about hers? Do I have her permission?"
His breath was weighted as he considered his own question, and he wished she could speak to him, that she could tell him face to face that it was alright for him to move on, to pursue Regina, to love the woman who now carried her heart within her ribs. He heard Alonzo's uneven shuffle behind him, felt the man's soothing presence at his right side.
"What do you think?"
He could smell her then, the almond scented lotion she so adored filling his senses in a way it hadn't since her passing. It caressed him, engulfed him, wrapped him up in a past life he'd treasured before vanishing just as quickly as it had arrived. His palm flattened against the glass as tears filled his eyes once again, forcing him to swallow and breathe.
"She'd want me to move on, to find love again."
The words tasted both bitter and sweet, like spun sugar mixed with fresh lemons, like the promise of spring.
"Yes," Alonzo agreed. "She would."
He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the present as the past prickled his skin.
"She'd approve of Regina," Robin continued, his brow creasing at the realization. "And of Henry."
"I agree," Alonzo said. "I think our Marian and Regina could have been great friends had they ever met."
Robin smiled at this, thinking how odd it felt to consider both women breathing in the same lifetime. But they had-they did. One had just been taken away sooner than the other.
"You know," Alonzo continued. "I am remembering how long you and Marian loved each other, how you found each other at such a young age. And then, just how quickly you were attracted to Regina, how there was just something about her you had to know." Alonzo paused, looking at Robin directly, his dark eyes sincere. "I am thinking that this heart-Marian's heart, now Regina's heart-that it was designed just for you, that it's connected to your own heart in some way, like they're two halves of a whole. Perhaps they're soulmates."
A small laugh escaped him as the power of Alonzo's words took root. Something popped then began to grow inside his chest, a warmth, a certainty, a sliver of hope that started to burn with possibility and promise. He looked back up at the photograph, at his younger self, at his wife, seeing a blessing in her eyes he'd never before noticed.
"Thank you," he whispered, feeling her again, understanding that moving on didn't mean losing this beautiful piece of his past. Marian's memory would always be a part of him, a beautiful, strong part that fastened him together and urged him to enjoy every aspect of life that he could. Life had never been easy for her, yet she'd embraced it through the pain, through the bad spells, had flourished both because of and in spite of her lupus. She'd taught him how to live, had made him a father, and would certainly be pushing him out the door right now if she were standing here beside him.
Go, she would have said with that half-smile of hers that had always enchanted him. Get out there and live, Birdbrain. He laughed as her voice echoed in his mind, as the nickname she'd given him when he first tried to kiss her sang in his memory, as her touch reverberated through bone and marrow.
"What do I say to her?" Robin asked, his mind clawing out of its muddled state into a brilliance that was somewhat frightening. "To Regina?"
Alonzo smiled back at him, patting him on the back as a tear trickled down his cheek.
"That's easy," the older man stated. "Just tell her whatever is in your heart."
Her feet hurt.
Regina slid her low heels off of her feet and massaged her toes, making a mental note to herself that tomorrow she was wearing her Go Walks, regardless of whether they matched her outfit or not. Her lower back grumbled as she made her way to the sofa and plopped down on top of it, too weary to think about eating even though she knew she'd skipped lunch.
The truth was food wasn't all that appealing at the moment. An unexpected encounter with a certain, bearded gentleman had left her stomach uneasy and her nerves on edge.
An explanation would be lovely, too.
The words echoed in her head as his face played across her memory, his blue eyes ablaze, his expression tight. He'd been angry-angry and hurt, and God, she couldn't blame him, not one iota. She'd run out on him without a word right after they'd made love, giving him neither an explanation nor a true apology. She'd even been too much of a coward to answer his texts or calls, and now even those had stopped.
He had every right to be angry. Christ, she was angry with herself.
Her hands reached for her cell phone, and she withdrew it from her pocket, staring at the screen, clicking on his name, fingers trembling as she considered sending him a text. But her mind froze, and words escaped her, fleeing into a world that was far less complicated than the one in which she was living.
Goodbye, Regina. His words still hammered inside her skull, making her ache all over, making her long for a man who deserved the woman he'd lost, not her. She was a poor substitute, and she knew it. She was weak. She was second best. Yet she was the one who lived because inside her chest beat Marian's heart.
Marian: Robin's dead wife. Roland's mother. It was that woman, the one who'd been everything to the man she was half-in love with, the one who'd given him Roland. She'd been the one who'd had to die in order for her to live. How the hell was she supposed to tell him that? How was she supposed to handle the way he would look at her? The disgust and disappointment? The outrage? The outright rejection she knew would follow?
She couldn't-she wasn't strong enough. Her mother had told her as much all her life, that she was damaged, broken and weak. But Regina had rebelled against the notion of weakness, had balked at it, swatted at it, had shoved it as far away from her life as she could manage. But in times like this, when she felt naked and vulnerable, when her chest felt like a traitorous cavern, the words pushed back, like a hot air balloon inflating at far too rapid a pace and forcing her into a wall.
Weakness is unattractive. Weakness is a defect. Why don't you just accept your life as it is and make the best of it?
She'd done the opposite of accepting limitations, however. She'd defied her heart condition, had gone to medical school, had finished head of her class, had adopted a son when her own parents questioned her sanity in doing so, and through that adoption she'd found a love like none she'd ever known, a love that bloomed inside of her and pushed her to keep going even when she'd felt like giving up. Henry was her everything. Henry was her life.
If only she'd left things as they were.
She should have been satisfied simply being a doctor and a mom. Things had been fine before Mr. Blue Eyes and Dimples had shown up in her life and made her tingle in places she'd nearly forgotten. She should have fought her attraction to Robin, should have turned him down when he asked her out, should have never let herself kiss him, touch him, talk to him, or undress him and taste his skin. She shouldn't have opened her legs to his mouth, shouldn't have taken him inside her body, shouldn't have allowed him to come inside of her, shouldn't have allowed herself to come on his tongue. But she had, and now a part of her was his forever, a part she could never get back even though he had already probably discarded it as a worthless piece of garbage. He'd imprinted himself on her very soul leaving marks she wanted to trace and memorize just as he'd done her scar.
God, she missed him. She missed what she could never have.
Hunger began to claw at her, and she knew she should eat, so she pushed herself off of the couch and into her kitchen. It was then she noticed the half prepared salad that had been left sitting on the counter and a pot of cold spaghetti left unattended on the stove. She looked around, wondering just where Henry and Mary Margaret had gone, noticing the house was unusually silent. Mary Margaret was always methodical about cleaning up, and a stab of fear sliced into her as she called out their names to no avail.
Her phone vibrated then, and she nearly cried in relief as Mary Margaret's name flashed in her notifications.
Henry and I decided to get some ice cream. Cravings happen at the oddest times these days.
She laughed in relief.
They must. You forgot to put away the spaghetti and salad. Tell Henry a two scoop minimum.
She hit send before dumping the noodles into the garbage disposal, checking her new message as she closed the refrigerator door.
Sorry about that! I'll buy you some more pasta if it's ruined.
Regina leaned against the counter, her stomach prompting her to open the fridge and search for something for herself. She pulled out some leftover chicken and rice before moving to get a plate and answering Mary Margaret.
No need. We have plenty.
Before she could set the phone down, another text popped up.
Henry wants to know if he can join me and David for an early movie. We're planning on taking in the 7:10 showing of Zootopia. Okay with you?
Regina raised her eyebrows, fatigue battling with her need to see her son as she texted her answer.
That's fine. Just no sodas since he's having ice cream.
She envisioned her son rolling his eyes at this, and she smiled, hoping they would have a good night out, knowing that the company of his godparents would be far better than her own tonight. But that meant she was going to be alone with her thoughts, and that wasn't a pleasant prospect, not in the least, so she tossed her plate into the microwave before popping open a bottle of Malbec and pouring herself a generous glass. The wine tasted like heaven, smooth and rich, warming her empty stomach instantly as it made its way down her throat. She sighed in contentment and took another drink, knowing she really needed to eat something so one glass of wine wouldn't have her completely snockered. But she stood there, taking sip after sip until her glass was empty and her body felt pleasantly fuzzy and weighted.
Regina welcomed the buzz, the way it made her insides tingle and her thoughts just a little bit easier to stomach. She pulled her plate out of the microwave and set it on the counter, instantly popping a piece of chicken in her mouth before deciding on impulse to put on her pajamas before allowing herself to eat any more. She'd revel in her own private misery tonight, would drench it in wine and feed it with Breyer's Vanilla Bean, would try to lose it in a rewatch of While You Were Sleeping while snuggling under her favorite quilt.
She removed her makeup and her bra, glibly tossing the latter into the clothes hamper, realizing what a pathetic mess she'd made of her bedroom. This wasn't like her-she knew this, and she closed her eyes as she slid on her favorite pair of flannels and pulled on thick, fuzzy socks, promising herself that she'd straighten things up tomorrow. Just because her personal life had come apart at the seams didn't mean her bedroom had to look far worse than Henry's.
It was then that her doorbell rang.
Her son must have forgotten something, she mused, and she tried to figure out just what he'd come all the way home to fetch as she made her way down the stairs. He had his phone, she was certain of that, and if he needed money, Mary Margaret and David would take care of him until she could pay them back. She unlatched the chain and opened her front door, her breath hitching in her chest as a half-formed question froze on her tongue.
"Robin."
His name fell from her lips before she could stop it, and she stood there, frozen in time, staring at him as he stood on her doorstep, hands in his coat pockets, his cheeks red from the cold.
"What are you….what are you doing here?"
He took a step towards her as snow flurried around him. His breath formed an odd sort of halo around his head, and as he drew nearer, she saw that he'd been crying.
"Oh, God," she asked, her heart constricting. "Is Roland okay?"
"Yes," he assured her, his tone deep and raw. "Roland's fine. He's at home resting."
She nodded as her body began to shiver, and she clutched the door, wondering just what she should say next.
"I'm not here because of Roland," he added, looking at her in a manner she couldn't read. Her mind ran in circles, making her dizzy as she stood there gaping at him.
"Oh?"
The word left her unbidden, and her gaze followed it to his face, all blotched from cold and recently shed tears. He could break her, this man, would probably do so tonight if he'd come to demand answers from her.
"I'm here to talk to you."
Her stomach cinched, and she tried to swallow.
"Regina," he said, his chin quivering. "Can I come in? Please?"
She nodded before she could think better of it, standing back to let him inside. The cold radiated off of him as he stomped snow off of his boots onto her rug before pulling them off of his feet. He set them beside the line of shoes by the door, looking to her to make certain he was doing the right thing.
"I'll take your coat," she said, the sense of him overwhelming as he took off his coat and extended it in her direction. He wore a muted green Henley, one that accentuated his muscles, muscles she knew intimately, ones she'd kissed and caressed, ones that had held her tightly as she'd cracked open around him. She breathed in and out, willing her hands not to tremble as she hung his coat on a hook and turned to face him.
He hadn't shaved since last night, and he looked tired as his hands slid into his jean pockets.
"We need to talk," he said, and she closed her eyes, his words weaving around her in a gentle vice.
"I know."
Her heart thudded in her chest, as if trying to break free of her body and return to its rightful owner. Her stomach growled then, and he paused, looking at her earnestly.
"When did you last eat?"
She actually laughed at this, consulting her watch before looking back at him.
"About eight hours ago," she stated, and he rolled his eyes. "It's been a busy couple of days."
"Yes," he agreed, his tone difficult to make out. "It has."
His demeanor was different than when they'd ran into each other at the hospital last night, far less hostile yet decidedly more nervous. Before she could ask him what had brought about the change, he was guiding her back into her kitchen and motioning to the plate she'd left sitting on the counter.
"Eat first," he instructed, leaning against her sink as if he belonged there. "Please."
Her stomach growled again, and he smiled, actually smiled at her in a way that made her knees practically melt. Shit. She couldn't let herself feel this way about him, not when she knew she'd have to tell him the truth about everything, about her heart, about Henry's letter, about the fact that she was alive because his Marian had died. Her fork paused halfway to her mouth, a piece of broccoli dangling just in front of her.
"I'm not sure I can," she confessed. She made herself look at him, trying to keep herself together as her heart raced ahead of them both.
"You need to, Regina," he stated. He was watching her as if he'd just met her, yet as if he'd known her his entire life. "Please. I won't be comfortable talking with you until you've put something into your body."
She popped the broccoli into her mouth, turning away from him as she chewed, feeling uncomfortable under his scrutiny. She poured herself another glass of wine and took a large sip before taking a bite of chicken.
"What if I'm not ready to talk?" she asked, avoiding his gaze for a breathless moment as she took another bite. He stared back at her, inhaling audibly as he looked down at his hands.
"I can't force you to," he said. "But I think it would do both of us a world of good. Don't you?"
She swallowed the rice in her mouth, grabbing her wine to wash it down.
"I'm not sure," she admitted, feeling her cheeks heat up as the wine added weight to her limbs. "Last night, you were so angry, as you had every right to be, but…" She paused, swallowing as best she could as her tongue and throat thickened. "I don't know if I'm up for this, Robin, for what I have to tell you."
Her fork dropped to the plate as her hands began to shake, and she ran her fingers through her hair, trying to calm nerves going haywire. He was in front of her before she realized he'd moved, taking her hands within his own, his own body trembling in time with hers.
"Regina," he whispered, and that did it, she couldn't look at him, so she closed her eyes, trying to block out what was coming even as all of who he was held on to her. "Don't be frightened."
She shook her head, breathing in and out, in and out, trying to focus, trying to swallow, trying to remain upright even though the room was spinning around her. Darkness was closing in, and she grew rigid, but his grip didn't falter. It was just there, steady, gentle yet firm, almost burning her skin even as it soothed in a manner that made her want to cry.
"You don't…" she began, trying to put her words in the right order. "You don't know, Robin. I...I…"
He withdrew his hands from hers, and she missed his touch immediately. But then he was cupping her face with one palm, tipping her chin upwards, asking her wordlessly to look at him as he held something in his other hand.
"Regina," he breathed as her gaze focused in on what she now knew was a letter. "I do know. I know it all."
It was then that it hit her,that he held Henry's letter, and she splintered apart from the inside out, shattering into a million pieces as tears spilled down her cheeks. Everything was black except for him, his face, his mouth, and she shut her eyes against him, fearing what she might find if she allowed herself to look.
"I'm sorry," she managed, her words slurring together in a sob she couldn't contain. "I'm so, so sorry."
"No," he breathed, his arms moving to her shoulders as her knees buckled. "No, Regina. You don't need to…"
"I didn't know," she interrupted, daring to open her eyes, his face a muted blur through her tears. "I swear to God, Robin, I didn't..."
She collapsed into him as her last word melted in her mouth, and he held her to his chest, easing them both down onto the kitchen floor as he made soothing noises into her hair.
"I know," he whispered against her temple as his fingers stroked her scalp. "I know you didn't, sweetheart. It's alright. It's alright."
A wail broke free, and she held on to him for dear life, too lost to let go, too broken to care. She barely registered the soft kisses to her forehead, the gentle patterns his fingers drew onto her arm, the whispered words of assurance that brushed over her skin. She only knew that he was the sole warmth in a room suddenly gone frigid, and she couldn't lose him, not now, not yet, not like this.
"Henry told me," he muttered when her sobbing eased somewhat. "He found his letter in your pocket and somehow figured everything out."
She swallowed and turned to stare at him, trying to make sense of words floating haphazardly in her brain.
"Henry?" she said, blinking repeatedly.
"Yes," he stated. "Your son. He paid me a visit this afternoon to return this to me."
She tried to sit upright, and he helped her maneuver until she was sitting next to him, both of their backs pressed up against the cabinets, their legs and shoulders still touching.
"He found it?" she asked, still trying to re-arranging puzzle pieces that wouldn't fit together.
"In your pants' pocket," he added, wiping his own cheek. "He was smart enough to figure out that you must have found it at my place, and he somehow enlisted Mary Margaret, August and Belle to help him get it back to me."
"Belle?" Regina questioned, obviously confused. "Belle French? The nurse?"
"Yes," he said. "Evidently she'd come by the restaurant to eat when Henry and Mary Margaret came in looking for me. I was home with Roland, so August got dragged into their plan. The next thing I know, they're all standing on my doorstep, asking if they can come in."
She inhaled slowly, allowing her mind to sort through the details he was laying in front of her.
"He's very brave, your Henry," Robin muttered, reaching out and taking her hand. His thumb stroked over her knuckles, strumming emotions laid bare just under her skin and making her shiver. "He told me everything, about your transplant, about how it wasn't your real birthday last week, about how he wrote that letter without you even knowing about it because…"
He paused, clearing his throat as his own voice thickened.
"Because of how guilty you felt," he breathed. "Because someone else's heart allowed you to live."
She swallowed hard, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.
"Marian's," she managed, the name burning her tongue. She looked at him then, seeing a flash of something bruised yet beautiful as he gazed back at her.
"Yes," he whispered. "Marian's."
"You were there," she muttered, still wrapping this reality around her. "In the hospital, while I was in surgery. You were there grieving while..."
She faltered, and he held her as she felt his own tears against her skin.
"While your life was being saved," he said, sniffing and wiping his face. "I know."
"You don't care?"
The question hovered between them, silent yet weighted as he slowly shook his head.
"I care very much," he answered with a slight shrug. "Just not the way you think."
"What do you…"
"I'm glad it's you, Regina," he stated, his words coming out in an emotional rush. "That you're the one who got a second chance at life, that you're the one that Marian's heart saved. I'm glad..." He choked on the words, inhaling sharply beside her. "And Marian would be, too."
Her head was swimming in circles.
"I'm not her, you know," she said, the words tumbling over each other as they came out. "I'm not as strong as she was, Robin. And I know you'd rather have her, I do. And I don't blame you…"
He silenced her with his mouth, pressing it up against her own, holding her face as he kissed her and stole her breath away. His lips were soft, tenderer than she remembered, and she allowed her lips to move against his, their slow dance as gentle as the brush of a butterfly's wings. She gaped at him when he drew back far enough to touch his forehead to her own, her heart standing on tiptoe as his thumb caressed her cheek.
"I don't need you to be her, Regina," he breathed. "I loved Marian with everything I had, and yes, a part of me will always miss her. That's only right." His breath was hot against her lips, his skin as warm as an electric blanket. "But I ache for you."
Their eyes met and locked, and for a moment she couldn't breathe. She could only stare at him, touch him, wonder at the mystery of what was happening, revel in the frantic fluttering of her heart against her ribs.
"What are you saying?" she asked, her words barely audible even to herself.
"That we all deserve a second chance, Regina," he uttered, his tone low and private. "And somehow, Marian has given us both one, together." His hand dropped from her cheek to her chest, pressing gently over her ribcage as she cradled his head to her shoulder. His tears dripped onto her flannel as a stray one of her own fell into his hair, and she kissed the top of his head, holding on to him with an urgency that half terrified her. "Don't leave me again. Please."
She closed her eyes as she shook her head.
"I won't," she whispered, pulling him closer as her heart thrummed against his palm. He planted a soft kiss to her chest, directly into the V-neck of her pajama top and on top of her scar. Its intimacy nearly shattered her, and she breathed him in, trembling as his breath and finger continued to stroke her ribcage. "I'm with you. Always."
"Always," he muttered, holding on to her with a calm desperation she shared that somehow promised forever.