AN: Thank you so much for the love and encouragement you've sent while reading this story. Sometimes I post things about it on Tumblr. You can find me there at outlawqueenluvr. XOXO, Jess
Black Ink and a Prophecy
Fifteen Minutes Ago
Not long after Roland and Regina left Robin sitting in front of the low burning fire, John and Much meandered over to their fearless leader.
"Morning, gentlemen," Robin greets.
"Gentlemen? She's rubbing off on you, you know. All this proper speech and whatnot," Much teases jestingly. "What happened to the foul-mouthed thief we're so used to?"
"You offend, I'm quite sure nothing's changed about that," Robin assures, chuckling a bit. He stands and crosses his arms. "Maybe for once you lot aren't screwing up as much, so I have no need to curse you as openly."
"Or maybe you fancy the queen, and you're smitten. I caught the two of you red-handed not yesterday, snogging under a tree. Good thing I'm light on my feet otherwise, I'd have ruined a perfectly good moment," Much winks. He bends down and grabs up the last few crumbs of Robin's scone, licking his fingers.
So that's how his friend knew and told Roland of his papa's playtime with Regina. Robin lets his head hang down and groans, kicking at dust, because he knows what's about to come next.
"You and the queen were doing what?" Little John asks alarmingly, not giving the archer a chance to baulk at Much's comment. "Robin, remember what I said about her? I know you want to see the good, but you still need to be cautious."
There it is.
"We've talked about this John–" Robin begins, but is cut off by a clap on his shoulder and Much's voice.
"Oh, for the love of all that's good and holy, give Robin a break, man. Don't be a wind-sucker, John. It doesn't suit you."
John looks annoyed, grinding his teeth together, but instead of responding he turns his attention back to the task at hand.
"We thought it best to survey the river and our outposts given the severity of the storm yesterday. Wanted to know if you'd like to join," the big, bear of a man huffs.
"Ah, so you had more productive intentions other than enjoying a laugh at my expense. Well, in that case, let's get a move on you scoundrels," Robin instructs, standing up.
He grabs his bow and leads the way. Maybe if the fate's smile on him, they can catch up to Regina and Roland before they reach his son's fort.
It doesn't take but minutes for them to approach the western bend of the riverbank, on higher ground than the usually tranquil, flowing stream. Not but a quick sprint to where Regina and Roland are probably crossing the fallen log bridge at any moment. The sound of the rapids is deafening, and Much's good God, the river has become a beast, forces Robin to look up.
To their great dismay, they see the waterline is swollen to at least five times its normal width and depth. The channel moves at an alarming speed, gobbling up anything in its path. Robin's heart begins to pound. There is no mistaking the treachery of water when there is plenty of it, and it is angry enough. And this river looks very angry.
"Isn't Roland's fort across the river?" John asks, watching the sweeping current. And as if on cue, all three of them hear a strangled scream and halt in their steps.
A silent understanding passed between them, and each man dashes along the shore. The scream unmistakable, Robin runs faster than he's ever run before, another panicked yell cuts through the air, and he darts over small boulders and broken branches, ripped off by last night's gale winds. Much and Little John try desperately to keep up with him. When he rounds the bend, he sees that the usual log that he and Roland cross to get to their fort is gone, dislodged and pulled from its place. He doesn't halt his pace, keeps going because he knows that if Regina and Roland aren't here, and neither is the log, then there's only one place they can be – in the river – and the shout that follows yanks his eyes down river.
Frantically, his eyes rake over the rapids, while he barrels forward. He can't see anything, fuck, where are they, he shouts. Much and John catch up behind him, and Much hollers and points. Robin's gaze follows his motion; he sees what his friend sees, and his feet carry him faster than he thought possible.
Everything happens so quickly after that. He hears Regina's strangled shouts and Roland's shrieking cries; he can see them, her arms flailing, Roland's holding tightly onto her neck, and his grip keeps pushing her under water. Robin shouts their names, but they can't hear him over the roaring rapids. He's trying not to trip, stumbling and hoisting himself up and over rocks. He's so close, just forty or fifty feet away from them, but it might as well be miles, because as soon as he gains distance, the river steals Regina and his son away from him further downstream.
Adrenaline pumps through his veins, and he's grateful for years of running from the law and trekking over mountainous terrain, because it's helping him push forward, helping him not to lose momentum. Regina crashes into a boulder, the river drags her and his son down, and they disappear from his sight again.
"Robin!" John shouts. "We have to cut them off before they reach the falls!"
"I know!" he yells back, and he also knows the moment he slows down, he's going to fall apart.
He refuses to lose Roland, refuses to lose Regina. He will not say goodbye to someone he loves again.
Robin trips and almost face plants into the dirt. Gravel and mud cling to his palms, and when he looks up and pushes himself off the ground, his breath leaves him.
Roland is no longer in the river, he appears on the shore twenty feet in front of him, and a purple and silvery, white cloud dissipates around his son. Roland coughs, and sputters, and cries, but he seems to be alright, and Regina is still in the roaring rapids.
"Much! John!"
"We got him. Go!"
The father runs toward the edge of the riverbank and propels himself out over the water as far as he can. The frigid river bites at his skin, and he worries even more about how long Regina has been under the surface. He needs to get to her soon. Robin swims, and kicks, and strokes his arms through the water, pulling his body more quickly through the current. Moments more pass, and the powers that be must be someone looking out for him, because Regina gasps above the surface, stopped by a cluster of rock and tree limbs built up by the storm. He paddles hard and makes it to her just as she slips below the surface again.
Robin dives under, and when he breaks above the rapids again, he's holding her in his arms. Regina's head lulls forward, and he has to keep her face above the water. He clings to her with one arm and grabs onto a low-hanging branch, the force of the current, trying to rip him back into its death like grip again. When he finally pulls them both to shore. Each harsh inhale burns, but his only concern is for the woman in his arms. He places her down in a clearing, and rests his hand gently on her chest, trying to feel for the rise and fall of life in her lungs, but it does not come.
Cold panic grips his heart.
"Regina?" he shouts, swiping plastered strands of drenched hair on her forehead out of her face. He cups her pale cheeks.
Regina is unresponsive. She draws no breath. A desperation that he's only felt one other time in his life seizes him. She must breath, he thinks. She must. He needs to do something. She is a pale, ghostly white, and her once bright lips are deathly blue. Robin grips her shoulders and shakes her gently.
"Regina, please breathe," he pleads, a sob escapes his throat, her head hangs awkwardly to the side and nothing.
"I won't let you do this!' he demands, tears building in his eyes. "I will not let you leave me. Not when I've only just found you."
If she can't breathe, Robin will breathe for her. He places his lips on hers, pinches her nose, and exhales into her mouth, again, and again, and again, an inhale shortly followed by a puff of air. Robin breathes for Regina. Every moment that she doesn't take her own is another moment he feels darkness anchor a foothold, her life slipping through his fingers.
You will not have her, he tells it.
Again, he breathes into her. Long and deep, and he pulls back. Rain drizzles, mixing with tears dripping gently on her face.
"Regina, please," he whispers into her neck.
Robin's fingertips trace from her temple to her chin. He lets his head fall onto her chest, his shoulders shaking in grief.
Once more, he tells himself. Just once more.
His lips quiver as they press against hers, and he exhales one final time. Robin swallows a hard lump in his throat and sighs painfully. He presses his forehead to Regina's and doesn't hold back. He cries, sobs course through his body, and then Regina coughs, water sputters out of her mouth, and it's the most beautiful sound he has ever heard. Her eyes flutter open, he kisses her temple.
"Robin?" she rasps, and he laughs in relief – in pure heartfelt relief – because he hasn't lost her, doesn't need to imagine life without her, can continue to spend mornings with her by the campfire with Roland, eating biscuits, and drinking milk, and enjoying the real reason he suggested he and his son bring the Queen breakfast all those weeks ago – to see her smile, to hear her laugh, to touch her hand if she let him, to smell her faint perfume, and proceed to fall more madly in love with her.
Regina's fingers cling to his water-logged jacket, and he holds onto her so tightly his face smothers in her hair. He breathes her in, whispering that he's got her.
"I'll never let you go," Robin says, heaving a deep sigh. Regina believes him, completely trusts him, and for the first time, she feels safe.
He tightens his hold on her, and she gasps painfully. His brow creases in worry and fear.
"Regina?" he implores, pushing back hair that has fallen across her brow. Her eyes close. "Regina, are you hurt?" But, she doesn't answer.
With the little he knows about healing, the one detail he does know echoes in his head.
Never move the wounded when you don't know the extent of their injuries.
He casts his eyes about anxiously and sees Much running toward them.
"Stay with me, Regina. Open those beautiful eyes," he says, trying to keep her conscious.
She blinks languidly, and Robin presses his lips to the top of her head.
"You're going to be alright," he soothes against her ear, wiping tears away from his eyes. "Stay with me. Roland needs you. I need you."
Much sinks down beside him.
"Where's my boy?" Robin asks quickly.
"John took him back to camp. Our littlest Merry Man is in good care. He's fine, just shaken and a little cold. He's worried about her. How is she, she alive?" Much asks in dread, hand on his leader's shoulder.
Robin takes a deep breath and tries to control the quiver in his voice.
"Yes, but she's hurt. I'm afraid to move her, I can't see what's wrong."
"She is strong, Robin. She'll be alright."
Robin nods and closes his eyes in an attempt to calm himself. When his gaze meets his friend's again, he tells him, "We have to get her back to camp. Go, warn the others I'm bringing her."
Robin bends his knees and gently gathers Regina into his arms, rising to his feet. He wants to run, but he does not want to risk injuring her further. He sets out on a fast walk. Perhaps it's from fright that he cannot feel her weight, but she is alarmingly light in his arms. Robin quickens his pace just a tad. His arms ache, and he's unbelievably exhausted, but the idea of letting her go even for a moment is abhorrent. He will not rest until he knows for certain she is out of the woods, warm and safe in the comfort of camp.
Robin feels Regina's fingers grasp his hand, and she groans when he jostles her a bit to get a better hold on her.
"Regina?" he whispers hopefully.
"Robin," she pants, her eyes remaining closed and her brow furrowed in pain. "My side…hurts."
He turns worried eyes to his hand holding her to him. "We're nearly there, Regina. Just hold on for me a bit longer."
Regina tries to take a deep breath, but she can't, a burning prevents her, and her eyes flicker open again.
"What happened?" she asks, her voice hushed and gravelly.
"You almost drowned," he says, and then sees horror wash over her face. He knows what she must have just realized. She immediately tries to pull herself up in his arm, but the sudden movement pulls an agonized cry from her lips.
"Regina, stop! It's okay. Roland's okay. He's fine," Robin reassures her. "He's with John."
Once she knows her dimpled, little knight is safe; she lets herself relax into Robin's protective hold. He doesn't want to, but he needs adjust her weight again, otherwise he's going to drop her. He shifts his arms and pulls her up closer to his chest. She gasps, a pain as she's never felt before radiates through her like white, hot knives, and it's too much. She succumbs to blackness.
Robin can count the number of times he has felt this distressed and helpless with three fingers. The first, when illness rooted its way into his wife, threatening to take her life and the life of their unborn child. The second, a tragic night that continues to haunt him, the night he lost his Marian. The third, when Roland woke from his first nightmare, hiccupping because of inconsolable sobs that wracked his tiny, little body.
Now, he's just as equally helpless, with Regina blacked out in his arms, her lips tinged blue and slightly purple. For the first time, in a long time, Robin is terribly frightened, and something – an emotion he hasn't felt in quite a while – chokes his heart and churns his stomach.
Robin runs back into camp, Regina hangs limply in his protective hold.
Snow sees them first, her eyes squint in confusion before they widen, finally focusing on Robin's frantic facial expression, an unconscious Regina in his arms. Snow drops the firewood she carries and rushes toward them. Much shouts for Doc and Granny.
"Come on, her tent is over here," Snow says, motioning to the other side of camp.
Robin shakes his head, "No, mine's closer," he directs the princess with a nod of his head. Snow doesn't argue and follows him, hearing her stepmother moan in his arms.
"I've got you, Regina," Robin says to her as she starts to come back to him, her eyes flutter open. His steps become more determined as he gets to the entrance of his tent. Granny and Doc run up behind them, Snow moves the heavy canvas aside, and Robin ducks in.
He easily lays Regina on a high table near the center of his tent. He and Roland usually use it to build castles and play make believe. It's been the wall of a fortress, the cave of a dragon's lair, the foundation of an impenetrable fortress. This is the first time he's used it as a makeshift healer's table.
"What happened?" Doc inquires.
Regina whimpers, biting her bottom lip, her eyes still hazy after regaining consciousness. Her side burns, and she's afraid to touch it. She's vaguely aware that Robin carried her here, jumped into the river after her and dragged her out, moments before she was about to drown. She can hear Robin telling the dwarf, Snow and Granny about the rapids, Roland, her passing out and grasping her side. Their voices start to sound fuzzy, and she's faintly aware of the fact that the room has started to spin.
Regina does her best to control her breathing, but, even so, it's proving difficult, especially with her corset constricting with every exhale of precious air. Weakly, she closes her eyes, tries to breath in through her nose and out through her mouth deeply, the rise and fall of her chest short and sporadic.
Oh, God, she can't breath.
She barely lifts her hand, tries to get their attention, but Snow, and Granny, and Doc aren't looking at her face. Her gaze shifts up, and her brown eyes meet with Robin's deep blues, silently pleading.
Robin's brow furrows in horror, and he realizes what ails her instantly. In a fluid motion, he grabs the hunting knife secured at his waist, cuts the strings of the offending garment that's compressing her lungs, and, in one, quick and gentle swipe, frees her of it. The corset flies open, and leaning her head back, Regina lets out a pained gasp and grateful sigh. She's left in the skirt of her dress and a thin, linen blouse.
"Robin!" Snow shouts.
"Can't you see, she can't breath!" he cups Regina's cheek and wipes her wet, matted hair away from her face.
Modesty, Regina thinks, the least of her worries.
"Robin," she pants, fingers shaking as she motions toward her injury. "I think i-it's… b-broken…ribs."
Doc's eyebrows raise, and he begins to assess her side, lifting the fabric of her shirt up to rest just below her breasts.
Her creamy skin already swollen below her ribs and bruised a deep, ugly violet.
Regina stifles a small cry, and Robin takes her trembling hand in his. Every touch, every move, unbearable. She tries not to shout out as his fingers poke and prod ever so gently, continues to stare above her, not wanting to make eye contact with the other three people in the room, focusing only on the thief's gaze, in fear of losing control of her emotions. She needs to be strong, even if tears threaten to cloud her vision.
Robin stands behind her, one of her hands in his, but his other is gently placed at her temple, thumb stroking against her skin. He hears it before he sees it; his eyes leave those around her and he looks down to find her teeth are chattering from cold. That's when he notices the hand he holds in his is like ice.
Robin rubs her hand between his, then up and down both her forearms. He needs to get her warm. He bends down so only she can hear him. "Just a bit longer. Then I'll make a fire and we'll get you under furs."
"Y-you're c-cold, too," she stutters.
He interrupts her with a kiss on her brow. "I'm alright."
Silence lingers. He kissed her on her brow. He swallows, flicking his eyes to Snow and Granny. They're not looking at him, but he knows they both saw the gesture of affection.
"Dear," Doc says, pity in his voice.
Regina lifts her head, but Robin pushes her down to prevent her from rising any further. She groans and black specks dance across her vision. Doc examines the swelled area below and around her right lower ribs with a kind touch. She bites her lip again and represses another cry with each touch on her skin, registering the worry in all of their quiet voices.
Robin's eyes are stormy as they meet hers.
Snow stands still, hasn't moved a muscle, and, as always, her eyes shine with sympathy. As for Doc, his gaze is determined and highly concentrated on her injury.
"You're in luck, your majesty," Doc says, "only a couple of broken ribs."
"Are you kidding me?" Regina utters in shock, attempting to sit up on her elbows, she's stubborn and her anger flares up for a moment at what the dwarf is implying. As if those broken bones weren't , once again, holds her in place with the slight pressure of his hand.
"This won't take long. I just need to set them. Hold her down," Doc says, wiping beads of sweat off his forehead.
"I'm right here, you can address me," Regina hisses through clenched teeth, panting through pained breathes.
She knows talking is probably making it worse, each word requires her lungs, and, thus, her rib cage to expand with each push and pull of air.
Doc nods at Snow, Granny and Robin. Granny moves to Regina's legs, bracing her elderly but sturdy arms around them as Robin places his other hand on her other shoulder, preventing Regina from moving. His touch is strong but gentle. Snow comes to stand by Regina's side opposite from Doc, she grabs her hand and gently squeezes, trying to be reassuring, but what Regina sees in Snow's eyes scares her.
This isn't going to be pleasant.
"Everyone ready?" Doc says, placing his fingers over a rib.
Regina whines again, his touch burns her skin. Doc's hands barely touch her. She whimpers, because she knows this is going to hurt – a lot. She breathes more rapidly, eyes darting around to each of their faces.
Why can't she just use magic? Curse Rumplestiltskin for never teaching her how to stitch skin and bone back together again, curse him for only showing her how to break necks and steal hearts and ruin lives. Curse her dark magic, and anger, and temper for preventing her from manipulating light into healing sickness and ailments.
"Hold her down," Doc says.
"No, w-wait. Give me a minute…" Regina says, struggling to see him, but she can't from this angle, not with Robin's hands on her shoulders.
Robin bends down, and she hears his voice in her ear, "I'm here, Regina," before he stands and nods at Doc to continue, but that's all Regina catches before Doc abruptly presses down on her torso, and a strangled scream rips through her throat and into Robin's tent. It's enough to make everyone, in and outside the canvas home, jump out of their skins from the unexpected, deafening noise.
Regina flings her head back, trying to move away from the torturing pain, the horrible throbbing now running from the tip of her toes, up her spine, and into her brain. Granny and Robin apply more pressure on their hold, doing their best to keep her as still as possible.
Doc keeps a heavy hand on her side as Regina continues to spasm uncontrollably, tears flow down her face, and she has no self-control over the tremors that rage within her body.
Snow grabs a small basin of cold water from behind her, takes a cloth and soaks it, draining the excess liquid, she hands it to Robin before grabbing another one.
"Here," Snow says, water dripping from her hands. "It'll ease the swelling."
Regina's skin is pale, her body is trying to cope with her injury, her temperature rising as it fights against the unforgiving boulder's damage. Robin gently eases the cloth onto her skin, soothing it over her brow, down the side of her face, and along the hollow of her neck, he lifts her slightly so she's sitting, leaning all of her weight against his chest.
"It's going to be alright," Robin assures her, and presses a kiss against her temple. He doesn't care who sees it.
Her head lolls to the side and rests into his shoulder; the top of her hair tickles the bottom of his chin. Color flushes her cheeks, her sickly complexion slowly disappearing.
"See, that wasn't so bad, your majesty," Doc says, taking the other cloth from Snow and holding it to Regina's tender skin.
"I-I'll... kill you," she mutters. Doc's eyes widen before everyone begins to chuckle except for Robin. He only smirks and continues to gently dab the cool cloth against her skin, wicking sweat away.
There's his sassy queen.
"We need to wrap her ribs," Granny states.
Robin feels Regina inhale – ready to bite back – no doubt to make known to everyone that she is indeed, 'fine' but he puts his hand on her arm.
"Regina, she's right. It'll help you heal and make it easier to breathe. Let them help you," he insists. His hold on her is gentle, but his grip on her is strong.
"Fine, but get rid of the audience," she huffs indignantly, glancing down; she sweeps her gaze past her chest.
He follows her eye line and knows immediately what she means. Her bust is obvious, made more tantalizing by her wet smock. Granny nods to Robin and shoos Snow White and Doc away, both reluctant to leave, but she assures them she has it under control.
"Would you prefer I left as well?" Robin offers.
She stares at her front for a moment longer then back up at Robin. He stares as well, so she clears her throat to get his attention.
"No, it's nothing you haven't seen already," she attempts a smirk, but it comes out as a grimace when she tries to shift in his arms.
"Robin, I'm going to need your help." Granny says, already moving around the room. "Do you have another shirt?"
He nods, telling her he did.
"Can you sit?" he asks Regina, and she tells him she can. Robin leaves her back and picks one up one from the pile of fresh shirts cleaned earlier in the morning. He waves it behind him toward Granny, averting his eyes from what he thinks is about to happen. He may have seen Regina baked before, but he will be a gentlemen until she desires otherwise.
"Here," he offers blindly, but feels Granny push it back toward him.
"Good, I'll help her out of this wet shirt, and you grab a knife. If you can, cut or tear it into one long strip, about as wide as that blade of yours. A spiral cut from the bottom will do. We'll use it to bind her ribs, and get yourself out of that wet shirt, you're gonna have to help me hold her, and the last thing I need is for her to be any colder than she already is. Think you can handle this boy?"
Robin's mouth goes dry, but he replies with an, "if that's what you require." He sets the shirt he's about to shred down on the table next to Regina, and then turns his back to her before peeling his sopping garment off. Regina peers at him as Granny helps her ease her own shirt off, giving him a peeved look.
"You wanted to stay, remember? Don't coy-up on me now."
''Coyness is not the problem," he mutters under his breath, grabbing another tunic, he pulls it on.
Granny continues, "I need you to help steady Regina on her feet, while I do the binding. It needs to be tight, and it's too awkward for me to hold her as well. I won't be able to get it compressed enough."
Pulling out the hunting knife from his belt, Robin gets to work. "I've got it," he tells her, and within a few minutes, he transforms one of his shirts into a length of fabric and offers it to Granny.
"Alright, help her to her feet," she instructs.
Robin swallows and turns toward Regina, wearing only her soft, floor length skirt; water drips from the hem and muddies the ground. Although, her arm is draped modestly over her breasts – demureness intact – the air leaves Robin's lungs in a rush, and he swallows hard at the sight of her.
She truly is stunning.
Bathed in beams of light streaming in from a few cracks where the canvas flap rustles because of wind, Regina's body is all soft edges and gentle lines; she looks too fragile, too delicate for that of a once Evil Queen.
Trying desperately to keep his eyes level with hers, Robin holds his arms out and looks at her questioningly.
Regina nods slowly and lifts her arms lightly; he steps forward and grips her very carefully under her upper limbs. He slides her very slowly, very gently off the table, but she still grimaces the moment her feet touch the ground.
Granny's voice breaks the silence. "Okay, lover boy, get behind her and help keep her straight and tall. I need to wrap it around her, nice and taut, so leave me some room between you."
Robin changes his mind. He doesn't want to be this close to her, doesn't want to feel her wet, heated skin against his, such an intimate position that he can't possibly act upon, even though his body already perks to attention. What the bloody hell is he doing in here?
Time seems to slow down as Robin moves to stand behind her – so close they're almost spooning. The expanse of Regina's naked back right in front of him, enough to make him nearly insane with want, and he quashes the urge to press her against him. She's hurt, he tells himself. But, as he looks over her shoulder to see where to place his hands, his willpower wavers. Robin closes his eyes and very nearly groans aloud, recalling their snog during the rainstorm.
When he dares to look up again, he finds his gaze connecting with Regina's. She turned her head and is staring at him, her eyes wide and searching. Robin licks his lips and swallows again; her mouth is barely an arrow's tip away, and her unsteady breath feathers across his cheek, making him shiver. Regina can tell by his somewhat labored breathing that their closeness has him in state. She smiles at him and can't help herself.
"Look at it this way, now we both get to be uncomfortable," Regina teases. "It only seems fair."
"Uncomfortable?" he questions, pausing to clear his throat. "Uh-huh, I'd say that only covers half of what I'm feeling."
Robin's pretty sure aroused is more on target, but now is certainly not the time to dwell on that. His eyes hold hers and an inclination of his head indicates his hesitant agreement.
"Cross your arms together, high up in front of you, and I'll hold you."
"I'm sure you will," she grins, following his instructs, crossing her arms around her breasts. Robin bites his bottom lip and scowls at her.
"I see, the lady refuses to help appease the situation," he whispers into her ear.
Regina feels his arms come from behind her to wrap around hers, keeping her steady.
Granny walks up to Regina, the torn fabric in her hands. "I won't lie. This is going to hurt, girl, but not as much as it did setting them."
"I can handle it," Regina growls, the pain from standing already making her queasy. "Just get it over with." She presses her lips together tightly as the old woman gets to work.
It's much later in the day by the time Granny exists the tent. She shooed Robin out shortly after they finished wrapping Regina's ribs and made him wait anxiously outside with the others. She wipes her hands on her apron and walks over to the small group of people gathered around.
"She's sore as can be, but she'll live," she tells them. "She just needs rest. No bothering her, I mean it."
Snow sighs in relief, and she and Charming make themselves busy. Robin sits on the ground with Roland tucked between his knees. The tiny tot draws pictures in the dirt with a stick. After he left Regina and Granny, he immediately went to get his son from Little John's care. His boy jumped into his arms instantly, and Robin pressed his face into his son's hair, hugging him as tightly as he could, a lot to be thankful for.
Granny put her hand firmly on his shoulder.
"Here, give him to me, lover boy. She wants to see you," she smirks, patting his head like he's the child who needs consoling. He stands and passes his child to her. "And don't think my old ears didn't hear your lovey dovey talk in there. You're not as subtle as you think, when the two of you are together."
Robin laughs and runs his fingers through his hair. He walks over to the campfire and swipes a wooden cup off a table. He fills it with the simmering tea he made for Regina. Just before he ducks into his tent, he hears his son ask, "What's lovey dovey?"
He closes the canvas flap behind him and scans the inner room. Wet clothes drape over a chair, candles light the area, and Regina's rests in his bed, cocooned in furs and wool blankets. She smiles up at him tiredly and pats the space beside her. Robin happily snuggles next to her, helps her shift her weight so she can lean against him. He hands her the drink, and she sips it gratefully. He drapes his arm around her and kisses the top of her head. Frowning, he pulls away.
"Your hair is dry," he states, but she knows there's a question in there.
"Magic was at least a little good for something today," she sighs.
"And your clothes, you didn't want to take care of those?" he motions toward where they hang.
"I'm still quite exhausted," she says. "I have to let my magic recover. It's not unlimited, you know."
"Hmm, I see. And the reason you couldn't just heal yourself? Was that for the same reason?"
Regina scrunches up her brow. "I've never been good with that particular vein of magic. On myself or on anyone else. Magic is fueled by emotion, and I learned at a young age that mine is powered by anger. Hard to heal someone and think lovely thoughts when anger is your focus," she says, sounding a little ashamed.
"Have you ever tried?" he asks, thumb back to stroking her arm.
"Yes. A few times actually. Last year, Henry had a burn on his arm, and I couldn't heal him … but Rumplestiltskin could. I'm not really sure what that says about me."
It pains Robin that she thinks so little of herself, and he decides he'll spend as long as it takes to convince her of her importance, to show her that she's valuable, that she's worthy of praise, and goodness, and the happy ending she doesn't believe she deserves.
Robin kisses the top of her head again. He listens to her as she tells him more about how she met Rumple, how he became her mentor, which leads to a discussion about her mother, about the things they both did to her. He knows there's more behind that story, but he doesn't force her to reveal anymore than she's willing. She tells him about Henry – someone they talk about frequently now, ever since he told her to put her heart back into her chest (more like shouted at her to put it back in her chest).
"Are you certain you do not require anything else?" he queries yet again, tucking another blanket around Regina, ensuring that her injured side is comfortably supported by many quilts and furs.
"I'm certain," she replies, holding the cup of tea he brought her between her hands to warm them.
"Are you in much pain? I can adjust these if you'd like to lay back further…"
"Please stop, Robin. I'm fine," she tries to reassure him with a smile.
"What about your head?"
"Robin."
"Yes?"
"My head is fine. Stop fussing," she holds his hand tenderly and lifts her eyes to his. He peers into hers. Regina tentatively places her palm on his chest. "Robin, I'm right here."
"I know," he comments softly, lightly brushing his thumb over her lips. He lowers his gaze to their hands entwined between them; he doesn't want her to see the wetness threatening to spill out of his eyes. "But when I pulled you from that river..." his voice breaks, and he clears his throat to continue. "Regina, I cannot lose you."
She reaches out and cups his face. "Hey, hey," she makes him look at her. "You won't. And I'm sorry I let Roland get so close to that river. You could have lost him because of me," her lower lip trembles.
He takes her chin gently in his, not caring if she sees his tears. "No, Regina. That's where you're wrong. He's here safe with us because of you."
"Robin…" she breathes softly, tears spill past her lashes.
"My son is alive because of you. That's twice now you've saved him. You've given me the best gift imaginable," he sighs and touches his forehead to hers. Regina yawns and blushes embarrassed.
"I'll go so you can get some sleep," Robin says.
She hears his hesitance to leave her, so she gives voice to what they both want.
"No, stay with me."
"Regina?"
"Please, don't go," she says again, and Robin needs no more convincing.
Robin dotes on Regina day and night after that, and instead of breakfast by the fire they have breakfast in bed. Roland attaches himself at Regina's hip even more so than before, singing her little rhymes and bringing her daffodils almost every morning. Rain comes and goes, fills and refills the river, a reminder of what they almost lost, but they don't dwell on what happened that day.
Robin kisses her sweetly, and Regina responds in kind. Their touches and caresses are more exploratory as days tick by; they pant and moan impatiently in the privacy of his or her tent, but they're limited by two aggravating, broken bones still fusing themselves together.
Two weeks later, Regina's ribs are on their way to healing nicely, still sore and bruised, but the pain is tolerable and doesn't confine her in bed any longer. After a morning of light, but persistent rain, the late afternoon skies finally lighten a little, and everyone takes full advantage of the opportunity to be outdoors without being soaked to the skin. Regina asks Roland if he'd like to do something fun. Of course he responds, yes, and he eagerly takes her hand.
Thirty Minutes Later Only a Hop, Skip and a Jump Outside Camp
"Are you sure it's safe?" Robin asks worriedly, as he watches Regina sit an excited, little Roland on a new rope and board swing, she created and attached to the branch of an old, oak tree.
She turns and gives him a wry look. "You tested it yourself," she laughs.
He swallows. "I know, but he's still so small and this contraption..."
"I won't let anything happen to him, Robin," she assures him, moving to stand behind the little boy. "It's perfectly safe, I promise. I used magic to make sure the rope is as secure as possible."
"Push, Gina," Roland implores with an added, "Pease ..." Having seen his father on the swing only moments ago, he knows exactly what should happen, but just can't seem to get going. He kicks his stubby, little legs to no effect.
Regina chuckles. "Patience, my little knight," she exhorts indulgently, giving the wooden seat a gentle push so the swinging motion begins.
"Again, Gina," he squeals elatedly.
"Hold on tight," she warns.
Roland nods and grips the ropes more tightly. Again, she pushes so the swinging movement becomes a little more pronounced.
The dimpled boy giggles and strikes his legs out, calling, "Up ... more ... higher, Gina!"
"Not too high," Robin says, torn between delighting in his son's happiness and worrying about his safety.
"You can go over and stand in front," offers Regina with a smile. "Then you can catch him if he lets go," she adds playfully.
At that terrifying thought, Robin hastily moves across to face his son as he delightedly swings back and forth, now between the two adults. After a while, Robin relaxes as Roland clings to the ropes, all the while laughing and shouting out gleefully. "Look papa ... I'm flying!" he exclaims. "Up, Gina, again," he urges more than once. His cheeks turn rosy from the excitement and his mop of brown curls toss carelessly in the cool breeze. Both Regina and Robin join in the fun and laughter, gently pushing the jubilant boy on his new toy.
Snow, returning to their camp from a walk with Charming, stands and watches the scene for a moment before they notice her. She smiles broadly at the little boy's laughter and Regina's obvious enjoyment. Robin acknowledges her first presence first, waves and beckons her over. She drops her heavy cloak and heads over to the tree.
"Look Princess Snow ... I'm flyin'!" calls Roland as she approaches.
Snow chuckles and replies, "You sure are, Roland." She walks over to Regina. "Can I push?" she asks, wanting to help.
She knows Regina is still healing and stubborn enough that she probably refused Robin's assistance. Regina rolls her eyes, but nods and steps back.
"I'm not an invalid, you know," Regina says, pursing her lips.
"We know, but we worry about you."
Their play date at the swing continues for a while longer. Snow even takes a turn on it with Roland on her knees. Charming joins in and pushes. Robin and Regina cuddle together in the shade, watch them quietly until Granny hollers, "Dinner! I may be the cook, but I'm not your servant, come and get it."
Snow slips off the board and hoists the tiny tot onto her hip. "Roland, dinner is ready. Would you like to go with me and wash up?"
The toddler wriggles in her arms. "No, I want to swing more," he whines. "Papa, can I swing some more?" he begs.
Snow jiggles him in her arms playfully. "We can play some more tomorrow," she promises. "But I'm hungry. Aren't you hungry too?"
He shakes his head. "No, I want to play."
"Well, you know what, I think Granny made more cakes."
He stops wriggling and regards her seriously, as if weighing up his options. He looks back at Regina and his Papa and then to Snow. At last he nods, wraps his arms around her neck, and allows her to carry him to the camp. "Papa, Gina come on! There are cakes!"
Regina and Robin look on, a distinct sparkle of amusement and love in their eyes.
"He's strong willed, isn't he?" remarks Robin ruefully, looking to Regina for agreement.
Her eyes meet his. "He seems to take after his father," she sasses with a playful smile. He laughs and helps her stand up.
"Roland was having a wonderful time," he tells her, taking her hand in his. "Thank you."
Regina bit her lip. "You're welcome," she replies, grinning. She glances back toward camp. "I suppose we better go back. Snow and Roland will be wondering where we are."
"I was hoping you'd try that out first," he suggests, pointing at the swing, his eyes sparkling.
She follows his gaze and exclaims, "The swing? Me!?"
"Mmhm, you're the only one who's missed out."
She shakes her head, chuckling. "I'm too old to play on swings."
"You're never too old, Regina," responds Robin immediately, letting go of her hand and walking behind the contraption. At her reluctance, he teases, "You're not afraid are you?"
"Do you know who you're talking to?" Regina glares at him.
He bites his bottom lip, holding back a smirk. "Indeed, I do." He walks back around comes to stand in front of her. "And she's not nearly as intimidating as she thinks she is."
Regina's hands fly onto her hips. "Is that so?"
'"Mmhmm," Robin closes the distance between them, giving her a light kiss on the lips.
"You think a few well placed kisses are going to change my mind?" she breathes, capturing his lips again in hers. Robin gently places his hand on the small of her back. He teases her lip deliciously with his tongue.
"Oh, you have no idea how persuasive I can be when I set my heart on something," he murmurs, moving to trail kisses down her neck. "Besides, I recall a certain queen telling a thief that she hadn't forgotten about a certain dalliance in the woods."
Robin nibbles at her ear, and Regina gasps. She threads her fingers into his hair, and they're just a little bit late to lunch.
In a Dank Part of the Weeping
When the first full moon of winter inches its way into the sky, Mortianna hobbles deep into the Weeping. Carrying the Queen's half eaten apple, she prepares a pedestal and small cauldron. Mortianna grinds stinging nettles into a paste and muddles the mashed up leaves with a bit of her own blood, pricked on the thorn of a withered rose. She starts a fire under her cauldron and moves the pedestal so the moon's beams illuminate its surface. The crone boils her ingredients together: the mucous from the skin of a salamander, stinging nettles paste tinged crimson, belladonna seeds, and the heart of a sly, red fox. She requires the help of a creature with the ability to slink in and out of areas unseen, wants its essence for her dream-walking spell.
Fire dying down, Mortianna bottles the potion and walks back into her crumbling hovel. She sits in a chair, dips her finger into the clear, slippery liquid, and rubs it onto her lips, chatting an ancient rhyme.
Go now. Catch a falling star. Travel back where past years are. Through the blackened veil. Seek entrance with the sharp point of a nail. What you seek is in her heart. Know her thoughts through nature's art. As scorching fires ever ready be, through daylight's gate step one, two, three.
Sherwood Forest
Robin lies awake in bed, staring at his sleeping son beside him. He thinks about how much things have changed and how happier Roland has been now that Regina is in their lives. They've only been apart for a couple hours now, he walked her to her tent, and bid her goodnight, but he misses her already. He tosses and turns for a few more minutes, and when Roland stirs and groggily mumbles, Robin kisses his downy curls and slips out of their tent. He doesn't want to wake his boy with his restlessness.
He steps out into the chilly night air and goes for a walk to think. When he eventually returns to camp, he finds himself instinctively walking in the direction of Regina's tent, wants to check on her before going back to bed in his own tent. Robin notices John, Much and Tuck two fires away, and Much knows exactly where he's heading. Of course he knows. Robin shakes his head, holding back a grin.
"I'll listen for Roland," Much says, waving him on his way.
Robin thanks him and steps lightly to her tent. As he nears, he hears Regina's strained voice, and it stops him in his tracks. He can't quite make out what she's saying, but he knows she's distressed. She cries out, and he steals in through the entrance flap, rushes to her side.
Regina thrashes, twitches, and talks in her sleep, sweating and moaning like she's in pain.
It's dark as she cautiously wanders through the winter palace, passing by locked room after locked room. Familiar columns and metal architecture cold and foreboding as she walks toward a light emanating from a door at the end of the hall. Cobwebs stick to her arms and legs, and she brushes them off. A crackling echoes and resounds off brick and steel, and she whirls around when she feels something touch the back of her neck. There's nothing there.
Her heels clack on the floor a little bit harder, and she finds it odd that she's wearing a pair of black stilettos, even more odd that her stilettos lead her gaze up to sheer nylons, and the sheer nylons lead to the hem of a skin-tight, red, eye-lit dress that stops just below her knee. She's no longer robed in a cloak or tunic and peasant skirt. Passing in front of a foggy mirror, she sees that her hair is short again, falls at her shoulders.
She knows this is her castle, a prison she lived in long ago, but she looks like the mayor of Storybrooke, not the Queen of the Enchanted Forest. She's just about to touch her reflection, when she hears a baby cry. She spins around, and urgently stalks toward the noise. The wailing increases, and she picks up the pace. The shrill cackling is back, reverberates in her ears, pounds at her skull, and the walls start closing in on her with each stride she takes. She gets to her bedroom door, throws it open, and what greets her on the other side horrifies.
A white witch stands before her, eyes rimmed red, teeth crooked and yellowed. The hag digs her nails into Regina's wrist and manically cackles.
"You can't save them all, dearie. Rivers will run red, graves will mount high, tears will fall for the dead, and your love will be for nigh."
She yanks her hand back and steps away from the crone, tripping over something solid. She hits the unforgiving concrete with a thud, and when her eyes drift up, her rich browns connect with cold, dead blues, an arrow piercing through his heart. A high-pitched ringing drills into her eardrums.
"Regina, wake up," Robin whispers, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Regina."
A scream tears from her throat, and she jolts upright; her sudden movement throws him off balance, and he pitches backward. Robin scrambles to his knees in front of Regina and takes her by the arms.
"Regina," he says, but she doesn't respond. She's still half asleep. "Regina, wake up," he speaks in an authoritative tone.
She opens her eyes and gasps. He looks at her, really looks at her – hair wild, strands of it out of place, the sleeve of her nightgown, slipped low over her shoulder, revealing her collarbone and the gentle rise of her right breast. Regina frenziedly runs her hands over his face, touching her thumbs to his cheeks, breathing erratic and loud in the otherwise thick silence hovering inside her tent.
He's alive. Oh, thank God he's alive, she thinks, and then panic seizes her again.
"The baby. Where's the baby?" she demands, looking around frantically. Confused and disoriented, Regina grabs Robin's shirt and tries to catch her bearings.
"What baby, Regina?" Robin asks, tucking a hair that has fallen into her face away behind her ear.
A dream, she realizes, only a dream. For a moment, she fights to control her emotions, but the relief she feels knowing what she saw isn't real pulls a sob past her lips. Robin is completely unprepared when she flings herself at him, weeping against his chest. She clings to his neck with such vigor that it hurt.
At a loss for words, he holds her tightly and waits for her to tell him what has upset her so, rubs her back soothingly, wonders what terrifies her so, wishes he knew how to help.
What is causing her such fear? What baby is she talking about?
She struggles for composure.
"Regina, it's okay," he whispers.
"I know but–" she replies hoarsely. "It felt so real, Robin." She loosens her grip on his neck.
They're both silent for a while, but he makes no move to release her, just hugs her more caringly.
"Tell me about it," he suggests cautiously.
Regina draws back to look at him, and then rests her head on his shoulder. Robin pulls her into his arms and lays them back into the furs. She tells him about the castle, the cackling, and how she couldn't find where the crying was coming from. She doesn't tell him about what she discovered on the other side of the door, doesn't tell him about the growing pool of blood that she slipped in while staring into the eyes of a corpse, but he knows whatever's left unsaid must be bad, because when she starts thinking about it, her lip begins trembling again, and she fists her hand in his tunic.
"It felt so real, so vivid, even though it seems really farfetched now. I mean, I was dressed in my old clothes. That should've been my first clue."
"What do you think it means?" he asks, threading his fingers through her hair.
Robin wants to ask about the infant, wants to know more about the voice that seemed to mock her, wants to know what had her screaming out of bed, and so many other questions. Regina plays with the tie on his shirt, while he listens meticulously. With how disturbing her dream sounds, he has no interest in leaving her to face her terror alone.
"So, are we staying here, or are you coming back to my tent to sleep with Roland and me?" he inquires, making an effort to sound matter of fact.
His question echoes something she was already thinking but was afraid to ask.
"Can you bring Roland here?" she questions.
"Yes."
"Okay, then I'd like you to stay," she sniffs, and he can't refuse the slight hitch in her voice.
Little does either of them know that on the other side of Sherwood Forest, Mortianna also awakes with a gasp and sneers before traveling back to Nottingham's fortress. She has much she needs to tell him, first and foremost being the Evil Queen's role in turning the tide in the coming war. Blood will be shed, and her future child will be the key to the throne. They need to plot quickly.
Exactly six weeks pass before Regina feels fully recovered from her near drowning, skin and ribs healed, no bruising, no tenderness remain. Tomorrow their company plans to commence their journey to the winter palace, and the thought sends shivers down Regina's spine, her dream or premonition still heavy on her heart.
Washing up after supper, Robin notices her quiet demeanor and leads her around the fire in front of his tent, easing them down to the ground. He draws her between his legs, leaning her back against his chest. It's an intimate position, feeling his thighs lightly touch either side of her hips. Frostiness settles into her bones from the crisp air, but the overwhelming warmth of his arms wins out against the cold. Slowly, she relaxes and reclines against him. He wraps his arms around her and sighs, both of them entranced by sizzling embers and crackling flames.
Robin turns his face into her hair, inhaling and placing a kiss on her temple. Regina closes her eyes, resting her head on his shoulder. The rise and fall of his chest, lulls her into peacefulness, the stress of a white witch and healing ribs forgotten. Robin threads his fingers with hers and hugs his free arm around her stomach, keeping her close to him. She feels the edge of his hand brush against the underside of her breast, but doesn't pull away. Her body tingles in anticipation.
After a while she shifts, her tailbone aching from sitting on the hard ground. She doesn't want to go to sleep, not yet, and settles more comfortably into his arms. Robin's voice hitches as she scoots back, and she freezes when she realizes why, can feel it – him – against her back, and she bites her lip.
Sensing her tension, Robin tightens his arms around her waist more fully, holding her close.
"You can stay with me tonight, you know. I'm more than sure they have us figured out by now," he begins, trailing a line of kisses down her neck, making it hard for her to think clearly. Since the river, he's spent most nights with her, it's never gone any farther than heavy petting and heated making out, because she hadn't let it, wasn't ready for anything more, because she knows that once she opens that door, it'll be nearly impossible to close. Robin isn't just some roll in the hay, or dalliance in the woods, and she knows that, knows she's been falling for him over the last month, knows he's been chipping away at her walls, and stealing her heart like the talented thief that he is. And so she wants to wait, wants to be sure that she's ready for him and for her, not willing to screw this up, and still a little bit afraid of getting her heart broken in the process.
"I know," she whispers into the fire as he rests his cheek against her hair.
"Tell me what is troubling you." He keeps hold of her, voice low. His lips close around her earlobe, and she moans softly in response, biting back a gasp of surprise.
Thank God they're alone by the fire.
Robin takes her hands in his, crossing both of their arms in her lap. "You know I lo–"
"Don't Robin," she stops him, turning around to place a finger against his lips. "Not yet, please."
Regina knows she feels for him very deeply, has for weeks now, but she isn't ready to give voice to those feelings, not when her past and endless misgivings always seem to thwart her happiness. Robin sighs and gives her a sad smile.
She moves so she's kneeling in front of him, brings her face to his to seal his mouth to hers, hoping to distract him from a conversation she's not ready to have. Not yet anyway. For a long moment, nothing but the soft brush of lips and warm pants of breath fill the air.
Robin breaks the kiss, eyes dark blue in the firelight. "Tell me what you're afraid of."
Looking back at the fire, Regina sighs. Maybe now is the right time for this conversation. She knows that once the words come, she won't be able to say them while looking at him. "My first love, Daniel, was killed because of me. Because he loved me. It's just that…" her voice trails off.
"That what?" Robin prompts. When she doesn't answer, he nudges her knee gently. "That what?"
Her answer comes in a rush of breath, heart beating fast, words jumbling together. "Every time I've come close to being happy, Robin, something happens. Daniel was killed because of me, because he loved me. Henry was lost to me, and I couldn't bare it if I lost you, too. Or Roland," she says, trying to break free from his embrace, but he won't let her.
"That's why you never opened up again? Because you were afraid of being hurt? Regina," he soothes when she nods, and just the way he says her name calms her and makes her heart slow its chaotic pace. He lifts their joined hands and kisses her knuckles sweetly. "Nothing will to happen to me. Or to us."
"You don't know that," she retorts.
"No, I suppose I don't," Robin says slowly. "But Regina, if we let fear hold us back, we might put our lives off for something that may never come to pass," he continues. "What would help put your mind at ease?"
"Nothing can, Robin," she huffs out a pent up breath caused by anger. "Nothing ever will. Villains don't get happy endings."
"Regina," his fingers interlocked with hers as his arms turned her to face him. "You are not a villain. Not anymore, and even then I'm not quite convinced you ever were. Yes, you did some terrible things, but a truly terrible person isn't remorseful the way you are."
Robin continues to hold her after that, rocks her in his arms a bit, hums softly in her ear. The first is practically smothered by a lack of kindle, when Regina begins kissing him. He squeezes her tenderly, and molds his lips to hers, for the moment losing himself in her entrancing femininity.
"We have a camp full of drunken idiots," she reminds him once their lips part, "Remember?"
"Most of which are passed out by now," Robin confirms, grinning, then bestowing soft, hot kisses from her neck to the tip of her shoulder through her garment's thin material. "And Roland is with Celia…" Regina melts submissively against him. Her instinctive reaction foretells her body's willingness, reacting quickly to temptation. Regina's need to feel closer to him now more than ever increases with lightning speed. He nuzzles her ear again, and then licks a long line up her neck; hands increase the intensity of his caresses, attempting to massage her worries away.
"Besides," he says in a slightly huskier tone, "It's cold out tonight, and I'd hate for you to get a chill in that small tent you insist on sleeping in."
"My small tent is very cozy, I'll have you–"
Robin didn't wait for her to finish as eagerly targeted her lips. It was time to put her insecurities away for a while. Unending, fiery kisses heat their bodies, building the passion sparking between them. Regina's hands mimic Robin's, traveling possessively over his torso, seeking, learning, fondling, and kissing deeply with barely restrained passion.
Their mouths met in a glorious sensual dance; it stirs Regina from her head to her toes. Her senses come alive, acknowledging his scent – a dangerous combination of the forest around them and him. Her awareness of every inch of his muscle-toned body slams her with an intensified, deeper into the fervent feelings threatening to overpower her.
Without breaking the kiss, he shifts his position to hover over her, only this time, his knee gradually work its way between hers. Robin gently reclaims her inviting lips, Regina's body arches as he gently pressures himself against her lower half, enticing the core of her to welcome his presence. Accompanying the molten, liquid heat swiftly gathering low in her belly, an emotional tension surges.
"Robin, promise me you'll never leave," she pleads breathlessly, her hands cupping his face between them.
"I promise," he vows, his eyes never leaving hers. Robin combs his fingers lovingly through her hair in an attempt to calm. "These fears are natural, Regina. Fear is with us always. Fear is like a constant companion, always there, but that's okay, because fear can bring people together, fear can bring you home. Fear makes companions of us all," he assures her. "And I promise, I'll never let you go."
Their eyes darken with ardent emotion, and he brushes a stray tear off her cheek with the pad of his thumb.
"I'm ready for bed now," her breath whispers in his ear.
The very next morning, a bright winter sun rises over the mountains, burning off the fine mist hovering above the ground. The semi darkness, the nip in the air, and their warm bodies spooning together create the perfect environment for Regina and Robin to continue their peaceful repose.
Regina's mind lingers somewhere near consciousness and limbo, traces of memory race through her mind at dizzying speeds – hands moving, caressing, groping, pulling pleasure out of lover's mouths through feather like touches and the dry humping of hips. Fingers feeling their way along unknown territories, exploring for the first time places that begged to be known. Lips kissing, consuming, devouring familiar and unfamiliar places. A sensitive spot along the column of Regina's neck, and a hotspot behind Robin's ear. Each time his lips touched her skin, they elicited a pleasure she had never known before, and all that while they were still wearing their clothes.
Slowly, Regina begins to rouse from her peaceful slumber, though she fights against this waking, choosing instead to revel in the warm chest behind her. One arm wraps around her, holding her to him, and the other under her neck. She wonders if his arm has fallen asleep from her laying on it, but he doesn't seem bothered. Regina feels the rise and fall of his chest and knows he's still sleeping deeply.
Light creeps ever so slowly into the tent as daybreak inches further along. Rays hit her just so that she cannot seem to fall back asleep, while it glares in her eyes. She starts to shift in Robin's warm arms, when she stops suddenly. A bit of black ink visible just under the cuff of his sleeve. Curious, she gently slides the fabric back and as more and more ink reveals, her eyes widen in shock. Her past flashes before her eyes, and her vision darts over the offending mark on Robin's skin.
Regina scrambles out of bed as quickly as she can without waking the archer, Tinkerbell's words echoing in her head.
Did you ever go back to find him? That's so selfish. You didn't just ruin your life. You ruined his.
She throws the tent flap open and runs. Away from Robin. Away from fate. And most importantly away from the man with the lion tattoo.
Disclaimer: not mine