AMENDMENT - Sorry for the confusion, you guys. This story is no longer a prequel to "All a Matter of Time." It's a multi-fic piece in the TIB-verse.

AN: Sorry it's been so long you guys. Life got business. And I have no other excuses. I sat on this for too long. Apologies. Special thank you to Tina for reading a few of these sections and listening to me complain about Robin's backstory and the end of this chapter. I cut it short, because this seemed like the perfect ending, and the next chapter is going to be intense. Another special thank you to Hayley ( htoria on tumblr and twitter) for giving me feedback on some of the internal emotions, making sure Regina is still in character for TIB. I struggled with this one you guys. I hope you like it. :) XO, Jess

P.S. This chapter is why this story is rated M. You've been warned. ;)

For Love and a Glass Vial

Nearly a week after Regina recovered from breaking the curse of Living Death on Robin, the two of them gather in the council chambers to discuss current affairs. The meeting isn't as productive as she would like it to be, Leroy argues and throws barbs her way, at least he's still treating her normally (and he doesn't even know about the baby). That's more than she can say for Robin, who hasn't stopped doting on her since she told him the news.

David's voice pulls her out of her thoughts. "We know it's not much to go on, but we found that," he points to the small glass vial held between her thumb and forefinger, "in one of the basement corridors. Whoever poisoned the morning meal must have dropped it in their haste to flee the castle grounds."

Regina spins the empty vial, gaze fixated on it as Snow asks, "Is that enough, Regina? Can you figure out who did this?"

The Queen looks up, meets her questioning eyes and shakes her head. "Too much time has passed for me to determine who brought this into the castle, but …" Regina smiles, a glint of something a little darker in her eyes, "it can lead us to them."

"What's the difference, sister?" Leroy inquires, leaning forward in his chair.

Regina rolls her eyes at him. "Each potion has a unique signature, like a fingerprint left behind by its caster, and although I highly doubt the sorcerer or sorceress who created this was the one to actually use it, I can cast a locator spell, and it'll take me to the person who whispered the final enchantment to enact it. Everything I need is in my vault."

"Why do you think it's someone else and not the," David waves his hand in the air, "sorcerer or sorceress?"

Regina sighs. Does she really need to explain miniscule details to these people?

Her fellow council members just stare at her, waiting for an answer.

Yes, she supposes she does.

"Because this particular curse requires blood," she says, hoping that'll suffice. It doesn't, so she continues, "And there's nothing more valuable to …" she thinks about what she's going to say next.

But the Blue Fairy beats her to it.

"Someone like you. There's nothing more valuable to someone like you – a witch – than her own blood. Isn't that right, your majesty?"

Regina clenches her teeth, and Blue's tone doesn't go unnoticed by Robin. Or Granny for that matter. "Living Death is blood magic, and it's dark, and powerful, and it takes a specific amount time and effort. The ingredients are hard to come by. Whoever brewed this wouldn't have been so foolish as to be caught. If the witch," Regina glares at the annoying fairy, "was the one who snuck into the castle, we wouldn't have just buried 15 people last week. We'd all be dead."

Robin grips her hand under the table. This is turning out to be much more serious than he originally thought.

"We can be ready to go as soon as possible," David says.

"That's not necessary," Regina counters and goes to explain. Robin tenses. She feels it in his fingers as they tighten and lace more securely with hers. "The person that did this was an amatuer at best. They won't require an armada."

"You're not going alone," David argues, sounding alarmed that she thought she would in the first place.

"Hold your horses, David, that's not what I meant,"

"I planned to make a much needed supply run today," Robin cuts in. "You can perform the spell, and then John, Much, Tuck and I will track whoever this fiend is and report back."

The look he gives her makes clear what his words left unspoken.

You're staying here.

The hell she is.

"It doesn't work like that," she shakes her head and purses her lips, because he's not doing this, he's not using the baby – the one they're still keeping a secret – as an excuse for her not to go. This is ridiculous, and not nearly the most dangerous thing she's ever done, she saved him from a curse for fuck's sake, and she'd been pregnant then and not known, and nothing happened. Well, that's not entirely true, she'd been unconscious for days, but she's fine and so is their child growing in her womb. "I can't just conjure you a GPS out of thin air, that says, 'Go this way.'"

His expression hardens, and he thinks, what the fuck is a GPS?

"I have to cast the spell on the vial and then stay near it so my magic can guide us to whoever it is that tried to kill us all in the first place. If I'm not there powering it, the link will be broken, and you won't get very far."

"You can't just sprinkle it on like I did with Jefferson's hat back in Storybrooke and then follow?" David asks.

"No," Regina bites. "I can't. Like I said. This vial didn't likely belong to the person who poisoned everyone. How many times do I have to say it?" She's getting impatient. To her, the plan sounds reasonable enough. She'll cast the spell and go, but obviously Robin isn't convinced, because he's shaking his head back and forth just as adamantly as she'd been just minutes before.

He crosses his arms and frowns. "I don't think it's a good idea, not when–" but she doesn't let him finish.

Leroy, David and Ruby are all looking at her funny, mouths slightly open, staring in shock as Robin pushes and talks back and disagrees with her unabashedly. Blue isn't at all amused.

Snow's just smiling to herself. These two are so obvious, it has her biting her tongue, trying so unbelievably hard not to laugh.

"Robin–" Regina warns. Snow snickers, and she freezes realizing the sound that's just left her lips. Regina shoots her a quick death glare, and all of a sudden she feels quite like a young girl again being reprimanded by her stepmother.

Thankfully, Robin takes the attention off of her.

"Regina–" He begins, but Granny pipes up.

"Alright, you two," the old wolf says and then utters something that has Regina blushing equally in anger and embarrassment. "Take your lover's quarrel outside. But first, Regina, you may be fine with taking your chances alone, but we're not. He and the Merry Men are going."

And that's that. For now, anyways.

Regina doesn't talk to Robin for a while after that. She's silent and broods and holds onto her anger, ignoring him for most of the day. But like usual, she's unable to stay angry with him for long. He gets her to smile at him again come later that evening, and then they're back to their usual banter.

An hour or so before bed, Roland asks them if he can spend the night with Much, Little John and the rest of the Merry Men. He's been sleeping with them in their bed. Tucked between the two of them, fingers fisted in the front of Regina's nightclothes, thumb being sucked in his mouth, his little legs uncomfortably jabbing into his papa's side as he tossed and turned in slumberland. Roland hasn't wanted to leave either of their sides since they both woke up from their mini comas. He was afraid of what might happen if he did, but they've showed him that everything is going to be alright, that they're a family, and families protect each other.

"Always?" He asked, and "Always," they replied and let him stay with them for as long as he liked. Regina cringed just slightly as soon as the word left her mouth. Snow and David's favorite term of endearment used to make her want to vomit, but her perspective has changed, and, well, she sees it for what it is – a promise, and she has every intention of never breaking it.

Regina and Robin never have issue with Roland wanting to sleep in between them, cuddled up, safe and warm. He's more than welcome, unless of course on nights like tonight, the tiny toddler doesn't want to sleep with them, wants to spend time with the Merry Men instead.

Then … well, they don't have qualms with that either.

None.

Whatsoever.

They walk with Roland to the west wing where Robin's men have been "camping" and watch as the little boy skitters to a halt in front of Little John. He misses his uncles and bedtime stories and the games he plays with Tuck and Much, fighting against imaginary beasts and sorceresses that transform into dragons.

Once upon a time, Much regaled Roland with a recount of the time they snuck into Maleficent's castle, and the littlest outlaw hasn't quite forgotten the eye-popping tale. He loves stomping through the forest (now the castle corridors), pretending to be the great, fearsome, fire-breathing creature, while the Merry Men – and usually his papa – chase after him, wielding make-believe bows and arrows.

But tonight, tonight his papa is a little preoccupied with the thought of alone time with her majesty for the first time in over a week, and make-believe and a campout don't quite have the same appeal as they did months ago.

"Papa, are you going to stay and play?" Roland asks in the sweetest voice Regina thinks she's ever heard.

The kid knows how to lay it on thick. She'll give him that. Bats his long lashes and smiles until his dimples deeply intent his cheeks.

God, he's adorable – all curls and charm and cuteness – and she wonders, even if it is for just a moment, if the baby will be like him, like her little knight.

Robin bends down to his son's eye level, ruffles his curls and says, "Not tonight, my boy," and at his toddler's pouting lips, he adds, "But what if tomorrow, we go on an adventure and then read bedtime stories by the fire?"

Roland beams and nods his head vigorously. "Yes, please, Papa!" He shouts and claps his little hands together. "'Venture like in Sherwood!"

The father laughs at his son's jubilation, and Regina smiles. "Just like that, Sweetheart. I can show you and your papa my gardens after breakfast. A labyrinth made of hedges and secret passageways. It'll be our special place. How does that sound?"

She can cast the locator spell after that.

"Our special place?" His eyes grow big and then he beams and says, "Yes, please!" again. Closing the gap between them, he jumps up toward her arms unexpectedly.

She lets out a surprised, "Omph" and grips him more tightly, lifts him up and props him on her hip. Robin looks a bit alarmed at first, but Regina scowls at him and waves away his concerns.

She's pregnant, not an invalid, and other than Granny, they agreed not to tell anyone. Not until enough time passes that she's not constantly worried about carrying to term. Not with her history. Not with a crazy, long lost sister hell bent on revenge. Not with an enemy in their midst trying to poison them.

So she'll hold Roland, whenever and wherever she wants. She'll brush away Robin's fussing and maybe give him a soft, little glare, because she doesn't want that fussing to draw attention.

Her expanding stomach will do that soon enough.

Robin snakes his arm around her waist and his thumb subconsciously rubs circles over the fabric of her dress just above her hip. It's the closest he can get without being too suspicious, and it's also quite a bit more PDA than she's used to, but she doesn't really seem to mind all that much, and that thought sort of surprises her as well, because she's still trying to figure out when Robin Hood, the Prince of Thieves, notorious outlaw, weaseled his way into her heart, past her defenses and through her impenetrable (or not so impenetrable) wall.

When did this – what they have – become more than just pixie dust or a lion tattoo? When did it grow beyond the prophesied nonsense of a fairy? She's been asking herself that a lot since she met him. Feels like she questions at least once a week, but it's only because she's still baffled.

Because she didn't know it was him, didn't know that the man aiming an arrow at her, in the woods all those mornings ago, was her soulmate. Didn't know that he was the man from the tavern all those years ago, when their eyes first connected under the light of the moon after midnight. Didn't know that he was her second chance at happiness when she started to fall in love with his dimple-cheeked boy, his smug smirk, and him in general.

She didn't know.

And she supposes it doesn't matter, because she did fall in love with him – is very much in love with him.

That means something, doesn't it? That she fell for him without knowing that he was the perfect match that Tinkerbell prophesied.

Roland nuzzles into the side of her neck and whispers, "Goodnight, my majesty" into her ear. It sends a flutter through her that warms her heart and brings tears to her eyes.

"Goodnight, my little knight," she says in a hushed tone, so hushed in fact that no one else can hear her words.

They're just for him.

When she sets him down on the ground and he scampers off, Robin's hand finds better purchase on her hip, his fingers still playing with the fabric of her dress. He hasn't stopped touching her like this, whether in public or in private. Although, in private he's much more open about what he's really doing.

Checking on her, making sure she's still here, that everything's alright, her and the baby, that they're both real, and fine, and healthy, and standing right next to him.

It takes physical contact to reassure him, hands held together, their foreheads touching in a quiet, morning greeting, their lips stealing languid kisses out of sight.

During daylight, if they're sitting around the council table discussing strategy or defense with Snow and her Charming and their inner circle, it's easier for Robin to sneak his hand under the table and onto Regina's thigh or lace his fingers with hers.

When they're in the Great Hall or walking down busy corridors, he has to be content with the side of their palms lightly brushing up against each other as they walk in tandem, because it's only when they're around Granny, Snow, David or the Merry Men that she lets him display public affection so openly.

He isn't complaining. He knows she finds this challenging – being open and vulnerable.

He's constantly reminding her, we're in this together, but it isn't just the open affection.

She's still getting use to the idea of someone loving her so freely.

By choice.

Without wanting anything from her in return.

In public, he follows her lead. But in private, he challenges her, offers her the comfort and reassurance he knows she really craves but is afraid to give into when they're not in their own quarters.

In private, they might not have had the opportunity to be intimate (in the way that they've been craving) with a toddler sleeping between them, but that didn't prevent Robin from tenderly caressing Regina's bare stomach in the dead of night by candle light. Her nightgown bunched to just below her breasts, her creamy skin glowing as flame flickered, his palm warm on her skin, just over the spot where life stitches and forms beneath flesh and muscles.

Safe.

Growing.

A rush of cells coming together.

Half him and half her.

Theirs.

It's early, too early to really know yet, to sense anything other than the small energy thrumming in her womb. But Regina still wonders about the baby, hasn't been able to stop thinking about it since Granny revealed something she should've already known or at least suspected.

She remembers what it was like to be pregnant before. The physical signs – constant fatigue, annoying nausea and tender breasts. But she also remembers the emotions – the unending worry, bouts of elation, the overwhelming urge to cry (although she's never had an issue with shedding tears, always a little too in tune with her emotional state of being, even when it isn't healthy).

Between fighting against a horde of flying monkeys, discovering that her family is more complicated and dysfunctional than she originally thought, trying to figure out what Zelena is planning, and breaking Robin's unbreakable curse, she didn't have time to pause and take in the way her body was changing. Like usual, she neglected to care for herself, to pay attention to her lack of a period, uneasy vertigo over the last few days, and pounding headaches that started as twinges at the base of her skull and migrated toward her temples.

Those are her signs, her body's tell, the first indications of life before it's visible and undeniable and clear in the slight curve of her stomach.

Regina's mind is still reeling by the time she and Robin arrive back at their room. She pushes open the door with a flick of her wrist and collapses on their bed in exhaustion, slipping off her shoes to let them fall on the floor.

She's tense, he knows, has been able to sense it since earlier in the afternoon, so he cautiously asks, "How are you feeling?" sitting down on the edge of the bed beside her, his palm immediately finds the flat of her stomach again, but she pushes it away.

"I'm fine, you asked me that already."

It's not that she's unhappy or upset that he cares. She's elated, but she's also getting a little tired of feeling like she's just an incubator for their baby. She knows Robin doesn't think that, it's a notion that couldn't be farther from the truth. He's not like her late husband, not like Leopold. When Robin looks at her, it's like he's seeing her for the first time – every time. He loves her deeply.

Not just her body.

Not just what she can give him.

He loves her.

But the constant attention on her belly, a belly that still isn't visibly pregnant, well, quite frankly it annoys, and that frustrates her beyond belief, because it brings back memories. Dark, horrid things that she tucked away inside herself long ago. And she's trying to push past them, trying to hold onto the light and not give into her natural instinct to sink deeper and deeper into that pit that houses all of her terrible truths. But Robin has been walking around her like there are egg shells on the ground ever since she told him about the baby, wanting to pick everything up for her, even when the thing she wants to pick up is Roland, and it's making it hard for her to see herself as anything other than that fragile, young queen that Leopold locked away inside her room during her second pregnancy.

A quarantine that didn't last very long in the end.

Another part of her, well that part, is uneasy. It's the part that's echoing hard questions in her head. What if this doesn't last? What if this time is just like the others? What if her body and her magic betray her for a fourth time and this man that she so desperately loves never looks at her with adoration in his eyes again?

"What's wrong, Regina?" Robin asks, pulling her to him, even though she just pushed his hand away. She sighs into his embrace and buries her face in his chest.

"Nothing," she mumbles, moving to sit up, but he stills her with a hand on her shoulder.

"I think you know better than to try and lie to a conman and a thief," he smiles sadly and then says, "You can tell me anything," assuring her, brushing a few strands of hair away from her face. And she knows that, she does. If she's learned anything since saving him from Living Death, it's that they're stronger together. And then there's that feeling in the pit of her gut that's telling her something she didn't think would be possible again.

You love him, be happy. Things are good, be happy. He loves you, be happy. You're healthy, be happy.

But it's hard to be happy, to accept what's right in front of her, because her life, if anything, follows a very strict pattern, and that pattern hasn't wavered yet.

It begins with a spark of hope that sprouts and buds and blossoms into something good, something more, and then, just as it's really starting to flourish, everything burns to ash.

And the rules that apply to everyone else, to the good guys and heroes she's surrounded by don't seem to apply to her too.

Because villains don't get happy endings.

Even when they try.

Even when they do good.

Even when they find their soulmates.

Robin gently cups her cheek and angles her face to look at him, his deep blues drink in her glistening eyes and pained smile. "Love," he affectionately caresses away a tear slipping past her eyelashes. "Regina, please, I don't want you to–" she stops him from speaking, pulls him down and leans up to kiss him.

She's broken. She knows that, has known that for a very long time, just kept filling the hole in her heart with other things, black knights in her bed, manipulation and magic, lots and lots of magic, and Sidney as insane and psychotic as he was, just a puppet she could master, and Graham, and he'd left her in the end. Chosen the Savior instead.

Nothing filled the void, not like Henry, not like her little boy.

He was the only good thing that she ever found after Daniel, something that she finally got right. And now he's gone.

Good washed away.

A few more tears slip past Regina's eyelashes, and she kisses Robin more fiercely. It's desperate, and needy, and sloppy, and a little bit awkward because of how he's sitting, but he fixes that, slips his legs off the bed to stand as she lays back and then he hovers over her, kissing and threading his hands into her hair.

He's between her legs, he's between her legs, and she's whimpering, "I don't want to talk–" she teases his lower lip with her tongue "anymore, okay?" She doesn't. She loves him, and she just wants him to remind her that everything is going to be okay, that she has the capacity to love, and to love freely and deeply, with her heart, body and soul.

She doesn't want to talk, and he doesn't push her, just keeps moving their mouths and letting their tongues dance together.

But he does want to talk, does want her to open up and share what she's thinking. She's struggling with something, and he has this feeling, this really strong, strong feeling that it has to do with him and the baby and Roland, and the fact that she can no longer hide behind her mask and regal clothing, or protect her heart from being hurt again, because it's already open, it's already not her own.

There are pieces of her that belong to Henry, and Snow (even if she's still hard pressed to admit it), and David (the idiot, for making her care), and him (the thief) and his son (her brave little knight). Pieces of her soul that belong to them, because she loves them, and with love comes loss and heartache.

Or at least it does with her.

Doomed.

Fated.

To always lose.

Even when she's making good choices.

Even when she's trying.

And that scares her. Terrifies her.

Her fear isn't what bothers him. That's alright, she's allowed to be scared, that means she's alive. But there's sadness in her eyes, and he just wants her to be happy, even if she thinks it's impossible. She's a pessimist. He knows this about her, and he'll keep telling her that there's brightness in their future until one day she believes him, because he knows that healing her cracks, chasing away her demons won't happen overnight. It might take months or years; they might be old and gray, yes, old and gray, and that doesn't matter, because he's here to stay.

He's not going anywhere.

He'll continue to help her rebuild, to show her she's not damned for all eternity to live in fear of shadow. But for now, for now, he's just going to love and worship her.

Robin breaks his lips from Regina's, when she rocks her hips against him; he groans into her ear. Breath ragged and feral and hot on her neck. He rucks up her skirt to just above her bellybutton and crouches in front of her on both of his knees, her hand gripping tightly to his hair, legs dangling over the edge of the bed, nails scraping against his scalp as he glides his tongue along the inside of her thigh – high, high, higher still.

And then he stops, focus drawn up to her flat, taut stomach. He peppers chaste kisses near her navel. One. Two. Three. Nudging his nose along her skin, breathing her in, picturing the life growing within.

Will it be a boy? Or will it be a girl?

A son. With sandy blonde hair and rich eyes like his mother.

A daughter. With dark brown tresses and crystal blues like her father.

He smiles at the thought of a blue-eyed little girl, rosy apple cheeks, dark curls bouncing as she runs and plays, giggling, and grinning, and gleefully jumping into his arms.

A daughter.

He's sure of it.

The product of soulmates.

Regina groans.

He stopped, his fingers and kisses stopped, and she needs him to keep going, needs him to keep distracting her so her mind doesn't wander back to what ifs. They can talk, be contemplative and quiet later, but now she just needs him.

"Robin," Regina pants and squirms, begging to feel more than just an ache between her legs, nothing rubbing against the very core of her, her sex desperately pulsing for more, throbbing, wanting to find better friction. "It's sweet, it really is … that you're paying that much attention and care to the baby..." she pauses as he licks slowly from navel to hip.

Oh.

He nips.

Fingers teasing at the edge of her smallclothes. Damn, where's a skimpy thong or lingerie when she needs them. His thumb edges under fabric and into coarse curls, swirls and dips into her already slick slit.

Oh. Mmm.

She's getting worked up, he's working her up, making her anxiously anticipate that gloriously delicious moment when he fills her, takes her, makes her cry out and writhe in beautiful agony. "I swear to God–" she grips more tightly to his hair "if you don't get a move on, I'm going to start without you."

That does it.

Someone's not particularly patient today.

He growls against the inside of her thigh, his stubble tickles, sends shivers up her spine. He hikes her skirt higher up, lifts her left leg so it rests on top of his shoulder, places his arm under her right and firmly places his palm below her navel. This position is good. No, it's better, gives him more room, more access, and he wants that, because he's going to make her come, he's going to make her beg for it, until she's writhing and screaming and crying out for release.

"As m'lady wishes," he gruffs just before suddenly dragging his tongue through her drenched folds.

No warning. No more teasing or foreplay or prep. Just his tongue, and heat, and a quiver in her belly as he glides up and then swirls around her clit. Kisses there, blows hot air and suck, suck, sucks.

A sharp inhale of breath, and Regina fists her hands in the sheets beneath her as he says, "Is that–" he sucks harder "what you–" grazes his teeth over the very tip of her sensitive bud "wanted?"

He spreads her open, dips back in and listens as her breathing becomes more labored while she tries to nod.

Regina nods and nods and scrunches up her brow as he kisses and strokes his tongue up and then down and back up again, gently inserts one finger, pumps in and out. She's wet, oh so very wet. She bucks and whimpers, begins grinding, pushing herself harder against his exquisite tongue and skilled finger – fingers – he adds in a second, and he's pump, pump, pumping.

"Gods, your–" his other hand slowly trails up her stomach, under her dress, too much clothing, so much clothing.

Regina wants him touching her breasts, she arches her back, aches for more contact, wants to feel her skin on his skin. Her hands travel, start to knead through fabric, rubs against her peaked nipples, her eyes shut tight as Robin's tongue and fingers ripple pleasure outward, it blooms and blooms, spreads up her spine until her mouth is parted in an o, and her toes are curling, bringing her closer to the edge, she's on the cusp, ready to fall over, to overflow, and then, and then–

He stops.

A very unqueenly whine leaves her lips. She props herself up on her elbows and starts to complain, "Are you fucking kidding–" until he pulls the hidden knife out of his boot and cuts clean through the laces at the front of her corset.

A startled gasp escapes her mouth, her pupils dilating and darkening, simple pleasure and need all of a sudden replaced by lust and fire and desire reflected in her brown, heady eyes.

A cloud of purple pulls the knife from his hand, a hard thunk echoes as the blade embeds in the wall behind them, and Regina sits all the way up, grapples for the lapels of Robin's shirt and drags him toward her. He scrambles onto the bed, hands immediately scooping beneath fabric at the front of her blouse, cupping and groping and kneading her breasts as she moves her fingers down to undo his breeches, fumbling with the buckle as he eagerly complies, savagely capturing her moans and whimpers with fevered kisses. Robin pulls away, sloppy trail left on her lips, cooled by the winter air contained in their concrete room, but the temperature remains unnoticed, the heat of their bodies plenty enough to keep them warm and unaffected.

Regina gasps, all thought leaving her mind as Robin nuzzles her earlobe, nips lightly at her skin, grazing his teeth along her jaw and licking down the column of her throat.

He's a man wandering through the desert, parched, deprived of what he wants most, and what he wants most now is Regina.

She's the oasis. His life source, and he's ravenous, eager to quench his thirst.

Regina rakes her nails over his back, he straddles her waist, knees on either side of her as she pulls at the hem of his tunic, and he helps her yank it off of him – the offending garment tossed on the floor. His trousers are next, and then her skirt and ruined corset (which frankly, she doesn't mind, because he fucking cut the laces with his knife like they were nothing, he cut the laces the same way he did after saving her from the river, with one fell swoop, opening up her lungs and relieving her breasts of their confinement. She's been dreaming about him doing that again, wanted him to do that again under different circumstances, and now that he had, fuck). He meets her gaze, and they both grin.

Gods. This is going to be fun.

Robin kneels, sits between her raised knees, lifts her legs and drops them over his thighs, his throbbing erection presses urgently against her, and he groans as she wraps her hand around him and moves from base to tip, pumping a few times, while he leans forward, hovers over her and seals their mouths in a frenzy. He reaches down, swipes his fingers through her folds, making sure she's ready. She is, he knows she is, and she does too, she's been ready. He lines himself up, strokes once through her slick, slick slit, then sinks into her, girth and ridges fitting deliciously, and they moan in tandem. Foreheads touching, with his back bent away a bit, so as not to crush her or hurt her with her legs stretched like this, mouths open and hovering centimeters apart, not touching, just panting and sharing the air between them.

Regina runs her hands up and down his back, sweat gleaming at her temples, beading in the valley between her breasts, nipples peaking against the cool air as he moves inside her. She lets out a soft cry, rocking her hips to meet each of his thrusts, but it's not deep enough, there's not enough friction, she wants more, and Robin seems to catch on, knows her body well enough by now that he's already way ahead of her.

He grabs a pillow, and she helps by lifting her hips so he can scoot it beneath her, and there, that's better, and oh. Oh, god. That's much better, changes the angle, allows each thrust to take him deeper, to hit a spot that has pleasure not only blooming in her belly but cascading out until she's bucking against him in counterpoint every time he thrusts into her. Regina arches her hips toward him, a low ragged moan escapes her lips, her orgasm hits with tidal wave force and a strangled cry races out of her throat as she comes hard.

Robin stills inside her, knuckles white, fisting the sheets as his brow scrunches up. He pants and pants and pants, his abdomen tense with his lack of release. He's close, starting to get pulled over the edge as her muscles milk him; it wouldn't take much, and Regina knows this, so without thinking much further, she scootches away, pulls his mouth to hers, causing his body to lay flush with hers, then tucks her ankle behind his and rolls them, quick and easy (well, maybe not that easy), her hair falling around her flushed face as she flashes him a wicked grin.

"Smooth, m'lady," he chuckles, gripping her hips, taking in her heavy breathing as she straddles him . "Usually you need a second to–" she silences his words with a kiss, uses her tongue to tease at his lower lip, shuts him up, and then she leans back.

"Robin," she grinds forward harshly, steals both of their breaths away, "Are you" she grinds backward "really complaining" she lifts up just enough so the head of his cock is the only thing still inside her, and then thrusts down "about how" she leans forward and kisses him gently at first and then deeply, parts her lips to breathe and says, "we got here?" rocking back into him. He gasps. Mmmm. Of course not, he shakes his head, because how foolish. "Good," she smiles and then they're moving again.

Regina's breasts bounce in front of him, a tantalizing view from here on his back, and it's perfect, this is perfect. Her straddling his hips, taking him in as she rocks against him, controls the pleasure, maintains the rhythm of her pelvis bumping against his. He clutches at her arse, her beautiful, crime worthy arse, helps her keep a steady pace, pumps his hips up faster, and with each meeting, Regina feels tension building again.

One of Robin's hands leaves her breast and coasts down, down, down, over her flat belly, below her navel until his thumb finds purchase and thrums on her clit.

She's there again, at the precipice of orgasm, leans back and grips Robin's thighs, gyrating as he thrusts harder, more urgently, more sporadically and then, "Guuhh– oh God, fuck!" Regina shouts, comes and comes and comes. Arms going weak. Robin sits up, pulls her body to his, sweaty heaving chests slap together, and he growls, bites his lower lip, gives one long final thrust as they cling to each other, her arms wrapped tightly around him, and he explodes, spilling into her.

They gasp and collapse together. Him on his back, her sprawled out on top of him, legs tangled, panting and trying to catch their breath.

Minutes tick by, and then he quietly says, "I love you," carding his hand through her sex-touseled hair.

"I love you, too," she echoes, lifting up her head to rest her chin on his chest so she can look at him better.

She eases off him, flops back on the mattress, letting out a content, sated sigh. He shifts, props himself up on his elbow and stares at her, chest still heaving from their vigorous love-making, grinning at her pleased expression before he frowns slightly.

He hooks his finger under her chin and draws her face to look at him, "I love you," he says it again, rubs his thumb there, and then hesitantly moves his hand down, skims his fingers along the side of her breast, makes her tingle, down ever more, until his palm rests just below her navel. "And I love this baby. But Regina, I don't want you to ever think," he shakes his head lightly, "that I only see you as just the mother of my child. That's a bonus, and something to be happy about, tis true, but you're more than that to me." She laces her fingers with his. He knew that's what it had been, that pained, sad, faraway look in her eyes that he wanted to love away instantly. "You're a fighter, and brave, and a savior." That one in particular grates something awful, because she's not the savior, Emma is and always will be, but not to him, to him Regina is more than a hero. He, more than anyone, knows this without any doubt. "You saved Roland and me. You're good, and a leader, and my queen, and you're complicated and stubborn," she glares, giving him a look that says finish that sentence, I dare you, and he does, only not the way she expected, "And you have a past just like me, dark and twisted and filled with grief. You've just found out you have a sister, one hell bent on revenge, and even in that we're alike. I've not told you yet that I used to have a brother."

Her brows set deep. No. No, he hadn't.

She trails her fingers back and forth along the inside of his arm, it tickles, but in a good way, soothes and comforts as he starts to tell her about his brother.

"He was older, but only by a couple of years. We were very close growing up, as close as brothers could be, and we spent many a days adventuring through the woods." He pauses, clears his throat and pulls the heavy furs up to cover them. The heat of their bodies dissipating and winter's chill a bit too nippy for their naked, sweaty skin to bare.

"Our father broke his leg during King Richard's first Great War. It crippled him, and he wasn't the same after coming back. Physically or mentally. He began drinking. Just one pint in the beginning. But then that became two, and two became stints down at the local tavern. I was probably five and ten years of age, the first time he hit my mother in a drunken stupor. And none of us expected it. He begged for forgiveness. But then he did it again, and I … I tried to stop him. Shouted for him to leave her alone. He did. And then he spun around and backhanded me so hard I fell over."

His father beat him until his eldest son, Andrew, wrestled to pull him off. But that was by no means the last time he laid a hand on either of them or their mother. During the day, he'd be gone, out at the tavern, drinking away the sunlight, and in those hours, Robin and Andrew disappeared into the woods, went on adventures and imagined a better life together.

Robin brushes a few strands of hair away from Regina's face with his fingertips.

The adventuring didn't last long.

"The thing is, even when I had reason to hate my father, and I did hate him, I also desperately wanted his approval and his love. I wanted him to be proud of me. So when I was of age, I joined the King's guard to try and do just that. To make him proud. And by then, Andrew and I had grown apart. He thought I was a fool for pledging my allegiance to the crown, and I thought he was spineless for not. I didn't realize that in the end I was the fool." Robin twists his wrist as Regina traces over the black tattoo on his skin, "The royal guards were corrupt and dishonest, invoking the name of our liege to get away with villainous crimes, to treat common folk like the dirt on the bottom of their boots. They took what didn't belong to them, which is sort of fitting, because I forsake my oath and my king to get away from their cruelty and theft, and then I ended up stealing to survive. I couldn't go home. I couldn't use my given name, because Locksley had been dubbed a deserter. I banded with a few other petty thieves and we eventually became the Merry Men. Outlaws. It wasn't until I met Marian that I changed, that we amended our ways. I stole two horses from her family just because I could, and then she came and found me, arrow pointed at my face, and told me that I stole her family's livelihood. After that, we only stole from the rich and gave to the poor."

Regina's mouth upturns at the corner. Apparently, Robin isn't the one person who likes to point arrows in the faces of strangers at first meeting. She thinks she would've like to meet this Marian – the brave woman who seems to have helped alter the course of her soulmate's life for the better.

"And what happened to your brother? You said you used to have one. That implies that you don't any longer," she comments, looking up at him from beneath her lashes, her thumb brushing over his knuckles.

"It's complicated" is his answer, and Regina glares at him again, because her life is nothing but complicated. And her family history is as fucked up as it gets. He chuckles at the look on her face and concedes with, "He blames me for ruining his life."

"And did you?" She asks. Ruining his life, a phrase with which she's familiar.

"Yes," Robin mutters against the crown of her head. She finds that hard to believe, can't imagine him ruining anyone's life intentionally. "So you see, we've much more in common than you realize. I said I know you better, and I do, cause you're like me. I was once, long ago, quite different. But I changed. I left my past in the past, where it belongs, as you have. We've both suffered from heartache and a touch of self-loathing, but we've changed. We're not the people we used to be. I'm no longer the boy in that bar with a tattoo. And you're no longer the Evil Queen. I'm just Robin, and more importantly, you're just Regina."

He doesn't reveal how or why he believes he ruined his brother's life, and she doesn't push him. It's the least she can do since he never forces her to divulge deeper into her past than she's willing to go.

He'll tell her when he's ready.

Robin's palm inches under the covers and back to her belly again. He kisses her brow and breathes in the scent of her hair, apples and vanilla faintly linger in her silky yet tousled locks. "You're the woman I love, and we're having a baby."

Regina opens her mouth to say something, but he already knows what's weighing on her heart so he says, "No matter what happens, I'm here. I'll not leave. We're in this – in everything – together, remember? I won't let anything happen to you or to the baby."

A promise she knows he can't possibly keep.

She takes a shuddering inhale, burrows her face deep into the crook of his neck and just whispers, "I love you," lacing her fingers with his over her stomach.

Have faith, Regina. Have hope, Regina. Be happy, Regina.

She repeats the words over and over again in her head. She's trying, she really is, but–

This is supposed to be her punishment, her debt, her sacrifice required to stop Pan's curse. She needed to give up the thing she loves most, and that meant Henry. Her love for him is fierce and consuming and before being banished back to the Enchanted Forest there was no other that came close to filling her heart the way he did. But now, what if … what if her heart is capable of loving a few other people just as equally? What if she loves Robin and Roland and this baby just as much as she loves her little prince?

What then? Would her sacrifice be for naught?

Regina fears telling Robin what she's afraid of the most, because a part of her, a huge part of her believes there's power is speaking things aloud, and she won't say this.

She refuses.

Though, that doesn't stop her from thinking it, stomach churning up again.

Villains never get happy endings, and losing Henry nearly killed her. What is she going to do if she loses Robin or Roland or the baby?

"I love you, too, Regina," Robin's eyes drift shut, and he snuggles closer to her.

Or unthinkably, what if she loses all three?

The next morning, Regina and Robin do precisely what they promised Roland. They wake up, get dressed, meet him and the Merry Men down in the Great Hall for breakfast, and then they take him on a walk through the gardens. They spend a good portion of the morning playing and laughing and adventuring. Robin chasing after Roland and Regina protecting her little knight from his big, scary papa as they duck and hide behind hedges and trees while enjoying a thrill-filled game of hide-and-seek.

Around noon, when the sun is high in the sky and directly above them, Regina brews a locator potion, sprinkles it over the glass vial. Robin tells his son he'll be back before he knows it and kisses him on top of his head. Regina smiles at the two of them and then positively beams when Roland rushes over to her and gives her the biggest hug he can manage for a four-year-old.

"I've got him," Granny says, lifting Roland out of her arms. "Nothing to worry about. Just come back safely. And Regina," she starts and then nods at her knowingly. "You take care."

She wants to retort with some snide remark, but it's not necessary, she knows it's not. Nor is it appropriate given that Granny actually does care and is just concerned, for her, and for the baby. So she thinks before she speaks, breathes in and out, and says, "I will. Thank you."

A smile tugs at the corner of Robin's mouth as Regina kisses Roland on the cheek one more time.

"Ready?" Robin asks, swinging his quiver onto his back. She nods and they walk out of the castle, down the front steps and into the main quad. Much, John, Alan and Tuck wait for them, just before the main gate.

Regina whispers life into a spell she memorized long ago, and the vial sitting in her palm glows, rises into the air and begins floating away from her. She follows it, steps determined and purposeful; Robin at her side and John, Much, Alan and Tuck trailing behind them.

Disclaimer: I don't own them. But they sure are fun to write about. Let me know what you think. Good or bad. :)