Belief

Based on x and combined with x.

I could just see Regina getting angry and starting to slip and use her magic in a bad way, and Robin's calmly talking her down so gently from that; unafraid, he takes her hand, strokes his fingers over hers, tells her he knows her heart, that their love will always be stronger.

More than anything, I think he wants to be the one person in her life who won't give up on her, that he wants to know who she could be (and he wants her to know it about herself) if someone believed she was worthy of love and hope and second chances.

"Regina…" Robin trails off at the sight of a gurgling potion before her, ominously black and smoking on the table in her vault.

"Did the Charmings send you?" she scoffs, "Because if you want to stop me, you're going to need something more than that pathetic bow and arrow of yours."

Robin takes a slow step towards her. He and his wife separated weeks ago, and yet Regina still won't let him near her, has hidden away from him or kicked him out of her home, until Snow came to him this evening in a panic to say that nobody had heard from her all weekend. "I came on my own, Milady, and I certainly don't plan on shooting any arrows. I didn't bring any weapons."

Regina spins to catch his eye, hers wild and untamed, her face impassive. "It's Your Majesty, Robin Hood." A sprinkle of powder joins the potion, a crackling sound, and it changes color to dark blue. "And you are a fool."

It's the utter calm in Robin's voice that seems to give her pause, devoid of any fear or panic, concerned but not patronizing, firm, disappointed perhaps, but not angry. He is not angry with her, never afraid of her. "Regina, what are you making?"

"Nothing that concerns you, thief. Well, it won't, in five minutes." A dark laugh follows her words, like a joke and he's missed the punch line.

"Who is it for?" His knuckles brush against her shoulder. A featherlight touch, completely at odds with her tensed muscles.

She flinches, adds archly, her voice quivering beneath the taunt. "No one you'll miss."

"Regina, please, tell me." He grasps her hand as she moves to pour in another ingredient, his fingers gentle around hers and the glass vial she holds, his thumb sweeping across the back of her hand.

Robin catches another glance at the vial's label, RH, inside it a thread of green cloth. "Is that mine?"

Regina yanks her hand out of his, his grip too gentle for him to even notice until she's gone. Her eyes flash to his for a moment, blown wide. "Afraid yet?"

"No." The words solid, warm. "Of course not."

She cannot help but stare at him, her hands pausing in their work. "Why?"

"I know you. I know your heart. This isn't you."

She scoffs, turning back to her potion, "I think many would disagree."

"To hell with them." He lets the words fall between them, at once gentle and firm, "I know you better."

Her shoulders slump, her back too, and this time, when she turns, tears are gathering in her eyes. He catches her, arms around her back, drawing her against him. She buries her face in his shirt.

"It's a potion to—to—" she can't get the words out over the sudden sobs, the tears pooling on his shirt.

He kisses her hair, his arms tightening around her.

"To forget you," she chokes out, a breathy gasp punctuating each word, her voice low and muffled in his shirt.

He gasps, backing them a step away from the table, another. Her hands scramble at his chest to push back, and he won't let her.

"I should—I should take it—n—now."

"Never."

"Robin," she sighs, her breath still stuttering against his chest, her forehead and chin digging into him with each whimpering cry, her shoulders curled into him.

He smoothes her hair against her neck and rubs a hand up and down her back. "It wouldn't work, anyway."

Her head jerks back, her eyes flitting around his face, some of the tears drying in her determination. "Yes it will."

"No," he brushes her hair behind her ear, presses a lingering kiss to her forehead, "Even if you had taken it, I would've found a way to break the curse."

She tilts her head back to look at him, her hands around his waist, eyes dark, but warm this time, not empty, face crumpled. "And if I want to forget?"

"I don't think you do."

She looks startled to him, and he doesn't quite understand until her fingers reach up and brush tears off his cheeks, her skin smooth and terribly cold from being in the freezing vault. "You look afraid now," she whispers.

"Yeah," he swallows past the lump in his throat, closes the last bit of space between them, sighing in relief when she winds her arms all the way around his waist and nestles her face in his neck. He takes a deep breath, and with it comes the scent of her, vanilla and pine and apples, every plane of their bodies pressed together, his hand carding through her hair. She hasn't done it. He made it here in time, and he's not certain she would've done it anyway, but that hadn't calmed the panic.

He feels her hand lift away from them, and when he blinks his eyes open for a moment, the potion has vanished. She sobs harder.

"Shhh," he angles his cheek against the side of her head, the pads of his fingers digging into her back, catching on the tie of her wool coat. "You're okay. Take a deep breath." Her lungs fill and empty against his stomach, her breath on his neck. "Let's get out of here, all right?"

He holds her hand as they walk up the stairs and Henry takes his place by her side.

It takes a few more weeks for them to talk, really talk about everything, but she did not raise the Truest Believer for nothing, and, eventually, she believes in herself again.