Looking over at Robin, she draws his cloak up around her shoulders and shivers as a chill runs down her spine. The burlap dress she wears might as well not even be on her. It offers her no warmth and, though she's been out of the rain for hours now, it seems perpetually damp and cold–and without doubt, if Robin hadn't given her his cloak that morning, she'd have frozen to death hours ago.

Sighing through another shiver, she grins a bit wistfully as she looks over at Robin, watching him sleep in an upright, sitting position that doesn't look comfortable or conducive to sleep. Yet, there he is, dozing peacefully beside her.

Turning toward him, she looks at him–noting the scruff on his cheeks and the dimples that sink into their corners, even when his face is rested as it is now–and she can't help but think that, in the light of day and without the hood and mask–he's not an unattractive man. In fact, it's quite the contrary–she finds him incredibly attractive, and she wonders how it is that she's spent the last several years living in Salem and never once noticed him, especially given that he was around to enough notice her. She reaches out and tentatively traces a finger over his arm, and she thinks of how nice it was to let him hold her, to let him comfort her in a way that few ever had–and as she watches him sleep, she can't help but think of how much she envies him.

It's hard to imagine what it's like to be able to fall asleep so easily, simply because your body was tired enough to do so–to just block away the world and to sleep even in the most uncertain and uncomfortable of circumstances. Even on the best of nights, it's a struggle for her to stop her thoughts from spinning around in her head–and this wasn't even night.

It was the middle of the day and through the cracks in the cellar door, she could see rays of light streaming in. Every now and then, she heard the rustling wind or what she could only assume was a little woodland animal climbing over the cellar door. It wasn't time to sleep and her body knew that. She was bored, but restless, and though she more than understood the necessity of staying still and quiet in the cellar, it was a challenge and went against every natural instinct she had.

Aside from the wind and creatures of the forest, they'd barely heard a sound–and that quiet had lulled Robin into a seemingly easy and peaceful sleep. The search party had come and gone, then come again; and each time they passed by the cellar as if it wasn't there, as if they couldn't see it. On their first time by, she could hear their voices–muffled and low–and though she couldn't quite make out the words they spoke, she could hear the anger and the hate and the fear that they felt. She'd held her breath and Robin held his–and for the first time, he looked worried–but then, just as abruptly as they came, they left. Then, the second time they came by, they'd lingered longer, their voices seemingly perplexed. One suggested she'd escaped to a neighboring village or was being harbored by a neighboring tribe–and that's when they'd noticed the cellar as one asked what's there? and footsteps neared.

Her heart beat a mile a minute and tears filled her eyes, and she found herself reaching for Robin's hand–and to her great relief, he pulled her close and readied an arrow.

But he hadn't needed the arrow.

The men of the search party scoffed and said it looked like a small animal's den and though Regina Mills was small in stature, she could never hide in a pile of brush and leaves–and before she even processed their words, and came to understand that someone had covered up the cellar doors, the men left to look once more down by the river.

She'd held her breath longer than she should have–longer than necessarily–and when she finally breathed out in relief, her head was dizzy and she felt a bit faint. She must of wavered because Robin's arms tightened around her as he dropped the arrow down beside them.

It seemed silly to be so upset now. She hadn't cried when she was arrested or through the tests, and she hadn't cried as she listened to the testimony against her. She'd cried a little when she was pushed into her cell, but for the most part, she was numb and resigned to her fate–and now, she was living on borrowed time. Already, she'd lived longer than anticipated; by the point in the day, she should have been dead for hours–yet here she was.

Here she was, crying.

Wordlessly, Robin hugs her closer, and now that her tears have started, she can't seem to stop them.

He rubs her back and rocks her gently, but he doesn't tell her that everything will be alright. The confidence and bravado from the night before seems gone, and she wonders if he regrets his decision to break her out and run away with her–after all, until the previous night, she'd been an absolute stranger to him, and now, his life hinged on hers.

"I…"

"Shh," he cuts in, barely audible as he shakes his head. "Not til we know they've gone."

"But–"

"Shhh—"

She tries to protest, but her words fall short and she knows that he's right. They're hiding in plain sight, and if she can just stay quiet, it should all blow over–and by nightfall, they'll be on their way again. She tells herself that again, and again, that staying quiet is merely a precautionary measure, that it'll be dusk soon and then dark and–

Then, he presses a kiss to her forehead, and for a brief moment, the voice in her head silences.

She looks up at him with wide eyes, and he grins a bit sheepishly, his cheeks flush beneath his beard. For a moment they both just sit there, staring at one another as if considering what to do or say–and then, as the little voice in her head comes back and reminds her of the danger they're both in and how ill advised it'd be to talk, she pushes herself forward, pressing her lips to his.

She's not sure if its a kiss or not–well, not at first–but then, he doesn't pull away. His hand coasts up over her cheek, drawing her closer, and his tongue brushes against her bottom lip–and all of it makes her heart beat wildly, drowning out the nervous little voice in her head.

Robin's tongue slips between her lips, brushing over hers, as he again pulls her closer to him, and she finds herself craving his. His are lips soft and warm, and slowly, his hands slip around her, holding her close and warming her up–and then, when he pulls back, his eyes filled with questions, she nods and pushes herself back to him, kissing him harder as he pulls her into his lap. There's an excitement about it and also a comfort, and never in her life has she done something like this–never in her life has she given into flirtation and let a man she barely knew kiss her and touch her, and never before in her life had she trusted a man enough to let him go further than that.

He grins a little when he pulls back and tightens the cloak strings around her neck, then reaches down and lifts her skirt–and as she draws in a breath, she nods and focuses on his eyes, lifting her hips to let him gather up her thin burlap skirt. Her heart pounds as he pulls her back to him, kissing her as his arms form around her back–and then, she lets out a little giggle as he reaches up and pulls the twine from her hair. Her hair falls down around her shoulders as he breaks the kiss, watching as she shakes it out.

It's odd that she'd forgotten the too-tight bun at the back of her head, and even odder how much more herself she feels with her hair down and loose–and she can't remember the last time she wore it this way. She only ever took it down to wash it. Robin tucks it behind her ears, smiling as his fingers comb though it–and then, as the little voice in the back of her head starts to question what they're doing, she decides to silence it once again and she leans back in to kiss him. This time, her hands reach between them, fumbling with the buckle on his pants–and then, as her hand slips inside of them, the voice returns, reminding her that this is something wicked and evil girls would do. For a moment, she considers pulling back and stopping it, but when she pulls back, Robin smiles at her and strokes her hair, and when their eyes meet, the voice in her head once again fades away.

Not breaking their kiss, she pulls herself up a bit, adjusting herself over him and pushing herself closer. Between them, she can feel him adjusting himself and when he tries to pull back, likely to question if this is what she really wants, she kisses him harder. Both of her hands slide up over his cheeks, holding him where he is–and when a soft chuckle escapes him, she finds herself giggling, too.

She eases herself down onto him slowly, her breath catching in her chest as he fills her–and for a moment, she just lets him hold her, enjoying the closeness and warmth. Then, her hips begin to move, rocking back and forth, and allowing herself a physical pleasure she'd never quite enjoyed before–and finally, she succeeds in blocking away the world.

When it's done, he holds her, cuddling her close and wrapping her up in his cloak as her body and mind finally give way to her exhaustion.