Regina's eyes flutter open, and the first thing she notices is that the cellar is darker-and then after that, she realizes that Robin is still holding her. Her cheeks flush with embarrassment as she pulls back, remembering what she allowed to happen between them-but when she looks at him, he's not looking at her with any judgement.

"You slept well," he tells her easily, his voice just above a whisper. "You needed it."

Swallowing, she nods, bristling a bit at the lack of warmth she feels now that she's away from him. "Mm, yes," she nods. "I… is that your way of telling me that I was cranky?"

He grins. "Not cranky," he says slowly. "Just… very clearly tired."

Her eyes narrow and she feels her defensiveness prickling at her-and she knows that it's not him bothering her. But she's always been good at sabotaging herself. It's almost like an instinct for her, a way to push back against her own choice and feelings, to cast blame elsewhere-and she hates it, though, no matter what, it always feels like she's incapable of stopping it once it's started.

"What are you implying?" she hears herself ask, unwilling to admit the obvious in that she was actually tired.

"Look, I'm just saying that it's been a rough couple of days for you."

He doesn't engage the way that she wants him to and she frowns. "But-"

"Stop."

"What are you-"

"I'm not going to argue."

"But-"

"No." Robin grins and crosses his arms over his chest. "I don't know what this is, exactly, but I'm not going to participate in it." She's not entirely sure how to respond to that, but when she huffs and folds her arms, he laughs softly and watches her with those kind, sparkling blue eyes. "You did this yesterday, too."

"If you don't like my company-" At that, she grimaces, wondering why she can't just drop it. "I'm sorry," she mutters. "I can't seem to get a handle on… well…"

"Like I said," he says, his voice low but soft. "It's been a rough couple of days." She nods and settles back against the cold wall of the cellar, folding her legs beneath herself and pulling his cloak right around herself-and she feels guilt bubbling up at her core as that little voice returns, telling her that this won't end well for him. "I know how tense I feel. I can only imagine that it's doubly so for you."

She nods-and then, sighs. "I don't like feeling… confined."

"No one does."

"Well, I just… when I was little and then again when I came to Salem to live with Leopold, I…"

Her voice trail and her eyes pinch closed, and she can almost feel Leopold shoving her into a darkened closet as memories of being left alone in the dark swirl through her head. Just thinking of it, her chest tightens and it's a struggle to breathe. Her fists ache as she if she's already been pounding on the doors for hours, her throat sore from screaming as she tamps down the anger bubbling at her core, wondering how it is that no one seemed able to hear her.

It'd always been like this, ever since she was a girl, and for the life of her, she struggled to understand how to be good. The rules seemed ever-changing, and she just kept getting herself into trouble. She didn't try to, but it always happened. Leopold told her that she didn't have a moral compass, and her mother always told her she didn't understand the way the world worked-and she supposed, both of those things were true. She didn't have a good gauge of her actions-and what led her to this cellar was a perfect example. She thought she was defending her step-daughter and protecting her from harm, but in reality, all she was doing was sealing her own fate-and what seemed like giving in to her vulnerability and allowing herself a distraction and comfort would likely lead to the demise of someone who'd shown her nothing but kindness.

"I shouldn't have let myself-"

"You don't regret what happened between us, do you?"

"No," she admits, her cheeks flushing with warmth and embarrassment. "But still, it's not something-"

"I won't spread it around, you know. I won't… tell anyone."

"Who would you tell?" she asks, a sardonic little laugh bubbling up from her. "If you told anyone you'd been with me, you'd hang."

"Or be accused of-" He sighs. "Yeah, I'd hang."

"You could leave, you know." Robin's brows arch. "I wouldn't hold it against you."

"And what would happen to you if I did that?"

"That's not really your concern."

"I think it is," he counters, crossing his arms in an annoyingly stubborn but sweet way. "I think you are my concern."

"Why?" she asks, bristling at his show of kindness. "Because you had sex with me?"

Robin's eyes roll, but he doesn't look at all put off. "No," he says easily. "Because we're in this together."

"We don't have to be."

"I know that, but I am the one who broke you out of that jail cell, and I am the one harboring a fugitive. If I leave who's to say you wouldn't give me up?" Again, his brow arches and he grins. "Look, I'm not going to drag you off and make you marry me just because we slept together or… anything equally extreme, but until I know that you're safe, you're stuck with me."

"Why?"

"Hm?"

"Why are you so intent on saving me?"

He shrugs and his grin fades. "It's what I do."

Something in his voice changes and makes her curious-and more than anything she wants to shift both the conversation and her thoughts away from herself. "Do you, um… want to…"

"Talk about it?" he asks, folding his arms much like she did before. "Not especially." She frowns, and he softens and sighs. "There's not much to it."

"Much to what?"

"The story."

Nodding, she bites down on her lip. "It's just… you know so much about me and-"

Robin's eyes roll. "You just want another distraction." Her eyes fall away from his and she feels guilt pang at her core, embarrassed once more, but this time because she's trying to use something that's likely personal and painful for him for her own amusement.

Well. Not quite amusement, but-

"Her name was Marian," he says, sighing and waiting for her to look up. "She died because of me."

"Oh," Regina breathes out, her chest tightening. "You don't have to-"

"It's fine," he says. "I just I miss her and talking about her reminds me of that." And then he shrugs, a sad little smile edging onto his lips. "I always forget that I like remembering her."

"Did you love her?"

Robin nods. "Very much so."

Swallowing hard, Regina hesitates. "Did you… I mean, did she… know how you felt about her?"

"I'd like to think so," he admits, laughing gently. "After all, we were planning to marry."

"Oh, Robin that's-" Her eyes press closed and she looks away, shaking her head and hating that this is where she brought their conversation. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he tells her. "I meant it when I said I like talking about her."

Reaching out, Robin touches his hand to her knee. "How did you meet her?" she asks, looking up-and before she can assure him that he doesn't have to answer that or apologize for an imprudent question, he smiles and tells her they'd known each other since they were kids.

"Her mother grew up in the same Wampanoag village that I grew up in. When she married, she moved further south, but her parents would bring her to see her cousins and aunts and uncles and-"

"You?"

"After awhile, yes," he tells her. "Her father came over as a servant to one of the settlers and then bought his freedom about ten years later. He was… a proud man, as you might imagine, and I knew that I wasn't good enough for his daughter-"

"I'm sure that's not-"

"Oh, it was," he tells her, nodding. "And he reminded me of it often. He told me once that he didn't trust me and that I'd get Marian into trouble and… and that was the day I told him that I was in love with her and wanted to marry her."

"How did that go?"

"Not well," he admits. "But then Marian came in and… and he couldn't deny her anything, so he agreed to let us see each other."

Her stomach flops-she wants to smile, but she knows that this is merely a sweet spot in a sad story. "Then what happened?"

"Uh, well, we started to see each other more and more, and that meant more and more people saw us together." He clears his throat. "I told you about my thieving ways, right?"

"You did."

"Well, I, um… I stole a necklace and I tucked it away and forgot about it. I meant to pawn it, but…" Robin sighs and shrugs. "Like I said, I forgot… until Marian found it."

"Was she angry?"

"No," he tells her. "But she liked it, so I gave it to her and… um…"

"Oh," she breathes out, suddenly understanding.

"She was accused of theft and when I came forward, no one believed me." His eyes darken. "Your intruder-" Regina feels her eyes widen. "He, um… he blamed her for other thefts and there was nothing I could do or say to counter that."

"How, um… how did she die?"

Again, his eyes darken. "She was hanged and then she was taken down and… burned in a fire." Regina watches as his eyes shift away from her and, perhaps on his instinct, she finds herself reaching for his hand. "I didn't get to say goodbye to her. I didn't even get to bury her."

"I… don't know what to say," she murmurs, vaguely remembering Leopold and Gold talking about a native woman who'd quietly been raiding homes in Salem and how she got what she deserved. She hadn't pressed for details-she didn't want them-and she'd learned not to question the motives of her husband, much less the church. But she also remembered sneaking off into the woods and sitting in front of a fire as she asked Bondye or Loa or any spirit that might be listening to look out for the woman's soul because, without knowing the details, she knew that she didn't deserve to die. "I'm sorry."

"Thank you."

For a moment, she just sits there, holding her breath and contemplating what to do-and then, in one fluid motion, she shifts herself to the opposite end of the bench so that she's sitting beside him. She stretches her arm around his shoulders-and though she's not sure it's of any help to him, she hopes that she can provide him with even just a sliver of the comfort that he's brought to her.