IMPORTANT: This is a collection of unrelated drabbles and ficlets centered on the pairing of Regina Mills and Robin Hood. They vary in genre and rating. PLEASE NOTE THE RATINGS AND APPLICABLE WARNINGS AT THE BEGINNING OF EACH CHAPTER. (I'm not offended if you need to skip some of these stories!)

RATING: K+
GENRE: Canon Divergence (at the end of 3B), Angst
SUMMARY: Robin has a chance meeting with a ghost of Regina's past.

CONSEQUENCES

It's the crack of a fallen branch that gives Robin away. He'd been observing the dark-haired man through a thicket of trees, debating the virtues of making a stealthy retreat or revealing himself. The former feels like cowardice, but the latter would be a pointless exercise in sizing his masculinity against the other under the guise of polite conversation.

Unfortunately, it turns out that a code of honor doesn't eradicate infantile jealousy.

The decision is made for him, however, with the snap of wood beneath his boot. His quarry glances up, brows furrowing as he scans the forest, and Robin blows out a mute breath as he steps into view. He doesn't smile. He can't. Not while facing the resurrected past of the woman who is—was—supposed to be his future.

"I didn't mean to disturb you," he explains. "My men and I patrol the woods near town. This place seems to attract trouble." And heartache as he's intimately discovering.

Daniel nods. ("Daniel?" she exclaimed in a voice stained with shock, with tears.) "You're Robin, right? The outlaw?"

Robin's jaw clenches at this. He's not ashamed of what he's become, but the moniker makes him feel suddenly less in contrast to a man who never walked in crooked paths—who hadn't lived long enough to wrestle with the unsavory choice between two or more evils, the test of character that comes to all men and women eventually.

"Robin of Locksley," he says, though he doesn't add his typical "at your service" to his introduction. He doesn't bow, doesn't offer to shake. He knows he's above such pettiness—he's even made peace with the old Sheriff of Nottingham, after a manner—but his misery is too raw to extend a hand of friendship to this man yet.

"Henry," Daniel says the boy's name as if he's bewildered that Regina has a pubescent son, "showed me your story. I guess your legend was after my time." He shakes his head with a rueful chuckle, and sympathy takes up insidious residence in Robin's chest, chastising him for his petulant envy.

He sits next to the other man, casting a glance at the worn storybook resting on Daniel's lap. How much of it had he read? Does he know what befell his beloved after his demise? Including the man who recently had possession of her heart? "I imagine all of this has been rather—," Robin pauses, searching for the right word, "—confounding for you."

Daniel gives him a bitter smile. "Confounding," he replies. "That's one way to put it." He rubs his palms across the book. "Everything is different. Everyone is different. This world…"

"I know," Robin agrees. "I've only recently come over, myself. It takes some getting used to."

Daniel makes a noise of agreement. Several uncomfortable heartbeats pass with nothing but the ambient sounds of the forest. Robin has always had a gift of discerning the true measure of those who have crossed his path, and the man seated next to him, gripping that book as though it is his anchor to reality, is a good man. Robin wishes he wasn't, though. Because then he wouldn't be on the cusp of losing his second chance to her first. He should want her happiness above all—above his own—but he cannot help harboring the secret desire that he will somehow be a part of that much sought for ending.

"She told me to read this," Daniel says, broaching the silence. "Regina. She said I needed to know what happened after I—" He frowns, blows out a sigh before looking at Robin with a somber gaze. "Did you know her when she…"

"When she was called the Evil Queen?" Robin finishes for him. He regrets this, too—the dark hope that Daniel won't understand, won't be able to reconcile her black past with the pure creature he loved once. Robin can give that to her; he bears the scars from his own journey through hell. "Aside from the occasional brush with her black knights, I didn't know her then."

He thinks of when he did know her. In the Enchanted Forest when she shot invectives at him with the same lethal accuracy which he fires arrows from his bow. He recalls how she drove him to the brink of madness at times, and yet, in the quiet moments when she believed she was alone, he witnessed the grief she hid beneath her mask of a haughty royal. He was compelled to ease her suffering. He remembers their second first meeting in Storybrooke—the instant, overwhelming attraction to her. His inexplicable drive to be near her, to know her, to protect her. He can recount with aching exactness the sound of her heart beating in the palm of his hand, the taste of her lips on his, the caress of her fingers over the crest inked into his forearm as she told him they were soul mates. All of this ripped from him mere hours later as Daniel gathered her into his arms and pressed a kiss to her temple.

"This," Daniel says, awakening Robin from his despondent reflections, "is distressing." He opens the book, leafs through several pages. He stops at the image of Regina being fitted for a wedding gown, traces the forced impassivity in her expression, the veil of tears hinting in her lashes. "Look at what I did to her."

Robin's hopes splinter at the ghost of anguish and regret radiating from the other man. He shouldn't have doubted that Regina's first love would be just as loyal, as compassionate as he is. He bears the weight of this crushing revelation with the last vestige of his dignity. "It's a gift," he says, "to be loved so deeply." Would that she loved him as much.

"Is it?" Daniel counters. "This isn't what I wanted for her. I would have wanted her to find happiness again." His brows draw together before going on, "I suppose it wouldn't have been easy, though, not with her mother and the Dark One conspiring against her. I wish I could have saved her from all of this pain."

It's a noble wish—far nobler than Robin's wishes of late—but it's naïve. "It gave her Henry." And me, Robin leaves unsaid. "We are shaped by our worst experiences as much as we are by our best moments—perhaps more so. She is exceptionally resilient, more than she realizes."

Daniel's chin drops as his fingers splay over the page. "You're right," he says. "She's always been incredible."

The affection in his tone is a dagger slipping between Robin's ribs. He was a fool to believe he could compete with the one who had faith in her first, who stirred that initial blush of love, of hopes and dreams. He can't bring himself to stand aside entirely for Daniel, though, no matter how honorable the act would be. Not until she makes her choice. For her, Robin will cut out his own heart and deliver it up as a sacrifice.

"Do you love her?" Daniel asks. When Robin stares at him, uncertain that he heard the question correctly, Daniel clarifies, "She told me about you, too. Do you love her?"

"Do you?" Robin deflects. He isn't about to lay bare this truth when he's already too vulnerable.

Daniel cocks his head as though the answer should be obvious. "Yes, of course," he says. "It's only been a few days for me."

Robin gives him a sad smile and offers him this wrenching confession: "For me as well." He stands before the other man can respond. "I need to resume my patrol." (He needs to escape.) "You're all right finding your way back to town?" Back to her.

Daniel glances northward, toward the road concealed beyond the tree line, and nods. "Thank you." He turns back to Robin. "For everything you've done for her."

Robin says nothing, merely dips his head in acknowledgement before fading into the forest.

She appears at the edge of camp when the moon has reached its zenith in the clear night sky. She is an angel come to be his salvation or condemnation. He's not prepared for the final verdict, though. He knows he will survive if her choice isn't him—he has much to live for: his men, his son—but he doesn't want to have to. Not yet.

He closes the gap between them, counting each step as though they are leading him to the gallows. He clenches his hands to keep from touching her, from holding her as he murmurs her name.

"You talked with Daniel today," she says without preamble. Her eyes glisten with turmoil, and Robin should be embarrassed by the relief that swells within him over her struggle. He isn't. He hasn't lost her. Hope still burns.

"He loves you," he admits, and emboldened, adds, "And so do I."

He captures her beautiful face in both of his hands, draws her into a kiss imbued with his longing, his fears, his desire. He wants to be her partner, her greatest advocate. Her haven. He wants a thousand more moments like this, to fall asleep with her in his arms, to wake with her head pillowed on his chest. He wants trips to the ice cream shop with Roland between them, lunches at Granny's diner. He wants to learn whether she snores, whether she's ticklish. He wants to endure her biting retorts when she's lost her temper, and he wants to make her laugh in spite of that anger.

He wants what they should have had before fate intervened.

Choose me. Choose me.

(The same plea that his rival likely makes.)

The kiss ends too soon, and with wet cheeks, he presses his forehead against hers. "No goodbyes, Regina" he whispers in a fractured voice. "Not tonight."

He releases her and walks away.

~FIN~

A/N: Thank you for reading! I'd really love to hear your thoughts!