Happy Ouat Season Premiere Day! As we await the emergence of the Dark Swan, I'm recouping from a terrible bout of the stomach bug, which is why I was unable to complete this and post it yesterday. Perhaps the timing is better as it's posting hours before Season 5 begins-at least that sounds like something our beloved Robin would say.

So sorry for the long wait for this update. Please note that I did bump the rating up to M-you have been warned. :) With that, I hope you enjoy this chapter. And as always-thank you so much for reading!

He'd nearly forgotten.

The way her breath flutters when he kisses her, how she gasps when he teases that freckle just below her right ear, how sensitive her back is to his touch, how her toes curl under her feet when he brushes her nipple just so—such exquisite details were nearly lost to him, swept away by years of separation, replaced by dreams and hazy want.

He can't lose this. Never again.

"Robin," she breathes as his mouth edges slowly down her neck, relearning, savoring, remembering what was as he clasps on to what is. He half fears he'll wake up at any moment, that the warmth of her will be no more than the wool of his blanket, the soft sighs she's emitting but a breeze in the pines. So he kisses her again, finding her mouth, tasting her, memorizing her, letting the essence of her linger on his palate as her fingers knead into the muscles of his back.

God, he loves her, everything about her. Her stubbornness, the way her lip juts out when she pouts, the way she melts when he deliberately kisses her scars-he wants it all, wants to learn every detail, every nuance, every fine line and atom that is his Regina.

It had always been a losing battle, trying to forget and move on when he didn't want to do either. He'd been a tortured soul for years now, living between two worlds, one of moss and bark, one of sunsets and memory. His tongue plunges in deeper, her appreciative hum sliding over him like warm honey. He's so hard for her, desperate for her, craving every part of her like his lungs crave air.

"Regina," he utters, feeling every syllable roll off his tongue, nearly laughing from delirium as her teeth nip his ear. Her chuckle vibrates against his torso, and he revels in the sensation, stroking the sumptuous curve of her lower back, knowing it will make her arch into him, just how he likes her to do.

"You know I'm ticklish there."

Her chide morphs into a moan when his mouth finds her neck and sucks at her pulse point, prompting her to hike her left leg around his thigh. He grabs a hold just under her knee, moving his groin into hers, pressing, pushing, sweating until her head lolls back and her lips part in wonder. She's a goddess—there is no question—a perfect blend of earth and fire that speaks to his soul as nothing else can. He could kiss her like this forever, mold their bodies together, worship between her thighs, pay homage to her breasts. He's lost in her, just where he knew he'd find himself, tucked away in the recesses of her heart just as she's been dwelling in his.

Then her mouth is on his again, hot and wet, and he lets her take what she needs, absorbing from her all he can in the process. They are covered in so little now, shirts and slacks piled one on top of the other, cotton and lace all that remain between them as they pause to simply stare. Her eyes are as dark as he remembers, her curves softer now, shaped to perfection by motherhood and time. He senses her insecurities, and he reaches out to cup her cheek, stepping in until they're nose to nose.

"You're so beautiful, Regina."

She looks into him, her expression one of wonder, one of hope.

"I've missed you." Her eyes close just as they fill, her fingers pressing into muscle, her forehead leaning in until it rests on his. "So very, very much."

He's nodding, biting his lower lip, in a place beyond speech. It's one he knows all too well, one in which he has dwelt for what feels like a lifetime. He shivers as her hand moves over his shoulder, sliding down his chest, its path slow and halting with a deliberation born of fire. Her fingers pause just over his nipple, her thumb brushing it as her palm lingers in the center of his chest.

His heart slams into his ribs until they're sore.

"I didn't mean to hurt you."

Her words hover mid-air between them, held aloft by years of isolation. There's so much hurt still, wells of loss, depths of misunderstanding and self-doubt. But she's here—with him—they're together—and come hell or high water he is not going to let the mistakes of their past shackle them from being together now.

"None of that," he whispers, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. He looks at her, traces the shape of her ear with his finger, lingering on her pulse just beneath. His lips dot the tip of her nose as a tear slides down her cheek, one he catches before it drips to the floor.

"This always happens," she utters. "The people I love..."

Her voice trails off as his breath mingles with hers.

"The people I love get hurt."

His lips find hers yet again, pressing, probing, taking and giving in equal measure as he pulls her as close to him as he can, wishing he could completely wrap her up in his body and love the pain out of her. The kiss slows, but touches linger, souls reconnecting in the quiet of her bedroom.

"People get hurt, Regina," her reminds her. "That's life."

She shakes her head, her touch burning his skin.

"You deserve better."

"I think that's up to me, don't you?" he whispers, his fingers now rubbing the back of her neck. She stiffens as her eyes fall to her feet.

"I kept you from your daughter, Robin."

She breathes in sharply, clasping his hands into her own.

"I put you and Roland in jeopardy, not to mention the danger that's just waiting for Lark should she ever come in contact with that damned blood curse—all because of me, because of my past."

Her eyes narrow as they search his yet again.

"You would have been far better off if you'd never met me."

He tugs her into his chest, holding her close until her muscles give into his touch.

"You're wrong," he utters into her hair. "So very wrong, Regina. I would have been missing a part of myself I never knew existed."

She's shaking her head, her palms flat against his upper chest.

"You would have never known the difference."

"Then I would have lived forever incomplete."

He tips her chin just so and stares back at her.

"You would have been safer," she insists, raising her face until their noses nearly touch.

"But I wouldn't have known what it is to love you. And that is unacceptable."

Her fingers brush his chest as she hovers there, lace to bare skin, body to body. His hands trace the lines of her back, feeling the small scar that curves just over her right hip, one left by a not so noble king, she'd confided one night in hushed tones. He lingers there, wishing he could kill a man buried long ago, skimming the edge of her panties before allowing his hands to smooth over her bottom.

"I'm not the same without you, Regina. I'm not as good on my own as I am with you."

She chuckles out her nose, shaking her head again, sighing as he strokes the swell of her cheek lightly with his thumb. He keeps the motion going, relishing the haziness creeping into her eyes, feeling every snatch of breath on his neck as she fights to remain coherent.

"Loving me is dangerous."

He draws back, breathing into her skin.

"Loving you is life."

She nearly knocks him over with the force of her kiss.

It's heated and sloppy, hunger in its rawest state. They're all teeth and tongues, holding each other so tightly it's a wonder they don't suffocate, he thinks. Hell, if he's going to die, let him die like this—wrapped up in her body, her nails scraping his biceps, his fingers pressed into her ass.

Bra straps are pulled aside, and she moans into his mouth, clasping on to him with everything she has. His mouth finds her shoulder, and she bucks into his groin, making something carnal rumble out of his chest. He's going out of his mind, the need to taste her overwhelming as his teeth trace her skin. God, she's glorious, perfect, beyond what he'd remembered, far more than he deserves.

Her bra hangs limp on her arms, exposing the upper swell of her breasts, their round perfection teasing him past the point of coherent thought.

"I want this off."

She grins at his growl, rubbing her lace clad chest against him before she purrs in his ear..

"Impatient, are we?"

He sighs into her cheek, biting his lower lip to keep himself from swearing and pushing her into the wall. He's fumbling for the clasp, working it with the dexterity of a clumsy five year old until the bloody hooks finally come loose. She steps back, allowing him to slide the bra down her arms, inhaling audibly as he takes her in, the woman he loves, the mother of his child.

"Aren't you?"

He tosses the lacy scrap to the floor, boldly ogling her breasts, nearly salivating by the way she licks her lips.

"Try me."

He's on her before she can catch her breath.

Mouths press and demand as hands take on a life of their own, fueled by passion, fed by greed. He's burning up for her, his need becoming more and more acute as she traces his hardness through soft cotton, her fingers now as hot as his own skin.

"Shit," he utters, dropping his forehead to hers as she works him over with her hand. She slides her teeth over his lower lip, taking advantage of his muddled brain, making him sweat even more. His mouth moves to find her nipple, licking it, kissing it, finally taking it fully into his mouth and sucking until she stifles a yell.

"Oh, God."

The words fly from her lips as his mouth moves across to her other breast, his fingers continuing to work over the nipple still slick with his spit. She squeezes him reflexively, and he hisses into her shoulder, his hips jerking into her touch, his body about to combust.

"Regina."

Her name spills out of him, tasting of fine wine, dulling his senses with the headiness of rook weed. Her hands work his boxers down to his knees, and he kicks them off, allowing his erection to spring free and press into her hip. She moans into his mouth, working him over with her tongue as he clutches the back of her head with one hand, revelling in the texture of her hair. They somehow slide off her panties, and he tosses them over his shoulder, proud of the way it makes her smile and bite her lower lip. He'd walk through hell and back to make her smile like that every day.

"What are you waiting for, thief?"

He steps into her and palms her breast until she hums, the sound deep and resonant.

"Not a damn thing, your majesty."

She's naked and perfect and oh so soft to his mouth and touch. And she's here—in his arms, under his tongue, warm and passionate, leaving marks on his skin as her nails press in, and gods, he doesn't mind, he welcomes it. Let her mark his body as deeply as she's marked his soul. Let her carve her essence into muscle, tattoo her claim on his skin anywhere she damn well pleases. He's hers—completely. There's no question anymore. There never has been, to be honest.

"Yes," she breathes as his teeth graze her shoulder, making him tremble with the knowledge he can do this to her. Giving her pleasure is everything, feeling her come apart one breath at a time beyond any magic he has ever known.

He cups her bare ass and squeezes, catapulting her into his chest, and she pulls him closer by his hair, devouring his mouth, her heat now rubbing dangerously close to his. God, he could touch her like this all day and never tire of it. She's a drug, an addiction that only grows with every kiss. She moans into his mouth then, somehow making his need even more acute as her nails begin marking a trail up and down his outer thighs, edging close to where he's panting for her but backing off just before making contact.

"You're killing me, you know," he hums, and she chuckles then, the sound throaty and real.

"You asked for it."

"That I did."

He slides one hand down her stomach just past her navel, stroking coarse hair as his other continues to knead her ass.

"I'd forgotten how infuriating you are," she hums as she attempt to push herself up to his touch, panting in frustration as he keeps himself just out of reach.

"Then perhaps it's time I reminded you."

He kisses her deep and hard, his fingers continuing to tease her until she's panting in his mouth. She tastes of apples, wine and woman, a delicacy in its own right but heady beyond words in contrast to the saltiness of her skin. She tugs him closer, he pulls her into his body, his erection hard against her hip, her wetness dampening his thigh.

Then they're against her bed, and she stumbles back onto the mattress, grabbing his arms just in time to take him down with her. His head nearly collides with hers, but he somehow manages to brace himself on his elbows, careful not to hurt her. He never wants to hurt her again.

"I need you."

Her plea is no more than a breath, and he nods as his chest presses down into hers. Her legs snake around him, grinding his hips towards her own, and he brushes past her wetness, nearly losing his balance as his body quakes. She's touching him, guiding him to her, but he pauses, thinking of how he would like to make her come with his mouth before filling her body.

"Patience, love."

Her eyes fly open at his whisper, questioning before he makes his intentions clear. His kisses roam south, earning a half-hearted protest until his tongue skims her naval and he plants his lips just below. She groans, her chest pushing upward, her fingers weaving into his hair. His mouth moves lower until he's between her thighs, placing soft kisses and nips up and down the insides of her legs until she's bucking with need.

"Please, Robin."

He needs no further prompting.

His nose rubs her before his tongue makes contact, and her hips jerk in response, her nails scratching his scalp hard. The sting only makes him hotter, and he slides his tongue inside of her, rolling it over her opening until she's a writhing mess on the verge of catapulting into oblivion.

"You taste amazing," he breathes, immersing himself in the musk of her own want, drowning in the sensation of feeling her climb. His finger replaces his tongue inside of her as he moves to kiss and suck, nearly coming prematurely at the mere feel of her around him. He adds a second finger and begins to pump her in earnest, finding a rhythm that has her white-knuckled and panting as he begins to suck her clit.

"Oh, God," she cries, her body spasming as her walls begin to flutter. Then she's shattering, clinging, her hips rolling as her head turns from side to side, and he presses on to help her ride out her orgasm. She's glorious like this, coming apart on his hand, her body writhing to an erotic rhythm that smells of sex.

She clasps his head and pulls him back up her body, kissing him hard with lips, teeth and tongue. He loves sharing her own taste with her, loves how it turns her on, loves how it prompts her to grip him firmly with sweaty palms as she bites his bearded jaw.

He has to get inside of her—now. Before he loses himself on her sheets or his body explodes from want of her.

"Regina."

She knows what he's asking, and she's nodding as she positions him between her legs, opening wide for him, guiding him home with an expression he'll remember the rest of his life. Something guttural pushes out of his throat when he slides inside of her, moving forward before drawing back, taking his time entering her body, pressing every damn second into memory. His brain nearly short-circuits at the perfection that is his lover, and his heart thuds against his ribs until he wonders if it will beat right out of his chest. She hisses, kissing his cheek, nipping his chin as their mouths reconnect, half-open and desperate, wet and panting.

He moves until he's fully buried inside of her, biting his lip as her inner walls clamp down and hold him tight.

"Shit," he utters, and she chuckles deep and raw.

"You're not the only one who remembers," she breathes into the hollow of his neck. Thank God, he thinks, unable to speak as she kneads his ass with fingers he'd like to suck. She's both his undoing and his salvation.

She grabs him around the shoulders, taking up his rhythm with a flourish of her own, pressing her forehead into his. Nose to nose, breath to breath, they ride and crest until the only sound is skin slapping skin. He's closer than he should be this quickly, but it's her-it's them-it's years of want and deprivation coming together until he's so riled up he knows he's going to go at any minute.

"I'm not sure how much longer I can last."

He hates the words as they tumble down his chin, but she only laughs and nods, sucking his earlobe between her teeth before pressing her lips to his ear.

"It's alright," she utters, pausing mid-thought as he hits a spot she really likes. She cries out then, and he knows he found something, so he angles himself until he's pushing into her sideways, moving more against her right side than her left.

"Shit, Robin."

He clasps a nipple and squeezes it rhythmically, making himself hold on with every ounce of self-restraint he can muster. There's something about this angle that's setting her off, and God help him, he'll keep going in this position until he gets a cramp just to see her like this. Eyes scrunched, lips parted, head pressed into the pillow so that her neck lies exposed—she's a work of art, one he can touch and savor, one welcoming him into her body and life. He drops his mouth to the hollow at the base of her throat, and she practically screams at the contact, the movement of her hips becoming more erratic as his tongue paints circles on her skin.

"Robin."

His name is a plea, one punctuated by sweat and staccato phrases, and he raises her hips slightly, adjusts his stance until he seems to be hitting her sweet spot with every thrust.

"Right there," she manages, the final word morphing into a moan that nearly makes him come before she's able to let go. He pauses for a moment, replacing his fingers on her breast with his mouth, sucking left nipple hard as he resumes her preferred tempo. She's fluttering again, her movements jerky, her breathing erratic. He breaks contact with her hard peak and kisses her open-mouthed, moving his lips to her temple, nudging dark hair now damp with sweat.

"Come for me, love."

She's nodding, unable to speak, responding to his words as if they were a physical caress.

Then she fractures around him, her nails digging in as she splinters more and more until she shatters completely, his own body finally releasing itself into hers as they move until neither can anymore.

It's messy and glorious and so perfect he can't think as he spills the last of himself inside of her, lost to the soft strokes of her palms on his back, drowning in the sensation of being one with this woman. They're breathing together, body to body, slick with sweat. She kisses his nose and slides her fingers into his hair, her breath warming his jaw, her lips melting his heart. He's hers now, spent and happier than he'd thought possible just yesterday, complete in a way he is only with her.

"I love you."

The words are as natural as breathing, and she closes her eyes as they brush her cheek, nodding, accepting, even though her fear is still palpable between them.

"I love you, too."

"Then I'm the luckiest man alive."

He watches as tears gather in dark eyes, his thumb tracing her eyebrow, wishing he could simply stroke away the years of pain they've both carried, wishing he could go back to the moment they conceived their daughter and do it all over again. But this time, he'd make certain she didn't leave town, alone and terrified.

This time, they'd get it right.

"You're either very brave or incredibly stupid," she quips, and he chuckles as he pulls himself out of her, standing to go and fetch a towel. He wipes himself clean before rubbing the fabric up her thigh and between her legs, his eyes never leaving hers as she stares at him like he might disappear. He grins as he settles back down in the bed beside her, gathering her into his chest before tossing the towel over the side of the mattress.

"Perhaps I should be saying that about you," he returns,earning himself a flick of her brow.

"Perhaps we're both just crazy," she muses, laughing softly into his chest. They lay there a moment, fingers tracing lines over skin.

"Perhaps." He chuckles, kissing her forehead as he traces a path down her spine, this world that is now his almost too much to process. "But our daughter…gods Regina, she's amazing."

Her grip around him tightens as her lips dot the center of his chest, shuddering at the feel of her, at the knowledge of this child sleeping just down the hall, a piece of himself who'd been living and breathing the same air as he while he went through life's motions, allowing himself too many indulgent wallows in self-pity for what he'd lost.

"I'm glad you finally found each other."

There is still weight to her words, weight he knows will have to be lessened over time, but one that presses into his ribs all the same. He kisses her forehead again, allowing his mouth to linger as his fingers continue to caress her back.

"So am I."

She pushes herself up until her chin hovers above his chest, eyes she passed on to their child now looking softly into his. Her hair is mussed, her lips pink and swollen, and he knows she's never looked more beautiful to him than she does at this moment. He's not certain he'll ever be able let her out of his sight again.

"You're stunning," he utters, making her grin unabashedly. "Even more so now than you were before."

Her gaze falters for a moment, her fingers fidgeting over his ribs.

"I'm glad you think so. Pregnancy shifted things around somewhat."

Insecurity rolls off of her in waves, and it amazes him that she-a former queen-a ruler, his gorgeous, sensual Regina could ever have doubts about the beauty of her body. It wouldn't matter to him if her stomach were rounder or if her thighs touched-she'd still be perfect and glorious, everything he could ever want in a woman and more.

"You carried another human being inside you. Of course your body had to adjust."

She snort laughs into his chest.

"If by adjusting you mean stretching out to ridiculous proportions, my body did splendidly."

He chuckles, kissing her fully on the mouth, rubbing a palm over her stomach before moving his touch back up to her breast. She inhales as his palm works her over, humming as her nipple hardens in his hand.

"I wish I could have seen you like that," he muses. "All round and perfect."

Her grip slides down until she's cupping his length, her touch a mixture of fire and home. Her thumb begins to circle his tip, making him hiss into her neck as she grins in satisfaction.

"Sex would have been interesting. I'd like to have seen you maneuver around The Rock of Gibraltar."

"You know I've always fancied a challenge." He wiggles his brows as she laughs outright, allowing his other hand to slide down and squeeze her ass. "Perhaps we should try again."

That gets her attention.

"If you just got me pregnant again, Robin of Locksley, we're going to have to have a talk."

She's half-seated now, eyes wide, mouth hanging open.

"Would it be such a bad thing?" he questions, adoring the spark of danger in her eyes. "Look at how Lark turned out. Obviously, we make incredible babies together."

She makes a noise as she flops back on to her pillow.

"We make love one time-one time-after years of separation, and you're already talking about having another baby?"

He leans over, grinning like the proverbial idiot and kisses her pouty mouth, silencing any protests she tries to conjure until she finally relents and joins in. He backs away, their lips separating with a wet smack as he takes a lock of her hair between his fingers, marveling at its silken texture.

"I would make love to you forever, Regina, regardless of whether or not we could ever have another child. You're enough. You always have been."

Her hand cups his face, and he kisses her palm, his mouth drawn to her skin as if by magic. She sniffs back pooling moisture, and he knows she has never been enough for anyone except for the stable boy whose life was snuffed out in front of her eyes simply because she loved him. He wants to fill her with assurances until they bubble out of her pores, that she's his choice, his heart, the keeper of his soul until any residual doubts she may carry are washed away and given no place to reestablish a foothold.

"You, Roland, Lark-you're more than I deserve and far more than I could ever want," he continues, looking at her directly. "But I'd be lying if I didn't say there was a part of me that would like to experience all of that with you-watching your belly grow, feeling our baby kick, holding her when she can fit in the crook of my arm…"

He coughs, trying to stifle tears of his own that have crept up unawares, tears he doesn't want to dampen what they've just shared together. But they're coming, pushing through crumbling defenses until they spill down his face and on to her skin. She kisses his forehead, her thumbs tracing his cheeks, his stubble, and he leans into her hand, emotions welling up and over until he's crying openly in front of her. Warm hands draw his face into her chest, and she kisses his temple, his hair, lets him weep into her shoulder as she cries into his chest. Limbs intertwine, hearts press together, and they hold each other for minutes, hours, an eternity, perhaps, until he can't tell where he ends and she begins.

"Lark shouldn't be here, you know."

There's a hesitancy to her tone that pulls him up from the depths.

"What do you mean? Was she sick? Were you?"

She silences him with a shake of her head, shutting down images he'd rather not entertain.

"No, nothing like that, although she did have pneumonia when she was eight months old."

Her fingers continue to caress his face, and he touches his forehead to hers, feeling the overwhelming need to ground himself in the reality of what is.

"I meant that I'm not supposed to be able to get pregnant."

He pushes up from her so he can look her in the eye. She steadies his gaze by placing her hands on either side of her face.

"What?"

"I took a potion a long time ago, one that was supposed to ensure that I couldn't have children."

Her words seem out of place somehow, invaders from another realm, disjointed and raw.

"Leopold? Did you do it so you wouldn't have his child?"

She's shakes her head as he balances himself closer to her body, clearing her throat as she continues to stroke his face.

"Leopold was already dead when I did this." She rolls on her side as he relaxes his body into the pillows until they're facing each other directly. Her lips quiver, but she stills them through sheer will, refocusing her gaze on him until her eyes are clear. "My mother..."

He winces at the mere voicing of the woman's name.

"Did she force you to take it?" he cuts in. "By my honor, Regina, if she did…"

Her fingers touch his lips, her face collapsing into itself.

"No. Just the opposite, in fact. She wanted me to have a baby. And that scared the hell out of me."

Murkiness begins to break apart, her past opening up to him like a twisted melodrama. He lays his hand atop hers, bringing her fingers to his lips as her own tremble in spite of herself. "She brought a man to me-one she tried to disguise as you."

He inhales so sharply his lungs burn.

"She'd given him your tattoo," she continues with a shake of her head. "Told me she'd tracked down my soulmate, that she was sorry for all of the grief she'd caused me, that she wanted me to be happy and find love again."

"But it was all a lie?"

The words are heavy as they leave his mouth, yet he feels no relief at their departure, only a deep, dark void for the woman who'd been abused so abominably by the woman who'd given her life.

"It was Nottingham."

Shit.

"She tried to get you to have a baby with him? With that bastard?"

She's nodding as his pulse races ahead of him, hot anger burning his insides with the intensity of dragon fire.

"I knew something was off," she whispers, the splintering in her tone shattering a piece of his soul. "And when he finally confessed that she'd wanted him to get me pregnant…"

It's suddenly all just too much.

"Gods, Regina."

She's in his arms, flush against his body, secure, protected, but still injured beyond what she ever deserved to be.

"I told her I wouldn't be a baby mill for her, that I wouldn't give her a means of taking my throne and destroying my life any more than she already had." Her swallow is audible, her fingers now chilled. "I was convinced no one would ever love me again, and I thought that taking that potion wouldn't matter, that I couldn't hurt any more than I already did."

He holds her even tighter, wishing he could rip her mother apart with his bare hands, wondering what kind of heartless monster could ever treat her own offspring in such a manner.

"I was wrong. It hurt like hell."

His mouth is dry as he holds her trembling body, and he marvels at her strength, her resilience, that in spite of her past she'd found a way to become a mother-a mother who loves her children and would go to another realm and back to keep them safe.

"Of course it hurt," he breathes into her hair. "You were born to be a mother. It's as natural to you as breathing."

She presses herself up on her elbows, shaking her head as her eyes fall to the sheets.

"I wasn't ready then. Any child I had would have been dragged into darkness, if not by my own actions then by those of my mother. I hurt Henry enough as it was. I can't imagine what would have happened to any baby I might have had as the Evil Queen."

Her tone fades into the pillows, her expression dark and troubled. He tips her chin up until her eyes meet his head on.

"You gave Henry a home, Regina, a mother who loves him, a life where he wants for nothing. You didn't stop Henry from bringing Emma into your lives, from being a part of his biological family as well as the one you gave him." He pauses, leaning down until their noses touch. "You chose to take another potion, if you remember-one which made you forget who'd given birth to him so you could raise him the way he deserved. Never forget that, Regina. You chose your child over your curse."

Her breaths come in snatches, and he cups her cheek, warmed by the way she leans into his palm.

"You sent him away with Emma, gave them a lifetime of happy memories-your memories, to ensure his safety and give him the life you wanted him to have. There's a reason Henry loves you so much, and it's because you love him with everything you have."

She inhales once, twice, her fingers sketching the length of his collarbone as she clears her throat.

"I miss him. So much it hurts."

They're still incomplete, he realizes, even here, joined together as intimately as they are with two children sleeping under the same roof, there's a piece of them missing-a vital piece of her heart.

"We'll make this right, Regina," he assures her, moving so that her head is resting on his chest, her leg draped over his body, his hand on her lower back. "We'll piece our family back together and never let it out of our grasp again."

They say no more as minutes tick by, and she lets herself be encased by him, relaxing into him one muscle at a time until she's practically boneless. He's amazed at how small she feels, how vulnerable, this woman of strength and fire now lying transparent in his arms.

"How is it we have Lark?"

Her hair tickles his chest as gazes up at him.

"I don't know how it happened, Robin. I didn't believe it at first-told Whale it was impossible, took three home pregnancy tests of my own…"

He's stroking her hair now, feeling her body warmth return limb by limb.

"The only explanation I have is that she's the product of true love."

His own chin quivers at that as one finger dips to trace the contours of her arm.

"I suspect her mother's heart had more to do with it than anything." She stares back at him, trying to process his words, her eyes searching him layer by layer. "You cursed yourself, Regina, but you also reinvented yourself. You rejected the darkness that consumed you for so long and embraced love and goodness in a manner I've never before seen. The white magic you now possess-there's healing in that, isn't there?"

She nods, her lips moving but incapable of speech.

"Lark exists because of you," he continues, wiping the tear that escapes her, allowing its heat to absorb into his skin. "She has such a beautiful heart because you are her mother. Nothing will ever convince me otherwise."

She swallows, formulating words that are deep and husky when they emerge.

"And because of you, because you love me. She's yours, too, Robin. It took both of us to create her."

Her arms encircle his torso as her head rests just over his heart, his chest now so full it aches.

He's uncertain of when sleep finally took them both, of when breathing became steady and limbs slack with the weight of fatigue. But they're huddled together, wrapped up and whole when something rips them both from their dreams, making them sit up in confusion until a high pitched scream rips the air apart again. Regina's eyes find his in the darkness, the panic he sees in them making his heart plummet into his stomach.

"Lark," she breathes, the terror in her tone yanking his world down around him with a terrible crash.