#hopefully it gets easier when we turn north at regina

[six-of-ravens]

I've never heard of an Alberta clipper before but the fact that we're headed to Alberta tells me we probably won't outrun the wind

it is, as the children say, FRICKIN WIMDY

[gray-autumn-sky]

Happiness Can’t Be Arranged, Chapter 12

When Regina falls ill, confessions are made.

For @evilqueens who requested the line, “Oh my god, you’re in love with her.” Also for @glindalovesshoes who requested Regina getting sick w/ the flu and it being misinterpreted as pregnancy. And, of course, thanks to @stick-to-the-lasagna-lady for the beta :)

Previous chapters can be found HERE.

Taking a long a deep breath, Regina swallows hard as she reaches the bottom of the stairs and looks toward the dining room where she can already hear Richard griping about the toastiness of his toast as he sends it back to the kitchen. Her hand folds over her stomach as she exhales, feeling vaguely unsettled--and her first thought is that it is far too early for this.

With another, shorter breath, she pushes herself off the last stair and moves slowly toward the dining room.

“You’re late,” Richard remarks, looking up at her as he settles back in his chair and pokes a fork into his egg. “But at least you’ve chosen to grace us with your presence this morning.”

Robin’s eyes roll and a loud sigh escapes him as she slides into her chair and a footman pushes her in. “Father…”

“What?” Richard interrupts. “It’s a rare occasion your wife manages to make it to breakfast.” A snide grin edges onto his lips. “Such an event should be celebrated.”

“There’s really no need to--”

“He’s right though,” Regina says as she looks to Robin. “I usually prefer to have breakfast with the boys.”

“That’s what a nanny is for…”

Regina shrugs as she looks quickly from Richard to Robin. “I can’t imagine how I developed the preference,” she murmurs as a footman lowers a tray of fruit to her--and as she scoops a few berries to her plate, she feels another wave of nausea--this time, accompanied by a few beads to sweat on her brow. She bats them away and swallows again as an egg is placed in front of her, along with a few slices of ham--and as her tea is poured, a footman enters with a new plate of toast. She tries to smile when the footman goes to Robin first and then to her before taking the long way around the table to Richard, but it’s difficult to muster.

“Are you alright?” Robin asks, noticing the way her fingers linger at her fork. “You seem…”

“I’m fine,” she cuts in. “Just a little tired.”

“Tired, hm?” Richard says, narrowing his eyes in her direction as he selects two pieces of toast. “You’re looking a bit pale.”

“If you’re not feeling well, you should be in b--”

“Robin,” she cuts in again, shaking her head. “I am absolutely fine. I’m just…”

“Tired?” He asks, arching his brow. “You’re flushed, too.”

Looking back to her plate, she lifts her fork and stabs it into a raspberry. “Pale and flushed, I must look like an absolute mess.”

“Hardly…”

“Well, now that you mention it,” Richard cuts in as he leans in. “Your face looks a little… puffy.”

“I should have just joined the boys like I usually do,” she mutters under her breath as she takes a breath in an effort to remain composed and not ignore the churning in her stomach. “Like I said, I’m just tired.”

“Mr. Locksley,” the butler calls as he strides into the room, holding a tray with a sealed letter on it. “This arrived for you in the morning post.”

“Ah! I’ll bet it’s from the housekeeper at the hunting lodge,” Robin exclaims, practically jumping up to claim the letter. “I wrote her the other day about opening up the house and--”

“The hunting lodge?” Richard asks, scrunching his nose as he looks to his son. “That small, dank little house up north?”

“That would be the one,” Robin replies, smiling as his finger slips beneath the seal. “I always enjoyed it.”

“You did…”

“And I thought I might like to take Regina and the boys up for awhile.” He grins as he looks to Regina and, once more, she struggles to smile back. “We thought it might be nice to do before summer ends.”

“What’s there to do at the lodge that you can’t do at Sherwood?” Regina looks between then, watching as Robin’s eyes widen incredulously at his father, as the old man sniffs his toast and sighs in annoyance at it before taking a reluctant bite. “It’s so far from everything.”

“Yes,” Robin nods. “That’s the point.”

Cutting into a slice of ham, Regina swallows hard and once more, she can feel beads of sweat collecting at her hairline. Her eyes shift to Robin as she pushes the ham around on her plate, not quite able to eat it--the smell invoking another wave of nausea.

She feels an odd sense of victory when Robin doesn’t seem to notice, instead turning to her with bright, smiling eyes as he drops the letter to the table. “They’re going to begin preparing the house today,” he announces. “And from the sounds of it, they seem quite excited about our stay.”

“There’s not even a proper staff up there,” Richard scoffs as stuffs a slice of ham into his mouth. “Just a butler and a housekeeper and a cook.”

“That’s more than enough,” Regina says, her stomach flopping as his watches him chew.

“Besides,” Robin adds. “We’ll have John and Belle with us.”

“And Celeste,” Richards adds, his mouth full as he looks between them.

“Oh…”

“I don’t think she’ll be accompanying us,” Robin says.

“And why the hell not?” Richard asks, his voice rising as he swallows his food. “You just said you were taking the children.”

“Yes, but I thought--”

“You thought?” Richard cuts in, looking pointedly at Regina. “You’re not here for your thoughts.”

“That was unnecessary,” Robin says, his voice rising to match his father’s. “You can’t talk to her that way.”

“Says who?” Richard scoffs. “This is my house and I’ll talk to any of you however I damn well please.” His eyes linger on Regina, and once more, she swallows hard in an effort to push down the nausea and maintain composure. “Especially her.”

“She’s done nothing to deserve--”

“You’re right! She hasn’t.”

“Alright,” Regina cuts in. “I think I’ve had enough of--” She rises, but her knees wobble and she finds herself reaching for the table to steady herself, and when she looks up, both Robin and Richard are staring at her. Her eyes shift to Robin and she feels a little pang of guilt as he watches her with wide, worried eyes. “I’m fine,” she insists as she lets go of the edge of the table. “I just got up too quickly.”

“Just like you’re just a little tired?” Robin asks as he reaches for her hand--and as soon as he does he looks up at her. “Regina, you’re skin is clammy.”

“I’m fine.”

“Fine, hm?” Richard asks. “You certainly don’t look it.”

“Thank you for that,” Regina sighs as she looks to her father-in-law. “But honestly, I just need to--”

“Lie down,” Robin supplies for her. “Lie down and tell me what’s really going on.”

“Robin, that’s--”

“Completely obvious,” Richard interjects.

“Is it?”

He nods as a smile slowly edges its way onto his lips and he laughs. “She’s pregnant!”

Regina feels her eyes widen. “Oh, that’s…”

“You think she’s--”

“Yes,” Regina cuts in, deciding it’ll be easier for all of them, at least in his moment, to let his father think whatever it is that he thinks and hopefully, it’ll allow her a momentary peace before he’s inevitably proven wrong. “That’s probably it.” Blinking, Robin looks to her as she shrugs, letting his arm slip around her waist. “Now, I really should lie down…”

Richard says nothing as they pass and make their way toward the stairs--and when she steps onto the first step, she feels another wave of nausea and feels vaguely dizzy as she steps back onto the main floor. Robin looks back at her from the step--and then, before she can even think of an excuse, Robin sweeps her up off the floor and into his arms.

“You do know that I’m not really pregnant,” Regina tells him in a hushed voice as her arm folds down around his shoulder. “You don’t have to treat me like a fragile--”

“I know you’re not really pregnant,” Robin cuts in. “I, of all people, should know that. But I also know that you’re not feeling well and you just looked at these stairs like they were the world’s tallest mountain, and you might not survive the climb.”

“I just felt a little… dizzy.”

“More reason for you to be carried.”

“Robin…”

“Please don’t argue,” he sighs as he starts up the stairs. “You’re not well. You need to save your energy.”

Rolling her eyes, she sighs, but she doesn’t protest. Instead, she lets him carry her up the stairs and down the long hall toward her bedroom. She can’t help but notice that he takes the long way, successfully avoiding the nursery where the boys are likely still having their breakfast--and for that, she’s grateful. Though she doesn’t get sick often, Henry is a worrier, and more than anyone, she doesn’t want to worry him-- especially so unnecessarily.

“This is a little much,” she says as they cross the threshold into her room. “I'm really--”

“Do not say fine,” Robin says, his brow arching as he sets her on the end. “Because you are most certainly not fine.”

“It's… probably just a little bug.” She sighs as she lays back against the pillows--and though she hates to admit it, she feels better laying down than she felt up right. “A nap should cure it.”

“You just woke up.”

“I just need a little more sleep…”

His eyes narrow. “I should send for Doctor Whale.”

Her eyes flutter open to offer him a skeptical glare. “I think sending for Belle and some tea would be a better idea. It’d be a shame to make him come all the way up here from town.”

“Humor me, please?”

With a sigh, she nods and closes her eyes, swallowing hard as her stomach flops and her eyelids grow heavy.

-----

Even in her sleep, she looks flushed--beads of sweat collect at her brow and her cheeks are flushed. For the better part of two hours, she’s tossed and turned, whimpering and grimacing in her sleep.

For awhile, he’d sat there, not quite sure what to do. She was obviously sick, but also in denial and he wasn’t quite sure where his boundaries lie, and he’d spent too long debating between what he felt she’d allow him to do and what he should do. Eventually, reason won out and he’d rang for both Belle and John. When Belle arrived he asked for a fresh pitcher of water, a cloth and an extra basin; and from John, he requested an trip to fetch Doctor Whale. He’d quickly written down her symptoms--or at least those he’d observed--and sent John into town before turning his attention back to Regina.

Wringing out the cloth in one basin, he dips his finger into the other and smiles wistfully at the candle flickering beneath it, keeping it warm. He glances to Regina as she shifts, groaning but not waking as she turns her head on the pillow, and he tries is his best to push away the memories of the last time he found himself in such a position--and he reminds himself, again and again, that Regina isn’t Marian.

Her breathing grows more ragged and he looks back at her, watching the way her brow creases as her eyes open--and he can’t help but think, even such a simple act that one generally does without even so much as a thought seems laborious for her.

“Mm, how long have I been asleep.”

“A couple of hours,” he tells her softly as he dips the cloth into the warm water. “Doctor Whale is on his way.”

Regina sighs and tries to lift her head, but instead, she falls back against the pillow. “That’s not really necessary.”

“The fact that you can’t lift your head seems to suggest otherwise.”

She swallows hard as she turns her eyes up to meet his. “I just… have a dull headache.”

“Did you have one before?” Her lips purse and she doesn’t reply--and that’s everything he needs to know. “Just… lay back and close your eyes,” he tells her as he brings the cloth to her cheek and dabs it down her neck. “Just focus on breathing.”

“That’s easier said than done,” she says, her voice biting and her brow furrows as he drags the cloth to the other side of her neck. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I want to.”

“Why?”

She blinks up at him--and it occurs to him that she’s not trying to be difficult, that she’s genuinely curious.

“Even though you won’t admit it, you’re sick… and… I… care about you,” he says, as he turns back to the basin, wringing out the cloth before dipping it back into the warm water. “I care about you a great deal.”

From the corner of his eye, he sees a hint of a smile edge onto to her lips and she takes a breath. “I’m sure you have other things to--”

“Regina, I am where I want to be.” He smiles as he turns back to her, dabbing the cloth over her brow. “Now, close your eyes and--”

Before he can even finish, her door opens and John leads Doctor Whale into the room--and his practically giddy father trails in behind him. Regina looks between them all, and he sighs as her shoulders tense at the sight of Richard.

“Um, I think perhaps we should leave Regina alone with the doctor,” Robin says as he rises from the edge of her bed, looking pointedly at his father. “You know how these things are.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Richard says. “Men aren’t really needed at this stage of the game.”

Robin blinks and it takes him a half-second to remember that his father is under the impression that Regina is merely suffering from morning sickness. Together, they walk out of the bedroom as Whale is unpacking his bag, ready to examine Regina and just before Robin closes the door, he offers her an encouraging little wink--and says a silent prayer, hoping for the best.

“This is so exciting,” Richard says as soon as the door closes. “I had my doubts about her, but--”

“She’s not pregnant.”

Richard’s smile fades. “How would you know that?”

Robin blinks, and it occurs to him, to point out the obvious--that he would know that she wasn’t pregnant because they hadn’t actually slept together--but he doesn’t. Instead, he sighs, “The symptoms aren't right.”

“Sure they are--she’s pale and avoiding breakfast and--”

“She has a fever.”

“Symptoms are different in every woman.”

“And you’re an expert in this matter?” Robin asks, his voice piquing with annoyance. “Exactly how many pregnant women have you known in your lifetime? Much less spent time with…”

Richard bristles. “That’s irrelevant.”

“Is it? You’re assuming an awful lot.”

“Well, why wouldn’t she be pregnant? She’s young and obviously able.”

Robin’s eyes narrow at his father’s tone, and again, he chooses not to point out the obvious. “It’s unsettling, really,” he says instead. “How utterly obsessed you are with collecting heirs.”

“Collecting heirs?” Richard scoffs. “If that’s what you call protecting my estate, then I think it a worthy collection.”

“You have an heir,” Robin says flatly. “And your heir has an heir…two, actually.”

Richard’s eyes widen. “That boy is not my heir, and you barely survived childhood. Suppose Roland has whatever maladies you had and--”

“Do you even hear yourself?” Robin asks, his voice rising and his jaw tensing. “Roland and Henry are my heirs, whether you approve of that or not.” Taking a breath, his eyes narrow. “Besides, didn’t grandfather prove one chooses their own heirs?”

“Your grandfather was a cavalier opportunist and a cad.”

“Whom you benefited from.”

Richard’s shoulders square and his face goes red. “And you.”

“I didn’t say that I didn’t,” Robin says easily. “But it’s not like our family legacy goes all that far back, as you like to fantasize that it does.” He grins as his father’s eyes widen. “And if you could be an heir to this estate, then there’s no reason Henry can’t be one.” He laughs a little as his father’s cheeks flush deeper. “Afterall, when it comes down to it, now that you’ve acquired so much of the Mills’ land and money, he’s more right to this estate than you.”

“Ah, there you are,” Whale says as he steps into the hall as Richard’s eyes widen and his cheeks flush deeper. “I’m glad you didn’t go too far.”

“So, tell us,” Richard says, clearing his throat as he steps forward. “Is she with child?”

Whale blinks. “Uh, no. No, she’s not pregnant,” he says, looking from Richard to Robin. “She’s…”

“What a waste of a doctor’s call,” Richard scoffs, louder this time than before and he turns away from them as if somehow personally insulted as he sulks off toward the stairs. “A waste of everyone’s time,” he mutters, just loud enough to be heard.

Robin’s eyes sink closed as he draws in a long breath, biting back the urge to lash out at his father; but instead, he swallows it back at looks to Whale. “So, now that we’ve confirmed what Regina and I already knew, what’s your diagnosis?”

“Ah, right,” Whale nods. “Well, it’s hard to say for sure, but it appears she has the beginning stages of grippe.” At that, Robin feels his stomach drop. “But appearances can sometimes be deceiving.”

“Yes,” Robin says, his mouth suddenly dry. “Yes, that’s true.”

“Either way, you’ll know by tomorrow.”

“Yes… yes, I know,” Robin nods. “I’m familiar with it.”

“Yes, of course you are,” Whale says with a sigh. “How could I have forgotten?” Robin nods, offering a tight smile as his heart beats a little faster and once more he finds himself trying to push away his worst worries. “And if it is, as I suspect it is, the night will be the worst…”

“I remember…”

“Of course.”

“And if she gets worse…”

“I’ll send for you immediately.”

“Oh, and fluids--keep her hydrated and--”

Robin nods, exhaling a shaky breath. “Yes, of course. I remember the drill.”

“Right,” Whale murmurs as he takes a half step forward. “I’ll be in touch, then.”

Robin nods and watches him go, and for a split second, he’s rooted in place. As he looks in the direction of her door, he thinks about another time he stood in front of his wife’s door as Whale showed himself out. There’d been a similar diagnosis and similar instructions, and he had to actively remind himself that Marian and Regina were different people with different histories. Marian had been sick for a long time. After Roland was born, she never quite recovered; instead, she was sick again and again, for longer and longer each time, until finally she was too weak to fight off the illness. But Regina wasn’t Marian--and Regina was going to be fine.

He forces a smile onto his lips as he peeks into her room, finding her just where he left her--and he laughs a little as she turns her head to look at him, pouting out her bottom lip as her eyes meet his. “I really am sick,” she says as though it is a surprise.

“Yeah,” he nods. “You are.”

“Doctor Whale said it seems like grippe,” she says, her voice straining and leaving her breathless.

“How long have you been feeling sick?” He asks, closing the door behind himself as he comes into the room. “This couldn’t have started just this morning.”

“Yesterday,” she admits. “When I was helping my mother sell needlepoints.” She sighs, swallowing hard as she presses her head back into the pillow. “You can see why I didn’t realize I was actually sick.”

He laughs as he sits down on the edge of her bed. “Do you want anything? Doctor Whale says you’re supposed to stay hydrated, maybe Belle could bring up some tea or maybe she could just help you change out of--”

“I just want to sleep.”

“Alright…”

“Will you… stay with me for awhile? Until I fall asleep?”

Grinning, he nods. “I can do that.”

“Talk to me,” she says, her voice raspy as her eyes close. “Tell me about something…”

“What do you want me to talk about?”

“The lodge,” she tells him. “Tell me about it.”

“Ah, well, I was hoping I could show you…”

“You will,” she cuts it, letting her eyes flutter open as a little grin edges onto her lips. “But I want to hear about it now.”

Taking a breath, he shifts himself up onto the bed beside her and rolls onto his side, propping his head up in his hand. “Well,” he begins trying to remember the house’s significant details. “It’s made of stone and--”

“What color?”

“Um… different shades of brown,” he says, watching as a slight smile forms on her lips as she takes deliberate breaths. “They’re mostly round ones...and they’re held together with some sort of mud, I think… and…” He laughs as her eyes open and her brow arches. “Okay, so, the actual house is pretty small. It’s… rustic.”

“Rustic? How so?”

“My grandfather was a hunter and--”

“Are there animal heads all over the place?”

“Just… in the one room.”

“Oh, no…”

“But the land around it is… breathtaking.”

“Tell me about that then,” she says, her eyes closing again. “Tell me about the orchard.”

“You remembered that.”

“Mm,” she says, nodding slightly. “You know I have a thing for apples.”

“Yeah,” he nods, as a soft smile draws onto his lips. “I do.” He takes a breath and let his mind drift momentarily back to the hunting lodge, remembering the last time he was there. His grandfather was still alive then, and the butler at the hunting lodge used to let him accompany him on walks. “So, the house itself is on a hill. It’s surrounding by green hills that… just sort of go on and on…”

“That sounds nice.”

“It is,” he tells her. “And in one of the valleys, at the bottom of one of the hills is the orchard.”

“Red or green?”

“What?”

“The apples,” she says, “Are they red or are they green?”

“Red,” he’s quick to say. “Red heirlooms.”

“Those are good.”

“They are,” he nods. “I’m not sure if it’s still there or functional, but there’s a little mill at the back of the orchard. They make cider and--”

“We should check.”

“Hm?”

“When we go,” she says in a groggy voice. “We should check to see if the mill is still up and running.”

“We can do that.”

She whimpers a little as she grimaces and he feels his heart skip a beat as he watches her draw in a breath and slowly releases it. “What else?” She asks, her voice just more than a whisper--and again, he finds himself smiling in spite of everything as he thinks about walking with her through the orchard--breathing in the sweet smell of the apples as he holds her hand, leading her deeper and deeper into the orchard toward the mill. “Tell me more…”

He’s not sure what triggers the memory, but once again, he finds himself smiling as he thinks of sharing it with her. “There’s this little nook that’s covered in twig and vines, with a swing…”

“That sounds nice,” she murmurs wistfully--and then a moment later, she winces and her hand clutches at her stomach as she lurches forward, reaching for the basin at her bedside. His breath catches in his throat and he sits up, rubbing her back--and yet again, he finds himself pushing away thoughts of Marian and focusing on Regina, and hoping that this will soon pass and he’ll be able to do more than just describe the beautiful landscapes that surround hunting lodge.

_____

Robin stays with her all night, barely allowing himself to sleep as he sits at her bedside--and when morning comes, she’s weak and barely lucid.

By mid-morning Doctor Whale has come and gone, confirming the diagnosis of grippe and promising to return that evening to check on her. Robin does what he can to keep her comfortable--dabbing a warm cloth to her forehead and neck, talking to her as she slips in and out of consciousness, and attempting to get her to drink water in the moment where she’s awake. For the most part, though, she sleeps--babbling and moaning incoherently as she tosses and turns.

By nightfall, Whale returns, somberly explaining that if Regina makes it through the night, she should make a full recovery.

When Whale leaves, Belle comes in with a kettle of tea and a plate of meats and cheeses from the kitchen, but he doesn't touch it. Instead he asks for her to change Regina into a clean nightgown, and together, they do their best to swap out her linens.  He smiles his gratitude when she says she'll check in soon and then he returns his attention to his wife.

She seems so small, laying there in a sea of blankets with her hair down and around her shoulders--and his heart aches whenever she whimpers in her sleep or her eyes flutter open momentarily before she lurches forward and reaches for the basin at her bedside. He strokes her hair and dabs her brow, lulling her back to sleep and doing his best to make her comfortable.

He turns to the table beside the bed and wrings out the cloth, and from the corner of his eye, he watches her tug the blankets up around herself. She groans and swallows hard, and for a moment he thinks she's about to wake up; but her eyes never open.

“I know,” he murmurs as he turns back to her and reaches for another blanket at the foot of the bed. “Maybe another blanket will help,” he tells her unnecessarily and knowing that she won’t respond as he draws it up around her shoulders and tucks it beneath her arms. He smiles gently as she burrows into it, shivering as she turns her head on the pillow and turns her face toward him. For a moment, he just stares at her--and though he knows that it's just a result of the fever, he takes her pink flushed cheeks as a good sign, and reminds himself that’s otherwise been healthy and she’s strong, and she’s endured much tougher than a bad fever.

Still, he can easily remember sitting at Marian’s bedside, watching as she twisted and turned, practically delirious with fever, and he can remember how she’d practically matched the linens beneath her. The prolonged sickness had drained her color slowly and at the end, she looked more ghost-like than human.

But Regina wasn’t Marian, and Regina was going to be just fine--or at least, that’s what he had to tell himself, that’s what he was desperate to believe.

Reaching out, he brushes the matted hair from her brow and says a silent prayer he’s not quite sure will be heard, and when the door opens, he turns, expecting to see Belle, but instead, he finds himself facing his father.

“You’re… not dressed,” Richard says flatly as his eyes linger over him. “Dinner is in under an hour.”

“Belle brought me a plate from the kitchen,” Robin replies absently. “And I’m not hungry.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Richard tells him. “You were supposed to help me entertain tonight.” Robin blinks, narrowing his eyes and shaking his head, not quite following. “We discussed this. It’s why I invited some of the younger men--Archibald, Jefferson and--”

“I have no interest in spending an evening with Jefferson,” Robin says, making no attempt to hide his disdain. “And I thought your dinner was on Wednesday night.”

“No,” Richard says. “Tuesday… which is tonight.”

Robin sighs. “I… forgot.”

“Obviously.”

“I’m sorry, I won’t--”

“You won’t?” Richard asks, his brows arching. “In under an hour, I’ll have a dining room full of guests. It’d be rude not to--”

“I’m sure they’ll understand,” Robin interjects as he looks back at his father. “My wife is ill.”

“And you’ve been at her bedside for days.”

“And…?” Robin blinks. “She’s still ill.”

“She has a maid for this sort of thing.”

Robin’s eyes widen and he feels his jaw tighten. “First of all, her maid his an eighteen year old girl who--”

“Choosing an ill-suited eighteen year old was your choice.”

“She’s my wife,” Robin says, trying in vain to keep his voice even as he rises from where he sits, not wanting to have this argument in front of Regina, who finally seems to be sleeping restfully. Walking toward his father, he pushes him into the hall and sigh loudly, as he shoves his hand into his hair. “Listen, I know you don’t get it. I know you think this whole thing between us is a farce, but--”

“Isn’t it?”

“No!”

Richard’s eyes narrow. “You do remember why you did this, right? Why you married her?”

Robin’s eyes sink closed--it was never as simple as his father assumed. “Expanding the estate was… never the whole story,” he sighs. “What don’t you understand about that?”

“You barely know her.”

“That might have been true when we married, but that’s not true now.”

Richard’s eyes narrow. “This is about Marian isn’t it?”

“What?”

“Marian--she was sick and--”

“This is not about Marian.”

“You still feel guilty about the night she died.”

“Yes,” Robin nods. “I do feel guilty about leaving my wife to die alone, so that you could save face in front of the hospital board.” Shaking his head, he scoffs at the irony, remembering how Richard had practically begged and then bullied him into attending a dinner party that he’d arranged. He’d invited the board and he was supposed to read a pamphlet about their new health initiative; but he’d been distracted by an invitation to hunt, and couldn’t admit his mistake. So, Robin had attended in his place--and when dinner was over, Marian was gone. “But this isn’t about Marian. It’s about Regina.”

“Regina…”

“Yes, Regina, who is sick and shouldn’t be left alone.”

“Again, she has a maid to look after her.”

“And again, I don’t care. I want to be with her right now.” He takes a breath, slowly exhaling it as he collects his thoughts. “And not because of what happened with Marian--though, the situations are eerily similar. I want to be with her because she’s my wife, she’s sick, and she needs comfort.” Shrugging his shoulders, he sighs. “She’s the only thing that matters to me right now.”

For a moment, Richard doesn’t reply. Instead, he just stares at his son. “Oh my god,” he murmurs as his eyes narrow. “You’re in love with her.”

“Yes,” he says easily. “I am in love with Regina.”

“You fool.”

Shaking his head, he sighs again. It’s the first time he’s said the words aloud, but it’s something he’s known and felt for awhile now. “You should probably go,” he says dismissively. “As you, pointed out, you’re about to have a room full of guests.” He pauses as a snide smile edges onto his lips. “And you should probably compose yourself. You seem a little worked up and I am sure you wouldn’t want to explain to your friends why that is.” He laughs a little as he takes a step back. “After all, you can’t let them see the real you.”

He leaves his father standing in the hall and rejoins Regina. He sits down at the edge of her bed and reaches for the cloth, wringing it out and dipping it back into the warm water before dabbing it against her brow to wash away the beads of sweat--and he can’t help but notice a hint of a smile on her lips as she sleeps.

______

Regina’s eyes flutter open and she stretches out her arms, pushing at the tightly wrapped blanket around her. Batting her hand over her brow, she pulls herself up--and suddenly becomes aware that she’s not the only one in the room.

“You’re awake,” Belle says, smiling warmly as she sets the pitcher and basin back on the table by her beside.

“Mm, I am,” Regina nods. “But I’m wondering why you are. It’s awfully late… I think.”

“You are correct,” Belle confirms. “But I wanted to check in on you two.”

“Two?” Regina asks, watching as Belle nods to the other side of her bed--and slowly, she turns to see Robin sleeping upright in an armchair at her beside. “Oh…”

“He’s been here for days.”

“Days?” Regina asks, looking back to Belle. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Off and on for a few days,” Belle says, as a little chuckle rises into her voice and a grin pulls onto her lips. “And he’s been with you the whole time.”

“He has?”

“He has,” Belle says with an easy nod. “He refused to leave to even change his clothes or eat or…” She laughs a little. “Well, do anything, really.”

“That’s… so sweet,” Regina says, turning again to look back at Robin.

“I’m actually surprised he’s sleeping.”

“It sounds like he deserves it.”

“He does,” Belle replies as she sets a few cloths on the nightstand. “Well, I am going to go up to bed. I just put a few logs on the fire and there’s fresh water for you in the pitcher and…” Regina looks back at her. “I’m really glad to see you up and awake.”

“I’m glad to be awake… even if it is in the middle of the night.”

Belle smiles and nods, as she says goodnight and closes the door behind herself as Regina stretches out on the bed, rolling her neck and shoulders as she rubs her hands over her face, then looks to Robin.

She can’t help but smile as she watches him sleep, slumped down in the chair with his feet propped up on the opposite side of the bed. His cheeks are stubbly from not shaving and his lips are parted--and there is something so endearing about him in that moment.

Though, if she’s being completely honest with herself, she often finds herself thinking that.

“I don’t think I say it enough,” she whispers as she rolls onto her slide, propping her head up with her hand, “But I really do appreciate everything that you’ve done for me.” She smiles a little as she thinks of what Belle told her, about how he stayed with her and cared for her and there’s a flicker of what feels like a memory or maybe a dream where he tells someone he did it because he loves her. She sighs wistfully and finds herself wishing it were more than that--and she wonders, if maybe one day, he might reciprocate what she feels for him. “I still don’t quite understand why you married me,” she tells him, her voice no more than a whisper, “But I am so glad that you did.”

She hesitates as she watches him, staring at him and watching him sleep. “I don’t like to admit this, but I don’t think that Daniel and I would have made it. I think… at some point, he’d have realized that I didn’t fit into the world he did, that we were too different and… those differences would have pulled us apart.” Catching her lip between her teeth, she swallows back the urge to cry and she blinks back her tears. “Don’t get me wrong, I loved him and I know that he loved me, but sometimes, when I look at… at the life that we have together, it just… it feels so right.” Batting her hand over her eyes, she takes a breath. “It feels… the way I expected my life with Daniel to feel.”

Taking a breath, she smiles as she watches him--again, watching the way his chest rises and falls. “I… I love you, Robin,” she says, her smile brighten as the words fall from her lips. “I tried not to, but not falling in love with you was impossible. You’re… sweet and kind, and the way you care about Henry is…” She laughs a little and shakes her head, realizing she’s talking to no one other than herself, that her words are all but meaningless.

Sighing, she lays back against her pillow and shakes her head, looking back at him once more before letting her eyes sink closed--regardless, it felt good to voice her feelings, even if he didn’t hear them.

And as her eyes close, his eyes open and a smile stretches across his lips.