me, starting this: totally gonna stick to the super cute prompt I found yep mhmm yes this is me sticking to the prompt
me, finishing this: the fuck is a prompt what wait a minute there was a prompt for this
It's Sunday, December 6th, and Regina Mills is halfway through an episode of Cake Boss (his sister sold the fucking coffee cake, what the fuck-) when her phone rings; she lets it go to voicemail twice before finally pausing it, with a long-suffering sigh, and answering.
"You better be in the hospital," She deadpans, and Emma gives a nervous laugh.
"So you know when we hated each other?" Emma asks, straight to the point.
"Vividly," Regina rubs her temples. "Are we reminiscing for a reason?"
"So, you were a total bitch," Emma continues. "Like, a total bitch. It wasn't even funny how much of a bitch you were."
"You going somewhere with this, Swan?"
"And I wanted to get back at you, because, c'mon, you filled a confetti canon with my underwear. That was fucked up, Regina, really. So. I did a thing."
"...and that thing is?"
Emma takes a deep breath. "Remember how you got banned from the library?"
Regina sits up straight. "You didn't."
"Let's just remember how much of a good friend I am," Emma says weakly, and Regina closes her eyes and counts to ten.
So, this is what's up:
When Regina Mills was in high school, she was, if she's honest, a pretty awful human. And when Emma Swan transferred in halfway through her junior year, she pretty much just got worse.
And, since Emma is physically incapable of minding her own business, she took it on herself to end what she called the 'Mills Reign of Terror and Injustice'.
Which, of course, led to perhaps the worst war Storybrook Central had ever scene- in that behind closed doors, psychological-warfare way particular to teenage girls, which eventually grew into an out-and-out battle, culminating in all of Emma's underwear being catapulted across the football field at homecoming.
That was thought to be the end of the great Mills-Swan feud, as somehow, between the end of their junior year and the end of their senior year, they ended up best friends and in fact roommates, for their first year at NYU, but.
Apparently, the Swan faction thought keeping secrets was a great way to keep the bad blood circulating and wouldn't you fucking know, it was.
"I was planning on giving it back to you, like, three months later," Emma's talking hurriedly, like getting it all out will keep Regina from committing a homicide. "But then, you know, Killian dropped the L word and I had to mail college applications and it was all just kind of crazy, you know, so I just-"
"You checked a book out on my library account," Regina says slowly. "And kept it for four years?"
"Look, you were a total bitch," Emma says, and Regina feels like tossing a vase through a window.
"I thought I lost it!" she explodes. "I literally almost pulled my fucking hair out, over it, and you had it the whole damn time? I had a library sending me hate mail for six months! They wouldn't even tell me what the fucking book was-"
"Oh," Emma says weakly. "Oh."
Regina pauses.
And then she closes her eyes and says, short and clipped, "Emma Swan, I am going to ask you a question, and the answer you give me is going to determine whether or not I'm contemplating homicide at the end of this conversation."
"A sex manual," Emma blurts out, and Regina gives in to her inner four year old and kicks the wall.
"A sex manual?" Regina screeches, and yeah, you know what, she's too pissed to care: she screeches, like a banshee or a cat. "You checked out a fucking sex manual on my library card? Emma! I got banned from the library from that shit, oh my god-"
"My thong landed on the principal's head, Regina!"
"I had to drive two hours into the city to get sources for every single research paper I had to do!"
"Look, I was gonna give it back!" Emma's voice rises in pitch. "But every thing was so crazy and then-"
Emma drops off, suddenly, and Regina stomach plunges.
"You and your fucking European boyfriend fucked your way through it, didn't you." Regina doesn't even bother phrasing it as a question; she already knows the answer.
"Summer before junior year was a good one," Emma says, quietly guilty, and Regina kicks the wall again and sinks down to the floor.
"There are so many different things wrong with this," Regina shakes her head. "You bitch. You absolute bitch."
"Look, I'll drop it off, yeah?" Emma sounds a bit desperate. "Before Killian and I leave for winter break? You can keep it, don't you have a second date with that guy from your Chem class-"
"Oh my god, you cannot be serious, don't try to force your sexual deviancy on me-"
"A great orgasm is a great orgasm," Emma says solemnly, and Regina wants to scrub her brain clean and then maybe strangle her (quickly becoming estranged) best friend with the sponge. "And fine, if you don't want it, then you can just give it back to the library-"
"Four years later?" Regina counts to ten. "I'm hanging up, now."
"Happy early Christmas?" Emma says weakly, and Regina drops her phone and closes her eyes.
And, you know what, call her a terrible person, but Regina's fucking great at holding a grudge, okay, so she's still pissed when Emma slides the book into her mail slot, still pissed when she turns in her final paper for her last class of the semester, sociology, still pissed when she boards the train for the trip back to Augusta. She's maybe slightly less pissed than she was before when her father picks her up at the station and drives her back to Storybrooke; there's something about the way her hometown looks, covered in snow and Christmas lights, that makes it that much harder to maintain murderous rage.
Still. Every time she walks past the stupid fucking library, she ends up walking a little faster.
She plans, of course, on not giving it back. Why the hell would she? She's already banned, it's not like they can do anything else to her, and literally anything -and she does actually mean anything- would be better than having to slide a sex manual across the table to the old-as-dirt librarian, Ms. Gibson, better than getting that look and then later on a lecture about the benefits of the missionary position.
No, she decides, there is absolutely no point in returning it. She'll stay for winter break and then take it back with her and toss it in the river, or rip the pages out and mail them to Emma, one by one, each day until there's none left, or maybe even keep it until she finds a guy she's into enough to whip it out.
Yeah.
That's a good plan, right?
(Damn right, it is; it combines Regina's two favorite form of conflict resolution: avoidance and denial. She's going to avoid thinking about it and in fact deny its very existence until she feels like not doing that anymore.
Great plan. A++.)
But of course, that plan gets shot all the way to hell when Regina checks her email four days after she's back in Storybrooke and is greeted with an email from her fucking sociology professor, wishing her happy holidays and telling her that, unfortunately, the writer of three of her sources for her final paper was largely agreed to be not credible; with an air of benevolency, he informs her that he won't require her to rewrite the paper, and that he'll be perfectly happy accepting a revised works cited with annotated entries for those three sources by the deadline. Which, as the universe, committed to fucking up Regina's life as usual, would have it, is in three days.
Not a problem, Regina thinks. She'll pull an all-nighter and do this bitch high school style.
She pulls on her coat and some shoes, figures she'll drive to the nearest out of town library and pick up anything she can there, but of course, just as she's reaching for her keys, she gets an alert on her phone, telling her that the roads are currently iced over, and that traveling is considered unsafe for the time being.
(Regina gives herself two minutes to scream, because this is seriously just too much, okay, she needs a fucking moment.)
Regina fights it for a long time, she really does, but she eventually gives in and dials Emma, because yeah, she's still dancing between angry and straight up murderous, but Swan's her best friend for a reason, and it's for times like these when Regina could really use some help.
Of fucking course, though, Emma's out of breath and giggly in that I-am-in-the-middle-of/just-had-sex way she has, and Regina feels like maybe throwing away her friend's entire Star Wars collection, just fucking cause.
"Well -Killian, stop, you can't do that while I'm on the phone- do you have the book with you?"
"If I had the books I need with me, Emma, why would I need to go find them," Regina's short and clipped, but Emma's literally hitting it while on the phone, so who's really in the wrong here? "Leave your boyfriend's dick alone for two seconds, please."
"I promise I am not touching my boyfriend's dick," Emma says, smirk evident in her voice, and once again, Regina wants to scrub her brain. "But that's not the book I meant."
Regina pauses, and then says, "You're fucking kidding me."
"Regina-"
"You are not suggesting that I turn in a fucking sex manual to my neighborhood library and pay the gazillon dollar fine that you racked up on it in order to get not-banned. You are not. I'm dreaming. This is all a really bad dream."
"Look, you need to -Killian, give me a minute- you need the books, don't you? You only have three days, Regina, I doubt the roads'll be clear in time, so this might be your only option. And don't even bitch at me about the fine, you trust fund baby, I know you have the cash. I'm sorry, babe, but I don't know what else to tell you."
"You're a bitch and I hate you," Regina deadpans.
"Love you too," Emma croons, and then she hangs up, and Regina sighs.
Emma's infuriatingly right, though; she really doesn't have a damn choice, does she? She needs the sources, and this is the only way she'll get them.
Literally, fuck everything.
Regina's plan is pretty simple, honestly; she's going to go in, head held high, pay the fine, find the books, and go home and binge write until the wee small hours of the morning, after which she'll get celebratory wasted on cheap tequila from the 7-11 up the street and watch an entire season of Nikita.
Who knows, maybe she'll even drunk email one of her professors. Regina's got high hopes.
And that's the plan, and she's planning on sticking to it, gets to the 'going in, head held high' part alright, but the problem arises when she approaches the desk to pay the fine and Robin fucking Locksley is standing behind it, smiling at her, delighted like he's a cat with a tub of cream, saying, "When I said you couldn't stay away for long, Mills, I didn't think you'd prove me right this quickly."
Literally.
Fuck.
Everything.
A brief history of the relationship between Regina Mills and Robin Locksley:
They're both Storybrooke natives, grew up together, actually; Robin's a year older than her, but that didn't stop them from somehow finding themselves lumped together, anytime it was at all possible.
When they started high school, and Regina 'entered the chrysalis of bitchiness', as Emma calls it, things shifted between them; he got banter-y, always in her face with quips and commentary, and Regina got ice-cold and mean, and then they got paired as study buddies in their Latin class, and there was a lot of tension, okay, Regina can admit it. Lots and lots and lots of tension.
They fought about everything, and when they weren't fighting, they were kissing, and when they weren't kissing or fighting, they were 'studying' together (wink-wink nudge-nudge), which lead to kissing or fighting or sometimes even fighting about kissing (he swears their first kiss was in the second month of her sophomore year, when she walked into the boy's locker room to bitch him out about not returning her notes. She says he's certifiable; clearly, it was three weeks before that, when he pulled her out of her Biology class with a fake office note just to piss her off. There's still no consensus; they both conveniently ignore the fact that it actually occurred that summer).
Emma Swan transferred when he was a senior and Regina was a junior, and he's probably one of two people in the world who know that her burrowing even deeper into the chrysalis of bitchiness had less to do with that and more to do with her parent's impending nasty divorce.
Regina's not going to call him her first love, or anything sappy like that, because she didn't really like him, period, and he didn't really like her; she is insistent on the fact that it was just sex, between them. They never went exclusive; she kissed his best friend, a couple of times, even, to piss him off. which, goal accomplished; he came back to her with bloody knuckles and stony expression, and they didn't talk about what it meant.
She's not going to talk about the way he sometimes looked at her, like he was- in awe of her or something, like he couldn't believe she actually existed, like he wanted to know every part of her. Regina was, as previously mentioned, a pretty shitty person back then, something he definitely experienced, and besides, like she said. It's not like she- she didn't love him.
Or anything.
(Regina's also not going to talk about the first weekend after her mother's car accident, when he flew up from Columbia and held her for three days straight. Nope. Nuh-uh. Not gonna talk about it; they never did, so clearly, it's not worth talking about.)
Honestly, Regina would've rathered it'd been Ms. Gibson, the billion years old lady who helped her pick out which book to do for her fourth grade book report; that would've been so much better than having to look Robin fucking Locksley in the eye after he pulls up her account.
"So," he says after a bit of a pause. "How To Please Your Lover, huh?"
"Shut the fuck up," she can't help blushing, and he nods, biting his bottom lip, clearly trying to keep from laughing.
"So it looks like you've had it for...four years," he coughs, eyes twinkling, and Regina is washed over with that oh-so-familiar urge to either slap him or kiss him. "That must've been. Educational."
"Just tell me how much the damn fine is," Regina hisses, and yeah, no, she's definitely, like, can't-even-lie-about-it blushing.
"It's tallying right now," Robin says, "Sorry, the system's ancient." she has to give him points; he's doing a valiant job of not doubling over. "Do you have the book with you, or do I need to add a replacement charge?"
"I have it," she says, pulling it out of her purse; he takes one look at it once she's set it on the counter and loses it. Thankfully, there's no one else in the library; they're probably all outside, playing in snow or making hot chocolate or scooped in at Granny's, not worrying about a stupid fucking sociology paper.
"I'm sorry," he wheezes. "I'm sorry, I just, you're the sex manual dude? I knew you were adventurous, Regina, but-"
Honestly, at this point, Regina's seriously considering just taking the F.
He brings it back together after a minute, shakes his head and says, "Bet your boyfriend's going to miss it."
And, um, excuse her, but did he just sneaky try and feel out if she was single or not?
"I've literally been back four days, and you want to know if I'm single or not," Regina shakes her head. "Classy, Locksley. Real classy."
"You kept a library book for three years, Regina, d'you really want to start lecturing me?"
"Can you just-" Regina motions towards the computers. "I really, really, really don't have time for this."
"What's the rush?" He asks, leaning forward on his forearms, wooden desk creaking slightly. "Guilt finally caught up to you?"
"More like school followed me back here," Regina scowls. "I need a working library card again, okay, so just clear my account so I can use my old one."
"What do you need it for?"
"Are we playing twenty questions?" Regina shoots back.
"No," Robin says easily, "I'm just curious. Something to hide?"
"Not that it's your business, because it really isn't," Regina says, "but I have to find a couple more sources for a paper. It's due in three days, and the roads are shut down, so if you could-"
"It's going as fast as it can, love," He tells her, twirls a pen between his fingers. "You do have over four years of fines for the poor thing to calculate."
"Fuck you," Regina snaps. "Since when do you even work at the library? Aren't you supposed to be at Columbia?"
"You're not the only one with a break," he says mildly. "I volunteer when I'm back, so that Belle -she's the other aid- can have a bit of a rest."
"Of fucking course you do," Regina mutters.
"So, you never answered my question earlier," Robin says, as the computer whirrs behind him. "Boyfriend going to miss it?"
"You didn't phrase it as a question, and no, jackass," She crosses her arms. "No, he won't miss it because no, I don't have a boyfriend, and no, I'm not doing this with you."
"Doing what?"
"The indie romcom set up where the first loves separated time come back together when they're stuck in their iced-in town," Regina informs him. "I'm not doing it."
"Well, unless your name is sausage-pepperoni pizza, you are not my first love, so, you know," Robin flashes her a shit eating grin. "Not a problem."
Heat curls up in Regina's abdomen, and she wants to strangle him, she really does, but she kind of wants to do it with her tongue, and you know what, fuck off, it's a complicated emotion.
"Isn't your girlfriend in town?" She changes the subject; he raises an eyebrow but says nothing. "I thought my dad said your girlfriend was in town."
"I don't know what girlfriend he would've been talking about, other than the aforementioned pizza," he shrugs. "Marian and I broke up."
"She finally realized how lame you are?"
"Kind of," Robin says, smile becoming a tad pained. "She slept with my roommate, so."
"Oh." Ouch. "I'm sorry."
"Could've been worse," He shrugs it off. "I could be you, sitting on $336.40 in library fines."
Regina groans, pulls out her wallet, and makes a note to herself that she's going to actually and literally kill Emma.
"Thank you for settling your accounts with the Storybrooke Central Library," Robin gives the line in a teasing drawl, winking when her scowl deepens. "Is there anything else I can assist you with? And I do mean," he waggles his eyebrows. "Anything."
"You disgust me," she informs him, and he winces dramatically like she's slapped him, clutches his chest and lets out an agonized sound.
She sighs. "Do you have an electronic data base?"
He raises an eyebrow and very pointedly looks at the old chunky computer, still whirring away and overheating on the desk.
"Right." Regina wooshes out a sigh that blows the hair out of her face. "Of course you don't."
"I can offer you our catalog system," Robin offers, gesturing to the computers lined up by the window. "But, uh. It's a bit. Finnicky."
Regina looks where he's pointing; the technological dinosaurs residing there are like the great-grandfathers of the relic on his desk.
A dull throbbing starts building behind Regina's eyes.
"Can you just," God, nobody ever tells you how bitter pride tastes when you've got to swallow it. "Can you look some things up for me?"
A slow grin crawls across his face, and his eyes do the twinkly bit thing again. "Do mine eyes deceive me? Are you, Regina Mills, asking me, Robin Locksley, for help?"
"Fuck it, I'll take my chances on the ice roads-" She moves to turn away, but his words stop her.
"Let me take you out."
"What the fuck?" She turns around, arms crossed, hackles raised. "Are you shitting me right now, Locksley?"
"I absolutely shit you not," He pulls back, elbows on the desk, eyes locked on hers, daring and mischievous. "I'll look up whatever you need me to, if you let me take you out tonight."
"You're really resorting to holding aid over my head, just so you can be an obnoxious asshole outside of your working environment?"
"Yes, in fact, that's exactly what I'm doing."
"You're a terrible human," Regina mutters. "A straight-up terrible person."
"You know, I'm really not. Not usually. But somehow, you..." he shrugs. "You bring out the worst in me, I suppose. Now, can I help you?"
His eyes are daring her, taunting her, waving a potential refusal in her face, and she's forgotten how absolutely infuriating he is, how insufferable and annoying and-
(fuck everything, but she does really need these sources, and with the iced roads combined with shitty service, there's no promises she'll get them anywhere else, and she'd be worried they didn't even have them, but Storybrooke Central is nothing if not obscenely well stocked with old, rare books, there's literally no way they won't have at least something she can use, and, well.
It's not like this is her first date with Robin, is it? They went on plenty, back in high school, all though admittedly they didn't actually call all of them dates, and it's not like he's unattractive or-
Nope. Nuh-uh. Regina is not thinking about this, because then she'll start thinking that maybe she's doing this for a reason other than research materials, and she is not falling back into that trap, okay. Robin has -or had- his Columbia girlfriend, and Regina has a lot of dates, okay, and she finished this shit up back in high school and again, last year.
Nope.
She's not doing this.)
"It's not a date," She says stubbornly, and he practically crows, eyes lighting up and smile broadening to showcase some devastatingly well-placed dimples (yet another reason why the universe is clearly out for Regina's blood).
"How can I aid you, m'lady?" he smirks, pulling back to settle in the chair in front of the computer, fingers fiddling on top of the keyboard, and she does not deserve this. "And also, it's totally a date."
"It's not a date," she insists. "Now, here's the deal."
It takes them the better part of two hours to locate three suitable books, what with the aged computer and the fact that Regina's not exactly looking for New York Times bestsellers; it's two hours of quips and commentary and Robin just thinking he's so damn clever.
He won't just write down the location and set her loose, either; he insists on tracking down each book with her, saying insistently that "No offense, Regina, but if you messed up the order, Belle would- well, no, she wouldn't stab me, but she'd make disappointed doe eyes, and that's almost as bad."
He whistles when they find the last one, looking over her armful of thick, dusty books. "Just some light reading, then?"
"Oh, you know," Regina says sardonically. "What else am I supposed to do on a cold winter's night?"
"Exactly, because, you know, when I'm bored, I love to read-" he glances at one of the spines she's carrying. "Ball and Chain: the Economic and Social Consequences of Marriage. God, this one was my favorite."
"Really? You can tell me how it is, then," Regina snarks. "It's been on my reading list for a while."
"I definitely will. Tonight. At Granny's. I'll pick you up at seven." He walks back towards the desk, leaving her watching his retreating back.
"What, you're not going to tell me to wear something pretty?" She calls derisively after him. "I think that's supposed to be your next line, right?"
"Nah," he throws over his shoulder, shaking his head. "You're always pretty. All you have to do is answer the doorbell."
She's gaping for a minute, opens her mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. She ends up turning around and hurrying out, his soft laugher in her ears as she does so.
(One good thing about the fucked up weather? She can blame it for her red-stained cheeks and thumping heartbeat; northern Maine, after all, can do that to a girl.)
"But you got the books, right?" is all Emma has to say when Regina calls her, in full on vent mode. "So, you know. Count it as a win."
"No! Not a win!" Regina feels like facepalming, honestly. "I've got a da-outing with Robin fucking Locksley! Do those words mean anything to you?"
"You're going on a date with the hot guy you had a thing with in high school," Emma says, and Regina can practically hear the shrug in her voice. "Honestly, G, it's not that big of a deal."
"You are literally zero help," Regina tells her before hanging up.
Regina puts in a good three hours on her annotated bibliography, and if she does say so herself, it's going pretty damn great; she'll probably need to go over it again tomorrow, just to work out the kinks, but she has, she admits grudgingly, done enough work to justify an evening in hell.
She spends a solid ten minutes going back and forth on whether or not she should even open the door, or if she cares enough to shave or put effort into whatever she's going to end up wearing; in the end, she comes to the conclusion that while she does not care about Robin Locksley, at all, period, whatsoever, she does feel kind of awesome in that dress Emma bought her on Black Friday, and if she's going to do this, well, she might as well do it right.
She's not nervous, necessarily, but she'll own up to being a bit apprehensive. The last time she did something even remotely date-like with Robin Locksley, they fought about how beaches were formed and then made up extensively in his bedroom.
(Honestly, don't even say anything, okay, she was sixteen.)
Her father looks up and smiles when she comes downstairs, crinkles appearing by his eyes and fuzzy white eyebrows.
"You look lovely, my dear," he says, and Regina smiles.
"I could be wearing sweatpants and a NYU hoodie right now and you'd say that," she shakes her head. "You're offensively nice."
"Well, yes, dear," her father says, "because you are lovely, and you look it no matter what you're wearing."
"Geez, dad, save some game for the actual ladies," she snorts, moving to stand behind where he sits on the couch. "You're such a cruel heartbreaker, it makes me so proud."
Her dad makes a face. "Who are you going out with tonight?"
"No one," she says, and when his frown deepens, she sighs. "Robin. It's nothing serious, dad, so-"
"Robin, eh?" her father grins, and Regina groans. "I always liked him. He was good for you, that one." His voice grows somber. "Your mother always liked him, too."
"Okay, well, that's a lie," Regina shakes her head. "She hated him. Like, loathed him entirely. She would've given anything for me to have not...thinged with him."
"True," her father inclines his head. "But he did come back when she died. She would've liked that."
"More attention? Of course she would've," Regina says, and yeah, she's suddenly really ready to be done with this conversation, actually.
Which, thankfully, is when the knock comes at the door.
"Don't get up, dad, you don't have to- oh, great, you're getting up." Regina rolls her eyes and tosses her hands up, standing as her dad walks to the door.
"Robin," he says with a smile as he opens it. "I haven't seen you in a while."
"It's been quite a bit, yeah," Robin's all charm as he shakes her father's hand, and, dear god, is he picking her up for senior prom? Did she flash back to junior year in the past forty seconds? "But Columbia's been kind of crazy, and, you know, your daughter's a hard one to track down."
"Ah," her father nods. "So that's what's got you landing this time?"
"Don't think I ever really flew away, if I'm honest, sir," he says, cheeky, and then his eyes set on Regina, widen as he takes her in.
"You look beautiful," he says, and Regina feels the room tempeture go up like, eight degrees.
"I almost wore sweatpants," she blurts out, and then wants to curse and then call this whole thing off.
Robin doesn't laugh, though; he just hold her gaze and says, "You would've still been beautiful."
Her father gives them a knowing look. "Alright, then," he says, suddenly cheerful. "You two have fun, and Regina, if you're planning on not coming back tonight, please drop me a line."
Regina flushes while Robin laughs. "Dad," she hisses. "I promise you, I'm coming back."
"Mhmm," He winks. "I was young once, too."
"Oh my god we're leaving right now go go go," she practically pushes Robin out of the door, glaring at him when he keeps laughing.
"Fuck, I'd forgotten how much I love your dad," he gasps out as he opens her car door, and she glowers.
"Okay, well, I'm sure he'll let you take him out if you ask nicely, so we can just do a little switch-"
"No, no, tonight I'm quite happy with the Mills I've got, " he says, and then, cheekily, "But next week, though-"
"I will get out of this car if you don't start driving right now," she tells him, and he winks and revs the engine.
Granny's is actually much better than she thought it was going to be; there's almost no one she recognizes there, most of them probably holed up in their houses because of the ice and the cold, not playing darts or pool in the old diner.
"So tell me, Regina," he says when they're seated in a back booth, mulling over menus and sipping from old-timey water glasses. "Because I've really been dying to know. Why the hell did you check out that book and then keep it for three years?"
Regina chokes on her water and then scowls. "I- look, it was an accident-"
"You accidentally checked out How To Please Your Lover and then kept it for four years."
Regina glares at him. "Emma checked it out on my card, back when we hated each other, and then she forgot about it. She didn't even tell me about it until a couple weeks ago."
He chuckles, and Regina swats him with the napkin. "It's not funny! I paid $336 dollars for that stupid book, and it's not like I even read it - don't say a word- or anything!"
"Well," he says, "if it makes you feel any better, I'm glad she did it."
"Why the fuck would that make me feel any better?" Regina glares at him. "And why does Emma Swan being extremely sketchy make you happy?"
"Because," he leans forward, like he's about to tell her a secret. "If she hadn't, you wouldn't have come in today, and I would've spent god knows how long trying to come up with a way to talk to you."
He says it in that upfront and earnest way he sometimes has, like he's not ashamed of anything that he's saying, like it's not coming out of his mouth for any reason other than that it's the truth, and Regina holds his eyes for as long as she can before she breaks away, looks at the wooden table top.
"I think," she says, "That literally anything would've been better than this. We could've been snowed inside the damn 7-11 together and that would've been better."
"I'm going to take that as you saying that spending time with me is amazing, no matter where it occurs."
"I'm going to take that as evidence of you being certifiably insane."
"I've missed your sweet talking," he gives a purposefully love-struck sounding sigh, and Regina rolls her eyes. "It does things to me."
"I've missed you not talking, period," she says sweetly. "That always puts me in a good mood."
"I can definitely not talk if you want me to," he says, waggles his eyebrows, and she hits him with the napkin again and tries really, really, really hard not to smile.
It's -and she has to say this with gritted teeth- all in all, a surprisingly fun time. Robin's good company, is the thing; he keeps her blood pressure up and he's always laughing or smiling or giving her those real-talk earnest eyes, and goddamn, but Regina was not expecting this when she agreed. She thought they'd be at each other's throats all evening, and then she'd go home, toss on some pajamas, and binge watching some TV show all night, but no- he had to go and be fun to be around. Go fucking figure.
They eat and then play darts and even dance, towards the end of the night, swaying to the old tune Granny's jukebox creeks out, and here's the thing: Regina expected this night to be swamped and sweltering, expected to be drowning in old memories the whole damn time, but this-
This doesn't feel like reliving an old memory; this feels like making a new one, which is probably even worse.
It's late when they start back to her house, and when he turns the radio on and switches to the bubbly pop radio hit, she almost hits him.
"Are you kidding me?" She says, and he laughs at her expression. "Carly Rae Jepsen?"
"Oh, come on, Regina, are you too good for the radio?" he teases her, and she scowls, opens his glove department and starts ruffling through it.
"Something I can help you find, love?" he asks, and she sighs.
"I'm looking for whatever indie acoustics cd you've got lying around," she tells him. "I know you have one."
"I do not."
"I don't believe you."
"Look all you want, Regina, but you won't find anything," he shrugs. "I happen to really have a thing for the Top 40."
She groans, but it's more playful than actually irritated, and he smirks and mouths the words to the song as it comes through the radio.
"I really, really, really, really, really, really, really like you," he sings, off key and obnoxious, and Regina can't help laughing, pretending to cover her ears. "And I want you, do you want me? Do you want me, too?"
"I really, really, really, really, really want you to stop," Regina giggles (giggles- she can't remember the last time she giggled on a d-outing) "That's what I want, actually."
"I'll make you a deal," he says, turns down the music slightly. "I'll hold off on the Top 40 hits if you let me buy you breakfast sometime."
"What is it with you and bribing me?" Regina pretends to sound exasperated, and he smiles at her.
"See, that's not how I look at it," he begins, glancing over at her. "Because I like spending time with you, Regina Mills. I know you, and I still like spending time with you, and I'm pretty sure that you like spending time with me, but as previously stated, I know you, and I know you won't ever admit that. So I figure, you know, I throw in the bribe, so you can pretend that you're coming out with me for any other reason than that you want to."
"What on earth makes you think I'd come out with you if you weren't bribing me with research and good music?"
"Well," he shrugs. "Like I said, I know you. You wouldn't be here right now if you didn't want to be."
Before she can say anything, he turns the music back up, and Regina gives a noise of faux-pain.
"Fine! Breakfast, sometime!" She says and he grins. "Just change the damn station!"
"Great," he says, and true to his word, he changes it. "So I'll pick you up tomorrow?"
"Are you serious?" Regina asks, incredulous.
"100%," he says. "Like I said, somehow, for some reason, I like spending time with you. It's crazy, I know."
"We're literally out right now," She says. "You said breakfast sometime, not breakfast in nine hours!"
"Tomorrow is sometime," he points out, "But relax, I'm kidding."
She rolls her eyes a little and leans back in her seat.
"Lunch work better?"
"I would hit you if I wasn't afraid you'd crash the car," she tells him, and his responding chuckle does not make her chest tighten.
No, it absolutely does not.
She's serious.
Really.
(God, he makes her such a shitty liar.)
He does not take her out for breakfast, lunch, or dinner the next day, but he does text and ask how her bibliography's going (please, she emailed that shit in two hours after she got back from their- group arrangement), and three days after that finds her in that same back booth at Granny's, watching with wide eyes as he drown his pancakes not in syrup, but in honey.
"You're insane," She says, half disgusted, and half in awe, her own omelet not quite abandoned but momentarily forgotten. "You're actually insane."
"You've said that so many times, it means nothing to me anymore," he tells her. "I just assume what you're actually saying is 'Robin, I'm actually secretly impressed at whatever it is that you're doing, but rather than vocalize that, I'm going to insult you that's how I show affection.'"
"Who puts honey on their pancakes?" She says, pointedly ignoring his explanation. "I've never met another person who does that."
"Anybody who's tried it and knows how good it is," he swirls a chunk around, before pulling it, dripping honey, up. "Want some?"
"Nope," she shakes her head vigorously. "I'd take maple syrup over that bullshit any day."
"Mhmm," he says, sliding the fork slightly closer. "See, you say stuff like that, and what I hear is 'Robin, I really want to try whatever it is that you're offering, but I'm more worried about giving in, liking it, and losing, so to speak, so I won't'. Trying pancakes with honey does not equate to losing a battle, Regina."
"You have the worst possible impression of my voice," she informs him. "It's offensive."
"Eat the damn pancake, Regina," he says. "Because I already know you want to; saying no is just denying yourself."
"You don't know what I want," she replies, snapping lightly. "What, we spend a few days together and suddenly you're a Regina expert?"
He raises an eyebrow. "I don't want to be rude, here, but are you forgetting the bit where we grew up together? I've had more than enough time to know you well enough to say that sometimes you confuse losing and not fighting."
She glares at him before giving in and taking the fork. "You think you know absolutely everything about absolutely everybody. I've spent enough time around you to know that."
Of fucking course, he's right; the pancakes are delicious with honey, certainly in a different way than they'd be with syrup, but delicious nonetheless.
She scowls at him when she swallows and reaches for his plate; he laughs delightedly, takes a forkful of her omelet, and says, "Pancakes, down. Next up, Bruno Mars."
"I hate you," she says around a mouthful of sweet fluffiness, and his answering smile is his only reply.
On the way home, he tells her bad jokes and horrible puns, like, pun-dog-back-of-Laffy-Taffy-wrapper-type terrible jokes, honestly just painfully bad, and eventually, she says, mid-laugh (begrudging laugh, because, again, terrible, terrible, terrible jokes) "Stop it, okay, you're not funny- look, if you stop, I'll take you to lunch tomorrow."
He pauses for a minute. "Are you serious?"
"Completely. Maybe we can even find some place other than Granny's, since I'm pretty sure she's getting tired of your hyena laugh."
"Third date, huh?" he glances at her as he makes a turn. "You going to make an honest man out of me, Mills?"
"It's not a date," Regina says automatically. "None of them were dates. We haven't been on a date since, like, your senior prom. Get-togethers. Outings. Not a date. Also, you've been infuriatingly self-righteous and honorable since the day you were born, Robin Locksley, so don't even-"
"I'm gonna need for you to clarify for me exactly what the word date means to you," Robin says slowly, "because even if the past three don't count as dates -which, by the way, they most definitely do- I took you to like, eight midnight premieres your senior year. Definitely dates."
"A date is when two people who like each other spend time together in a romantic setting," Regina says primly, her tone drawing a laugh from him. "And since I don't like you..."
"You hurt me so deeply, you don't even know," Robin says mournfully. "And besides, let's say we don't even count the movies. Senior prom was for sure not our last date."
"If you're so sure," Regina crosses her arms, "then what was it?"
He's quiet for a second, and then he says, "Do you remember when I drove to NYU to see you? Two years ago, I think?"
"Of course I do," she replies. "You texted me like, half an hour before you got there, and then you crashed my psych class, and all you offered explanation-wise was a four month early birthday present."
"We spent like, two hours just talking in your dorm, d'you remember? And eating obscene amounts of chips and salsa." He smiles, soft and quiet, almost, not less bright but perhaps more secretive than his usual. "I didn't want to be anywhere else."
Regina closes her eyes, and she can still sort of remember it; lips and tongue buzzing from the salsa and his jalapeño flavored kisses, laying on her floor and laughing about whatever stupid thing they could think of.
"That was our last date," she says quietly, and he nods.
"That was our last date," he agrees, softly.
And then he says, "You know, before you showed up with your sex book and tried to corrupt me in my own place of work-"
"Pull over," Regina snaps, and he starts laughing again. "I'm serious, that's it, pull over, I'm getting out. Are you ever going to shut up about that-"
"Nope," he says. "Never, ever."
She scowls and closes her eyes, and though she swears she won't, she still buys him lunch the next day.
"You're spending quite a lot of time with Robin, aren't you, dear?" Her father says mildly about a week afterwards, while she's on her way to meet him at the Rabbit Hole, a bar that he insists serves better martinis than any ones she might whip out (which, like, that's bullshit, Regina makes an awesome martini). "It seems like you're always out with him."
"Not really," Regina slips on her coat, flips her hair out from underneath the collar "He's just slightly less terrible company than he used to be."
"Nice way to talk about..." Her dad's brow wrinkles. "Bae? Is that what the young people call it?"
"Robin Locksley is not bae, you senile old man," Regina pauses. "Also, never say the word 'bae' again in your life."
"Alright, so he's not bae. But he is your sweetheart, right?"
"Stop saying bae, seriously, you're making my ears bleed," Regina gives a shudder. "And also, Robin Locksley is not my sweetheart, or my boyfriend, or my best guy, or my lovah, or whatever other endearment you were going to toss out, seriously. He's just. Slightly less terrible company than he used to be."
"Sure, sweetheart," it's very clear that he thinks she's serving up a big heaping plate of bullshit, but you know what, Regina's not dealing with that right now. "Remember, call if you're going to stay the night."
"I'm not going to stay the night," she says, automatically, and her father winks at her.
"This is a spectacularly shitty martini," Regina gulps it down with a wince. "Like, fantastically shitty."
Robin's eyes twinkle as he raise his whiskey to her in a faux toast. "Is it? Whoops," he dodges when she slaps out at his arm. "Shitty alcohol and poor emotional expression. I feel like we've done this before."
"We used to do this a lot, actually," Regina makes a face. "Although, I don't remember the 7-11 vodka tasting this bad."
"Yeah, well, it was pretty shitty, actually," Robin tells her. "But it tasted better mixed with your lip gloss."
"Excuse me," Regina says, pretending offense. "But are you implying that I partook in underage drinking as well as illicit sexual activity?"
"Of course not, m'lady," Robin inclines his head to her. "I know you to be a woman of much propriety and respect."
"As you should," she says primly. "As you very well should."
"Excepting, of course, that rather indecent brush you had with underage drinking on your seventeenth birthday."
Regina flushes. "I thought we were never going to speak of that."
"Well I can't exactly forget it, can I, not when there's a physical reminder of it on my wall whenever I'm in town," he shakes his head. "Whoever thought giving you vodka shots and markers was a good idea owes me a damn good explanation."
"Wait, it's still there?" Regina leans forward, eyes widening when he nods. "You didn't, like. Paint over it, like a normal person would?"
"I couldn't paint over it, Regina, it's about the closest you ever got to admitting affection," he laughs. "It would've been like killing our love fern."
"Quote one more romantic comedy to me, I dare you," Regina glowers, and he grins, shakes his head.
"Long story short, it's still there," he shrugs. "I tried to wash it off, but whatever you used was magical or something, and it didn't bother me enough, so I just. Didn't paint over it." He makes a face. "Sorry, that's a bit creepy, isn't it?"
"Not unless you like, built a shrine around it or something," Regina shrugs. "I mean, I did get drunk and write on your wall, that's not really your fault."
"I promise, absolutely no shrines to Regina Mills in my house," he laughs, smiles. "Just the wall."
What happens next, Regina has two possible explanations for:
One, she's been bottling up at least six years worth of feelings and attraction and trying to forget all about it, but the past couple weeks have essentially shaken it up like an over-turned soda can, and tonight, the cap got twisted off and it all comes rushing out, in a mudslide of emotion that means Regina can no longer pretend not to care and in fact must admit that she cares rather a lot, actually.
Two, temporary insanity.
"I don't believe you," she finds herself saying. "Which means, I think, that there's something you've got to do."
"Oh?" he leans forward. "What?"
"Take me back," she replies, leaning to meet him. "And prove it to me."
(Yep.
She's going to go with two on this one, because accepting that she's got emotions and feelings towards Robin Locksley is something she's not nearly drunk enough to tackle.)
(She knows Robin, is the thing, has known him since before she was in preschool, knows that he practically exited the womb all noble and chivalrous. He probably had an honor code at twelve hours old, which is exactly why she already knows that he's most definitely not going to come on to her.
She knew that. From the jump.
She just, well.)
(She didn't think that maybe, potentially -and she'll deny she ever said this- she'd want him to.)
He drives her to his parent's house, where he stays when he's back in town ("Aren't they home?" she asks him, and he shakes his head. "Cayman Islands."); he takes her to what used to be his bedroom and is apparently now a storage room and points it out, scrawled in red near the bottom of his wall.
Dear Robin, it reads. I don't hate you. All my not-quite-love, Regina.
It's wobbly and sloppy, looks very much like it was written by a drunk high school girl, and Regina's kind of embarrassed by it, if she's honest, but he says, "That's when I knew you liked me, you know."
"Are you serious?" Regina gives a half scoff, half laugh. "That's when? Not when I was letting you shove your tongue down my throat?"
"Look, you were the one who pulled me in that janitor's closet," Robin says, drawing a laugh from her. "No, but seriously. I knew you liked kissing me, yeah, but that was the first time I knew you liked me."
"When I wrote on your wall and then threw up on your carpet." Regina deadpans. "That screamed 'I like you' to you?"
"People express emotions differently, Regina, who am I to judge?" he ducks when she throws a pillow at his head.
They're coming down the stairs when Regina sees them, a pile of textbooks standing by the steps, thick and heavy-looking.
"Doing a bit of light reading?" she says, and at his raised eyebrow she gestures to them.
He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. "I, ah. I actually failed one of my finals? Not a huge deal, but it was my last science credit- the teacher's letting me turn in a lab, at the end, but it's on joints? And muscles and bones, and I'm just shit at it, to be honest."
Regina stops. "Wait, what class are you taking?"
"Um. Anatomy and Physiology?"
"Aced that shit freshman year," she tells him, and he groans.
"Of course you did," he mutters. "Did you have tea with Queen Elizabeth and walk the red carpet, too?"
"Don't be a dick," she says. "Queen Elizabeth prefers coffee."
"Just because you said that, you're going to get taken out by MI6, and I'm going to have to explain to your dad why you're in the Tower of London."
"Oh, your poor thing," she rolls her eyes at him, and he sticks his tongue out at her. "You know, I really did ace Anatomy and Physiology. I took my science credit first, to get it out of the way. So, um." She's suddenly awkward. "I can help you, if you want."
"Seriously?"
She can't help but bristle. "If you don't want-"
"No, I want," he says, serious. "I really, really, really want. Like, bad. Like, would-it-be-wrong-if-I-asked-if-you-were-free-tomorrow, bad."
"I am very free tomorrow," she replies. "So I'll come by at around one?"
"Yeah," he says, mega watt smile shining bright. "Yeah, that works."
(Her dad seems almost disappointed when she pulls back in. Regina chooses to ignore it.)
(She's in this awful flux state of excited and scared, all morning, and it gets to the point where she has no choice: ten minutes before she's supposed to leave, she calls Emma.
"I'm in trouble," she says as soon as Emma picks up.
"How much is your bail?" Emma says, sleep clogging up her voice. "And how far away are you?"
"Not that kind of trouble, Emma," Regina snaps. "And it's past noon, why the fuck are you still asleep?"
"Well," Emma drawls, "I didn't really sleep much last night, if you get my drift-"
"I don't want to hear about your sexcapades," Regina says hurriedly. "I'm on my way to Robin's."
"Okay...?"
"And I need you to tell me not to do anything stupid."
Emma gasps. "He's revving your v-engine, isn't he?"
"What the fuck-"
"Oh my god, he totally is," Emma exclaims, and there's a rustling sound. "Dude, Killian, Locksley's picking G's peaches for her, if you get my drift."
"Well done, Regina," Killian's sleepy drawl comes through the speaker. "History does repeat itself, doesn't it?"
"Am I on speakerphone right now?" Regina's not even scandalized, at this point, because this is not the first time Emma's done this. "I am, aren't I." She sighs. "I hate this. It's not like I plan for this to happen every time I see him again, I just- the fucker just does something to me."
"I get it," Killian says. "I really do. He's your Australian alarm clock."
"...do I even want to know what you mean by that?"
"You know," she can practically hear the wink in his voice. "He goes off and he wakes everything up down under."
"Oh my god-"
"Don't even try and deny it," Emma says, "because there's a reason you're calling us, Regina, and it's because you like him and that scares you."
"I'm not scared of liking him," Regina says sullenly. "I just don't want to do anything stupid."
"The only stupid thing you could do would be to hold yourself back from something that could make you happy." Killian says.
"Oh my god," Regina says, half in awe. "Killian, that was- really insightful, actually."
"Yeah, I do that sometimes," he sounds extremely proud of himself. "Right, then, it's time for me to have sex with my stunningly gorgeous girlfriend. See you when you get back, Regina, and remember to double wrap!"
Emma laughs and hangs up, and Regina's left holding the phone.
The only stupid thing you could do is hold yourself back from something that could make you happy, she thinks.
Okay. I can not do that.)
1:15 when Regina pulls up to the Locksley house; it's bitingly cold outside, and she feels it through a coat, scarf, sweater, and t-shirt. She's shivering a bit when he opens the door, and of course, that sets his mama bear instincts off.
"You look like an icicle, fuck," he says, helping her out of her coat and siting her down in front of his fireplace. "Can you feel all your fingers?"
"All ten of them," she nods. "You can stop worrying."
He gives her a look that very clearly says 'fat chance of that happening' and slides a warm mug in front of her.
"I did not realize that you were such a worrier," she says. "Like, at all."
"I'm not a worrier," he grumbles. "Things don't worry me. You worry me. I'm a you-er."
"You're a worrier," she tells him. "It's okay. Own it."
He glares at her, and then nods his head in the general direction of the pile of textbooks, conveniently relocated to the foot of the couch. "There's a rubric in the front cover of the first one; I should warn you, I'm terrible at pretty much everything."
She pulls it out, looks it over; it's mostly simple identification things, which bone is this and what does it articulate, what's the insertion and origin of this muscle, etc. She says as much and he passes a hand over his face.
"See, the thing is, I know it's supposed to be easy, but I just. I just don't get it." He shrugs. "I suck at it almost as badly as you sucked in Calculus."
"Fuck you," she says reflexively, but there's no bite to it. "Now come on. We're going to make memorizing this shit your bitch."
Two hours later, and they have not, in fact, made memorizing that shit his bitch.
Far from it, actually.
"Okay," Regina says, rubbing her temples. "Where does the infraspinatus originate?"
"The clavicle," Robin guesses, from where he's lying prone on the floor, pillow over his chest and arm tossed haphazardly over his face. "Or, um, the ulna."
"No and no," Regina sighs. "The inferior aspect of the scalpular spine, which is kind of in the same general area?"
Robin groans. "I'm hopeless at this."
"You're not hopeless at this," she snaps at him. "So stop whining. I won't lie, you're pretty shitty, but not hopeless. Now, come on. What actions does the gastrocnemius perform?"
"I have absolutely no idea." His voice is muffled by his arm; Regina throws a pillow at him.
"You're not going to get it if you don't try," she says, and she really tries to sound stern, okay, really, she does, but he pushes his arm away and smiles at her anyway, which is probably a surefire sign that she did not succeed.
"I just can't," he sighs. "Visualize it, I guess? It's impossible to see, so it just slips out of my mind."
And, just like that: Regina's got an idea.
"Do you trust me?" she asks him, suddenly, and he folds up, bracing himself on his forearms.
"Should I be scared?"
"So that's a no?"
"No, it's not a no," he says. "I trust you."
"Okay, then," Regina says. "Give me your hand."
"Your sternocleidomastoid is right here," she says, and she brings his hand up to rest gently on her upper neck. "And everything you need to know about it, placement-wise, at least is in the name; it originates at the sternum and the clavicle, and inserts at the mastoid process."
He nods, eyes darker than before when they flick up to meet hers, and she swallows.
"It's underneath the platysma," she says, and um, when did her throat get this dry? "Which, um. It widens the mouth," when exactly did his fingers migrate up to rest feather-light against her bottom lip? Did she black out for a few minutes? "And draws the corners of it inferiorly."
"Okay," he says, hand coming back down to rest, warm on her clavicle, and his voice has an amused tone to it, but his face is mirthless, eyes darting back and forth between her mouth and her eyes. "Platysma. On top of the sternocleidomastoid. Does things to the mouth."
She tilts her head and narrows her eyes at him.
"Draws the corners of the mouth inferiorly and widens it," he repeats, and she nods.
"Okay," she continues, "So. The Pectoralis major is here," she moves his hand lower, until it's resting on the top of her chest, a couple centimeters shy of hitting boob territory. "And-"
"There's no way I'm going to be able to think with my hand this close to your boob," he blurts out, and then, to her surprise, he flushes, pink tinge appearing in his cheeks. "I mean. I don't want you to think that, like- because I respect you, a lot, I swear, I just-"
"You're cute when you're flustered," Regina grins. "I did not realize you were so scared of boobs."
"I am not scared of boobs," he says sullenly. "But I am not going to be able to focus-"
"People have breasts, Robin," Regina rolls her eyes. "You don't get to just zone out every time you see them."
"It's not breasts," he says, closes his eyes. "I'm not scared of breasts. I don't think they're an excuse for being disrespectful or mean."
"Okay, then," she says, and she's having way too much fun with this. "So, the Pectoralis major-"
"Fuck you," he groans, and then he opens one eye. "And fuck it."
She's not expecting it when his hands fall to her waist, pulling her in, and he's clearly not expecting it when she lets her legs fall on either side of his waist, wisps of hair falling in her face.
His eyes are a darker blue than she's seen them in a while when he says, "I'd like to kiss you. If that's okay."
"Oh, so now you're asking for permission," she teases him. "After years of sneak attacks, now you ask."
"Yep," he says, hands tapping absentmindedly on her waist. "Now I'm asking."
Regina feigns indifference. "If you're not too scared of the boobs-"
"I hate you," he informs her as she laughs softly, and then he seals her mouth with his.
(The first time she kissed Robin Locksley, they were four and five. She smacked one on him in the sandbox at the playground in retribution for his stealing of her favorite toy car; he squealed, like a pig, wiped his mouth off, and then he put his mouth on top of hers and kissed her back, in revenge.)
(The first time she kissed Robin Locksley, they were fourteen and fifteen and locked in a closet for seven minutes. She kissed him halfway through his awkward assurance that they didn't have to; it was wet and strange-feeling, but it made something with wings sprout up inside her chest.
Afterwards, of course, she pushed him away and spent the rest of her night with Victor Whale.)
(The first time she kissed Robin Locksley, they were sixteen and seventeen, pressed against the brick wall behind their school, and he was two inches from her face, eyes firey and angry, because she'd kissed John Little, his best friend in the middle of the hallway three days before; halfway through their resulting fight, she grabbed his collar and smashed her mouth against his.
It was not wet and strange-feeling; it scorched and burned and shocked her.
When he pulled away, he said, "Let's not kiss other people anymore, okay?"
She'd smirked, laughed, and left him there.)
(The first time she kissed Robin Locksley, she had a knee on either side of his waist and both of his hands on hers; he kissed her gently, like it was something he'd been waiting to do, something worth doing right, and she thought, Oh.)
She opens her eyes and pulls away.
"Come on, Locksley," she whispers, challenge in her tone. "You scared of kissing me, too?"
He makes a sound, deep in his throat, and pulls her back in for something that is definitely not gentle, open-mouthed and bruising and, yeah, this she can work with.
(If he'd kept kissing her like that, soft and slow and content, then she might've said-
Well.
It doesn't matter now, does it?)
He pulls away to trace kisses down her neck, mutters, "Sternocleidomastoid, right here."
She gives a breathless laugh. "That tickles, you bitch."
"And above that," he says, words still muffled against her skin, "the platysma."
His mouth drifts lower, grip on her waist tightening. "And I'm pretty sure that this-" her breath hitches. "Is the Pectoralis major."
"I did not know," she gasps out, "that biology did it for you. Definitely remembering that."
He pulls away "Biology does not do it for me," he says, looks her straight in the eye. "You do it for me, Regina Mills. You could be singing the fucking states song we learned in third grade, and it would do it for me."
She raises an eyebrow. "Alabama, Alaska, Arizona..." she singsongs, and he groans, pulls her in closer.
"Fuck you," he says, and he kisses her again.
"Hmm, yeah," she teases. "You should probably do that."
"Emma's the reason you ended up in the library that day, right?" he says against the skin on her stomach, his breath leaving her squirming and ticklish.
"D'you really want to talk about Emma Swan right now?"
"I'm just saying, remind me to send her some flowers at some point," he smiles the words out, and she flicks the top of his head.
(Later, she rests her head on top of his chest, listens to her heartbeat thudding, and says, "This, by the way, is not a date."
His hand strokes back and forth across her shoulder, his lips falling down to press a kiss to the top of her head. "Whatever helps you sleep, love. Whatever helps you sleep.")
She wakes up, warm and comfortable, with her face smushed against his chest, his hand tracing slow circles on the small of her back, and late evening sunlight warming her skin.
"I'm awake," she groans against his chest. "You can stop watching me, now."
"But you look so cute," he teases. "Like. A squashed cat."
"I'm never having sex with you, ever again." She stretches, looks around. "When did we make it to your bed?"
"Somewhere around round four, I think," he murmurs. "Maybe five."
"We did not go five rounds," she giggles against his skin.
"I'm counting non-penetrative orgasms as rounds," he informs her, and she gives a full laugh.
He keeps talking, murmuring about Columbia, and she tells him about NYU and Emma and Killian and how they managed to fuck their way through that damn book, and somewhere in there she gets drowsy and warm and says, "I don't hate you, Robin Locksley."
"That's nice," she thinks he might say, "Because I really, really, really, don't hate you." There's a smile in his voice.
She closes her eyes and goes back to sleep.
When she wakes up again, it's morning, and she's alone, practically nested in a swath of pillows and blankets.
She blinks blearily and stretches out to hit her alarm clock, but she hits a night stand instead, and hears a cup rattle.
Her eyes fly open.
Oh, yes.
That's right.
The cup, she finds upon investigation, is full of caramel-colored coffee, and while she sips it, Taylor Swift echoes throughout the apartment, muffled through the pillows but still very audible; she's singing about bad blood, and Regina can hear Robin's voice, off-key and loud, entwined with Taylor's.
She leans her head back against the mound of blankets and laughs and laughs and laughs.
When she comes downstairs, the song has changed, something upbeat and happy about shutting up and dancing, and Robin is flipping pancakes in pajama pants.
"Morning," he grins at her, dimples and twinkly eyes and everything. "Also, nice shirt, where'd you get it?"
She's wearing his Columbia hoodie and the sweatpants she was when she came over, and she got it from his closet, thank you very much.
When she says as much, he shakes his head and says, "You can keep it if you stay for breakfast."
"Still keeping up the bribes, I see," she slides onto one of the barstools and watches him cook. "Nice show of continuity."
"It's not my fault you're so easily bribable," he throws over his shoulder. "That's just my good luck. Here, taste." He whirls around, puts a fork to her lips. "Good?"
"Good," she says once she's swallowed. "Were those lemon flavored?"
"There was a bit of lemon extract, yes," He grins at her. "Highly developed taste buds, I see."
"Just one of my many talents," she says,, and his eyes crinkle at the corners.
"I said you're holding back, she said shut up, and- actually, all she says is shut up, but that's okay, that's how she shows affection," he winks at her, and she sticks her tongue out.
She hums along while he flips, and he crows delightedly when he catches her singing lightly.
"Told you weren't too good for the radio," he says lightly, sliding a plate of pancakes and a jug of maple syrup to her before taking the spot on the barstool next to her. "Now, I know you're a syrup girl, and I respect that, we all make mistakes, but on the off-chance you've converted, there's honey in the pot next to the juice."
She pauses for a second, and then pours first the syrup and then the honey over the stack, until they're covered.
"There," she says, and she cuts a bit off and offers it to him, watching his face as his chews. "Work well together, don't they?"
He swallows.
"Yeah," he says, "We really do."
When he realizes what he's said, of course, he begins backtracking, but he doesn't get farther than "I mean-" before the ringing doorbell cuts him off.
"Expecting anyone?" she says as his brow furrows.
"Not that I remember," he shrugs as he gets up to answer it. "It's probably just Ms. Leary asking for help with her wifi."
"Help little old ladies too, do you?"
"What can I say, I'm a run of the mill Superman," he winks at her, and she flips him off and swallows another forkful.
The door creaks as he opens it, and a female voice says, "Hello, Robin," and she sounds a bit young to be Ms. Leary so, curious, Regina turns around, and there, in the doorway-
Well, it's definitely not Ms. Leary.
"Marian," Robin says, and he sound- confused, definitely. "What- what are you doing here?"
"You invited me, don't you remember?" The young, pretty woman -Marian, Regina's mind registers, Marian, Robin's ex, the roommate-sleeping-with ex- says.
"That was before," Robin swallows. "Like. Beginning of the semester, before."
"I know, I just," her voice falters. "I'm sorry, Robin. I know I messed up, and I want-"
Her eyes finally fall on Regina, frozen at the counter in a Columbia hoodie that clearly does not belong to her with a sloppy mess of a curly bed bun and a fork in her mouth.
"Oh." She says, voice suddenly cold. "I didn't realize you had company."
"Regina," Robin says carefully. "This is Marian. Marian, this is Regina.'
Regina gives a small wave, because really, what the fuck is she supposed to say? "Hey, I'm Regina, and I've spent the past twenty hours boning your boyfriend?"
"Regina," Marian repeats. "I've heard a lot about you." Her gaze is disdainful as she looks her up and down, and Regina raises an eyebrow and deals with the sudden urge to start a fight.
"I'm sorry," Robin says. "Would you, um, do you want to come in?"
"I'd love to." Marian steps in, and Robin closes the door behind her, crosses to the kitchen to pause the music.
"I'd really like to talk," she says, reaches out to touch Robin's shoulder, and he doesn't recoil or push her off, and Regina's suddenly a bit stick to her stomach. "I feel awful about the way things ended, Robin, and I know I don't deserve one, but I- I'd love a second chance, if you could find it in your heart-"
"Um." Robin's clearly struck speechless, and Regina feels exceedingly uncomfortable.
"I know I hurt you," Marian says, and yep, she's going to do this right now, in front of Regina. "But I also know that what we had- it doesn't just fade away. I know that you still care about me, Robin, I know this isn''t done. Is it, Robin? Are we finished?"
He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out, and Regina's just as on edge as Marian is, at this point.
"I do still care about you," he says, finally, carefully, and, yep, that's all Regina needs to hear.
"Okay," she hears herself saying, but it doesn't sound like her; it's cold and emotionless. "Okay. I'll just. Let you two talk this out, then."
She slides off the barstool and to her feet, fumbles for her phone, goes into the other room to grab her purse and keys.
He follows her. "Regina, wait," he says, but she shakes her head and fumbles into her coat, stomach twisted in knots, uncomfortably queasy in that way particular only to emotional pain.
"Don't," she says. "Just don't. You still care about her, and I-" she shakes her head and makes for the door, ignoring Marian as she walks past her.
He follows her outside, beats her to her car door and stands in front of it.
"Move." she says, steely, and he shakes his head.
"No," he says. "You don't understand, Regina-"
"Oh, I understand fine," she crosses her arms. "You wanna do this? Fine. Your ex-girlfriend comes back, great for you. That really doesn't concern me. Do whatever you want, just move out of my way."
"How could this not concern you?" he sounds pained, even, which is rich, considering what she just watched.
"Simple," she spits at him, angry and looking to wound. "I don't like you. I never liked you. Not now, not in high school, not ever. You and me? We're nothing, and we never were anything. You're not my boyfriend, or my first love, or anything like that, and you never were. And you're stupid if you think anything else."
"Oh, I know damn well I'm stupid," He says. "I mean, how stupid was I, falling in love with a girl who made it clear at every opportunity how much she hated me? I spent years pining after you, and you did anything you could to push me away and make me feel like shit, Regina, everything you could. Pretty fucking stupid of me to stick around for all of that, right? But I did, and I did it because I knew, because I know, that you felt something for me. Everything we did, everything we said, it never meant nothing."
"But it did," she spits at him. "It means nothing. God, Robin, don't call your schoolboy crush on me love."
He recoils, like she's slapped him.
"I-that's not true," he says, desperate. "Regina, you know that's not true. I was in love with you, back then, stupidly, desperately in love with you, and I know-"
"First off, you don't know anything," she says, cold and detached, growing louder with each sentence. "I'm not in love with you. I was never in love with you. Whoever you want to be with, what ever you want to do, it's not my concern, because you are not my concern. I don't care about you. You don't mean anything to me. So you can make whatever mistakes you want to, get hurt however you feel like, it's not my business. Now, will you please move out of my fucking way so I can get in my goddamn car!"
She's practically shouting at the end, voice ringing in the silence of the morning.
He sidesteps, slightly, looking like she's gutted him.
"Thank you," she spits at him as she unlocks the door.
"I know you don't mean that," he says lowly as she gets in. "I know you don't mean any of that, Regina. I know you don't hate me."
"You're right," she says as she slides the key into the ignition. "I don't hate you. Doesn't mean I like you, either. I'm indifferent to you, Robin Locksley. Now get out of my way."
He stands in the street as she pulls away, and when she's far enough away, she pulls over and throws up in the grass along the sidewalk.
"Darling!" Her father says when she gets home and unlocks the door. "I got your text last night, don't worry. So, tell me, is Robin...bae, now?" He pauses. "Regina, love, where in the blazes are your shoes?
Oh, she thinks, looks down at feet she's just realized are bare. I've forgotten my damn shoes.
She looks at him for one long minute and then bursts into tears.
(She's ashamed to admit that she cries for a while, in her baffled father's arms, and then after that she goes upstairs and calls Emma and Killian and tells her the whole damn story and then, unfortunately, cries again.
"Okay," Emma says stonily. "Baseball bat or shovel?"
"What?" Regina sniffles.
"What are we killing them with?" Killian's voice is low and angry. "Baseball bat or shovel?"
Regina gives a watery laugh and cries some more.)
(The first time Robin Locksley and Regina Mills end, he says, "Let's not kiss other people," and she laughs in his face and walks away.)
(The first time Robin Locksley and Regina Mills end, they trade jalapeno flavored kisses on the floor of her dorm for hours, but he went back to Columbia three days later, and they fell apart like something half-baked and pointless.)
(The first time Robin Locksley and Regina Mills end, she says, "I am indifferent to you," in his front yard, while his ex-girlfriend stands in his living room, and she's not quite sure if her stomach will ever unknot fully.)
Of course, he doesn't stay away more than six hours; he calls her twelve times and sends her messages she doesn't bother reading, until this one:
I have your shoes, is all it says. But if you want them back, you have to let me explain.
I'm not doing this with you, she types back furiously, because is he seriously trying to bribe her with her own damn shoes? You can drop them off at the front door.
Nope. he replies. You want them, you have to come and get them.
And then, please, Regina.
She growls at her phone and throws it across the room, and then, a minute later, she gets up and finds it and says, Where?
It's ten in the overcast morning; it's chilly outside, with a cold wind blowing, snowing slightly, and Regina is walking up the steps to Granny's (because of course, that's where the bastard picked, of fucking course).
He's standing outside, her shoes in one hand; she reaches for them and he gives them up without protest, but when she turns around to go, he says, "Don't leave yet. Please."
"Why shouldn't I?" she says, stony.
"Because I didn't know she was coming," he says. "Because you left before I finished, you left before I told Marian that of course I cared about her; she was one of my best friends at school, before, but that I could never care about her romantically again. We used to- we used to fight about you, a lot, you know. She used to get so mad. She told me that I talked about you too much, or to you, too much, that I was making her compete with a ghost, but." He takes a breath. "You are not a ghost, Regina. You are the realest person I've ever met, and you made me, you make me feel some of the realest things I've ever felt, and I hate you, sometimes, I really do, I hated what you said to me, when you left, because you trivialize all that and try and reduce everything we were, everything we are to some high school fling, when you know and I know that's the farthest thing from the truth."
Regina crosses her arms. "Are you finished?"
He glares at her. "Does it look like I'm- no, not quite." He closes his eyes, takes a breath. "I loved you, Regina. I was stupidly in love with you, back then, so in love with you I couldn't even see straight, and you did the exact same thing then that you're doing now: you tried to tell me what it was that I felt, tried to make it less than what it was. You stomped all over me and everything I felt for you, and then you did it again three days ago, and I'm done with that. I loved you. I was in love with you. And I'll be honest, Regina, I'm damn close to falling back in love with you. You just-god, you make me so mad, and you insist on making every single thing a competition, something to fight about, but I have this weird feeling like I could fight with you for some obscene amount of time and be happier than I'd ever be doing anything else."
He looks her square in the eye and says, "So if you take your shoes and leave, right now, I'll know that I'm crazy, and I'll stop bothering you. But if that's what you want to do, Regina, do it because you hate me, because you can't ever imagine ever feeling anything like that for me. Not because you're scared you already do."
He's two steps away, and Regina takes one and says, "Now, are you finished?"
He makes a frustrated noise. "I-just about, yeah."
She nods, closes her eyes, and tries to sift through the tangled knot of emotion sitting in her chest, because there's something cramping right where her heart is, something screaming at her to just stop, to own up to and admit everything she's ever felt for him, and the funny thing is, her head isn't even arguing with it; it's right up there with it, telling her that it makes no sense to deny anything anymore, that history repeats itself only when its subjects don't change, that she might have a shot.
She opens her eyes and says, "I don't hate you. And you were right. I am the farthest thing from indifferent, when it comes to you. You're way too irritating for me to be anywhere near indifferent. And I shouldn't have said what I said, that day. I'm sorry. I was hurt, and I was scared, and I just. I wanted to hurt you because that'd be easier than owning up to this, and I just. I'm sorry."
"I was not expecting an apology," he says, teasing, but his eyes are soft and it looks like he's slapped his entire heart in them. "Wow. This. This is unprecedented-"
"Shut up and let me finish." She takes another step forward. "I will own that I'm not the easiest person to be around, and I'm not the nicest person, either, but. You were never nothing to me. You aren't nothing to me. And, um. I guess what I'm saying is this: if you're willing to fight with me on whatever stupid thing I come up with, then I'm willing to do that, do this-" she gestures between them. "For however long it lasts."
He grins down at her. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," she says. "Even though you're at Columbia and I'm at NYU and we think fighting and bribery is an acceptable way to show affection and the odds of this actually working are pretty dismal, actually, given our track record and my tendency to cut ties and your love for the Top 40 and sausage pepperoni pizza, I think we should try doing this again. For real, this time."
His smile is wide and happy, and she can't help it, she finds herself smiling back, and his gloved hands come up to cup her face as he says, "You know, I was lying about that."
She pulls back slightly, smile dropping away. "About what?"
"I loved you," he pulls her back in. "Way before I loved sausage pepperoni pizza."
"Oh, god," she says, "Your romantic declarations make me weak in the knees."
"You know it, baby," he says, thumbs stroking her cheekbones, and then he leans in and kisses her.
(The first time Robin Locksley kisses Regina Mills, they are twenty two and twenty three, respectively; there is snow falling in their hair and the wind nipping at their ears, but their lips pressed together are warm and soft and slow in the cold, and it's so much better than ever before.
(He pulls away first, and when she makes a sound of protest, he says, "Let me buy you breakfast, and I'll kiss you as much as you want."
"Bribery just never gets old with you, does it?" She teases. "You're lucky I'm bribable."
"I'm lucky you're a lot of things," he tells her. "Bribable's just one of them."
She laughs and says, "Okay. Buy me breakfast."
"Of course, if I'm buying, we're putting honey on everything we can put honey on, okay, everything. I'm talking bacon, pancakes, toast, eggs-"
"You're a terrible date," she rolls her eyes, and he stops.
"This is a date?" He says, slowly, delightedly. "Did you, Regina Mills, just agree to go on a date with me?"
"Of course it is," she says, and he swoops in and kisses her, laughing and smiling against her lips. "Now, buy me some damn pancakes.")
ask me now, and I won't hesitate.
honestly what am I doing I don't even know at this point
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