All it takes is one moment.
One simple moment and your life can be irreparably damaged, altered by a single motion. The flap of a bird's wings, the tree leaves dancing with the breeze, the clouds obscuring the sky, casting shadows above and beyond, heavy, angry tears pelting the ground, a tidal wave crashing on land.
And you, standing at the shore.
One moment is all it takes for your life to spin off-axis, for your world to collapse, the fluctuations in the ether too substantial to be contained.
It's impossible to navigate, readings are off the charts, and try as you may, you cannot make sense of it. Reality has crumbled to dust around you, evaporated before you could hold on to it, and you wish you'd have floated away with it. It would have been simple, maybe, comfortable, almost – familiar. Instead, you're left alone to pick up the pieces, to put back together the wreckage of your life.
(You're not really alone, but that doesn't sink in. Not yet. You feel lonelier than you've ever been. You crave something you can't have, something that doesn't exist anymore, lost in the darkness that now surrounds you.)
At the twilight of your existence, the one you've known until now, that one moment changes something at the very core of you, transforms the nature of your reality into a mess created for the pleasure of those who are never satisfied. Their laughs echo in your ear, an incessant shouting you are unable to block out.
This moment is one of them.
::
The air around them is thick, the silence heavy and loud. Robin can hear it yelling in his ears when Regina's done ordering their drinks, the quiet screaming of a lie lived, of a farce created to make her suffer. He'd bet anything she hears it too, can tell from the way her shoulders stiffen and her gaze darts to the back wall, avoiding his.
It's overwhelming, this mix of joy at seeing her again and gripping pain at the deception he's suffered. One minute he'd been holding her in his arms, and the next she was staring at him with such anguish… He would never forget the look on her face. She'd looked at him as if he was a stranger, like he'd become a different man. (He supposes he has, in a way.)
He looks at her now, Regina, head held straight, lips pressed together, steadfast eyes studying the far wall, her face as void of emotions as she can make it. The hardened Queen, the one who always expects the worse, who thinks she deserves the worse.
She's trying to get a grip on her feelings, to rein them in, but she's haunted by his admission, his words echoing in her brain the same way hers are in his. He'd not wanted to believe her, had yelled at her because it was easier than admitting the truth, that he'd been manipulated, used in the most horrific ways. That he's been wrong this whole time. That he's hurt her again, by adhering to his code, by putting his honour above all else.
Despite her best efforts to put on a face, he can still read her like a book. Her impassible demeanor is no great mask, not to him. He's spent a year deciphering it in the Enchanted Forest, has learned to value and cherish every single one of its imperfections. And he can tell her stomach is twisting and knotting before she even speaks.
"So you've moved on…" she voices out loud, as if it isn't already enough of a burden on him. There's an unmistakable venom to her monotone voice, a flake of anger that becomes evident when she adds, "with her."
After every bomb dropped on him in the last fifteen minutes, compassion is a hard feat for Robin, and the twinge of wrath in her tone sets him on edge. (Has it only been fifteen minutes? How long ago did they leave the apartment? He's lost track of time somewhere between Regina yelling at Marian and Zelena gloating at her sister.)
Words, harsher than he means them, tumble from his lips before he's had a chance to think them through, "That's not fair. You understood. You agreed."
"Understanding it and seeing it are different."
He hears her words, but doesn't listen, already moving on to the next worrying item on the list.
"That's hardly the most important point here." He's angry. At Zelena; at the world. (Not at Regina, not really, but she's here, right in front of him, and Zelena is upstairs. So Regina is the most logical target for his loose rage.) "My son!" he beseeches, his voice raising in time with the storming emotions inside him, like a lightning strike ricocheting through his body. "Zelena's not going to keep wearing that glamour. Roland's not gonna understand where his mother's gone!" He's been through it once, is familiar with the pain of losing Marian, but that doesn't ready him for it. "If I'm to lose her again–"
"A forgetting potion," Regina cuts in on his derailing thoughts, and suddenly – finally – he's listening to her. "Take him back to before the fake Marian showed up..."
Before Marian... when it was just Regina, him and Roland. When their lives were far simpler.
His heart clenches at the memory, an awful reminder of how times have changed. Was it only three months ago that he walked down the street with his boy and Regina after getting ice cream? That he believed he couldn't be happier than he was at that moment?
"He'll lose time, but… that's better, right?" she confirms.
She doesn't sound convinced, but he is. It's better. So much better than living with the pounding headache currently residing in his skull.
His "Yes. Thank you," is filled with relief that Roland won't have to experience the same thing.
Robin shouldn't be envious of his boy, but he is. There's a sharp pang of jealousy in his chest when he thinks that his son will be able to go on as if nothing happened. That he'll live his life without a clue as to how much his father screwed up. Robin would give anything to go back, too, but forgetting is not a solution for adults.
He brings a hand to his forehead, "God, poor Marian," lets it fall back to the counter again. "And Zelena… just killing her like she meant nothing, so she could play out this sad farce with us, I just– I wanna–" punch her, strangle her, kill her – worse.
He braces his hands against the counter, needing an anchor, something real, something tangible to prevent him from hurling objects across the room. He grips the edge of the counter tighter, knuckles turning white.
It's not working, not nearly, but he closes his eyes, breathes in, then out, uses his own self-control to try and calm down.
"But I can't," he sighs, shoulders sagging, fingers stretched and stiff, releasing their hold on the marble.
He's not above killing people. He's done it before, when it was necessary, but he's never killed an innocent. And he needs to remember that his… child, wanted or not, is blameless in this wretched mess.
He should have listened to his gut. "I mean– I knew that things didn't feel right, but I just didn't know why." His voice breaks on the last word. Just thinking about Marian – his very dead Marian – constricts his ribcage, rubs salt in an old wound he thought had healed.
This whole time, she'd been someone else, and he'd been too wrapped up in himself to see. Sure, he felt something was off, but he thought it was him. He's the one who moved on, who changed. He was convinced if there was something amiss in his relationship with Marian, he was to blame. To find out he wasn't… To find out he was right…
He feels Regina's hand covering his own, her fingers sliding easily against his palm, squeezing. The contact brings him back to the present, his blue eyes finding her chocolate ones, those dark, shining orbs he's dreamt of so many times – the anchor he's been missing. The one he was searching for. (If only she could be so, if he hasn't done irreparable damage to their relationship.)
"I'm sorry." She says it like a confession, like she's guilty of something, (she's let go of his hand already; he feels the loss like a stab of pain in his chest,) and he frowns – why is she apologizing? "This was all about me. For her, this was all about…" She trails off, and resigns herself to her fate, finishing with false mockery, "making sure I'd never get my happy ending."
She truly believes her agony is deserved, that destiny is justly toying with her, laughing in her face at every twist and turn and curveball it throws at her.
He can't help himself for what follows, "If by happy ending you mean us… then, there's still a way that's possible again." He's hoping, he realizes, hoping fervently that he hasn't lost her.
He wants her, wants to be hers, badly, but he can't, not now. He doesn't have the right after the weeks he's spent laying beside and playing house with another woman – her sister of all people. Even hoping for a future with Regina at this point makes him one of those self-centered arses he despises.
Just as he predicted, Regina blinks at him as if he's just said something completely improbable, and the flicker of hope he's been holding on to is reduced to ashes. Even if she'd told him it was okay to move on when they were alone together at the mansion, when she was collecting the maps and the money he'd need for his journey, by doing so he's made himself unworthy of her.
"It's messy, I know," he half-apologizes, half-clarifies because if there's something he can bear less than the current look on Regina's face, it's the silence that's becoming their best friend, "but between us–"
"There's a huge obstacle!" she disagrees, a disbelieving look on her face at the mere suggestion he's making.
She's right, of course, but Marian's gone for the second time, and he's not ready to mourn the loss of her, too.
He might as well be, though, because Regina doesn't sound like she wants him around any longer than necessary. "It's going to get bigger every day, not just for nine months either. That's a lifetime she has cooking in there." He diverts his gaze at that, fixes on a crack in the flooring on the other side of the table. "No matter what happens from now on, there's going to be this child. You're tied together in a way… in a way we'll never be."
The sadness and the utter resignation in her voice as those words has him lifting his head. There's a finality to her words, like she's officially sealed their fate, and he's been cast out of her life forever, no chance of a future, bound to live the remainder of their days separately. (It eats at him. He screwed up, but he still can't imagine his life without her. What kind of a man does that make him?)
"I'm such an idiot to think life wouldn't kick me in the teeth again," she mutters, trying not to cry, to be stone cold and stronger. She's been pushing her feelings to the side for his benefit since Zelena dropped a brick on her, but he knows her better. Her resilient heart can be ever so fragile, and now he's tossed it to the ground, free to be stomped on by the world.
His hand lifts to reach out to hers on impulse, the need to comfort stronger than him, but he fists it just in time, puts it back down next to his drink. It's not his place to offer solace, not when he's the one responsible.
He settles for a simple, "I hear you," but she's still not looking at him, still trying to be impassive, to feel nothing, when he knows she feels more, feels everything deeply. "Just–"
"Just what?" She finally cracks, turning her head towards him. Her chin trembles slightly as her eyes search his in vain for the connection they once had. There's no mistaking the unshed tears glistening under the overhead lighting when she realizes it's not possible anymore. They're too damaged.
This time, though, Robin chooses to be strong for her. They can't crash and break at the same time, otherwise they'll never get through this. So at the risk of appearing insensitive he doesn't comment on her state of mind. He asks instead, "What do we do now?" The real question, What do we do about us?, hanging between them.
He watches silently as she processes his words, stresses her face back into Queen-mode, emotionless, indifferent, the change tugging at his heart, sinking it lower in the pit of his stomach.
"Now," she pauses, inhales sharply and then lets out a shaky breath, "Now, we go home."
::
Zelena is still strutting about the apartment when they arrive upstairs, reveling in her victory, not a care in the world for the family she's ruined for the sake of revenge.
Regina's stomach churns at the sight: her sister, laughing for no reason, acting as if this wicked plan of hers is going exactly the way she wants it. (It is. It's already worked. Her sister's coming back to Storybrooke with them, even if all she deserves is to rot in New York. Robin wouldn't allow it, though, and their relationship is under enough strain as it is, adding more would only ensure its permanent destruction.)
As much as Regina had told herself – tried to convince herself – she was ready for anything when she made it to New York, she realized early enough that the reality of it was much different. She'd known of her sister's deception, but Robin's defensive attitude, while understandable, had shaken her belief in them (in hope).
She curses his honour, the same godforsaken honour she's come to respect, admire even. It's causing her more trouble than it's worth.
That child should have been hers. She should have been able to bear Robin's son or daughter, to give him a fresh start, if that's what he wanted.
It's been over thirty years, she's had time to come to terms with her decision, wouldn't even change it if she could, but her crazy sister is pregnant with her soulmate's child, something Regina is painfully aware she'll never be able to give him, should their relationship ever recover from the blow. What if having more children is important to him? Isn't this the reason why they're in this mess? It didn't take long for him to start a new family with the person he thought was his wife. (Regina knew he'd move on, but that doesn't make it hurt less.) What if Robin wants a child with her? What then? Is this rescue mission worth all the heartache bound to come later? When he tosses her to the side after learning she's made her own womb a toxic wasteland?
("Defeating bad guys is what heroes do." Henry's right. Henry's always right. "I believe in you. Now you need to believe, too." And that's why she's here. That's why she's going to help Robin despite the crushing feeling inside her chest.)
She wishes she were in Storybrooke, where she has access to her fireballs, where she could put an end to Zelena's maniacal gloating once and for all. Goodbye sis. No questions asked, just a pile of dust to prove her sister ever existed.
(Only, she can't do that. Because that's not her anymore.)
She knows she's being selfish. The Evil Queen has done her fair share of distasteful deeds. Regina's more than familiar with her past self's bloodthirsty habits, the ones that crossed her name out of the hero column for good. There has to be some sort of karmic retribution about all of this, some higher power that has it out for her, even though she's come far enough to realize how mean-intended her actions were. She doesn't regret anything, has come to accept and realize it since their adventure in Neverland. Everything has brought her here, now, to Henry (and to her newfound friendship with the unCharmings, and to Robin – whatever the state of their relationship is), but she's tired of the evil label she can't seem to shake. The book may be about the past, but her present just looks more daunting every day.
It seems timing will never be on her side. No matter what she does, she loses. Snow was wrong. That's how it's always been for her; it's who she is. (That's why she needs to get to the author, to make him change things.)
Because this… this is all her fault, no matter what Robin says. If there's anyone to blame for the misery that's entered their lives, it's her. If she hadn't loved Robin, if he hadn't been cursed as her soulmate, his family would have been safe from Zelena's twisted little games, Marian wouldn't have died at the hands of her sister, and Roland wouldn't have lost his mother twice.
Zelena doesn't care about the consequences of her actions on Robin and his family. They're but expendable pawns to her, and someone has to make her pay for what she's done.
"Oh sis! Back already?" Zelena pipes up when Regina's done announcing they're going back to Storybrooke. "Didn't enjoy your drink? Robin doesn't have the best taste in bars," she taunts, all too pleased with herself.
The moment said man has crossed the room to fetch Roland, thankfully still asleep in the bedroom, Regina pounces on her sister before Emma can hold her back, ignoring the call of Regina! that leaves the blonde's lips. She slams her sister against the cupboards, knocking the breath out of her.
"Just wait until we're alone, sis," Regina hisses, a few inches away from Zelena's face. "I'm not done with you."
All Zelena does is smile, hauntingly. "Good. I look forward to it," she teases, eyes gleaming with cruelty, "because I'm not done with you either."
Regina grits her teeth, fist clenching around Zelena's shirt. She is this close to striking her sister in the face, when another voice, a quiet one, stops her just in time.
"Regina?"
Her hand drops to her side and her grip loosens immediately. She turns to the little boy half-asleep in Robin's arms, rubbing his eyes in confusion at being woken up at such a late hour.
"Hi, Roland," Regina greets with a smile, more genuine than she thought she'd be able to give him, her voice light and strain-free, her troubles set aside in Roland's interest.
(The boy has always been able to draw the best out of her. She remembers the missing year and the stoic not-quite-Evil Queen she'd been then, who melted at the very sight of this little mop of brown hair.)
She lets go of Zelena and walks over to the boys (her boys, as she still calls them in the privacy of her own head, where such thoughts can only hurt herself) and throws one quick look at Emma. The silent communication is enough for the blonde to know to grab her sister and drag her outside. (Zelena goes without a fuss. That's something at least.) There's no point in Roland seeing her wearing his mother's clothes if it can be avoided, no point in confusing the boy more than he'll already be when they make him drink that forgetting potion.
Lily follows Emma out the door, and Regina is left alone with Robin in the small apartment, faking smiles for Roland's sake when they've yet to allow themselves the same luxury.
It's Roland who breaks the frozen stance of the adults in the room when he extends tired little arms towards her, and Regina walks closer to take him from Robin, buries her nose in his messy hair and hugs him close to her chest.
She breathes him in. He smells of shampoo and soap, fresh out of the shower and into bed. She rocks him in her arms, whispers in his ear, "Go back to sleep, my little knight," as she used to call him during the missing year, and he's already getting heavier in her arms by the time she adds, "We're going home."
He's probably too tired to understand what she's saying, and thank God for it. Explaining things to him tonight would have made this evening much harder than it already is.
A sniffle next to her makes her look up at Robin, momentarily forgotten since the moment Roland called for her. He's fighting tears now, looking utterly lost: hands shoved in his pockets, hunched shoulders, chin down, gaze cast low. His earlier anger has abated, almost completely gone now, leaving just enough room for realization to seep in and grip his heart, hollow fingers digging into the organ and squeezing.
Regina aches for his sorrow, for him, knows exactly what it's like to lose the person you love. To lose them twice leaves a permanent imprint on your heart, a scar that never completely heals. (Now's not the time for her own wounds though. She needs to be strong for him. She was mostly alone going through her grief over Daniel's loss; she won't let Robin be.
It'll be enough, if all she is is a shoulder to lean on. She'll at least have some sense of usefulness, even if that's all she can be to him, and maybe she can salvage her heart later.)
Balancing Roland on her left side, she reaches out to Robin, pulls on his arms to tug his hand out of his pocket. His movements are slow, mindless. He heeds her handling, but his eyes are hollow, not the loving, vibrant blues with which he looked at her, before. Not even the anger-veiled ones he had at the bar. Even those were better than this new motionlessness. She knows how to deal with anger; this lack of, well, anything rattles her.
She brings his hand to her heart, tucks it between Roland and her chest, like he's done for her before, and curls her fingers around his. (The irony that Zelena held her heart that last time is not lost on her. Her sister might not hold Robin's now, but she did – still does? – in a way Regina never will.) Use mine for both of us, he'd said it's her turn to be strong for both of them.
Robin seems to recognize and appreciate the thought because he peers into the depth of her eyes, and it's like a switch flicks back in place, like a long gone tether rounds their joined hands and knots, stitching a tear in their souls. (There are still many cracks, scars and wounds to be fixed, but this is a start. This, she can live with. For tonight, she'll let it be enough.)
"You're both safe," she reminds him. "She can't hurt you anymore."
His chest deflates, and he whimpers as the air leaves his lungs. He looks at his feet, recoils in a corner of his mind, but she's not about to lose him, not about to let him pull away from her, not when she had him. Not when, if roles were reversed (when roles were reversed), he wouldn't let her (he hadn't let her).
She lets go of his hands, reaches for his jaw as she steps closer to him, her elbow inches away from his chest. She tilts his head up. "Stop thinking," she whispers. "We're here now," and this is true, he'd said. Only this time, she can't offer him the same reassurances. They feel out of place in this setting.
But Robin nods all the same. It's barely registrable, but it's there, and Regina forces a thin smile at this small win.
She's tempted to kiss him, to soothe away the pain in the way he's always known to soothe hers, but she hesitates, doesn't know if it's something he'd want.
Her left arm is starting to cramp from Roland's sleeping weight, and she winces as she shifts him a little, tries to find another, more manageable position without waking him. Robin notices immediately, brings his arm up and clasps his hand around her elbow so they're both supporting his son, and this is good, natural, and so much easier on her shoulder.
The movement, born out of habit and parenting, has closed the remaining distance between them, something that feels foreign now, despite the embrace they'd shared when he opened the door. (Has it only been an hour? It feels more like days, weeks, even.) And now only Roland separates them, his beautiful boy she's come to love almost as her own, and they're forced to stare at each other, fully and completely, masks gone, caught unguarded by their vulnerability. (Her heart aches for him, threatens to burst out of her chest if she's not careful.)
They're pulled together like magnets, by a force stronger than them, and Regina's lashes flutter closed as her forehead comes to rest on his, the touch somehow more familiar, more intimate than a kiss.
How long they stay like this she doesn't know, and doesn't care. It's her first moment of peace, and she relishes it: the feel of his hand on her elbow, his brows pressed to hers, his stubble under her palm, his steadying breath on her skin. His left hand has come to rest on her waist gently, just enough to close the bubble they've created around them, for them to be.
It's only when Emma comes back, telling them they've rented a car and are ready to go, that they let go of each other, Regina reluctantly handing Roland back to his father.
The gentle breeze of the New Yorkian night sends shivers down her spine as she steps outside, her coat flicking open when a particularly cold gust of wind blows past her, a harsh reminder that reality isn't as warm as Robin's embrace.
Special thanks to Adi and Eva. You both know why. And to all of you reading these words, this story wouldn't exist without them.