A/N: After multiple adoptions that failed through because of one or both parents changing their minds, Regina Mills decided on a closed adoption instead as a last resort. She was promised she wouldn't have to worry about either parents when she finalized her daughter's adoption, and then the biological father showed up at her doorstep a few months later, demanding to be a part of the child's life. Now years of co-parenting and they still couldn't stand one another, but for how long before fate gets in the way?

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

This wasn't what she was promised—another weekend without her daughter. Another long, lonely night in an empty apartment with nothing to keep her company but a mischievous cat who used her toes as chew toys and a half-empty bottle of Malbec.

But this is what she got.

And it was a significant agreement, whether she willed herself to admit it or not. Having Charlotte with her at all times, save for a few weekends every once in a while, was so much better than not having her at all, or having her for a day or two during the week.

Nevertheless, it wasn't what she signed up.

When Regina adopted her after years of prior adoptions that never went through and the pain and frustration of being put back on the waiting list, she was reassured that she wouldn't have to worry about this mother changing her mind, or the father at all. He wasn't in the picture. Still yet, she should've double-checked, should've dug further into it and trusted the hunch that told her something didn't feel quite right. But she didn't, and he showed up at her door three months later, seeming as dumbstruck as she was.

He was oblivious, he told her. He didn't know he had a child out there and he wouldn't have if it wasn't for Charlotte's biological mother being consumed by the guilt of secrecy and coming forward to him with it. Their relationship was nothing more than a pastime, he didn't expect anything from it; no love, certainly not a child. But now that he knew about Charlotte, as unprepared as he was, he wanted to be a part of her life.

She could've slammed the door on his face and taken the matter to court, however, it would've been a long, painful and expensive process, and as much as she did love her daughter, she wasn't financially prepared for the fight. And things might've not worked out in her favor anyways.

She decided to put her selfishness aside and be civil, and that's how she ended up co-parenting her daughter alongside Robin Locksley, CEO of Arrows Architects, for the past eight years.

It wasn't pleasant but it wasn't terrible. They clashed over certain, silly things at times, and while she couldn't stand his snobby existence, she had to give him credit for being a great father. As busy as he was, he made his daughter his priority, attending every school play he was invited to, every parent-teacher conference and showing up to doctors' appointments whenever Charlotte insisted on it.

It made Charlotte happy and her happiness was all that mattered.

Even if it meant spending gloomy days and nights like this.

"Ouch!" Regina hissed, using one foot to push the cat off of the other, but the way her toes wiggled against the white furball's stomach only excited it, resulting in its claws and fangs digging deeper into her skin. "Sir Jingles!" she exclaimed. "I swear to God—fuck, let go!"

A whole minute of grunting, cursing the day she decided bringing him home was a good idea, nudging him away with her hand and flailing her leg did the job. Sir Jingles walked away with grace and flopped in front of her, licking at his fur with innocence, as if he'd not just left fresh scratches on her.

It wasn't the first time he'd done something like that—he often bit her feet whenever she was sitting down or clung to her legs as she walked, almost tripping her, and she'd been smacked on the face more times than she could count by him and jumped on while asleep. For what reason? She had absolutely no idea. He just did what he did whenever he did it.

Sir Jingles, as ridiculous as his name was, owned the place, and her soul probably, too.

"You do that one more time," she warned, gritting her teeth in anger as she inspected the scrapes. Fortunately, they weren't too bad. They'll fade in time, unlike the ones he previously left on her right ankle, upper thigh and a few places on both her arms. He grazed her deep enough to leave behind scars.

The funny thing about the whole ordeal was that he only did it to her.

He never once harmed Charlotte, not even unintentionally while being the playful, ball of energy that he sometimes was, or any of the guests that dropped by, he barely even acknowledged them.

She, the one that fed him, changed his litter, bathed him, took him to every vet appointment, had to endure all the torture.

"You're not sleeping with me tonight," Regina stated, receiving a meow in return. She shook her head and got up, grabbed the wine bottle and her glass, and popped the last piece of chocolate into her mouth. "You're sleeping right here, and you're gonna think long and hard about what you did to me—and I swear to God, Jingles, if you break another vase, you'll be in your Halloween costume for an entire week. Don't test me, kitty."

Sir Jingles merely mewled once more, then followed her as she put aside the wine, rinsed the glass and headed to her bedroom, instantly crying and scratching at the door the second it closed after her, leaving him outside.

After years of ignoring her own daughter's temper tantrums as a toddler and letting her cry herself to sleep, his meows weren't anything she couldn't handle. She slept right through them.

The day was rolling along slower than it usually did, one minute felt like an eternity and the arrows on the damned wall clock just didn't seem to want to budge from one number to the other.

It's only been three hours since Regina came into work and it felt as though a lifetime had gone by, and she did absolutely nothing but wait around for someone to walk in, anyone she could tend to and service.

No one did.

The boutique was booming once, clients storming in and out, purchasing whatever was in stock and raving about it to others. She barely had enough time to sit down and scratch her head then, now she had more time on her hands than she knew what to do with.

Her business was going downhill, that was the reality and she was yet to grasp it. Because if she did, she'd have to accept the fact that her store would close down and she'd lose her job, and jobs with decent pays weren't easy to find, and without one she wouldn't be able to care for her daughter.

But that wasn't the only thing she had to stress over.

She was in the midst of stacking up the new arrivals back in the storage room when she got a phone call from Charlotte's school, urging her to come over. Her daughter—her sweet, gentle, obedient daughter had gotten into a fight with another student. Not only did she drop swear words no nine-year-old should know of, but she got physical, too, throwing punches and pulling hair.

Great. One more thing to worry about.

That and the fact that she wasn't sure how to approach the situation.

Should she march right into the principal's office with squared shoulders and a glare fixed over her features, or should she be cool, calm and collected as her mother had always been? No, she shouldn't take her mother as an example of a good parent. Cora let her taste wine at the age of seven and forgot her at the grocery store more times than she remembered her.

So that's a definite no.

Regina stepped out of her old, beaten up, black Mercedes Benz and smoothed out the wrinkles on her short, a-line, white skirt and adjusted the knot on her chambray top, making sure it was tightened and the buttons on it were secured in place. Being told off by one of the teachers or whoever else gained pleasure by criticizing and suffocating others with their preachings for showing teeny-weeny bit of skin was something she just couldn't deal with at the moment.

She straightened her shoulders and schooled her features into a pokerface. Mean Regina, that's who and what she was going to be. Mean and stern. But as she stepped into the principal's office, the wind was knocked out of her and everything she took from her mental pep talk disappeared.

Robin.

It's been a while since they'd seen one another and been in the same place at the same time as the other. Since Charlotte's ninth birthday to be precise; ten months, two weeks and six days ago.

He was different—gone was the clean shaven face, replaced by a nicely trimmed stubble, and his dark blond hair was graying. It suited him better, not that she would say it aloud and compliment him. As attractive as he was, she still had some self-respect, and he was the man she's supposed to hate. He teased her over her curly hair, asked her whether her comb had broken yet, and he made fun of her whenever he had the opportunity to over whatever he could think of. So yes, he was goddamn attractive but she couldn't stand him.

"What are you doing here?" she snarled.

"Obviously, I came to continue my learning, milady," Robin shot back, making no attempt to hide his smug smile, which only grew wider at her frustrated grunt, bearing his deep dimples on either of his cheeks. "I came because our daughter seems to have gotten herself into some trouble."

Almost nine years of sharing a child and she still wasn't used to him referring to Charlotte as theirs. It was weird.

She sat on the opposite side of him and crossed her legs, her arms folded over her chest and a permanent glare fixed over her face. She came unprepared, unsure of how to handle the situation, and Robin's presence wasn't going to make it any better, not when she knew he wouldn't miss the chance to find a fault in whatever her move would be.

Mrs. Tremaine, the school's headmistress, joined them right before an argument had the chance to flare between the two of them over Regina claiming he wasn't needed around and she could handle it all on her own, and Robin begging to differ.

According to Ava, the other student involved in the fight, Charlotte lost her mind and attacked her out of the blue, and being one of the popular girls, she had others backing up her story. Regina stifled a snort at that and fought the urge to roll her eyes. What else would she expect from the little brat who claimed she was gaining a bit of weight when she last saw her during the bake sale?

Charlotte's version of the story was different, though. Ava was making fun of her, taunting her in front of the entire class, something she'd apparently been doing for a long time, and just like that, she snapped and tackled her.

While Regina didn't pardon her daughter's behavior, she definitely wasn't going to ground her as she decided she would earlier.

Ava had it coming.

No one should ever mess with a Mills—well, a Mills-Locksley in this case.

"And then I sat on her back and pulled her hair and she cried!" Charlotte chortled and Regina laughed beside her, earning a disapproving glare from Robin.

"Don't encourage that behavior," he chastised.

"I'm not encouraging anything. I'm just praising her over putting that brat in her place," she justified with a shrug.

"And that's exactly how you're encouraging her."

"And that's exactly how you're encouraging her," she mocked. "Stop being so snooty. Our daughter was just bullied and put an end to it. If anything, you should be proud she stood up to that little shit—"

"Regina!"

"You're a killjoy," she muttered under her breath, then gave Charlotte a wink, who responded with a giggle and scooted closer to her side.

They made their way to Granny's; a lovely, local diner not far from Regina's apartment, and Robin absolutely loathed it. Which, of course, was the only reason Regina loved it.

The food was decent, a little too fatty, incredibly unhealthy and most certainly not freshly made everyday. She wasn't mad about it, but she loved that it was Charlotte's favorite place. She loved the way Robin groaned every time Granny's was mentioned and the way he'd sulk like a little child all the while being there, or the forced bites he would swallow whenever their daughter would offer him some of her chocolate chip pancakes dripping with maple syrup or the deep-fried chicken tenders, insisting he has it with some honey mustard. Both things she learned he hated—honey and mustard. He couldn't refuse her and Regina would be lying if she said she wasn't getting the kick out of seeing that.

So, it was safe to say this time wasn't any different.

He was scowling down at the menu while she grinned across him, her chin resting atop of her palm as she thoroughly enjoyed the sight. She wasn't a sadist, not at all, but she did take pleasure in seeing him suffer, however it might be.

"Hey, Charlie?" Regina began, nodding her chin toward Granny's newest special on the menu when her daughter looked up at her—a patty melt with a side of golden french fries and crunchy onion rings. The sandwich was toasted to perfection in a heap of butter and oozed with cheap cheddar cheese, something else Robin despised, and something else she knew Charlotte would simply want to share.

"It's like a grilled cheese with a burger!" Charlotte beamed. "I—"

"Lottie, wait," Robin cut in, clearing his throat and pointing down at the lasagna instead. "What about this? It sounds really, really good."

He was trying, desperate to convince their daughter to settle on something…less greasy, something he'd be able to tolerate, but Charlotte's mind was made up. Much to his dismay, patty melt it was.

As usual, after skimping through the menu back and forth, Robin settled on a cup of the watered-down black coffee the diner offered and a slice of apple pie. Surprise, surprise. Charlotte got her patty melt with a s'mores milkshake, and Regina ordered a plate of mozzarella sticks and bacon-wrapped jalapeño poppers. She wasn't hungry, not in the slightest, she had lunch right before Charlotte's school called, but who in their right mind wouldn't get mozzarella sticks and jalapeño poppers when it's right in front of them?

Definitely not her.

Just as Regina suspected, Charlotte happily shared some of her food with her father, urging him to take a bigger bite when he took a small nibble out of the corner of the sandwich, purposely aiming just for the crust.

It took everything in her not to laugh at his discomfort, the way his face twisted at the second bite and the little whimper she almost missed when he swallowed it, quickly cleansing his palate with some of the coffee and a bite of the pie.

Marvelous.

She'd put up with him any day as long as she'd get to witness that every time.

They didn't have a specific schedule they went by when it came to who had Charlotte on which day and for how long, not anymore. It stopped when she was around five-years-old, when she began making up her own mind and whether she wanted to spend these certain days at Robin's or not. Most times, she went completely against what they planned.

To avoid the temper tantrums she often threw, they eventually let her choose.

It was hard, it took some time getting used to it—the weekends were usually for Robin and Regina had her during the weekdays, and suddenly that changed. Charlotte spent some weekends with her, some with Robin, and sometimes she'd stay a day or two longer, or change her mind in the middle of the week and switch.

Surprisingly, it was a lot easier, it was less stressful and they quickly fell into a pattern. And the fact that her school was close by to both their homes made things even better. For a little while, though, their only issue and disagreement fell on the holidays and how she'd spent them.

Regina's only living family members were her mother, her half-brother, her sister-in-law and nephew, and they lived in another state. So for Easter, while her family went down to spend the day at her brother's in-laws, Robin had Charlotte, and she spent it alone at her apartment with takeout.

His family was a large one; multiple siblings and their spouses, nieces and nephews Charlotte could play and go on egg hunts with, and grandparents that doted on her and spoiled her rotten. So, Easter was an easy call.

They had Independence Day together, sometimes they'd spend it at her mother's with her brother and his family, and sometimes it would just be the two of them plus Robin at his house with his over the top, high-quality, expensive hotdogs and burger patties.

Halloween was a family outing, much to her and Robin's dismay, and Thanksgiving varied. Last year was at Robin's family house, where Charlotte insisted she tags along rather than stay at her apartment alone. Refusing was not an option, and although Regina was sure it would be awkward, filled with uncomfortable, short answers and forced conversations with his family, it was anything but that.

The Locksley's were kind and welcoming and she quickly became friends with most of them, and his parents were the English version of her mother. Happy-go-lucky, witty and amusing.

But Christmas time was where they clashed.

It was the most important time of the year and the only time her family bothered coming down to visit her. It was a tradition of sort, where they'd drop by a week before Christmas and stay with her, and they'll spend the days baking cookies and cakes enough to fill up a small village and catch up on each other's lives, and on Christmas Eve, they'll huddle up in her small kitchen at the crack of dawn and cook up a feast.

So, Regina wanted Christmas Eve with Charlotte.

Selfishly, Christmas Day, too.

She wanted to be woken up by her daughter in the early hours of the morning, dragged into the living-room to open up the gifts Santa Claus left her. She wanted to see the happiness in her face when she rips into her gifts and finds what she'd been wishing for. And so did Robin.

After years of arguing back and forth, years of taking both days to herself, she stepped down and stopped acting so greedy, agreeing to alternate the years between them.

Regina rang the doorbell to Robin's house and knocked when no one answered. She'd been waiting for the past five minutes, impatiently shifting her weight from one foot to the other and huffing. She was exhausted, too tired she could fall asleep standing up, and she wasn't supposed to be the one picking up Charlotte, he was meant to drop her by. But it was nearly sunset and she hadn't heard anything from him. She called and texted and, of course, typical Robin read and ignored her messages.

"That stupid, good-for-nothing assho—"

Her phone rang with an incoming call, interrupting her with a scowl.

Speaking of the devil. Robin was calling. Finally.

"About time," she bit as she answered, leaning against his front door. "I called you over a hundred times."

"Fourteen times actually, and I think about ten texts or eleven, one of them is you calling me a useless baboon with that red, angry emoji."

"And you ignored every single one of them. How mature."

"I'm sorry, I was in a meeting."

"But you still managed to read every text I sent without even bothering to reply to any, not even with one word. You could've at least told me that you were busy—you know what, never mind." She calmed herself with a deep breath. There was a headache throbbing in the front of her head and she couldn't stand without swaying back and forth out of exhaustion, he was not worth getting herself all worked up. "I'm outside your house and no one's answering. Don't you, like, have a butler or something of that sort?"

"No…I don't, and no one's answering is because no one's home."

"What?"

"I…well…I kinda forgot to tell you that…um…my mom has Charlotte…"

"You forgot what?"

"Mom stopped by earlier to drop something and then decided she wanted to take her shopping…I think, I'm not quite sure really."

Regina wasn't sure what was getting on her nerves worse—the fact that he had no idea where their daughter was or what she was up to, or that he failed to mention she wasn't around to be picked up. He could've saved her the trouble of driving across the city and she would've been in bed instead.

"They shouldn't be long, though, mum knows better than to keep Charlotte past her bedtime on a school day. Why don't you wait around my place until they're back?"

"How am I supposed to get in without a key, through the window?"

"No, we wouldn't want you hurting your little self now, would we?"

"I've climbed through dozens of windows back in the day, thank you very much."

"So you're admitting that you were some sort of a thief growing up?"

She sucked in a sharp breath and exhaled, but no amount of breathing meditation would help if he continued. Too worn out to argue, she gritted, "Just tell me how, dimwit."

He laughed then, a relaxed sound she didn't get to hear often. He was all too downbeat and unhumorous, and he was usually ready with another retort, calling her a pillock or a muppet, whatever either of them meant.

"If you're facing the door, on your far right there should be a small fairy garden. See it?"

How could she not? It stood out amongst everything that chic and luxurious. It was put together in a large, rustic-looking bucket and filled to the brim with dirt, on the surface was a house made out of different sized twigs, glued and held together with twine, and the rooftop was scattered with bits of moss. There were succulents and grass, and little rocks that made a pathway, and an archway with micro fairy lights wrapped over it, going all the way around it and the small, makeshift pond, too. There were tiny pots made out of clay with different flowers in different colors planted in them and a hand-painted welcome sign placed by the entrance.

It was simply significant.

"Regina, are you still there?"

"Yeah, sorry. I got a bit distracted. So, the fairy garden, I see it."

"Alright, there's a pot of blue baby breaths. You'll find the spare key under it, it's in a hole."

There were purple and white baby breath flowers, multiple of them, but there was only one pot with pastel blue ones, and she didn't even notice that until he mentioned them. It was clever, she'll admit that. Smarter than placing it under the doormat or a fake rock—no one could possibly be stupid enough not to be able to tell the difference between a real and a fake one.

Well, not quite. She could think of a few who would mistaken it for any other rock.

"Found it."

"Wonderful. Make yourself at home. Mom should be back with Lottie in a bit but I've got to go back to work now. Talk to you later."

It was huge, a mansion rather than a regular house, but Regina didn't expect anything less from a successful person like himself. He didn't gloat, though, that's one thing she noticed about Robin. He was picky about his food and often complained about the little things he wasn't used to, but only to her, never out loud. He never criticized someone's dish and called it disgusting to their face, not even Granny's, he merely smiled and ate it, then grumbled about how unhealthy it was on the way out between the two of them, and he never went around waving all the money he had in front of those less fortunate than him. He was humble, he gave more than he took.

He built himself an empire worth millions and yet, their daughter's birthdays were never too lavish. There were no ponies or petting zoos, and no four-tiered cakes made by overpriced bakeries or five-stars catering companies. Her gifts weren't everything she wanted, however, they didn't hold back completely, they gave her just enough without coddling her too much.

Being the curious person that she was, Regina explored the place. There were more rooms than one who lived alone needed, five were locked away and two were his and Charlotte's. His bedroom was just how she expected it would be, big, lacking colors and…excitement. It was a combination of the colors black, white and gray. Elegant but simple. Far too simple for her liking.

Charlotte's bedroom, though, was the complete opposite of boring. It wasn't pink nor was it purple and pastel, it was a lively shade of blue that resembled the sky with painted grass and flowers all across the bottom of the walls. Her bed was designed to imitate a tent, white exterior with beige bedsheets and bright, yellow star stickers sprinkled on the inside of it. She had a desk on one side with papers and crayons scattered over it and a dollhouse on the other. It was handcrafted, Charlotte told her. Robin made it especially for her—the miniature furniture in it, too, and his mother happily sewed together a few of the tiny clothes for her dolls.

It was staggering, and thoughtful of him.

Both of the living rooms downstairs and upstairs were massive, and the kitchen was breathtaking with its marbled countertop and mahogany cabinets and, unlike her own, they were all still intact. But none of that came close to how gorgeous his backyard was. It was something she'd only seen on the internet and home decor magazines. Everything was green and there were rose bushes in shades she'd never seen before, and a treehouse in the making.

The patio was equally as stunning with the comfy looking, sepia sectional and its multi-colored green cushions to the fire pit in the center of it. She'd happily lounge on the sofa with a refreshing strawberry-lemon mojito after a dip in the swimming pool.

Regina hummed in thought and stepped closer to the edge of the swimming pool, admiring the little ripples caused by the gentle breeze blowing. She'd never seen water as clear before, certainly not swimming pool water, but this looked pure and it was tempting her to discard her clothes and jump in in her underwear. She wouldn't, no. Charlotte would be back anytime soon and they'll be on their way and—

"Oh, God!"

Her train of thoughts was disturbed by a sudden feeling of being tackled from behind and her yelp was muffled with a loud splash! as she hit the water. She emerged with a gasp and flailed, trying to keep herself at the surface while pushing her wet strands out of her face and trying to clear her blurred vision. And then she saw him.

The one-hundred-ten pounds Bernese Mountain dog, panting and staring down at her.

"Rufus!"

Cats were always her favorite.

Sure, they were water-hating demons in the shape of furballs that adored biting and clawing for fun, but that's all they did. They scratched, ate and slept. She didn't have to worry much with Sir Jingles, he was easy to handle. He got a little messy? No worries, he'd clean himself without trouble. A little bored? A single pen would entertain him for hours—or until he slept again. He didn't even require walks, and he certainly would not shove her right into a swimming pool.

Rufus, on the other hand, did. And judging by the way he licked her face and traipsed around her as she slogged inside with her drenched clothes, leaving a trail of water behind, he didn't care.

"No, that was very rude," Regina scolded, narrowing her eyes at the dog and earning a whine in return. "I understand that sometimes you get a little too excited, but that does not mean you push people into water, Rufus." She spoke as if he understood, chastising as if harsh words would knock some sense into him. It wouldn't, and she knew better than to waste her breath talking to the gentle beast but she did anyways.

She shed off her soaked clothes, removing every last piece and dropping it to the ground with a flop. Great. She should be home, in the comfort of her bed, not naked in the house of the man she loathed because his dog decided he wanted to play. She gathered the garments in her arms and rammed them into the dryer with a huff, murmuring curses under her breath.

She padded out of the laundry room and hurried upstairs to Robin's bedroom—whatever he had in the closet would have to do for a little while. The last thing she wanted was to flash whoever returned first, be it his mother and Charlotte or him. So, button-down shirt and Calvin Klein boxer briefs it was.

"It's not the greatest," she muttered, eyeing her reflection from head to toe. The shirt was…blah, a simple white one with nothing interesting happening to it and it just barely covered the upper part of her thighs, but the boxers were really comfortable. She might just steal one from him, not that he would notice, he had over dozens of identical ones in his drawer.

He promised her his mother wouldn't be long with their daughter, he promised her they'd be on their way before the sun was fully set, and then his mother's car broke down.

It wasn't something he planned, obviously, but he did predict it in a way. His mother's car was old and she stubbornly refused to upgrade it for a new vehicle, refused the idea of it all together and not only him spending money over it, so it was just a matter of time before it stopped working. Though, Robin had to admit, he was surprised it lasted as long as it did.

Nonetheless, it annoyed him.

He had to cut his meeting short and call it a day, and he was certain Regina would be fuming by the time they're back, greeting him with her poisoning tongue and spitting vicious words his way. Well, nothing out of the ordinary at least. He was expecting that, but what he didn't expect was the sight that welcomed him.

Regina, cladded in nothing but his shirt, passed out on his couch with a half empty bowl of popcorn on one side and Rufus laying next to her on the other. The dog was alert, perking up at their presence but remaining still, as though he was being careful not to wake her up.

To say that he was surprised would be an understatement.

"Is…there something you'd like to share, darling?" His mother spoke, startling him back to reality and reminding him that he wasn't alone in the room. "Are you two…" she trailed off and Robin's eyes grew twice as wide.

"God, no. No, no we're not," he stammered. "I—I don't know why she's, you know, like that." He gestured at Regina.

"So, she randomly came into your house, stripped out of her clothes and into your shirt and fell asleep on your couch?"

Well, no.

He wouldn't assume that's what happened, however, before he had the chance to answer her, Charlotte walked in with her shopping bags in tow, her head tilting slightly to the side and her brows creasing at her mother's sleeping figure.

"What's mom doing here…and why is she wearing your shirt?" she asked. And truly, he was asking himself the same question.

What was she doing in his shirt?

Luckily, his mother, his saving grace, took Charlotte away before she had the chance to bombard him with more questions, ones he most likely wouldn't have been able to answer with a straight face, or answer at all.

But what was Regina doing in his shirt anyways? It wasn't what he envisioned when he asked her to make herself at home.

"You're not planning on waking her up, are you?"

"Jesus, mom!" Robin hissed, almost jumping out of his skin. He laid a hand over his chest and exhaled a huff. "You don't sneak up on people like that." What was she even doing beside him? She was up with Charlotte not even a minute ago. Good Heavens!

"Sorry," she muttered, half-assed with a shrug of her shoulders. "But you aren't really considering it, are you?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Because she's fast asleep, and the poor thing must be exhausted because that position cannot be comfortable."

She wasn't wrong. Sleeping with her legs tucked underneath her and her head tipped back against the couch couldn't be comfortable.

"Let her sleep," she insisted. "Charlotte's halfway through getting ready for bed anyways. Just listen to your mother for once, darling, and great things will happen."

His mother left and Charlotte was in bed, and he was still staring at Regina, debating on whether he should let her sleep or wake her up.

He let her sleep.

She looked peaceful, content and, for once, calm in his presence—Robin wasn't sure he'd ever seen her so relaxed before, she was always tensed around him, ready to lash out at any moment. And she looked small in his shirt, he couldn't help but smile a bit.

There wasn't a trace of makeup on her face and that made her even prettier than she was, not that he would say it out loud and boost her ego, but she was. Her skin was glowing, her cheeks had a natural blush to them and her freckles were adorable. Her hair, even though he made fun of it once just for the laughs, it was beautiful, too. The curls suited her better than her usual straightened hair did, but she was stunning regardless.

And that position simply couldn't be comfortable.

Robin grimaced at the way her neck was angled and sighed, moving closer and carefully scooping her up in his arms with a light bounce and a stifled grunt. She wasn't heavy but all the time he spent building Charlotte's treehouse was taking a toll on his back.

Regina stirred, muttering incoherently as her head lolled back, but she stayed asleep the entire little journey up the stairs and into one of the many guest rooms, she didn't even flinch a muscle when he laid her down and tucked her in.

"She really is knackered," he muttered to himself with a quiet chuckle, pulling the blankets all the way up to her shoulders.

He should get off the edge of the bed and leave, close the door behind him and end the night. There was one problem, though—he was enamored.

He was utterly captivated by her, couldn't look away even if he tried. It was a strange feeling, especially considering it was toward her, the woman who made sure to get on his every last nerve, and it was one he'd never felt before, one he couldn't pinpoint and describe.

His heart felt heavy but not with grief, his stomach flopped and it wasn't in the way it did when he learned about Charlotte's existence, not in worry or fear. It was different. It wasn't a feeling he dreaded but instead, he almost…welcomed.

He reached forward and tucked a strand behind her ear, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips at the small, subconscious one she gave in her sleep.

He liked her. He liked her a lot. And God help him, was in trouble for that.