Regina looks up from the pot of cabbage boiling on the stove and a little grin tugs up onto her lips as Robin slips through the door that attaches her kitchen to the kitchen of Mal's boarding house–and when Robin smiles at her, blue eyes shining, she can't help but laugh.

"You're all dressed up," he tells her as he closes the door behind himself, closing them in and, momentarily, locking away the rest of the world. "You look…"

Her eyes roll. "Compliments will get you nowhere."

"Then it's a good thing I expect nothing in return for it," he tells her, leaning against the counter and peering down into the steamy pot. "Still, though, you look beautiful."

Grabbing a dish cloth, she wipes down the edge of the counter, her eyes shifting up at Robin. "Henry and I are going into the village today," she explains. "We can't properly celebrate with a cake or a party with all of his friends, and I think he's a little sad about that, but I don't see why we can't have a nice day together."

He nods, offering a tight smile–she knows there's nothing he can do, that the situation they're in is out of his control, and he's already more than any sane person would do to get them out of it. So, she grins a little and tosses down the dishcloth and turns to him–then, almost instinctively, he reaches for her.

"I hate this," he says, his voice low and barely audible.

She notices that he looks away. His eyes pressed tight and cast downward, away from hers and she thinks he looks embarrassed–though he certainly has nothing to be embarrassed about. In this whole terrible ordeal, he was the thing that was getting her through it.

For her, the war had been going on much longer than a year. Leopold had left long before its official start–long before men of his age and rank were asked to–and little by little over the course of that first year, the money he'd send back to her was lesser and lesser until it was nothing at all. She didn't care about it for herself, but it bothered her when Henry had to go without–and she hated that her son struggled because of his father.

She worked odd jobs around town–she taught piano lessons, did mending and washing, and a little cooking here and there, and sometimes, when Mal needed help at the inn next door, she'd step in to help. She didn't earn much, but it was enough to get by, and though she didn't like to think of it, she knew people in the village hired her because they knew her situation and they felt sorry for her–if not for her, for Henry. Everyone knew that Leo kept an apartment in Paris. It was supposed to be for business, but in reality, it was a place he carried on his affairs–and everyone knew that.

That part didn't bother her. There was no love lost between her and Leo. He didn't love her and she didn't love him. Their marriage was one of convenience to appease her mother, and neither ever pretended it was anything other than that.

Still, though, Henry deserved better.

It was because of that desire for Henry to have better than he had that she struggled with her decision not to send him away when the island's children were evacuated. At the time, he was only eight, and though she'd stood on the dock watching children years younger than him climbing into rocky little boats and headed for safety in England, she couldn't bring herself to send him away. Everyone said that was selfish, reminding her that things were going to get worse before they got better–and that, she told them, was exactly why she couldn't send him away. She argued that if England fell to the Germans, just as France had, Henry would be no better off there than he would be at home–instead, he'd be scared and alone in a foreign land. She could make no guarantees of how he'd be treated or if his host family would treat him well. It was all a gamble, and she wasn't willing to gamble with her son's safety and happiness.

But, of course, it was more than just that.

She didn't know how to be without him. So much of who she was and why she woke up in the morning was thanks to her son–and without him, she wasn't sure she'd have that drive. He was all she had in the world, and she wasn't sure she'd survive without him–especially if something happened to him.

And every single day, she wondered if that had been a wrong and selfish choice.

"I know you do. I hate it, too."

"It's just–"

"It's not fair," she agrees without letting him say it. "But it's a lot worse for a lot of people, and especially on days like today, I have to keep reminding myself of that."

He nods–he knows. He knows better than most what others are suffering through–and she knows better than most how much he struggles with it.

It wasn't long after his arrival on the island that she discovered his part in it all. From the very beginning, Robin hadn't been like the other soldiers. From his accent and English last name to the way he looked at her whenever they made eye contact to the bond he'd forged with her son–and, though it filled her with an incredible amount of worry, she'd been glad to know that he was on her side, that the reason he seemed different is because he was.

She shivers a little when she thinks back on that cold October day when Henry told her he'd followed Robin on what he called a secret mission. Her stomach lurched and her heart pounded as Henry explained the old, dilapidated barn at the very end of Mal's property, just off the shore, had been overtaken by zombies. She'd laughed a little at that–Henry was always an amazing storyteller–but as he went onto describe the zombies, she quickly came to realize they weren't figments of his imagination. They were people–children, actually–and when he described their gray skin and sunken-in eyes, she was filled with an indescribable feeling. As Henry explained, she nearly forgot Robin's involvement–and then, when Henry said his name and explained that Robin was protecting them from the zombies, it took everything in her to hold her tongue. Then, she was glad that she did because Henry went onto explain that from the hayloft, he watched Robin putting them in boats and sending them off to sea, away from the island.

A week later, long after Henry went to bed, she sat up in her darkened bedroom staring out at the night sky–and as she watched the the tall grass sway in the wind outside her window, she saw Robin. Startled, she sat up, remembering Henry's story, and before she even realized what she was doing, her slippers were on and she was reaching for her coat, ready to follow him.

She lagged behind, though she never lost sight of him. Though it was cold, she was glad for the wind–it meant she followed unnoticed–and when she finally reached the barn, she watched him lift a little boy into his arms. He couldn't have been more than three years old and was wearing tattered, dirty clothes and in the moonlight, she noticed his gray skin and sunken in eyes–and she also noticed the way Robin cradled him, rocking him gently and wiping away his tears. Robin reached out and took two more children by the hand–the oldest, a girl, looked about Henry's age–and together, they walked to the coast. Her heart pounded as she moved closer and it occurred to her that she should do something, after all, as nice as he was to Henry, he was the enemy and she'd heard the stories of what his kind had done. But he didn't seem like he was going to hurt them–and then, she saw a quick flash of light. It happened once, and for a moment, she thought that maybe she'd imagined it–but then she heard another voice and she watched as Robin shook his hand. Though it was hard to see, she made out the shape of a rowboat–and it reminded her of the boats that were used to evacuate the island the previous year. Robin crouched down between the older children and she watched as his hand cupped the back of the head of the girl as he leaned in, presumably to tell her something–and then, as he pulled away, the other man took the two older children by the hand and helped them into the boat. Once they were in, he turned back and Robin transferred the smallest child into the man's arms.

She didn't see what happened next, but she saw Robin wave to them–and then, he just stood there, watching the little boat disappear into the vast ocean.

Once more, she felt an indescribable feeling take over her and it occurred to her that she should leave–it was long after curfew and she'd just witnessed something that was quite illegal–but she found that she couldn't move. She just stood there, watching him stare out at the coast–and when he turned back, he spotted her.

He didn't say anything as he came toward her, and once again, her heart started to beat a little faster–then, when he reached her, he leaned in and whispered to her that she could say nothing about what she'd seen. Nodding, she followed him back toward the house–and they never spoke of what happened the night again.

"Listen," he murmurs. "I shouldn't be here, but–"

"When has that stopped you?"

Chuckling softly, he nods. "I'm supposed to be running drills."

"Won't they miss you?"

"Not yet," he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a cleanly severed shoelace. "I need to change my laces. I'm out of dress." Blinking, she looks at that–and a soft giggle rises up from her as she thinks of him cutting his own laces to give them a quick moment together. "But, um… Mal told me you were headed into the village with Henry and I… wanted to give you something to give him."

"You have something for my son?"

He nods, stepping back and reaching into his satchel. "It's not much, but–" Her eyes widen as red foil paper catches her eye. "I have a chocolate bar."

"Real chocolate?"

"Yes. I requested, um… well…" He shifts a bit awkwardly. "My mother sent it from Berlin and Kommandant Gold now thinks I have a sweet tooth, but–"

"Thank you."

"It's nothing. It's the least I can do."

"No," she says, shaking her head as she accepts the chocolate bar from him. "He's going to be elated."

"And probably bouncing off the walls."

She laughs and nods. "Will you come for dinner? It's just cabbage and potatoes, but–"

Nodding, his cheeks flush slightly beneath the scruff that covers them. "It' won't just be that."

"What?"

"Mal didn't want me to say anything, but, um… there will be cake, too." Regina feels her eyes widen and her chest tightens a bit. "We have to pretend it isn't a birthday cake, but it'll be chocolate and–" She doesn't let him finish. Instead, she throws herself into his arms and presses a quick kiss to his lips, and as he laughs out, she steps back. His arms wrap around her and for just a minute, she's glad to just let him hold her as she loses herself in the improbable fantasy of building a life and a family with him. "Tell him I wish him a very happy birthday."

"You can tell him yourself," she says, pulling back and offering a quick wink. "At dinner."

Robin hesitates, but then nods as he takes a few steps back, looking toward the window to the field where the others are waiting. He offers a regretful little sigh before he turns away–and as he slips back through the door that leads to Mal's kitchen, she catches a glimpse of Mal, laughing gently and shaking her head.