When Robin reaches town and almost immediately overhears Grumpy and Sneezy talking about the Storybrooke Anniversary Masquerade Ball, he really can't resist. If Snow and Charming have told the town's worst keeper of secrets, they must want everyone to know.
So he stops by school for a moment to enlist Henry in his plan. Turns out, the Charmings are hosting a masquerade ball in the hopes that Maleficent, Ursula, and Cruella will (not) show their faces in pursuit of a false trail to the author. Meanwhile, a sort of costume subterfuge will allow Emma and Regina to appear at the beginning of the ball, and then slip away so that they can steal back the hat left mostly unguarded, leaving their distinctive masks on Ashley and Ruby before they return for the great reveal.
That is how Robin finds himself in the candlelit lobby of City Hall, twirling a woman in a red silk gown with silky black hair, his palm resting gently on her waist above the edge of the plunging back. A woman who is most definitely not his love.
She cannot speak well through the feathered and sequined black mask that covers her entire face, but then, he supposes that must be intentional. Who here could really have imitated the richness and depth of Regina's voice?
His own mask of green and gold obscures enough of his features that he could pass for any number of Storybrooke residents. None will be able to tell that he found his way back just this morning with a magical spell he acquired on his own and a gap through the town's shield.
He moves the tiniest bit closer, so that nobody could overhear. "I do hope nobody notices how much shorter the heels on your shoes are than hers, Red," he whispers.
She freezes in his arms, then resumes dancing, a little less certain than before. A couple spins just to their left, then begins to move away. She waits until they are out of earshot. "Robin?"
Their paths had crossed a few times, back in the Enchanted Forest, long ago, before Marian, back when Regina was a young bride at the court of King Leopold and both he and Red had just left home. "I just wanted you to know you can relax with me. I won't give you away."
Another couple dance into the space beside them, and he fills the silence gently, the words harmless without context. "She's quite short. But then, I'm not sure many would notice."
They turn again, past Hook dancing with…Ashley, certainly. Though it takes Robin a moment of staring to catch the slightly lighter tint of her hair, the less prominent line of her jaw beneath her mask of white swan feathers. Nice touch, that. With Hook mumbling something in her ear, and her private half-smile, it would take someone who knew Emma very well to call their bluff. But of course Hook is acting well; Emma's safety depends on it.
As the string music comes to a close, Robin squeezes Red's hand, bows, and tells her, "Thank you for the dance, Your Majesty." Loudly, for the audience.
"Don't tell anyone yet," he requests softly in Red's ear before slipping away.
An hour later, when he glances around the room yet again in search of red silk, his throat tightens, his teeth digging into his bottom lip to hold back the sobbing-laughing noise stuck in his throat. It's her again.
Snow and Charming climb the stairs halfway up to see their guests. Their masks are obvious, and were meant to be, and it seems all three Dark Queens have tried to rob them of the clues to the author they supposedly carry with them everywhere. (There was, of course, nothing to find.) Snow's mask covers only her nose, eyes, and forehead, shimmering layers of cobalt blue feathers that slowly fade to white at the top of her forehead. Charming has the face of a sheep, right down to fluffy flaps meant to be ears. Robin imagines Regina's face as she watched him put it on, and can't help but grin. What he wouldn't give to have seen those raised eyebrows and quirked lips, to have heard that badly concealed snort.
The Charmings announce that the next will be the last dance, which will end with each dancer removing his or her partner's mask.
This is Henry's part of the deal. He's engaged his mother for the last dance, the royal blue and silver of his mask brilliant beside hers.
Robin reaches them just before the music begins, and Henry gathers his mother's hands, turning to Robin. "I promised the man you danced with before that he could have the last dance," Henry tells her.
Robin cannot see her chocolate eyes very well through the small slits in her ebony mask, but he can picture her hesitation.
"Trust me," Henry says. He takes Regina's hands, leaves them in Robin's.
Little sparks of warmth work their way from his palm to the tips of his fingers, and from his hands, up his arms, into his chest. He smooths a calloused thumb over the back of her hand, and from the quiet gasp he hears just before the music starts, he knows she can feel it, too.
Three women glance up to make sure Emma and Regina are still dancing, as they have been all evening by their mistaken account. They sneak out the side door, one after another. They only have a couple of minutes before the Dark Queens figure out that they've been tricked, that the hat they left under the guard of dogs and sea creatures and Maleficent's traps has been spirited away in the dark of night. But they have this dance.
Robin lifts Regina's arm so that he can drop her hand on his shoulder, slides a palm around her waist, mesmerized by her absolute stillness and calm, by her grace as he leads them in the waltz, by the way her silk dress whispers as he takes a step forward and their legs nearly touch.
When the song ends, they are still again.
Robin cradles her head in one hand, tugging at the silk ties that fasten the mask to her head with the other. He slides two pins free from her hair, eases the shimmering black mask into both of his hands. And there she is.
He lets out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, drinks in the sight of her even through his heavy mask, the glint of candlelight reflecting in her eyes, the bright red of her lips, the furrow of her brow that tells him she may not know, but certainly suspects. It feels like only a day has passed since he last saw her face, and like it has been years.
Laughter and gasps of surprise and teasingly triumphant I told you so's sound around them.
They do not hear it.
When her hands reach around his head to pull at green silk ribbons, they are shaking. It takes her a little longer to finish her task than it had taken him, and in those seconds Robin wonders if she will be angry, if she will understand why he could not simply turn his back on the chance to give the woman he loves a finally happy surprise, why he thinks these last few minutes of hopeful anticipation, answered with joy, will do more to heal her battered heart than an unexpected knock at her office door five hours ago possibly could have.
Her trembling hands frame his face, lift the mask.
It feels like his smile is so broad, his muscles will ache for days to come. He doesn't care.
Her forehead wrinkles in disbelief, her eyes wide and vulnerable. He feels her fingertips trace the edge of his jaw, the bridge of his nose. He leans into the touch, the balm for every moment of these past months they've spent apart, their masks slipping from their hands and falling at their feet, forgotten.
His eyes fill with tears as they catch hers.
And then she is in his arms, the red silk of her dress smooth against his arms, but not as smooth as the skin beneath his palm, the dark hair between his fingers, the press of her lips behind his ear.
And he knows she understands, because the smile that just spread across her face like wildfire—it was more honest, more genuine, more open than he had dared to hope.