As Thanksgiving draws to an end, families and friends exchange goodbyes and see-you-later's, having reached their quota of kisses and chitchat until the next celebration. They part with spirits lifted as high as the sky and ready to take on the craziness of the next month, for Christmas is closer than anyone thinks and the days will speed right by them until they are opening presents sitting under the tree. It's time to get decorations out of the cardboard boxes that have been gathering dust during the last eleven months and bask in the cheer of December, a warm hot cocoa in one hand and a chocolate from the advent calendar in the other.
Some people say this time of the year has its own kind of magic. Even people who don't believe in magic say it. It burns amongst the brightest stars, shines its comforting light upon the less fortunate, and fills lonely hearts with hope, as they spend the season glancing wistfully outside the window at the twirling snowflakes, hearts beating with renewed purpose.
Music inundates the crowded streets, joyful tunes retelling stories of Christmases past, making even the busy businessmen and women walk with a spring in their step. Ornaments decorate the windows; trees go up everywhere – small ones, big ones, bigger ones – decorated in red and gold or silver and blue. It's a colourful season, overflowing with ribbons and glitter and wrapping paper of all sorts. There's something for everyone: the grinches and the too-friendly, the weary and the always happy.
The Holidays are a special time, that's a fact no one argues. It makes people wish for things, believe in others and spread joy around them. It's a time for hope and peace, a time for everybody to find how the pieces of the puzzle fit together.
Of course, not everybody believes in magic. That would be silly – Hallmark movie kind of silly.
The sad truth is most people don't believe. They attribute the extraordinary things of the season to coincidence and luck, when there is in fact a high power at work: the power of Christmas. The power of thousands upon thousands of people across the globe believing in something better, for others and for themselves. (A speck of selfishness isn't a bad thing.)
As they are counting down the days to Christmas, two families are about to collide and learn one very important lesson.
Dreams do come true.
::
His hand is soft against her skin. It knows by now the planes and curves of her body as well as she does, skillfully caressing every area that sends shivers of delight up and down her spine, her back arching away from the bed, stomach pressing into his.
On a particularly pleasurable stroke, her fingers dig into his shoulders and he releases her lips just in time to free the moan he would have swallowed, the otherworldly sound that escapes her mouth making her blush with its intensity. She hears, rather than sees, his satisfied smirk in the groan he lets out, for she is unable to focus on anything but the feel of his fingers as they graze and squeeze and rub every inch of her flesh.
Her embarrassment is short-lived however, quickly replaced by an overwhelming desire for this man who's overturned her world. She wants him, the fiery sensation of his fingers on her skin, his touch fueling the desire burning inside her. She chases after his mouth as he tries to pull away and see her face, arms winding around his neck, capturing his bottom lip between her teeth, and he whimpers, the sound shooting straight down to where their hips are joined and she clenches around him, rejoicing in the Fuck! that reaches her ears.
She feels like she's floating, his arm solid behind her back, keeping her propped up as he pounds into her, his free hand resting against the mattress for support. It can't be comfortable for him but does wonders for her, her thighs pressing against his sides as his cock drags against her clit with every pass. "More," she whispers against his mouth, adjusting her hold around his shoulder blades as she attempts to bring them even closer, the need to become one overpowering every other thought.
His eyes meet hers, cobalt in the darkness of the room, alight with lust, and she sinks into their depth, taken by him and with him and wanting nothing more in this instant than this – him, and her, falling towards each other, nearing the same precipice.
"Regina."
She brings a palm to his face, a gentle touch to the rough patch of hair that covers his jaw. "What?"
His movements slow at her question and he looks at her, brows furrowing. "I didn't–" he pants, "I didn't say anything." He lies her down on the bed again and, planting his feet into the carpet, brings her legs towards her chest, changing the angle of his thrusts. Her next moan is loud, spilling from her lips without warning, surprising them both, and his mouth slants into a grin in response. Strong hands grasp her waist, securing her against the mattress as he pulls nearly all the way out before sheathing himself into her again. "Is this what you like?" he asks, punctuating his words with another deep thrust. He slides wetly against her, filling her, her every sense, and it's all it takes for her to forget what had her temporarily distracted. She can't tear her eyes away from the sight of them, coming together, and together, and together, in every sense of the word.
"Regina."
She looks up to his face again, only to find his eyes screwed shut, his teeth digging into his lower lip, the face he makes when he's about to come and tries very hard not to, working even harder to coax her towards her peak. His palm finds one of her breasts, fingers giving her pert nipple her twirl, oblivious as to what has pulled her out of the moment.
"Regina!"
Her head nearly wrenches from her neck as it snaps up violently. "Ow," she lets out, bringing a tingling hand to massage her aching nape.
"Earth to Regina," comes an annoyingly familiar voice, followed by a series of friendly taps on her cheek. "Wake up, Regina." She bats away the intrusion and grumbles in protest, not quite ready to leave the comfort of Robin's embrace. She can still feel his arms around her, strong, solid, holding on to her as though she is something to be cherished, making her feel golden rather than broken.
When her breathing has finally evened, she cracks her eyes open, wincing as the brightness of the room hits her pupils. Slowly, her surroundings come into focus, as does the blurry shadow that has woken her up, revealing itself to be her dear, though not exactly loved at the moment, friend and colleague, Emma Swan.
The woman, long blonde curls tumbling on either side of her neck, her usual sweater-leather jacket combination on point, is looking at her with a knowing grin and laughing eyes, waiting for Regina to wake up and gather her thoughts on what's just happened.
Reality crashes down on her as though she's just driven into brick wall at full speed and she lets out an exasperated grunt, head falling back against the desk to hide her flushed cheeks, mortified at the thought of having been interrupted at this particular moment of the very wet dream she was having in the middle of her work day.
"You're welcome, by the way," says Emma as she collapses in the armchair in front of her, taking a sip of her daily afternoon hot chocolate. When she dares peer up again, Regina notices an identical red cup with her name on it next to her, the distinct smell of an Americano floating to her nostrils, and takes back the murderous thoughts she'd been contemplating towards her friend, at least until she says, "You didn't want to finish or everyone in your section would have known their boss is in need of some."
Reaching for the steaming beverage, Regina points out bitterly, "How eloquently put, Miss Swan," before taking a long gulp of the black poison that has become vital to her, shifting in her seat to ease some of the remaining tension in her body.
"I was talking about the dream."
"Hm."
"Hey," Emma says, waving her free hand around in a blameless gesture, "you didn't hire me for my tactfulness."
Regina's eyebrow cants upwards, lips pressing together in a tight smile. "I clearly did not." She settles back against the backrest of her of her chair just as Emma does the same, crossing her legs and slowly sipping her drink. Though she shakes her head, Regina decides not to push the issue, hoping the topic will die and she'll be able to forget her imaginary self was about to have one of, if not the best orgasm of her life. Frustrated doesn't even begin to describe how she feels, though she guesses it's better than the humiliation of someone other than her friend walking in on her.
Emma's slurping of her hot cocoa brings Regina's attention back to the present and so does her, "So, who's the hot guy?" which crushes her hopes of having the subject dropped. Leaning forward in her seat, the blonde drops her tone needlessly. "Was he someone you met last night?" she asks, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.
The glare Regina's throws her way doesn't even make her flinch.
Emma had taken her out last night – it's the reason she is sleeping the afternoon away at her desk – even though they both worked the next day. She'd insisted Regina needed to loosen up while she was still young and could do so with only small amounts of regret. She'd told her to find a babysitter for her kid because they were hitting the dance floor and enjoying every single minute of it.
And Regina had. Surprisingly.
She'd danced with Emma, a rather stunning brunette, and a tall, handsome man with wandering hands, but all three had all paled in comparison to the one she'd spent the night with.
Not that she'd ever tell Emma. The situation was rather tricky.
She thus bends over her desk slightly, as though in confidence, making her colleague bring her chair forward. "Who says it was a guy?" Regina teases with sly up and down of her brow.
Emma's face drops and she immediately sits back in her chair, arms crossed. "Now you're playing with me."
Regina rests her chin in her hand, elbow on the table, as a mischievous smile hooks itself on her lips. "It was a guy," she promptly admits, gaze drifting to the back of the room as her mind conjures the memory of a pair of blue eyes, staring at her with equal parts lust and love. "But it wasn't anyone from the club," she adds with a shrug, facing Emma with a resolute expression, hoping it'll put an end to the question period. "Just a dream."
It works, but doesn't stop Emma from muttering, "Some kind of dream," and Regina's teeth dig into her bottom lip as she presses her thighs together again.
Some kind of dream, indeed.
She can't wait to see him again.
::
They meet at the small café around the corner of her apartment. It's not the most exciting of places for a date, but it's homey, and quiet, and since they don't get to see each other all that often, Robin enjoys being able to sit and talk to her, as though they are a normal couple. He enjoys the other things they do, too, very much so, but he likes her, truly likes her, for more than just her body, and hence cherishes the time he gets to know her better. Her mind is a piece of art he's only begun to understand and he wants to spend as much time studying it as he does admiring every inch of the canvas of her skin.
She greets him with a smile and a light buss to his lips. He's learned she's not one for big displays of affection, especially not in public, but he takes pride in drawing even the slightest of reactions from her, such as the way her hand drags from his forearm to his bicep when his fingers dig gently into her hip.
The corner of her mouth tugs upwards as she puts an end to the kiss and pulls back, looking at him with pink cheeks and large brown eyes. "Hi."
"Hi," Robin echoes.
He watches unmoving as her gaze roams over his face, meandering around his eyes and down the slope of his nose, lingering on his mouth before traveling back up, brow twitching worriedly. "You look tired," she observes, her palm cupping his cheek with, fingers brushing at the dark circles under his eyes; he'd noticed them before leaving his house, had hoped she wouldn't comment on them. He should have known better. "Rough week?"
Squeezing her waist reassuringly, he takes her hand in his and drops a kiss to the peak of her knuckles. "Nothing your presence and a bit a caffeine won't cure."
"Charmer," she whispers.
Robin chuckles, tells her to save them a seat while he gets them beverages and something to eat.
They catch up over a scone and pie, a cappuccino for her and a decaf for him, a choice which always ends with him on the receiving end of her mockery. His choice of caffeine, or lack thereof is debated for the first half of the scone and pie, her belief that there is no point in getting a decaf – might as well get a hot chocolate – meeting his but I like the taste, until they reach a stalemate and exchange plates, digging into the other's food.
"I missed this," she says, taking a bite of his pecan pie.
"Me too," he replies with a smile, brushing her forearm gently as she brings the fork to her mouth.
She returns it with one of her own, ducking her eyes to avert his gaze when he's held it for more than a few seconds. He can't help it. He wants to drink in all of her while he can; December is a busy month for them both. She has deals to close before the Holidays, clients that require she be at the office from the crack of dawn to the time the sun sets. As for him, he gets called into the hospital more often, the Holidays looming over people's heads and reopening old wounds for many of his patients. His phone had rung last night in fact, leaving him to go through his day with very little sleep. It's why he's so tired tonight.
But she's easy to talk to, Regina, easier than everyone else he's met since John insisted he get back out there. There's no risk of her repeating his confidences, he thinks maybe that's all it is, why he feels safe talking to her, but deep down he knows it's more than that. They fit together, in a way he can't explain, and it's a relief, really, to have her in his life, to have someone to share the burden when his job gets to his head.
He knows she's had to see a psychiatrist of her own during her teenage years. Sometimes, he fears she'll walk away from him because of it, because of his job. He can't imagine dating a man like him was ever what she had in mind, if their situation wasn't what it was and they were dating like a regular couple, but every time he sees her, she listens, listens and never judges. She hears him with ears and heart opened and he's known for a while, albeit he's yet to admit it, no other woman could fill the hole she'd leave behind.
"Enough about me," he says, setting down his fork in the crumb-covered plate. "How are you?"
She waves her hand in the air, "Oh, you know. Nothing much," trying to hide the dimming of her smile by taking a sip of the leftover foam at the bottom of her cup. "I'm over my usual Thanksgiving blues, moving on to planning Christmas for Henry and me."
Robin, not fooled in the least by her fidgeting, reaches across the table, pushing aside empty coffee mugs to grasp her hand. He doesn't say anything, knows she's already heard every platitude in the book about the blood relatives of whom she's estranged. The holiday isn't her favourite and with everyone she knows going home this year, including him – he'd taken the holiday weekend and a few more days to fly to England with Roland – he understands that she's still feeling a little down. His thumb rubs soothingly over her knuckles.
"I wish you'd spend Christmas with us."
Absorbed in playing with her hand, interlacing their fingers, drawing circles inside her palm, Robin doesn't yet notice the changing look on her face. Only when he feels the weight of her gaze on him does he look up, finding her staring with big eyes and her mouth hanging slightly opened, and realizes he'd said his last thought out loud.
She licks her lips, breathing heavily. "That sounds lovely, but…" Her eyes fall to their joined hands on top of the table, smile slimming into a straight line. "We both know we can't do that."
The melancholy of her words knots around his heart as soon as it leaves her lips. He feels the same. This situation they've found themselves in is completely unfair. He wants to tell the world he's in love with her, to scream it at the top of his lungs, an impossibility when merely mentioning her isn't possible.
He nods instead and squeezes her hand, "I know," his chest releasing a sigh. His gaze follows hers to their hands, and he pictures himself bringing her home, stumbling into John in the living room, and a corner of his mouth pulls up at the thought. "What would John say?"
Her head snaps up, locking eyes with him as he attempts to keep a serious face, but he's weak when it comes to her and she spies the mischievousness in his gaze right away, her face splitting into a grin.
With the severity of the situation all but gone, she chuckles, shaking her head, and he joins her, his free hand reaching across the table to cup her jaw. "There, it is," he says, thumb brushing against the apple of her cheek. "There's that elusive but satisfying smile I think about every time I close my eyes."
Her gaze finds his again and their laughter quiesces. The air between them thickens, heavy with unspoken promises and a longing for a normalcy that will continue to elude them both. While her smile never fades, their hopes of a future crash down around them. He can almost hear them, shattering against the floor with every new beat of his heart, thumping against his chest for her, a woman for whom he would turn his life upside down.
The hint of wetness in her eyes catches the dim lights of the café and makes them seem even bigger, filled with wishes and desires he only wants to fulfill. She's so beautiful in that moment that Robin can't help but lean in, meeting her halfway as she's had a similar idea, capturing her lips in a languid kiss.
She doesn't let it get carried away, but her hand cups his elbow, her fingers tracing distracting patterns on the material of his shirt, and Robin reminds himself what a lucky man he is to be allowed to share part of her life. However flimsy it is.
::
Snow makes itself known during the second week of December. It's not much, only a few flurries, but it's exactly the type of weather that would make people stay inside, huddled in front of their fireplace, drinking hot cocoa. Regina watches the white flurries fall from the sky with a sorrowful eye, thinking about winters past and building snow forts with her father as she balances multiple shopping bags on both arms.
It's getting harder every year to complete her holiday shopping away from Henry's prying eyes. He's been sneaky this year, her boy, snooping around and asking questions, not giving her time alone on the weekends, offering to go with her every time she wanted to run errands. Thus, she had to take an afternoon off work, a rare Wednesday afternoon near the middle of December, despite clients calling every other minute, demanding for an update on their files.
A part of her is thankful for the change in scenery. She's been at her desk way too often lately, even had to go in over the weekend. Her projects can wait a few hours while she collects what she needs for Christmas with her son.
Spending the afternoon walking from store to store, while good for her soul and work-related stress levels, is rather unproductive in terms of forgetting her other troubles. The day has given her way too much time alone – way too much time to think about the man with blue eyes and dimples who has been taking over her dreams.
She can normally go about her day without sparing him so much as a thought – she's used to it – but with Christmas around the corner, Regina is finding it harder and harder to keep him out of her head.
She loves him. She's fallen for him, and she doesn't know what to do about it.
What he'd said, about them spending Christmas together, still haunts her, even though he'd only brought up the subject that one time. Her heart yearns to be held by him, to settle comfortably in his embrace in front of a roaring fire, bellies filled with good food and good wine. She could open that bottle of whiskey she's been saving, while their children slept soundly a few doors away. It could be the perfect evening.
Shaking her head, Regina scoffs. It will be the perfect evening. She doesn't need a man. Those absurd wishes of hers have got to stop, for that's what they are, unrealistic, and yet, she can't fully push them away.
She'd been looking for new video games and figures for Henry earlier and, even though she knew it was pointless, she'd looked around for something to give Robin's son. She'd ended up going to multiple stores and after much time lost, she'd settled on a grey stuffed monkey and a Captain America t-shirt that matches one she got Henry. She doesn't even know Roland's size, a problem she'd solved by buying three of them, thinking she could return the ones that don't fit, knowing full well she'll end up returning everything she bought for the little guy because it's not as though she'll ever have the opportunity to give it to him.
Regina sighs, ashamed of herself.
She let him into her heart over the last year, however artificial their relationship was. She's let him in so close she's having a hard time picturing her life without him. The prospect alone feels empty and unenjoyable, even though he was never here. He's not real. What they have isn't real, and she has to let it go.
If only she knew how.
The next breath she releases comes out in a big puff of white in front of her and she accelerates her pace, pushing Robin as far as she can from her mind, and focusing on finishing her shopping before the sun goes down.
::
Robin comes home to find floor, counter, John and Roland covered in flour. It's as though as storm of white dust has passed through his kitchen, leaving very little intact.
Upon seeing him standing in the doorway, Roland leaps from his chair, a loud "Papa!" welcoming him home, and Robin has to give up the thought of saving his own clothes from the fate of John's and his son's, as a white-covered mop of brown hair runs towards him, tackling his legs.
"Hello, my boy," Robin greets him in return, bending to pick him up. "What are you making?"
Roland beams at his father, grabbing Robin's cheeks with his small, dirty hands, coating his scruff with flour, too. "We made cookies!" he answers, overly excited, and Robin eyes John standing behind, purposefully not looking at him, and Robin knows his boy has had way too many sweets already. It's going to be a long evening.
Roland wiggles in his arms, asking to be put down. When his feet touch the floor, he sprints back to where John is, asking to look at the baking goods in the oven.
As he observes them both, his best friend and his son, Robin thinks of Marian, of her love for baking, especially around this time of the year. They've kept the tradition going even without her, John and Robin taking turns baking with Roland from his mother's recipe book. He wonders for a minute if Regina has similar customs with her son. He imagines them, though he has yet to meet the boy, but he imagines him to have his mother's dark hair and eyes, bent over bowls and recipe books. He doubts they'd have spilled flour all round; Regina seems the tidy type, even when cooking, and her son is older than Roland. She's probably raised him to be just like her.
When he feels a smile tug at the corner of his lips, Robin berates himself and quickly chases away the thought of this family that is not his, for it is not one he should be having, especially not when he has company. This dream of his is only that, a dream, and this woman will never be what he wants her to be, even though she already is everything he ever wanted.
The blissful look that had crossed his face for a few minutes sadly hasn't escaped John's notice and, once Roland is in bed, his best friend doesn't waste a minute, cornering him in the bathroom, of all places, in the middle of his nightly routine.
"So, what gives?"
Robin startles when John pops his head through the threshold, stilling in the middle of brushing his teeth, mouth filled with toothpaste. When it becomes clear that his best friend won't move until he has an answer, Robin spits out the minty remnants from his mouth into the sink and turns around. "What is it?"
Leaning back against the door, John glares at him. "You know what. You had that look earlier."
"What look?"
"The look I haven't seen on your face since Marian died."
Robin gulps. Has he been this obvious? He drops his toothbrush back in the dinosaur holder Roland had picked for them and turns on the faucet, placing a finger under the running water to test its temperature.
"Were you planning on telling me at all?" John questions while Robin scoops water into his hands to rinse his mouth of the strong taste of mint. He catches his friend's judgemental stare in the mirror, making a kernel of remorse pop inside his chest. He's never meant for any of this to become an issue, much less the target of John's scrutiny.
Grabbing the nearest towel to dry the droplets of water that have fallen on his chin, he faces John again. "It's not like that," Robin assures, shoulders slumping. "I was thinking about Marian." The half-truth has his best friend ohh-ing, oblivious to Robin's omission of the other brunette towards whom his thoughts had rapidly shifted, one with stylish short hair and designer clothes, the complete opposite of his deceased wife – may she rest in peace. "I thought the season would be harder," Robin admits, "like it's been since she passed, but…" He shakes his head, shrugs. "I think maybe I'm finally learning to cherish the present."
Not a complete lie, he thinks, rather proud of himself for that answer.
John brings a hand to clasp his shoulder, a warm look on his face. "You know she would have wanted you happy – she would have wanted the both of you happy. You don't have to feel guilty for that."
"I know." He returns his friend's smile and, satisfied, John leaves him to get ready for bed too, and Robin exhales with relief.
::
On Henry's last day of school, Regina lets him spend the night in front of the television. She usually doesn't, prefers when he reads some and finds other ways to stimulate his creative brain, but he's been working really hard lately and when he begged for her to let him reach level 20, she hadn't been able to say no.
She's invited Emma to spend the evening with them; her colleague had played babysitter to Henry a few times while he was growing up and the two enjoyed each other's company tremendously. Almost as soon as she stepped inside, the blonde had flopped on the couch and reached for a controller, leaving Regina to cook dinner for two children, rather than one.
This evening has a celebratory feel to it, marking the beginning of Christmas vacation, Regina matching her holiday with Henry's.
She's putting together layers of pasta, homemade sauce and cheese when she hears the grinding squeal of a stool on the ceramic floor. "So, any more hot flashes or have you finally decided that it was time to do something about it?"
Regina stills halfway through a layer and turns her head around to look at Emma, who is sipping her drink as though she hasn't just asked that question. Ever since she's caught her dreaming about sex with an unknown man – he isn't; she knows exactly who was in her dream, but she's not ready to have that conversation with Emma, or anyone – she's been intent on not letting her live it down.
Returning her attention to the meal she's preparing, Regina ignores the look the blonde gives her, but the other woman is rather persistent. "Regina, erotic dreams are not a substitute for sex."
"Emma!" Regina turns around, dropping her spoon back in the bowl. "Henry could hear you!"
"He's not hearing any of this." She gestures behind her towards the living room. "The kid's way too busy defending the castle from trolls. Don't you change the subject."
Taking a seat across from Emma, Regina replies in a low voice, "They're not only erotic dreams," nervously glancing around the room. She thinks of the wrapped stuffed monkey and t-shirt she'd bought earlier that month and tucked away in a corner of her office. The incredible sex is not to be denied, but there is so much more going on than erotic dreams. Emma couldn't begin to understand.
"Wait. Regina," the blonde waits until Regina has looked up from her all-too-interesting and empty drink, "don't tell me you're falling for that man."
Regina scowls at her, standing and taking her glass with her as she heads for the bottle of wine on the counter behind. "Can we change the subject?" She pops the cork open and pours herself another generous glass.
"I'm just saying I could help out," Emma says, appearing at the edge of her vision and leaning back against the granite. "Set you up or something." She sets her empty glass next to hers.
Regina's eyebrows arc toward her hairline as she turns her head toward Emma. "We all know what happened last time you tried to set me up." She hands Emma her glass, places the bottle back in the corner next to the toaster oven.
"Graham was a mistake." The blonde sighs loudly and Regina smirks; mentioning the policeman who spent the entirety of their double date, where he was her date, hitting on Emma never fails to rile up her friend. She turns around before she heads back to the sanctuary of the living room and asks, "Will you at least sleep on it?"
Regina's teeth dig into her lower lip, dragging slowly inward until the flesh is released, and she looks over at Emma who is staring at her intently, waiting for an answer.
If only she knew.
One night of sleep will only strengthen her resolve. While she can't be with him, he is the only man she wants, the only one who seems to be equally interested in her mind and her body, challenging her while also making her toes curl deliciously. No one she ever meets compares to him.
"Sure," she tells Emma, "I'll sleep on it," and as the blonde walks away, she adds, "And I'll let you know tomorrow that I haven't changed my mind."
::
On the third week of December, Robin works nights. It's something he usually tries to avoid near the holidays. With Roland being home early in the afternoon, being on a sleep schedule more on par with Asia than his son means he misses out on much precious time with him. He had no choice – someone was sick and he was on call – and the boy's not alone – he's got John – but he's been sick for the last forty-eight hours and Robin's been jittery.
Working nights also means he doesn't see Regina, since she, like most people with a regular office job, works during the day, and dreaming about those hypnotic brown eyes when she's not there with him just doesn't feel the same and he misses her. Oh, how he misses her.
But today, he's finally got a night off; the guy he was replacing was finally able to come in, which means unless he's very unlucky, no one should call him for at least twenty-four hours. Robin spends the evening with Roland, wipes his forehead with a cold cloth and reads to him until he falls asleep, which proves difficult tonight, and finally sees the woman he's pining and longing for.
She's waiting for him at their usual spot in Bryant Park, just around the corner from the side entrance of the Library, gloved hands holding on to a warm cup of coffee. He spots a thick line of steam coming out of it and lets out a sigh of relief. She can't have been waiting that long if the dark sludge she insists on drinking is still warm.
Of course, it doesn't stop her from pointing out, "You're late," when she spies him making his way through the crowd of people doing some late holiday shopping. But her eyes are playful, and the knowing look she gives him blameless. It seems he's not the only one who's missed the other.
He returns her smile with one of his own, though his chin disappears into his scarf as his head dips guiltily. "Apologies, milady. Roland wouldn't sleep," he explains. "Fever."
The look in her eyes changes, mom mode kicking in. "Oh, no! Is he okay? You didn't have to come; you could have stayed with him," she tells him immediately, and Robin finds it adorable that this little piece of information has her almost more nervous than he is. It's one of the things he likes most about her, her understanding of all things parenting, and the unspoken agreement they have that their children come first. He doesn't have to justify being a father with her. He can be upfront about it, about his needs and those of his son.
The thought has him silencing her unnecessary worries with a soft press of his lips to hers, the surprise kiss making her moan softly at the back of her throat, a sound he relishes and attempts to draw out. He loops an arm around her waist, pulling her in, tilting his head to the side for better access.
Her response spurs him on as her lips part to let him in, and that noise he loves so much reaches his ears again, making him grin in satisfaction.
Before they can get carried away, Robin releases her mouth, though the hand at the small of her back stays in place, keeping her close even as he pulls back to see her face. "He'll be fine," he assures. "Besides, I'm not really far from him, am I?"
She's forced to agree, conceding him this one with a nod. With her reassured that Roland is well taken care of, they walk towards the various booths and join the crowd around the ice rink. It's not particularly cold today, but the cool, end of December breeze is starting to make itself known, and Robin enjoys the warmth of her body where it is tucked against his own.
"This almost feels normal," she says, looking up at him, though her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes.
He offers her hip a squeeze, "I know," and hopes she knows he'd move mountains if it meant they could have a regular relationship.
They stay in silence for a little while. His fingers continue to move absent-mindedly over the fabric of her peacoat, she sips at her drink, and when she wraps her free arm around his back, he pulls her in closer, happy to lend her some of his strength.
"How's Henry?" he inquires. Talking about her son usually gets her out of her I can't ever have a relationship that isn't doomed to fail mood.
Regina shrugs and says, "Growing up." There's a longing to her voice, a wishful sigh for days long gone. "I fear this might be the last year Santa comes to visit."
He stops walking, turning her around so she faces him and tilts his head to the side. "That's what you said last year," he reminds her, trying to keep his tone light.
"True," she concedes with a small chuckle, "but this time, it's different." Her shoulders slump and she sighs. "He's been making it harder and harder on me, asking all the right questions and not giving me a moment alone. I had to hide his gifts in the garbage outside and ask the neighbour to pick them up before the garbage man came!"
"No…" Robin lets out, breathless as though her words had punched him directly in the stomach.
Her "Yes" is as disheartened as he's ever seen her.
He supposes it's tough, facing the fact that your kid doesn't believe anymore. Robin's never met Henry, but from the way she's spoken of him, he knows this is one boy for whom Christmas always had a special place in his heart. His faith had never wavered like the other kids, until it suddenly did last year, for no apparent reason.
That's when Robin had first met Regina. He remembers the day as though it was yesterday. Not everyone meets the woman of their dreams on Christmas Eve, yet he had, a year ago, and Regina had been so worried Henry would ask her if Santa was real the next morning, it's all she'd been able to talk about. But Christmas Day had gone by – he'd seen her a second time afterwards – and her boy had never popped the question. They'd thought the crisis averted, but it seems it only was postponed.
This year's been different, he knows. The boy doesn't have his usual cheer. They'd talked about it and every time she's brought up the subject, he could feel the slight edge of dread in her voice.
If a child like Henry, with a heart so pure and so full of hope, stopped believing, it could mean the end of Christmas itself for all they knew. Maybe the magic's been drained from the world and there's nothing anyone can do to bring it back. Perhaps the farce had gone on long enough and it's about to be revealed for what it is: a cruel joke.
It seems the dreaded time is closer than they think.
Before her mind can pull her down that slippery slope, Robin pulls her into a hug, cradling her head against his shoulder.
She turns into his neck, breathing him in, and doesn't speak, until, "Sometimes, it feels as though I've known you my whole life." She pulls back, sneaks a hand between them to cup his haw in her palm. "It's like my soul was meant to find yours." Her cheeks turn a shade of red that has nothing to do with the cold, and she looks down to his chest. "It sounds silly, I know."
Tilting her head up with a finger, he shakes his head. "It's not silly at all."
Watery eyes look up to him and she nods, leaning in to thank him with a kiss. "I'll see you tomorrow?" she asks when she pulls back.
"Of course," he says, pecking her lips one more time. "I wouldn't miss our anniversary for the world."
::
On the morning of Christmas Eve, an important tradition is observed in the Mills household. Henry barges into Regina's room as soon as he's up, wearing his favourite Christmas sweater, forest green with a row of red firs on a white background spanning across his chest, just above a row of white deer, and tri-colour triangles lined up at the bottom. It's worn out and patched together in places, but Regina has a matching one (so did Daniel, when he was still alive), and the thought of buying new ones has never even crossed her mind.
As Henry reaches for the sweater she left out last night, Regina lies awake in bed, pretending to sleep, listening to her son as he pads around her room. How he can believe her still asleep when he's making so much noise, she doesn't know, but she won't deny him the pleasure of believing he's woken her up.
She feels the mattress dip to her left, and then there's a finger poking at her arm and her son's voice filling the room. "Mom, wake up."
Faster than Henry expects it, Regina turns around and wraps both arms around his waist, pulling him to her chest and covering his head with kisses. Her son yells in surprise and though he tries to pull away, he also laughs and laughs and laughs. The sound warms Regina's heart as she slowly lets go of him, only to have him snuggle closer to her, his head pillowed next to hers.
She brings up the duvet around him, cocooning them both in a mountain of blankets, Christmas and love, and they drift off to sleep again, content and happy.
When Regina opens her eyes again an hour later, she finds Henry's side of the bed empty. Swordfighting sounds can be heard in the distance and she rolls her eyes, mouth curving into a smile, as she pushes away the covers and pulls on the discarded Christmas sweater.
As she expected, Henry is in front of the TV when she ambles into the living room, frowning in concentration as his fingers move left and right, and up and down. "How's the fight?" she says, leaning against the door frame.
"Hard. They keep cornering me."
"Well, if anyone can do it, you can," she encourages and adds, "Don't squint so much, you'll get wrinkles."
His exasperated reply is very preteen-y. "Yes, mom."
Regina shakes her head and heads back towards the kitchen, turning on the coffee machine before she takes out flour, sugar, eggs and milk to make their usual Santa Claus-shaped pancakes. She mixes everything together, dollops a generous amount of the batter into a pan, and proceeds to make their traditional breakfast.
The day is so far a Christmas Eve like any other, but halfway through his third plate of pancakes, Henry looks up at her, with this inquisitive look on his face he gets when he's being serious, and asks, "Mom, are you happy?"
She almost chokes on her coffee, sets her mug down on the table and cants her head to look at him. "What kind of question is that?"
"Just answer the question."
She reaches across from her to grasp his arm affectionately. "I am happy," she states, but her words don't seem to reassure him. "Henry, what brought this on?"
Her son puts down his fork, though his eyes remain steadfastly set on his plate. "I made a wish…" he confesses with the ghost of a pout. "Last year, I made a wish for you to find love."
Regina's shoulders drop. "Oh, Henry."
"It didn't work."
He sounds upset, upset as though he is personally responsible for the failure that is her love life, and she won't have it. Her ten-year-old son is not to feel the least bit worried about her lack of significant other, especially on Christmas Eve, when there are other, much more pleasant things he could be thinking about.
As quickly as she can, Regina gets up from her chair and crouches by his side, gripping the legs of his chair to turn him towards her. They're not having this conversation while he stares at a half-finished plate of holiday pancakes.
She rests a hand on his knee, rubbing soothing spirals with her thumb. "Why did you make this wish?"
He shrugs. "I always get everything I want for Christmas. I wanted you to have something special too."
"Henry, I already have something really special."
He finally deigns to look at her, watery eyed and pouting. "What's that?"
The answer is so obvious to Regina, she doesn't understand why her son wouldn't know, but he's ten, and while brilliant for his age, he doesn't know what it's like to have a child, to raise someone and love them unconditionally. Regina smiles, hoping her expression will be enough to convince him there is nothing to doubt, ever. "I have you," she replies simply, and the upturn of her mouth never diminishes.
Henry's forehead wrinkles as he frowns, her words clearly not having the desired effect. "But how can the Christmas magic you always go on about be real if it can't give me one wish?!" He's angry. It seems he's taken upon himself to right every wrong done to her, and while she admires his desire to make sure she doesn't spend the rest of her life alone, they have to make some things clear.
She wasn't lucky growing up, didn't have a loving family like the one she's (sometimes desperately) tried to give him, but she's not unhappy, not in the least.
"Henry, I do not need anyone but you in my life," she assures.
He sniffles. "You're only saying that to make me feel better." If there was any doubt that this young man was hers, there are none now; he's inherited her stubbornness.
"Maybe I am," she concedes, "but that's my prerogative as your mother. And even if that's true – I'm not saying it is – it still wouldn't make it any less true."
A few tears have spilled on his cheeks, but the leaking has stopped now, and he's looking at her with this wishful look on his face. "I just want you to be happy."
"I am," she says confidently, willing him to believe her because she is. She's got an amazing son who makes her prouder every day, and while her heart may be confused as to what it feels regarding a certain man with dimples that has invaded her dreams for the past year, she is happier than she's ever been.
Thinking of Robin sprouts an idea in her mind, and she asks Henry, "When did you make your wish?" musing out loud.
"Last Christmas," he answers. "Why?"
"Nothing. Just…" She thinks of Robin, of their nightly conversations, and how their beginning strangely coincides with her son's story. The correlation feels like a stretch. She's not one to believe in such things as fate; she'd stopped a long time ago, but maybe, just maybe, that would be enough for him. He's looking at her with curiosity, waiting for her to speak and she decides a half-truth never hurt anyone. In fact, I'll probably cheer him up. "I'm just thinking…" she starts, humming as she reflects on the best way to present this. "Sometimes, our wishes don't play out the way we think they will." Henry raises his eyebrow in a way that is most definitely her and she laughs. "I have met someone," he perks up immediately, "but it will never happen." He slouches back against his chair. "But he makes me happy, just like you make me happy. And I didn't know, but I think I may have met him because of you. Because of your wish."
He looks at her expectantly. "Really?"
"Really." She nods.
"But wait—why can't you be together?" The loophole in her story. Of course, her son had to point that out.
She goes with her traditional answers when it comes to matters of the heart. "I feel that's something you may be too—"
"Too young to understand?" he finishes for her with a slightly crossed look, but a knowing smile – his first smile since this conversation started, and Regina knows then and there that he'll be fine.
She returns his smile and answers, "Yes," which has him rolling his eyes and reaching for his fork, giving up without even trying to make her change her mind because he knows he won't succeed.
The rest of the day rolls by with no other interruption. Last minute Christmas preparations are a success, everything is ready for the next day, and they spend their evening binge-watching holiday movies while stuffing themselves on popcorn and donuts.
She lets him stay up a little longer than usual, until his eyes are drooping from staring at the TV for too long. She calls bedtime, then, and escorts him up to his room, where he falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.
::
Robin comes home late on Christmas Eve, pulling a sleeping Roland out of the car and carrying him to his bed, careful not to jostle him. He remains out like a light all the way up to their apartment and Robin is extremely happy he'd thought to bring his boy's pyjamas with him to the party because he would have hated waking him up to change him out of his clothes. He cocoons him under the blankets of his bed and kisses his temple before retiring for the night, too, ready to spend the second part of the evening in the company of the great woman he's come to care deeply for.
This special night finds them standing in her living room, champagne on the coffee table along with fresh fruit, cheese and crackers. She's standing in front of him in a tantalizing sleeveless red dress that hugs her every curve and it takes every ounce of resolve he possesses not to divest her of it right then and there.
"You look stunning," he says, somehow out of breath. From behind his back, he springs a single red rose and offers it to her, the flush on her cheeks nearly immediate.
She recovers, and walks forward, eyeing him from head to toe. He's wearing a dark grey suit and a white shirt, top button undone. "You don't look bad yourself," she says, her hand brushing his as she plucks the rose from his grip.
His skin burns on contact and it only takes one look at the champagne glasses then back to each other to decide the food can wait. The rose lands on the sofa behind her as they reach for each other with the fervency of fairy tale characters that'll see their illusion shattered at midnight. They stumble upstairs, lip locked and desperate, leaving a trail of clothing behind them because it's not like they'll have to worry about cleaning up in the morning. Their clock strikes at sunrise.
They rediscover each other inch by inch. He worships every sensitive spot of her skin with his fingers and lips, delighting himself with the sounds that come out of her mouth. She's not one for foul language; in fact, he doesn't think he's ever heard her swear outside of her bed, but he smiles with pride as she curses him, knowing no other man makes her feel that way. She'd told him so, not too long ago, and he's seen no reason not to believe her. She's the only one he ever thinks of in that manner and if it wasn't for this being a dream, he knows they'd be together, sharing the life they'd both lived alone for too long.
Regina curls into him in the aftermath of passion, her arm draped around his waist, her head pillowed on his shoulder, tucked underneath his chin. Her body is warm against his side, sweat-slicked, but there is no place on Earth he'd rather be. He pulls her even closer, dropping a kiss to the top of her head.
"I stopped believing in magic a long time ago," she whispers suddenly and he figures she has something on her mind she's trying to process. She speaks in riddles at times, his Regina – he's come to find it adorable, the way her brain jumps from one subject to the other – and this is merely a new puzzle he'll have to figure out piece by piece.
As Robin doesn't know what brought this on, he treads carefully, making sure to speak in a low, soothing voice. "What do you mean?"
"Henry made a wish last year." Her breath raises goosebumps on his skin as she speaks. "He wanted me to find love."
"And was his wish granted?"
Her head retreats from its place by his shoulder, and she gazes up a him, a loving look in her eyes he never tires to see. Hand lifting from his comfortable place at his waist, she cups his cheek. "You know it was."
He kisses her, powerless to resist the urge when she looks at him with those eyes. He drops his mouth to hers, nudging her nose, bussing her lips gently.
Her chuckle is bittersweet when he releases her. "But I doubt this is what he had in mind."
"Probably not," he agrees, a longing to his voice that mirrors the wistfulness of her sigh.
"Daniel, my first love – Henry's father – he…" She chokes on her words; he squeezes her hip. With a grateful look on her face, she tries again. "Daniel – he… He died at Christmas."
He'd known she lost someone. The subject of Henry's father had come up a few times over the last year, but she's always been loose on the details, never quite telling him the whole story. He could fill in some of the blanks, having lost someone himself, but he can't imagine what it must be like to learn such news during a season where all you hear about is cheer and happiness.
"And that's why you don't think this season is magical?" he asks softly.
She nods, he nods back, and that's the end of the discussion. He knows better than to try and convince her otherwise. She won't listen. Instead, he tucks her against him and rubs a hand down her back.
"Happy one year anniversary," he whispers into her hair.
"Happy one year," she echoes.
::
They stay together, his front pressed to her back, until the black curtain of the night retracts to let in the sun. Rays of sunshine peek through her blinds in the early morning, hitting her eyes and stirring her awake as she sighs and rolls over to face the empty side of her bed.
Her hand finds the pillow where his head had been just a few seconds ago – where it would be if they'd actually spent the night together. Her palm presses against the softness of the sheets, looking for the warm imprint of another body, finding nothing but coolness as her skin makes contact with the sheets.
Christmas morning greets her like every other morning after a visit from Robin, with a longing for things she can't have.
As impossible as his existence is, as crazy as it makes her sound, there is no one else who makes her feel quite like the man she met in her dreams a year ago today.
Whether or not a year of shared nights – and afternoons, as he sometimes works when she usually sleeps – makes for a relationship, she doesn't know, but Robin knows more about her than anyone else she's ever dated in the real world. Their relationship might be an illusion, but the feelings she harbors for him are true.
The pessimistic side of her reminds her he's in her mind and would know everything she knows, thus making him perfect without any effort. She's talking to herself after all and not a real person. But there's a part of her, a teeny-tiny part that hasn't quite learned to let go of hope completely, whom wonders if maybe her dreams are not all they seem to be. They feel so real sometimes, like she's really experiencing those moments with him, and she can't shake the feeling that there's more to it than a regular erotic fantasy, as Emma had so bluntly put it.
She thinks back to Henry and the wish he made and ponders the thought of it being related – her meeting Robin having to do with her son's unwavering hope for her. She's not one to usually believe in such foolish things; losing Daniel had robbed her of her perfect teenage illusions and taught her nothing but grief in this ordinarily happy time, but sometimes, she likes to think – wishes – there's more to life than plain old boring routines.
Pushing the covers, she slips out of bed and meets her son downstairs, who is waiting for her by the Christmas tree, marvelling over the number of gifts Santa has brought him. There's no question period, no wondering how they got there. Suddenly, it's like he's seven years old again, believing in Christmas just like every other boy, and her heart swells at the thought. Perhaps, Robin was right. Maybe this isn't the last year for Christmas magic after all.
"Mom?" he interrupts his rummaging through gift to look up at her.
"Yes?"
"I made another wish last night."
Regina momentarily forgets how to breathe. She doesn't want to relive yesterday's conversation, especially not in the wake of leaving Robin in her dreams for yet another morning. "What– what did you wish for?" she inquires, trying to keep her tone light.
"For you to be able to be with the person you love." He beams at her, as though the solution to her problem is as simple as that.
She shakes her head. "Henry…"
"Don't 'Henry' me," he says in a way that makes him sound like a young man rather than the ten years he's lived. "I don't know what's keeping you apart, but I realized last night that if I stopped believing, then I was giving up." He stands up and crosses his arm. "And I don't want to give up."
Regina walks up to him, bending forward to look him in the eyes. "I don't want you to be disappointed if nothing happens."
"I won't. I swear."
She cocks her head to the side. "Don't swear."
"I won't," he repeats as if she hasn't said anything, but foregoing the swearing, and then he turns around, focusing his attention back on the tree as though he hasn't left her with a bag of mixed emotions she doesn't know how to handle. And just when she thinks she's got it, he adds, "I won't because it will happen. I know it," without hesitation.
She doesn't have the heart to argue with him.
::
"Daddy, hurry up!" Roland says, pulling on his hand with all the force his five-year-old muscles grant him. He weaves through the crowd with no concept of height and width. If he finds an opening between two people, whether Robin can follow without excusing himself at least three times to everyone he's bumping into or not, he takes it, leaving his father no choice but to scramble after him.
Robin doesn't know why he agreed to come here. The Plaza is so filled with people he can barely see where they're going: locals with their loved ones and families, crazy enough to come here on this day – he's one of those – and tourists with their too big cameras, taking shots at every possible angle to capture the perfect one. None of them are stopping Roland, however, who navigates towards the tree as though he knows exactly where he's going – he doesn't. Robin has to coax him back in the right direction more than once.
He'd been mopey this morning when he woke up, more than usual after being forced to leave Regina to the confines of his dreams, so when his son had asked to see the tree, Robin had seen no other choice but to agree. He'd naively thought a bit of fresh air would do him good, but there is no air to be found here, surrounded by so many people he feels claustrophobic.
At least, Roland seems happy.
"Henry!"
Stopping dead in his tracks at the sound of her voice, Robin holds on firmly to Roland's hand to make sure the boy doesn't get lost in the crowd. His eyes dart around frantically, gaze shifting from one unknown face to the other, as he tries to control the rapid crescendo of his heart. It thumps so loudly against his ribcage he can hear it, but when a few moments pass and he doesn't see her, he's afraid he's daydreamt it. It wouldn't be the first time. But he was so sure this–
He stumbles back when a young lad runs into him, apologies spilling from his mouth, polite, despite the fact that he was not looking where he was going.
"It's quite all right," Robin says, making sure Roland's all right before looking up at the man responsible.
"Henry Daniel Mills, when I tell you to stop, you stop."
Robin's eyes leave the boy's as soon as she enters his vision, black peacoat and plaid red scarf, the same she'd been wearing on their last date. While he believes in coincidences, this one is a little too out of this world.
"I'm sorry, sir. He's normally better behaved. Is there a–"
That's new.
His Regina has never been speechless, but there's no doubt in his mind when he sees that jaw hanging wide open, lips as red as her scarf, and those brown eyes he'd never thought he'd see in person, staring back at him with the same shock and bewilderment he currently feels.
It's her.
And Henry – he looks at her son, not quite like he'd pictured him, but so very right. She'd called him Henry Daniel – his father's name.
It's her. It has to be her.
Can he be sure it's her, though? From the face she's making, it seems likely, but asking someone you just met whether or not you've been having dreams together sounds a little risky and not the best way to start a conversation.
"Have we met before?" She speaks first. Of course, she does. She's always had a good head on her shoulders; she would be the one to first recover from the bombshell that is this revelation.
Confidence blooms in his chest and outgrows the feeling of surprise he hadn't been able to shake. He smirks, can't help it, because she has to be it. She has to.
"I doubt I'd ever forget meeting you," he flirts with a tilt of his head, teeth digging into his bottom lip.
The pink that colours her cheeks at his words pleases him greatly, and so does the smile she tries to contain for the sake of the boy standing next to her and looking from one adult to the other with a perplexed brow arched upward. He's just like his mother.
Roland's tug on his hand shifts his attention back to what they were doing before Regina made an appearance and he bends down, picking up the boy in his arms.
"I don't think we've ever been properly introduced." He shifts Roland to his left side, freeing his right hand and extending it to her. "Robin," he says with a charming smile. From the way her eyes light up at the name, he's not the only one feeling giddy about this. "And this little guy here is Roland."
She doesn't hesitate a second before taking his hand, another wave of relief washing over him when they finally touch. Their grip on each other is strong, as though they might slip and lose everything any second, but with every ticking of the clock, the fact that this is real, that it is her only sinks in more and more. Their hands fit perfectly together, a fact he already knew, but which he's glad to find is as true in the waking world as it is in their dreams.
"Regina," she replies, unable to contain her smile, "and this is Henry." She lets go of his hand to loop an arm around her son's back, bringing him closer.
Robin offers the young man a nod, ignoring the suspicious eyes Henry has riveted on him. Turning his head back to his mother, he gestures behind him to the huge Christmas tree in the middle of the Plaza. "We were about to go see the tree. Would you like to join us?" Then, with a look towards Henry, he adds, "If it's okay with you, of course."
He watches as Regina whispers something in Henry's ear, and the smile that graces her lips soon finds a twin in the grin that illuminates her son's face. "Really?!" he says, and Regina nods, leaving Robin to ponder what she's told him that has completely changed his mood.
Gone is the glare with which he was studying him, instead replaced by an expression nearly as delighted as his mother.
Regina turns to him. "It would be our pleasure."
Robin beams at her in return. "Coffee?"
She narrows her eyes at him. "As long as it's not decaf," she states with a warning glance, reminiscent of their many arguments on the subject, and Robin can't help it, he laughs. He laughs because the woman he thought was a dream is in front of him, flesh and bones, with the wonderful boy he's heard so much about standing next to her, and their first real conversation is the same old debate they've had countless times in their dreams on his preference for non-caffeinated drinks.
Happiness threatens to make his heart burst.
"As milady wishes," he replies with a smile, and they fall into step as they've done countless times before, this time with their boys standing with them, the way they always should have been.
::
On Christmas Day, while children wonder at the white flurries twirling from the sky, grown ups kiss under the mistletoe. Warm beverages are made, feet are covered in colourful socks and carols are sung off-pitch, as families and friends gather to celebrate and eat large amounts of food.
Wonderful memories have been made this season, moments of laughter and happiness beyond measure, which will be used to fight the gloom of the harsher months to come. Blossoming romance has warmed the lonely-hearted, finding them in unexpected places, and while the future is uncertain, the approaching New Year is full of possibilities.
No one can be stopped, lest they stop themselves, for when people believe in just the possibility of magic, dreams really do come true.
Based on a prompt by rcgalbeliever on Tumblr: "strangers in the waking world, regina and robin meet and establish a relationship through dreams." Thanks to lille-grey for being an awesome friend and beta.
Story written for the 2016 OQ Advent Calendar. View more gifts at onceuponanadvent com.