He shouldn't be surprised when he walks through the door to find his four year old son asleep on the couch- alone.
Robin just sighs, throws his house keys down on the coffee table and spies a note propped up against a used mug. He doesn't need to read it, knows what it says already, something along the lines of: I'm sorry I couldn't watch him for the whole three hours. Something came up. I will next time, though. Ruby. So instead, Robin just picks up the piece of paper and scrunches it up into a ball, launching it into the trash where it lands clean in.
He plops down onto the leather couch and rakes his hand through his hair, his arm pulsing with ache from pouring pints and switching barrels. So he sighs once more, lets his arm drop onto the arm of the sofa and gives a glance at his son.
He should probably move him, this couch doesn't make the most comfortable of beds- Robin knows. Yet Robin is also loath to disturb Roland's sleep, and Robin's thankful for the peace.
He loves his son, more than anything in the world, would never let anything happen to him, no harm come to him, but as any parent does, Robin craves for that alone time, when his child goes to bed and he can just relax and unwind.
Those nights have been few and far between recently.
And there's the case of his aching arms. Roland's not particularly heavy to carry him but just the thought of lifting him up and carrying him (even if it is just a few steps across the hall) has his arms seemingly aching even more.
But still, does it come under some kind of neglect if Robin just leaves him here for the night? Not to mention the countless cupboards and drawers that don't have child locks on them simply because Robin ran out of them and haven't got around to buying more, and it won't be the first time Roland's been caught in cupboards he shouldn't be in. So, no, maybe leaving his son sleeping in the living room isn't the best suggestion.
So, with a grunt, Robin pushes himself off the couch and picks Roland up. The boy squirms slightly but doesn't wake (thank God) and, ignoring the screaming of his arms, Robin carries his son to his monkey-themed bedroom and places him down on his bed, covering him with the monkey-themed duvet before picking Monkey off the floor and tucking him in beside Roland.
He stays with his son for a few more minutes, makes sure that Roland doesn't unexpectedly wake up. When it seems enough time has passed, that Roland isn't likely to be suddenly alive and awake, Robin kisses his curls and leaves, making his way through the hall and back to the couch.
There's a ringing in the background, a vibration, and a tune. All going off. All pulling him out of his sleep.
Robin opens his eyes, still clouded from sleep, and blinks a few times, listens to the instant sound of what he theories is his phone ringing before he stretches, hears that familiar sound of his back clicking, and sits up, reaching over to grab his phone.
He doesn't remember what time he fell asleep, but judging by the nine missed calls and five messages left by one person, he guesses it's been a while.
Still, he wonders why John has left him so many messages. Half of the time, John doesn't have a phone, and the other half? Well, he barely uses it anyway.
Frowning, Robin presses the call back button, brings the phone to his ear and listens to the ringing noise, his lip between his teeth.
It takes two rings for John to answer. Two rings. It usually takes three calls.
"Where the hell have you been? Do you have any idea what's going on? Where's Roland? You need to get him out of here now. I'm on my way-"
"John?" Robin asks, getting no reply. He tries again, "John?" Still nothing.
Robin brings the phone away from his ear, his mind racing with the questions John asked him. Do you have any idea what's going on? As far as Robin was concerned nothing was going on, yet from how abrupt the call ended and the panic that was clearly heard in his friend's voice stated that there was indeed something going on that Robin wasn't aware of.
He places his phone down, his mind running with thoughts of what could be happening, one thought even going as far as theorising a terrorist attack.
Robin fishes for the TV remote, pulls it from its wedged place down the side of the couch and switches on the TV, getting, what it seems, is the next of a news report.
"...citizens have been advised to stay in their homes…"
Robin flicks through, finding the channel that replays missed news reports.
He jumps in his seat, unexpectedly as a bang is heard nearby and a swarm of police and ambulance cars race past the window.
What the hell is going on?
And he finds it. Finds the news channel, his heart in his throat as he listens to the man talking.
"There's been an outbreak. An infection leaked from the City General Hospital. Citizens are advised to stay in their homes."
Robin's eyes are glued to the TV. A man in the background telling them they need to move, need to get away from the area, before there's the bang from earlier, the gas station behind them erupts in flames, people going flying in all sorts of direction and the signal is lost.
What the hell is going on?
She's been on alert all evening, head shooting up at the slightest sound, eyes darting around for any sign of him.
It's seems your brain plays tricks on you when you something's missing. Every noise sounds like the door opening, every creak sounds like he's walking around upstairs but when she goes to check, all she's met with is the feeling of worry and disappointment.
She's gone more insane by the hour.
More filled with dread.
Henry.
Her little prince hasn't came home, hasn't came crashing through the door, hadn't run upstairs itching to play his video games. None of that had happened.
Instead she was met with silence. And a closed door.
At first she thought that maybe he'd stayed at school for an hour; sometimes he stayed behind for book club, it never had a set day- something that greatly irritated Regina. But that hour turned to two, then three, then four. Which brings her to now: 8 hours later and Regina's left worrying with a house that wants to play games.
He's ran away.
She realised that hours ago, didn't want to admit it. Her relationship with her son went downhill ever since his teacher slipped to him that he was adopted. Idiot! Regina could have swung for the woman once she found out, through tears and cries of you're not my real mom, that it was she who told him.
Regina had planned telling him when he was older, at an age where his mind wasn't as wild. Seems like this woman beat her to it.
That's why he'd ran away.
Along with the screams of, you're not my real mom there were also screams of, you never really loved me. You never could. Even then, even now Regina could laugh at the irony of it, how a little boy could think that a woman who abandoned him could love him more than she. It was completely ridiculous.
She was stuck in limbo. Unsure whether to stay here and wait for him (any moment he could walk through that door) or forget the 24 hour missing rule and go to the police station and demand they find her son…
She feels sick at this point; sick with worry, fear. Feels it all swirling around in her stomach. She wants nothing more than this nightmare to be over, nothing more than for Henry to come running through that door, aplogise for all he said, for running off…
Her body jumps when a bang sounds from somewhere near by. She stands up from her seat on the couch, the feeling of uncertainty beginning to form, heightened so when a blast of sirens and flashing lights fly past her window, headed in the direction of the gas station.
It's nothing, probably just a gas leak or something. They'll sort it out.
She sits back down, pushes down the new wave of uneasiness she feels. She's got bigger things to worry about, Henry for starters and focus' all her senses on the front door.
Though, she's still unable to shake the feeling that something is wrong.
