I still own nothing and Brittany still cleans up all my mistakes. Thanks to everyone for such a positive response to this story, I'm really enjoying writing it. Let me know how you like the direction and let's see where our faves end up, yeah? Happy reading!


Robin wakes to the endless pinging and vibrating of his phone where he abandoned it on the coffee table last night. He's laying on his front uncomfortably, fully clothed and feeling rough; that whiskey may have gone down smooth, but it sure as hell didn't linger that way. He pushes off the couch, a scratchy groan leaving his throat as every muscle and bone in his body argue with his decision to sit up right.

The whiskey bottle is on the floor just shy of the coffee table and just seeing it brings a wave of nausea. What started off as a few gulps from a bottle turned into a bit more than that and his poor body is reaping the consequences. He can't even remember what time he fell asleep, the whole night is a bit of a haze, and the blanket twisted and caught around his legs leaves him to believe that Regina must've given up trying to get him to Henry's room, or maybe she didn't even try.

The sun is shining brightly through the thin curtains behind his head, the heat baking the back of his neck. His phone pings again, and this time he stretches forward for it, not surprised that he's missed close to thirty texts and a few missed calls from Marian. He switches it to silent mode and flips the phone so the screen isn't visible.

Ignoring the aches in his body, he enters the kitchen and looks around. The clock on the wall reads close to noon, and there's no sign of Regina having been downstairs yet today. There's no smell of strong coffee in the air like there usually would be on a Saturday afternoon, all that's there is their plates still on the countertop, still dirty, and Regina's half eaten burger dropped on one; he tried to encourage her to eat more, but the truth is, even he found it difficult to swallow.

If she feels half as rough as he does, he figures he'll let her sleep in a bit more before checking on her upstairs. In the midst of clearing up the mess, however, a knock sounds from the front door. He stops and stands steady at the foot of the staircase by the front door, listening for any sign of Regina moving upstairs, but when the knock sounds again, Robin decides to answer it himself, and Marian was the last person he expected to see there.

Their surprise is mutual. "Robin…" she breathes softly, either surprised to see him there or relieved it wasn't actually Regina that came to the door. She's still in the same beige cardigan and jeans she was wearing last night and looks as if she slept as well as he did. "I didn't know you were here."

He and Regina had spent a fair amount of time last night drunkenly determining what they would say to Graham or Marian when they next saw them, but none of his rehearsed words seem to have stuck, and they stand face to face in an awkward bout of silence until Marian mutters, "I came to see Regina."

He scoffs in response, "I'd imagine she has seen enough of you recently, don't you think?"

"I came to apologise," she stresses, crossing her arms awkwardly across her chest, gripping her fingers in the wool of her cardigan; she does that when she's nervous. "I've been trying to apologise to you all morning, but you haven't been answering my calls."

"I was sleeping."

Barely, he thinks. The whiskey might have knocked him out, but it was a restless evening. He knows she's been texting and calling, but the thought of reading her messages made him feel nauseous on top of the hangover.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," she says softly, but he can't believe his ears, scoffs again almost immediately. "I should go," she takes a step back, muttering, "I shouldn't have come here," before making her way down the path towards her car.

There's one particular question on his mind though, one that probably isn't even that important in the grand scheme of things, but he calls it over the short distance between them anyway. "How long?"

Marian stops just shy of the sidewalk and turns back. "Does it matter?"

He guesses it doesn't matter. But still, curiosity is eating at him. "How long, Marian?" Her sigh is deep, one that makes her height drop almost an inch, and his stomach drops with it.

"Almost a year…"

For a second, he thinks he's hallucinated, shakes his head swiftly once as he attempts to process her answer. "Almost a year," he repeats solemnly, struggling now to keep his stewing frustration from becoming something more. He steps outside, closing the door quietly behind him and stands directly in front of Marian, and in a pained whisper, he asks, "You've been cheating on me for almost a year?" He's in shock. "I'd been steadying myself in case you'd been seeing him for a month or two, but a year?!"

Marian can't look him in the eye, instead she turns away with a tearful I'm sorry and begins to walk again, but he follows, against his will entirely it seems.

"Marian," he pleads sadly, and he reaches forward for her shoulder, something that twenty-four hours ago would have been completely normal, but it's not anymore, not even close. "God, Marian, why did you do this? Never mind the way you've ripped my heart out of my chest, but to sleep with your best friend's fiancé? She was your maid of honour. She held your hand when Roland was born. You have lunch with her and the boys every Sunday. How could you possibly look her in the eye every week while doing something so dishonourable behind her back? How could you come home to me like everything was fine?" He's rambling at this point. Whether it's residual whiskey effects or just his frustration is unclear, but it's a serious case of word vomit nonetheless.

"I made a mistake, Robin," she says, dropping her face into both hands with a sigh, only to look back at home with a shrug that is far too nonchalant for him, as if being caught was never something she considered to be on the horizon. "I made a mistake."

"It sounds like you've made a number of mistakes if this went on for almost a year," he bites back. The anger in his stomach has begun to bubble fiercely, and to avoid saying anything in the spur of the moment, he sighs heavily, only to take a deep, calming breath and steps back from the end of the path. He closes his eyes, finds his centre, and breathes.

"If you think you can come into this house and make everything okay over a cup of coffee, you're sorely mistaken. Coming here was the wrong move."

"I know that now," she mumbles, staring at the concrete slab beneath her feet. "I made a bad call… another bad call."

"Go home, Marian," he says, fighting with the lump that is growing in the back of his throat and against the sob that is so desperate to claw its way out. "Just… go home."

She nods and climbs into her car as Robin watches. And for whatever reason, his mind wanders to the car itself; who does it actually belong to? He's pretty sure it's in her name, so he's going to need another car to get to work.

Oh shit, work…

It's safe to say that waltzing into a shift with the man who screwed his wife and left his best friend heartbroken is definitely not something that's happening today. Luckily, David will understand, he's good like that. And Saturdays are usually quiet at the Sheriff's station, at least quiet enough to not merit three bodies in the building.

"Robin?" Marian calls over from her car, and she's fidgeting with the collar of her cardigan, nervous again. "Where's Roland?"

"He's with John."

"May I see him?"

Her question lays on him like a blanket of guilt. And he nods, of course, he does. "Absolutely. You're his mother," he affirms sincerely. He steps a little closer to their - her - car to avoid anyone overhearing him, creating the beginning of whatever rumour this town can conjure. "You may have shattered my heart and soul… but you are an excellent mother, and I will never keep you from seeing our son."

She mutters a sad thank you and nods politely as she rolls up her window and leaves the short length of Mifflin Street, leaving Robin hungover and alone with a future that looks rather bleak in his mind.

When he's back inside, he listens for any sign of Regina upstairs. He's assuming she's still in bed, and she has every right to be. Since the moment his eyes opened begrudgingly, he immediately wanted to turn away from the world and take a few deserved hours to wallow.

On his way upstairs, the third stair creaks and he stops, remembering how Regina spoke about it with such bitterness after her eighth or ninth swig of whiskey. He steps down again and listens to the scratchy screech one more time.

He'll fix it. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but there's not a chance in hell that he's going to let that sound be a constant reminder of yesterday.

The reminders are everywhere. When he gets to her bedroom door, he notices that it's wide open, and Regina isn't inside. The room is messy, like someone had thrown everything from the bed to the floor. And then it hits him that Regina probably hasn't set foot in here since she caught Marian and Graham together.

It makes sense. The comforter has been dropped hastily on the floor by the foot of the bed, the pillows are messed about the mattress, a bra that he recognises as Marian's by the dresser… it's a room in shambles.

He can't take a step inside, something about the feeling in his gut, so he turns away and notices that Henry's bedroom door is cracked open, which would be unusual on any day, but especially this morning as he's away. Robin's curiosity wins and he takes a peek inside and finds a still sleeping Regina curled up in the small bed.

She's still wearing what she had on last night, spooned up against one of Henry's pillows.

It's all still so surreal. He looks upon his best friend and his heart aches so agonisingly, the heaviness of Graham's betrayal weighing on his shoulders as he ponders aimlessly for ways to make her feel better. And then everything comes crashing down until he's rendered nauseous and wobbly at the knees when he realises that he's in the exact same position. That his wife and friend had spent so, so long sneaking around behind his back.

A year.

Regina will be even more crushed when she finds out that not only was she cheated on, but it went on for so long right under her nose. In her house, in her bedroom…

He leaves Regina to sleep a little longer and goes back to her bedroom, only this time he passes the doorframe and as if on a mission, he starts clearing up the mess.

He rips the covers from the pillows, sheds the sheets from the bed and comforter, and marches straight downstairs - the creaky third step cheering him on along the way - and bundles everything together in the washer. He could throw them out, questions if maybe that is what Regina would rather, but Henry gave her these sheets. They're soft and satiny, and a refreshingly gorgeous shade of light blue that Henry knew she absolutely adores. So, Robin pours in some detergent and turns on the washing machine to clean everything thoroughly and trusts that Regina will make the final decision later on.

Back upstairs, he starts piling things into a trash bag. Marian's bra is definitely the first garment in there, followed by a scattering of socks and a jacket, and when Robin feels like he's being watched from over his shoulder, he notices a very tired looking Regina Mills hovering with her arms crossed over the front of her, now very creased, shirt and sleep-tousled hair.

She doesn't say anything, walking passed him and picking up a freshly folded pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt from the confines of her dresser before disappearing into the bathroom. She looks exhausted - physically and emotionally - and if her hangover is anything like his, she's suffering.

She changes quickly, leaving her bathroom again not long after entering, only now she's stripped out of her work clothes from the day before and is in her relaxed outfit, even pulled her hair into a messy bun that is gathered loosley at the top of her head.

"I'm going back to bed," she croaks dejectedly, shuffling with heavy steps back out into the hallway. "You coming?"

At first, Robin isn't sure if her invite is sincere, especially when she turns back in the direction of Henry's room, but he follows nonetheless, leaving the black bag close to empty and open in the middle of the bedroom floor.

Regina's already crawled back into Henry's bed by the time he gets there, staring up at the ceiling dismally, and it's only when she scoots her body to the far right side of the small mattress and pats beside her that he dare step inside her bubble.

They lay side by side, arms and legs touching all the way down the middle.

"How did this happen?" Regina croaks finally, the first words she's said to him all day.

"I really don't know," he replies, staring at the same plain white ceiling that has somehow stolen the attention of them both.

"I keep replaying moments over in my head, trying to pinpoint where I messed up." Regina sighs next to him, twitching her fingers lightly until they brush against his and they link together.

"This is a fucking mess..." Robin gripes, tightening his squeeze on her hand, "...but you did nothing wrong. Everything is just…"

"A fucking mess," she repeats dimly before turning her head on the pillow to look at him. "I talked your ear off so much last night. Are you okay?"

Is he okay? That's the million dollar question. There are moments where he's distracted with other things, like cleaning up, where he thinks he could be okay, and the other moments are like being trampled on by the realisation that nothing will ever be what it was before.

"I haven't cried yet," he confesses, all while tears are building up in his eyes. He's not distracted anymore and everything starts piling on, one thing on top of another until it feels like his lungs are being crushed, and only seconds after his concerned confession, his head finally catches up to his heart and the stinging behind his eyes becomes too much.

A delayed sob rings through Henry's room. He pulls his hand away from Regina's to cover his face. He knows that they are quite literally both in the same sinking ship, but for whatever reason, he feels like adding any more stress onto Regina's already shitty situation is the worst thing he could do. Then he's muttering off a string of apologies between sobs and wiping his eyes.

Regina tucks herself against him, her head firmly against his chest and she wraps are arms around him tightly, lulling him through his suddenly explosive round of emotions, and he's still apologising, over and over. "You have enough to deal with," he weeps softly, but he's calming down with the help of Regina's very comforting hand rubbing up and down his arm.

"We have been tossed off this ledge together," she mumbles against his chest, her breath warming him through the cotton of his shirt. She looks at him with sad, gloomy eyes, resting her chin against his sternum. "We both need a parachute right now."

His sobs simmer down, almost as quickly as they came on, as he concentrates on the feeling of her warm hand against his skin. It's a constant movement that gives him something to focus on, something to distract him again.

"Mom?!" Henry's voice echoes from downstairs before there's the loud slamming shut of the front door.

Regina sits up quickly, throwing herself over Robin to stand upright, and she looks down with a sense of confusion that they equally share - Henry wasn't supposed to be home until tomorrow.

"Mom?!" Henry shouts again, climbing the stairs with stair number three indicating just how close he is.

Robin stands up and they both stare at Henry's bedroom door, just waiting. "What do I tell him?" Regina asks quietly, barely a whisper.

Wiping any lingering moisture from his face, Robin realises that this parachute agreement is dependent on them working together. He is her parachute and she is his, and right now, she needs that support, so he takes her hand as a promise that they are together in this.

"We tell him the truth."