Robin hadn't expected Regina to be awake—awake and waiting—when he got home.

He'd fully expected to come home to a quiet and darkened house, to put his daughter down into her cozy bassinette after a long, emotionally taxing day, and then retire himself. He'd yearned for the warm comfort of their bed, expecting to slide in beside her and nuzzle against her, to breathe her in and hold her as he drifted to sleep. He expected that explanations of what happened that night—explaining the story from beginning to end and filling in the gaps of how the Evil Queen had ended up with his infant daughter, how she'd cared for the tiny girl, never meaning her any harm, and how vulnerable and lonely she'd been, and how he couldn't bring himself to leave her. And, he'd expected that with a night's rest behind them, they could discuss what happened with clear and rational heads, and he'd hoped with open hearts.

But what he'd expected hadn't been what happened…

When he got home that night, it was actually morning; and the darkness of the sky was beginning to fade away. When the door opened, a thin strip of light stretched out from the kitchen and his eyes narrowed as they adjusted to the light that grew brighter and brighter as he walked toward it. He took a breath as he entered the kitchen, setting his daughter's carrier on the counter as his eyes fell to Regina.

His chest clenched and his jaw tightened as his eyes fell to her, sitting at the counter and nursing a cup of tea that had likely cooled long ago. Her shoulders were slumped forward and there were tear tracks on her cheeks—and when she looked up at him, he could see that her eyes were red and swollen.

"It appears you have I have very different understandings of what it means to be home soon," she says in a voice that's quiet and flat. "I waited up. I wanted to see her, to see that she was okay, to hold and…" Shaking her head, she scoffs and looks back down at the cup of tea. "I didn't expect that you'd spend the whole night with her."

"I… I'm sorry," he tells her, fully aware that his apology is only partially true—he doesn't regret the spending the better part of the night holding the Evil Queen or allowing her cuddle his daughter; he doesn't regret kissing her or making her feel less alone in the world, and he most certainly doesn't regret loving her in spite of everything. But he does regret that those things hurt Regina—that they hurt her other half—and most of all, he regrets that they're even in this situation.

"Are you?" She asks as she turns to face him. "Are you sorry? What exactly is it that you're sorry about?" She blinks and he watches the way her shoulders square in defense, watching as her walls go up and she prepares for a fight—a fight they both know will have no winner. "Are you sorry that I spent the entire night worrying? Worrying about what she might do to you, what she might say… what she'd do to that precious little girl…" Her voice cracks as it trails off. "Worrying about my worst nightmare coming true?"

"Regina, I…"

"Did you think at all about me when you were with her?"

"This… isn't fair…"

"You're right," she tells him with a curt nod, her eyes hardening as they meet his. "It's not fair that you spend a night with her."

"I… didn't spend the night with her," he murmurs, somewhat caught off guard by the biting hurt behind her words and the defensiveness in his own. "You're making it sound like I'm having an affair or that…"

"Are you?"

"Regina!"

"Are you!?" She asks again, her voice louder and her eyes wider as her chin begins to tremble. "Is… that why you stayed?"

"I just… I couldn't leave her."

"Of course you couldn't."

"Regina, this is ridiculous."

"You didn't answer my question," she says, taking a short breath as her eyes press closed, her pain more than obvious. "Are you having an…"

"She's not someone else," he cuts in. "She's not some other woman. She's you. When I feel in love with you, I fell in love with all of you; and even though you separated yourself, even though you tore yourself in half, and even though everyone in your life seems to think this was a good thing for you, I will never be convinced that it was." He pauses for a moment, feeling his lungs deflate as he looks at her, feeling so helpless and lost, not knowing what to do or say. "I can't separate the two sides of you. When I look at her, I just see you."

Looking up, Regina nods. "Do you… prefer that side of me? Do you prefer me like that?"

"Regina, this… isn't fair."

"Well that I can agree with," she says, her voice suddenly hoarse. His heart aches as she reaches up and swipes her fingers over her eyes, pushing away the tears that began to well—and she when she looks back at him, all he wants to do is hold her and make it okay—but he knows that he can't, he knows this isn't something that he can fix. "When she told me that she was going sit back and watch us all tear each other apart I… I… never thought that… that this where it would start."

"Regina…"

"I know better than anyone how manipulative she can be. I should have seen this coming."

"Regina," he murmurs again as she slides off the stool at the counter. "Regina, please…" he says, reaching for her as she turns away, shaking her head as she sucks in a breath and struggles against her tears. "If you'd only…"

"Not now," she says as she walks past him. "I just… want to go to bed and… forget about this for a little while."

"Regina, we should talk out this. You can't just…"

"No," she says in a barely audible voice as she starts toward the stairs, leaving him standing there, alone and helpless, and overwrought with guilt; and he wishes, more than anything she could understand that every part of her was worth loving.