A/N: I'm sad about Robin's death so I may have made this less heartbreaking than originally intended. Lotsa hope in this part of the story.
Also, think of the Blanchards as the Kennedys. A slimier, more corrupt version of the Kennedys.
Rest assured there's a whole lot of backstory that hasn't been told yet and won't come out for awhile, because as frustrating as it is, no way could Regina trust him with that story very easily.
Robin spent the last few hours of his life feeling as if he were living in a Grisham novel. At least he hoped it was a Grisham – couldn't bear to think of this story developing into the likes of Koontz or a Patterson.
From the moment Regina took that phone call he felt the nervous tension surrounding him. He fed off Regina's energy – knowing the stakes were high, the danger real…but not knowing anything of why.
The only thing he did know was Regina was too keyed up and absorbed in saving her son from whatever fate she had imagined to have time to answer questions.
So he kept the many questions, piling ever higher in his mind, at bay, focusing on getting to this moment exactly - when the threat had temporarily dissipated. He kept his mouth shut, though questions and offers dared to seep out. Something inside him screamed that she needed this, that she needed his support, no questions or comments.
So he had waited for the storm to settle, at least the immediate threat to go away. When she seemed safe from whatever big bad danger there was outside.
Now he was overwhelmed with a desire to help her, to work through this, to hatch a plan, find a solution. Why did he have this belief he could help? She was a capable woman, of that he had no doubt. Smart, bold, audacious…in short, certainly no one who needed a knight in shining armor to save her.
Part of it, he knew, was guilt. He knew she had to have a serious reason for escorting when he met her that night. Not that he would judge those who made their money that way, but Regina was intelligent, refined, well-educated, without signs of any drug habit, and he knew that night, just knew, there was a story there, a sad terrible tragedy that had landed her in that position beyond her control.
And he should have stopped himself, shouldn't have taken advantage, should have left her with the money that she so obviously needed, shouldn't have expected anything in return other than the meal and conversation and connection they shared. Should have done anything that night instead of giving into his lust and loneliness and he failed.
He failed and he used her and her services full well knowing it wasn't something she enjoyed, wasn't something she wanted, and god, may not even be her choice.
He had to know whether or not it was it her choice.
He still wasn't sure how escorting fit into this abusive ex-husband dilemma, but suddenly one thing made sense - the reason why she was afraid to involve the police in matters involving Leopold Blanchard. The Blanchards basically ran this city. He wasn't sure who Leopold was, but the name was certainly familiar. One of his relatives – maybe a brother? Was the chief of police. A Blanchard owned the city's entire baseball franchise. One of them - either a cousin, or a nephew, was currently the mayor.
The Blanchards were rich, powerful, political, and despite the whispers of scandal…beloved. Despite the rumors of the family being tied to organized crime, despite the prevalence of shotty coverups from all things from insider trading to drunk driving accidents to backroom deals and promises of political influence...despite all that, the people loved the Blanchards. They were great politicians, loved the spotlight, seemed to truly care about the individuals they represented.
But regardless of what his family was, what was it that Leopold Blanchard did? Robin couldn't remember. He did something, he-
"Leo was a congressman, for two terms. But now he's the CEO of Blanchard Publishing" Regina said, with a cough, answering the question that was on his lips. It was as if she read his mind.
"But it's more than that, his family – they also –"
"I know, I know who the Blanchards are, Regina, of course I do. I just didn't know they were this corrupt."
"You need to leave," was all she said, but she sounded scared and defeated, not angry and demanding of him. And it's good she's not demanding, because right now he'd rather cut off his own arm than leave her alone like this.
"I'm not going to…" He starts speaking emphatically until he notices how she tenses up at his declaration. He curses himself silently because of course, you don't steadfastly refuse to leave when a woman has been clearly dealing with men invading her space for far too long. He starts over again. "Just let me stay until I know you're safe and I know he's not coming back. Please."
He's surprised to see her nod slightly, and she walks towards the kitchen table. "Might as well pour some coffee in these" she said, pointing to the cups, and gives him a thin smile.
She starts the coffee pot and tells him she's going to check on Henry, that it'll just be a minute, and that she knows they need to talk.
Before she goes up the stairs to face her son she looks in the mirror in the hallway for a second, shakes herself a few times, smooths her hair into place, throws her shoulders back, her jaw up. It's an amazing transformation, almost as if she has morphed into a completely different person. Gone is the vulnerability from her eyes, the shivering and shaken woman he had seen minutes before, and in her place is a strong, confident, no-nonsense woman.
Not just a woman, a mother. And that mask, that transformation, he knows it's not for his benefit. It's for Henry's.
She's a mystery, Regina and it's not just her story – that's certainly a mystery he may never fully understand – it's her – how she acts, how she can be so strong, so resilient, yet have these moments of pure vulnerability he would swear (based on her reaction) that the rest of the world doesn't get to see – so why has he seen it? He's practically a stranger, and a man she doesn't like very much at this point, but he's seen this side of her still.
When she comes back downstairs she's not wearing that smile anymore, but the mask is still up, the air of self-assuredness thick around her.
"Henry's playing video games. His friend's mom is picking him up and taking him to practice and then dinner in a bit. He's okay. A bit shaken, but still wants to play baseball."
She sits down and lets out a whoosh of breath. "I'm sure you have a lot of questions and feel owed to an explanation."
He starts to say she owes her nothing, but she waves a hand in the air to stop him.
"First, I assure you that Gold has a strict policy of keeping personal affairs out of business. And if he did know any of this-"
"You don't have to worry about that" he tries to make his voice soothing, reassuring. But it comes out slightly panicked and defensive. He cringes when he sees her frown at his words. Another way he's failed her.
He starts again, his voice more even, pouring everything he feels into the words. "I promise, Regina. I'm not going to hurt you or use this information against you. I won't tell a soul. Please understand."
She nods, but still looks unsure. And then her head is in her hands, fingers rubbing at her temples. "This is going to sound...odd. Do you mind terribly if—you just stayed and we talked about something else for a bit? Some small talk would go a long way in making me feel normal."
He agrees immediately, and when she adds, I mean, you don't have to stay if you have to get back to something he shakes his head, assures her this is where he wants to be, and if talking about the weather would help at all, he'd gladly offer his conversational services. It's very nearly the least he could do.
So he shifts the conversation to the weather, which leads to a discussion of illnesses that almost gets too heavy, but before he knew better they were talking about vacations with their children, and suddenly there's light teasing about Regina's finicky packing rituals, and they get on so easily, the two of them, even with the heavy subjects they are ignoring looming over their heads.
He watches her mood lighten, little by little, as she falls into a banter with him, and god, it's a sight to see the oppressive weight of the day gradually falling off her shoulders as they make…well, not small talk. As they get to know each other better, talk about real things, and hopefully, enjoy each other's company (he enjoys hers).
When he tells her a story of Roland's first trip to the beach, he reenacts his son's reaction to the waves, and she laughs, it's an uncontrollable thing, the laugh, and it's loud and sweet and beautiful and he wishes she always looked as light and carefree as she does in that moment.
It's then that he silently curses himself for having ever hired her, and as much as it pains him, and for the first time he completely regrets that wonderful night he had with her.
Because it's very likely had he not hired her, he'd have gotten to know her better today. She'd trust him more, and perhaps he'd be sitting across from her, just like this, and maybe he'd be having these warm feelings over someone he could, at least, share a friendship with. If not something more.
He didn't know he had wanted that – thought he was done, the memories of his wife were enough, more than enough to last the rest of his lifetime. Still, in four years he had never felt a connection with anyone new. Only her.
And it was fitting, wasn't it, that this was the one person who was off-limits, because he had done it, he had hired her. She was out of reach, would never be able to respect him, or trust him, and it was his own damn fault.
OoOoOoOoOoO
When she asked him to stay, it was because she knew she had to talk to him about this. Make sure he was on the same page – he wasn't going to play hero and try to call the police. Wasn't going to mention it to anyone who would do the same – wasn't going to let Gold catch wind of their little after-work excursion.
She knew this meant she had to share a certain amount of what her life had become, but that wasn't a story she liked to share with anyone, really. Mal knew it, mostly because circumstances made it such that Mal couldn't help but find out, and Mal would never judge her.
Gold, he knew more than he let on. He told her he knew who her ex-husband was, so casually, with a raised eyebrow during her first week working with him. Told her she needed to make sure her homelife would not interfere with her job, or she'd be out.
At first, she spent so much time wondering why he had hired her at all, if he seemed so worried about her husband's influence tainting her work life. But she gave up on trying to figure Gold out. Afterall, he hired her for a decent job with decent pay in spite of the fact she was hated by a powerful political family. At a PR firm, of all places.
If she lost this job, she knew her ex-husband could make it hard for her to find a new one. The economy was already tough.
She needed this job, so she needed to make sure Robin never gave Gold a reason to fire her.
And so she'd practically do anything to keep Robin silent.
Maybe offering just a little of her backstory will be enough to guilt trip him into keeping the events of today quiet. If nothing else, he does look truly guilty for partaking in her services – and though he needn't (it's not his fault and he did nothing to make the evening unenjoyable on her end), perhaps she can use that guilt to her advantage.
She tries to start telling him the story but her throat catches. She's too raw, too emotionally keyed up at the thought of losing Henry, at the thought of Leo hurting her son…it's just, not a good time.
So she asks for the small talk, almost sure he'll refuse and demand to know what is going on instead. But he takes her up on it.
"Unusually sunny for this time of year, isn't it?"
She smirks, and the ridiculous nature of their position falls on her. They just had quite the day, and now here they are, not talking about it, or anything other than the fact the sun is out.
"To be quite honest I'm not normally a fan of sunshine." She admits, almost sure the conversation is going to take a dull, awkward tone. Who can carry a conversation about the weather that doesn't sound like shit?
"Undoubtedly because it rivals your sunny disposition" he says immediately with a smirk. and she bites her lip and smiles. The banter was unexpected.
"I get headaches," she explains, "Migraines. Not all the time, but…sometimes." He doesn't need to know it's when she's excessively stressed, because then he's going to realize she's due for one, though oddly she doesn't feel that dull tingle in the back of her head yet, so perhaps she's lucky.
"Ah" he says, nodding as if he understands. "Marian had them too. Awful things. Despite them, she wanted to go to the beach our first year with Roland so badly, even though…"
Regina's done the math. She knows that based on Roland's age, and the amount of time Marian's been gone, that Marian only had one year, only one summer, with her son. The memory can't be entirely pleasant, and she wants to reach out and grab his arm, squeeze it, tell him she knows about heartbreak, tell him she knows, except her son, her son never even got to meet his father.
The impulse to share, to open up, is new, and unexpected. But she still has her wits about her, and her resistance to following through with the impulse is strong.
"I hate packing for the beach," she says in response, a desperate attempt to lighten the mood. He laughs, and she launches into her routine for packing. He doesn't applaud her organization skills, or even compliment them. He teases her about it, asks if she's been checked for some sort of obsessive disorder. She likes it – likes how he doesn't kiss her ass, how he doesn't take her shit, how he doesn't pity her and tell her she's right just because he saw her vulnerable and shaking a moment ago.
The conversation flows so easily, so naturally, that she's able to relax slightly from the stress of the day, feels tension gradually slipping away under the calm silly banter they are exchanging.
He's cute. Not just his looks, but his attitude, the way he holds himself, those little expressions he makes…
He's a good man.
She's more convinced of that than ever.
Loves his family, and when he brought up Marian he still had that longing, wistful look, and she knew he was a loyal husband and man to her. That's when it hit her - the revelation that told her that her gut feeling wasn't wrong. He's a good man.
He just lost himself in grief and wasn't sure how to put the pieces of his life back together again. He throws in a I love her so much when reciting a memory of their beach trip, and she almost winces at how sweet he is, how devoted he was to her. There have been no serious relationships since Marian for him, and he still talks about her as if she were alive and they were currently still married.
That's how much respect he has for her and the love they shared (or share? Even from beyond the grave?). It's admirable, much more admirable than the despicable way she defiled Daniel and the love they shared. The memory floods over her, guilt consuming her in a heavy wave.
.:*:.
Daniel was dead.
It had all happened so fast, One day, he was alive and well, assuring her that she didn't need her parents, her family, his family, or anyone, that they would make it, that he would graduate with his masters and accept a lucrative job at Blanchard Publishing. He'd take care of them. He promised her that.
But the next moment she was being called into the hospital, an emergency contact. At the hospital there was a woman who clung to her who kept saying "this is the fiancee", as a dance of nurses and doctors introduced themselves, spouting out medical jargon in solemn tones, and the soft undercurrent of every conversation was clear – '"Your Daniel is going to die."
After a failed attempt to repair a collapsed, perforated lung, they came to speak, to tell her, crush her heart and soul at once.
He loved her. She had never felt love like that before. Certainly not from her mother, who had only weeks ago told her she was no longer welcome in her childhood home. Not from her father, who was too devoted to his wife, or too afraid of her - to express anything other than a unified stance with Cora.
So she never felt a sort of unconditional, true love. A selfless love. And that's what she had with Daniel, and why, oh why, did fate decide to give that to her for the first time, only to rip it from her just as quickly and cruelly?
Four days later she had showed up at Daniel's little office, a makeshift little thing in a dark hallway in the university's english department building. She remembers the students who would come and visit him during office hours, asking all sort of questions to which her Daniel always seemed to have the answer.
He loved all his classes, but T. Blanchard's Twentieth Century American Literature was his favorite, and he loved how people would react discovering they liked, truly enjoyed, the works of Irving or Vonnegut, or even Knowles.
Because literature, great literature, didn't have to be written in Old English. It didn't have to be stuffy. It could be relatable and modern and still be beautiful. That's what he wanted his students to know. He wanted them to appreciate what the modern minds have given us, so that we knew beauty wasn't dying in this world and that wonderful people were contributing great works every day.
He was certainly one of those wonderful people. And he had so much more to contribute to this world.
But he was gone, leaving Regina alone to clean out his office before his parents flew in, set on removing anything from the office his parents wouldn't want to see. One thing in particular.
She also needed to spend time in this office, where he spent his time, just feeling the memory of him, the faint smell of his aftershave still lingering in the room, reading glasses still on the desk, a spare jacket on the back of his chair, and god, he was everywhere in the room, and his presence both comforted her and overwhelmed her. Before she knew it she was sitting on the floor wearing his jacket reading over comments he had left on papers he had graded, and sobbing, for some reason. Every helpful suggestion, every criticism, even the simple "SEE ME" on a particularly awful paper was read in Daniel's voice, as she pictured his expressions as he wrote every note.
Daniel had a plan for his life, and would have done so much good for this world. Nothing in life made sense, not when fate had ripped him from her, taken him from a world that could have used a good man like him.
While the drunk driver who hit him walked away without one broken bone.
She was crying tears on term papers when he entered the room, his footsteps heavy and quick, the room shaking with the force of his walk.
A stern voice called out "Excuse me, how did you get in here? No one is supposed to be in the building at this hour—oh!"
His voice started off authoritative and angry, and ended in what sounded like pure surprise.
Regina looked up from the paper she was reading. She recognized him immediately. Daniel's boss. An adjunct professor who mostly left the teaching (and grading) up to Daniel.
"Professor Blanchard, I'm so sorry, It's just –"
"Are you Regina?" His voice was soft, his eyes, so kind.
She nodded her head before letting out a sob.
"Oh my dear sweet girl, I am so so sorry for your loss. Daniel had told me so much about you…"
"He did?" Daniel had never told her how much he shared with his boss. She knew the professor had taken a shine to Daniel, knew that he his job at Blanchard publishing had an awful lot to do with the glowing recommendation from the CEO's nephew himself….but he had never shared the fact they spoke about personal topics.
Regina stood up at that moment, shaky, feeling as if she might tip over, still overwhelmed from grief. Her hand flew protectively to her stomach.
"He told me," he said lightly, "About everything. About the baby. And about the fact there's no family support."
Her eyes grew wide. To this day, she would never know why Daniel had shared this with him.
"He was a good man," Leo pressed. "One of the best. And my dear, I want to help you. I want to help you both. It's what he would have wanted."
She shook her head, refusing his help, wondering what he could do, anyway, but he didn't relent on his seemingly selfless offer.
"Please, my dear. Let me help."
She was a naïve, heartbroken fool who still had hope and faith that men were good and motives pure. So she stayed and listened. It was the first choice in many choices that sealed her current fate.
.:*:.
Her thoughts are interrupted when a loud horn honks outside. It's Henry's ride, his friend Sam's mom is driving them to and from practice, has offered to take them to pizza afterwards. She excuses herself, and gives Henry money for dinner, and sends him off.
Henry whispers Are you sure you're okay? into her chest as he hugs her, and it almost kills her.
He's too young to be asking that of his mother.
"I'm fine baby, everything's fine."
"I'm not a baby anymore!" he responds, angrily, his head held high, chin jutting out, posture suddenly stiff, as if willing his body to grow taller in protest at the term. He doesn't like that word, especially these days, but he's never going to stop being her baby. But it kills her that he thinks he suddenly has to be her protector. So maybe she should appease him.
"I know, sweetheart. I know." He stares at her, and she realized he asked her a question. "I'm fine, I'm going to be just fine. "
Henry nods and runs out the door to catch his ride.
A pang of guilt hits her as she watches him climb into the back seat, safe and sound. She's not the only one with a son, afterall. And she's kept Robin quite long. He probably needs to pick Roland up from daycare.
"Robin, do you need to get back to your son?" it comes off a bit sheepish, she's embarrassed she hadn't yet considered that. But he's shaking his head, explaining a friend has already got him for the night, and that he's free – that he wants to be here.
She tells him he should go and see him but Robin won't hear it, says he would rather stay here awhile, if it's okay with her. And it is. She still needs to talk to him.
"Are you okay?" he finally asks, and when she says yes automatically, he looks her in the eyes and says, "Truly, though?"
Something in her head makes her answer honestly. She shakes her head no in resignation. "I will be, though" she offers, as an afterthought. When he looks back at her with pleading eyes she groans.
This is it. They need to talk now. She takes a deep breath. "I know I owe you an explanation for what must be an incredibly confusing night. But it's much more complicated than you think."
He looks doubtful. Shrugs in response, then offers her a look asking her to carry on with the story. Says so much with his eyes, his kind, focused eyes. He's not judging, not forcing her to tell her story. And still, she wants to tell it. So here it goes.
OoOoOoOoOoOoO
He sees her body tense, her hand grasping tightly around the long-empty coffee mug on the table. He knows what she's about to share is difficult to her. He should tell her she has no obligation to tell him. Should, but won't. Because he truly wants to know. If there's something he can do…he should…
She stutters into an explanation quickly, a deep breath before she launches into a monologue, looking down at the table the whole time.
"I left him when Henry was three. He was…he could see things I didn't want to at that age, it just—I just didn't want him witness to anything he could remember. So I left him. He vowed to make my life a living hell if I ever left him." She smiles bitterly, still not meeting his eyes. "He didn't lie about that." She paused, and took a deep breath in.
"Sometimes people ask me how I can do…what I do. But I'd gladly sell myself on a street corner for loose change if it meant I could take back a day of that marriage." She shivered. "I've never felt cheaper, more used, more disposable, in all my life."
The words crush him, and he gives her that look, the look she's repeatedly asked him not to give her, the apologetic look she thinks is a look of pity. She shoots him a don't you dare look and his face turns sheepish.
"Have you ever tried the police?" He asks, pushing aside the need to offer words of comfort, or to tell her how much he already admires her.
There's a pause, a beat where he thinks she might tell him the whole story and then she just adds "Yes, I've tried calling the police. It's backfired. I'll get hauled in for false reports, or they will say they smell alcohol on my breath and write up a report about me being intoxicated in public."
"You have custody, thank god" he can't help but saying, because that's the most curious of parts. Is it because he's not Henry's father?
"Originally we had shared custody. He doesn't care for Henry, but it was something he could take from me, so he took it."
"Did he…adopt, Henry?" He knows he's on shaky ground, but it's curious, how a man who isn't Henry's father would feel entitled to custody with him.
"Oh god, that was a mistake. I was just so upset I..." She's rubbing either side of her temples, as if to lull herself out of a bad memory. "I shouldn't have told you that he's not Henry's father. He is, at least on paper. But he's not…I mean, biologically, he's not. No one is supposed to know that, though. If you tell people I'll deny it. And in terms of being a father figure, a loving, supportive father, well, he's not that either. But those are not reasons he lost custody. He lost custody because he has a temper. And something happened that other people saw and reported. And it was on a security camera."
He wants to push and ask more, when she looks at him, his questions must show all over his face because she adds "That's really all I want to say about that. The point is, that with all that evidence, he didn't get custody. And he's been trying to get it back ever since, but I keep getting lucky. So far."
"I can be a witness," he offers, "to what happened today. He was trespassing." Robin grabs her hand from across the table before thinking better of it. She doesn't pull away, but her hand stays stiff in his, "He was trying to break into your house" he says, staring into her eyes, "he was threatening you. I saw it all."
"You won't get involved in this." Regina says firmly. "I made a bad choice years ago, and I am paying for it. I pay for my own mistakes. No one else pays for me."
He's angry, more angry than he should be, because he knows she's rational and strong, should know better than to blame herself or thinks she's owed this situation due to any amount of karma.
"I don't know what mistake you've made, but you can't actually believe you deserve to pay for it like this!" From what little he can see, she's not one for self-loathing or self-torture, and he thinks he must get through to him.
"I made a terrible mistake." She reiterates, her hands crossed in front of her, her eyes looking down, avoiding his gaze. "You have a son. You don't need to get involved in this."
"But I already am," He presses, softly, and when she looks up at him she rolls her eyes a bit but stays silent, he presses, "I can't just leave you alone to deal with this."
"Why not?" she asked bluntly. "You barely know me."
She was right. He had no business feeling the way he did. And no explanation for why he felt the way he did. So he just shrugged.
"Because I know you well enough to know you're a good person," he said, "and to know that you've been through far too much."
"You don't know that I'm a good person" she presses, and she looks terribly guilty about something. She shouldn't.
"I do." He says again, "I'm a good judge of character, not to brag or anything, and I must say, and I have faith in my assessment in these things."
For a second he thinks he's touched her, got through to her, conveyed his feelings without sounding like a creep or a lovesick teenager. But then her walls are up again, posture rigid, face blank and expressionless.
"Gold is going to press you about me. And if you do care about me, you'll not tell him any of this. I was thinking we could say we…have a history. Maybe a one night stand. And that's why we didn't want to share the nature of our relationship in front of Ms. Bleu."
He's not sure what to say, clearly she only wants to save her professional career and has no interest in letting him in her life, so he mutters in return "Sure, whatever you need."
She sighs and rolls her eyes. "What I need is my job. I need to support my son, and I need to get out of this nightmare. And I need you to not be a part of it."
He can tell she's stressed, nervous, she's scratching her arms as if the conversation itself has given her hives, and he feels guilty over so much at once. He shouldn't ask her any more, it's clear he's making her uncomfortable, and yet he needs to know, needs to know exactly how much he has to attone for.
"Did he, does that man, does he make you…" he coughs, and she stares at him as if she has no idea where he's going with this and when did this become so hard? "Your, uh, second job" he starts, "Is that something he has made you—"
"No" she says, forcefully, "No, he doesn't know about that."
It shouldn't make him relieved, but he is, the thought of any of his money funding the man who just made such a strong woman look so scared (even if only for a second) has him disgusted, picturing her working for someone, offering herself for him and others against her will at the hands of a man like that…
"I don't know what he'd do if he ever found out." She said nervously, looking at her hands, almost talking to herself. "Wouldn't expose me, that would cause too much of a scandal, but he'd find some way to…" she looks at his face, and something she saw in him must stop his train of thought, so she stops. "Sorry, I'm rambling."
He tells her it's nothing, that nothing she could do or say is wrong right now, and she smiles faintly in return.
"I don't have any sort of drug habit, and no one is forcing me into prostitution" she says bluntly, if out of nowhere.
He nods, slowly.
She sighs, looks down, "I just, I thought you should know that, okay?"
"I know you're not ready to tell me" he says slowly, "And I have no right to ask. But still…"
"I know" she interrupts, "You want to know why I'm doing all that. But I really can't tell you."
He sighs, and looks at her, another moment he knows she doesn't let people see often – a vulnerable, uneasy moment. He wants to wrap her in his arms, but he can't. She wouldn't accept his touch, and definitely wouldn't accept his comfort.
He takes a breath in, observing her for a second. "You're shaking" he says softly, and then he sees her try to straighten herself, stop the shaking.
"It's cold in here." She offers the excuse weakly, as if she knows he won't believe it. She's right.
Because, among other reasons, it's not cold at all.
What could settle her a bit? His mind goes to his comfort techniques - food, for one, and they skipped lunch so that might be good. He could make her an omelette, order a pizza...there was TV. An old movie sometimes help...he wants to offer her something...
"I have a favor to ask you." His thougths interrupted by her slightly shaky voice. She doesn't meet his eyes when she says it, focuses on the mug that once held coffee in it, her fingers dancing and playing around it.
"Name it" he quickly replies.
"I um, need to get back to my car before Henry comes home. Do you think you could give me a ride?"
He happily accepts, with a teasing "Should we go back to my car the same way we came?" and she laughs nervously and says no, they can take a walk around the block to get to the car.
She runs upstairs to change into something more comfortable, and comes back in worn jeans and flats, a plaid button down shirt half buttoned to reveal a black tank top underneath. She got dressed hurriedly, her hair is a bit out of place from the fast pace of the change, but the outfit just works. She's effortlessly beautiful, and he wishes he weren't constantly being reminded of this.
As they walk to his car there a bit of a chill to the air, as the sun has gone down a bit, and when he sees her shiver a bit at the wind, his arm goes up to wrap around her before he stops himself.
He can't touch her like that anymore. Even if he wants to.
The walk reminds him of that night, the walk from the restaurant to the hotel, but things are different now, so different. Except the warm feelings he has for her, and let's face it, the attraction and desire for her, those are the same. Have only intensified.
But she's not being paid to pretend to be interested in him, so she's no longer leaning into his side as she walks, no longer wrapping her hands around his, threading her fingers with his. Things have changed now.
She….does she hate him? She has a right to, after all, he's literally treated her like a whore, and it doesn't matter that she held herself out to be one, he took her up on it, and it's fair she read into it and see him as someone who doesn't have the respect or appreciation for her as one should.
Still, she hasn't acted disgusted by him, has no trouble talking to him and meeting his eyes. She hasn't said anything hateful to him.
He wonders if she's tolerating him because she's scared to lose her job, placating him the best she can.
But then he thinks, no, the conversation they had when she requested small talk, it seemed too real. She might not like him much, but he thinks he's kept her from outright hating him.
Babysteps.
He opens the car door for her, and she smiles and says thank you sweetly. She looks almost shy now, like she's embarrassed herself (she hasn't). She bites her bottom lip, and it's adorable and ungodly sexy at the same time. He closes his eyes shut tight for a second while he wills his brain to cooperate and let go of those feelings, because now is NOT the time.
Not the time to think about how much he likes her, how much he would have liked to explore the attraction he has – not just to her physically, but to the chemistry he feels when he's around her. It's not to be. And not for the first time he wonders if he could have had this, if only he had a crisis of conscious a few weeks ago and resisted making that appointment.
"Is something wrong?" she asks, noticing his grimace. She's sat down in the car now and is looking up at him.
"Just remembering what an utter arse I am." He says, then quickly shuts the door. Turns away from her, doesn't want to see how she reacted to that. Why constantly remind her that he's the type of guy who frequents prostitutes? As if she doesn't have enough on her mind.
When he rounds the car to the driver's side he takes a deep breath and climbs in, determined to find something on the radio to distract them both from his word vomit. But before he's even turned the keys in the ignition she puts a hand on his upper arm. It's an unexpected touch, given how distant she's been the whole day, and it startles him completely.
"Hey" her voice comes out just above a whisper, "Look at me."
He turns to her, and he's sure he looks a mess. He's angry at himself for hiring her. Angry at himself for bringing it up. Angry that he can't make any of it right. But most of all, he's angry that instead of focusing completely on comforting or making his indiscretion up to her, a part of him is still remembering and replaying that night, still reminding him of how she felt and tasted and moved. And that part would not shut up.
She's rubbing his arm gently. It's supposed to be soothing, but it's not, and he hates himself for the not-so-innocent reaction he's having to her being so close. She really shouldn't rub his arm like that. Doesn't she know how long it's been since a woman touched him like that?
"You're a good man," she says her eyes directly staring into his. He rolls his eyes and lets out a puff of air. "I mean it. And, if you don't judge me for being an escort, I won't judge you for hiring me. " Her hand goes from his arm to his hand, the one still wrapped around the keys in the ignition. She takes her hand in his and squeezes it, "Do you think we can do that? "
He nods, takes a breath in. "I've never judged –"
She interrupts him before he can finish. "I know. But I'm not going to hold this against you. If I ever had before, I don't, not after everything that's happened today. Alright?"
He's grateful for the sincerity and conviction in her voice, and he nods, happy to believe she's ready to move on.
He's driving her back to her office and conversation has gone silent, instead they are listening to the music on the radio, and oddly, they have similar tastes, and that's another punch in the gut too, isn't it?
"Thank you." She finally says, "I'm sure you didn't expect your day to involve scaling fences and setting the table for a pretend tea party." She smiles bitterly.
He's conflicted. It's been an awful day for her – should be an awful day for him too, but somehow, the day hasn't been awful. He got to see her, to know her just a little bit better, and he felt alive.
"It's not what I expected," he settles on saying "But I must admit, I could use a little excitement every now and then. I miss it."
She laughs. "Miss it? You do this often?"
"Prior to working with Mulan, I had a much different job," he explains.
"What did you do before that? I don't think it came up that night."
He smiles, offers her a wink. "It didn't. The job was a bit silly. But I loved it, completely unrelated to what I went to school for but I had a natural talent for it. That's why I stayed with it even though the pay was shit. But then, Marian was pregnant, and it was time to move on…" He has her interest, he realizes, when he steals a glance from the road to her in the passenger seat. She's probably trying to guess already. He considers asking her to guess, but they aren't kids, they're too old for a guessing game.
"I was a private investigator."
She laughs at that, immediately saying sorry at the loud snort that comes out of her mouth, and he shakes his head, asks what?
"I'm picturing you in 1950s style detective gear and…"
"I was a very modern type of investigator. I had all the gadgets. Still, gadgets don't help with everything. You need to know how to do things like, quickly scale a six foot fence."
He smirks at her, and she smirks back, and good, she's reached a point where she can at least laugh about it.
He tells her about one of his cases, most of them were women hiring him to find evidence of spouses cheating, but there was one where the man was not cheating on the woman, he was sneaking off to dress as Diana Ross and sing in a club at night, and he was fabulous. He tells the story, earning a few laughs from Regina.
As he approaches the garage where her car is parked, she sighs deeply, and he can feel her eyes on him. He's already dreading a goodbye.
"Thank you again" she pauses, waits for him to meet her eyes. He's parked now, all set to drop her off by her car and leave her life for god knows how long. "Today was…tough. I'm not used to handling days like this with anyone else. Having you just to talk to about nonsense, it helped. More than you know."
He didn't realize how much he needed to feel useful until she said that, he's relieved and feels a bit lighter, at least he could do something for her.
"I am glad I could help in any way. And if you need anything else…I'm here. Truly, Regina."
Her hand is hovering on the handle of the car door, and then her expression changes.
"Shit, Robin," she draws her hand to her forehead, wincing, "We still have to work on that new client intake form. I should have used our time doing that instead of making you engage in small talk..."
"It's fine" Robin says quickly, desperate for another day with her, "Tell Gold I had an emergency come up and we had to cut the meeting short. We can make it up some other time?"
She nods, "I'll…check my schedule."
She is rooting around in her purse for something, then picks out a card holder. Opens it, hands him her card. "My direct dial and uh, professional email. We'll meet up sometime this week?"
He nods, unable to hide the broad smile on his face, because he gets to see her again. If only one more time. Better than nothing.
"Of course."
There's a moment where she just smiles back, looking into his eyes, and then she chuckles, shakes her head, and opens the car door.
"Goodnight, Robin."