Robin watches Roland eat breakfast, messy mouthful of egg after messy mouthful of egg rushing into the lad's mouth. Robin reaches for his coffee, sipping it without thought, it's the only thing he's having, he'd made Roland eggs and ham, but wasn't hungry, so he sits with his son and drinks his coffee and he smiles when Roland looks up, tries to smile at the boy.

"Papa," Roland says, speaking around a mouthful of food.

"Chew," Robin reminds him gently, checking the time on his phone as he does, they are on time today, Roland will get to daycare on time, he will.

Roland dutifully chews, exaggerated things that have his whole head bouncing before he swallows, "can we visit Miss Regina today?" he asks, so hopefully, with large earnest eyes.

Robin's heart lurches, or his throat, something inside him, it cramps up painfully; he almost sloshes his coffee before he plunks the ceramic down heavy on the wooden kitchen table.

"We have a busy day today, buddy," Robin tells him, voice purposefully light, "do you remember? We have to pick up a present for Julia after school and go to her party."

Roland's face splits into a grin, his gaze spins to the invitation they'd received in the mail, stuck to the fridge now, fancy stationary lost on the child that is just learning his alphabet. Roland starts bouncing in his seat, vibrating in his excitement, "She's turning five!" he tells Robin, "Papa she wants a pony and a Wii!"

The chuckle that escapes Robin surprises him, the wishes of Roland's little friend a little too absurd to even entertain, "Those sound like Mama and Papa presents," he tells Roland with eyebrows rising in good humor, lifting his mug again for a sip, tension leaving his seated body.

"What will we get her?" Roland asks before he shoves another bite into his mouth, chews and chews, heaving a great swallow. "We need to get her something really good, Papa, she's the nicest girl in the whole wide world."

Is the lad blushing? Robin's grin grows wider, is the boy experiencing his first crush?

"Ohh," Robin says, still grinning at his smitten son, before standing and placing his half empty mug in the sink, "We'll have to look very hard to get her something she'll like then."

And Roland speaks and speaks, little voice, so high and sweet and honestly the most beautiful thing Robin has ever heard just piping and piping about all the little things in Roland's life.

The topic of Miss Regina forgotten, at least until Robin is clipping Roland into his booster seat, the day is warm today, sweatshirts the only outer layer for both boy and father, the straps to the booster have been adjusted for the thickness of Roland's winter coat and without that extra layer the seat is decidedly unsafe, it's as Robin is tightening them that Roland speaks, Roland holds a figurine of Spiderman in one hand, Wonder Woman in the other, "When can we see Miss Regina?" Roland asks in that sweet voice, and Robin has to work hard not to flinch, his hands steady as finishes up with his boy's seat.

"I don't know, my boy," Robin answers, his throat suddenly dry. He does not know. A part of him wants to never see her again, and put her, and the complicated thoughts and feelings she inspires, in a far away box at the back of his mind, but he knows that is not reasonable, nor is it plausible, when she is well she will still walk to her tattoo parlor, will still walk in front of Robin's windows, will still put the flowers on display to shame as she walks past.

Another part, a larger part of Robin, wants the opportunity to gaze at her lovely face for as long as she'll let him, wants to know every part of her, wants to hear her fondest memories and her worst insecurities, wants to know her, it's thoughts like those that have his hands shake, guilt heavy on his back, it's times like those that he forces himself to recognize the fact that he does not know her, he tries to remind himself every time his meandering thoughts fall back to her, knows nothing but that she is beautiful and obviously heroic. He's built her up, he's tried to tell himself, spent last night tossing and turning as he tried to tell himself over and over that he's built her up into this wonderful person, put her on a pedestal. Whatever fleeting infatuation that has imbedded itself will pass, as it should, Robin tries so hard to think.

Roland grips Wonder Woman tighter in his still chubby fingers, bottom lip pouting as he makes the hero fly in front of him once his father's hands retreat, the buckles to the booster secure. "Maybe tomorrow?" Roland asks, big round eyes pleading, looking at Robin as he prepares to clap the door shut.

Robin would give near anything to Roland, near anything, but…not, it's a complicated mess, Robin can't- Archie's voice, filtering through his mind, 'it's perfectly natural to be interested in others', but Robin can't-

"Maybe," Robin allows, smiles, just the tips of his lips twitching upward, Robin doesn't know if it's a lie, but Roland kicks his feet in excitement, easily appeased, a happy, carefree child.

Robin's heart feels like lead, a heavy weight in his chest as he claps Roland's door shut, his imitation of a smile slipping from his countenance.

They buy Julia a little craft kit, something to make bracelets out of tiny colored rubber bands, choking hazard Robin's years as a father scream at him, but the box says 5+ and, as Roland was keen to remind him, Julia was turning five. Robin had still frowned at it dubiously in the toy store, holding the box with a raised brow, until Roland got vehement that it was the coolest thing they could possibly get her, and, sheepishly, he admitted that he wanted her to make him a bracelet.

Robin had laughed and finally nodded, "It'll do," he had told Roland, picking the boy up with one arm and heading to the registers where a very bored looking young woman was standing and staring into space. Robin looked down when he felt Roland pulling at his jacket, "Do you want to be the one to buy it?" he asked, knowing his boy well enough to know what he was preparing to ask, he did not wait for an affirmative before he juggled craft kit, boy, and wallet, handing two twenties, a little worse for the wear, into the little boy's hands.

"Thank you, Papa," Roland took the money, magically his to spend all of a sudden, held the bills tightly in his hand, and looked suffocating adorable and prideful through the whole checkout procedure.

Robin lays awake that night, Roland asleep and curled next to him, a nightmare driving the boy from his room and into the safety of his father's arms.

Robin sweeps a curl off Roland's forehead gently, smiling softly at the little boy with drool spilling from the corner of his mouth, all over his chin, and leaving wet splotches all over the dark pillowcase. Robin thinks of Marian. How can he not? With her little miniature laying before him , the little boy snoring softly, just like his mother had done. Robin thinks of that last three months spent with her, when they knew, both of them knew, that she was dying, no remission, no miracle cure. Nothing but debt and death.

"Will you tell Roland about me?" she'd asked, eyes on the television at the corner of the room, watching Judge Judy vacantly, her eyes wet, her thumb rubbing over his knuckles on the pale bedspread next to her, the very child they were speaking of curled on a cot under the window, sunlight dappling onto a fat cheek.

Robin had closed his eyes, distraught and near breaking, turning his own eyes away from the television, to look at her profile, at the planes and gentle beauty of her face, "Marian," he'd said, her name turned into a desperate pleading, for perhaps if they did not acknowledge it, it would not come to pass.

She was always better than him, his better half, better in all things, patient, kind, passionate, she turned to him with a smile, she'd looked at peace and in pain, agony, slowly losing her strength to the poison that never took away the cancer, and then finally losing herself to the sickness, but there was a weight off her shoulders, she had come to terms with it, her death, in those last three months. She was being robbed, of her life and her happiness, she had waited for him, stood by him and now she was being robbed, too young to die like this, she never thought of it that way, not once, but Robin seemed to be angry enough for both of them. "I want him to know things about me," she told Robin, turning, looking at the baby, her baby, her toddler, sleeping and beautiful.

Robin had started to cry, head tilting down, he choked back sobs, clutched her harder, "What things?" he'd asked her, barely holding it together in anyway, and even then it was crumbling swiftly.

"I want him to know I was the best Mom I knew how to be," she answered, and smiled, so different from her breathtaking full faced smile, it was a small smile she gave him, she was so, so tired, she smiled as Robin assured her she was the best mother any child could hope for, that she was perfect. Marian shook her head, covered in a wrap that hid the patchy remains of her dark curls, wispy now, and brittle, and sparse, she continued, "I want him to know I was a real person, Robin."

"Of course," Robin promised her, confused and so, so angry, not at her, but it was in his heart and in his head and she could see it, she spent so long trying to comfort him at the end, when it was him that should have comforted her.

"I was a terrible cook, I was late all the time," she laughed wetly, while he sobbed, hearing her speak of what she was, as if she was already gone, it had him scrunching his face in despair, pain thudding with every beat of blood through his heart, "and when I was furious I would spit everywhere and couldn't help it," she reached for his cheek then, cupped his face and tugged his forehead forward to reach hers, it must have been uncomfortable for her, muscles straining, weakening muscles, "don't make me into something I wasn't, please, Robin."

Robin finally falls asleep, memories plaguing him, despair heavy in his heart.

He misses her.

The red head, Zelena, an odd name for an odd woman as far as Robin is concerned, she parks her little emerald car across the street, like any other day, a perfect parallel parking job. Robin is not watching her, not really, he's far too focused on his Sudoku, sitting on a stool, leaning over the counter, studiously attempting to place a two somewhere in the puzzle, but he will admit that he is aware of when her car pulls in, of course he is, in a totally absent sort of acknowledgement. His shoulders tense as she crosses the street, she looks right, left, right, for any oncoming traffic, the exact opposite of how you're meant to look here in America. Sisters, he muses, finding a home for a seven as he does, jotting the number down softly, that accent of hers niggles at Robin's brain, and he wonders how exactly one sister came about with an English accent.

When the bells jangle Robin stiffens, head shooting up, pencil automatically dropped onto paper, a blast of cold air hits him, he looks up and stares, she's come into his shop.

"Good morning," she says, voice cool, blue eyes barely regarding the flowers, she strides towards the counter, drops her huge purse right on top of Robin's puzzle, forcing his hands to slide back as he stands.

"Good morning," he offers in return, tone nearly as arctic; he remembers the way she'd spoken to Roland, the way she had scared him, and she is being just plain rude now on top of it. "What can I do for you?" he asks her.

She may be in for some flowers, he thinks, for Regina, Regina deserves all the flowers in the world, deserves everything-

Zelena looks pissed off.

"Regina is being released from the hospital tomorrow," she says, without preamble, and Robin lets out a breath, some long held tension he wasn't completely aware of uncoiling from within him, she gets to go home, Robin promised Roland she would, she gets to go home.

"That's wonderful," Robin says, something anyone would say, surely, but the look on her face instantly has his eyes narrowing in question, "yes? She's well?"

Her lips tighten, she nods stiffly, Zelena continues, annoyance crinkling her nose, "Henry is insisting on throwing a surprise welcome home party," she says, the fight to keep from rolling her eyes evident even from where Robin stands, she digs about in her purse, half her arm lost to sight, until she pulls a folded piece of paper from its depths. "I wrote you directions, here, she'll arrive at six, I want everyone there by five thirty," she shoves the folded piece of lined paper across the counter at him, "park on the street, and don't be late."

Without waiting for any kind of affirmation, any sort of answer at all, though she didn't ask at any rate, she plucks up her purse and turns on her ridiculously tall booted heel, ginger hair swinging in her haste.

"ouuh," Robin replies dumbly to her back, holding the piece of paper between thumb and forefinger.

She turns right before she makes the door, hand resting against the knob, seconds from turning it, she looks back at him, "Bring the boy, please," she says, her jaw works, she looks down, face still pointed at him but she is not looking at him, she looks...very lovely with the sun shining from behind her, her hair an orange fiery glow around her face, remorse makes her softer somehow, "I'd like to apologize to him, and Regina would be glad to see him. Bring the whole family, if you want."

The boy is the whole family, Robin thinks, but does not have the time, or perhaps the inclination, to say. She is gone seconds later, bells jangling after her, she holds the door open for Granny, Granny who's huddled against the wind, a gesture that takes only a moment but once again forces Robin to rearrange his thoughts on the sour woman.

"Thank you," Granny throws Zelena, regarding her in curiosity.

Zelena only nods in response, let's the door go, walking away as it shuts with a small thud.

"Cold as shit," Granny grumbles, stomping her feet and pulling her scarf from around her neck. "What was she here for?" Granny hitches her thumb to the side, towards the tattoo parlor.

Roland is, of course, horribly excited.

Robin carries the boy around the shop after they close up, Granny clocked out and headed home to the granddaughter she speaks so fondly of, the register emptied into the safe, the door locked and bolted, the shades pulled, the sign flipped from 'open' to 'sorry, closed'.

It'll be bath time soon for the boy, and then bed time after story time.

"Which ones would Miss Regina like?" Robin queries, pointing out all the flowers, listing their names for the boy that nods as if he is retaining the botanical terms Robin is throwing out, Roland's eyes narrow, taking his role as flower chooser very seriously, he puckers his mouth in concentration, directing his father there across the shop, over there next, and then once more over there. He collects a hodgepodge of flowers, different colors, different sizes, it'll be a challenge to make pretty, but arranging isn't difficult for Robin, never had been and he congratulates Roland's choices, after every selection an encouraging word or nod given to the boy.

"We need one more kind," Robin deduces after looking over what they have already collected, "we need a very bright color, Roland." They need a very bright color to pull it all together, a very bright color to place right in the center of the very unique bouquet.

Roland deliberates between orange lilies and pink tulips, leaning forward and inspecting each carefully, eventually deciding on the former, he helps Robin find the most perfect of the bunch, and it's only after Robin promises to allow Roland to help him prepare the bouquet in the morning that Roland agrees to accompany Robin upstairs.

"Will she like the flowers?" Roland asks once he's in the bath, not old enough to wash his own hair, he sits calmly as Robin massages the suds of the two-n-one shampoo and conditioner through his tangled curls.

"Of course," Robin answers, reaching into the bathwater to retrieve the large plastic mug that had been floating along with Roland's toy tugboat and the plastic octopus that isn't quite meant to be a bathtoy, but somehow has sneaked in among them anyway. "Close your eyes," Robin bids, filling the mug and then dumping it in one practiced motion, it takes three mugfuls of water to cleanse all the suds from Roland's hair. "She'll love them, Roland," Robin smiles at his son, offering him the octopus once Roland's eyes open, poking Roland's exposed belly with one of the pointy tentacles, "because they're from you."

Roland squirms as he reaches for the toy, head sinking towards his shoulders, he titters out a high giggle, and accidently drops the octopus from the height he'd been lifting it to. It splashes into the water, drenches the front of Robin's shirt, but his sleeves were already wet anyway, and it wouldn't do to yell at the child for an accident, especially as Roland immediately says he is sorry.

"That's alright, my boy," Robin shakes his head, laughs and proceeds to initiate a splashing game that leaves half the water from the bath on the floor, the grout darkening between the tiles. It's not till Roland is particularly pruny that Robin pulls the plug from the drain, overriding Roland's wishes to stay in the cooling water.

Marian's roses. Today is Friday.

It's Roland that lays the bouquet on the ground before her grave, the child shivering and somber in the greyness of the despairing place, he'd forgotten his hat in the Jeep, even after Robin had reminded him to grab it.

"Hello, Marian," Robin says, crouching before the stone, fingers cold and wet where they rest against her name.

"Hello, Momma," the boy whispers after Robin.

Robin closes his eyes, holds in a sigh; he should not have done that, spoken to her like that while Roland was around to see.

It's a struggle for the boy to stand still, Robin knows that, as they stand silently for many minutes, Robin's thumb tracing the curve of her name, his thoughts are…strangely empty. He's thinking of when the crippling agony of Marian's absence became instead a bone deep ache, when did that happen?

"Papa," Roland tugs at Robin's coat with his mittened hand, "Is Momma here?" he whispers, he points with his other hand, at the dirt, at the gravestone, Marian Locksley etched into the stone.

Robin clears his throat, turns slightly on the balls of his feet, looks Roland in the eye, "No, my boy," he answers, "Momma is in heaven, with the angels."

Roland's eyes drift back to the dirt, confused eyes, large and dark and just like his mother's roving and trying to understand. He stares at the roses.

Is this what Marian would have wanted for Roland? Dragging him, unwilling and cold, to lay flowers before a stone? Robin knows the answer, knows it for a certainty, no, and she would not want Robin here either, every week with a bouquet, no, but just as he'd needed comfort from her when she was dying, so too does he need it now, this, here, her, what remains of her, her name etched into stone, it comforts him just as it makes him desperately sad.

Roland bounces from foot to foot, shivering in the darkening afternoon, he looks back up towards the Jeep longingly, "Papa, can we go? Can we go to the party now?"

"Yes," he tries to smile, stands with a hand held gently on Roland's shoulder, "we don't want to be late."

The directions lead them into the suburbs, twenty three minutes outside of the city; into a neighborhood that looks like each household has beautiful children, a well-trained dog, and two parents with lucrative incomes. It is five thirty exactly as Robin unclips Roland and helps him down.

They ring the bell, Robin takes a deep breath, uneasy on his feet as he holds Roland's hand and waits patiently, the sounds of a get together, of a party, are clear through the door. It only takes half a minute for the door to open, Zelena in jeans, heels, and a sweater, she stands away from the door immediately, "Come on in," she welcomes them , not warmly, but decidedly warmer than what is usual of her.

Right there in the hall, just as they enter, is a picture of Zelena in a wedding gown, strapless and white, in the photo she is smiling widely, eyes bright, and holding her in his arms is a man with brown hair and a smile just as large. It is a beautiful photo. Robin's gaze sweeps over the rest of the pictures arrayed on the cream colored walls, though there are few, and he quickly and quietly deduces that this must be Zelena's house.

Zelena clears her throat, gains Robin's attention. She looks from Robin to Roland, as if asking permission, Zelena waits for Robin to nod before she sinks down into a crouch, neatly folding herself down to Roland's height, easily balancing in her heels, a feat Robin finds himself amazed at, she's not too close, but close enough for Roland to feel the need to hug Robin's leg, not quite hiding his face against Robin's thigh.

"Roland," Zelena says, very seriously, but there's nerves playing in her eyes, she's uncertain, none of the mothering that was so apparent from Regina, even in the relatively brief encounters she'd had with Roland, is evident in Zelena's tone or posture, it's as if she's conducting a tiny business meeting with Roland, Robin hides a grin at the thought, hides the grin behind his hand, rubbing against his scruff as he does so. She clears her throat again, "I want to apologize for being mean to you. Did I hurt your feelings?"

Roland nods slowly, more of his face peeking out; Zelena nods and takes a deep breath. "Sweetheart," she says, making a face as she does so, evidently coming to the conclusion that the endearment that slips so easily out of Regina's mouth sounds silly coming from her own, "Roland," she says instead, head lowering, gazing intently with those blue, blue eyes at Roland, sincerity shining from them, they are the wrong color, their shape is not the same, but Robin is very suddenly reminded of Regina, and for the first time sees how much the pair of sisters look alike, "I was very, very scared, I love my sister very much and I was afraid because she was hurt badly, it wasn't fair to you to act that way. I'm sorry I hurt your feelings, please will you accept my apology?"

The boy's nod comes a little quicker, he steps away from Robin's leg, keeps a handhold on the brown corduroy but he bites his lip and offers a tentative smile, "I accept your apology," he says, adopting her seriousness, looking to Robin for encouragement, which Robin gives readily, smiling at the boy and ruffling his curls.

"Papa!" Roland squeals, stepping away from Robin and swatting at his hand, "I wanna look nice for Miss Regina!" Roland runs his hands over his hair, if anything messing the locks up further.

Zelena smiles, the first such expression Robin has seen on her face but for that huge smile in her wedding photo, it lasts only seconds, fleeting and not very deep, she stands to her full height, graceful on those tall heels, "Now, if it's alright with your father I would like to show you where we keep all the games," she looks back up at Robin, "in the playroom," she gestures with her hand, and once again waits for Robin to nod his head before looking back to Roland, "Henry is with my girls already, and I'm sure they'd all be glad to play with you."

Robin startles in light surprise, quickly scanning the pictures on the wall once more, she has children, her girls she'd said, the knowledge nearly bowls him over, she's terrible with children though, he finds himself thinking before deeming that thought wildly unfair as Roland easily accepts the hand she offers out to him.

"What games?" Roland asks, already excited, "Henry is gonna play with me?!"

"Yes, of course he will," Zelena answers him, that fleeting smile decorating her painted lips, she looks to Robin over her shoulder, "the kitchen is right down the hall, if you want to put those in a vase."

Robin nods, "Be good, Roland," Robin says to Roland's back, the only answer from the boy a frantic nod as the boy questions Zelena about her daughters, their names, how old they are, is their hair as bright as hers?

There are perhaps ten people milling about the kitchen and dining area when Robin exits the hall, absolutely none of them regard him in anyway, the pleasant thrum of conversation livens up the space, airy, sparsely furnished space, but the basic knickabrack of home life lie everywhere, on the fridge hangs a math test with a gold star sticker at the header, by the patio doors is a bowl of kibble and a dish filled with water, a carelessly strewn shoe rests under the dining table. Three open bottles of wine, two reds, one white, are sitting on the dining table.

Robin looks about the counter tops for a vase, he is trying to decide whether to open a cupboard in search when Zelena enters behind him, walking past, "Here," she says, pulling a vase from under the sink, the cupboard door snapping shut after her, a children's lock clicking into place, she sees him looking, eyes questioning, "my youngest," she explains, as she turns the taps, water filling the tinted pink vase, "she's only three," she explains, Robin and Marian had never had childproof locks on their cupboards, nor the outlet covers Robin sees protecting the sockets in the walls around him, and for the first time ever he wonders if they should have.

"Thank you," Robin says when she pulls the bouquet from his hands, she puts them in the vase after untying the white ribbon, after deftly unwrapping the crinkling plastic, and plops them right there at the center of the kitchen island.

"No, thank you, these are-" she hesitates, head tilting, considering as she cups a lily in her hand, before she finally says, with a shrug, "very colorful, I know Regina will love them," her eyes flick over Robin's shoulder, to the time displayed on the microwave. "My husband went to pick her up," she says, rolling back her sleeve, checking her watch, as if the time displayed there will be radically different from that of the microwave, "they'll be back soon. I appreciate you arriving on time."

"Even still it looks as if we're the last to arrive," Robin smiles, once more looks at the gathered people, he recognizes only one person, the man with the tattoo of the rabbit across his throat.

Zelena and Robin stand in silence for far too long, far longer than is polite, but Robin is fine with silence, and she seems wrapped up in her own thoughts. Until Robin spots a suitcase in the living room, he sees it, and two others, through the open archway between dining area and living space, "Is Regina staying with you?" he asks.

She nods, checking her watch once more, "Her apartment is on the fifth floor of a building with no elevator," she tells him, exasperation showing in her eyes, she twists her watch, a silver thing, very pretty and very expensive looking, twists it around her wrist, seems to become aware of the movement and promptly puts her hand flat on the marble countertop.

"I see," Robin responds, guilt gnawing at him. It's his fault she's hurt, his fault she was hit, his fault she can't climb her stairs, his fault her and her boy must uproot and stay in this house that must already be quite full with at least two children and a dog to go with that water and kibble on the floor.

It's as Zelena is offering him something to drink that Regina Mills staggers, crutches and all, into the kitchen, wincing and trying to smile. "What's all this?" she asks, coming to a stop, wide eyes swiveling around at all the people. Is Robin the only one close enough to notice how she cringes?

"Welcome home!" someone calls out, and others ring up the cry.

She looks sickly and awful. She cringes on her crutches, still with that strained smile on her face. Robin grins, a bit hesitantly, as her eyes sweep over him, her gaze lingers, she nods at him, an acknowledgement before it is her sister that she looks to. "Where's Henry?" she asks.

"He's with the girls," Zelena says as she rounds the kitchen island, as she comes up with hands upraised, but she doesn't know where to put them, "Don't worry."

Regina tilts her head, speaking quieter as conversations start once more, but Robin can still hear her, "Did Leo tr-"

"Don't worry about that," Zelena talks over her, "he's here, he's not going anywhere."

Regina swallows thickly, nodding her head as the brown haired man from Zelena's wedding photo appears behind her, a crooked smile on his face, cheeks red, still in his coat.

Robin has a can of beer in his hand, offered to him by Walsh, Zelena's smiling husband, who seems a nice guy and kissed Zelena on the cheek and got a fond shake of a head in return. Robin has made polite conversation with exactly three people, checked on Roland twice, and now finds himself gazing out the glass sliding door that leads to the patio, to the yard, he thinks he sees the outline of a trampoline out in the darkness.

But mostly he is watching her, for only seconds before he slides open the door and steps outside into the cold.

She visibly jumps at the sound of the glass door sliding; Regina looks over her shoulder with a wide eyed glance that finds him. He smiles to hopefully set her at ease as he steps onto the patio, sliding the door shut after himself, she seems to recognize him, perhaps after a moment too long, but the bulb that illuminates the patio and a quarter of the yard is flickering, the bulb makes this annoying buzzing sound as well, and flickers on, flickers off, it's only after she recognizes him that her body loses its tension. She'd been coiled to flee, however ineffectual that would have been with her casted leg and crutches, but now she slumps back against her lounger with a sigh.

"I'm sorry," Robin offers, he did not mean to startle her, he's holding up his hands, the can of beer he has been sipping at for near an hour held loosely in his right, "I'd thought to find some seclusion, but it seems you've already claimed it," a lie, he'd come to find her.

Regina shakes her head with a smile when he motions to go back inside, to leave her to her peace, being close to her isn't helping him anyway, he's cataloging her appearance and worry gnaws at his gut, she looks unwell, and thin, the hospital let her go? Looking like this? The bruise still mars her face. "Come here," she invites, she waves a hand at the lounger next to her, "be secluded with me?" she asks, grinning slightly. Her grin is strained.

Robin nods, but before he goes to her he looks at the flickering light, he won't be able to see her face properly and he won't have that. It's a simple matter of tightening it in the base, the question of why no one has fixed it before him briefly thought over until he lets it go, he reaches up, on tip toes, nearly scorches his fingertips as he grabs the bulb and twists, the bulb is an older one, it's hot as a lit burner. "There we are," he says after a hiss when he retracts his burnt fingers, switching his still somewhat cool can of beer from one hand to the other, feeling relief on scalded digits. The light is steady, still makes a buzz though, but quieter, hopefully he'll tune it out and only hear her.

"I couldn't reach that high," she shares with him as he finally sits on the offered lounger, swinging his leg over it and sinking down onto the hard plastic of the seat, he doesn't recline as she is doing though, he sits with his back straight and sips at his beer, looking at her closely while trying to not look like he is looking at her closely. She's smiling at him, "thank you, it was driving me crazy."

"It was no trouble at all, anything for you," Robin says, tilting his head and taking another sip.

Robin notices the cigarette between her pointer and middle finger, sees it just as he smells it in the air, resting there so casually, her fingers poking out of her bright blue cast look particularly nubby as she holds the paper wrapped tobacco, she sees him looking; immediate embarrassment twists her face, her smile dimming. "It's a bad habit," she speaks before he can, "I know," she says when his gaze lifts back to her eyes, she twists in her seat, wincing, an absentminded hand cradling at her midsection as she searches for something, an ashtray he can only assume, "I'll-"

"No, no," Robin assures her, reaches a hand out, fingers finding the softness of her sweater, the warmth of her body under the thin material is so terribly tempting, he pulls his hand back, a little smoke does not bother him, "not on my account."

She looks unsure still; she flicks the gathering ash off with a nudge of her thumb against the filter, arm curving outward, sprinkling the ash over the green of the yard only a step away, her smile growing once more. She looks to need the comfort her habit brings her, whether she's conscious of it or not, Robin watches, concern growing even still, as her hand shakes, trembles. "How are you liking the get together?" she asks, before he can ask if she is alright.

"ah," he says to buy more time, because truth be told he knows no one here, and those he does know, or those that know him rather, look at him with barely hidden accusation. The man with the rabbit inked across his throat, he has been glaring at Robin for a while. Roland, at least, is spared that, nothing but smiles and cookies for the little curly haired child, hugs and a kiss on the cheek from Regina, a whispered and adorable conversation between Regina and Roland before the boy scampered off with his new friends, new friends in the forms of Zelena's red haired daughters, three and six years old, better playmates for Roland then the thirteen year old Henry, who has been playing babysitter to the younger kids all night without a complaint.

Regina laughs, "That well?" she asks him, her cigarette smoothly drawn back, filter to her lips, a breath, lungs filling in a long drag before she blows it all out in one long stream, she turns her face away.

This is their first interaction, but for the first, when she fell asleep in a drug induced haze, that has not had the buffer of Roland between them, or her sister, or her son...or her husband. To be alone with her, it has his nerves on fire, nervous in a way that he should not be. He swallows another mouthful of barely cool beer.

Robin clears his throat, turns to face her more. She tilts her head, listening to him, or preparing to, he looks down to his hands, to his wedding ring idly, "There is nothing in this world that can possibly show you my gratitude," Robin says, "Roland is my life, my everything," Robin shakes his head, struggling with his words, still cannot look at her, "I-" he shrugs, shoulders hunching, "I could not live without him. Thank you," he peers up at her, finds her still with that considering face, relaxed features, just watching him. "Thank you," he repeats.

She smiles, breathtaking and sudden, "Henry is my everything," she reaches out, with her unbroken hand, shaking hand, she lays it on his arm, her touch is light, her touch has Robin breathing in fast. "I understand what it is to love your child more than anything," her hand retreats, back to her lap, snuggling between her thighs, to ward against the chill, "I understand."

When Robin looks at her face, her lovely face, she is looking right into him, at all his messy feelings, and when she repeats it, brows drawing together, he knows she does understand. She truly does, more even then Archie had, and it's as if a weight, dragging at him, is suddenly lifted with the knowledge that she understands. Roland is his everything. And she understands.

She takes another drag of her cigarette. Regina tilts her head forward, looking at his hands, "Is your wife here?" she asks once another lungful of smoke has been blown out, she's looking at his ring, "I'd like to meet her," she smiles as she says it, her smile freezes uncertainly as she looks to his face.

"My-" Robin stutters, the ache erupting in his chest, the ache he'd somehow let fade as he sat down beside Regina Mills, he swallows and shakes his head, "my wife passed away," he offers quietly, the buzzing of the light suddenly invading his hearing.

Her smile slips entirely away. Dismay washes over her features. "I am so sorry," she leans forward, struggles to come up from her relaxed posture, "I didn-"

"You couldn't have known," Robin says.

She bites her bottom lip, dragging the flesh between her teeth, "Did," she watches him, watches for signs not to ask, but her curiosity must be too great, "Roland know her?" Regina asks quietly.

Robin nods, staring at the golden band around his finger, "Yes, for a little while," he says.

She lays her hand on his arm once more, comfort in her touch.

He stands up, dislodging her hand. "It's getting late," he grunts, stepping away, "ah, it's nearly Roland's bed time."

She doesn't try to follow him, doesn't attempt to grab her crutches and rise on her broken leg, Regina lets him retreat without saying a word, watching him go with eyes filled with sympathy.

Robin brings Roland out to say goodbye, the boy already bundled in his coat, she is still sitting on the lounger, her cigarette snuffed out in an ashtray. "Sweetheart," she says, wrapping Roland in a hug as he comes to her side, "thank you so much for coming. I loved seeing you. You're flowers make me so happy, I love them, thank you," she leans in to place a kiss against his chubby cheek.

"I loved seeing you too, Miss Regina!" Roland yawns, in truth it is nearly his bedtime.

She looks up at Robin with dark eyes, deep and dark and very lovely, "Goodnight, Robin," she says to him, his name forming on her lips, coming to life in her lovely mouth, Robin can only nod, hand flung up in some form of farewell.

DISCLAIMER: Never Mine