A/N: guess who's back?

(and I wanted to send an affectionate hug to all the lovely people who helped me get through this chapter. I couldn't have done it without your words and love.)

happy new year! xX


After the fair, he doesn't see Regina again. He's still shocked by what's almost happened near the church, and she didn't contact him in any way, so he thought she'd like to be left alone. They seem to dance this way since they met, really – a meaningful contact and then weeks of nothing.

She sends him a card with her Christmas wishes, and he appreciates it more than he could say. It's simple, black background and a silver pattern, her signature in an elegant handwriting and a distinct smell of roses when he opens the envelope. He types a text, then presses send and doesn't think much of it.

For Christmas Eve, he goes to the annual ball of his species, this year held inside an enormous ball room they've probably rented and filled with humans-repellent magic. Just wonderful.
He isn't that enthusiast about seeing his companions again, because he's been avoiding them for the past few weeks, but still. So he goes. He goes and interacts and answers questions – where has he been? How is work going? And why, asks Gabriel lifting her brows, why has he not reported anything yet?

He tries to deflect the questions, tries to downplay, saying that he's been busy and nothing has happened in that department – that Christmas has, in fact, made his job easier, that everyone tends to be nicer and that it's easier not to give in to temptations. The humans have it ingrained in their minds since they were young that, around the end of December, they need to behave and be good. Be better.

Robin avoids Gabriel and Michael, their leaders, the Guardians, also known as Mary Margaret and David; and he tries to stick with people he actually likes – there's not many, and he doesn't know everyone here, but he tries. Will, and John, Ana, Belle, are all his friends, and in the years they've all developed a sort of… touchiness about Gabriel's extremist tendencies.

Belle is the one who knows how to read him the best – they don't see each other often, as she lives in Australia, but he finds he can't possibly lie to her blue eyes.

"I just know you've something to tell me," she whispers, as she drags him to a corner, the pair followed by Ana's curious eyes. "So, spill. Did you fall in love?"

He almost chokes on his eggnog.

"B-Belle," he slurs out, then coughs, her patient hand patting his back until he can breathe again. "That's not – no, how can you think something like that?"

"I know you liked a human once," she says, piercing him with her eyes. "And… before she passed…" she murmurs, and his heart still hurts as he thinks of Marian. "Well, you had the same kind of face."

"Why, what kind of face do I have exactly?"

"Hopeful? Like something opened up inside you? I don't know. But I can find out," she says, her face bright all of a sudden. "You know I'm in charge of our records. I can skim through your file and find out whom you're working with and if there's some nice, beautiful human who lives or works next to you and I can cross the data with their amount of good actions in the past year…" she stops, tilts her head. "Or maybe you fell for someone who isn't good. Robin, you old scoundrel…"

"No, wait," he shakes his head, places his hand on her arm. "Please. I… we can't talk about this here. Are you free tomorrow?"

Belle raises an eyebrow at him, crossing her arms. "Robin, we're all going at Will and Ana's. You included. Will sent you the invitation weeks ago."

"Oh, yeah," Robin rubs his forehead, cursing himself for totally shutting out from the otherhuman world, even from his friends. "Sorry. Yeah, I'll see you there then. Now… see you tomorrow, Belle. I promise, I'll tell you everything."

He kisses her on the cheek and walks away before she can ever mutter a word, but honestly, he needs to buy himself time.

.:.

"So, little one," Mal says, the moment they enter the pool. "Talk to me. What's wrong?"

Regina lowers herself into the water slowly, ignoring the question and getting acclimated with the new temperature. It's hot – to humans, it's probably too hot, but she finds she rather enjoys it, just the right amount of degrees for her to be completely happy.

This impromptu spa trip cost her and Mal quite a lot, but that's what they got for planning with such short notice. And that's how she finds herself here, for Christmas, and she supposes it's a better deal than being stuck with Mother and her sister – if only this trip were completely innocent, she'd be happier. But she's been caught, as she soon found out, and Mal hasn't stopped pestering her about her issues since the minute she walked into her car.

"Can't we just enjoy Christmas in peace?" she complains, taking a few steps towards the middle of the pool. "Please, Mal, I don't know how to tell you that I'm fine."

"Bullshit," Mal says. "You know too well that you can talk to me, Regina. I don't know if your problems are… about your nature…" she needlessly whispers. "Or about something else, but I know there's a problem. He told me, you know."

"Samdi told you?" Regina turns, raises an eyebrow at her. "And why's that?"

Mal shrugs, but skims around the questions, says, "Because he knows we're friends and he was concerned about you, that's all. We are friends, aren't we, Astaroth?"

Regina looks at her, but her eyes are bright, and she seems to be honest. Of course, you don't trust a devil, but… maybe… maybe she is telling the truth.

"Yes," she breathes out. "We are."

"Then tell me," Mal pleads, taking her hand.

Regina blinks and looks away, watching as new guests of the spa enter the swimming pool. She takes a breath and shakes her head, tells her, "Later. I have to show you… and I can't, here."

.:.

When she wakes in the morning, she feels all groggy and a headache is splitting her skull open. The cause is easily found – as she gets up, empty bottles of the world's strongest vodka lay on the floor, on the carpet, there's one on the nightstand. Mal is nowhere to be seen.

Fuck her, honestly. How much did she make her drink?

A quick glance at the mirror, and she finds out a very much noticeable purple hickey on her neck. Gods. She really did a number, didn't she? And the worst thing is, she has absolutely next to no recollection of what she did – what she said, and what Mal knows.

There's a note, in the bathroom – right on the mirror, where Mal was sure she was going to see it. It's furiously scribbled on the hotel's emblazoned paper, and it says, Regina, good morning! Sorry to dump you this way, but something came up and I need to get home. Enjoy the rest of the vacation and Merry Christmas, little one!

She balls up the note, throwing it to a corner.

Fuck her.

.:.

On New Year's Eve, she hears someone knocking at her door.

She gets up fast – tosses the book she was reading on the sofa and places the glass of wine on the table – goes to open, with a frown, because she wasn't expecting anyone. Well, Mal, maybe, just to apologize for her behavior. (As if she'd ever.)

And… it's Robin.

He's cold – she sees it immediately, from his rosy cheeks to the way he's rubbing his gloved hands together, to the way puffs of breath exit his mouth.

"What are you doing here?" she asks, the half-closed door between them.

"Regina. Can I please come in?"

She nods, because – maybe – maybe she can trust him – no matter who he is, she doesn't think any harm will come to her. When he's inside, he takes deep breaths, kicks off his snow boots and pads towards the fireplace, sighing out in relief when the warmth finally reaches his body.

"Thank the bloody gods," he lets out, his eyes closing. Regina just looks at him, her arms crossed, doesn't say anything, but waits.

And eventually, his eyes open again, and he meets her gaze. "Thank you, milady. I was just about to pass out from the cold."

"What are you talking about? You're a goddamn angel, you don't suffer the cold."

"Well, as a matter of fact, I – we do. I'm just good at hiding it," he says. "The heating broke down at my place. And I walked all the way here – I lent my car to Will last week, and…"

"Yes, I get it," she interrupts. "So what, you came for a bit of free heating? Maybe some champagne at midnight?" she storms in the room, goes to sit where she was before he knocked, and tosses him a blanket. "You can spare me your lies. Tell me the truth."

It comes out angry – angrier than she intended, with all the black and fire of hell, and he takes a step back.

"I came to see you, actually," he says, slightly more uncertain now that he's seen how his lies don't work. "I was… I was hoping to see if you're well."

"Well, you saw me," she hisses, crossing her arms again. "And I'm fine."

"Alright," he says, carefully. "Can you… can we just be civil, for once? Can you stop pretending you don't like me?"

"I don't like you," she almost spits. "I barely find you… tolerable."

"You're insufferable," Robin huffs. He relaxes his body back into the cushions, and she sees how he makes himself at home, as if he plans on staying way longer than she'll allow. As if he's been invited. "By the way, I brought you something," he adds, and rummages into his pocket – he's still wearing his jacket, and she – she is wearing a black sweater and form-fitting sweatpants, but she suddenly feels very exposed.

He finally finds whatever he was looking for, and presents it to her with a smile. It's a white package – small, with a golden ribbon on it. "Got you a Christmas gift at the fair – remember when I told you I'd meet you in a moment, and to go ahead without me?"

She raises an eyebrow, surprised. "I do," she says, still cold, but she extends her hand to take it. "This is… unexpectedly sweet. Wait no, it's not unexpectedly sweet. It's exactly the kind of thing I'd expect from an angel. Forcing me to enjoy this godforsaken holiday…"

"Regina," he interrupts, unfazed. "Just open the damn box."

She stills, her hand on the ribbon, and looks at him – he's not smiling, but he looks nervous. She would never have thought he could speak like that – in a way that is not flirty or hopeful or excessively kind. But he did, so she sets on opening her gift, and finally reveals what's inside. It's a necklace – silvery, delicate, with a pendant – a black star, so little you can barely distinguish what it is from afar.

"This is…" her breath catches when she realizes what it is. "This is like my…"

"Your tattoo, yes," he says, a corner of his lips up to show that cocky smile. "A little souvenir of our first flight."

She finds she doesn't know what to say. So instead of talking, she unclasps it and lifts it to her neck, and then secures it close again, her chin bobbing down to see the little star. It actually stands out against the black of her sweater.

"You like it?"

"Yes," she says, the word escaping her before she can stop it. "You…" her gaze lifts, a wave of something painful dancing around in her veins. "You didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to," he says, easily. "I don't know what we are or what we'll become, but I know I will keep that memory forever. That was when life was still easy, and then –"

He stops.

Regina searches into his eyes, finds a sort of pain that has nothing to do with the pain torturing her heart, his pain is slower, quieter, and tormented.

"Then… what?"

"Nothing," he lies. "So… it's almost midnight. Care to have a drink?"

The easiness with which he changed the subject unsettles her, but she pays it no mind and murmurs, Sure, leaves him on the sofa as she goes to the fridge and unearths the champagne. They don't have much to celebrate, she thinks. Her hand curls around the marble countertop, her eyes losing focus for an instant, as the world becomes black and the ashes in her blood quiver.

.:.

He's anxious to approach the subject – the real reason he came here tonight, but he can't seem to grasp the right moment. He can only manage to piss her off. She sits next to him, this time, not so far it looks like they're a fighting couple, not so close it looks like they're desperately in love, but – just right – that he could pass an arm around her shoulders, if he wanted to, he could but he won't, because he knows better.

There is something he wants to talk about. And may the gods forgive him but he has lied to get here, he has told her he suffers the cold whereas he doesn't, how could he fly so high in the sky if he did? Where the air is rarefied and chilly?

But he sees it for what it is… a white lie to reach a grater purpose, so he guesses he's alright. For now. Until he'll drop the…

"Robin?"

He looks at her, and she has an amused frown, as if she caught him while he was distracted, her brows up, her smile tense.

"Were you even listening?"

"Sorry, love, no," he averts his eyes down, rubs his neck, embarrassed. "Thoughts in my mind. What were you saying?"

"I was asking if you like the champagne," she tells him, crossing her arms with her glass dangerously inclined.

"Yeah, I do, thanks."

"Now can you please tell me what you are really here for?" she says, her no-nonsense teacher's voice at full blast. "And don't you dare lie to me again. I'm a devil, remember? I know when someone is lying, and let me tell you, it doesn't suit you."

Robin looks at her now, almost feeling the heat she's oozing, her power and strength and he feels like she could crush him in an instant.

"Regina…" he starts, pleading, but she cocks an eyebrow, so he sighs. "You're right," he surrenders. "I lied. But… I wanted to see you, really. That part was true. And… most importantly, I wanted to know… will you go on a date with me?"