Notes: Okay, so this is a part of the story that people may not like. Please heed Warning #3 in Chapter 1. I promise no one is actually going to get with any beards, but...you know. Trust me. Stay with me. No particular warnings on this one except a whole lot of drunkenness.
Also, I'm not the type who usually writes to a specific soundtrack, but if you are the type who likes to read to one, I recommend "Cruel and Clumsy" by Chris Pureka to accompany this chapter (possible trigger warning for references to suicide/self-harm in the lyrics, but none in the fic).
Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think! (My birthday's in two days; reviews make excellent presents...just saying :-P.)
Regina watches the door for a long time after Emma walks out of it. Then she sighs and stares at her desk, wondering if perhaps she should have followed. If maybe she could have shelved her pride just this once and spent unnecessary time with her coworkers instead of returning to her apartment alone with nothing but pain and liquor to keep her company.
But no, she's going home.
She's going to sleep in her own apartment tonight and pretend that she doesn't have ghosts as her bedmates.
She's going to, but she still hasn't left her chair by the time Locksley shuts the door to his office. She doesn't even notice that he's standing over her until he clears his throat awkwardly and snaps her out of her contemplation of wood patterns.
"I'm...I was just leaving," she mutters defensively, voice unusually raspy with fatigue and grief.
"Right, of course you were."
"I wasn't going to disobey the orders of my commanding officer."
"I know." He makes no movement toward the door.
"I can find my way out of here on my own. You don't have to babysit me."
"Never said I was."
"Okay, well, goodnight."
He still doesn't budge.
"What?" Regina demands.
"It's...um..." he looks down, almost as if he's embarrassed. "Roland's at Marian's parents' house tonight, but I was thinking I would go get him, and-"
Regina rolls her eyes and interrupts. "That's perfectly understandable, but you hardly need me to validate your plans."
"I thought maybe he'd like to see his Auntie Regina, and maybe you'd like-"
"I'd like what?"
"Company."
"I don't need company."
"I never said 'need.' I said 'would like.' It's different."
"Well, I neither want nor need your company, but I suppose Roland is tolerable," Regina muses. There are voices in her head telling her that this is a horrible idea, that opening this can of worms again will only end in disaster, but there are other voices, strong ones, telling her that she needs this.
It's those voices, the ones telling her that just once she deserves not to be alone, that win out.
She gets up and follows him to the car.
Regina sits quietly in the passenger seat, fidgeting with the engagement ring she wears on a chain around her neck, uncertain and perhaps, if she's willing to let herself actually feel for a moment, slightly frightened of what will happen next. She shouldn't have come; hanging out with Locksley in times of emotional duress never ends well for her.
Robin seems to be having the same thoughts on the driver's side. He's still flipping between radio stations and muttering to himself. Finally, he settles on the Red Sox game and leans back uneasily in his seat.
"What? No football?" Regina asks.
He gives her a disbelieving stare. "It's not football season. Buckle your seatbelt."
Right, it's not football season. She knew that.
"So," she mumbles as they pull out of the parking garage, "how are Marian's parents these days?"
"They...they're fine." He looks like he wants to say something else, but he stops himself. "They're fine," he repeats.
"I imagine that spending time with Roland is helpful for them."
He smiles at that. "Yes, well, who doesn't like Roland?"
"Who doesn't?" Regina echoes, staring out the window. She has to admit she admires Robin for staying so close to Marian's parents. It's not easy – she hasn't spoken to Daniel's mother since his memorial service. But, then again, the situations are different. There's Roland. She wonders, if the baby had survived...
No, she can't think about that. Not tonight. Not when everything is already so raw.
Five dead children. Five families torn apart. Dozens of innocents scarred for life from watching their friends die right in front of them. Shot by some fucking punk asshole because he was bored.
It kind of makes her own pain pale in comparison.
"You didn't go to the bar with the others," Robin abruptly observes.
"No, I didn't, or I wouldn't be in your car right now. Obviously."
"I'm just...well, no, not surprised, but I thought maybe you might have wanted to keep an eye on Swan. After today, I mean."
"You think she can't handle a few drinks on her own?"
"No," he says carefully, "I just heard that she had a hard time today, questioning the suspect, and then with the nature of the case, and knowing how you feel about her-"
"How I feel about her?"
"You're...protective. I mean, it makes sense," he adds hurriedly. "She's a rookie, she's the only other woman in the unit, you two seem friendly-"
"She's a good partner. And yes, I look out for her, but Emma is a grown woman. She can take care of herself off the job."
Can she? asks the needling voice in her head. If she and Locksley can barely keep it together with all of their experience dealing with their emotions on the job, what is it going to be like for a rookie? A rookie with a child of her own who she seems to spend about ninety-five percent of her time worrying about. And she's with Nolan and Jones, who – well, as much as Regina treats them like they don't have enough brain cells to feel deeply, obviously they do. They're human. This case is affecting everybody.
She should have gone.
No, she shouldn't have. Emma has told her before that she doesn't appreciate her protection. She's an adult who can handle her own demons.
She still should have gone, though, but maybe not just for Emma's benefit.
Lost in thought, she doesn't even notice that they've already changed neighborhoods. Robin parks the car in front of a dimly-lit 1970's style house that still looks the same as it did twelve years ago when they all came to Thanksgiving dinner here and she and Daniel and Marian and Robin simultaneously announced their engagements.
"You want to come in and say hi?" he offers.
"I – no. I don't think they really like me," she fumbles.
Robin rolls his eyes. "They like you just fine, but suit yourself. I'll be back in five."
He slams the door and jogs up the front steps, and Regina leans back with a tired sigh. She remembers the last time she was in this house, after Roland's christening. She and Robin had been called out on a case right as the party was about to start, and they had promised to redo the celebration at a later date. But then it kept getting postponed, and postponed, and then Marian had died and nothing seemed to matter much anymore.
She wonders if they still have the cake in the freezer.
Robin comes out five minutes later, as promised, carrying Roland and a Big Bird backpack. The little boy's face lights up in surprise and excitement when he sees her in the car, and she forces herself to smile and wave to him.
"Auntie Gina!" he exclaims, crawling across the backseat and diving into her waiting arms. "What are you doing here?"
"Hello to you, too," she chuckles.
"She's coming over to see you," Robin says with a wink. "Like a playdate."
"A playdate? But it's nighttime!"
"Well, I have to work all day, like your Daddy," Regina explains, "so this was the only time I could play. But if you'd rather I didn't come over..."
"No!" Roland wraps his tiny arms around her neck. "I want you to come! I was just s'prised."
"Okay, young man, let's get you buckled in so we can go home and play," Robin orders.
"I don't have bedtime tonight?"
"Not tonight. You can stay up and play with Auntie Regina for as long as you want."
He'll regret that in the morning, Regina thinks, but she understands the sentiment.
"What did you do with your grandparents today?" Regina asks as Robin starts the car again.
"We played at the dog park!" Roland says excitedly. "I got to see Bobo again and play catch! Then we went to the library. I got five books; you can read me them tonight."
"All five? Tonight?"
"You can do it. You're a good reader. Daddy, when can we get a dog? He can be Bobo's friend."
"I thought you're Bobo's friend."
He beams with pride. "I am, but I'm a people friend. He needs dog friends, too."
"Well, maybe Bobo's owner can work on getting him some dog friends, but that's not something we can do right now, Roland. You know that."
"Who's Bobo?" asks Regina.
"Rescue pit bull Roland met at the dog park. He's a little obsessed."
"He used to be really sick and grumpy," Roland pipes up. "But now he's better. He's my friend."
"I bet you're a really good friend to him," Regina tells the little boy. "Why would he need dog friends when he has you?"
"Because dogs need dog friends!" Roland exclaims, heaving an exaggerated sigh at the stupidity of adults. "And people need people friends, or they get lonely. I don't want Bobo to be lonely."
"I'm sure Bobo isn't lonely," Robin says firmly. "And you know that we can't get a dog. Let's talk about something else now."
Regina mouths, "Sorry," and Robin shrugs. "Tell me more about those books I'm supposed to read," she tries. That does the trick. Roland babbles about dragons and magic and knights with swords for the rest of the drive, and Regina leans her head against the window and half-listens, half-ruminates on the strangeness of her current situation.
When they arrive at the Locksleys' apartment, Roland sprints up the stairs in front of the two adults, giggling gleefully and clutching his backpack full of books.
"He's certainly happy," Regina remarks.
"Yeah, well, it's not every day he gets to ignore his bedtime and hang out with his favorite godmother."
"I'm reasonably sure I'm his only godmother, unless there's something you're not telling me."
"Regina, if this is too hard for you – I mean, after today-"
"Don't be ridiculous. I'm perfectly capable of reading bedtime stories to a young child – my emotional state isn't that fragile," Regina snaps, just as Roland is calling, "Daddy, Auntie Gina, hurry up!" from the front door.
"Besides," she adds softly, "at least someone deserves to be happy tonight."
She settles in next to Roland on his bed. He presses his small, warm body against hers and gazes adoringly up at her face as she pulls a fleece blanket lightly over their legs and opens the first book.
Robin perches at the edge of the bed, on his son's other side, and she's about to start reading when his phone rings. Regina and Roland watch carefully as the lieutenant's face grows redder and more annoyed the more the person on the other end speaks.
Finally, he hangs up and scowls. "Commissioner."
"Did something come up?"
"I have to talk to some reporters. The case...says it will help raise awareness about gun violence in Mattapan."
Regina checks her watch and raises an eyebrow. "It's past ten."
"Yeah, it's for the eleven o'clock news. I-" he looks helplessly at Roland and Regina sighs.
"Go, we're okay," she says reassuringly. "Right, Roland?"
The little boy nods importantly and repeats, "We're okay." Robin chuckles and kisses his son's forehead.
"I'll be back before you know it," he promises. "You take good care of Auntie Regina, alright? Don't let her get into any trouble."
Roland smirks and sticks his thumb in his mouth, nestling into Regina's chest as she starts reading from a picture book about a baby dragon who can't fly. She pulls her knees up to rest the book on them so she can wrap her arm around his tiny shoulders. He seems to sense, in the way that small children do, that she needs him close, and presses himself even tighter into her side. Maybe it's weak of her to turn to a four year old for comfort, but right now, she doesn't care.
Emma fires off dart after dart, hoping that letting out her aggression on an old piece of cork will somehow take her mind of this nightmare of a day. But even after besting all challengers – the veteran male cops are a little bitter, to say the least – she still feels the same.
Powerless.
This isn't why she became a cop. She wanted to help people, not show up at their doorstep and tell them their children are dead. That's the opposite of helpful.
But then again, dead is beyond help.
Jones passes her another shot and she drinks it down immediately. She's not drunk yet – he is, but that's a different story – but she imagines she will be before the night is through. The bar feels different tonight; the air feels thicker, the lights darker. Jones and Nolan are sitting solemnly at the bar, staring at their glasses and not speaking. Beside them, Mary Margaret is playing with her straw and blinking repeatedly like she's trying not to cry.
Emma ducks out the door and pulls her phone from her pocket. Thankfully, Neal picks up right away.
"Hey, is everything okay?" he asks worriedly. "It's kind of late."
"It's...um..." Emma checks her watch and sighs. It's eleven. Henry's probably already in bed, or at least he should be. "Rough day," she admits. "Just wanted to check in, make sure everything is okay over there."
"Yeah, we're good. Henry's fine – no school, obviously, so he spent most of the day writing with Grace, and then we went for a bike ride."
Emma nods. Her voice catches in her throat as she tries to reply; she wishes, more than anything, that Henry was still in Boston. That she could leave this bar and go home and watch him sleep and see for her own eyes that he's safe and happy.
"How's their epic story coming along?" she finally asks.
"I'm not sure; I wasn't allowed to see their progress. But there are about fifteen new documents saved to my desktop, so I imagine it's going well."
"Cool," Emma mumbles. Then, so quietly she doesn't think Neal will even hear her, "I miss him."
He does hear. "It's been less than twenty-four hours," he points out reasonably. "You went this long without seeing him even when we all lived in Boston."
Emma feels a flare of white-hot anger in the pit of her stomach. "You know what, Neal?" she snaps. "Why don't you tell me how you feel the next time you go a month without seeing your kid – oh, wait, you don't have to!"
"What? I – Em, you said you were okay with the move to New York. And it's not like you can't come visit whenever you want to. We have a foldout couch and everything."
"I said I was okay because I didn't have much of a choice!" Emma explodes. "What the hell was I supposed to say?"
"Em, I didn't –"
"I can't do this right now. Just – just go give Henry a kiss for me and be grateful that you're not one of the five parents whose lives I had to destroy today by telling them their children got gunned down in broad daylight."
"Em-"
"Middle school students, Neal! Only a couple of years older than Henry. Walking a few blocks from their school to their community center. So, just...don't!"
Emma storms back into the bar and plops onto the stool next to Jones, slamming her phone hard on the counter. He passes her a shot of rum, which she drinks quickly before ordering another.
"Phone do something to piss you off?" he inquires.
"Just the person at the other end of it."
"Significant other?"
"Ex-significant other, of about ten years." Jones raises an eyebrow. "He's my son's father, and he has custody. So...yeah."
"I'm sorry."
"I mean, we're not – we get along okay," Emma clarifies, feeling vaguely guilty for saying anything against Neal when he's done absolutely nothing but be there for Henry when she couldn't be. It's hardly his fault that he's a man and she's a lesbian. "He's...he's not a bad guy or anything."
"I can't imagine the court would have awarded him custody if he was."
"Yeah, he's a good dad."
"That's rare, isn't it? For fathers to get custody," Jones muses, and Emma's face pales as her fingers tighten around her glass. He glances at her expression and seems to immediately realize his error. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"
"It's fine," Emma snaps, downing another shot. "It's also rare for mothers to be homicide detectives."
"That's true. I don't think anyone else in our unit has kids, except Locksley, of course. Even the old guard – did they, Dave?"
"No," Nolan mutters. "Pretty sure they're all planning to die alone."
"There you go," Jones says with a humorless chuckle. "Something to look forward to. Unless Mills has kids, but I don't believe she does."
"She doesn't."
Jones shrugs. "I was partners with that woman for six months and all I know about her is that she takes her coffee black, dresses well, and doesn't have much of a sense of humor."
"She likes running," Emma offers. "And...she kind of has a sense of humor. Sometimes." She does know a bit more information about Regina's life, but she doesn't share it. It somehow seems disloyal even though Jones could look it up on the Internet just as easily as she had.
"Yes, well, we've already established that Her Majesty likes you. That will make your life in homicide easier, although it certainly won't take the sting out of cases like these."
"Is there anything that does?"
Locksley's voice sounds from behind them, "I've yet to discover anything that actually works, although alcohol seems to offer a temporary solution at times."
"I thought you were going home," Nolan remarks.
The lieutenant sighs. "I did. Then I got a call to do an interview for the eleven o'clock news. I was informed that I was there to draw attention to the increasing gun violence in Boston, especially in Dorchester and Mattapan, but apparently the reporters were informed that I was there to gossip about the rich and famous."
"That sucks," mutters Emma, banging her glass against the bar in frustration.
"It does. My wife grew up in Mattapan, you know, not too far from where today's shooting happened. I had hoped...well, anyway, it doesn't matter. I'm going home now."
"You sure you don't want a drink, Lieutenant?" Jones asks, gesturing to the bartender to bring another round of rum.
"No, I've got to get – I really just came to check on everyone. I'll see you all tomorrow morning, hopefully not too hungover? Blanchard, I assume you're prepared for the arraignments? I don't want that scum let back on the streets."
"We'll be seeking remand," the ADA says quietly, her first words of the evening.
"Excellent." Locksley leans over and slips her a fifty dollar bill. "Make sure these clowns take cabs home, alright?"
She thinks he leaves after that, but she's not sure because she's too busy tipping back her glass and hating the fact that Locksley gets to go home to his kid and she's...well, here.
Roland falls asleep about halfway through story number three. Regina keeps reading for a few minutes, just to ensure that he's fully out, but he doesn't stir. She could stay like this forever, she thinks, watching him sleep so peacefully. He'd climbed onto her lap sometime during story number two, holding the book for her so she could focus on hugging him, one hand running lightly through his unruly and far-too-long hair. She feels his breath, long and slow, rustling her shirt as she watches his tiny chest rise and fall.
It was never supposed to be like this, she thinks. Roland was supposed to have a mother and siblings and an Uncle Daniel and family friends who were close enough to be siblings. He's happy enough the way things are, shuttled between his grandparents and his stressed out single dad and whatever friends Robin can get to help out in a pinch – he's never known anything else – but she can't help but look at him and think about the life he could have had.
The life he deserved.
The life they all deserved.
Suddenly, his embrace feels suffocating. Slowly, gently, and so very carefully, she lifts the little boy off of her lap and lies him on his pillow, nudging a stuffed animal into his arms so he won't notice the lack of contact. Thankfully, he barely blinks, and she tugs the blanket up to his chin before softly kissing his cheek.
He's smiling in his sleep – he always has ever since he was a baby - and she allows her finger to trace along the path of his dimples before standing up to check all the doors and windows of the apartment, gun in hand. Because Roland is the last bright spot left in the lives of their little group, the last reminder on a much happier past, and she'll be damned if she lets any harm come to him.
She finds one unlocked window in Robin's bedroom. It's near the fire escape, too – what the hell is he thinking? She reminds herself to have words with him about his lack of attention to safety before realizing that he might not actually want her in here.
It's not as though she hasn't been in his bedroom before. She's even slept here – spent her first few weeks out of the hospital nestled in between him and Marian while they tried, unsuccessfully, to soothe her through seemingly endless nightmares. It was probably good practice for Roland, she thinks wryly. But a lot has changed since then.
No, a lot has changed for Robin since then. Everything is the same for Regina; she's just better at keeping it inside.
The bedroom looks the same, though, except that the bed is neatly made like no one ever sleeps on it. It's the same as hers, in that way. It looks like a shrine to a person and a life that no longer exist. There's even a bottle of Marian's perfume, still sitting on the bedside table like it's just waiting for her to come back from some errands. Regina sprays a tiny squirt of it into the air and sniffs. It smells like wildflowers.
On her wedding day, Marian had worn a crown of daisies. The wedding had been up in Vermont, in a sunny meadow beside a forest, and the day before, Marian and Regina had gone out to gather the bouquets, frolicking barefoot through the grass like a couple of little girls and braiding flowers into each other's hair. It was a good day – a good weekend. The last happy memory she has of the four of them before the unthinkable happened.
There's a picture from the wedding, she remembers, in Roland's room. Almost all the pictures of Marian have been moved there, to a special spot on the bookshelf, because Roland likes to look at his Mama but Robin usually tries to avoid it.
Doing her best to stay silent, she shuts the door to Robin's room and returns to Roland's. He's still sound asleep.
She takes the picture in her hands, holding it reverently like the priceless object it is. She has the same one in her own apartment, but it's tucked into a corner and she almost always averts her eyes when she passes it. Now, she's looking hungrily, grasping for any sense of reality from a past that feels like it was another lifetime.
They look so young, she marvels. She barely recognizes herself, smiling brightly at the camera without a single worry line marring her rounded face. Despite being significantly heavier – she was six months pregnant at the time – she looks lighter, carefree. Not yet weighed down with a world of pain. Robin, too. It's amazing how much he's aged in the past couple of years. Even Marian, by the time she'd died, hadn't looked quite as youthful as she does in this photo.
And Daniel – well, he never got the chance to look older. He had died only five days later. And with him had died that version of Regina.
Regina takes a long sip of her lemonade and quickly smooths her dress down as the breeze attempts to pick it up yet again and expose her to the entire crowd at the reception. Leave it to the Locksleys to pick the windiest day of the summer to get married in a shelterless meadow. She's never been the biggest fan of dresses – they're not particularly comfortable for chasing down suspects and they remind her of when her mother used to dress her – but she's developed a reluctant appreciation for them as her pregnancy has progressed. There's something to be said for a garment that doesn't squeeze around the middle.
"And now, for their first dance as husband and wife, I present Robin and Marian Locksley!" Daniel announces with uncharacteristic flair. He may have started a little early on the champagne, Regina thinks with a chuckle. He's been overexcited about this wedding for the last three weeks, dubbing it a "practice session" for their own. Never mind that they haven't even picked a date yet - the impending birth of their child provides a rather important distraction.
Grinning, he hands the microphone to Robin's high school friend John and makes his way over to where she's standing in wait, her own smile so wide it's starting to make her face hurt. "See, I told you I would make a great DJ," he brags, distracting her with a kiss on the nose as he swipes the lemonade out of her hands.
"Yes, you said one sentence into a microphone. Well done, dear," she deadpans, but she can't keep a tiny giggle from escaping as he presses their foreheads together and starts singing along to the opening lines of "I Got You Babe."
"Stop," she hisses, playfully smacking his arm. "You'll ruin their first dance with your awful singing."
"Not a chance," he laughs. "Look at those two idiots. I don't think they even know there's anyone else on the planet right now. I'd almost say they're adorable if they hadn't stolen our song." It's true – Regina's breath catches in her throat as her heart melts at the pure love shining from both Marian and Robin's eyes.
"We're going to look just like that at ours," Daniel whispers in her ear, lacing their fingers together so he can play with the engagement ring that's recently gotten quite a bit snugger. "But with a different song, now, obviously."
"Maybe we shouldn't worry about picking a song when we don't even have a wedding date," Regina points out.
"So, let's set one and start planning this thing!" Daniel says enthusiastically. "My only requirement is that it's not so damn windy."
"Daniel," Regina whispers, "not today, please?" She looks down at the bump that seems to be growing bigger by the day and rubs one hand against the spot the baby's been kicking repeatedly all afternoon.
"I know you want to wait," he says sympathetically, "but once the baby's born, we'll be so busy taking care of him, and then you'll eventually go back to work and have even less time, and then we'll find something else to keep us busy, and then..."
"Daniel," she says again, lifting her hands to cup his cheeks and staring pleadingly into his soft blue eyes, "you know I want nothing more than to marry you, I just..."
"I know." He deposits the lemonade glass on the nearest table and runs his fingertips gently up and down her arms. "And as much as I enjoy giving you a hard time, you know it doesn't matter to me at all. I'm going to stick with you no matter how long it takes to make it official." His gaze never wavering from hers, he tugs her left hand towards his lips and tenderly kisses each fingertip before repeating the same action with the right. "I love you, and I'm in this for the long haul."
"Me, too," she husks, her voice barely a whisper as she fights back tears. "I love you so much." Wrapping her arms around the back of his neck, she rocks onto her toes and presses a soft kiss onto his lips. He smiles and reaches around to rub her back, and she hums softly, safe and warm and content in his embrace.
They're forced to break apart when the other guests start applauding as the closing notes of Sonny and Cher fade away. Robin takes an overly dramatic bow, and Marian rolls her eyes and pretends to slap him.
"Those crazy kids," Daniel mutters.
"Everyone feel free to join us on the dance floor," Marian says when John hands her the microphone. Robin snatches it away and adds, "That includes our best man and maid of honor, if they're not too busy making out in the corner like a bunch of teenagers."
Regina blushes, and Daniel offers her his hand and asks with affected formality, "May I have this dance?"
"I don't know, I was kind of enjoying making out in the corner like teenagers," she grumbles, but she allows Daniel to twirl her around as they make their way toward their friends.
"So, do pregnancy hormones make all women absurdly touchy-feely, or is it just you?" Robin asks when they get closer.
Marian elbows him in the ribs and, smirking, announces, "Ladies and gentlemen, my husband and his amazing social skills."
"Yeah, good luck with that," Daniel laughs. "Although I must say I'm quite enjoying her newfound touchy-feely side. It makes up for the increased crankiness."
"Shut up and hold me!" Regina whines before bursting into laughter.
"The lady has spoken, Daniel," Robin declares. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe I'm supposed to take my mother-in-law for a twirl. This should be interesting."
"Well, shall we?" Daniel asks, sliding his arms around her waist and swaying them in time to the next sappy slow song Robin and Marian have selected. Sighing happily, she leans against him and loses herself in the moment and in his love.
There's a break in the music when the guests all gather around to watch Robin and Marian cut the cake, and Regina looks up at her fiancé and says, "Daniel, I'm sorry."
"Sorry? For what?" he asks, slinging an arm around her shoulders as they walk sedately over to their table.
"For being so...you know."
"Uncertain?"
Regina looks down. "I'm certain about you," she murmurs. "It's just everything else."
He stops her, takes both of her hands, and squeezes tightly. "You're going to be a great mother," he promises.
"You don't know that."
"I do know that."
"Daniel..."
"Everything is going to be fine," he says with quiet confidence. "Everything."
"You always say that."
"And I've always been right, so maybe you should trust me for once in your life."
"I do trust you," protests Regina.
"But?" he prompts. "There's a 'but' in there somewhere."
"I don't know," Regina says in a whisper, turning away as a few droplets leak softly out of her eyes. "I don't know."
"You don't trust yourself," Daniel says knowingly, "but that's okay, because I trust you enough for the both of us."
"Daniel-"
"You're going to be an amazing mother, and we're both going to love baby Henry so much, and he's going to be safe and happy always, even if he does end up taking after you and your worrying nature."
"How can you be sure?"
"Because I am."
Regina shakes her head. "But the future is-"
"The future is in the future." Daniel cuts her off and presses a kiss to her temple. "For now, let's just focus on enjoying this wedding, okay? I won't mention ours again until you bring it up first."
Nestling into Daniel's chest, Regina allows a few tears to fall – his suit is getting dry-cleaned tomorrow anyway – and whispers, "I love you so much."
"I love you, too, and I believe in you. Even if you don't."
"I want to," Regina chokes out. "I want to believe."
"I know," he says softly. "And someday, you will."
Hours of dancing and toasts and cake eating later, Regina is exiting the restroom when Daniel pops up next to her and wraps her in his arms again. The night air has grown cooler, even in the middle of June, and she welcomes his warmth gladly, snuggling comfortably against his chest.
"Hey, the park rangers are saying everyone has to get out soon so they can set up for the school group tomorrow. Want to have one last dance before we go?"
Regina winces. She'd like nothing more than to dance the night away with him, but her feet and back are killing her, and, if she's being honest with herself, she needs to lie down. Before she even has to reply, Daniel kisses the top of her forehead and says, "It's okay. Let's wish the Locksleys safe travels and head home."
She inhales sharply as he swings around and hoists her up, but once the shock has worn off and she's certain he can support her weight, she happily relaxes into him, serenaded by the chirping of crickets and the strong beat of his heart. She's practically asleep by the time they get to the car, and the only thought in her mind as she drifts off is how much she loves this man and how lucky she is to spend the rest of her life with him.
"I've always liked that picture," Locksley remarks, and Regina jumps nearly three feet in the air.
"Robin!" she gasps, heart pounding so hard she's afraid her chest might explode, leaving angry red stains all over the eggshell carpet. "I didn't hear you come in."
"Yeah, that was obvious. I'm sorry; I didn't mean to sneak up on you."
"It's fine," Regina replies, in what she hopes is a breezy tone. "How was the press conference? Seems like it went...quickly."
"I called it off. Assholes kept fishing for gossip about the senator and that creep Glass and didn't even remember that five children were brutally murdered today."
"Of course," Regina mutters. "Who cares about a couple more dead ghetto kids?" Her eyes briefly drift upwards toward Robin's face to see how intently he's staring his wedding photo – at Marian. She had grown up in that neighborhood, Regina remembers. Perhaps she had even gone to that very community center. "Robin, I-"
"I stopped by the bar briefly to check on the others," he says abruptly. "Nolan, Jones, Swan...they're in a pretty bad way."
Regina sighs. Of course they are. She'd prefer to be blacked-out, herself, and she's almost certain Locksley would, too. "You could have stayed, you know," she offers. "I'm fine with watching Roland, if you want to go out and get a drink."
"I want to get several, but I didn't invite you over to my house for free babysitting."
"Oh?" What on earth does that mean? Her mind is racing – what does he hope to get out of this? They've tried comfort sex before, and it went poorly. Extremely poorly. "Why...why did you invite me over, then?" she asks slowly, hoping her voice doesn't waver.
"I was hoping we could talk, the way we used to. Like friends."
"Friends?"
"Yes, we used to be friends, remember?" he asks, gesturing to the photo in her hands. "Quite good friends, actually, if my mind isn't deceiving me."
"Yes, we were. And then one day we were both naked, and you told me you were becoming my boss, and I didn't feel especially friendly toward you anymore."
"I know," he sighs, running one hand tiredly through his hair. "And, Regina, I'm so incredibly sorry about that, and if I had any way to make it up to you, I would go through hell to do so." God, he looks exhausted, Regina thinks. There are lines crisscrossing the skin beside his eyes that weren't there this morning, and whatever shaggy beard he's attempting to grow has developed some gray patches, practically overnight. He looks as old as she feels.
"Maybe...maybe I just need to get over it," she ventures carefully. Yes, he had hurt her. But he's also the only person still living who truly understands her, and whom she understands in return, and right now, when the world seems at its most incomprehensible, maybe that matters more.
"You don't have to. You trusted me with your friendship and I betrayed that trust.
"No more than I betrayed myself."
She stares at the picture again, at the glowing young woman in the arms of her beloved, wearing a brilliant smile of joy for her best friends' happiness and excitement for her future. It's a blissful smile, a hopeful smile. The smile of someone who is living rather than waiting to die.
The smile of someone she no longer remembers how to be.
She feels Robin's hand rest gently on her shoulder, and she lets it stay there.
"Do you think those crazy kids ever had any idea they'd be us in ten years?"
She tries to laugh, but it won't come out. "I think...I think Marian might have. She was always a little wiser than the rest of us."
"Yeah, she was," Robin agrees. Losing half of your family to gang-violence before the age of eighteen will do that to you, Regina thinks, remembering with a sickening pang of guilt why she was the sole bridesmaid at that wedding.
"Daniel..." she continues, voice cracking and then trailing off. There's not a chance that Daniel, grinning from ear to ear with his cheek pressed against the top of Regina's head and his hands resting on her belly where the baby, she recalls, had been kicking up a storm that day, knew he'd be dead less than a week later. She wonders, if they had known, what would they have done differently?
She wouldn't have said no to that last dance, she thinks, a sob rising painfully in her chest. She would have held him close as they swayed under the light of the stars until the sun came up, ignoring the soreness in her feet that was absolutely nothing in comparison to the sheer agony she's been carrying in her heart ever since she lost him.
She would have set a damned date for the wedding.
She feels the tears begin streaming down her cheeks before she can stop them, and then Robin's arms are around her, small droplets – his tears, she realizes – landing on the top of her head, and she presses her face into his shoulder and pulls him closer, praying that somehow, in spite of everything that's happened to and between them, they can perhaps still manage to ground each other even as the ground feels like it's caving in.
"You were right, you know," he sniffs. "What you told me that night – I still remember. The pain fades, but the loneliness..."
"The loneliness gets worse," she recalls. Fighting back her remaining tears, she dries her eyes by rubbing them against Robin's sleeve.
"I need a drink," Robin says abruptly. "Would you care to join me?"
Without waiting for a reply, he extracts himself from the embrace and strides out toward the kitchen, one hand swiping furiously at his cheeks. Regina slowly exhales and gently restores the photo to its place, turning her head to check on the little boy who is still sleeping peacefully in his bed, unaware of the incredible sadness weighting the air around him. She presses a gentle kiss on his forehead, watching as he smiles in his sleep without so much as a stir, and makes her way to the window.
Slowly, she pushes it open and leans outward, inhaling the cool night air and gazing up at the stars, so brilliant tonight even with all the lights of the city below them. She remembers looking up at the stars as a child, filled with wonderment at the unfathomable infinity of the universe. Tonight, millions, maybe billions of other children will be doing the same, staring at the night sky and thinking of their dreams, perhaps making a wish for their future, blissfully unaware that the future may never come for them.
And for five of them, it won't. Five children will never wish upon a star again.
Robin reappears by her side with two tumblers of whiskey, one full and one half-empty like he's been drinking on the way over. He hands her the full one and looks up. "Clear night tonight," he remarks. Regina nods. "When I was a kid, my parents used to take us for vacation in Western Mass. We had this cabin on top of a mountain, and it was so dark up there at night, with no one else around, and you could see so many stars. I used to just lie out on the grass and stare at them, and think about how small and insignificant we all are in the grand scheme of things. And yet, everything that happens in our lives feels so monumental."
"I used to do something similar."
"And then days like today happen, and I get that feeling again," he says sadly, shaking his head. "Like nothing I do even matters."
"It matters to him," Regina points out, jerking her head toward Roland.
"It matters to him," Robin agrees, raising his glass as if in toast. "To Roland."
Regina clinks their glasses together and adds, "And Marian."
"And Daniel...and Henry."
"And Ayana, Jerome, Oscar, Michael, and Bria," Regina finishes. They both take a long swig of whiskey, grimacing at the burning sensation as it slides down their throats. The stars seems to twinkle brighter for just an instant, and Regina thinks she might even see one shooting across the sky, though perhaps that's just exhaustion causing her vision to blur. Anyway, she doesn't try to make a wish. It's not like they ever come true.
"I...um...I think I'm going to sleep in here tonight," Robin mumbles after a few minutes. "Just...well, you know, I want to..."
"I'll stay and help you protect him," Regina offers. "That is, if you don't mind."
"No, not at all. It's just...are you sure?"
"I'll stay with you," Regina says with an air of finality, "because that's what friends do."
"Friends? Are we friends again?"
"Tonight we are; we can reevaluate tomorrow morning."
"Sounds good," Robin says with a small smile. "Friends don't let friends get drunk and depressed alone?"
"Something like that."
They turn back to the little boy curled on his bed, one arm wrapped around a stuffed monkey while the other holds his thumb in his mouth, and Robin takes another sip while lifting his other arm around Regina's shoulders. She leans into him, eyes never leaving Roland. Although she feels full of warmth from the alcohol in her stomach and the body pressed against her, it never quite reaches her heart.
The pain fades, but the loneliness only gets worse.
"That first mother," Emma tells Mary Margaret, words slurring slightly as all the alcohol she's consumed gradually makes its way through her bloodstream up to her brain, "it was like the second she opened the door and saw it was cops, she knew."
"You've said that. Several times now," the ADA informs her, awkwardly patting the drunk and morose detective on the back.
"Sorry," Emma mumbles.
"It's okay, it's just-"
"She knew her kid was dead. And I just...I'm just going over and over it in my head. The look on her face – what it must feel like in that moment. The moment you realize you're entire world's been ripped apart, just like that." She shakes her head and shudders, finding it all too easy to put herself in the other woman's shoes. The alcohol was supposed to numb her emotions, not unlock even more of them.
"I can't imagine," Mary Margaret says sadly, "but I don't think dwelling on it is particularly healthy."
Emma isn't listening. "I should call my son again," she says abruptly. She needs Henry. She needs him like she needs oxygen, even though she's supposed to be the mother and he's the child, and he's the one who's supposed to need her. "This time I'll make Neal let me talk to him."
Not that she had even asked the first time, the still-reasonable part of her brain points out. Because she knew he'd be asleep. She was being a responsible parent.
Blanchard checks her watch. "It's one in the morning. And you probably don't want him to talk to you like this."
"Like what?"
"Well, you're drunk."
Emma stops and puts down the phone she was about to unlock as a sinking realization washes over her. "Am I a horrible parent?" she asks.
"What? No, not at all. I mean...I don't think so. I've never actually seen-"
"What kind of woman picks her job over her child?" Emma asks, feeling a sob rise up in her chest. She fights to keep it down. "Like, seriously, I just let his dad take him to New York without me. Who does that?" She starts to consider all the ways she could right this situation. She could go to South Station right now, take the first bus down to New York and bring Henry back with her by tomorrow night.
When she starts to voice these ideas, though, Mary Margaret looks alarmed. They barely know each other, after all, and yet she's somehow the one stuck in this position. "I'm sure you were trying to do what was best for him, and when you wake up tomorrow, you'll realize that you did. I'm sure Henry knows that you love him," the ADA says slowly. "But, for now, I think we need to start getting everybody home. We do have to work in the morning."
Emma blinks and tries to refocus, but it's hard to keep one thought in her head for more than a couple of seconds – except, naturally, for the unwelcome ones. Obviously, she can't go kidnap Henry. He's happy in New York, she reminds herself. She tried to give him his best chance, and she succeeded. He knows she loves him. He does. And she needs to get some fucking sleep. "Yeah," she croaks. "Where are the guys?"
They find Jones standing in the doorway of the men's room watching over Nolan, who is vomiting repeatedly into the toilet.
"I guess he had a bit more than usual," he mutters.
"It's been a long night," Emma agrees. Her head is starting to feel like a freight train is running right through it.
Mary Margaret sighs and runs a hand through her short hair. "Okay," she says decisively after a moment of consideration. "I'm going to take him home and make sure he's okay for the night. You two-" she reaches into her purse and pulls out the cash Locksley had slipped her before "-are going to take a cab home. Together, alone, I don't care. But you will not be driving. Understand?"
"Yes, mother," Jones mutters. Emma flashes the ADA a small but genuine smile and nods, grabbing Jones's arm and pulling him toward the door. At least one of them is keeping her shit together.
"Where do you live?" she asks tiredly.
"I'm all the way out in Cambridge, by Kendall Square."
"I'm in that same direction. Want to split a cab to the station and go our separate ways from there? Save money?"
He agrees, and as they get in the cab, he chuckles humorlessly and says, "What do you think Dave and the ADA are going to get up to tonight?"
Emma rolls her eyes. "My guess is nothing. He's probably going to pass out and she's going to make sure he doesn't choke on his own vomit. A real romantic evening."
"You never know," Jones says with a shrug. "Comfort sex is a real thing. People lose their inhibitions when a tragic event happens."
"Yeah," Emma argues, "but Mary Margaret is not going to take advantage of David when he's drunk off his ass, and he's probably not up for it, anyway."
"What about you?" he asks.
"I – what?" He's leaning in close to her, too close, and he smells like rum and sweat, and he will probably regret this tomorrow morning when he's sober.
"You. Are you up for it?"
"Dude," she says, leaning away and wrinkling her nose, "no. I – I'm gay."
This could go one of several ways, she thinks apprehensively, wondering how in the hell this day ended with her fending off the advances of her drunken coworker and coming out to him. She braces herself for the worst.
It doesn't happen. "Oh," he says slowly, blinking in confusion and backing up like he suddenly realized just how uncomfortably close they were. "I didn't – I had no idea. I – I'm really sorry."
She shrugs. As he said, people lose their inhibitions when something tragic happens. "Don't be. I mean, of all the horrible things that happened today, that doesn't even rank in the top ten." She'd thought, at seven in the morning, that putting Henry on the train back to New York was the worst thing that would happen. How horribly wrong she had been.
Jones settles back into his seat and shakes his head vigorously like he's trying to clear it. "You really miss your son, don't you?"
Emma nods her head and squeezes her eyelids shut. She won't cry in a cab. She won't. "Every day. But...at least he's still alive, you know? Like, I could do something about it, if I wanted to."
"So why don't you?"
Emma exhales heavily and buries her face in her hands. "I don't know," she mumbles. "I just don't know."
