Nine

There is a moment of absolute silence, a short standstill in time as neither himself nor Regina knows what to do or say. He could not even let himself breathe, though he is acutely aware of the loud and fast thumping of his heart inside his chest. He is half expecting it to burst of his shirt and is mildly surprised that it has not yet.

This is terrible…and absolutely not the way he'd imagined this scenario turning out. He would be lying if he doesn't admit that upon finding out that he has a son with Regina, he'd thought about the ways his son could find out about his paternity. Robin has imagined so many different ways that this exact moment would go. He'd dreamt about it for years: even when he had not known what had happened to Regina, or their son, had dreamt about it when he'd used to watch Regina from afar, when coexisting and acknowledging each other's existence had not been something they were keen on doing—if only for the sake of their poor battered hearts yearning for the other even after all those years.

He'd dreamt about it many different times in many different ways, and none of them had involved this. None of them had been Henry accidentally finding out by overhearing his parents fight about whether it is time to tell him or not. None of those dreams had his son staring at them looking betrayed, and both of them standing there like idiots, like two deer caught in the headlight.

He doesn't dare move a muscle, futilely hoping that this but a dream and nothing more, hoping he has a better chance at telling his son that he's his father and the chance to explain, if not the chance to be granted a happy. Despite the reality he's facing now, he still wishes he hasn't been robbed this as much as he'd been robbed of everything else.

But no, of course not.

Belatedly, he hears the slamming of the door and Regina's barely audible "Henry", and then the boy is already out of sight, running away from them.

Well, fucking bollocks.

"Robin," Regina murmurs, apparently being the first one to recover, and she mutely reaches out to grasp his arm, trying to bring him out of his musings.

Robin flinches. He doesn't want to, but he can't help it but blame her for it. If she had not been so stubborn, if she had just let him ease their son to the fact that he is Henry's father, not some random man from Regina's past. Henry is their son—his and Regina's, and she should not have taken away from him the right to have Henry know that. More than anything, Robin thinks she should not have deprived their son the chance to know that he has a father, a father who loves him very much. But it's too late now.

Henry knows—knows he does have a father, anyway, and he's found out in the worst of ways and that is something they can no longer take back.

"I'll go talk to him," Regina says dejectedly. "It's all my fault anyway." He watches as she runs her fingers through her hair and curses under his breath.

He stops her though, grabbing her elbow, his fingers pressing against the fabric of her thin jumper. She looks at him with desperation in her eyes and he feels his anger for her dissipate and dissolve, melting away into something else: guilt. He is just as guilty, because he knows he should not be blaming her, he should be blaming their parents for this mess instead. And by god, he did, does.

"I'll go," he insists in a voice that books no room for arguments. If there is anyone who should talk to their son, then he feels like, he knows that it should be him. He knows Regina will only blame herself and that won't go far in explaining properly to Henry what had really happened between them. Besides, it isn't Regina who should be blamed, it should be Cora, and his parents, and Henry Sr. for not stopping them, despite not wanting it to happen.

Regina nods at him mutely and he lets his hand slide down to hers, squeezing her fingers softly just to make sure that she knows that he's here and that they are a team, she isn't alone in this.

"I promise, he doesn't hate you," he tells her, knowing by the look in her eyes that it is what she's thinking about. But he knows Henry adores his mother too much to hate her, and even if Henry should have and does get an inkling to do so, then Robin would make sure that he won't. "I promise to make sure that he won't."

Regina exhales, and he sees her shoulder sag before she nods at him. He nods back and moves away but this time it is her who grabs his hand. He looks back at her in puzzlement.

"Thank you," she says, smiling softly at him.

"No problem, love," he tells her and then he's off to find their son.

If there is ever a time that Regina hated herself more than normal, it would definitely be right this moment. She should have listened to Robin, to reason, should have known that there are no secrets that won't come back to bite her in the ass. She should have told her son who his father is and allowed Robin to explain his side to their son, should have let Robin shed a different light to the situation. She should have allowed her son to find out about his paternity in a completely different way than he had.

She had been selfish, had put her own need to protect herself before her own son and his needs, his right to know the truth. She wished she'd acted and decided smarter than she had, but there is no way to turn back time and change things.

With a heavy heart, she makes her way to the living room where Roland is currently lying on the couch, slumbering, blissfully and completely unaware of the chaos unfolding around him. Regina wishes that she has that same bliss, the kind induced by ignorance of the situation—simply because he need not be involved in the mess she and the boy's father created (mostly her, to be honest). She wishes she doesn't have to sit here and fret over what is going on, about how her son is and he's thinking now that he knows. For the umpteenth time within the last half hour, Regina wishes she could turn back time and do things differently.

But she has not. She did not.

And now it's too late, and she can do nothing but sit tight and wait.

Robin's heart is beating so rapidly in his chest that it makes him wonder exactly how it had not popped out of his clothes. In theory, he should not be afraid of the boy—he's the adult here, and Henry is barely even eleven for cripes sake. What harm could his son really do to him? None, physically, surely. But that is not what he's afraid of. A punch on the face, Robin would gladly take if it would make Henry feel better. After all, he might even deserve that. It's the emotional pain, the rejection and the betrayal he might see in his son's eyes. He's afraid of the questions he cannot answer, the questions he can, but does not want to.

He sighs. It's supposed to be a glorious moment: Henry finding out that he is his father, but now it's all gloomy and not at all what he's envisioned this turning out to be.

He finds Henry near the dock, sitting down with his arms around himself as he fights the blistering cold. Stubborn, like his mother, he thinks as he remembers fondly that one time that Regina had refused to get in his car despite the harsh Maine winter air, and had actually walked her way home just because she had been irritated by him and absolutely refused to be in a confined space with him. Granted, he'd been a colossal idiot then (he's not sure entirely what he's done, but is definitely sure he'd been beyond control because rarely does Regina even punish him with silence for anything). He'd been left trailing after her in his car, pleading with her to just climb in, but she'd been resolute and had ignored him, despite the obvious trembling of her body.

Robin shakes his head at the memory and makes his way to where his son is sitting, quietly so he won't scare him—lest he falls into the water and Regina has his head—and takes a seat beside him. Henry looks sideways but remains silent, his eyes looking straight forward again once Robin has settled. He scoots away ever so slightly, and if things weren't so serious and if his heart isn't as heavy as the situation is, he'd have smiled at how similar their son actually is to Regina, despite not growing up with her.

He is very much like his mother, Robin thinks with a soft, silent snort.

"Hi Henry," Robin blurts out, coming up with the first thing he thinks of, which is lame he admits, but what else is there to say? How is he even supposed to start a conversation about…

"You lied to me," Henry says, his voice low but clear, cutting off Robin's train of thoughts, and it seems that his son has less tact and is more straightforward than him (he hates to be repetitive, but he knows exactly where Henry gets it from). "You made it seem like you didn't know who my father is, when all along you knew. You might not have really lied to me but not telling me the truth, not telling me what you did know is still lying! It's still wrong." Henry takes a deep breath, huffing out: "You didn't tell me and you lied."

It is somewhat embarrassing and demeaning that his ten year old son should school him about honestly and lies about omission, when it should be the other way around, but Henry is absolutely right. He had not told him what he'd known, and instead had diverted his son's queries to his mother. That had been an utterly poor choice on his part.

The accusation his son flings to him hurts, is more than just a twinge painful because it is true. And it makes him feel like an absolute shit. At the time, it had seemed like he'd been respecting Regina's wishes. After all, she is the mother of one of his sons and she had, at that time, not wanted for Henry to know yet, not yet—so he'd justified not telling by that, had told himself he was being patient. He realizes now, however, that it isn't respect for Regina that's kept him from telling his son the truth. True, it's been part of it, but it's not all of it, and it had been his fear, his own fear that had really pushed him to not admit the truth. He relied on Regina's fears, her hesitation, and had taken that as his cover. Her reluctance to tell Henry that Robin is his father was a projection of his own and he'd hidden behind that, in order to hide from his own truth which is his own fear of being rejected by his own son. He is afraid of his worst dreams coming to reality, that his son would realize how much of a failure he is as a father, that he'd been unable to fight for him and his mother, and it's been the real reason they'd been apart for so long after all. For he could always pin the blame on their parents, and say they'd taken the decision from his and Regina's hands, but he knows deep inside, it should be him that should be blamed. He was, is, a failure, no matter what he tells himself. And his rejection of himself coupled with the possible rejection he might, undoubtedly, get from his own son had been the very reason he'd not told him the truth. He's afraid of the very real possibility that he won't be enough, that he won't live to his son's expectations, to his wants and needs.

It had been easy to use Regina's apprehension as a scapegoat.

Well, not anymore.

He is going to own up to what he's done.

"Sorry," he begins solemnly but sincerely as he looks over at his son, wishing he could hold him but knowing he can't yet, now is not the best time, not now and not yet. "I had not been completely honest with you, I know, but I had not meant to lie to you. I did not want to lie to you, and I promise that moving forward I never will." He places a hand over his chest to signify how true he is to his words. "Your mum thought it was best to find the right time to tell you, to have you sat down and told what really happened, or as much as we can tell you, to avoid this kind of reaction. To avoid hurting you," he continues sighing. "She didn't want to just spring it out on you because she didn't want you to be surprised."

Henry swallows and nods once. He gives him the side-eye. "And you? What's your excuse?" he asks, and in that moment Robin realizes just how much growing up his son had to do while away from them and it breaks his heart. He should not have to be dealing with all of this, any of this.

"Unlike your mother, I do not have any good excuse," Robin answers honestly. It doesn't bode well with his son, obviously, as his face scrunches up in distaste. "I had wanted to tell you a long time ago, but I suppose I agreed with your mum that there was a right time for it. And springing it out on you was not it. Except, I suppose if it is up to me, no time would have been the right time. I was scared Henry." Robin feels his throat and mouth dry up and he wishes he is anywhere but here at the moment, but this is the moment and there is no escaping it. He's done so much escaping out of this already. "I was scared to tell you I guess, and so I just let time pass."

"The best time to tell me would have been when we got here," Henry tells him as-a-matter-of-factly, and Robin can't help but agree. "Or before that, or when I asked you, or before that, too! You should not have lied to me."

"I know that now, Henry, and I'm very sorry I did not. I see now that it isn't to anyone's good. I know it doesn't excuse anything but I have been very scared."

Henry looks at him fully now. "Scared of what?" he asks.

Robin breathes in deeply and exhales loudly. "I was scared you would turn away from me, and that you'd think I abandoned you. I was scared that you'd hate me."

The truth spills from his mouth like tea from a cup.

"Didn't you?" Henry asks, voice small and innocent. It's curiosity that tinges his voice and not malice, but still the simple question pierces through Robin's heart and he wishes he could turn back time and change things, only he knows he can't. He's willed himself to do so, so many times before and had proved himself unsuccessful and dreaming a pipe dream. Henry might as well have flung acid to Robin's face because Robin reckons that would hurt less.

"No," Robin says, a little louder than he intends to, a little more forceful, a little more passionate, that it makes Henry jump a little. "No, God no, Henry, I would have never. I loved your mother, loved her with my whole being, the thought of abandoning you never crossed my mind. I admit I have failed you as a father, and your mother, I have failed her too, but I never wanted to leave you. I was in fact, overjoyed when your mother told me about you. I was so happy. I created you with your mother who was, is, the love of my life, and you my darling boy were a product of a love so pure and so true. Henry I wanted to keep you. I wanted to marry your mother and keep both of you by my side forever. Your mother wanted to keep you too. We had plans of marrying and raising you, maybe giving you siblings, not putting you up to adoption. I swear Henry."

Henry is quiet for the most part, and the words that had fallen from Robin's lips pool between them, stewing, untouched. From a distance, a bull frog croaks into the darkness of the night while silence settles between father and son.

"So what happened?" Henry finally asks him after a beat of elongated silence. Robin is half afraid he'd already said too much.

But he's made a promise to be honest to the boy and so honest he shall be. "I told you your mother didn't have a choice, didn't I?" he asks to which the boy responds with a nod. "I don't suppose I did too. Or at that time, I didn't feel like I had the choice. I was barely nineteen, fresh out of high school and looking at the uncertainty of University, and your mother was barely just eighteen, same as me. One moment we were looking at college pamphlets, the next we were looking at appointments with the doctor to have you checked…and when things happened, when our parents decided to take action, there seemed to have no other recourse. I didn't know how to fight for you and your mother against them, because they just had to know better."

He feels anger rising up his throat again. And it's equal parts hatred for Cora and his parents for deciding for his and Regina's futures without asking them, and for Henry standing there and doing nothing to stop it (though he understands Henry Sr. might have been outnumbered and had his hands tied), and for himself for not fighting harder for the family he should have had.

"So my grandparents didn't want me?" Henry asks despondently, his shoulders slumping, and God Robin feels like an asshole on behalf of the boy's grandparents for doing what they'd done.

"No Henry, of course that's not…" Robin struggles to explain because he's thought about it over and over and he knows it looks exactly like that, and feels exactly like that. He doesn't want to paint Cora or his parents in any other light than the truth, but he does not want his son to feel like shit either, just because his grandparents were, are, assholes. "Your grandparents—of course they all love you. They just acted on impulse, on what they thought was right. At that time, your mum and I were very young, just out of high school, they didn't think we could take care of you and ourselves and each other. We loved each other dearly, Henry, and love you just as much. Our parents, I suppose despite everything, they loved us too, and loved you as well. We were just so young then Henry that they might have thought they were giving us and you our best chance."

"Our best chance was to be together," Henry says adamantly, and Robin thinks that he's got no need to be so passionate, he's preaching to the choir. However, for a moment, for one glorious moment he sees so much of himself on his son that it makes his heart swell in his chest. He wishes he could protect him and Roland and Regina from the rest of the world. He knows he cannot but he wishes all the same.

"I know that, my son, and I agree with you," he tells the young boy who shares his flesh and blood. "We cannot turn back time though, now can we?"

Henry shakes his head and sighs. "No, we can't."

Robin wraps an arm around his son tentatively, sighing in relief when Henry does not push him away or pull himself away. "So we make do with the second chance we're being given. You were brought back to us for a reason. You sought your mother out, and me by extension, for a reason. And that's because everyone deserves a second chance—even you and me, and your mum—we all deserve a second chance, my boy. We just need to open our eyes to see it."

Robin feels like he might actually soar the moment he feels Henry's arms wrap around his middle, the little boy's face pressing against his chest as he nods lightly. Robin embraces his son fully, tighter, and though there as so many things that feels as good as this, only a few come to mind, all of them blurred right at the moment by the feeling he feels right now, because this right here is heaven to him.

"Do you still love my mom?" Henry asks him then, words muffled by his chest, and Robin is not just a bit startled. He supposes he should have seen this coming, because of course, he would ask this.

Robin doesn't know what to say. On the one hand, admitting his feelings to his boy might complicate things, but on the other, he does not want to lie. Not to Henry, and not to himself either—because of course he still loves the boy's mother. Robin doesn't think he's ever loved anyone but Regina Mills in all his life.

"Henry, I…" Robin trails off and sighs deeply. He does not want to lie to his son but he does not want Henry to get any ideas. "What I feel for your mum…it's real and true. And I have loved your mother longer than I have not, or that I care to admit." He could already to see the wheels turning in his son's head and could hear the next words he will say, so Robin puts a stop to that. "But whatever we had…that's over now, and whatever might come, is between your mother and I. It does not need to worry you, my boy."

"But if you love each other, if you still love her, then we can still have a chance at being a proper family!"

Robin wants that, more than anything, but knows he cannot force Regina to see what is right in front of her if she doesn't want to open her eyes to it. "We are a family, Henry. It might not be conventional but we are."

"But," Henry begins to protest, and Robin understands where the boy is coming from, wants to tell him that he wants nothing more than to be a proper family with him, his mother and Roland, but they cannot have that. They cannot force that.

"I'm afraid, Henry, that there are things that you're simply too young to understand," Robin concludes, noting the pout that forms on his son's lips. It's the truth though. Robin thinks that there are things that even he could not understand, and he's no longer a young boy, but a full grown adult with two boys of his own. "Whatever we are, a proper family or not, or whatever your mother and I are to each other, know that it does not and will not affect our love for you." He sighs and drops a kiss on his son's forehead, pulling him close. "I will always love you and Roland more than anything in this world, okay?"

Henry sighs, as though he has something else to say, but instead he knows. "Okay," he concedes, and then looks up at him. "Can I call you dad, though?" he asks tentatively as he pulls away.

With only a few words his son manages to turn his world around and knock him off his feet. It's really a good thing he's sitting.

"Yes, Henry, of course you can. I mean if that's what you want…if you want to, oh God, I would love it," he rambles on, feeling as though his heart might actually explode from his chest.

"Okay dad," Henry whispers as he throws his arms around Robin again.

Robin feels like he's just won the lottery…only this is better, much, much better.

Regina tries to occupy herself, but with nothing much to do in a house that she does not own, her efforts at calming herself down fall flat. She tries not to think too much about it, wanting to trust Robin that he could make this all okay, but it's hard not to worry, and Christ, she cannot help it.

It's been a while since they'd been gone and they still have not come back. Regina feels like she won't be able to hold herself from coming to get them any longer.

She knows she should have been the one to come after their son. She should have been the one to explain, after all it is her fault that they would need an explanation in the first place. It is because of her that it's all become tangled and complicated. True, she hadn't had the choice, and it had not been her decision to give her son away, but this—letting Henry know who his father is—this is all on her. She had a choice. A choice that she has clearly made and had it blowing up in her face. She's made a decision that only benefitted her, she made a choice, and a selfish one at that.

She should be the one to fix the mess, not Robin. She'd been the one to ask Robin not to Henry just yet, after all, saying it isn't the right time. She wonders now what she's been thinking—obviously the right time had been the moment she'd found out that Henry is their son. She should have told Robin she'd found their son, and she should have told Henry about Robin. She should have told both father and son, then. She should not have kept it a secret, now look at what happened.

The door from the back creaks softly, and Regina springs up from where she is seated across the slumbering Roland. Quietly, she makes her way to where she knows Robin and their son will be.

She rushes to Henry and wraps him up in a warm embrace and kisses his forehead. She cups his chin and stares him right in the eyes. "Sorry darling," she tells him, softly but firmly—sincerely. "I should have told you. I should have never kept it a secret."

Henry shakes his head and wraps his arms around her. "It's okay, mom," he says. "I forgive you. I understand why you did it."

Regina very much doubts he understands, not completely anyway, but she nods anyway—never to take the gift horse by the mouth—and hugs him back.

"I know I turned out to be the villain in the story, lying to you like that," she says, relating to his affection for comics and storybooks (feeling that he no doubt thinks of her that way), "But I swear I had not meant to. And I am really sorry."

"You're my mom, not a villain," Henry assures her, kissing her cheek. "Besides, Dad has already explained everything to me." He then jerks his head towards where Robin is standing.

Dad.

Henry's referred to Robin as Dad, and of course he has, of course. Robin is his dad. The moment though of hearing their son calling Robin him that still takes her aback, and she feels as though her breath has been literally stolen from her and she is unable to make a step back and unable to stop the small gasp of surprise from escaping her parted lips.

At that moment, she feels like every dream she's ever dreamed came true. All except one, but that is neither here nor there to the current situation.

Christ almighty, she feels as though she might float from sheer happiness.

Father and son, however, don't take it as happiness and both frown identically.

"Is it okay?" Henry rushes to ask, taking her gasp as her disagreement. "Can I call him Dad?"

Regina looks at her son's wide, almost pleading eyes, and then at Robin's sparkling blue ones and even had she wanted to say no, she could definitely not have.

"Of course, honey," Regina assures her son, smiling at him. "Of course you can if that is what you want, then of course you can. And of course, if your dad agrees."

Henry looks at Robin then at Regina, while Regina focuses on Robin who is nodding as eagerly as their son.

"I have no objections if that is what Henry wants," Robin says and of course, he does not.

Regina nods at the both of them before taking their son in her arms again and hugging him tight. God she loves him, loves him more than anything in this world.

Silence settles between the three of them and for a moment, Regina basks in it, in the glorious feeling of having her son in her arms as Robin watches from a close distance with a soft smile of his face and a dreamy look in his eyes.

It all seems like a dream, yet, it seems so real, and this could be real, in fact if she closes her eyes she could pretend that this is real—they are a family, that she is his and he is hers, and that she's holding her oldest son in his arms, while their youngest son sleeps on in the living room.

But those are very dangerous thoughts to have and so she opens her eyes and pulls away from her son, straightening up and peering down his beautiful brown eyes.

"I love you, Henry," Regina murmurs, breaking the silence.

"And I love you," Henry responds, "You and Dad."

"I love you too," Robin says back, although his eyes flicker briefly to Regina's.

Regina tries to shrug it off, but it's not that easy, not when all her emotions are close to the surface, all of those years yearning for him and the future they could have had if it only weren't stolen from them coming back to haunt her.

They could have had this, all of this and more, but their parents had taken it away from them, they'd taken it all away.

She feels the same anger Robin feels bubbling in her chest and she tries to dispel it, tries to focus on the here and now, on what is real and present, but it is hard, it's made more difficult by the picture of father and son she loves more than anything in the world. It's made difficult by today when she'd gotten a taste of what her life could have been with her son and Robin, and his boy who she's coming to love very much.

Luckily a diversion comes in the form of the very boy, a curly haired little dimpled hobbit comes crashing into her legs, knocking her thoughts away before she can run further away with it.

"I'm hungry," the boy whines as he walks into the kitchen, blissfully unaware of the drama that just unfolded in that same space. "Can we have dinner?" He clasps his hands together and looks at her with doe eyes. She'd seen that look many, many times, before from a different set of eyes. "Please?"

Regina chuckles and then sniffs, moving a bit so she can face the boy without fully letting go of Henry. "Of course we can, darling," she tells him with a bright smile, "And we should but I haven't gotten anything started. I didn't know what your daddy's plans were." She throws a glance at the boys' father and he shrugs.

"I thought we could just drive down at Granny's or John's and have a meal there," he suggests, and Regina honestly doesn't see anything wrong with that. In fact, she could do without the stress of having to prepare a meal for all four of them, even as she thinks that two meals of unwholesome, greasy, junk food is too much for one day. Robin must have taken her brief silence as disagreement because then he adds, "Or I probably could scour up something healthier here."

Something means processed, too much sodium packet of chicken nuggets and some boiled veggies the boys will probably turn their noses up on, or some macaroni and cheese. That much Regina knows after she had rummaged through his fridge and cupboard out of nothing better to do.

"No it's fine," Regina tells him then, smiling. "I think it's a great idea. I don't really feel like cooking and I'm sure neither do you. Let's just bring the boys over at John's. Please just ask John if he could hustle up something healthy for the boys, maybe a stir fry with some chicken or something with veggies."

Robin nods his acquiescence before he moves in search of his keys while Roland makes a face at the mention of vegetables, exclaiming a totally disgusted 'eww!', making Regina chuckle softly, ruffling his hair. She shakes her head and ushers both boys to get their coats and then out the door where Robin is already waiting outside in the car.

Robin watches as his sons run around with John's kids and he feels a stirring in his chest that he can only classify as genuine happiness and contentment.

If he never has a shot with Regina, then he supposes he will be happy with just this—with his two boys he loves more than life. That, of course, does not at all mean he won't like another shot with her.

Of course not.

At this point, they have not told Roland yet about his relation with Henry, though Robin very much doubts that Roland would mind. He already loves Henry to the point of hero-worship, and though it seems as though Henry does not know what to do with a boy so young as his brother, the boy nonetheless dotes on the younger tyke, and it's all so adorable, if you ask Robin. To Roland, finding out that the coolest person he knows is actually his brother would just simply be delightful.

Robin turns to Regina, his gaze falling on to her beautiful face as she watches the two boys. There is a smile on her face as she looks over them softly, her eyes twinkling. Somehow, she's become attached to Roland as well, and the thought makes his heart lurch, makes him want to do a jig. It probably means nothing, Roland is an adorable little boy and everyone who encounters him is easily enchanted—his bias notwithstanding—but it simply does things to him that it's her, it's Regina who is getting attached to his son. It will probably not end well, statistics and history suggest that it won't—but it doesn't help him from being excited.

Regina looks as content as he feels right at that moment, and not for the first time since finding out that his son is alive, since knowing her and realizing he's so utterly, foolishly besotted with her (and not the last time either), he wishes they could have this; that they do have this.

Not for the first time and definitely not for the last time he is reminded with the bitter reality that they don't.

"It's nice to see Henry enjoying himself around kids near his age," Regina comments, breaking his train of thoughts. He's grateful for the respite because of the sour route it had taken. Robin looks at the woman he loves (has always loved) with question, silently urging her to continue. "The nuns at the convent told me that Henry was very shy, very awkward around kids. He had one friend, her name was Grace, whose mother apparently died of childbirth, her father had been unavailable after that—he...well, he lost his mind for a lack of better term, and they had no family, so she was sent to an orphanage where she met our son. They grew up together, but three years ago, Little Grace had been adopted by a nice couple and Henry went back to being a loner."

"They told you all this?" Robin ass, a little surprised.

Regina frowns and shrugs. "I was interested in my child's upbringing, so I asked. And the nuns—after finding out what really happened, how I never wanted to send my son away—they told me," she answers him a bit defensively—no doubt thinking that he's implying that she's done something wrong by asking or that she's broken some rules, or breached confidentiality or whatever the fuck she's thinking that makes her take his question the wrong way. To the hell with it.

That's not what he's meant.

"I know. I was just surprised I guess that you knew all these, and that they've been so invested in our boy," he says, trying to calm her overworked mind. "I know he's special. He's my son, after all," he teases, making Regina snort and smile and roll her eyes. "I just didn't think that with all the children they look after, they'd be so invested in him."

Regina shakes her head. "He's my son, too, you best remember that," she teases back, and God yes, he remembers so well, so very well—even how he's made, but that's a thought for another day. "Henry was...well, he's a very a sneaky boy. I told you about how he managed to go from Boston to Maine, and how he found me. He takes after you, I'm afraid—full of mischief and always wanting adventures." Regina chuckles, allowing Robin to do the same, and he's unable to deny that yes, his sons have taken after him in that regard, and though he really should not, he's a bit proud of that too. "He's a very mischievous little boy, so they nuns had to make sure that he doesn't do anything sneaky. But more importantly, they're looking after him out of fear of what the other kids do or say to him. I was told that he was being bullied at the orphanage."

Robin feels his heart drop to his stomach. His son had been bullied. "But why?" he asks, genuinely confused. "Henry's such an amazing, polite, kind kid. Why would anyone, why would they bully him?"

Regina shrugs, a sad expression taking over her features. "I'm afraid I don't know why. He's our son and I think he's amazing too and brilliant and we both want the best for him and to protect him from the world. But kids are...they're kids. They can be mean and brutal and uncaring of what they do and it's inevitable that things like this happen. I don't like anymore than you do that our son is the target, but we will have to accept the fact that there will be kids who won't be nice or kind to him, and there is no answering why and that neither you nor I can do anything about it anymore." She sighs. "I was hoping that Storybrooke could offer him a fresh start, and so far, he's been excelling in school and I was told he's fitting in wonderfully. He now has friends and he even had sleepover with the Tillman kids—Nick and Ava. All we can do now is support him. I'm being vigilant now and taking precautions that he doesn't suffer the same fate, or at the very least, I make he sure he knows he doesn't have to be alone and that he can tell me anything and I will do everything in my power to make it right."

Robin nods resolutely, agreeing with everything she says. "Let me help," he asks pleadingly, because now that he's in his son's life, he'll be damned if he's not involved.

Regina smiles at him and touches his wrist, right above his tattoo, surprising him that she should initiate contact when she seems to be adamant to put a wall between them. He fights the surprise from showing on his face though, out of the risk that she'd see it and realize what she's done. "As much as you want to and can," she promises, squeezing his wrist in a way that's almost loving. It transports Robin back to the time when they had been lovers and this had been ordinary, and not at all a big deal as it is now.

He wishes he could take back time, but knows he cannot. So this, her and him and their kids, right here, right now—this is enough for now.

For now.

..

It is nearing Roland's bedtime by the time the two of them decided it is time to go home. It doesn't go well with the over tired and sleepy toddler, obviously, who turned sour and cranky when his father told him it's to leave. He looks every bit as sleepy as he no doubt feels, but he does look like he is trying to fight it (valiant effort on his part, but he's failing). He also fights the idea of going home, throwing a fit of epic proportions than Robin has ever seen him throw, running towards the table where he and Regina had spent the better part of the night, chatting with John and his wife. They are the only ones left in the diner as it's already closed.

Roland throws himself at Regina's lap, crying that he doesn't want to go home and he wants to stay and play. He watches as Regina pulls the young boy in her arms and tries to hush his hysterical cries, running a hand up and down his back, whispering soothing words to him. Robin reckons he should go ahead and be the one to settle his son down, but hit eldest sidles up next to him and lays his head on his shoulder. He turns to look at him and finds him looking as tired and sleepy as Roland, although he's much quieter. Robin feels a warmth settling in his chest as he wraps his arms around Henry, letting him lean into him. With one nod from Regina who is sat across them, watching while soothing Roland, he lets her deal with the whiny toddler. They both k now that if he tries to even take over, Roland who is now hiccupping softly against Regina's chest, will only rip them a new own and go hysterical again.

John uses the time to usher his kids upstairs, telling Robin he'll be back in a moment. Robin nods and looks over at Regina, offering to get Roland who is already falling asleep in her arms. She shakes her head, but before she can even make a verbal response, Roland protests at the idea, whining, and that notion is quickly put to rest. Instead they decide that it's definitely time to go home. Henry looks like he might fall asleep standing up, too.

They bid their goodbyes and goodnights once John and his wife are back. John's wife, Elena, makes them promise to come back soon, and successfully extracts a promise from Regina to teach her how to make her original apple pies.

Regina chuckles and tells her that she will, as long as Elena teaches her how to make the lemon meringue they'd been served during desert. It's a quick and resolute yes from Elena, and it's a sweet, tender moment between two women, and it's almost normal, almost like a moment in time when they're once what they used to be, with their lives once again intertwined.

But that's a pipe dream, is what it is. Just a moment in time, a short, window of a moment. And maybe, that's all he'll ever get.

...

Regina isn't sure whether she needs a good night's sleep, a glass (bottle) of wine, or a long, luxurious bubble bath when she and Henry get home. It's been such a long day—long and wonderful. Too wonderful, in fact, that she just wants it to end. She doesn't really need any more of this, not days like this one when she's too happy and feeling too great, not if they are spent with Robin and his sons.

It's a great life, such a great life—one that she can never have, and she finds that it's for the best if she doesn't get glimpses of it, gets a taste of what she's missing, because it only serves to hurt her more. It hurts to have a taste of something so good, knowing she'll only have a taste but never really have it.

It's too late for that right now, she knows.

Sighing, she closes her eyes and leans back on the chair, letting her head fall against the headrest. She fights the tears that she knows will come, and saves it for later, in the silence and comfort of her own bedroom.

"You alright?" she hears Robin ask her and she lolls her head to the side and opens her eyes slowly.

"I'm okay," she whispers with a soft, sad smile. "I'm great, actually. Thank you." She looks at him to let him know that despite the pain, despite the words that she cannot say, she isn't only thanking him for asking. She is thanking him for today.

He nods, and she turns her head further to the back to take a peek to the two boys now sleeping on their seats. Roland is in his car seat, his chubby little hands clutching Henry's arm as he sits asleep next to his brother, head leaning against the younger boy.

It's a beautiful sight to see. Regina isn't entirely sure if she wants to remember it or burn it entirely from memory.

She doesn't really need this kind of pain.

Leaning back on her chair and closing her eyes once more, she lets her mind rest for now. At this point, she might just call pain her new best friend—though, she thinks they'd been friends for eleven long years now, so really, what's new?

She hasn't even realized that she's fallen asleep until she feels herself being shaken awake and hears her name being called softly. She opens her eyes slowly, eyelids softly fluttering, and the first sight that greets her is Robin's smiling face.

She feels herself smiling too. "Robin," she murmurs sleepily, trying to roll over to her side. This is a dream, she knows that, knows that she won't ever wake with Robin beaming at her. She's known that the hard way, had been awoken from dreams like this one, one too many times and rather rudely, too.

"Wake up, love," Robin's raspy voice murmurs to her ear, and she feels his warm hand cupping her cheek. And God, hearing him say that sounds amazing—she wishes he'd say that to her for the rest of their lives, every morning. This is definitely a dream. "Come on, sleeping beauty, time to wake up." She feels his thumb rub the cheek he's holding and it jolts her awake. She opens her eyes once more and finds that nope, no this isn't a dream.

Robin is, in fact, standing in front of her with a smile and she's sitting on the front seat of his car.

"Hello there, sleeping beauty," he tells her with a soft smile, brushing the stray hair out of her face, making her heart skip a thousand beats and no, nope, no, this can't be real. "Had a good kip?"

She stammers as her heart hammers inside her chest and she struggles to climb out of the chair (Robin, it appears, has already unclasped her seat belt). "Um yeah, yeah, thanks." And then she remembers the boys and she turns her head back to the car, narrowly missing Robin's eye as her hair flipped about.

"The boys are inside," he tells her, making her turn around to face him again, hair whipping about and this time actually hitting Robin in the cheek. He only smiled. "I carried them both inside and put them to bed."

She nods softly and then sidesteps Robin to make her way inside. Robin moves aside, allowing her to do as she pleases. Before she makes the step, she breathes in deeply first and straightens out her clothes and heaves her bag upon her shoulders.

"I need to go," she tells him unnecessarily as she makes her way to the house to collect her son. Robin's voice calling out to her stops her on her tracks though, and she turns around to look at him.

"I was hoping Henry could stay the night," he says but it's more of a question than a statement. "He's already settled in bed and it's really late to wake him up." His reason is logical, and deep inside Regina knows that, sees the logic in it, but it outrages her that Robin could even suggest that.

"Have you lost your damn mind?" she asks, almost bellowing at him, but she tries to be mindful of the fact that although they are within Robin's property, they are still outside. Really, there are no neighbours for miles, but her overworked and overtired mind and heart have not caught up to that fact yet. And after today's events she needs a good lashing out. "You want to keep Henry here for the night and set tongues working? You forget Robin that this is such a small town! What would—,"

He looks livid when he cuts her off with: "Your mother say?" he asks, and his voice is loud and strong, and it would have scared Regina if it's not Robin. As it is, she can see how much he's fighting to stay calm.

He's right, though, she's thinking of Cora and the people of Storybrooke. She doesn't want to give her mother another reason to rip her a new one, or the people of Storybrooke to make her the headline for a month. She's not much a fan of gossips, and would really much rather not be a part of any narratives. She doesn't tell him that though, and instead, she sniffs and turns her head away, turning her nose up at him.

"Good fucking God, Regina! Do you really think I give a stinking fuck what your mother would say?" He breathes deeply and clenches his fists. "She's said all she had to say eleven years ago. I don't fucking care about her anymore."

That's because he's not the one to endure her.

"It's not just Cora," she murmurs to defend herself, although she's lost her fight now. She could have just made an excuse rather than go off at him like she had, but she's too tired and her feelings have been too raw, too on the surface the whole day.

"Oh damn it, Regina! You think I care about the town and what all those gossip mongers have to say? I didn't care then and I sure as hell don't give a flying fuck now, either. They can say whatever bloody fuck they want. All I care about is my family," he tells her. "All I care about are my sons," he pauses then breathes, continues with: "And you."

She shakes her head. "It's not your place to care about me anymore."

He chuckles, but it sounds sad and desperate. "Why do you keep fighting this, Regina? Don't you know by now that you cannot stop yourself from loving me as much as I can't stop myself from loving you? Haven't you realized by now that we're meant to spend the rest of our lives together with our sons? That even after all these years there is no one else for me or for you but each other?"

Regina stands there, frozen and speechless, her tears so close to falling, unable to do anything but breathe through the pain and swallow down the thing that's now lodged in her throat.

"It's not...we were never supposed to be apart, my love, and you know that. You said it yourself, you're just afraid of what will change, of how having me back in your life will change it...but have you thought about how wonderful that change could be?" he asks her and he makes a fair point, but she can't. Not right now. "We were supposed to have this...you, me, Henry, and Roland...and all of the other kids we wished to have...we could have this. We could still have this."

"But we don't," she exclaims, and one lone tear slips down her cheeks. She brushes it away angrily. She turns away from him, in case other fall too, despite her willing them not to. "We don't have this. We can't have this."

"Don't stop yourself from having what you could have just because you're afraid of what other people would say, or god forbid what your mother would say," he pleads with her. "What she would say or what the others would say didn't stop you from claiming Henry and bringing him home with you where he belongs. Why can't you do the same with me? Why can't come home to my arms where you belong?"

She can't listen to this anymore, doesn't want to listen to him anymore. Her heart, or what's left of it, it's broken, it's crumbling, she can't—the pain is too much. She squares her shoulder and tells herself to soldier on.

"I'll come by to pick up Henry before lunch," she mutters, and then she walks away.

Like all those years ago, she walks away again.