A/N: Enjoy! As always, huge thank you to my beta Jess, and Jen and Allison for listening to me bang on about this story all the time.
Two weeks go by, and Regina and Robin find that, actually, their friends knowing about their relationship is like coming up for air after spending so long drowning. Mulan and Aurora make the big move to France to care for Aurora's brother, the tattoo parlour being left in the safe hands of Leroy (because it's not permanent, they've both assured, it's only while Phillip undergoes chemotherapy).
The weekend after Alton Towers, Robin invited everyone over to the house for a bon voyage gathering, and Regina finally got to experience what it feels like to behave like his girlfriend in front of other people.
Which, as it turns out, isn't all that different to when they're alone. Except there's less foreplay on the couch in the early evening.
As promised, Regina took Roland back to school so she could talk to his teacher, Mrs. Potts about the altercation with Darla - the one other place in London she can just be Robin's girlfriend and not his lawyer, where their relationship can be perfectly reasonable and not at all unethical. It took a good hour for Regina's concerns to be slightly placated, a promise from his teacher to keep Darla and Roland separate, and a question for Regina that made the bottom drop out of her stomach.
"Why don't we have another meeting in a month? That way we can make sure Roland is doing well in school and at home, and it would ease your worries, I'm sure," Mrs. Potts had kindly offered, and yes, of course she would come back in a month, of course that would be a good idea. Except, of course, in a month Robin's trial would be over and she … well … she wouldn't be here.
She had stammered, jaw slacked and mind foggy with panic as Mrs. Potts had politely waited for Regina's response, which - when she eventually managed to speak - was relatively vague. "I appreciate the offer," she had told her, grabbing her purse and standing, watching children begin to congregate on the playground outside (she had brought Roland in early, had wanted to avoid bumping into Mrs. Sherman and that not-so-delightful daughter of hers). "I'll let you know, but there's a good chance I'll be, ah, visiting, Boston in December, so it might have to be Robin that comes in."
Mrs. Potts, never one to pry unless one of her student's well being is compromised, simply smiled and raised her eyebrows a little. "Am I correct in thinking Mr. Locksley's trial begins in December?"
She'd frozen, avoided the teacher's eyes entirely and felt her breath catch in her throat. Regina was ready to go on the defence, to stamp down the woman's judgement before she'd so much as breathed out another syllable when, "Look, I'm not here to judge you, Miss Mills. Or your family." And oh, that had been unexpected. "The only thing that matters to me is that Roland is okay. Something like this is bound to be unsettling for him, no matter how much you think you're keeping him away from it all. Children of his age are intuitive."
The words she had spoken were soft, kind, and Regina had felt her shoulders relax a little, felt her defensive guard drop and had sunk back down into the chair she'd just vacated. "He's not a bad man," she'd told Mrs. Potts in a small voice. "He's a good father, Roland idolises him-"
"Oh, I've no doubt. He's told me quite a bit about his family when I've managed to get him to open up," the older woman told her with a warm smile.
"He has?"
"He has," she repeated back. "It's not hard to see he's a daddy's boy. I've never been one for idle gossip, Miss Mills. And I know better than to listen to the nonsense some of those parents speak about on the playground. Every time I've spoken to Mr. Locksley, he's been nothing but polite, and very interested in Roland's education. Now obviously, I'm no detective, but that doesn't exactly scream cold-blooded killer to me," she'd said firmly. "All I ask is that you keep me in the loop. Talk to me if things are rocky at home so I can keep a closer watch on Roland."
Regina was stunned, unsure when her mouth had dropped open, when her eyes had moistened because this woman was the first member of the public to actually be on their side. Well … Roland's side. But she had been more grateful for that than she could've ever expressed. She'd nodded, thanked the woman more than once and promised to be in touch before Robin's trial began.
But the days between then and now have grown further apart. Robin's trial is in one week. Gold has been working them to the bone, has had them going over and over their pleas and witnesses and Robin's statement and everything in between until each of them are singing the words in their sleep. Lennie and Mel have drawn a blank on the whereabouts of Killian Jones. Jeff has been unable to tie Jonathan Prince to anything remotely criminal (and it strikes Regina as frustratingly odd that man doesn't have so much as a congestion charge when he lives in London). Gold has drilled Robin to the point that her poor boyfriend has lived in a constant state of agitation for the past ten days.
Things look… bleak. Verging on dire because Robin has resigned himself to the fact that after next week, there's a good chance he won't be in his bed, in his house with his son. He will be in a small cell with cold walls and bars on the windows, the next twenty years of his life a monotonous routine with no hope or happiness to be had. She's trying, really, really trying to hold on to the fine threads of hope they have - you have no motive whatsoever for murdering Liam Jones, the prosecution can't build a case with nothing but circumstantial evidence, it will take more than that to convince a jury - but her patience is wearing thin, temper getting as hot as Robin's and twice in the past ten days arguments have erupted so big they've ended with the slamming of the front door, a cold canyon sitting in the middle of their bed and not a word spoken until the next morning.
Regina gets it, understands he's snapping because if things go south it won't be him watching his son grow up, it will be her. All the appropriate documents have been signed now, something she's been sorting on the sly at Gold's office whenever she's had a spare minute to think, or breathe. She is Roland's legal guardian, should Robin find himself in a situation wherein he is unable to care for his son. Like ... if he goes to prison; and it's no wonder he's been acting so sulky, no wonder he's on edge and tired and has tense muscles even in his sleep, because next week will determine the rest of his life.
He will be proven innocent. Or he won't.
The arguments, however, haven't just been about Roland, or his and John's business or what he'll do with Jack, should the unthinkable happen. They've been about them. Long, exhausting, drawn-out conversations about what will happen if by some miracle - his words, not hers - he gets found not guilty, what will happen to them? It is the one question she's dreaded since this whole thing began, the one she's actively avoided, because she knows she's dug herself into a hole so deep so can't see the light at the top anymore. She can't stay here, won't leave Henry, won't leave her sisters or the promise of a regular income with her job at the university. But she can't leave here, won't abandon Roland, not when she's promised him she'll always be there, and what about Robin? He can't leave here, has no chance of getting a green card to the States with a murder charge hanging over his head, not to mention his business, and he's right. What the hell would they do with the dog?
She knows, deep down she knows neither of them really mean the words they spit at each other. That the conversations, arguments, heated discussions, whatever you want to call them, are just sending them in torturous circles, have them sitting in stoney silence for the rest of the night. Or engaging in rough, angry sex because in the end, neither of them can come up with a solution. She knows their words are pointless.
Today though, hasn't been quite as bad. Saturday has brought with it a day of relaxation, winter sun (something Regina is grateful for, because the weather has dropped bitterly cold), a long walk in the park with Jack and an afternoon in front of the fire watching movies and not caring when Roland emptied his entire toy chest onto the floor. It's been a rare day with no work to do, no emails to return or calls to chase up for her or Robin. Gold and Jeff had informed Robin yesterday he was getting a day off, a day away because their constant coaching of what tricks the prosecution might use to knock down their wall of defence has been grating on him so much his irritation had slipped through.
Robin had snapped, yelled at Gold, yelled at Jeff, had been horrifyingly close to shouting at Regina too but had managed to reign himself in before they'd started a sparring match that would no doubt have led to one of the team cottoning on to their relationship. The room had fallen silent, the atmosphere as thick as steal until Gold had sighed heavily and told Robin to cool his jets, spend today recouping and that they would rehash fresh faced on Monday morning, when he was ready to listen, to do as he's been told and remain completely neutral to every question. Answer only with facts, and most importantly … keep calm.
The day off has done them both wonders, has given them both a chance to step back and breathe, to just be, without the trial hanging over their heads (it's always looming really, will never be something they can completely ignore, but their day of denial has been a welcome break).
So here she lies, their night coming to an unwelcome end, can feel herself nodding off, his chest pillowed beneath her, heart beat lulling her into a sleep that's promising to be restful and deep for the first time since… their weekend away, probably. Robin is absentmindedly stroking his fingers up and down her arm, holding her close as she drowsily drags her foot up and down his shin. The room is dark, only lighting up with the television as the scenes change on Match of the Day. She's almost gotten used to this now, his habit of divulging in late night TV viewing, even kind of enjoys the casual coupleness of it all, of her falling asleep in his arms as he catches up with the the news or his sports, or some comedy panel show that's repeated after regular scheduled programs. She turns her head inward, touches her lips to his chest, right where his heart lies, before snuggling in closer, as close as she can get without lying right on top of him, and sighs contently.
"Do you want me to turn this off?" He asks quietly, reaching down to kiss the top of her head.
She shakes her head, slides her hand over his abdomen, clutches a little at the white vest he wears, then replies with a yawn. "No, it's fine." The volume's on low anyway; he has spent the years since Roland was born training his ears to hear everything without the sound going above a number twelve so as not to disturb the boy.
Sleep pulls her in not five minutes later.
She wakes in the night; they haven't moved, and the television is still making the bedroom glow in the darkness. She lifts her head up, eyes still adjusting to the bright lights flashing on the screen, and leans over to spy the time on the alarm clock on his bedside table, which tells her it's pushing 1AM. She frowns, then looks up at the man whose arms she's currently lying in.
Robin is completely engrossed in the TV, eyes flickering over every inch of the screen and shining with heavy tears. Her frown deepens. Tears?
"Are ... are you crying?" She asks, voice thick with sleep, and utterly dumbfounded, because from what she's glanced of the screen, the movie he's now watching is about astronauts.
His eyes meet her own, and he blinks repeatedly before clearing his throat and answering gruffly, "Well ... it's a sad film!"
She stares at the screen again, thinking maybe she's got it wrong, maybe the fact she's pretty sure she's just seen a giant spaceship and a guy wearing a NASA uniform may have actually just been a figment of her sleep-addled imagination. It's only when Bruce Willis pops up does she recognise the movie. Ah, Armageddon.
She's seen it maybe twice, not for years, but can vaguely recall he does something that saves the day with some overly-noble sacrifice. It must be near the end ... Bruce is now saying his goodbyes to Liv Tyler, which Regina thinks is awfully convenient, because really, if he was on the asteroid that was about to hurl its way towards earth, how good could his reception be for a clear image to get through? It was the 90s, for Pete's sake.
Regina presses her lips together when she looks back at Robin's face, desperately trying to stop the corners of her mouth from twitching upward like they want to. "Are you seriously crying because of a movie?"
He sniffs, then palms away the wetness collecting under his eyes before throwing his arm dramatically toward the screen. "Can you blame me? He's saying goodbye to his daughter!" A chuckle escapes her mouth, and at his abject horror, she presses her fingers to her lips, to stop it happening again. "You're laughing?!"
"It's a movie, Robin. It's make believe."
"How can you say that?"
She shrugs, "I don't know. I never cry at movies."
Robin stares back at her with a deadpan expression, then turns his face into a deep frown. "You're telling me, you've never cried at anything like Titanic?"
She arches her eyebrow. "That boat sank over a century ago, of course one of them was going to die."
"Marley and Me?"
"Haven't seen it."
He pulls a face. "The Green Mile?"
"I fell asleep before the end."
Robin snorts out an exasperated laugh. "You fell asleep?!"
"It's a long movie!"
He shifts in the bed, lies on his side as she shuffles onto her back with a small smirk, because he has abandoned Armageddon in favour of grilling her for more answers.
"It's a Wonderful Life?"
She shrugs. "Christmas films don't really bother me."
Robin shakes his head, asks, "The Impossible?"
"Seriously? That movie is about the world's largest natural disaster, if you watched it and got upset, you only have yourself to blame."
He pauses, seemingly weighs up what she's just said, then nods in reluctant agreement before pressing on with, "Well, what about Beaches?"
A mocking, howl of laughter escapes Regina's mouth before she can stop it, and at the amusing horror displayed on his face, she shoots her hand up to her mouth and slaps it shut before another inappropriate snort can worm its way out.
"Don't even tell me you didn't get even a little teary eyed at that film?!"
She ignores his question, bites down on her bottom lip. "Should I be worried that all the movies you're naming have a target audience of middle-aged spinsters?"
Robin throws his head back, barks out a laugh that's probably too loud due to the time of night and the fact his four-year-old is asleep in the next room, before leaning to hover over her. Regina giggles as both his forearms come to rest at either side of her head and he slides one of his legs between her thighs. "I am a middle-aged spinster, did you not know that?"
Her snickering is cut short by the kiss he presses to her lips. Chaste, playful, one, two, three quick pecks, and then they begin to deepen. She feels her breathing get heavier as his length hardens against her hip, hands snaking their way around his neck as her hips jerk under his body. She squirms, presses her core up against his thigh, gyrates over and over as the friction builds, and this definitely wasn't what she'd intended with her teasing, but oh god, does it feel good. Nice. To smile and laugh, feel easy and carefree if only for a few hours before reality comes crashing back down on them. She'll take this, take them lying in the dark with the flickering of the television colouring the walls as each scene changes.
She moans as he moves his lips from her own, peppers her jaw and then sucks at her earlobe before running his tongue down the column of her throat to find her pulse point and suck. Regina moves her hands a little lower down his back, tugs at his vest, wordlessly tells him she needs it off, wants to feel his skin against her own. He doesn't comply though, not straight away, is too busy bringing one hand down to the edge of her tee, easing his fingers under the material and up, higher and higher until his palm finds her bare breast.
"Robin," she breathes, just as his mouth makes its way back to her own, and she tugs again at his shirt. "Take if off," she groans. Robin huffs, stops his hips from dry humping hers, pulls away the fingers that were rolling her nipple and sits up. Her demand has earned Regina a smirk, one she would gladly greet with a roll of her eyes, were she not wet and aching, were her breath not caught in her throat at the sight of him pulling the white vest over his head in one swift motion. She sits up, angles her body towards his own so that Robin can remove her shirt as efficiently as he did his.
His mouth finds her nipple and sucks hard. A surprised hiss leaves her throat, nails digging into the back of his head as he lowers them back down, shifts their positions so he's rocking his hips against hers, sitting snugly between her thighs. Her head tilts back on the mattress, face screwing up in pleasure as he brings his hand up to strum a thumb across her nipple.
Regina arches her back, and it changes their angle, has friction rubbing against her clit right where she needs it to and holy fuck, this feels good. There's still layers, too many for her liking, but as she rolls her hips into his over and over, she can't bring herself to care that he's not yet inside her. Heat blooms in her belly, coil tightening as she curls her fingers into his back and moves faster.
He can tells she's nearly there, and quickly pulls back, brings his face up to hers and whispers, "don't come yet," and it makes her groan loudly. She's left with her heart pounding and her body shivering as he sits up and skims his palms down her ribs, her waist, curls his fingers into the waistband of her shorts and pulls, her underwear coming down in one motion, grins as she sits up to pull his off too. "Lie back down, beautiful."
Regina feels her face flush. The pet names have been coming thick and fast as of late. Beautiful, lovely, sweetheart, and it makes her feel giddy. Makes her heart swell because she's never really been with anyone long enough to warrant things like pet names. Daniel being the only exception, but fifteen years is a long time to go without calling anyone baby and having them whisper terms of endearment right back. They feel nice, make her feel cherished, so she lies back down with a warm smile, catching his eyes as he hovers his face over hers, capturing her lips with his in a hot, wet kiss.
She hums into his mouth, brings her hands up to stroke the stubble peppering his jaw and feels her mind fog over because he feels so good. This feels so good. To be lying under his body, feeling the warmth from his skin and his breath hot on her face, in her mouth. He's taking his time, leaving a heat simmering between them as he devours her with tender kisses, brings one hand down to coast up her ribs, and it makes her shudder, makes the arm she's got draped over his shoulder tighten around his neck as he breaks their mouths and holds their foreheads together.
Regina slides her fingers down between their bodies, rakes her nails lightly along the column of his throat, his chest, his belly, revels in the way his breath catches when her hands meets the head of his cock. She's watching him, watching his face as his eyes flutter shut and a low, satisfied growl leaves his lips. She takes him in hand and swipes her thumb across his tip before giving his shaft a gentle squeeze and rolling her wrist. He drops his head, buries it into the crook of her neck, breathing hard and hot on her skin, moves to pinch and tug at her nipple once more, making gooseflesh of her skin. She's got no friction where she wants it now, where she needs it if she's going to come apart under his body, and he must sense her longing because her hips are squirming, jerking into nothing as she works him. Her knees are up by his sides, and Robin lifts his hips, reaches down to still her hand and pull it away from his shaft, a gesture she would be puzzled at if she weren't crying out for him to touch her.
He grips her wrists, guides them up and over her head to hold the headboard, and she's briefly reminded of their time with her handcuffs, of his roaming hands and insufferable teasing and oh, oh god does she want that again - now, right now. He presses a quick kiss to her lips, instructs her to lie still, lovely, and Regina nods eagerly, licks her lips because they're dry from all the heavy breathing and panting through a parted mouth, grips the panels of the headboard and tips her head back as he touches his lips softly to the column of her throat before running his tongue the length of her body and leaving a trail of spit shining on her skin. He shuffles down the bed and begins kissing the inside of her thigh.
She swallows hard as anticipation begins to flood through her body. His kisses are slow, but not quite teasing, she doesn't think he's running his tongue closer and closer to the crease of her pelvis to get her frustrated. She rather gets the impression he's doing it because he wants to savour her while they've still got time. There is something different in the way his hands coast her curves, in the way his fingers knead and nails dig into her flesh, like he's worshipping every inch of her being and will never get enough. His tongue laps against the hinge of her hip, leaves her skin damp as he moves further down to her sex, and Regina grips the headboard harder, a needy moan pushing up and out of her mouth because she's desperate now.
"Robin," she breathes, arches her back as he inches closer. "Please."
His lips kiss her clit, have her eyes rolling back as her hips jerk into his face, a reflex not entirely graceful, but she's too far gone to care. He sucks, licks, eats her out until she's writhing, digging her nails into the wooden panels behind her head and whining his name. Over and over, yes, Robin, right there, please - she's panting, skin shining with a film of sweat as he moves his tongue lower, swirls it around her opening and grips her hips hard. Regina turns her head, presses her mouth against her arm in an attempt to muffle the groans leaving her throat because they're gaining volume by the second, and god forbid they wake the child sleeping peacefully in the next room. She arches her back, hips bucking as he fucks her with his tongue and oh … oohhh, don't stop, please, Robin, keep going, please, more panting, needy, shallow breaths leaving her lungs and Robin, don't sto-
She comes hard, heat tearing through her veins as her limbs shake but he doesn't stop, won't let up his tongue, his lips moving back up to her clit and sucking hard. Her skin is sodden from his spit, and she's so turned on her hips are still rolling as he pulls back and breathes heavily against her, cooling the dampness between her thighs. She relaxes her shoulders, flexes her fingers as she brings her arms back down to clutch lightly at his shoulders, tugging him slightly, wordlessly telling him she wants him back. Wants his kisses on her mouth, her neck, wants his body pressed flush against hers and his cock buried to the hilt inside her.
Robin obliges without hesitation, plants wet kisses along her belly, the valley of her breasts and up to her mouth. His lips are hot on hers, kisses bruising, wanting and everything in between. It takes her breath away as his tongue dances with her own. She clutches harder at his shoulders, digs her nails into his skin in a way that probably hurts, but she can't help it, needs some sort of anchor amongst all the dizziness he makes her feel. He pulls back from her mouth, reaches down between them to guide himself into her, and-
"Wait," she breathes, and he does. Stops the instant she instructs, looks back into her dark eyes with curiosity, panting slightly, and she almost feels guilty she's halted him when the head of his cock is so achingly close to her cunt. "I wanna be on top," she tells him, pushes at his chest lightly, encourages him to roll over so she can straddle his hips, take him deep to the hilt and fuck him the way she desperately needs to fuck him.
He lets out a low ahh as she lowers herself on to him, kneads her hip bones with his thumbs and brings his gaze down to watch where they join. Her eyes flutter shut and her breathing gets heavier once more, and oh god, he feels so good. Fills her, rubs along that spot inside her that makes her limbs feel shaky and her breath catch in her throat. She lifts up, braces herself with her hands on his chest and her weight on her knees, up and down, over and over until she's biting her bottom lip to stop from crying out his name at a volume the walls won't muffle.
She's on fire, skin slick with sweat as she grinds against him as he's coasting her thighs with his palms, squeezing, grasping, raking his nails over her body and ohh, oh god, yes, she breathes out as her eyes screw shut.
He sits up suddenly, changes their angle and suddenly he's in deeper than before. Her mouth drops open, the O of her lips giving way to a low groan as he moves one hand, leans back on his palm for leverage and begins to meet her thrust for thrust. Regina claws at his skin, drags her nails across his back as they move together and "Robin," she cries out.
He crashes his lips to her mouth, sucks and nibbles on her bottom lip before whispering, "Look at me."
She tries to flick the hair sticking to her skin with sweat behind her shoulder, finds his eyes and holds his gaze as they press against each other in the dark, her nipples perked and sensitive as they rub along his chest with every thrust. Their mouths are moving together, neither quite closing the distance, they share air and bash teeth and it's messy, unrefined but holy fuck does it feel good. He feels good, and she can't pull her eyes away, can't shut them or drop his gaze or blink even, can't let go of the blue staring so intensely back at her.
A fleeting thought passes through her mind. She wants this forever. Wants him and them and this for as long as she lives, doesn't think she could bare going back to live in her cold, lonely apartment now that she knows what this feels like. It throws her, this thought, because even though deep down she's felt like this for a while now, she's never let herself contemplate the hole of darkness she knows she'll retreat back into come next week, when they'll be parted by a stretch of time that just doesn't sit right with her. Be it by a stint in prison or the ocean between London and Massachusetts.
She doesn't want to be parted from him. Not now, not ever. The gravity of their whole situation comes crashing down on her all at once, because they will be parted come what may, and that notion nearly stops her heart.
Does stop her hips. Regina stills, parts her lips only to find her mouth won't speak, but she can't bring herself to dwell on what will be, instead focuses on what is right now.
"What is it?" He asks quietly, and if his face was any closer he'd be blurry. He's as breathless as she is, the sheen of sweat on his skin catching in the light from the television that flickers, forgotten, behind them. He strokes his thumb gently over the small of her back, searches her eyes in the darkness with his own filled with curious concern. They've stopped moving completely now, sit with their chests pressed together, faces inches apart - he's still inside her, still hard and throbbing and buried in her to the hilt while his hand still firmly squeezes the flesh of her thigh.
Regina feels her heart pounding against her ribcage, body trembling as her heart swells and oh, she could drown in his eyes forever and never feel the need for air. Her words however, the answer to his question, get stuck in her throat, and for a second all she can do is stare, smile at the man sitting naked between her thighs, blink away the wetness suddenly collecting in her eyes and Jesus, Regina, now … now is not the time to realise you're hopelessly in love with him. When she's in the midst of a good fuck and can see he's struggling to not fully let go until he's seen she's been given another orgasm. Now is not the time to get caught up and lost and overwhelmed because she's on the receiving end of an expression she wants to look at for the rest of her life.
She loves him.
She's in love with him.
"Regina," he breathes out, pulls her from her shock, and should she really be shocked? Is she really shocked to find she's head over heels? No, probably not, she realises, wraps one arm around his neck and brings the other up to stroke his stubble, thumb gliding over his cheek softly, and she's aware of her smile now. Aware that she's wearing a grin probably too goofy to pull off in the middle of sex, meets his somewhat bemused-but-definitely-bewildered gaze and shakes her head slightly.
"I just never thought I'd have this," she tells him quietly, chuckles a little as a small, knowing smile graces his mouth. She won't tell him she loves him, can't bring herself to voice it out loud because they've spent enough time this week going in circles about their relationship, what they're doing, what will happen if he gets found guilty … what will happen if he doesn't. Telling him she loves him will only mess things up, so Regina keeps quiet, desperately hopes he knows, hopes he can see it in her eyes and feel it in her touches, in her kisses, because as scared as she is to say it, there's an equal fear simmering in her chest of how she'll feel if she never gets the chance. If by some cruel twist of fate she loses him to an unjust sentence and he gets put behind bars without ever hearing her actually say the words. I love you.
But then, she supposes it already is a cruel twist of fate that the bullshit tarot reading she was forced into years previously should be unfolding before her eyes in a way that she could never have dreamed possible.
"You're shaking," he whispers, holds her tighter to his body, and she is, she realises. Shaking. Trembling, but she's not sure if it's from all the sex, the fact his cock is rocking deeper inside her as she shifts her body slightly, the lack of movement finally taking it's toll on her muscles and she can feel pins and needles in her legs. Or from the fact she's just had a very poorly timed epiphany.
Regina leans in, winds her other arm around his neck, and kisses him deeply, starts rolling her hips once more, wordlessly tells him she's done talking. Apparently, he is too, grips her thigh and slides his other hand down her back to squeeze her ass firmly. She moans into his mouth, begins to ease herself up and down his shaft once again and reignites that delicious friction, so easily regained because she's slick and sweaty, and his hand is grazing high up her thigh and between them, fingers brushing over her clit, and oh, there it is.
She moans again, louder this time, feels a welcome fire burn in the pit of her stomach, warmth tingling through her body as his pressure gets firmer and his fingers rub in tight circles. She picks up the pace, takes him in and deep, over and over until his breath is hot and rasping in her ear and the grip he has with the hand still clutching her rear gets harder and harder.
She comes again, head tipping back as ecstasy rips through her body, ruts and squirms and gyrates against him as a strangled sigh of relief bursts from her throat. He's close, she can tell from the way his hands have moved and are now guiding her hips, encouraging and helping her body to keep up the thrusts until he's spilling into her, groaning into the crook of her neck and she's still going, still rolling her hips and using his broad shoulders as an anchor while the last remnants of her orgasm leave her limbs and she's left with the sound of her heart thump, thump, thumping against her chest.
They still, sated and breathless and unable or unwilling to move. Robin shifts his head, rubs his nose against hers as she rests their foreheads together and sighs happily, a hint of a hmmm leaving her lips. Her chest is pressed against his, skin puckering as sweat cools, nipples still firm and tight as he begins to soften inside her.
"You are so beautiful," he tells her quietly, pulling his head back a little. His eyes lazily gloss over her features, but even in the dark she can see they are filled with nothing but love. Regina smiles, leans back in to press their lips together before moving off of his lap and making to snuggle down into the bedsheets. He's leaking down her thigh as she moves, but it doesn't deter him from pulling her back against his chest (and it makes her mentally smirk that she's finally getting him a little used to this - to cuddling while they're in slumber) and tangling their legs together. She'll grab a shower first thing, she thinks, then lets her eyes flutter shut.
The television gets clicked off a second later, and sleep pulls her under once more.
-§-
It's not the banging that wakes her. Not the rattle of the front door, nor even the barks that echo through the house as Jack alerts them that someone is outside.
It's the loss of warmth against her back.
Robin untangles their limbs, rustles the bedsheets and lets out a frustrated groan of who the fuck is here at this time of a morning? Regina frowns, turns onto her back and cracks her eyes open just in time to see him pulling on his sweats and grabbing their hoodie from the back of the door. She can hear it now, the front door, bang, bang, bang, the brass knocker clattering against the wood, but it doesn't sound like whoever's on the other side is using it. They sound like they're unrelentlessly fisting the wood and she hears Robin call out as he makes his way downstairs, alright, alright, I'm coming! Regina turns her head, throws her arm out to the side to push the pillow down to get a better look at the clock as she blinks the last remnants of sleep from her eyes.
6:08AM, and who the hell is calling round at 6AM on a Sunday? She sits up, listens out for the voices muffled by the floor and the walls, and reaches to grab the pajamas that were carelessly tossed aside before last night's rendezvous. She throws them on, is about to stand, about to make her way downstairs to see just what the hell is going on when the bedroom door creaks open, and she's greeted with a puffy-eyed little boy with a mess of curls on his head, standing at the threshold with a tired scowl on his face and Ruff tucked securely under his arm.
Roland wordlessly makes his way over to the bed, throws his stuffed monkey to where Regina sits and climbs up and under the covers before snuggling against her side. She squeezes him close, kisses the top of his head and murmurs, "Sorry, sweetheart. Did the door wake you up?"
He shakes his head a little before grumbling, "Jack did."
He quiets a second later, dark eyes fluttering shut, body getting heavier against her side, and she can't very well move now, can she? Not with a four-year-old sleeping soundly on her. She keeps her eyes fixed on the door, listens hard, is pretty sure Robin's voice has raised an octave in the past few moments, and suddenly everything feels very wrong.
She gives it five minutes. The clock ticking by agonisingly slow, a strange sense of dread filling her veins as the voices below continue. She thinks it's one man, from the tone and the depth of the voice muffled next to Robin's, and her mind races with the possible candidates it could belong to. John? No, not loud enough, too loud for Gold's, not soft enough for Tuck's and Jack is still barking. It can't be someone the dog knows well or the yapping would have desisted the second the front door opened. Dante, perhaps. Yes ... Wendy's boyfriend is entirely possible, and the worry she felt for her boyfriend a second ago shifts slightly into concern for the young woman living next door.
The barking finally simmers down, along with the slam of the back door, and Regina guesses Robin has finally had enough of the dog and thrown him in the yard. There are heavy, hurried footsteps a moment later, the stairs creaking quickly, and all at once, Robin is bursting into the bedroom, and the concern she had a moment ago returns so quickly the bottom drops out of her stomach.
Something is wrong.
"Who is it?" She asks, unable to take her eyes from his face because he looks whiter than a sheet, haggard, worried, like his life has come crashing down around him. He's breathing is slightly uneven, eyes flickering between hers and the sleeping form that is Roland tucked beside her. "Robin?" She urges, voice snapping him from his daze, and he shakes his head quickly before moving again to ease Roland out from her side, the child grumbles, but falls straight back off once he's settled on his father's shoulder.
"It's Detective Hunt," he tells her quietly, and Regina feels her heart jump, lodge in her throat because that cannot be good. "I've got to go Scotland Yard with them."
"What? Why?" Regina gawps, and she should move, should get up and go to him, make the effort to comfort her boyfriend, but her body seems momentarily frozen.
Robin sighs heavily, upset and worry etched into his features and, "They want to ask me some questions. There was a burglary in a house in Shoreditch last night."
"So?" She manages to choke out, because despite one half of her brain knowing exactly what he's about to say, the other half still can't quite process the fact that there are even police officers downstairs.
"They said there was an anonymous phone call, that someone saw me running away from the scene of the crime."
"What?!" She exclaims, a little louder than she thinks he wanted her to, because his eyes pop, and he moves to shush her instantly.
"I'm going to take Roland to Wendy's," he tells her with a sigh.
"What? Why? He'll be fine here with me," she snaps, confusion setting in, and she doesn't know what to do. Should she go with Robin? Should she stay here? A strange primal instinct that Roland is hers and not Wendy's to care for when his father is in crisis comes forth, and Regina gets up, moves over to where he stands and gently places her hands on Roland's back in the hope Robin will pass his little boy back to her. He doesn't.
"Listen to me," he says in a hushed voice. "I've got to take him over to Wendy's because they can't know you're up here. Graham knows who you are, Regina. I don't think we'll be able to worm our way out of it if you come downstairs in your PJs and announce you're my sons legal guardian, do you?" He's right, of course he's right. But it does nothing to subside the overwhelming need she feels to stomp down the stairs and tell Graham to fuck off. Her mind whirls with the morning's turn of events. Who the hell would call the cops and tell them they'd seen Robin running from a crime scene? "I'm just going to the station to answer some questions," he tells her grimly, and she already knows why they're demanding he go there.
Because he can't provide an alibi.
Or rather, won't provide one. There is no way he'll tell them he was with Regina all night long, no way they'll class a sleeping four-year-old as a good enough candidate, and with his current status with the law, she has no doubt he will be back behind bars by the time noon hits. She feels sick, and for a second, her mouth won't form words while her brain churns over a million questions all at once.
"Robin," she starts wearily. "You were with me all night … I'm your alibi."
"I know," he nods.
"Then … we have to tell them, we can-"
"No," and this time, his voice has risen, is firm and unwavering, and he looks her dead in the eyes. "I'm not dragging you into this, not with your career at stake."
"Robin, your life is at stake. If you can't provide them with an alibi then there won't be anything Gold or I can do, because you'd be breaching the terms of your bail. They will throw you back in jail and then you really can kiss an innocent verdict goodbye next week."
"Will you please just let me try to work this out? Before you do something that you'll end up regretting," he pleads, a frustrated edge to his voice as the vein in his neck pops and the muscles strain. Regina opens her mouth, then closes it again, feels her brow ache with the hard frown she's now wearing. He's not going to budge, she can tell as much by his tone, can tell if she pushes and does what she wants without consulting him first then the two weeks of pent up bickering they've endured will blow up into something much bigger.
She concedes, gives him the smallest of nods as her eyes moisten, and he must see this is killing her, because for a second his expression softens, and he leans down to catch her lips in his own. It's meant to be quick, she thinks, a peck of comfort but the second his mouth is in reaching distance, Regina finds her hands on his jaw, bruises his lips with a kiss that's desperate and longing.
"I have to go," he whispers a second later, moves his head so his nose it buried in her hairline and he kisses her forehead, then turns quickly, and moves back out of the bedroom with his son.
She stands there for a moment, helpless, hopeless, staring blankly at the spot Robin was standing on not one minute previous, stomach churning and mind racing with endless scenarios of how this could possibly play out. If he's arrested, she will have to come forward, if she comes forward, she will lose her job. If she loses her job, she has no way of taking the reins on his case and ensuring he gets found not guilty.
Like a domino effect. One brick after another will fall as their lives burn to the ground and for what? Who could possibly have such a hatred for Robin that they'd go as far as attempting to frame him twice?
Jonathan Prince.
But then why now? If it really is Prince orchestrating this whole fucking fiasco, why has it taken until Roland is four-years-old, if the boy really is his play? Why - if Prince is truly the criminal mastermind the whole of London seems to know him as - has the task of getting Robin out of Roland's life proven so difficult? Surely if the man wanted Roland all to himself, if he's not above cold blooded murder, he would have just killed Robin. Why go to the trouble of murdering Liam Jones, setting Robin up to take the wrap and just… hoping it all comes together in a way that means Roland ends up in Prince's care?
None of this makes sense. None of it connects. This seemingly random chain of events has one thing in common, all of it, it must, and Regina, Robin, Gold - the whole team - they just can't see what it is.
The front door slams shut, pulls Regina from her rambling thoughts, and all at once she's left alone, with a heavy silence pressing down on her eardrums and a painful lump clawing its way up her throat.
-§-
She manages thirty minutes. A half an hour wherein she showers furiously, throws on her jeans and a white tee that probably needs washing (she found it amongst the laundry, because she does that now, keeps a number of items of clothing left and lost at Robin's house) but it smells clean enough, and quite frankly, she's too caught up in the hour's events to care if it's not exactly the freshest item in the wardrobe. She throws on a pair of Uggs, drags a brush through her hair, calls Jack in from the garden, and she's out the door and heading towards the highstreet by seven.
She power walks, hurries along the sidewalk with brisk steps that splash the small puddles left behind from the drizzle that apparently graced Richmond with its presence through the night. It's early, birds still chirping, sky a hue of purple as it turns from night to day, far too early for any sort of activity in the usually busy streets, and it takes Regina another fifteen minutes before she finally spots a black cab that she can hail to get to Scotland Yard.
The drive is long, tortuous, despite there being next to no traffic on the road and the cabbie for once taking a route that isn't cluttered with roadworks. Regina is on edge, nibbles at her nails and can't seem to stop her right foot from tap, tap, tapping. Over and over as her eyes scan London with disdain and nerves bubble away in her stomach. The driver asks her, "You alright, love?" and she glares, catches his eyes glancing up to the rearview mirror, mutters I'm fine, before attempting to still her shaking leg. She must look crazy, she thinks. Or someone who is on a serious come down, because she didn't even grab a coat before launching herself into the cold November air, and her shower? Well, it was quick, and she's pretty sure she still has remnants of yesterdays mascara smudged under her bottom lashes. The first and only lot of traffic they hit is on the long road on which Scotland Yard lies. Roadworks, the driver informs her, and Regina digs through her purse to find some cash, throws it to the cabbie before telling him it doesn't matter. She will walk the rest of the way.
It's not necessarily quicker, but she couldn't sit in that cab a second longer, needs to be doing something semi-proactive while she attempts to figure out just what the hell is going on. So she's powerwalking again, hurrying in a light jog down the road, not quite feeling the bitter air that's biting her skin and making the hairs on her arms stand on end. She's a breathless, sweaty mess by the time she reaches the building.
"May I help you?" The girl behind the desk asks after she's made her way through reception, eyes running curiously over Regina, but she pays no mind, simply inhales deeply through her nose and answers.
"My client has been brought in for questioning by Detective Hunt. I'd like to see him please."
The receptionist can't quite school her surprise, before dragging her eyes up and down Regina's appearance once more and asking her to please, take a seat, while she calls up to the DI. She sits, the tapping of her foot resuming almost instantly, and waits for Graham to come down, or for the girl to tell her she can go up to them, more waiting, always waiting and it's killing her. She pulls out her phone and texts Wendy (she's all fingers and thumbs, has to delete the majority of her words and rewrite them because she's spelled half the text completely wrong).
Thank you so much for having Roland, I hope he's okay? I'm just at the station now. Trying to sort everything out. I'll be back to pick up Roland shortly.
Not one minute passes before her phone pings.
It's no problem, we'll have him as long as you need us to. He's fine, a little confused, but is eating breakfast and watching cartoons with Dante. Is there anything you'd like me to tell him? Thinking of you both x
Regina replies instantly with, Please tell him we love him, and I'll be home soon. Thank you again.
She's just tossing her phone back in her bag when she hears her name, "Miss Mills?"
It's Graham, coming off of the elevator, wearing a puzzled frown on his face. She forces her mouth to stretch into a polite smile, then stands to shake his hand. His eyes rake her body, his frown getting deeper and she's suddenly wishing she hadn't been so rash in leaving the house. What kind of attorney shows up to help a client wearing jeans and Uggs, for god's sake?
"Detective Hunt, it's nice to see you again," she lies, grasps his hand then quickly pulls back.
"You too. Although… I must admit I'm a little confused. How did you know Mr. Locksley had been brought in? He hasn't been given a phone call yet, or asked me to contact Mr. Gold." Graham eyes her suspiciously and shit, she hadn't thought of that.
Regina opens her mouth, draws in a breath as her mind searches for a lie, an excuse, anything to placate the obvious curiosity in Graham's stare. "I got a phone call from his neighbour," she tells him, more easily than she would have thought herself possible. "She said you'd taken Robin away and left his son in her care. I figured I'd better come down here, you know. Just in case you twist any answers he might give. Someone has to watch his back in there," she bites, standing taller.
Graham sighs a little, then nods his head, guides Regina back to the elevator he's just vacated, and takes them up three floors. He does all the talking as they walk, tells her that the burglary in question was called in by an anonymous person who is sure it was Robin they saw running up the road, and that the flat that was raided in fact belongs to Killian Jones - what?! Who the hell would break into Killian's? More questions clutter her mind as they move with purpose down a cold corridor until they reach the custody suite Robin is being held in, but as Graham reaches for the door, Regina puts her hand on his wrist.
"Can you give me a few minutes alone with my client, please?"
Graham arches one eyebrow, meets her gaze in a way that has her heart beating just slightly faster, but she knows she has every right to demand alone time with her client, knows it's not an unusual request by any stretch of the imagination. Graham, apparently, knows this too, says nothing and takes his hand back to let Regina go in ahead of him.
Robin stands the second she steps through the threshold, and it takes every ounce of willpower she has not to rush to him, not to wrap her arms around his torso and squeeze his body against hers because she just doesn't know how else to comfort him. He looks every bit as stressed as he did when he left the house, but somehow the lines in his skin seem deeper, his expression more fraught and-
"Regina," he says, makes to step towards her and he can't seem to help it, holds out his hand only to retract it back at the warning glance she throws to the huge two-way mirror that takes up the wall opposite the table he's been sitting at. They're being watched, she can feel it.
"You need to tell them your alibi," she tells him bluntly, meeting his gaze to feel her heart tug as his shoulders deflate.
"My alibi is my four-year-old."
"Robin-"
"I'm happy to answer their-" he stops mid-sentence, breaks their eye contact to look at the mirror. "I'm happy to answer your questions now!"
Regina sighs heavily, screws her eyes shut in an attempt to pull on her game face, then moves to take the seat next to Robin as the door opens once more, and Graham and a colleague she doesn't recognise enter the room and take the chairs opposite.
His colleague, a tall black man with a stern expression and broad shoulders clicks the tape recorder sitting just to his left, then speaks. "November 23, 2014, Detective Inspector Graham Hunt and Detective Inspector Lance Knight, interviewing Robin Locksley in regards to a burglary which took place at approximately 1:30AM of this date at the residence of one Mr. Killian Jones. Interview going ahead with the presence of Mr. Locksley's attorney Miss Regina Mills. Mr. Locksley, you do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you fail to mention when questioned about something that you may later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence," he says, a look of boredom at all the formalities on his face, then clears his throat and meets Robin's eyes. "Mr. Locksley, can you tell me where you were at approximately half past one this morning?"
"I was at home," he answers truthfully, bluntly.
"And can anyone attest to that?"
Regina tenses beside him, throws a glance Robin's way as her heart hammers against her ribcage all while her mind is screaming; ME. I can attest to that. He was balls deep inside me right around that time.
Robin sighs, leans to rest his elbows on the table and says, "Not unless you're willing to take the word of my four-year-old."
DI Knight cocks an eyebrow, relaxes back in his chair and quips back with, "Well, I don't know. Was he awake at the time?"
"Oh absolutely. He was doing body shots off of all the strippers I called over," Robin says dryly.
"Easy," Regina warns, really needs him to not act like a sarcastic asshole at this precise moment in time.
Robin sighs, then corrects, "He was asleep."
DI Knight chuckles somewhat, then mirrors Robin's stance. Graham watches him curiously, eyes squinted and arms folded, weighing him up silently as Lance does all the leg work. "Unfortunately, we can't take the word of a sleeping toddler, Mr. Locksley. Seems a bit odd, though, don't you think? That the home of the one man you claim can attest to your innocence over Liam Jones' murder is burgled on a night no one can verify your whereabouts."
Regina squirms in her seat, physically has to bite her tongue in order to stop herself from blurting it out, that she is his alibi. You will lose your job, you will lose your job, you will lose-
"Killian's already put my life in the shitter. What the hell could I possibly want from him?" Robin asks Knight, pulls Regina from her internal mantra, and she swallows hard, shifts her foot slightly under the desk so it's touching his; the only bit of physical contact she dare make in a pathetic attempt to stop his temper from rising.
"The question of the hour, Mr. Locksley, I assure you."
Graham leans in then, clears his throat and laces his fingers together. "Here's what I think," he offers, the brooding expression on his face replaced with something much lighter. "There are two possible scenarios of last night. The first being, you went to Killian's, broke in, trashed the joint while searching for something, or just… I don't know, you were trying to vent your frustration. You bolted, someone saw you, and they called it in."
Robin stays silent, the strain in his neck becoming more apparent with every second, and Regina has to curl her fingers into her fist to stop herself from reaching over and kneading his shoulders to relieve the tension. Her nails bite into her palms, and she presses her lips together in a thin line, panic creeping through her veins with every passing second.
"Or the second, that you were doing something entirely different last night. You didn't break into Killian's, but for some reason, you won't tell us just what it was you were doing. So, tell me Robin, which scenario am I closer with?"
More silence, Regina swallows hard, looks back and forth between her boyfriend - client, he's your client in here, Regina - and Graham, licking her lips before opening her mouth and-
"No comment," Robin answers curtly.
Graham lets out a frustrated sigh, sits back against his chair once more and folds his arms before nodding, pursing his lip and shrugging his shoulders. "Okay. That's fine. We can leave you in here to stew a while. See if some time alone helps convince you to tell us the truth."
"In the mean time," Lance says as they stand. "I'm going to get on the phone to social services."
"What?!" Regina and Robin both say in unison, then share a look before Robin continues. "Why are you calling them? You said I was just in here for questioning, you said-"
"Mr. Locksley, let me explain something to you," Graham says, splaying his palms on the desk and looking Robin dead in the eyes. "As far as I'm aware, Roland is currently in the care of your neighbour, which would be just fine if you were to cooperate with me and tell me what you were doing last night, because if it really is as innocent as you claim it to be, then you won't be in here long. Unfortunately for your son, you don't seem to be in a very talkative mood, so I'm going to ask my colleague here to phone social services, because Roland will need to be properly taken care of if you decide to stay silent."
Regina closes her eyes and sighs. This cannot be happening. How did they get here? How have they ended up sitting in the middle of Scotland Yard attempting to prove Robin's innocence again, only this time, do it without revealing their whole relationship. They've been foolish and stupid to think they could keep this up, to think they could carry on their affair without any consequences whatsoever and what has she done? She's risked her whole career, but she suddenly finds that's not what she cares about at the moment. It's not the last fifteen years of blood, sweat and tears that she's put into her job, into her life, that Regina finds she's worried over.
She doesn't give a damn about her job, she just doesn't want to lose Robin's case. Doesn't want to not be involved or help out (something that will be snatched from her grasp if Gold finds out she's been sleeping with the client), doesn't want to have to sit on the side lines while the likes of Zelena West and Jeff Abboud take away all her hard work and use it as though it's their own.
She doesn't want off Robin's case.
But she will give it up for Roland. She's loathe to do it, but children come first, he comes first, and she will be damned if she's going to let Lance fucking Knight swan in and take her little boy away from her.
"Graham, stop," she says, silencing the voices growing louder in her head, and Robin snaps his head around to look at her. She won't meet his eyes, stands and moves over to where Graham and Lance are standing by the door, looking at her curiously. "Could you please give me some time to call my colleague?"
"Why?" Lance asks bluntly.
"Because she had a date last night and I want to know how it went," Regina replies sarcastically, scrunching her nose and squinting her eyes before looking at Graham instead. She likes Graham, she thinks. Or rather… she could like Graham, if the circumstances were any different, and she's briefly cast back to their first meeting, and how obviously attracted to him she had been. Oh how things have changed since then. "Please just trust me. I can get this whole thing fixed if you just give me an hour. Please don't call social services."
Graham eyes her for a second, unblinking, like he has a hundred questions on the tip of his tongue, but gives her the smallest of nods, pointedly ignores Lance (who is rolling his eyes beside them), and goes to lead Regina out of the custody suite.
"Regina!" Robin calls, but she can't bring herself to look back. She will fix this, she will bring herself to do what he can't.
She will strike a match, hold the flame against her career and watch it burn into nothing, and what's more, she will do it without so much as a second thought.
-§-
It takes four unanswered cell phone calls and three texts (as well as a plea from Regina to get the guys from reception at their hotel to call up to her room) to get Mel out of bed.
"You had better have a damn good reason for waking me up at this time on a Sunday, Mills," she spits when she's finally done groaning and cursing in protest on the other end of the phone.
"I'm at Scotland Yard," she tells Mel. Straight to the point without glossing over anything.
"You're what? Why?" Mel asks, suddenly sounding much more awake than she did seconds before.
Regina sighs heavily, brings her hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose before throwing a look over her shoulder to make sure no one is listening. She's standing in the threshold between a long, dull corridor and a cluster of desks where she first met Graham, where the DI's work on a daily basis. "I need you to do me a favour," she starts quietly, leaning against the wall and dipping her chin, as though she'll somehow get smaller, draw less attention to herself if she huddles into the corner. "I need you to go to my room, go to my desk and in the top draw you'll find a sealed, white envelope with Roland's name on it-"
"Who?" Mel interrupts, has Regina rolling her eyes because of course she wouldn't remember something like that.
"Robin's son! I need you to bring me that envelope at Scotland Yard. I already called down to reception and told them to give you a key card to my room."
"Okay but, why?" She enquires. There's a rustling on the other end of the line, something that tells Regina Mel is already out of bed and getting ready as she talks, and it makes the tension in her muscles ease slightly. Makes her send up a prayer of thanks to whoever is listening that Mel is seemingly going to do as she's asking without much coercion.
"I'll explain when you get here, just, please hurry."