Sooo... 5 years ago today, OUAT aired for the very first time. Happy Reginaversary, everyone!
His days without Regina's letters are completely and utterly horrible, he's discovered.
He misses her words. Misses having that connection to her. But she's in Storybrooke, checking on his children, so he is thankful.
However, not having her letters means he's alone with his own thoughts, thoughts that are not quite as cheerful as he would hope.
He thinks about Roland, about how confused and scared he must be feeling, believing his father is gone forever. Thinks about his little girl, and how he's missing the first year of her life. He thinks about Zelena getting to raise her while he can't, and anger bubbles up inside him, no matter how much he tries to keep it at bay.
He thinks of Storybrooke itself, of the colorful town and how it's become his home. He thinks of Granny and her cooking, thinks of early morning coffee at her diner, with Regina sitting next to him in one of the booths near the corner, her hand clasped in his as they stare at each other and grin mischievously.
He tries to write to her, like he promised he would. But his days are maddeningly monotonous, and so there's very little to tell. The oven at the Capparellis' bakery breaks again. And again. Robin has become a master at fixing it by now, but it no longer feels like an accomplishment. Instead it's annoying, overdone, but he continues to repair it, finds comfort in the fact that every time he does he is one day closer to Regina.
Today, he decides to take a walk in the park after his work at the bakery is done. Grabs one of those delicious scones to go and enjoys it under the shade of a willow tree near the lake, watching the ducks and swans swim by happily.
He's missed nature, has missed his connection to it, to a life in the trees and surrounded by dirt and green pastures. He welcomes the moment, drinks in the sunshine as he munches on the pastry and thinks of a simpler life back in the Enchanted Forest.
He's surprised to realize he no longer thinks of that life as the one he was meant to live.
Robin had always thought himself a man of the forest, still does, but somehow his definition of the life he wants has shifted. Yes, he loves the forest, considers it his second home. And that's exactly it. It's no longer his only home, but his second one.
His first home is Regina. And the life he wants with her and their children. The life he is forbidden from returning to until a year passes.
The revelation doesn't weigh heavy on him, doesn't fill him with nerves as it would anyone whose priorities have changed so dramatically in such a short time. Instead, it makes him smile, makes him breathe easier as he takes that last bite of scone and pops it into his mouth. He reclines against the trunk of the willow, sighs contentedly, and admires the beauty around him.
He remembers then, that Regina's battle with the magical chalice happened here, in Central Park, a year ago now. Robin wonders if there's anything left of that battle. He should ask Regina on what part of the park it all took place, so that he can go there and check. It's possible nothing will be left of it by now, that there won't even be a mark, but for some reason he wants there to be, wants to find something physical that will prove this whole ordeal will have its reward.
Robin tries to tell himself to stop pining, to go out and distract himself, and he does. Visits the Capparellis in the afternoon and then stops by the flower shop again on his way home. He buys a tulip this time, a red one that matches the shade Regina tends to prefer on her lips, and brings it back to the apartment, adding it to his newly penned letter.
Dear Regina,
I know I said I would write, but truth is there isn't much to tell. Everything is stuck on a loop, and fixing that oven has become quite an annoyance for me at this point. Mrs. Capparelli makes scones of different flavors every time, though, so that is always a nice surprise.
I was at the park today, and wondered where exactly it was that you tried to bury that chalice when it turned on you. I'd like to find that spot and see if there's anything left from that day. It's all just out of mere curiosity, really. Without you to talk to, I've had quite a long time to ponder these things.
While you've been gone, I've tried to think of things I can do here while we wait, so that I have something other than "I fixed Mr. Capparelli's oven today," to tell you in my letters. I might take some cooking classes, learn a bit from different cuisines. If you ever mention this to Mrs. Capparelli, I will fiercely deny it, but I've become a bit tired of Italian food. Maybe I'll try French, it seems interesting enough. Or I could learn to make a proper hamburger, give Granny a run for her money.
I hope your weekend was more eventful than mine. How's my daughter? And my men? How did Roland react when he found out I'm alive? How was the drive? Did Henry enjoy being back with everyone?
Love,
Robin.
To his surprise, her answer only takes a an hour to reach him.
Dear Robin,
I'm afraid I must start this letter on a sad note.
I spoke to Roland, like you asked. I told him all about you surviving the crystal's power by saving me, I told him about our letters, and about magic affecting your return by placing you in a future timeline. I tried to be as direct and careful as possible, Robin, I really did, but Roland did not take it well.
All this time he's been learning to cope with the idea of living without you, and all of a sudden he finds out his reality is no longer true, that you're alive, but can't be here with him right now, and it was all just a little confusing for him. At first he refused to believe me, and it was only when Henry confirmed it that he allowed himself to trust the information I was giving him.
I tried to settle him down as best I could, and said I would visit him often, and that he wouldn't be alone. I told him I'm in New York waiting for you, and that the second I see you, I'll take you to him.
He cried so much, Robin, and I didn't know how to ease his pain, so then I cried, too, which didn't really help matters. It's not an experience I'd like to repeat.
I also promised him that I would read him your letters, and tell him what you're up to, so I think the cooking classes are a great idea. It'll give me something fun to show Roland. He was so tearful, I want to give him more the next time I'm there, I want him to see that this is a good thing.
Your daughter is every bit the beautiful little outlaw Ruby said she is. She's gorgeous, Robin, and looks so much like you. Her personality reminds me of you, too. She prefers your men to the Charmings, for starters, and she likes being outdoors. Ruby and Granny have been babysitting her a lot and tell me she won't go to sleep unless she hears the sound of leaves rustling and crickets chirping, much to prince Neal's annoyance. Did I ever tell you how much of a spoiled brat Snow was as a child? She couldn't sleep with the window open because the sound of the wind blowing bothered her. I'm starting to think little Neal may take after his mother, with the way he was screaming last night when we opened the window to help the baby settle. Or maybe it's because he's teething, I can't really be sure.
Your men miss you. I told John everything, and he passed the message along to the others. They were shocked at first, but once that wore off they were all incredibly happy. They're very eager have you back, and asked me to tell you that "If you're going to make us wait so bloody long to see you, you best bring presents". Of course, I tried to explain that this isn't some vacation you're taking, but you know how they are.
The trip itself was pretty easy to do. The drive didn't feel as long as I thought it would be, and Henry loved being back home with everyone. He got to spend some time with Emma and got to see Violet (I still don't know how to feel about him having a girlfriend, but that's a conversation for another time). He was also very excited to come back to New York, though. He loves his school here, and his friends. I think this is what our schedule will be from now on. It's a good balance. I get to spend my week here, writing to you, and then I'll go back to Storybrooke every Friday afternoon, spend the weekend with the kids, and return on Sundays to tell you all about it.
Thank you for the tulip. It's beautiful. I've placed it on a vase with the rose and the lily you sent me, and I may or may not have added a preservation potion to the water they're in, to keep them from withering...
Enclosed are some pictures of our trip. I hope you like them.
Love,
Regina.
The pictures are beautiful. Shot after shot of his children and their various caretakers. He smiles when he finds one of John holding baby Robin, his grin so big it makes his eyes look tiny.
There's one of Ruby and Roland, both sticking out their tongues at the camera, one of Henry and Roland poised with their bows and arrows, and one of Emma laughing while giving Roland a piggy-back ride. The next photo is one of Henry holding the baby, followed by another of Henry, David and Roland making faces at the camera, and then another of all three kids sitting on the lavish couch in Regina's mansion, little Robin held securely in Roland's arms as Henry smiles.
That one almost gets him. Almost. But he reins in the tears, tames the ache he feels in his chest at the gorgeous sight.
That is, until his eyes settle on the very last picture in the bunch.
It's a picture of Regina sitting on the couch. A picture of Regina holding his daughter in her arms, enamored by her and completely oblivious to the camera. Her eyes are glued to the tiny being in her care, and her smile is bright and open as she watches her. Roland is leaning over Regina's shoulder, his curls wild and bouncy as he looks down at his sister, her tiny fist grasping Regina's index finger near her mouth.
Robin loses the battle against the tears then, but he grins, laughs even, because it's quite literally the most beautiful image he's ever set eyes on, and it's all his. This must be Henry's handiwork, the style of the photo is very similar to the one he'd taken of her at the fountain, the one Regina had sent along some letters ago. Robin would give that boy the world in gratitude for the stunning moment he's captured for him.
His eyes shift from Regina's face to Roland's, and Robin feels a pang of guilt at having caused his son so much grief, hates that he can't make it better.
Although... maybe he could.
Before he replies to Regina's letter, he writes one to his son. Words flow easily from the moment he starts, and it helps ease the pain in his soul, has him hoping it will make Roland smile, and maybe write back a letter of his own, with Regina's help.
He places the paper in an envelope. It's been a long time since he's done that with the letters he and Regina send to each other, but this is his son's first piece of mail, and Robin wants to make it memorable, to add that bit of joy that always comes from unwrapping a present.
After he's done with Roland's, Robin reads Regina's letter several times over.
He's been starved for her words, and he takes them all in with a sigh of relief, then thinks over his answer for a few minutes before he finally puts it into writing.
Dear Regina,
Glad to hear you had a safe and easy drive.
The pictures are amazing, especially the last one. Tell Henry thank you for me, it is now my most prized possession.
I'm saddened to know that Roland is having such a tough time accepting all this. I'm sorry I put you in a position where you had to deliver such news, I know I shouldn't have asked this of you when you said you weren't ready to tell him, but he deserved to know, Regina, and I'm so grateful that you and Henry were there to comfort him and explain everything.
I've written him a letter, and I'm sending it along with this one. Maybe next time you visit, you can read it to him? It's nothing major, really, but I feel like it might help him come to terms with this if he sees proof of it.
I hate that I can't be there for him and soothe his fears, but he has to know how much he means to me, he has to. Please don't let him forget that while I'm away.
You're right, my daughter really does take after me. That birthmark by her chin? I used to have it when I was a child, and her eyelashes are so long, just as my mother's were. She's beautiful, and she looks so at home in your arms, Regina. Just seeing that photo made me incredibly happy, and I can't wait to witness those moments first-hand.
Please tell my men I am not a pack mule. The moment our timelines converge, all I want to do is find you, kiss you, and go home to my children. I will not be delayed by having to carry presents for my oafish friends.
I like the idea of traveling to Storybrooke every weekend. It seems like the most solid option at the moment, and that way Henry won't miss school, which I'm guessing is why you chose this schedule in the first place. Would it be too much if I asked you to keep the pictures coming? I enjoy them immensely.
I'll see about the cooking classes and let you know how it goes. Hopefully Roland won't laugh too much at me when I tell him I burned everything in the kitchen, as I'm likely to do.
Thank you for going, for making sure my children are safe and provided for. I miss you so much, Regina. Every time I cross off a day on my calendar, I breathe just a little bit easier. The mere idea of holding you again makes my pulse quicken. I cannot wait to see you.
Just 360 days left.
All my love,
Robin.
He wishes he could see her, could tell her everything in person. The desire to speak his every written word has been there from day one, but now it's stronger than ever. He wants to be there for her, with her, wants to see his son and promise him he will never go away again, and above all, Robin wants to keep that promise.
The calendar he's made rests on the bedside table, just to the left side of his lamp. The green marker he's procured for this purpose comes from an abandoned box of crayons and other coloring instruments in Roland's old room, and just the sight of it has him missing his boy that much more. Robin remembers their afternoons here, remembers the pictures Roland would draw for him, pictures that often included a squiggly, stick-figure Regina holding his hand or giving him ice cream...
The fact that his absence is causing his son this much pain eats at him, keeps him up til the very late hours, until exhaustion wins out and drags him under for a while.
When he wakes, the ache is even stronger.