It's the noise that wakes him. Rhythmic. Steady. Thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk, over and over, unending, a sort of swishing beneath it.
He's disoriented at first, clearly not in his own bed, the dark of pre-dawn not much help as he sits, and blinks and squints. His eyes adjust, the thin light of streetlamps filtering through curtains eventually giving things a bit of form and shadow.
Regina's, he remembers. He's at Regina's.
And that sound is coming from the back room - her study, if one can call it that (there's a desk, sure, and one wall lined with bookshelves, but he'd spent the early part of the night before on its sofa, learning the ins and outs of Mario Kart while they waited for pizza to arrive and he couldn't help but notice the copious amount of DVDs and Blu-rays crammed on the TV console). Curious, Robin rises (nearly trips over the dog in the process), and plods clumsily back toward the hallway, toward the light spilling out from the room where Regina is clearly awake (still awake? awake again?) despite the early hour.
He stops in the doorway.
There's a treadmill tucked into one corner of the room, facing the wall, and that's where he finds her, in a sports bra and leggings that cover hip to mid-calf but leave nothing to the imagination. Her short locks are bound up into a stubby ponytail, little wisps of it fallen loose, her skin sheened with a layer of sweat as her trainer-clad feet hit the belt over and over and over. Thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk.
Robin's mouth goes dry.
He shouldn't be looking, feels a bit like he's spying, but her back is well-toned, and her arse is… well, fairly incredible, to be honest, and hugged snugly in dark charcoal grey. He swallows, blinks, looks away.
"You know, it's a wonder you managed to sneak in here unnoticed the first time, drunk as you were," she pants, and Robin startles slightly, caught, even if she's not yet turned to look at him. "You walk like a damn elephant."
"I do not," he counters, frowning, because he's been quite light-footed in the past, when he was younger and a bit more mischievous. "Leastways not when I'm fully awake."
She grunts, her only response, still staring at the wall in front of her.
But she doesn't tell him to go, so he ventures in closer, approaches along the side of her, leans against the desk and tells her, "You're a bit mad, you know that?"
Regina looks at him, lifts a brow (face truly bare this time, not a drop of makeup to be found - he can see the difference now between "no makeup" and what she'd worn that day in the park - and exertion has her flushed, faint dark circles under her eyes from exhaustion).
"You got in late - must have, because I remember seeing one-thirty before I nodded off," he explains. "And yet here it is-" he glances at the clock on the DVR, "five-oh-eight and you're running on the treadmill?"
"Wakes me up," she tells him breathlessly. "I didn't have time for proper sleep, just a nap, and if I sit around, or read or…" She shakes her head, sucks in a particularly deep breath. "It's too quiet, I'll fall asleep. And I don't want to wake Henry, so… running it is."
He'll give her that, he supposes, conceding with a conciliatory frown as he crosses his arms over his chest.
She's wearing very little.
He's known that since he walked in, of course, but there's a bit of a lull here, and suddenly he's very aware of it. Very aware of her dewy shoulders, of her slick collar, her bare belly, her breasts confined beneath black and purple. She's wearing very little, and was likely not expecting company, not expecting to be ogled in her own home in the wee hours of the morning, so he makes a point to look elsewhere. To look anywhere but her.
He studies the DVDs across the room, squints to make out titles. The entire series of Mad Men in a block, and True Blood nearby, all of the Harry Potters on a shelf more convenient to the height of a child and he thinks he recognizes quite a few of the Marvel titles filed together just between...
Regina is a bit of magnet, though, and he finds himself drawn to her, her pumping arms and working legs, her toned belly.
Shit.
He's looking again.
He pulls his gaze away, back across the room (O Brother, Where Art Thou?, he thinks, and Moulin Rouge?), and hears her scoff slightly next to him.
When he hazards a glance back, she's smirking.
"Robin," she huffs with a roll of those dark eyes, "You're not exactly subtle. And I'm half-naked and sweaty. I think I'd be more offended if you didn't check me out."
Robin offers up a guilty grimace of a smile and lifts a hand to the back of his neck to scratch. "Sorry."
She shakes her head, punches a button on the machine a few times and her steps slow to a brisk walk.
"Don't be. It's fine. For whatever reason, your roving eye isn't particularly offensive."
"I'm going to take that as a compliment," he tells her, and since she doesn't seem to mind, he takes a moment to glance at all those enticing parts. The line of her belly, the soft dip of her navel, the sweat that beads down her breastbone and disappears into her cleavage.
She licks her lips and it draws his eye, gives him a suckerpunch of want, of desire to kiss, to touch.
Fuck.
He shouldn't be looking at her, shouldn't be thinking of her. He knows better, knows this can never be.
"Meant it as one," she says, still breathing heavily, her voice a little rough, a little husky with exertion. It makes the mind wander places it shouldn't, makes him wonder what else would make her sound that way, and he's almost glad when she blinks hard a few times, sucks in another deep breath and admits, "God, I'm tired." Perhaps that means she'll stop, and he'll get a break from bare skin and that roughed-up voice.
She punches the speed down again, easing her gait to a slow walk, her hands finding purchase on her hips for a moment before she asks, "You want coffee?" and then, "I could make breakfast."
As tempting as that offer is (he remembers her coffee, has been meaning to ask her what it was so he can buy some for his place), he probably shouldn't linger with her here. And he doesn't want to put her out - he hadn't meant to stay the night in the first place.
"I should probably get home," Robin tells her with a shake of his head. "I've got to shower and dress and walk the dog before I head over to Marian's."
And, if he's honest with himself, probably rub one out in the shower to the thought of her sweat and her voice and her… everything.
Fuck.
He's very, very attracted to Regina Mills.
"Oh, come on," she dismisses casually. "It's five AM. You have time for coffee and eggs. Besides, if you leave, I have to keep running."
He laughs a little at that, shaking his head. She really does look beat, and he imagines she's not kidding - that if he leaves her here alone in the quiet of her home, she will push herself to stay awake. And she's right, he has time enough for a bit of breakfast.
"Well, we can't have that, I suppose," he acquiesces, and she blows out a breath, punching that same button until the treadmill stops and leaves her gripping the handles. Her arms tremble just slightly; she's spent.
"Great." She clears her throat and straightens a little, then says, "Coffee and filters are in the cupboard above the pot. Use five scoops. I'm going to go de-sweat."
"Oh, so I'm making the coffee?" he chuckles, as she steps off the treadmill.
It's a nod from her, and a "yep," and then she's walking out of the room ahead of him, flipping on the hall light this time as she goes.
Robin follows, taking one last moment to appreciate the rear view before he heads for the kitchen.
.::.
Regina makes quick work of her shower, washing away sweat and exhaustion, lathering her hair, soaping her body, conditioning and rinsing and running a razor over the bare minimum of necessary areas. When she emerges, she spends a moment just standing on the bath mat, a thick, soft towel wrapped snugly around her, her head feeling like it's stuffed with cotton as she tries to decide just how much getting ready she wants to do this early. She doesn't want to show up to work wrinkled, or risk getting a stain on anything from runny egg yolks or sloshed coffee, but she's not really comfortable sitting around the kitchen with Robin in just a robe. Her usual get-dressed-last routine isn't really helping her out this morning.
She opts for another pair of leggings instead, and a camisole, tugging her robe on over that and feeling considerably less exposed than she would if she were just in her underthings. Leaving her hair to its own devices isn't an option this morning - she needs to look put together and if there's one thing (a million things) she'd had drilled in for her entire young life it's that her unruly waves are not what one would call polished and professional. She has to see to it before it dries on its own, but it's still early. Henry has a while longer to sleep, and she suspects he was up past his bedtime last night, so she's loathe to rob him of a single minute. Instead of drying her hair in the bathroom upstairs, she brings the hair dryer down to the powder room, puts a floor between the noise and her sleeping son.
The downstairs already smells like coffee, warm and enticing and wonderful, and by the time her hair is done, it smells like something else, too - bacon. It seems Robin has helped himself to the fridge - and sure enough, when she pads her way into the kitchen, she finds him at the stove, Tuck sitting dutifully next to his feet, tail wagging vigorously as he hopes for a bit of fallen breakfast.
Or for it to be handed right to him, she thinks with an eye roll as Robin grabs a strip of turkey bacon off the plate he's set next to the stove and dangles it down for Tuck to gobble up.
"Does he have the munchies?" Regina asks, crossing her arms and lifting her brows.
Both man and dog look toward her with surprised, guilty eyes, and then Robin grins and shrugs. "Seems so."
Regina guffaws softly and crosses the rest of the distance between them, opens one of the cupboards and reaches into it for a thick, heavy mug.
"You didn't have to cook," she tells him, and Robin shrugs again, tells her he doesn't mind. He had nothing else to do.
"And I'd hate for you to think I can't cook a proper meal," he adds with another smile (he's awfully perky for a man who was woken at five o'clock in the morning, she thinks).
She pours her coffee, ducks into the fridge for a dollop of half-and-half, then breathes in the scent of it before taking a slow sip. Hot, strong, dark. Perfection. For a moment, she lets her eyes close, sipping again and enjoying, but her eyelids begin to feel heavy, leaden, and she forces them open, blinks rapidly, and murmurs, "And a decent pot of coffee. Who knew?"
"Well, you did give me fairly specific instructions," he points out, and true, she had.
There are eggs sitting on the countertop, four of them, and he reaches for one now, cracks it into the pan he's just cleared of bacon. Regina grimaces. She's all for the economy of pan usage, all for fewer dishes, but frying the eggs in bacon drippings just seems... greasy. It was turkey bacon, she reminds herself. It's lean, not a puddle of slippery, salty fat. It won't be horrible.
And he's cooking for her, unasked. So she keeps her mouth shut this once, and simply sips her coffee again as he cracks another egg into the pan.
Toast pops up to her left with a joyful release of springs, and Regina jumps slightly at the noise, unaware as she was that there'd been anything in the toaster to begin with. He's just thought of everything, hasn't he?
Everything except...
She moves to the fridge, pulling out a carton of strawberries and bringing them to the sink for a rinse. She'll slice up a few for Henry to have on his cereal, she thinks - or should they make enough eggs for him, too? No, that's silly, they'll be cold by the time he wakes up. But maybe she'll scramble a few while he's getting dressed and – what did Robin just say?
"Hmm?" she asks, settling the carton down on the countertop where it leaves a little, wet puddle and reaching for a knife and the small cutting board.
"How do you like your eggs? Runny? Hard?"
"Oh," she says, and then, "Somewhere in the middle, I guess."
He nods, then yawns (and then so does Tuck, and then Regina, a domino effect of sleepiness washing through the kitchen), and Regina begins slicing the tops off her strawberries, then cutting them into quarters, filling a tupperware that she grabs from the cabinet below her.
A moment later there's a soft, annoyed curse and she glances over to find that Robin has broken the yolk on one of the eggs. He does the same thing with the second batch, and she smirks, bites her tongue against the urge to point out that maybe he can't make a proper breakfast after all.
When he plates the second intact egg with the first two, then slides the broken one from the first batch onto his own plate, she's glad she didn't criticize. Chivalry comes in many forms.
"Is this dark enough?" he asks, reaching for the toast and setting it on her plate. It's a perfect golden brown, and she nods, watches him toss another two pieces of bread into the toaster and crank the heat up to eight out of ten. Well, alright then. Someone likes his toast black.
"Do you have jam, or...?"
Regina lifts a brow. "You already helped yourself to the fridge once," she points out, and Robin gives her a look.
"You said you wanted eggs," he reminds, and she supposes she had, or at least she'd implied it, so she takes pity on him and tugs the door open (she's closer than he is anyway), spinning the jars lined up in the shelf of the door so she can read the flavors - strawberry, and concord grape, and apple butter, and mixed berry...
He asks for the apple butter, and she grabs the jar, sets it on the countertop, and tells him none for her. She'll take hers dry.
"Dry toast?" he asks her, forehead wrinkling in confused amusement.
Regina points at her plate and says, "The yolks are plenty, and I have coffee."
"Very well, then." He lifts her plate and holds out it to her. "Your breakfast, milady."
She mutters a thank you, then takes the plate from him and adds a generous helping of strawberries and a single piece of bacon before bringing it to the table. The eggs are fine, not as greasy as she'd feared, and the yolks are soft enough that she can dab them up with her toast. Robin waits for his own toast while she eats in silence, Tuck sitting next to her now, his tongue lolling out as he watches her take bite after bite.
She stares him down, fights the urge to smile at his dopey dog face, then tells him, "Not a chance, buddy."
Robin chuckles from his place near the counter, but says nothing.
By the time he makes it to the table with his own breakfast, hers is half gone and she's pulled Henry's homework toward her, is scowling over the pages. The work is good, fine, a mistake or two but nothing that will hurt his grades terribly, and it looks like he understands the lesson, for the most part, so she's alright with him turning it in as-is.
God, it's too early for math.
She blinks hard, reaches for her coffee again and sets the schoolwork aside as Robin bites into his charred toast with a noisy crunch. She takes a few swigs from her mug, then reaches for her own toast, using it to wipe up what's left of a yolky puddle on her plate before taking a bite.
"How was work?"
Regina glances up, chews, wonders if he'd intentionally chosen the moment her mouth was full to ask her a question. She swallows as quickly as she can manage and tells him, "Fine. Exhausting. We got a lot done, but the people on this project with me can be... tiring, at times."
"Oh?" he asks, with genuine interest, tearing off a hunk of bacon and popping it into his mouth.
"The team is me, my best work friend – who is having marital problems and a hard time keeping them to herself – the impatient hardass of a woman who can hardly stand said friend even when she's not oversharing about her personal life, and the guy who's had a crush on me pretty much since he started working there several years ago. So it was… interesting."
Robin tries his best to stifle a laugh and fails, his eyes dancing with amusement, crinkling at the corners as he grins at her. "Sounds like quite a night."
"Yeah," she nods. "We do good work, but sometimes it felt like I was the one babysitting. How was Henry? Did he give you any trouble?"
"None at all," Robin tells her. "He's a great kid. The time flew by."
She pauses, last bite of egg balanced on her fork and asks, "Is that your way of admitting he wasn't in bed by ten?"
Sure enough, Robin gives her a guilty look and admits, "It might have been nearer to ten-thirty. We lost track of time."
"Mmhmm," she mutters skeptically. "I'll let that go, since you ran the dishwasher - which you didn't need to do, by the way, but thank you. I appreciate it."
She takes that last bite of egg, finally, as Robin shrugs and says, "You run to stay awake. It seems I clean house."
He's nearly done with his eggs, too, she notices, despite her considerable head start. Graham had been the same way - always done with his plate while she still had a quarter of hers left. Daniel, too. A guy thing, she thinks. Soon it'll be Henry who beats her to the end of every meal, but she's not ready to think about that yet, so she tries to steer her brain back toward the conversation at hand.
"I should rob you of sleep more often and point you toward the bathrooms," she teases, smirking and spearing up a bit of strawberry onto the end of her fork.
Robin's chuckle is warm and… nice. Masculine. He's very… he has a nice face. A nice jaw. Nice shoulders, and good teeth.
Why is she noticing his teeth?
Regina blinks, shakes her head to clear the meandering thoughts of how attractive her neighbor is.
She needs more sleep.
She won't be getting any, though. Not until tonight, anyway.
"What time do you get Roland?"
It's something to talk about, something other than those dimples that go on for days.
Robin sighs (tiredness, she thinks, not anything more sinister or disappointed) and shifts in his chair, answering, "I told Marian I'd try to be there by eight, so she has plenty of time to leave for work. I should probably head home before too long, make sure the men didn't trash the house entirely last night, and spray the whole place with air freshener."
"Don't let me keep y-" Her words are interrupted by a massive yawn, one that sneaks up on her and stretches her jaw wide, has her pressing a first over her mouth to stifle it.
When it ends, Robin is staring at her. Smiling. Regina feels her cheeks flush and curses herself silently.
"Put your head down for a few minutes; I'll wake you," he offers, and Regina just laughs softly, disbelieving. What does he think she's about to do? Curl up against the edge of the table? (It's a testament to her exhaustion that for a moment even that sounds good.) But then he's insisting, "I mean it. Lie down on the couch - I can speak from experience, it's quite comfy."
"And what'll you do while I sleep?"
"Clean up breakfast," he answers earnestly. "Prove my housekeeping skills to you once again."
His words have her smirking a little, and her heavy eyelids have her agreeing reluctantly. "No more than twenty minutes," she warns him, setting down her fork and pushing her plate half an inch away, taking one last swallow of her coffee.
"Scout's honor," he swears, and she knows that's not right.
"Oh, you were a Boy Scout, were you?" she taunts doubtfully, smiling as she stands.
"No, but the sentiment holds," he assures, standing with her, his plate empty now, and reaching out for a moment to cup her elbow with his fingers. "Now go lie down, or you'll fall asleep at your desk."
She's not sure entirely why she's giving him so much trust, but Regina does as he says, curling up on the sofa that now smells vaguely of pot and cologne (what a wonderful combination) and letting her eyes drop shut.
.::.
Twenty minutes come and go quickly, Robin filling the time by cleaning up their breakfast as promised, quietly rinsing dishes and stowing them in the washer, then taking Tuck out to do his business, standing in the chilly dim of early morning and bouncing on the balls of his feet as his arms pucker into gooseflesh.
It's not until after the dog makes a decent pile in the middle of the bloody sidewalk that Robin realizes he has nothing to clean it up with, and he grimaces, glances up and down the empty block, and tells Tuck, "We'll pretend we were never here, alright?"
The dog looks at his mess and then at Robin, head tilting, ears shifting, and then he lets himself be led back inside and curls up on the living room rug again. Robin washes up, glances at the time, cuts up another handful of the strawberries Regina had abandoned on the countertop, enough to fill the container she'd been working on, popping a few in his mouth as he does.
And then time's up, and he's tasked with waking her, padding softly into the living room and peering down at where she lies on the sofa, her back pressed against the cushions, fingers of one hand curled around the edge of the throw pillow beneath her head. She still looks tired, he thinks. Shadows under her eyes, her skin a bit pale in the rapidly increasing light, a few locks of hair strewn across her forehead where they don't belong. Her robe has come unbelted, one side pooling on the cushions and revealing a glimpse of dark cotton trimmed with lace. He can see the steady rise and fall of her breath beneath the camisole. He doesn't want to startle her, wants her to wake peacefully if he can manage it, so he starts by saying her name softly.
"Regina."
Nothing.
A little louder now, "Regina."
Still nothing.
Robin reaches down and grasps her arm gently, giving her a rub from elbow to shoulder and back. She takes a deep breath in at that, then exhales heavily, but not a peep more and not so much as a flutter of her lashes. Another rub, and the same.
She is out. Her body probably crying for sleep, he imagines, considering her claim that she'd only gone down for a kip before running herself into a good sweat. He has half a mind to let her sleep a while longer, to rouse Henry himself and see that the boy gets some breakfast and brushes his teeth and whatnot before waking her, but that's not really his choice to make, he supposes, and truth be told, he has no idea how long her morning routine might take her. He's loathe to be on the receiving end of Regina Mills' temper when she's been deprived of proper rest. And he'd promised to wake her, and so wake her he shall. He just hopes she doesn't protest his methods…
Still trying to coax her into the land of the living gently, he sits in the space between her belly and her bent knees, then lifts his fingers to push the hair back from her face. It's soft against his fingers, silky and smooth, and he can't resist the temptation to let his fingers run through to the ends even after he's tucked the locks safely behind her ear. She sighs, her lips twitching, but she doesn't wake.
He says her name again, his fingers reaching for her face, but as her lips part, he hesitates, wonders if he should be touching her at all. If she'd be alright with that. But then she seems to settle, her breath evening out, and they can't have that. He lets his hand move forward after all, running the backs of his fingers from apple to jaw, a soft caress as he says her name again. This time, she squirms at least, her shoulders shifting, brow furrowing. Her head turns to the side slightly, turns into his touch, but her eyes stay firmly closed.
He combs his fingers through her hair again, pressing a little more firmly as he urges, "Come on, love, time to wake up now."
A soft moan, another squirming sigh, and then her chin turns toward his wrist, her cheek sliding right into his palm, her mouth drawing into a pout that is downright adorable. She's been many things in the time he's known her, but never quite this… cute. She reminds him a bit of Roland, of the way he rubs his eyes and pouts in the mornings. Robin cannot help but grin, coasting his thumb along her cheekbone and coaxing again, "Almost there… Now let's try to open our eyes, hmm?"
She huffs out a tiny breath and her lashes finally crack open, blinking blearily as he draws his hand away from her face. It takes her a moment to focus, but when she does her eyes go wide and she pushes herself up suddenly, her robe slipping off one shoulder, a hand propping her against the cushions while the other rakes through her hair as she rasps, "Sorry."
He thinks he catches a hint of pink in her cheeks as she clears her throat and shifts to sit fully, hands weaving at her nape for a second before dropping down to her lap.
"I apologize if I was a bit forward," he tells her, his hands safely on his knees, fingers curled against the itch to touch her hair again. "I just didn't want to startle you awake."
She nods then, murmurs that it's fine, and thank you, and, "What time is it?"
"About half six." She's blinking and blinking, stifling a yawn. God, she's lovely. Shit. He needs to leave. "If it won't have you running again, I'm going to head home."
She nods, tells him, "Go. I need to finish getting ready, and get Henry up. I'll be fine."
But when he moves to leave, to rise, her hand shoots over and grabs his. "Thank you," she says as he looks back at her, her gaze sleepy but sincere. "For last night, and this morning."
"It was nothing," he assures, giving her fingers a squeeze before their hands slide apart and he stands so she can do the same.
Within minutes, he has Tuck clipped into his leash again, and is darting a guilty glance at the pile of shit on the sidewalk he really ought to clean up before he leaves for Marian's.
Despite his best efforts, Regina lingers in his thoughts as he readies himself for the day.
.::.
Henry does not rise easily, and Regina finds her goodwill from the morning fading fast. Ten-thirty, my ass, she thinks as she spies her son staring dazedly into his cereal while she packs his lunch and her own.
"Five minutes, Henry," she warns with a glance at the clock. "Pick up the pace."
He sighs and spoons up more Cheerios and strawberry, chewing, chewing, but he's only made it through about half his bowl, so she grabs a few granola bars from the pantry, tucking them into his lunchbox just in case he needs a snack mid-day. Then it's into the bag, along with his homework, the reading checklist due today, a permission slip he had just remembered he needed signed this morning, a check wrapped up inside.
She drops a kiss to the top of his head before making her way upstairs and shrugging out of her robe, peeling off leggings and camisole and shimmying into a garnet-colored dress and heels. She throws on a few accessories, then stops by the bathroom to check her lipstick and notices that Henry's toothbrush is bone dry.
Perfect.
An annoyed huff and she heads for the stairs again, trotting down this time and tossing her lipstick into her purse by the door, then calling back, "Henry Daniel, you have approximately forty-five seconds to brush your teeth and put your shoes on."
She hears the scrape of his chair as she heads down the hallway, but he's gone by the time she gets into the kitchen, rounding her through the living room if the footfalls up the stairs are any indication. She takes his bowl and cup from the table and dumps what's left down the disposal before tucking the dishes into the washer and filling her travel mug with the last of the coffee from this morning. By the time she's screwing the top on, he's back, shoes laced, jacket on, shouldering his backpack and grabbing a water bottle from the fridge, still looking surly and bad-tempered.
She waits until they've been in the car for ten minutes without so much as a peep before asking, "So. How late did you guys stay up last night?"
"Not that late," he shrugs, staring out the window.
"Really."
"Uh huh. Nine-thirty."
That little liar...
"Try again," she tells him, her tone letting him know she's not buying it.
"Ten?"
"Really?" she asks, her annoyance ticking up with every little fib. Henry doesn't tend to lie to her, and truth be told, he's not great at it, so she wonders whom he's trying to protect here, himself or Robin. The idea that he would lie for the man grates on her.
"Did you already ask Robin this?" Henry asks, and she can hear the scowl in his voice. Ah, he's caught on.
"I did," she confirms. "And now I'm asking you."
"What did he say?"
"Not relevant."
Henry sighs, and sulks lower in his seat, then admits, "10:45, but I couldn't sleep. I wasn't tired."
She's almost surprised that their timelines match up so closely, considering how overtired Henry is this morning, but she supposes if he stayed up after, if he saw eleven, or even eleven-thirty, that'd do it.
"You couldn't sleep at quarter to eleven?" she questions. "You're usually out by ten. What had you so riled up?"
His response surprises her, has her brows lifting slightly: "He was showing me how to play guitar."
"Oh, was he?"
"Mmhmm. And I think I was pretty good, too!"
Regina glances over at Henry and finds him pleased with himself and smiling, really genuinely smiling, for the first time all morning. Well, look at that. She smiles back and tells him, "That doesn't surprise me. You're good at most things you put your mind to."
He starts telling her about the song Robin had taught him, and about the different parts of the guitar, and how he meant to cut his fingernails this morning because the strings kept not sounding quite right. (Regina bites her tongue, thinking of the million times she has told Henry to please clip his nails and been met with an eye roll and a sigh. Who knew half an hour with a guitar was the solution.)
And then they're at school, and he's leaving her with a smile and a wave as she heads back into what she hopes will not be terrible traffic on the way to work.
Halfway there, she pulls into a left turn lane, flicks her blinker on and then props her temple against her fist, elbow to the bottom of the window while she waits for the light to change. Her eyelids start to droop and she's forced to sit up straight again, fiddling with her sound system until Amy Winehouse is blasting loud enough to hopefully keep her awake.
The light changes, and she shifts her foot from brake to gas, saying a silent prayer that she makes it through this day without falling asleep on her feet.
.::.
He knocks.
Despite the keys clenched in his fingers, Robin knocks on the door to her apartment. And it really is Marian's now - she's covered the walls in a fresh coat of rust-colored paint, has returned the framed art print he'd reminded her was his in a recent fit of petty temper, has removed every photo of him excepting the one of him and Roland at the beach last summer that's still stuck on the fridge with a Mickey Mouse magnet.
Aside from that one photograph, it's as though Robin never lived here, and as he waits for her to answer the door, as he waits to be granted entry to the home where he first sung his child to sleep, he feels the ache of that change in his throat. He doesn't want her back, not that, not anymore. But coming here, especially coming here with envelope in hand as he does now, makes him feel a swirling mix of grey emotions. Anger and resentment running under loss and regret, and a sort of detached acceptance that this is life now.
Weekends with his boy, and sometimes even calling it that is generous. Sometimes it's only hours. Not today, though, he reminds himself, as he hears Marian's voice growing closer beyond the door, as he hears her flipping the lock. Today, it's two full days, two overnights. Today, he swallows down his ill will, and decides to be grateful.
She's already dressed for work when the door swings open, and the smile she gives him is perhaps a bit less tight than usual.
"Thanks for getting here on time," she tells him, nodding him toward the kitchen, and calling out to Roland, "Guess who's here, baby?"
At Roland's curiously excited, "Who, mama?" Robin reaches for Marian's arm, tilts his head questioningly when she turns to face him.
"He thinks he's not seeing you until tomorrow," she murmurs, and for a moment there's mischief in her eyes. For a moment, they share a secret, as parents. A happy surprise for their boy.
Robin hangs back, lingering just out of view as Marian walks fully into the kitchen and then follows, spying his boy in his booster seat at the table, a plate of apple slices and squares of peanut butter-slathered toast in front of him. Roland's eyes go wide, a surprised grin blooming on his crumby face, and when he shouts "Daddy!" Robin grins right back, all stormy emotions from moments before gone.
"It's me!" Robin confirms, closing the distance between them and reaching down to hoist the boy up into his arms for a good squeeze.
"You're here today?" Roland asks, and Robin nods, brushing his beard against Roland's cheek as he does and earning a ticklish giggle.
"I am here today, and then you're going to come back to Uncle John's with me and have a sleepover tonight and tomorrow night."
"I am?!" Roland nearly screeches, wiggling his excitement, and God, Robin has missed this child.
"You are," Marian confirms, approaching with a smile and a playful tap to Roland's nose. She has her purse now, has her keys dangling from her thumb. "Daddy's going to take you over to John's before I get back from work, so I'm going to say goodbye now, okay? Sweet dreams and good sleep, and Mommy will miss you so, so much."
Robin fights the urge to scoff, to mutter she doesn't know the half of missing her child.
But he stays silent, lets her lean in and press a kiss to Roland's cheek ("Miss you too, Mama," their boy says) and ruffle a hand through his curls. "He could use a haircut, if you have the time," she tells Robin, trailing her fingers through dark locks again and frowning.
Roland shakes his head and scowls, whines a protest.
Unfortunately for his son, Robin understands the request for what it is - something she'd like him to take responsibility for. So he heaves a sympathetic sigh to Roland and says, "I'm afraid so, m'boy. I could use a trim, too - perhaps we'll go get our haircuts together tomorrow, hmm?"
Roland brightens at that - at going with his dad, at doing it together, his frown gliding up into a smile as he nods. Robin nods back, resolutely, says "That settles it, then," and shifts the envelope now wrinkled in his clenched fingers to his freer hand and holds it out to Marian. "For you," he tells her, and she lifts the flap, thumbs through the bills tucked inside - the money he's agreed to give her on a regular basis.
"I thought you were going to transfer it," she says, and Robin feels his teeth clench. Can he do nothing right?
But she looks curious, not angry, so he pushes down his own frustration and says instead, "This was faster. If you'd rather, I can take it–"
"No, this is fine. Thank you," she interrupts with a little smile and a shake of her head. Then she's leaning in and giving Roland another kiss, telling him to be good for his daddy, telling Robin their son's things are packed and by the door, and finally leaving.
Robin adjusts Roland on his hip and looks down at him. "Roland, my boy."
His son smiles up at him. "Yeah?"
"What shall we do with ourselves today?"
They end up on the couch, with the rest of Roland's breakfast (Robin feels less inclined to enforce such rules as eating at the table now he's only with his boy on the weekends) and How to Train Your Dragon. Roland gets peanut butter on one of the cushions, and crumbs on the front of Robin's shirt, but as the two of them doze off there on the sofa, Robin stretched along the length of it and Roland sprawled atop him, the mess hardly seems important.
.::.
Regina sleeps late on Saturday, had slept away half of Friday evening, too.
After her late night and early morning, plus a full day of work, Friday night had pretty much been a wash.
The day had gone well, their big meeting going off without a hitch and hopefully without telegraphing the absolute exhaustion and snippy short tempers of everyone who had spent the last night working.
There had been coffee. So much coffee. Buckets of coffee. Enough that by the time Regina had picked Henry up from school, she'd been jittery and vaguely nauseous. And glad – so very glad – that it was the weekend, and she didn't have to be up tomorrow, or worry about checking homework, or anything like that.
They'd had grilled cheese and soup for dinner, something fast and simple, and yet Regina had still managed to burn her thumb when she took her attention off the hot pan for just a moment, her hand slipping as she turned to talk to Henry. It was nothing, just a little strip of red soreness, but it had taken her over the edge from tired to cranky, and she'd had half a mind to skip dinner entirely lest she run the risk of snapping at Henry.
But she'd managed, she'd made it through dinner, had had Henry help her clear the dishes, and then she'd told him to under no circumstances leave the house, to wake her if he needed her, and to not stay up past his bedtime again.
And then she'd slept.
From the middle of the evening until almost ten in the morning, she'd slept, waking disoriented and cotton-mouthed but finally rested.
The house is quiet now, almost too quiet, but Henry's door is open, and the alarm hasn't gone off, so she figures he's up and about somewhere. Probably downstairs watching TV, or playing his way through Epic Mickey. With no reason to worry, she takes a shower, and takes her time with it. Lets the hot water clear away the last of the sleep from her brain, and uses the body scrub that makes her skin smooth and silky.
By the time she descends the stairs, she's wondering if she should be thinking more along the lines of early lunch than mid-morning brunch (maybe they'll go out somewhere, make a little date of it) – and then she stops her train of thought entirely, pausing on a step halfway between upper floor and lower. Blinking at the sight she sees from her perch.
Henry.
Sitting at the piano bench.
Flipping through one of the piano books she'd bought the other day - no, not flipping - poring over, with a determined frown. Studying.
Is it possible she's still dreaming?
"Good morning, sweetheart," she greets, and he shuts the book and looks up at her, tells her Hi, Mom as she finishes those last few steps and makes her way toward him. She nods toward the book as she walks, asking him, "Which one is that?"
Henry tips up the front cover. The Once songbook. "It has the guitar stuff in it, too," he tells her, flipping it open and pointing at the chords above the piano line. "See?"
Ah.
The guitar.
She should've known.
Regina paints on a smile and settles next to him, asking, "Show me?", and together they look through one of the songs, pointing out the different chords and when they change. He asks her to play the piano line, and she does, picking her way through "Falling Slowly" and watching him give an extra nod at each change in the guitar part. Well. It seems they've found his instrument.
So when he asks, "Do you think I could go over to Robin's today? Maybe he could show me how to play it," she's loathe to disappoint him.
Still, "Robin has Roland this weekend, and I think we should let them be. They don't get much time together. But maybe sometime next week, okay?"
It's a compromise Henry seems willing to make, especially when she dangles the prospect of going out for brunch in front of him. But he asks her again that evening, and once more on Sunday, and Regina decides something needs to be done about it.
.::.
The last person Robin expects to see at The Rabbit Hole is Regina Mills, but she shows up around 7:00 on Monday, still clad for the workday in a dress (something beigey from what he can see beneath the hem of her coat) and pumps, and asks if she can talk to him for a minute. Just a minute, she promises, she doesn't want to take him away from his work.
So he doesn't bother with taking an actual break, just walks to the end of the bar and beckons her to follow. She hands him a small envelope, his name written on it in neat cursive.
"Thank you for the other night," she tells him sincerely, and he slips open the flap of the envelope to discover a Thank You card with a few bills tucked inside. "I really appreciate you taking the time to watch Henry, especially on such short notice. And he had a great time with you."
"It was no trouble," he insists, pulling the card from the envelope but tucking the money inside again and holding it back out to her. "Honestly. And it was a favor; I don't need payment."
"Don't be ridiculous. You did the time, you get the cash."
"I did it as a favor for a neighbor."
"Robin." She gives him a look. "Keep the money. Lord knows you need it right now."
Robin clenches his jaw. He's not really any business turning down whatever spare cash comes his way these days, but he'll be damned if he wants handouts on account of her feeling bad for him. He has a bit more pride than that - is starting to, anyway. He tells her so, frowning and then, "I don't want your pity payment, Regina. It's fine."
Her eyes go steely at that, her mouth pinching.
"You babysat my ten-year-old," she bites. "Overnight. That's a service that I pay for. You're not getting any more or any less than his usual sitter does. It's not pity, it's payment, and it's payment that you earned." She crosses her arms over her chest, leaves the envelope there on the bar between them, neither willing to pick it up just yet, it seems. "And for the record, I do not pity you, Robin. You made your choices." She softens a little then - not fully, she doesn't go entirely kind, just a bit less full of ire. Then seemingly out of nowhere she says, "You taught Henry to play guitar."
"Just a few chords," Robin admits with a roll of his shoulder. "He's a bright kid. A quick study."
She nods, and for a moment, those crossed arms look more like hugging herself than defiance. "He was really excited. Actually picked up those piano books I bought him - the ones with piano and guitar, anyway. He's never been that excited about music before…" She looks askance and shakes her head slightly, and he wonders if perhaps he shouldn't have brought the guitar over. If maybe he's hurt her unintentionally by facilitating Henry's interest in something other than the piano she's tried to urge him toward. And then she takes a breath and meets his gaze again, saying, "He wants to learn, and I thought maybe you could teach him. If you're interested." Her expression shifts toward annoyance again as she adds, "And if you don't think my paying you to do so would be pity."
This is why she came, he thinks. She could have easily dropped the card off at home and not gone out of her way. She came here to offer him a job - and a job playing music, at that. Something he has sorely missed, something that just the suggestion of makes something inside him feel just a little bit looser, a little less bogged down. So Robin sucks up his pride, and nods, tells her, "Yeah, of course." He hopes she won't find it terribly rude when he follows up with, "Did you have a rate in mind?"
Regina lifts her shoulders, lets them fall. "The music shop by my work charges thirty for a half-hour, but thirty minutes doesn't seem like much time. So… how's fifty an hour, once a week?"
Robin's brows lift. That's decent pay, considering he's little to no teaching experience, and she could probably find someone willing to charge a bit less. But he's not about to haggle her down if she's willing to pay him good money, so he nods, tells her, "Sure, that's brilliant. I'm here Monday through Wednesday evening, it'll have to be later in the week, or on the weekends - but Marian seems to be more willing now to give me Roland. I wouldn't want to give that up for a teaching gig."
"No, of course not," Regina dismisses, as if the very thought is ridiculous, and then, "Thursdays? Say… seven o'clock?"
"Works for me."
She smiles then, and it's warm and pleased. It looks nice on her. "Great," she says, pressing her palms to the bar and taking a breath before continuing, "He'll need a guitar, and, frankly, if an instrument doesn't have keys I'm pretty much useless, so if you wouldn't mind I thought maybe week one could be a shopping trip? You could help us pick something out..."
"Yeah, of course," he agrees, and that's perfect because, "I actually need to pick one up, too. I hocked mine a few months back." He'll have to scrape some money together for it, perhaps give Marian a little less from this week's pay. He'll buy something cheap, he thinks. Just something he can play. Nothing fancy. Something to get him by until he's back in the black and can afford something a bit better.
They arrange to meet at the music store near her work on Thursday at seven sharp, and she takes his mobile number, puts it into her phone, says she'll call him if plans change.
Then she leaves him there at the bar, heads back home to her son, and it's not until after she's gone that he realizes that envelope of cash is still sitting on the bar, his now whether he wanted to accept it or not.