It's finally here! I am so, so sorry it's taken me so long to update - traveling really is very time consuming! This chapter is shorter than the usually are because I split it - the other half should be up during the week as the majority of it is already written (my twitter handle is htoria_writer, and I put it to people on there if they wanted two shorter chapters or one long one. Two won out. Follow me if ya wanna cause I post lost of NG related stuff on there!) Huge, massive thank you to Jess, Jen, Allison, Be a and everyone else in the world who's listened to me do nothing but moan while I've struggled to get back into writing this. I do hope it's worth the wait.
"You can do this," Mel tells her.
A sentence Regina is sure she'd agree with. If only her insides weren't twisting in tight knots. She takes a deep breath, nods at Mel's words as she puffs out her cheeks and stares up at the building looming over the cab in which they're sitting.
Gold's office.
She'd wanted to go home first, wanted to change and see to Roland, make sure he was okay and actually get the poor kid out of his pajamas, but after Mel had received her fourth pestering text from their employer, they had realised the conversation couldn't be put off much longer. She'd called Wendy from the car and God bless her, the girl had already fished out the spare key she has to Robin's to get Roland out of the overnight diaper he wears to bed - something that they've found they have more and more use for nowadays, and Regina can't put her finger on what it is exactly that's making their boy's bedwetting become more frequent. She wants to tell herself it's school, the stress from Darla and his upheaval of a new routine.
But the routine isn't so new anymore, and with each night that passes, Regina finds herself becoming more despondent to the fact that Roland might just be more intuitive to this whole situation than she thinks. It is a niggle in the very back of her mind, that he can sense something bad is approaching.
And then she snaps out of it. Tells herself Roland is barely four years old, and if he wets the bed at night, who the hell cares? He'll grow out of it. All children do.
Wendy had told Regina not to rush, to do whatever she needs to and that Roland was quite happy playing with Dante, who had taken some old board games he'd never heard of before out of their attic. "Trust me, Roland won't even know you guys are gone for a good while yet. Dante is teaching him how to play Twister," she'd said. And therein went her excuse to put off facing Gold in favour of going back home for a few hours first.
"Maybe it won't be as bad as we think," Regina offers Mel, who arches her eyebrow skeptically but says nothing in return, just turns to throw money at the driver before nodding at the door and ushering Regina out.
Well. Here goes nothing.
She counts her steps. One, two, three... fourteen... twenty-six... thirty-eight.
Fifty steps exactly from the sidewalk to the heavy varnished door that blocks the way between the corridor and Gold's main office. Belle had greeted them, as usual, had politely asked if she could get the women anything, tea, coffee... valium, Regina can vaguely remember thinking. But that moment has been and gone - the Australian could well have asked her if she fancied an orgy and Regina wouldn't recall.
Mel knocks, takes a small step back as Regina feels her hands begin to fidget once again, as if independent of her own body. She makes a conscious effort to force them apart, feels her nails curl into her palms, feels her fists squeeze and this is it, she realises, her second poorly timed epiphany of the weekend. The reason her mother used to cut her nails so short. So that whenever Regina got antsy there would be no evidence of stress left on her skin.
She would tut, sigh heavily whenever taking the scissors to her fingers, shake her head and mutter, I just don't understand it, Regina. You could have such lovely hands if only you'd stop picking. The memories as clear as day, being nine years old and standing in the bathroom with her hands out while Cora took the blades agonisingly close to Regina's skin, a sickening smile on her lips whenever she came to the tenth digit and, ah, much better. Now you won't be able to leave those hideous marks all over your hands.
Oh, the irony. That the reason her mother would give so much attention to her hands was to stop her from making herself bleed, stop her from scratching and clawing at her own skin. Keep her hands looking delicate, unmarked, nothing short of 'perfect' (acceptable, not perfect. Regina will never be perfect in Mother's eyes). And yet those scissors went down so low Regina would bleed anyway.
But that was okay. That was at Cora's hands. Not her own.
"Come in." Gold's voice pulls her back, out of the body of her nine-year-old self and away from her mother, and for a split second she's grateful, would rather be in his presence for real than her mother's in her own head. And then she remembers why they're here, her and Mel. And bile begins to rise in her throat.
"Ah, there you are," he says as they enter, and don't put your hands together Regina. Don't show him you're nervous. "Care to fill me in? Your texts have been rather vague," he says, drops a curious frown to Regina as she hovers in the door behind Mel for a second, then gestures for them both to enter.
"Robin was taken in for questioning this morning because Killian Jones' apartment was broken into. Someone called the police and said they saw Robin running from the scene," Mel explains casually as she moves further into the office.
Gold snorts at the revelation. "I'd like to see them try and prove that in court."
"Right? It was the middle of the night, in complete darkness, in an area there's no security footage. It would have been the easiest verdict ever. Not that it matters. We figured it all out, and he'll be free to go tomorrow just as soon as they've dealt with all the right people."
"Well that's certainly a relief," Gold says. "It doesn't matter how unfounded that arrest would have been - had it happened, it would've gone against Mr. Locksley in court. Knotts would have made sure of it."
"He'll still bring it up," Mel warns. "He does his homework like he should, he'll know about them questioning Robin nearly as fast as we did."
"That may be, but it's easier to strike from record now, since he hasn't been arrested."
Regina watches the pair. Stays quiet in the shadows as Gold relaxes back on the edge of the big, cherry oak desk that overpowers the rest of the furniture in his office. He had a similar one back in Boston. A desk that stood right opposite the door; it was heavy, and pretentious, with gold handles and so overly varnished it still looked wet. But while that desk had looked entirely out of place in the highrise he rented his offices, this one looks… almost homey. It isn't quite as intimidating to stand in front of as his other one was.
Although… that might just be because the windows are smaller. And this room isn't thirty-one floors up.
"Why did they agree to let him go, anyway?" Gold asks, throws another curious look to Regina, who avoids his eyes entirely.
Mel clears her throat, pipes up with, "He had an alibi."
"Ah. Well… we can just count ourselves lucky then," Gold says with a small nod before moving around to stand behind his desk. Regina looks down at her feet, can suddenly feel Mel's eyes burning a hole in her body, and this is it. She needs to say it now or she never will. No turning back. She licks her lips, inhales deeply before schooling the fear she feels out of her expression and bringing her head back up.
"It was me," she says simply.
Gold turns, brow lifting with a slight shake of his head as he darts his eyes between the two women. There's a pause before he speaks, a moment Regina is sure is only a second but it feels like it lasts for hours. "I'm sorry... What was you?" He asks in a low voice.
Regina thinks he already knows the answer.
They lock eyes, and she clears her throat, hides her hands behind her back because she can feel the fidgeting is about to start again, can't bear the idea of Gold knowing he has any sort of affect on her mental state, least of all one that makes her crack her own bones. She stands a little taller, catches the stray lock of hair that's fallen onto her face and brushes it back behind her ear. Hides her hands once more.
"I was Robin's alibi. We've been having a relationship for the past two months. I was with him last night."
Silence falls on the room, no one breathing as information is processed and reactions are awaited. Mel stands between them with wide eyes and tense shoulders, her mouth dropped open in a small 'O', but Regina can't be all that sure. She isn't looking at Mel. Her palms are sweating as she watches her revelation sink in, watches Gold reign in his surprise and lock down his expression.
He becomes completely unreadable, throws a look to Mel and orders, "Leave", a quiet venom growing in his voice that Regina doesn't think she's heard before. Although... perhaps she has and has just never been on its receiving end. Whatever the case, his tone has her blood running like ice, and how can it be possible that one man can make her feel so hot with fury she can feel her cheeks colouring, but so cold with dread that her skin has started to pucker?
"Now!" He barks when Mel doesn't move.
The blonde shoots her a glance, doesn't hide the nerves in her expression as her mouth opens a little wider, as though she wants to say something. Mel looks helplessly between her boss and her friend. Regina nods her head, throws her eyes towards the door and prays her colleague will do as she's told for once in her life. She can handle herself, handle Gold - no matter how sick she feels at the thought. She won't drag Mel into all this mess too.
There's a moment's hesitation, a pause wherein Regina can almost hear the internal battle raging inside Mel's head. Stay and make sure Gold doesn't cross a line, potentially get fired too. Or leave with the knowledge that Regina might well be a basket case when he's finally done with her.
But she needs Mel to go, needs at least one member of Robin's legal team that she trusts or she'll be sapped of any hope she's got left that they could actually win this thing. Mel gives her a look, a small bob of her head before walking backwards reaching behind for the door handle, and slipping out of the room.
"You…" Gold starts, raises a hand to point straight to her. "You stupid girl. Do you have any idea what you've done?!"
"We… I know that I crossed a line here, Gold, but if-"
"You can say that again! Crossed a line! You've thrown us under a bus, Regina. I hope you realise that. There's only so much pull I have with the judge and when Knotts finds out you've been fucking the defendant he will pick this case apart piece by piece!"
"You don't know that," she tells him firmly, goes to carry on only to have him interrupt. "I believe we can still win this-"
"We? There's no 'we' now, sweetheart. You can kiss your career goodbye, and you can be the one to tell Robin to kiss that little boy of his goodbye too-"
"Don't," she starts, squeezes her eyes shut because the thought of Robin saying goodbye to Roland puts an ache in her chest and her throat.
"What, can't stomach that image? Well you know just who to blame when it happens," Gold spits.
"You can't be serious," she scoffs, suddenly gaining the strength to fight back, not to lie down and take what he's saying to her on face value. "You don't honestly think this will make our case dead in the water? I've seen you win thousands of cases! Cases against some of the most heinous defendants on the planet and you think you can't spin a web to get us out of this? Bullshit!"
"It's not that I don't think I can, more so that you've made me not want to," he snaps back, stepping a little closer to where she stands and talking through gritted teeth. "I brought you to London so you could help me win this case, not so you could drop your knickers at the sight of the first man you meet. The defendant no less! Although, perhaps that's your thing. Am I right? Have you developed some weird kick for sleeping with your clients, Regina?"
"What the hell are you talking about?!" She shouts, recoiling, but he steps closer again and the rage is bubbling, building like a furnace and her insides are boiling. Skin getting hotter with every word he's said since Mel left the room, and breathe, Regina, don't let him get to you.
"I'm talking about you, Dearie! You know, last year, when I told the jury working on Glass's case that I thought the reason he'd gotten so infatuated with you, the reason your best friend had ended up with her head caved in was because you'd indulged a sick man's fantasies and opened your legs. Honestly, I thought I was making up a crock of shit. But maybe not? Maybe Robin isn't the first client you've gone there with. The only difference this time being you don't have a friend for him to murder in your stead!"
The crack of her hand resounds through the room, has time stopping and the breath leaving her body as she stares in horror, watches as Gold tumbles back slightly, unable to keep his feet steady. He seems dazed, shocked, brings his hand up to cradle his face and finds her eyes.
"I'm..." She begins to breathe.
It's the mention of Katherine that did it, the image of her beautiful best friend in a bloody ruin on the floor of her old office. The memory of Sidney in the docks, of Gold standing before the jury and telling them Regina had led on a man with mental health issues- that Katherine's blood was on her hands, and if only she'd not made Sidney so obsessed with her to begin with…
"You're what? Sorry?" Gold snaps, cutting her off before she has chance to fully relive that particular nightmare and pulling himself back together. He reigns in the surprise in his eyes and standing taller than Regina would have thought possible.
But is she? Sorry? She wonders as she shakes the memories of her last trial out of her head. She's sorry, perhaps, that she let his words get to her; sorry she finally lost it and gave in, sorry her palm is now pulsing with the sting of her slap. But that, Regina finds, is about as far as her apologies stretch.
So she steals herself back, quickly gets over her own horror that she actually smacked her employer in the face, straightens her spine and swallows thickly, ignores the tears welling in her eyes.
She points. One finger straight to his chest, looks him dead in the eye, tells him, "I'm only gonna say this once. You will not give up on Robin. You will not drop his case. I will step down, but I swear to God if I get so much as a whiff you're trying to pull a fast one on this-"
"You'll what? Just what exactly is it you think you could do to me, hm?!"
Silence falls between them, and for second, she knows he thinks he's got her. She lets him. Watches as Gold's face twists into a sneer - cold, calculating, the kind of triumph behind his eyes that only he would get in this situation.
"Do you ever want to see your son again?" She asks quietly. It works, her words. One simple question that holds so much weight it has the smile slipping from his face and turning into a nasty scowl. She's got him now, she knows it, and carries on with her threat. "You will do everything I've just said or so help me God, I will make sure you never find Neal."
Her words are quiet, verging on a whisper, voice thick with the emotion simmering in her throat, and she knows if she goes any louder it might just crack - she'll lose the upper hand she currently has and therein will go the gravity of her promise. He will see it as nothing more than a bluff, and Regina may well have cost Robin his life.
She hates Gold. Hates him down to her core... But she needs him, too. Needs his influence, needs his ruthlessness. She needs Gold now more than she ever has in her life, and it kills her.
The atmosphere stays thick, the silence pressing into her ears as Gold weighs up her threat. She can see the cogs in his mind turning, see he's desperately trying to think of a way he can get out of it, any way he can drop the case but still keep his chance of seeing his son again.
But then this had always been the beauty of Robin's hold over her employ- her former employer. Her boyfriend has this man by the collar, and he can't get away now, despite his clear longing to. Gold concedes, gives Regina a small nod before seething a quiet get out. She's smart enough to leave before he can change his mind.
"Miss Mills?" He calls as she gets to the door, and she turns back, heart in her throat with the fear that she's just used up the only leverage she has against him and please God, tell her he hasn't thought of a way around her blackmail. "Tell your… boyfriend… that he'd better call me the second he's released if he wants any chance of proving he's innocent."
It's Regina's turn to nod this time, and as she shuts the heavy door behind her, she finally lets the tears that have been threatening all morning fall.
-§-
"Where's daddy?"
It's the first thing out of Roland's mouth when she's finally home, after she's calmed herself down and convinced Mel she's perfectly fine about getting fired (she's not, not in the slightest, but her blonde friend has made it perfectly clear she isn't giving up on Robin, no matter what's gone on. He's my client, she'd said, I don't give up on my clients, and how sad, that that had been the same phrase Regina used to tell herself about Sidney Glass whenever he gave her the creeps). She might not like getting fired, but at least she can rest assured that Mel is on their side.
She sits Roland on the couch and crouches down in front of him, wrapping her arms around his back and linking her fingers together. "Do you remember when I told you that a nasty man did a very bad thing to Daddy? When Darla was being mean to you?"
She watches as Roland searches his mind, his little face scrunching up in concentration before he nods, says, "When Darla said he was going to go to jail and leave me."
"Well," Regina starts, treads carefully with her next sentence, "Daddy had to go to the police this morning to help them with something, and he won't be back until tomorrow when you get home from school."
"Oh," is all Roland replies with, shoulders sagging dramatically as he looks down into his lap.
"Hey now," she coos, placing two fingers beneath his chin and lifting his head to meet her eyes once again. "I thought me and you could have a whole fun afternoon together? We could take Jack to the park and then get some pizza for dinner. What do you think?" She asks him with a smile. It catches, has Roland nodding excitedly at the thought of pizza and fun.
"Dante taught me to play this game - Twister - maybe we could play it too!"
He starts to reel off with all the things he wants them to do: play Twister, race cars, build castles and forts and then watch the Jungle Book (his new favourite, this week). And while Regina nods, smiles happily at the little boy, all she can think of is his father, and her heart starts to ache. This should have been their weekend off - the last free weekend before the trial and now look. She's spending it lying to Roland's face while Robin rots in a jail cell overnight.
The thought plagues her all afternoon. They play for hours, get pizza and finally finish that alphabet sheet that's been pinned to the fridge all week. He's getting so good at copying out letters now, and Regina asks him to write his name for Robin so they can show him when he gets home.
The day finally ends with them dozing together on the couch. Roland exhausted (from a day she's purposefully kept action packed so he didn't ask any more questions about Robin, a trick that worked, thankfully), and Regina utterly sapped of energy from the worst finally happening and how was it not twenty-four hours ago she was lying in Robin's arms and contemplating life after the trial? Today has been a blow nobody needed, but it's just the beginning, she realises as she eases off of the couch and lifts Roland's sleeping form into her arms. Today has been a preparation of what's to come when next week hits and the trial finally starts. Stress, tears, panic, lies. All the things she's built her career on, but now the boot is on the other foot. She's not the lawyer anymore, she's the client, and that notion leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.
She puts Roland to bed, drags her own body to the room across the hall that's eerily silent without her boyfriend waiting for her in there. Her head is pulsing, the threat of a migraine brewing at the base of her skull and she needs to sleep… knows deep down that sleep won't come tonight, and prays that tomorrow will be nicer. Start kinder. After all, Sunday had begun with banging, and that really is the last thing she wants to repeat.
-§-
Banging never comes, but that doesn't mean the day begins any better.
Monday starts with barking. Yapping and howling that fills every crack and crevice of the house, has irrational rage pooling in her stomach as she lies in bed with a pillow pressed to her ear, and this is why she's never liked pets, never wanted pets. Because they're like children... No, they're worse than children. Telling a child to pipe down will usually yield results. The dog, however, hasn't taken one bit of notice to any of the demands for silence Regina has shouted since his incessant barking began.
"Jack!" She yells, for what is surely the hundredth time, voice raised enough to not be muffled by her pillow. "STOP BARKING!
But he doesn't, and she reasons she should probably get up, go see just what it is that's caught his attention. But it's still dark out, she's still got a solid forty minutes sleep before the alarm will sound and she'll have to drag Roland out of bed for school, and she would get up. Would go down and see to him if she wasn't so sure he was getting worked up over a squirrel. Or a cat.
Because with Jack, she's learned, it is always a squirrel or a cat. And she could really use these extra forty minutes in bed.
Her head is still pounding. Yesterday's emotional whirlwind of a day, coupled with a restless night that saw her do nothing but toss and turn, has caught up with Regina in a way that makes blood pulse from one temple to the other. She can hear her heartbeat in her ears. Thumpthumpthump. The kind of aching that will only be soothed by two Advil and a solid few hours rest. Neither of which she can get if she's going to get Roland to school on time (she's also pretty sure there is no Advil in the house... Painkillers, perhaps some paracetamol, but getting that would require leaving the bed, and well... That's not something she's prepared to do just yet).
Or at least it wouldn't be, if only the goddamn dog would just desist.
She gets two more minutes. Moments wherein she can only just about stand to ignore the whimpers and howls that are resounding throughout the house before she hears a clatter from the bedroom beside her, and a heavy sigh is pushed from her lips in a huff. Well... Roland is up now, she's got no hope of getting more sleep.
She throws the covers back, ignores the draft of the bedroom air as it hits her skin and gets up with a scowl on her face. She really will kill this dog.
She meets Roland on the landing, watches as he rubs his tired eyes, still puffy from sleep, Ruff tucked under his arm wearing a scowl that's worthy of her own.
"JACK!" She yells again, giving Roland's shoulder a gentle squeeze as she moves past him to the top of the stairs.
"Why's he barkin'?" Roland mumbles.
Regina shakes her head, tells Roland to go and get back in bed, then flicks the light on before stomping ungracefully downstairs. Jack is standing at the bottom, eyes fixed on the front door as he growls and barks over and over. She frowns, pauses in her steps, because if it were anything other than unwanted company, the dog would be yapping at the window in the front room. Not the front door.
A bad feeling pools in the pit of her stomach, and she slowly pads the rest of the way down the stairs, shushes Jack as she reaches the bottom - a demand he finally listens to now she's finally up and here. Regina moves cautiously towards the door, squints through the beveled glass. Sees nothing but darkness, and the soft hint of her own reflection due to the light she's left on upstairs.
And then she's blinded.
A flash, a burst of bright, white light distorts her vision, has her seeing spots and for a split second, she's confused. She thinks it's lightning, but it's not raining and she hasn't heard thunder (she is pretty sure if a storm had happened, Roland would have been in her bed faster than it would've taken for her to register what was going on).
Regina feels her brow furrow deeper, gets closer to the glass. And then it happens again. And again, lights bursting on the other side of the door over and over, starts Jack's barking once more and what the hell is that? She's about to find out, gets as far as gripping the door handle when she hears it. Them. Muffled shouts from behind the glass.
"I see a light on!"
"Someone's awake!"
"Who? Is it her?"
Bile rises in her throat, and she snatches her hand back, walks backwards to the stairs as it dawns on her exactly what's happening, exactly who's outside. More lights go off - the unmistakable flashes of cameras, and it's no wonder Jack is going mad. There is a horde of photographers standing outside the house.
Paparazzi.
Shit.
Regina turns, hurries back upstairs and slams her hand against the light switch, sends the stairs and landing back into darkness. Her heart pounds against her chest as she moves back to the bedroom, climbs across the bed and pulls the curtains back an inch or so to peer through tentatively. She counts three cars she doesn't recognise, spots four guys standing on the opposite side of the street, heavy cameras hanging from their necks, one of them dragging on a cigarette, another saying something to someone she can't see from her position in the upstairs window - someone presumably standing on the steps that lead to Robin's front door.
The sky is changing colour now, edging its way from night into day, turning the hues of the inky blackness above into deep purples and blues, a hint of orange in the distance as the sun draws up and brings with it a new day. A day that is now promising to be equally as draining and just as fucking stressful as yesterday was.
Jack has followed her upstairs, has jumped up on the bed (something she'd usually forbid, but her mind is elsewhere right now, and she ignores the way he nuzzles against her side, absentmindedly drops her arm to scratch behind his ear and soothe his frustration that there are strangers outside that he wants to seek out and sniff and jump up but can't get to).
"R'gina," a little voice sounds from behind her, and she turns to see Roland standing curiously in the doorway, clutching Ruff to his chest, curls a mess on his head. She forces a smile, closes the curtains and turns to sit on the bed, gestures for him to join her. "Jack was real loud barking, wasn't he?" He converses as he clambers up the bed, sets his old, stuffed monkey gently on Robin's pillow and buries himself into Regina's side. She nods, agrees, kisses the top of his head and apologises that he was woken up for the second morning running. "Have I got to go to Wendy's again today?"
"No," she tells him. "It's school today, remember?"
Roland frowns, little shoulders sagging as he informs her, "But I don't wanna go to school today."
Regina chuckles, ruffles his curls then squeezes him a little tighter, desperately tries to ignore the fact there are strange men sitting on the stoop just waiting for her to go outside. Her mind is in two places at once, the forefront attempting to act as casually as possible for Roland's sake; she tells him that he has to go to school no matter how much he wants to stay at home,while the back of her brain buzzes with questions. What do they want? It must be about Robin's case, about their affair, can't possibly be about anything else, but... How the fuck have they found out? Mel wouldn't have breathed a word, she's sure. And Gold... Gold made it clear with yesterday's verbal battle just how unconfident he is about winning Robin's case now, he wouldn't have dared to call the press, no matter how furious he was, because he knows if he doesn't win this thing that Robin will never give up Neal's whereabouts. She highly doubts Lennie or Jeff would be stupid enough to go behind Gold's back after he forbade them from saying anything, even if she isn't on the top of either of their Christmas card lists, both value what he could do to their careers too much.
And Peter... Well... That smarmy, little shit would throw himself off of Westminster Bridge if Gold told him to. It wouldn't have been him either.
Okay. So that leaves... Belle. Doubtful. Graham, again, doubtful, Regina doesn't really think he cares all that much to have tipped off tabloids. Lance... But as prickly as the DI had been with them both yesterday, she doesn't peg him as the type to fling an on-going criminal investigation into the spotlight, especially one he's yet to solve. That just makes him look like a crap detective.
So then... Who? Jonathan Prince is the only person Robin can think of who may have a vendetta, but how would he know about their relationship? Unless... Now she thinks about it, casts her mind back over the past couple of months, they've probably not been quite as careful as they could have. What if he's been trailing them, following them? Had someone on their tail for the entire time? Maybe they were just out for Robin, just following to see him make one wrong move and then saw Regina - at the park, in the market, taking Roland to school, wherever - and put two and two together. Perhaps framing Robin for the break-in yesterday was supposed to ensure him going back to jail, and they didn't count on Regina turning up as an alibi.
Or perhaps they knew she was there, knew they'd have to come forward and decided throwing the press in for good measure would just be an amusing way to spice up their Monday. Whatever the reason, she feels sick that they haven't been more careful. Of course her colleagues weren't the only ones they should have worried about finding them out - Robin was being framed right from the start, for God's sake.
Prince is the only possible person it could be, and the fact that he, and Killian, have been so fucking elusive for the past three months suddenly has her riled. Has ire pulsing through her veins because who the hell do they think they are? Setting up an innocent man, a friend in Killian's case, to take the wrap for a crime he didn't commit, and for what? A few unsupervised hours of access to Roland? None of it makes sense, has her mind churning over and over as she grasps at straws with anything else it might possibly be.
She draws a blank, and comes up with nothing.
"... And then we could have pizza again like yesterday, and walk Jack and then it would be home time anyway," Roland is saying, innocently explaining how easy it would be for him to not go to school today, and for a second, Regina considers it, has been reeling her mind for a way to get him out the house and off to school without the Goddamn photographers following, but can think of no exit bar the front door. The back is useless, unless she's suddenly decided she's adept at scaling multiple garden fences with a four-year-old in tow (and bar being able to run on a treadmill with some stamina, she really isn't all that fit).
She sighs heavily, kisses the top of Roland's head once more, and then gets up and out of bed. "Nice try, Mister. You're going to school. Now come on, it's time for breakfast."
By the time she's finished in the bathroom, emptied her bladder and freaked out even further about the photographers outside, Roland hasn't budged. She calls for Jack, heads downstairs with a yell for the boy to follow or he'll go to school with an empty belly, is careful not to turn on any lights at the front of the house, lest the men on the other side of the door start yelling through the letterbox. She throws her eyes to the clock in the kitchen, 6:54am, it tells her - still too early to call Graham and ask what time Robin will be released - then grabs some bread to throw in the toaster, rifles through the cupboards for some Nutella in the hopes chocolate on toast will coax Roland out of bed.
Okay, so it's perhaps not the most nutritional breakfast, but the kitchen is Robin's domain, and Regina's head is still banging away. She'll quite happily let it slide for one morning.
"Roland!" She calls, stands in the doorway of the kitchen and angles her head upstairs. "Come on, little guy, you can have Nutella on your toast!" She waits, presses her lips in a thin line as she pricks her ears, listens to see if there's movement from above. "Roland! I'm not messing around, get your butt out of bed!" She sighs as she says it, looks down at the dog now happily wagging his tail at her feet, contemplates just how much damage she'll do if she lets him into the backyard, lest he do nothing but bark and alert the photographers, make them realise they were right and someone is indeed awake in the house.
But she can hardly keep the poor thing cooped up, and refuses to let a group of tabloid workers make her feel like she can't live her life as she does everyday, so she caves. Moves to open the back door, whistles for Jack to come to her and tries to ignore the bitter breeze that meets her skin, wonders briefly why she's so cold only to remember Robin has their hoodie - the one she would usually throw on when she comes down stairs each morning to make coffee. Her heart squeezes, mind running wild with thoughts of him alone in a jail cell all night, no doubt tossing and turning just as ferociously as she had been. She wonders if he has a headache too - he gets them sometimes. A painful ache in the base of his skull that Regina will knead with her fingers and scratch with her nails while the Ibuprofen kicks in.
She closes her eyes, sighs as she wills the seconds of the morning to hurry up so she can see Robin again and get this godforsaken day over with (she hates it already, the day, hated it last night before it even began and feels sick to her stomach at the thought of going through it). She hears the dog happily trot back inside, is pulled from her wallowing and back to reality at the sight of Jack wagging his tail with hopeful eyes next to his food bowl.
Right. Breakfast.
"Roland!" Regina yells again, goes about her morning routine as best she can without Robin pottering around her. They're like a well-oiled machine now, with their showers and bed making and breakfast cooking. Robin will sort food while Regina gets dressed. Regina will wake Roland while Robin has his shave. Little habits that have fallen into place over the past few weeks, and now an essential cog in their works is missing, and Regina feels like she's moving without a limb. Like she's having an out of body experience, trying to act like everything is normal for Roland's sake, all the while feeling like a paranoid mess fearing the photographers outside will barge down the door.
She calls for Roland one last time before sighing, slamming the kitchen pantry shut and rounding on the stairs. "I'm not gonna tell you one more time, you'd better be out of bed by the-"
She stops, one foot on the bottom stair, one hand on the railing, arches an eyebrow as irritation begins bubbling in her stomach and that banging in her head magnifies.
"I don't want to go to school."
Roland is sitting on the top step. Arms folded, a scowl on his face worthy of her own, and if everything today hadn't started so shit, she might well be amused at his stroppy announcement.
"Well that's just tough luck, Buddy, because you are going to school."
She starts to climb, halts two steps up when Roland rises and stomps back into his bedroom in a way that causes Regina to roll her eyes and pinch the bridge of her nose. This is going to be a very long morning.
-§-
It takes her over an hour.
One hour of shouting and fighting, of bargaining treats and threatening punishment for her to wrestle Roland into his uniform, and she learns this boy is just as stubborn as she is. He does not want to go to school, no matter how much she pleads or orders, and as the minutes tick by, Regina can feel her skin getting hotter with irritation as the banging in her head intensifies.
Breakfast was refused, the school tie tugged at until it nearly became a health hazard, the toy chest in the front room overturned with a crash, and as the dawn ebbed away and the sun rose higher, more and more photographers turned up outside.
They're late now. Ought to have left twenty minutes ago, but fighting to get Roland ready meant her own morning routine was thrown off kilter, and if she has any hope of getting him to school before his first lesson starts, all Regina really has time to do is brush her teeth and give her body a quick spritz of perfume.
Oh, the life of a parent when their child is in the midst of a tantrum.
Henry had been prone to them occasionally, she recalls as she stands over Roland at the dining table, waiting as he glares at the toast she'd promised earlier that morning. There had been that time in Whole Foods when he'd thrown a carton of milk across the aisle and screamed blue murder until she'd finally caved and bought him sweets. And when she'd braved taking him to her friend's wedding reception - thank god the videographer never actually caught any footage of her having to drag Henry out of the room in a fit of tears. Emma had suffered one, just one; the first weekend she'd asked Regina if Henry could stay the night had ended with her driving back to her little sister's to pick him up. He'd wanted to stay, up until the moment he'd realised he wasn't in his own bedroom and that Regina wasn't there. All hell had broken loose, and she winces at the memory of Emma on the phone in tears because she thought she was a crap mother and maybe they ought to have just called the whole thing off. It had killed Regina at the time, convincing her sister that Henry needed her (for selfish reasons only of course, she'd simply wanted her nephew all to herself at that point). That Henry was a child, and children will have tantrums - something she's having to repeat like a mantra in her head at this very moment.
"Roland, we don't have time for this. Please, eat your food," she orders, patience wearing ever thinner.
"Not hungry," he mumbles, folding his arms tightly into his chest and scowling at the plate. Regina sighs heavily.
"Right. Fine. No breakfast then."
Anxiety runs through her veins. This is it, she realises, the second Roland's coat is on, they'll be opening the door and met with a sea of flashing bulbs and pushy questions. Maybe they won't be able to get out, she worries. Maybe the photographers will block the way, and perhaps she should call the police…
But what can they do? The men aren't on Robin's property. They're standing on the sidewalk, as is their right. She swallows thickly, gestures for Roland to get up and put his coat and hat on - a request that is surprisingly undergone without a fight. He's finally accepted he's going to school, then.
She double checks the back door is locked, the front room curtains are still shut (lest the paparazzi actually take pictures of the inside of the house), that Jack is snoozing happily under the radiator by the TV. Did she make sure the bedroom windows were shut? She should probably go and check… But then, it's November. The likelihood of them ever being open to begin with is slim, and perhaps it's Regina who is stalling their attempts to get outside now.
She's just pulling on her leather jacket, wrapping a scarf around her neck when-
"Regina?" Roland's voice meets her ears, and she turns from where she stands by the front door to see the little boy standing just by the stairs. Her shoulders deflate in an instant, the tension she's felt building all morning suddenly evaporating as fast as it would take for her to snap her fingers. She takes him in. All wrapped up for the winter air, hat pulled down so low he nearly can't see, little rucksack securely fastened to his back - he's holding his hands in front of his tummy, looking up into her eyes and he looks… so worried it nearly breaks her heart.
She crouches down, opens her arms for him to come to her - something he does without hesitation, and the two are locked in a tight embrace not one second later. Regina breathes him in, feels tears prick her eyes because she's been no help at all this morning, and what if she hasn't been vigilant enough? What if Roland has sneaked a peek through the curtains and found forty burly men with cameras waiting for them outside?
"I'm sorry," he tells her.
"It's okay, baby. I'm sorry, too," she returns, resting their brows together and rubbing her nose gently against his. "I promise when I pick you up this afternoon, Daddy will be with me." Roland nods solemnly. "Now I need you to listen to me," she says after a shaky breath. "When we go outside, there's some people out there who might try and take our picture, but it's okay, all I want you to do is stick close to me and not let go of my hand, okay?" She tells him, prays her voice is now steady enough for him not to worry any further, but the mention of cameras send the panic in his expression soaring up.
"I don't want them to take a picture of me," he urges, shaking his head as his eyes well with tears.
Regina covers his hands with hers, softly rubs her thumbs over his skin and looks him in the eyes, "Roland, I need you to trust me. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you. It might be a bit scary, but I promise if you keep close to me, nothing bad will happen. I'm never going to let go of you, okay? But you've got to promise not to let go of me, too."
"I won't," he sniffles. "Regina?" He asks again as she stands to grab the keys from the shelf by the door and throw her purse over her shoulder. "How come they want to take our pictures?"
"I don't know, little guy," she lies, and he accepts it with ease. "You got your gloves?"
"I left them on my peg at school," Roland admits, and Regina sighs.
"Well that was very silly, your hands will be cold!"
"I can- I can tuck them in my coat!" He exclaims, suddenly proud he's found a solution to a problem of his own making, and she can't help it when the corners of her mouth tug upward to a warm smile.
She holds out her hand, "You ready?" She asks, and Roland bobs his head firmly.
Regina takes a deep breath, sweaty palm meeting the handle of the front door, and she glances back down to the child at her feet as panic bubbles its way up her body before pulling down and yanking the door towards them.
But she finds it doesn't matter how much she mentally prepares herself, how much she prepares Roland.
When she opens the door… Regina could have never been prepared enough for what meets them on the other side.