"Mind if I join you?" he asks, already stepping through the open door and it's not as though she can deny him the chance for fresh air - or as fresh as he's going to get with the cigarette he's currently lighting up - but she finds she rather appreciates the request and so she simply shrugs, tightening her arms over her chest and tipping her head back up towards the starlit sky. "You want one?"

"I don't smoke," she answers simply.

"It's a terrible habit," he replies as though agreeing with a statement she hadn't made, "I'm trying to quit." She remains silent but tips her head back down to meet his gaze. His smile is kind but his eyes, they're filled with the same pain that colours her own. "My wife hated it, you'd think that'd be enough to deter me but…" he shrugs and holds the cigarette up a moment as though giving evidence before he takes another drag.

"I used to," she gives back after a long moment because he's really trying to make small talk and she finds that he's not irritating like some of them in the group. Well, not so far anyway. "More of a rebellion against my Mother than a real habit."

"As good a reason as any, I'd say."

She breathes a soft laugh, almost feeling the spark of life within her but it flickers and fades as it always seems to do. She hates the emptiness she feels, loathes it. It's part of the reason she'd been practically forced by both her therapist and her best friend into coming here every week.

"You're depressed, Regina," Emma had diagnosed three weeks ago when she'd found her laying in bed in an oversized sweater that was beginning to smell as bad as the woman wearing it. "You're wasting away in here and I won't allow you to do it. He wouldn't have wanted you to do it."

She swallows thickly as the words echo through her mind.

"It's not going to get easier," he interrupts her thoughts gently, "not yet anyway," he continues when he can see he's gained her attention once more, "but you'll find the strength to carry on and one day you'll stop and think, 'Oh, I haven't cried today.' That's a victory all of itself."

She finds she appreciates his honesty and can't help but ask, "How long ago did you lose your wife?"

"It'll be five years in June, our son's fifth birthday."

She died in childbirth it seems. Regina's heart aches for the woman she hadn't known simply for the thought of never having the joy of meeting her child - the thought of never getting to experience all that she has with Henry is almost too much to bear even if she'd been the world's shittest mother the past few weeks.

"And your husband?" he asks and fair's fair, she thinks.

"He was my fiance," she twiddles the ring she still hasn't been able to take off around her finger where it's curled over the crook of her arm. "He died two months ago tomorrow."

"I'm sorry," he nods, his expression solemn.

"Me, too."

They're interrupted then by the all too condescending tone of the group leader announcing that their short break is over and calling everyone back to rejoin the circle and she finds she doesn't want to go back in to listen to more and more stories of unimaginable grief only to be told that things are going to get better once they allow hope back into their lives. It makes her want to scream.

This man, this practical stranger seems to sense it and asks, "Do you want to get out of here?" and then, when she raises an eyebrow curiously, he continues, "I can't stand these sessions, I'd much prefer to go grab a beer and heal the old fashioned way."

"And you think that's wise?" she asks, shifting from one foot to the other, watching as he drops his cigarette and uses his foot to stamp it out. "Mixing alcohol with high emotions?"

"Every once in a while, sure. Or, we could always just take a really long walk around the city, get out of our heads for a little while."

She had to admit, that last one sounded rather tempting.

"I just think that people need the space to breathe every now and again, you know? Just breathe. Plus," a small smile begins curling at the corners of his lips as he continues, "I know a rather secluded spot that's perfect for those moments when you just want to scream until you can't anymore."

That does it, that last one. It has her nodding, accepting his offer and pushing off from the wall she'd been leaning on to begin following him, the grief counselling group be damned.

"I'm Robin, by the way."

She turns to look at him as they fall into step beside one another on the sidewalk, taking the hand he offers out to her and replying, "Regina."

He gives a firm shake before he tells her quite sincerely, "It's nice to meet you, Regina."

As she returns the sentiment and follows him on into the night with the promise of his aid in pulling a little life back into her exhausted body, she finds that it really is quite nice to have met him tonight.