TW: parental illness and alcohol abuse

He hasn't seen much of Regina this week, they've both been trying to catch up on work, her far more successfully than him. He's starting to feel the crunch now, he kept thinking they had all this time, but they only have three more weeks of classes, and two of their professors mentioned studying for exams this week. He's nowhere near ready, needs to get his ass in gear, so he has started trying to put his notes together into something coherent.

Regina is an incredible influence, she's so smart, always so prepared and every time she tells him she's behind or that she's working late to catch up, it guilts him into doing work. Her near panic over how little time is left has stopped him from telling himself he has tons of time and using that to justify his procrastination.

He's sure he's working less than she is, but it's a lot more than he normally would. He tried her little timer trick, where he had a stopwatch going and had to stop it every time he went off task, checked his phone or went to the bathroom and was shocked to discover how much time he wasted in an hour of "work."

He's currently looking over his criminal law notes, making sure he understands what he wrote and if not, going over the cases. He's playing music as he does, jamming out to Billboard Country because John's not home to make fun of him. Merry is coiled up on his lap sleeping soundly, a little ball of warmth and comfort he keeps smiling down at.

His progress is interrupted by his phone ringing. He feels his Fitbit vibrate on his wrist and frowns when he sees it's his dad calling. His dad is not one to call him out of the blue, and for some reason, he's filled with a sense of dread as he answers.

It's late over there, well not late per se, but it's eight-thirty and his parents usually go to bed around nine.

His dad sounds off as he responds to Robin's hello with a, "Hi, son."

He asks, "Is everything alright?" and his dad sighs, which just increases the nervous ache in his chest, that sense that something terrible has happened.

"I… I don't want you to worry, but…" That's not the best way to start off if there isn't cause for concern, "your mother is missing—"

"She's what?"

His dad hesitates, and god, he knew something was wrong, knew it was something bad. "She went out for a run two hours ago and never came back. I'm sure it's nothing, but her phone's here, so I'm going to post something, but I wanted to tell you first so you didn't see it on Facebook and worry."

Fat load of good that did. "Well, I am worried. What if something happened to her?"

"I'm sure she just got turned around, will probably be home soon, I'm just being cautious."

That doesn't make him feel any better but he doesn't want to keep his dad any longer than he has to, wants him to get to looking for her. But first, "Did you check her usual route? Maybe she got hurt." He's hit with an image of his mum crumpled over, shivering in the park, having tripped on a root and sprained her ankle, unable to make her way back.

"I drove along when I started to get worried but didn't see her. I'm going to try a different way she sometimes takes, but it's all on foot so I want to get everything all set up first."

Fuck, fuck. This is bad, really bad, he knows his dad is saying not to panic, that it's likely fine, but his mind is conjuring up all of these scenarios, each one more terrible than the rest.

"Okay, you should go do that. Please, please keep me updated. Let me know as soon as you find her."

"I will, I promise."

"I love you, Dad."

"Love you too, gotta go. Bye for now."

He hangs up before Robin can say goodbye. Merry stirs in his lap, and that's about that on doing work. He knows he can't do anything to help, just has to wait and see but he's too antsy to concentrate, and reading his notes on murder is not going to help his piece of mind.

It's a full hour until his dad texts him a short We've found her, she's okay that both eases his worry and causes far more questions. He's so relieved she's okay, it's like a weight has been lifted, but it's not enough. He doesn't want to burden them, but also he needs to hear from his mum, needs to know she's okay, needs to know what the hell happened.

He shouldn't bother them, should just leave them be, but for ten minutes he stares at his phone, willing it to ring, typing up messages to both of them he doesn't send, his fingers itching to call them.

He breaks down and calls her, letting out a sigh of relief when she answers with an, "I'm fine, honey, really. There was no need to worry."

"Mum, what happened? I know Dad said you were alright but were you hurt?"

"No, nothing of the sort. I just… got a little turned around and couldn't find my way back."

That's fishy to him because, "But you have a great sense of direction."

"Yes, well, it's called getting old, Robin, it's nothing to worry about. All's well that ends well, and I'm fine, just need to make sure I bring my phone with me when I go out."

"Are you sure that's it?" he asks, because he's been struggling all winter with this feeling that something is wrong, that they are hiding something from him, and this incident makes him even more suspicious.

"Oh, yes, that's all, nothing to worry about."

That's the second time she's said that and all it does is make him think there is something to worry about. Then he hears his dad in the background, and makes out, "tell him, Margaret, it's not fair," and his chest tightens so much it's suddenly hard to breathe.

He forces out, "What is Dad talking about?" as he tries in vain not to panic. Fuck, fuck something is really wrong.

"I… oh, honey, this really isn't the time. It's late and—"

No, he can't handle that. He needs to know. "It's not late here, please, what is it?"

She hesitates and this time his dad speaks loud enough he can hear every word, "If you don't tell him, I will."

Shit, shit. He knew there was something wrong, and fuck, what is it? Is she going to be okay? His mind immediately goes to the worst. He doesn't want it to, but all he can think is, is she dying?

"I didn't want to burden you with this before your exams, honey. And I don't have to…"

Not knowing will kill him, "No, please, just tell me, whatever it is we can get through it. I love you, Mum."

"I love you, too, honey."

He waits and she says nothing for a second, and it takes everything in him not to snap at her to get on with it. He can tell whatever it is is difficult for her—which only serves to make him more scared—but the not knowing is driving him mad.

"I, um, I have early onset Alzheimers."

"You, you, you what?" He can't seem to form a thought, his mind is reeling. This can't be real, he must have misheard her. She's far too young for that, it can't be true. This can't be happening to her, it can't be real, it can't be.

His stomach turns, and it's hard to breathe again as she tells him, "I'm sorry, honey. I love you so much, and I know this is hard—"

"You know, you know that, huh. Then why didn't you tell me before?" His eyes burn with tears and he knows he shouldn't be getting mad at her, that it's not her fault, but he is drowning and the only thing he can get out is a bitterly broken off, "How long have you known?"

"I got diagnosed just before Christmas."

"Christmas? Christmas, so you've been keeping this from me for three months?" He knew something was wrong then, he did, but he'd pushed it aside and he shouldn't have. No wonder his dad wanted him to go home for reading week, for the summer. He should have gone home, should have been there for her, would have if she'd just told him.

God, she's been suffering silently for at least three months, has been grappling with this life-changing news the whole time he's been blabbering on about stupid shit instead of being there for her and it's terrible, he's terrible, and it's all too much.

He only half hears her explanation of, "I didn't want to ruin your Christmas, I was going to tell you when you came home."

"I… but," God, his mind is a mess and he's so angry, but not at her, or some at her, a lot at her actually, but he shouldn't be. Beating himself up about that just makes him sadder, and christ, his mum, his wonderful mother, has been going through this all practically alone, and he hadn't even told her he loves her since she told him, and he needs to, needs to tell her that every day so she can't forget, she's going to forget, she can't…

"Mum, I'm scared," is all he can get out before those tears that welled start to fall, and he's sobbing, nose running and breath hitching as he starts to process what this means. Her life as she knows it is over, it's been stolen from her by this horrible disease and he can do nothing. He can't fix it, can't make things better, can't cure her. There is nothing to be done, and it's so fucking unfair, she is the kindest person who's ever lived. She doesn't deserve this. He tries to tell himself that she's not dying, that it could be worse, but it provides little comfort, because so much of her life will be stolen away from this disease.

He needs his mum right now, needs one of her hugs, but he can't have that because he's an ocean away, in another goddamn country. He can't stay here, can't be expected to be this far away for the good times, not when it's unsure how many they'll have left.

She's talking again, whispering words of comfort, like, "Oh, honey, it's okay, it's going to be okay…"

She shouldn't have to comfort him, but he is devastated, and asks pathetically, "Is it?" in the blind hope that just maybe she knows something he doesn't, maybe it's treatable. "Is there a cure?"

"No, not yet." That dashes his last little bit of hope. Now he wishes he could go back to ignorance. Would give anything not to have this heartbreaking knowledge, to make it so this wasn't happening to his mum. He chokes back another sob, fights against the well of pain that's ravaging him.

He doesn't know what to say, doesn't want to upset her with how upset he is, so he tries to calm himself and asks the only thing he can think of, "Is that why… today happened?"

"Yes, I forgot my phone and then where I was. I took a different route and was running and all of sudden had to stop because I had no idea where I was. I couldn't get myself back, so I just waited, and eventually someone came by and was able to give me directions back."

That's terrifying, he can't imagine what that was like for her, and god, there are so many risks now, what are they going to do? How can he help her? He needs to do something.

"There is one more thing," his mum starts and his blood runs cold, what more could there be? He freezes as he waits for her to finish, "I have a gene mutation, and it's possible I…" then she starts crying, and his heart breaks all over again, "That I…" she chokes back a sob, "gave it t-o y-ou… I'm so sorry, honey. I would do anything for this not to happen to you."

How can she think he'd be mad about that? "Mum, I love you, I'm not… I can't…"

Fuck, he can't finish his sentence, he's too overcome, he's never heard her this devastated, not even when her parents died, and it's too much, he can't. They stay on the line crying until he feels numb and almost lifeless. He doesn't want to hang up, doesn't want to stop talking to her, because who knows when the last time will be, but he knows she needs to go to bed, is probably as, if not more, emotionally exhausted as he is.

He hasn't even really processed what she said about him, about the chance he could get it, too caught up in the here and now, and the reality that his mother has it and what that means for the rest of her life. It's not fair, it's so fucking unfair, he wants to scream. There has to be some mistake, this cannot be real, it can't be.

He doesn't feel any better when he lets her go, but she promises to call him as soon as she's done with work tomorrow, and he tries to take comfort in the fact that she's still at work, but it's hollow. Once they've said goodbye, he curls up in his bed holds his pillow and sobs.

He hasn't told a soul, is going through the motions because he doesn't know what else to do. He can't stop and breakdown because if he does then he doesn't think he'll ever stop.

He went to class this morning, sat through it and forced himself to concentrate on the lecture, not to let his mind wander back to his mum and her devastating condition. It did, more than once, and he felt the sorrow start to overtake, felt the tears that wanted to fall and he pushed it all away, focused back on the lecture. It was easier having something else to focus on, to reach for to pull him back. Being alone with his thoughts is too dangerous right now, and he's not ready to open up, to say the words aloud, to make them real. He doesn't want sympathy, to be told to keep his head up or listen to reasons why it will all be okay, because it's not going to be okay, not ever. Everything has changed, and he is not ready to deal with that.

He's in a haze, but it's working for him, as best it can. He had only broken the haze briefly after class to talk to his mum, but even then they'd kept it light, allowed him to fake it. That's what he needs right now, to pretend it's all okay, to be allowed to do that, not forced to face the awful reality and she let him. She'd even asked if he was still going out to the St. Patrick's Day party, reminding him that it is, in fact, that day. It hadn't even crossed his mind until she mentioned it, though he had been planning on going out before he received the news that turned his world upside down. Maybe that's what he needs, to be surrounded by drunk people, to get that way himself and forget about everything, just for the night. He can drink himself to excess and no one will care, no one will question it.

Yes, that's what he'll do to keep himself away from the dark thoughts he keeps burying, he'll surround himself with people having fun and fake it until he makes it. That's much better than sitting and trying in vain not to wallow.

Half the people are already wasted when he arrives at Killian's even though it's only two in the afternoon. He sees more than one person who wasn't in the morning lecture, who were probably drinking all morning. Maybe he should have done that too, but then he wouldn't have been good company in a smaller group and would have had to stay sober long enough to talk to his mum.

That thought sends a sharp lance of pain through his stomach and no, that's not why he's here, is not what he should be thinking of. He can't succumb to the grief, needs to push it away. He focuses on getting a beer from the keg, challenges the guy beside him to chug it and they do just that. He tries to let the alcohol warm him, to loosen all of his tension, to wash away the sadness. He tells himself that it worked and pours himself another, drinking it in short order.

By the time he's three beers in he actually does feel slightly better, he's still hit with sorrow every time he thinks of it, but it's getting better, less sharp, more muted as he gets tipsier.

When Mal invites him to join the drinking game as her partner, he accepts, trying to let the normalcy of it pull him back fully. Somehow along the way, they end up doing shots and the world starts to get fuzzier as the pain gets duller, covered under a thick layer of alcohol.

This isn't a healthy way to deal, not at all, but it's working for him, and that's good enough for today, so he keeps drinking.

She's rewarding herself with a night out, after a week spent doing work practically every waking moment. She should keep going, but she needs a break now and then, and she's hit the point where she can't do anymore work.

Plus, she knows for a fact Robin is going to be here tonight, is probably already at Killian's, and she wants to end the night the way they usually do, naked and breathless.

She knows people have been drinking all day, but she's not at all prepared for what greets her when she arrives at Killian's around eight. There's not nearly as many people as she expected, but she's informed many had gone home already, tuckered out from their day of binge drinking. Those that remain either showed up late or are drunk off their asses, but everyone seems to be having a good time.

She's not planning on drinking too much but heeds the teasing that she's too sober and needs a shot because she does better with very drunk people when she's a bit in the bag herself.

Killian pours five green shots, one that's for her. She grimaces but hopes it's better than it looks. It's not, whatever the hell they made her shoot is absolutely disgusting, and she shudders as it goes down, not gagging by sheer force of will.

"That is awful," she tells Killian, and Mal answers with an, "it gets better the more you have," that she very much doubts is true.

She joins Mal on her chair, watching as her friend staggers into it and sits down on the arm.

"Are you good?" she whispers to her, and Mal just laughs.

"Lighten up, it's St. Patty's, you're suppose-ta-get-plastered."

She shakes her head, telling Mal something she already knows, "That's not really my style."

"Live a little, little one. Ooh, let's do another shot!"

That's the last thing they are going to be doing. "Yeah, that's not happening again. Why don't I get you some water while I get myself a drink?"

"Only if ya spike it!"

"Yeah, I'm not doing that," she tells her and gets up off the chair to go find cups. She brought wine for herself because she's not a beer person and pours herself a glass when she locates the stash of red solo cups.

She brings Mal back a water she's happy to see she actually drinks. The night is more chill than she expected, there's a group in the back playing drinking games, but for the most part people are content to sit around and talk, which is how she prefers it.

She and Mal chat with Killian for a while, until he's pulled away to deal with some issue with the keg (it's probably just empty). Mal leaves her to go to the bathroom, and she doesn't mind the solitude, but then she spies Robin and waves him over. She expects him to come over and take a seat, but he just waves back and walks off. It's an odd encounter but she tries not to let it bug her. He's drunk, and it's not like they are together, he doesn't have to talk to her. It's just he always does, outside of the sex they are friends, and she's always felt like he wanted to see her, to talk to her, and the fact that he doesn't now is unsettling.

It bugs her so much that she makes a point to get around the house, to make her rounds and see everyone. She catches him in the kitchen when she goes to refill her cup and smiles, asking him how his night is going. His response is short, and he doesn't seem engaged, seems like he'd rather be anywhere but with her, and it hurts. Maybe she's just imagining it, but she doesn't think so.

She shouldn't want to go home with him after this, but she does, stupidly. If anything, it makes her want to more. She wants a reassurance that this has all been in her head, that he still wants her.

When she learns he's left without saying goodbye, she feels the burn of rejection, and in an utterly pathetic move, texts him.

Hey, where did you run off to? I was hoping to see you tonight ;)

When he doesn't answer right away she worries she was too subtle and adds an I want you that she instantly regrets. That was far too desperate, especially since he clearly doesn't want her tonight. Maybe he's off fucking someone else, god, maybe he's found someone he actually wants to be with and is going to call this all off. While that would be best, despite being the moronic one who brought up sleeping with other people, the thought kills her. She's so stupid for getting so caught up in this, for starting to fall for him when it's only casual. It's only supposed to be hookups and it looks like he doesn't even want that anymore, if the I'm not in the mood she finally gets in response is any indication.

She's going to head home, she shouldn't be upset about this, but she is and wants to go have a good wallow in the comfort of her bedroom. She finds Mal practically asleep in her chair and tells her she's leaving. Mal wants to leave too, so she waits for her, only to realize Mal is like a zombie right now. She sits down to put on her boots but can't do it herself. Regina has never seen her like this, doesn't know if she's ever seen anyone like this. She helps Mal get her boots on, has to help her get up and doesn't trust her to be able to get herself home, so she orders them an Uber and a couple of the guys help her get Mal into it when it arrives.

She's slurring drunken apologies, even though Regina keeps telling her it's fine. Unfortunately, her reassurances don't work, and as they turn onto Mal's street, Mal starts crying about how sorry she is Regina has to take care of her. When they stop, the driver is looking at Regina sympathetically but doesn't offer to help in any way. She gets Mal out of the car on her own, and is happy she brought Mal back to her own place, because Regina's place has stairs and she doesn't think they'd be able to navigate them with Mal in this state. It's hard enough to get her in the door and elevator as is, she can't imagine adding any more obstacles into the mix.

She heats up a frozen dinner, makes Mal eat it and down another glass of water, before putting her to bed and settling herself on the futon.

He should have known he couldn't hide his devastation from John, he knows him too well for that. But he appreciates John giving him the time, letting Robin come to him, not pushing him to talk about it until he was ready, which he is now. John makes time for him immediately when he knocks on his door, even asks if he can grab Robin anything before settling on the couch with him and waiting him out.

John sits stoically, listening as he relays it all to him, feeling oddly detached as he does. He's not numb, he can still feel the deep ache that hasn't gone away since he learned, he's just all cried out and in a bit of a fog. He's never cried this much in his life, is not a crier, but this has brought him to his knees.

When he finishes, John doesn't say anything at first, but he can see the sadness colouring his face. He knows this will be hard for John too, they were over at each other's houses so much as kids; John's mum is like a second mum to him, and he knows John feels the same way about his mum.

"I don't know what to say. I'm so sorry, man," John tells him, looking lost. "Is there anything I can do?"

He shakes his head and John nods solemnly. Something about how thrown John is by this pulls back the haze and he's flooded with pain and bitterness over how fucking unfair this is. He thought he had no tears left, but his eyes begin to water and John's face falls. Fuck, no he is not going to cry in front of John. It's bad enough he's been so weepy since finding out, he cannot lose it like that in front of someone else, he just can't.

"I'm so so sorry, Robin. I wish I could make it okay, I wish I could tell you something to make it better…" Merry chooses that moment to jump up in between them, and John pushes her out of the way. "I am here for you, whatever you need, and I mean that. No matter what I'm doing, if you need me, I'm there, don't ever feel like you are bothering me."

He manages to choke out, "Thanks, man," then John's arms encircle him. They aren't normally physical people, but it's what he needs right now, and he melts into the hug, stealing all the comfort he can from the embrace.

They end up staying on the couch, talking it over, both reeling.

"You know," John starts, "she messaged me on Thursday night, asking me to look out for you. I knew you'd tell me when you were ready, but god, I never expected this…"

Neither did he, for all his fretting over what was wrong, Alzherimers had never ever crossed his mind.

"She's so worried about me, now, and it's just… she's such a good person. She shouldn't have to worry about how I'm doing with all of this…"

"She's your mom, she's always going to worry about you. Don't feel guilty about that."

He does though, he feels so much right now, and guilt is a part of the messy concoction, and one of the many things he's feeling that isn't doing him any good. He wants to put on a brave face for her, to at least take that stress from her, since that's really all he can do. But he's not quite there yet, and she knows him too well to be fooled, and wouldn't want him to hide it from her, no matter how much it hurt her.

"I just don't know what to do," he admits to John, "I want to go home, I want to be there."

"If that's what you need, then I say go, book a plane ticket and go home for a few days."

It's more than a few days though. If he goes home, he can't ever imagine leaving her and coming back. He's not stupid enough to make any major life decisions right now, but what's really tying him here? He'd miss John, of course, and Regina. She'd wanted to 'hang out' last night and he was not in the mood, but now he thinks that might be just what he needs. Not sex, but physical comfort, the hug from John was just what he needed, but he wants a good cuddle, and John is not someone he can ask that of, or maybe he could, but he won't.

She comes over an hour later, and John disappears into his room, giving them some space. He ends up taking her into his room, and they sit on his bed as he tells her how his whole world has shattered.

She holds him, her arms tight across him as she strokes his back and whispers words of sympathy, tells him to let it out, and he does. He lets the emotion pour out of him, finding solace in the warmth of her body, in the strength of her embrace. She tells him she is here for him and he feels it as he sits here in her arms.

A few more tears fall along the way, but it's surprisingly not embarrassing. She doesn't draw direct attention to it, doesn't comment on it, but does wipe a stray tear off of his face so affectionately that he smiles for the first time in days. It's short lived, but it's something. They sit on his bed snuggling, her hand in his hair, stroking softly, her presence enveloping him, providing a comfort he can't explain but is so grateful for. He's never needed physical affection in the way he does now, and she lavishes it on him, cradling him, nuzzling him and hugging him for what feels like hours.

They only break to eat because she insists on it, preparing a dinner for both him and John, brushing his arm, squeezing his leg and holding his hand at every chance.

He's still wrecked, but he feels marginally better, and that's enough for now. They all watch a movie and she tucks up into his chest, curled around him as snugly as she can be. He doesn't even ask her to stay, but she does anyway, and she entwines their bodies even more when they lay down to sleep. They press up together, cuddled up under the sheets, and maybe this will only make things more complicated in the long run, but it's helping and he clings to it, to her. Nothing will magically fix this, but some of the weight has been lifted now that he's told the two people who mean the most to him outside of his parents. Neither tried to fix it or him, just let him be, and provided comfort where they could. Amongst everything, he is grateful for that.

He wakes up spooned against her, his cock hard and pressing into her ass as she stretches her back before turning to face him. Could he even have sex now while so vulnerable? He's not sure, won't ask for it because it feels wrong with all that's happened. He shoulnd't be thinking about sex now and wouldn't be if it weren't for morning wood. He shouldn't initiate it, that would feel off. He'll just let it abate.

She looks down at it, then her hand is stroking over him softly, questioningly, and it feels nice, so he nods. The idea of an orgasm is appealing, the idea of feeling anything other than awful is especially appealing. She kisses him softly at first, then with more passion as he tries to concentrate on the here and now, distract himself completely, lose himself to the feeling. She pushes off his pajama pants and descends down, taking him in her mouth in a way that has him gasping and pleasure blooming.

This is it, this is good, this he can focus on. He loses himself to the pleasure of her mouth, to the wet, warm suction and gentle friction that starts to build as she takes more of him and moves faster against him.

It's over embarrassingly fast, but he just doesn't have it in him to hold back. He spills into her mouth with a relieved cry, relishing at the pulses of pleasure that run through him. He sags against the bed as she crawls up his chest, burrowing herself there.

He feels a faint lick of guilt over doing that, over enjoying something, but he pushes it away.

He should return the favour, but he really doesn't feel up to it, and when she assures him that was for him, he feels another pop of guilt that he also ignores.

He ends up falling back asleep, soothed back under by the spiral of her hand against his chest. This time when he wakes it's to the sweet aroma of brewing coffee and breakfast in bed. He probably shouldn't be letting her do this, but she wants to, and it's helping, so he does. He'll indulge in this for today, then work on getting back to normal, or some form of it tomorrow. For now though, he's going to let the woman he loves take care of him.