He fucking stumbled, on stage, on opening night, in the bloody opening number.
And it's his own fucking fault. Robin did not rehearse the group number like he should have and now he's embarrassed himself in front of a huge crowd. In front of reviewers—sod it all, there could not be a worse time to mess up like that.
He has no one to blame but himself and he can't even say he tried his best—that is what burns him. He is so fucking mad at himself because that was preventable. He was so caught up in making his solo piece perfect that he neglected the group piece, and look where that's gotten him.
It's thrown him right off for the piece he really cares about. Good fucking job, Robin.
It's these god awful shoes. He needed to practice more in them, but no, he thought he'd be fine, and he was wrong.
"Fuck," he hisses under his breath as he stalks off the stage, scaring some younger dancer who jumps out of his way.
Normally Robin would apologize for that, but he's too damned angry at himself to do anything but rage.
He doesn't have that much time between performances, and he has to let this anger out before it wrecks his second performance, but he can't, not here. He wants to yell and scream and swear over and over. He can't imagine not feeling like this even if he did scream for hours, he thinks he'd still have this festering ill-will threatening to consume him.
Someone grabs his arm and he shoves it off, not wanting to be touched right now. But it's Regina and she's not deterred.
"Come with me," she commands, grabbing him again and leading him off stage, but not toward the dressing rooms.
"Where the fuck are you taking me?" Robin asks, wincing at his harsh words, but unable to help it.
She is unfazed, doesn't even stop walking or look back at him as she answers. "Outside, now hurry up, we have all of five minutes before you need to change."
Regina leads him out a side door Robin didn't even know was there and tells him, "Yell, let it out, no one will hear you back here."
That's ridiculous he can't… but he does want to, so even though it's ridiculous, he starts to rant.
He doesn't think he's ever dropped that many F-bombs in a row, they are firing off his tongue in quick succession as he berates himself, the shoes, the show, things that don't even make sense. Words just roll off his tongue without him thinking about them, all his frustrations pouring off of him as he unloads.
Regina's listening, but not saying anything. She is reacting to what he says, but letting him get it all out, and he appreciates that more than he can express. She's sympathetic, empathetic, and when he starts to run out of words all she does is hug him tightly.
Robin breathes her in, tries to focus on her, and imagines himself calming him down, the anger rolling off of him and dissipating out into the air.
He feels slightly better now, he's still right pissed at himself, but a lot of the burn of the anger is gone, it's simmered down into coals he could easily rouse back into a fire, but won't.
He is so lucky to have her, someone who understands him this well, who knows what he needs without him saying it and makes it happen for him.
"I'm sorry, but you have to get ready now," Regina breathes, and he nods, reluctantly pulling away.
"Here," she says, pushing earbuds into his hand as she leads him back inside.
Robin eyes her quizzically, but sticks them in his ears, trusting her judgment here.
It's rock music, and it's blaring so loud he can't really hear his thoughts, and oh, this is good.
She has a temper, and this must be one of the things she uses to manage it. It's another insight into the mind of Regina Mills, and he files it away in that part of his brain that's devoted to her. If she is ever angry and needs an outlet, he will happily blast her some music.
Changing passes by in a blurr, those earbuds still in, Alanis Morrisette now singing You Oughta Know, and damn, what a good song. He feels that, the need to tell someone off and express how much they annoyed you. Even though that person is himself, he's got some misdirected blame he'd like to yell about.
But now is not the time, nor is it ever considering his co-dancers don't deserve it. It's not their responsibility to get him to practice, but dammit if just one of them had called him on his lack of focus, or how rubbish those sodding shoes are, he would have worked more on it.
But again, that doesn't change anything, and Robin needs to get in the mood for his current piece, the music actually gives him an idea of how he can, and he asks Regina for control of the music, selecting the saddest song he's ever heard—Concrete Angel. Just the thought of that video makes him want to cry, he knows it's not real, but it is some kids reality, and that guts him.
He cried the first time he saw it, and John ribbed him for ages over it. Robin's a sap, always has been.
This song definitely fits the motto of his piece, and he slips from anger into sadness and determination backstage, gifting Regina her earbuds back with a thank you when the song ends. He listens to the end of the duet before him, and realizes with a panic he doesn't have his sheet. Oh fuck, oh fuck.
"It's right here," Regina says, holding it up. "You got this. Go kill it out there. Make her proud."
Fuck, now he really might cry, he can't say anything around the lump in his throat, so he nods, taking the sheet from Regina, and gets set for the opening.
He never explicitly told her it reminded him of his mother, but she always knew, she knows him better than anyone.
They would have loved each other, his mother and Regina, he knows that for certain.
Then the lights come up, the music starts, and Robin dances his heart out.
It feels better than it ever has, and he loses himself fully to it, looking back can barely remember going from movement to the next, all he's aware of is the feeling of drowning in sadness, his body expressing it through Neal's stunning choreography.
When the depression wins and he tucks the sheet over his head as he curls into a ball, there are tears on his cheeks. Ones that quickly turn to happy tears of relief as the light comes back up and the crowd roars with applause.
He takes his bow, feeling lighter than air. This is why he dances, for moments like this.
When he comes offstage, he looks for Regina, and there she is, beaming and so proud of him. Another one of those happy tears fall as his best friend tells him how marvelous he was and how proud she is.
There are tears in her eyes, from watching him, from feeling the emotion of the piece and when she tells him that he moved her, his heart nearly explodes.
There is a line up of people congratulating him and Robin can barely process it, too overwhelmed by the happiness, relief and love he feels in this moment.
It was all worth it, every last struggle, every meltdown, to get to this moment. He never ever wants to let this feeling go. He's floating, smiling so hard his face hurts, warm and gooey all over.
And Regina is here with him, is just as happy for him, and it's perfect.
Robin has been absolutely killing it, they all have been, but his solo is absolutely magical to watch. All dance is beautiful, but there are those few epic ones that shake a person to their very core, have them looking at the world a little differently, leave them feeling awestruck and moved—and that's Robin's piece.
The critics universally praised both his performance and the choreography, something that was well deserved. She's been collecting all the rave reviews, is going to make a little scrapbook page of them, because she knows Robin will want that performance memorialized.
Regina is not the best scrapbooker, but ambitiously she bought all the supplies in the spring to make a book to celebrate Kathryn's dance career as a retirement gift.
Though she's had the place to herself, she has yet to start. It feels odd to be performing without Kathryn, to not be seeing her in the studio, to not come home and deconstruct their days. Regina hasn't ever lived alone, and it doesn't suit her. She likes her solitude, sure, often coops up in her room to have time alone, but she likes having someone with her, even if it is just for a brief five minute conversation while making coffee. She's had plenty to keep her busy though, more than enough to combat the loneliness.
It's night three of performances, then they'll have Monday off to rest and recuperate before five nights of performances in a row to close this festival off.
The resting is something her partner is going to need—Killian isn't doing well, his foot is really starting to bother him and he'd landed funny after a jump last night, causing it to swell.
He has the okay from the company doctor, and though Regina said she'd be happy to take tonight off to let him recover, he's sworn he'll be fine.
Killian loves their number, but she knows he wouldn't risk his career for a three minute dance. The swelling has happened to him before, and it always goes away. And as Killian assured her earlier, he has the whole summer to rest up.
She can't imagine having an injury like that, having that constant fear of reinjuring it, especially when it's something that flares up from time to time. Killian plays it tough, but she knows him well enough to see that hint of fear in his eyes.
Regina is the kind of person who would push herself too hard and end up with permanent damage because she wouldn't take a break. She'd done that when she'd sprained her ankle as a child, had jumped back into dance too quickly and ended up spraining it again doing a Temps levé; the sole act of landing with all her weight on her bad ankle enough to send it crumbling.
She likes to think she learned her lesson there, but she has been so lucky and hasn't had any major injuries since then, so she can't be sure.
"How are you feeling?" Regina asks Killian backstage, and his sassy reply reassures her more than anything else could.
"Killian, no Captain Guyliner, no pirate. The better question is, are you feeling okay?"
She chuckles, "I am now, guyliner."
"You know, I haven't even put it on yet. Might need to get your eyes checked. I think we've found the reason you're immune to my body."
"Keep dreaming. The image of it is burned into my retinas after seeing it so often."
Killian snickers, "This place would be so much less fun without you, Mills."
The subtle reminder that her time is coming to a close sends a sharp pang through her heart; dammit, this is not the time.
"What is it?" Killian asks with narrowed eyes, and of course now is when he becomes perceptive, not ever when he's legitimately annoying her.
"Nothing, I'm fine."
"Now you sound like me."
"Oh god, never."
"Admit it, you want to be just like me when you grow up or maybe—" She knows where he is going with this from the impish look on his face and hell no.
"Over my dead body."
"You would make a hot corpse…"
Robin interrupts with a, "Do I even want to know what's going on with you two now?" and they both laugh.
"Just discussing Mills' secret crush on me," Killian remarks, and she glares daggers at his back.
Robin snorts at that, "Yeah, keep dreaming, buddy."
"Oh believe me, I will," Killian teases, and gross.
"Okay, shut up before I vomit," she declares, and amazingly it actually works.
They watch the show from the wings, and, as always, Robin kills it in his solo. She doesn't know how there is a dry eye in the audience after that, and maybe there isn't.
Soon it's time for her and Killian, and she winks at him, making him chuckle before they walk out on stage.
Their dance progresses easily: up, down, in his arms, out of it, legs up, then down, then wrapped around him. She feels the music as she works through each of the movements, not a thought in her head, feeling the movement, floating from one move to another, always connected to her partner, sharing the same energy until…
Killian jumps up, and he should be on the ground now, should have ticked and rolled, her leg circling over his head, but he's not there. He's down, on the ground, but not in the right spot, and fear floods her as she realizes he is really down, and not getting back up.
She keeps dancing for a second on instinct, until her brain catches up to what is happening. And oh fuck, he's crying. This is bad, so bad, and why is the music still playing? What does she do? How can she help him? She shouldn't move him, but what should she be doing? She sees a flurry backstage, then the curtain is lowering as she lowers herself to the ground beside him, trying to channel a cool, collected persona, because the last thing he needs is her panicking.
"Where does it hurt?" Regina asks, and all Killian does is moan, clutching his left foot.
"Can you move?" is her next question, and he seems to come back to himself, nodding slightly, but grimacing as he tries to roll over onto his hands and knees.
By then there is a crowd of people around them, and even Gold is out on the stage.
He gets three of the guys to pick Killian up, and they take him into the wings, setting him down as an icepack is delivered by Dr. Hopper.
He whispers some medical jargon she doesn't catch, but Killian is nodding through the pain, and Dr. Hopper sighs, "Let's get you to the emergency room."
"No," Killian bellows, "It's fine." His voice lowers to just above a whisper, "I don't want to go."
He argues with Dr. Hopper for a bit, until Gold speaks up.
"It's non-negotiable," Gold tells him, and the word from the boss seems to take all the fight away from him.
"No ambulance, get me to the street and I'll take an Uber."
Regina knows why he's choosing that, the hospital is so close, and yet the ambulance bill will be in the thousands, and their insurance only covers a portion of it. Not for the first time she curses their stupid healthcare system. How anyone can think this is a fair and a good idea is beyond her.
"Fine," Gold says, then orders that the show resume, sending Robin, David and August to take him to the street.
"I'm going with you," she tells Killian and predictably he shakes his head as if that is going to stop her. She insists, "I am! Don't waste your energy on this. I'll help you inside, and wait with you. I'm done for the night, let me do this."
Killian sighs and nods, exhaustion and pain covering his face.
Regina really hopes this isn't too bad, that he just sprained it or something, anything minor, anything that will allow him to dance again after the break.
"Text me when you know something, please," Robin whispers to her as they help Killian into the Uber, and she nods, assuring him and the others that she'll keep them updated.
After two hours of prodding and tests, the verdict is in. Killian has a small tear in another ligament in his foot, but he shouldn't need surgery this time. He's to be discharged with a follow-up MRI in a week to check how it's healing. He's out of the show, not that she expected anything else, and she has to wave off several unnecessary apologies from him.
The news that he doesn't need surgery again has him in much better spirits, or maybe that's the pain meds taking effect, who knows. In any event, he's moaning about having to do office work to earn his pay, and how the crutches cramp his style, all of which Regina takes as a very good sign.
Killian texted Gold the news himself, and she texted Robin, who relayed the information to many people, if the way Killian's phone is blowing up is any indication.
They have to wait a few more minutes and fill out some paperwork before Killian is released. While they wait Regina offers to come along for the appointment, but he refuses.
He does let her see him home, and they run into Mary Margaret of all people in the hospital waiting room. She's holding a change of clothes and a coat (Killian's, Regina learns), his favourite take out, and a bag of groceries. Apparently, when Mary Margaret raided his apartment for the clothes she found the fridge empty, and didn't think grocery shopping would go well on crutches.
It's not something Regina would have thought of, and Killian thanks Mary Margaret profusely, before finding a bathroom to change in.
That leaves Regina and Mary Margaret all alone, and it's awkward. Regina realizes she's never been alone one on one with her before, and she has no idea what to say.
"How is he doing?" Mary Margaret asks, something she already asked Killian, and that irks Regina for some reason, even though she knows it's a good-natured inquiry.
"He's doing well, bummed about the festival obviously, but once they said it should heal on its own his spirits really improved."
Mary Margaret smiles. "That's good. I worried he was putting on a brave face. That sucks about your piece though. It was really beautiful."
Regina sighs, "I'm just happy it's not too serious. It's the end of the season so he has plenty of time to relax and recover." While it's probably rude, she has to ask, "how did you get into his place?" She wants to add and why would you invade someone's privacy like that, but it was for a nice gesture, so she holds her tongue.
"David, uh, has his spare key."
Regina raises a brow but says nothing. To her that answers the are they or aren't they question, not that she ever really had a doubt.
Mary Margaret must be uncomfortable with silence because she asks, "Are you sticking around for the summer?"
"No, I stay with my boyfriend in Detroit over the summer."
"Your boyfriend… Oh, I thought—well, nevermind then."
Regina's eyes narrow and she tenses as she asks, "You thought what?"
Mary Margaret bites her lip and looks down. "I had, um, thought that you and Robin…"
Regina's temper flares. "No, dear. I've been with Daniel for eight years."
"I-I knew that, I thought you had—I was mistaken."
"Mistaken about what?" Regina can hear how defensive she sounds, can feel it in her posture, but she needs to know what the hell vibe Mary Margaret thought she was picking up on between her and Robin. If she thinks it, who else thinks that, and what is Daniel going to think?
"I just made a mistake, it's… let's not—"
"No, let's! Tell me what you thought."
Regina's firm tone must scare Mary Margaret into talking because she babbles, "I heard you broke up with Daniel in the spring, and he hasn't been around, then I saw you and Robin dancing together at the Romeo and Juliet afterparty, and I made an assumption I shouldn't have. I'm sorry, I—"
Killian chooses that moment to exit the bathroom, and Regina can't decide if it's a good or a bad thing she didn't get to respond. But Killian is asking if one of them will kindly grab his costume from the bathroom floor, which Regina leaves for Mary Margaret.
"If you have all of this handled, I think I'll head home," Regina tells Killian, and he bids her goodnight, thanking her for staying with him so long.
"It was no trouble, really. Rest up and text me if you need anything," Regina says.
"I would, but I think Mary's got it covered here, so…"
Killian isn't wrong about that, so she says goodnight and jumps in a cab. God, fuck, what is she going to do when Daniel is here? She's apparently giving off vibes with Robin and fuck, fuck. What is she going to tell him about the after-party, about her meeting with Gold? This is such a mess. Maybe she just won't tell him. It's been weeks since her meeting and she hasn't mentioned it. It doesn't matter, it doesn't change anything so…
Regina sighs, and when her cab driver asks what's wrong she tells him she's hungry, and they make a pit stop at Mcdonald's to satiate her hunger. She really is hungry, it came out with a vengeance once it was confirmed Killian was okay. It's absolutely terrible for her, but it's on the way and she's too hungry to wait for anything else.
Of course the drive thru takes forever, and she's stuck wracking up her fare and stressing out, as she waits for what's supposed to be fast food.
It's one in the morning, so this must be the drunk rush, and just her luck. She texts Robin to complain because she knows he'll still be up. This might be the kind of thing she needs to stop, or does she? God, she doesn't know anymore. Everything used to be so clear but now it's not.
After teasing her relentlessly about ordering McDonald's after how many times she's mocked it, Robin asks her to meet him in the studio in the morning because he has an idea.
It's their day off and he won't tell her what the idea is, which only makes her more intrigued, and ensures she'll be there, even with her swirling confusion over what's apparently between them.