Since their impromptu afternoon visit, they've run into each other a handful of times.

One morning she'd been on her way to the bakery across the street to meet David Nolan's mother about a cake for the nearing engagement party. She'd been early, so she'd popped into the little diner where she stumbled upon Robin, sipping coffee and munching on a slice of toast. He'd invited her over and ordered her a cup. Another time, it'd been at the department store—she'd been buying a pack of new socks to send to Henry and he'd been picking up a Christmas gift for John. She'd only meant to say hello and it wasn't until a salesmen informed them that the store would be closing that they'd realized more than an hour had passed and said their sheepish goodbyes as they made their way to the parking lot.

Another time, she'd found him in the park with Roland. Robin stood, nursing a mug of coffee, as Roland played on the monkey bars—crossing them and climbing on top of them, hanging upside down and pulling himself up, showing off tricks that only someone with the flexibility of a small child could ever pull off. For a moment, she'd just stood back and watched as Robin clapped and cheered for him. It occurred to her that she should keep walking—that really, this was a private moment, different from the other times she'd run into him. The other times, he'd been alone; this time, he was spending time with his son. But Roland noticed her and waved, spurring Robin to turn around—and when he did, he smiled warmly and waved her over.

They'd sat together on the swings, talking and watching as Roland played until the dim sky turned from gray to black. When Robin called out to Roland that it was time to go home, she couldn't help her disappointment, just as she couldn't help the hope that bubbled up inside of her when he said that he hoped they'd bump into each other again, that he'd come to enjoy and anticipate their random little meetups.

Then, there was this morning.

Really, the cemetery is the last place she expects to run into him—though that had been naive, considering he, too, had a loved one buried there and she knew that he liked to start his day early with a visit to her grave. But still, as she stands there in the early morning fog at Daniel's grave with cold tears streaming down her cheeks, telling him that once again Henry would not be coming home for Christmas, trying to convey just how much she misses their boy, she doesn't expect to see Robin walking toward her on the cobblestone path—she didn't expect to see anyone.

Yet there he is.

He smiles and waves as he notices her, and when he gets close enough to see her tears, his smile is replaced by a look of concern.

"I'm sorry to interrupt—"

"You're not, really. I'm just—"

"You're upset."

She nods. "I… know he can't hear me, but—"

"I like to think the contrary."

She looks away. That would actually be worse. "I was just telling him about my… lack of plans for Christmas."

"You mean… Henry not coming home?"

Nodding, she looks back to the grave. "I know it's probably silly, but even admitting to a slab of stone what a failure I am as a mother—"

"Stop," he interjects, reaching out and taking her hand. "You are neither a failure as a mother nor is that just a slab of stone." He stops as his fingers wrap around her hand, giving it a tight squeeze, waiting for her to look up at him. "And I'd venture to say that he would agree with me on at least my first point."

She watches as his eyes shift to Daniel's gravestone, and she draws in a shaky breath. "I… I don't know. I think he'd be terribly disappointed in me." Robin looks back to her and her eyes cast down. "Sometimes I think I've made every wrong decision."

"I think you've done the best you can."

"You didn't always think that."

"I was wrong."

"Were you?" she asks, looking back up at him. "Or are you just seeing what you want to see?"

Offering a huff and a chuckle, he smiles. "M'lady, you have no idea just how much I tried to see the worst in you." She can't help but smile a little at that, and when he gives her hand a little tug, she lets him lead her away from Daniel's grave. "Come on," he murmurs, "Let's sit down and chat for a minute, hm?"

Together they sit on a little bench beneath a willow tree—and before she's even conscious of it, she's telling him her most intimate secrets. She tells him about how she met Daniel and the love affair that ensued. She tells him about their post-war plans and the life they'd wanted to build together, and she admits how naive she'd been to actually believe any of it was possible. She tells him about the knot that formed in her stomach when Daniel shipped off to Europe and how it seemed to get tighter and tighter with every passing day—and she tells him about the day she learned that Daniel would never be coming back to her.

She stops there, needing a minute to collect her thoughts, a minute to recover and adjust to the ache in her chest that comes whenever she allows herself to relive that period of her life.

"Did Daniel know about Henry?"

She blinks. "What?"

"Daniel is Henry's father, isn't he?"

For a moment, she doesn't reply—and then she nods. "Yes. He is," she admits in a voice that's barely audible. "But, no, he didn't know. He couldn't have. I didn't even know it when he went missing."

"Can I ask you something?"

Looking over at him, she nods. She hadn't really expected another question after his last. None of what they were talking about was comfortable, and most people had a natural tendency to shy away from discomfort.

"You don't have to answer it, either. I'm just… I'm curious."

He hesitates, his question lingering on his lips, waiting for her to acknowledge that she has a choice in it. Then, when she nods, he draws in a breath and asks, "Then why the story about Arthur?"

A bit wistfully, she smiles. "Mal actually cooked that one up."

"Is Arthur aware of it?"

"Yes. Guinevere, too."

"Ah—"

"I was… terrified that Leopold was going to find out that he wasn't Henry's father. I was afraid of what he'd do to me and to Henry."

Robin's brow furrows. He's not quite understanding, but she knows that he won't ask.

So she volunteers the rest of the story.

The story she sold to Leopold was flimsy, at best. There were a million holes in it, and she was sure he'd noticed at least one of them. But he hadn't—at least not then—and she felt like she was only buying time, that sooner or later Leo would start to suspect.

So, Mal spun a story for her.

Arthur agreed to the charade. He'd always been fond of Daniel, and he felt an obligation to his friend's child, and for whatever reason—likely the absurdity of it all—Guinivere agreed to go along with it, too. She and Mal staged an argument knowing that it'd be overheard, and by the end of the week, everyone was whispering about the scandal surrounding the Blanchards.

"Looking back, it was all quite unnecessary."

"But now you're stuck with it."

She nods. "I didn't realize back then what a coward my husband is."

"How so?"

"He'd never do anything or admit to anything that made him look bad—and his wife having a love affair that resulted in a child would most certainly do that."

"Then why send Henry away?"

"Well, when I made the decision to send Henry to school in London, I hadn't quite realized just how cowardly Leo is. I was afraid he'd be cruel to him, that instead of lashing out at me, he'd lash out at Henry. After all, a child is an easier target and far less likely to bite back." She pauses for a moment, momentarily thinking back to the day when she made her decision—the day Leo offhandedly commented that Henry didn't look like him. "So I figured if Henry were out of sight, he'd be out of mind, and for the most part, that's true."

"But at the holidays—"

"It's harder."

"I see."

"If anyone found out that Henry wasn't Leo's, he'd be so embarrassed. He'd never actually admit it, it'd ruin the image he thinks he has to keep up."

"So, the story about Arthur is… to throw suspicion off of Daniel?"

"Not exactly," she murmurs. "You see, the thought of Arthur being Henry's father would absolutely play into Leo's insecurities." She sighs and shakes her head, a sardonic little laugh escaping her. "Leo is envious of everything that Arthur is—he envies his looks, his family, his military career, his reputation around town, his bank account—"

"But everyone knows Leopold Blanchard is loaded."

"But the Blanchard money pales in comparison to the Pendragon money." She smiles ruefully. "Part of the rumor is that Arthur doesn't know that Henry is his son, and given who Arthur is, there's no way he'd deny his own son. He'd claim him, scandal be damned."

Robin's eyes narrow as he considers it. "And if he claimed Henry, Henry would be able to inherit."

"And he'd be richer than Leopold."

"So, he'll never acknowledge it, even if he suspects."

"Not publicly. So as long as the rumor lingers, the less likely Henry and I are to find ourselves destitute."

For a moment, all Robin seems able to do is stare. "Why the hell did you marry such a small, pathetic man?" he finally asks. "I mean, you certainly had to have options."

"I did, at a time" she says, shrugging her shoulders as she looks over at him. "And then his wife died, and I inadvertently made an impression on Mary Margaret, and… the next thing I knew Leopold and my mother had the whole thing worked out."

"You had no say?"

"Oh, I had a lot to say. No one listened to me, though." At that, he scoffs and she enjoys that he finds the whole thing so ridiculous. "My father simply told me to make the best of it. I was marrying a very rich man and would have a comfortable life because of it."

Robin's mouth falls open. "That might be one of the stupidest things I've ever heard."

She nods—and a smile tugs up at the corners of her mouth. She doesn't tell this story to many. She doesn't talk about Daniel to anyone other than Mal and occasionally Arthur and Guinevere, and she most certainly doesn't trust many with her secrets about Henry's paternity.

"Thank you for, um… for listening and for not being critical of—"

"You don't need to thank me for being your friend."

Her head tips to the side. "Is that what we are?"

Robin laughs. "I… I don't quite know what it is that we are. I like you. I like you a lot, and I am not quite sure what to do with that." He shakes his head and his cheeks flush as he fidgets with his fingers. "I'm… I'm not good at this. I don't, um… do this sort of thing."

She grins. "And what exactly does that mean?" Robin suddenly looks like a deer in headlights, and she has to stifle the urge to laugh. "Well, whatever it means, I'm glad for it. I like having you in my life."

She watches as his features relax. "I like having you in my life, too," he tells her. "It's… been a long time since I've had any sort of companion, outside of John—"

"Are John and I the same type of companion?"

Again, Robin laughs—and this time she finds herself laughing with him. "No, no, not quite…" His voice trails off, and his face turns serious, but he says nothing.

She's not naive enough to think that this is easy for him—that any sort of relationship with her would be easy for him. For them to even be friends would be difficult for him to come to terms with; after all, despite growing up in the same small town, they were from different worlds. When they first met, that had been all too obvious. He came with preconceived notions about her and what her life was like, and the walls he had up were there for a reason. But when you tore all of that away, they weren't all that different—and slowly but surely, he'd come to see that.

And slowly but surely it seemed that they were rounding the corner past friendship and moving on to something deeper.

That, too, seemed to be foreign territory for him—and really, it was for her as well.

While she'd had the occasional fling since Daniel, those relationships relied heavily on the physical and really were only a bandaid on her loneliness. Of course, her marriage complicated the ability to move beyond that—after all, who in their right mind would build a life with someone as unavailable as she?

But Robin had a life outside of her.

He had a son to care for and a business to run, and, of course, he had the memory of Marian.

Though she hadn't said anything to him, she wondered if it'd be possible to continue on as they were, if he'd be willing to invest in a relationship that wouldn't necessarily lead to much more.

"You know, Leo is hosting another party tonight."

"I'm aware," he tells her, grinning as he looks over at her. "I spent the better part of an hour lugging crates of liquor into your cellar last night."

"I wanted to come and say hello."

"I wish you would have."

"It would have been awkward with Leopold standing right there."

He nods. "Well, let me tell you, what was more awkward was, every ten minutes or so, him pointing out how heavy the crates looked and then doing nothing to help."

Her eyes roll. "That sounds about right."

"And it'd have been worth the added awkwardness," he tells her. "The days I get to see you are far better than the days when I don't."

He looks at her, and for a moment, neither of them says anything. She finds that her eyes keep falling to his lips and she wonders what it'd be like to kiss him—and then, she snaps herself out of it, not letting herself fall too deep into the fantasy.

"You should come."

"To… your husband's party?"

"Why not?"

Robin's brows arch. "While I am not entirely sure what's happening between us," he says, clearing his throat as his eyes narrow. "Something tells me it would be inappropriate for us to let it play out right in front of him."

She can't help but smirk. "What exactly do you think happens at these parties?"

"Aside from an awful lot of drinking—"

"Just consider it. I usually don't go down for more than a few minutes, anyway."

His eyes narrow. "You don't attend the actual party?"

"I like the music and the drinks, but I'm not fond of the company."

"Interesting."

"There's a private bar upstairs. You can hear the music perfectly through the ducts and there's a nice, warm fireplace. It's… actually quite cozy."

"Cozy—"

"Incredibly so."

His eyes narrow. "I'll think about it."

"Will you?"

He nods and slowly rises. "I have to get Roland to school now," he tells her. "But you have my word that I'll consider it, M'lady."

He tips his hat to her as he walks away, and she smiles as she watches him go, hoping that he really will consider it.

She goes through the rest of her day without giving her invitation much thought.

Mal calls to let her know that she'll be picking Henry up from school the next morning, that her kitchen is loaded with good things to eat and ingredients for all sorts of baked goods to be made, and that when she'd been having her breakfast, the gifts that Regina sent for Henry arrived and were now taking up nearly the entirety of her closet.

They stayed on the phone for a little more than an hour—and when the phone rang a couple of hours later and she was informed Miss Pendragon is on the line for you… again, she'd been elated to find that instead of Mal, Henry had called her. Mal surprised him by picking him up early.

She spent several hours talking to him—listening to stories about his friends at school and his teachers, his classes and the work he was doing, and her chest ached when he exclaimed that his grade in math was now a B- and he hoped he wouldn't need extra tutoring after all. She asked him what seemed like a thousand questions, and she relished in every response—and it wasn't until Henry was yawning that she realized it was nearly dusk and well-past his bedtime.

They said their goodbyes and promised to talk again the next day, and by the time she finally hung up, her maid was tapping her foot and holding her party dress.

Thoughts of Henry swirled through her head the whole time she was being dressed and while her hair was being done, and by the time the party started, she was already late. Of course, Leopold noticed that she was late, but said nothing, simply watching as she buzzed around the room, greeting people she didn't know, thanking them for coming, and wishing them a good time—and by the time she'd made her way around the ballroom, Leopold had lost interest. She's made her showing and been gracious. That was enough. That was all he needed her for.

She slipped away easily and made her way to her favorite hiding place, ready for a good, strong drink—and when she reaches it, she finds the door ajar. Her brows arch as she nears it, a slow smile working its way onto her lips as her stomach flutters, and she remembers the earlier invitation she gave—and when she rounds the corner into the room, Robin is there waiting for her.

"You came!" she calls out, unable to hide her excitement. "I'm so glad!"

He grins gently and nods. "I… thought I had the wrong room, or perhaps that your invitation wasn't sincere—"

"Quite the contrary. It was incredibly sincere." She smiles and closes the door, giving them some privacy. "I sort of had a feeling you wouldn't—"

"Truthfully, I wasn't positive that I was going to come until… well, until I got here. I'd been going over it again and again in my head, trying to decide what to do, what either choice would mean, and then… all of a sudden, here I was."

One brow arches as she looks up and down. "So, you make it a habit of wearing such a well-tailored suit to run evening errands?"

"Not usually, no, but I figured, on the off chance I did come here tonight, I wanted to… uh, to blend in." He offers a sheepish grin. "But instead of coming in with the rest of the guests, I was able to pick the lock on the back entrance."

"Well, you look very nice."

He nods. For a moment, he looks like he's unsure of what to do or say—and then, he crosses the room and pulls her into his arms. Her breath catches in surprise as she looks up at him, then before she has time to process what's about to happen, he kisses her and the orchestra from the party below begins to play.