The phone barely rings once before Regina plucks the receiver up from the base, her heart racing and her skin prickling with anticipation—and when the phone actually rings, she practically jumps out of her skin, scrambling to pick it up.

"Will you accept a call from—"

Her eyes roll at the sound of the operator's voice. "Yes," she says as she sinks back into the armchair she's dragged out into the hallway and twists the cord between her fingers, trying not to sound as annoyed as she is. "I accept the call."

Before she hears his voice, she hears him draw in and release a breath—he's anxious, too, she realizes, and somehow that puts her at ease.

"Robin," she says, smiling when she hears a little laugh bubble out of him. "Hi."

"Hi."

"I, um… I'm sorry I missed your call."

"I am, too," he says wryly. "Or, I was."

"Was?" she asks, biting at her bottom lip as her shoulders tense.

"This is better, I think."

Regina breathes out and smiles. "It's late—for me and you."

"Is it too late?" His voice is suddenly hesitant and unsure. "It has to be past two."

"It is," she confirms, again biting at her lip. "But, um… this far beats sleeping."

"Yeah," he murmurs. "And it's a long time coming."

Regina's eyes press closed and she nods—she didn't quite realize how much she missed the sound of his voice, and it's not lost on her how close she came to never hearing it again, how close she came to driving him away, how close she came to ruining what was between them. "Robin, I… I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for."

"I almost threw away—"

"No," he says, his voice cutting in and halting hers. "See. Here's the thing, Regina. You might've given me an out, but that doesn't mean I'd ever take it." She can almost see a smug little grin stretching over his lips. "You might remember when we first met, I was happily unattached and one of the things I found appealing about you is how unavailable you were."

Though he can't see her, she nods anyway—she does remember. At the time, it all seemed so complicated. He was a single father and a still-grieving widower, she was married and in a powerful and highly visible position within the community. There was no reason they should've worked—there was no reason they should've even attempted to make it work—yet they'd proved to be exactly what the other needed, filling in the space in the other's life in a way that no one else could. And looking back on it, it now seemed like a simpler time.

"I'm an idiot."

At that, he laughs. "Well, I love you anyway."

"You love me," she says, blushing slightly as she relishes in that she can state that as a fact rather than as a question. "For reasons I will never understand but am eternally grateful for… you love me."

"You and only you."

Her cheeks warm and her eyes press closed as the syrupy sweetness of it. In any other instance, with any other person, it would be the sort of thing she rolled her eyes and scoffed at. But with him it was different.

Everything with him was different.

"I don't deserve you."

"Sure you do," he says, a wry chuckle rising I to his voice. She closes her eyes, she can practically see his smirk tugging up from the corners of his mouth. "I'm not sure what it says about either of us, but I think we deserve each other."

She laughs. "You got a raw deal."

"Oh, no. No. I hit the jackpot."

"Sure you did. You won a married woman whose insecure and moved to the opposite end of the earth and—"

"And whose gorgeous and sexy. Exceptionally brilliant and witty with a heart of gold and—"

"You flatter me."

"That's the idea."

"Well, that'll get you nowhere."

"I wouldn't say nowhere."

Her brow cocks. "Well, it won't get me into bed."

A little laugh bubbles out of him. "Not anytime soon."

"So, what is this? Like a points system or—"

"Yes," he says, laughing out, this time in a burst. "When I reach a thousand points I get to see you again."

"And what happens when you reach a thousand and nothing changes?"

She means it as a joke, but feels her voice catch and her throat constrict, and suddenly what was supposed to be a lighthearted moment felt heavier.

"This isn't going to change."

"Won't it?" he asks. "Some day?"

"I want to say yes."

"Then say yes."

"Robin—"

"Just... for right now, just… go with it. Pretend with me."

Her eyes roll, but nonetheless, she feels a smile forming over her lips. He was good at this—good at sidetracking her, good at keeping her in the moment, good at making her feel the impossible was possible. Even now in this ridiculous situation they were in, he set her at ease.

"I wish you were here."

"I wish I could be."

Regina bites down on her lip and feels warm tears welling in her eyes. It seems like a lifetime has passed since they last stood face to face.

For a short time, he'd been a fixture in her life—steady and there, a bright spot amid the bleakness.

"I think about you constantly, you know," she tells him, her voice suddenly sounding hoarse. He offers a sort of sigh as a response and she can practically see him with his head dropped forward and his forehead pressed against the glass that encloses the phone booth at the post office, his eyes pressed closed.

Regina draws in a breath, collecting herself.

She doesn't want to cry.

She won't cry.

She won't waste this precious time they have together wallowing in what they've lost and can't have.

"Those pictures," says, grimacing a little as she thinks of them, remembering how she'd posed for them and chosen the ones she thought he'd like best—and she thinks of the ones she didn't send, tucked away in the bottom of a drawer only to ever be seen by two sets of eyes. "How many points are they worth?"

She can tell the question catches him off guard and she can almost see him—eyes narrow and a smirk forming—as he considers it.

"We need to consider how these points work."

"That's not what I asked."

"I know," he says, a light rising up at the end. "But you see, I'm wondering… are these collective points or individual ones?"

"I don't see why you should get points for my pictures."

"So individual."

"Yes."

"Okay."

He sounds pensive and she laughs.

"A hundred, then."

"That's it?"

"That's a lot!"

"Those pictures were a lot."

"So it's fair—" He pauses, his voice slightly clipped as if trying to figure out what he should say next, and she laughs out. This is ridiculous, they are being ridiculous. "One hundred points."

She's missed this.

The lightheartedness.

The quick, silly banter.

The ease of it all.

"If the end game is a thousand points—"

"How about this phone call?"

He laughs. "Those are Mal's points, I believe."

"Oh, so this goes three ways?"

Robin doesn't quite reply—not with words at least. He stammers, repeating the same syllable again and again before falling silent, and she can almost feel his cheeks warming, flushing red beneath his stubble.

"Not like that!"

"Can I be honest with you?"

"Is this the part where you tell me you think my best friend is hot?" Her arms fold over her chest, her grin turning coy. "Because that's negative points."

"Let me remind you that I've never even seen your best friend."

"People say her voice is hot."

"I might agree… if I didn't find her terrifying."

"Those things aren't mutually exclusive. You can think something's hot and terrifying."

"Are you trying to set me up or—"

"I'm just saying. It's possible."

"But—"

"She's a lesbian, though. She wouldn't be into it."

"Me or the possibility of a ménage a trois situation?"

"You didn't just suggest that."

"No, you did."

She stops and momentarily they both go silent—and then in an abrupt burst, they both laugh out. She laughs until tears are welling in her eyes and her stomach hurts—and on the other end, Robin's laugh rings in unison with hers.

"I request a change of subject," he says, his breath ragged and his voice light. "I think the ocean between us is enough. There isn't room for anything or anyone else."

"Not interested in sharing, got it."

"I… feel like this is a topic we might return to at another time."

"A ménage a trois with my best friend?"

"No, you're just… very casual about sharing."

"Would that be an issue?"

Again, she can hear him hesitate—and for a split second, she considers all that he doesn't know about her.

"No," he says with more confidence than she expects. "Not in the least. I'm just… curious."

"Curious is good."

"Healthy, even."

"Absolutely."

Again, they both laugh—and again, she can't help but notice the ease between them.

"So, you wanted to change the subject?"

"I did and then we didn't."

"Well, here's your chance," she says. "What should we talk about?"

Robin hums as if actually considering it and then a little ahh bubbles out of him as if he's stumbled upon something that was lost.

"So back to those pictures…"

"Oh god, do you know how I stressed about those?" she laughs, biting down her lip. "I thought—"

"The one of you in the pearls," he murmurs, his voice now husky. "It reminds me of that night we spent together."

Her cheeks are warm. "Does it?"

"Mm—I think of you laying there beside me. Your head turned on the pillow, the blanket only covering you from the waist down, how soft your skin looked in the moonlight."

She grins, biting hard at her lip—the conversation is taking a turn. "Are you alone? I thought—"

"John took Will to the bar."

"Did he?"

"So it's just me and you," he says, a little laugh escaping him. "Sort of."

She can't help her smirk, her eyes shifting up to the darkened stairway. No light could be seen from beneath Mal's door and the house was silent save her own voice.

"So…you were saying?" she asks, her heartbeat quickening as she sits back in her chair and twirls the cord between her fingers.

He laughs again—low and wet—and his laugh makes her heart flutter. Her eyes close as she imagines him stepping toward her, his eyes locking with hers. "I wish I could touch you."

Her eyes press tighter as she thinks of him reaching out and tugging at the knot on her robe, his hand pushing inside of it and pressing against her bare skin. "What would you do?"

"I'd pull you to me by the hip, let my hand slip over that fantastic ass of yours—"

She smiles as she imagines it.

"I'd kiss along your neck and throat—"

A little shudder runs through her as she reaches up and touches—just barely touches—her fingers to her throat.

Her fingers swirl around her nipples as he tells her how he sucks them—giving them each a little attention, teasing her, before letting his lips trail down her torso as he sinks down to his knees.

"And then what?" she asks, her voice impatient as her fingers slide down over her stomach. "What would you do next?"

"I don't know," he says, his voice turning coy. "You tell me."

Drawing in a breath, she turns her head and looks toward the stairs—once more checking to ensure Mal's light is off, and once more she confirms that it is, and this is as private as it can be.

"I'd want you to get down on your knees."

"And?"

She knows what she'd want him to do. But she doesn't say it. Instead, she feels herself stiffen. "Are you sure you're alone?"

"Yes."

"The Post Office doesn't have a party line. You know that."

She didn't, but nonetheless, she nods. "Neither does Mal," she murmurs, her body relaxing again.

"So we're alone."

"I suppose we are."

"So, uh, where were we?"

"You were… getting down on your knees in front of me."

"Ah. That's right." He sounds smug—smug in his confidence. "And what is it that I'm doing on my knees?"

"Hm…" For a split second, she thinks she may need to consider it, but her voice moves faster than her thoughts. "Your fingers are pressed into my hips...and you're so close to me that I can feel your breath." She leans back, her leg hooking over the arm of the chair. "You'd kiss your way down my body—"

"Your skin's like silk—soft and warm, smooth." Her fingers flirt with the band of her underwear as he hums—hums as though his lips are actually slipping down her skin, as if he's actually sucking at it, as if he's actually teasing her.

Well, that last bit wasn't far off.

"I'd hook my fingers into your panties—" She nods, her own fingers twisting around the thin, silky fabric. "And slowly pull them down—just barely at first."

"At first—"

"Yes—at first," he repeats. "I'd take my time with you," he tells her. "I'd slip my hands inside of them, let them slowly slip over your hips to grab at your ass, and I'd pull you closer to me. So close that my lips would nearly be touching you."

"Nearly—"

"Yes. Nearly."

"Tease."

He offers her a low chuckle. "You like it."

"I do," she admits, a little smile tugging at her lips. "I like it when we have time, when we're not so rushed."

"We have time now."

She's not so sure about that—eventually, Will will return to the Post Office—but nonetheless, she plays along.

"So where were we."

"I believe your hands were—"

"Ah right—on that magnificent ass of yours."

Her eyes roll—he's always been partial to her ass. Be it his eyes or his hands, directly or indirectly, he always paid it special attention. It was no wonder he chose to start there…

"I wouldn't be able to resist kissing you."

"Where?"

"Your stomach—I'd start there, then slowly drag my lips downward."

Her fingers slip down her torso, stopping at the silky band of her underwear, rubbing back and forth against the soft fabric.

"I wish you were really here."

"Pretend I am."

Her eyes open and she sits up a little, her brows arching in consideration. They were already far beyond flirting, and though she wasn't entirely sure what they were doing, he was closer than he'd been in nearly a year.

Leaning back, her cheeks flush and her hand slips into her panties.

"I went to the spa the other day," she tells him, her fingers sliding over her smooth skin, her eyes closing as she pictures him kneeling before her, his breath warm as his fingers hook into the sides of her panties and tug them down over her thighs.

"Now who's the tease?" His voice is husky and she grins. "I'm not sure I'd be able to resist—"

"Then don't."

Even now, even like this, she's impatient.

Her fingers slip between her legs, swirling around her clit and she imagines that it's Robin's tongue on her instead. His voice drops on an octave as he describes what he'd be doing to her if he were there—his mouth pleasuring her, making her wetter and wetter and making her ache for him. She imagines her hand tangling in his hair, her hips thrusting upward as his lips sucked hard on her clit.

She's wet and her fingers work furiously to mimic what she imagines, to mimic what he tells her he'd be doing, to mimic what she remembers from one night they shared in what feels like belongs in another lifetime.

Her breath grows ragged and a soft little moan escapes her. In vain, she's tried to be quiet, but the closer she gets, the harder it is.

"Don't hold back," he whispers hoarsely. "Come for me."

"Robin—"

"Come for me," he says again. "Let go. I want to taste—"

She moans—she doesn't even try to stop herself. Her fingers move faster and press harder as the rub in a jagged, yet circular pattern—and when she feels that first twinge of her pending release, she imagines hooking her leg around him as her hips buck against his face.

And then, she doesn't have to imagine, an orgasm ripples through her and brings her back into the present moment.

His voice coaxes her through it, but she barely hears him over her own breathing and meaningless ramblings.

"You sound like you enjoyed that."

"I did," she admits, her breath still heavy—it wasn't quite the same as having him there, not the same as actually feeling his tongue and fingers taking control of her senses, but it was far better than getting off alone. "I want you inside of me," she says, still panting as she imagines him stretching out beside her, holding his head up with his hand and offering that devilish little grin that always made her a little weak in the knees. "I want…"

"Tell me what you want," he says, his voice low and full of yearning. "If I were there right now, what would you do to me?"

"Well, I'd want to return the favor—"

"How?"

Grinning, she considers it.

She imagines herself standing up and shrugging off her robe, standing completely naked in front of him. His eyes would take her in slowly…

"I'd push you back into the chair I'm sitting in right now," she tells him. "And slowly, I'd undo your belt and tug down your zipper."

She hears him swallow. "God, how I wish you could—"

"I'd take you in my mouth until you were hard and—"

"You wouldn't need to give it much effort, if any—"

"My tongue would swirl around the top of your cock and fingers would wrap around your shaft as I look up at you and watch the effect I'm having."

He groans and mutters a low oh, fuck, eliciting a smile from her before she tells him how her lips would slide down his cock, how she'd take him fully in her mouth before pulling herself back up.

"Your shirt would be open," she says. "And as I pulled my mouth off of you, my hands would slide over your chest to your shoulders."

She stops for a moment, letting herself imagine herself standing up and looking down at his erection, her body aching for it…

"I'd straddle your lap," she says, picturing herself climbing on top of him, knees on either side of his thighs as her arms wrapped around his neck, her chest even with warm lips.

Her nipples are hard—hard from being exposed in the cool, open air, hard from her arousal—and she pinches them, pretending that it's Robin, his teeth nipping at them.

"I'd sink down on you slowly, wanting to savor it—"

He lets out a low and labored breath. "I wish could feel it—the warmth and the wetness, the way…" Robin lets out another breath. "The way you'd feel all around me."

"So full—"

"I'd kiss you—"

"My arms would around wrap around you, my hands would grasp at you, trying to pull you closer—"

"And then your hips would start to move—"

"It'd feel so good."

"I'd kiss you harder—your mouth, your neck, your jaw—"

"Down my throat—"

"Yes," he says, his voice just more than a whisper. "I'd feel the way you were breathing—hard and fast—"

She hums, her fingers lightly touching her throat as her hips rock gently against her hand.

It's not enough.

But it has to be.

Her legs part a bit further as she adjusts her hips, closing her eyes and focusing on Robin's voice as she eases a finger into herself. She rocks her hips for a couple of minutes before inserting another, imagining that Robin is standing between her legs, his length easily slipping into her.

This is harder—picturing it and feeling—but Robin's husky voice anchors her in the moment.

He tells her how his hips would move and where his hands would gravitate to—and her eyes press tighter, imagining his fingers pressed into her hips as his thrusts quicken and become shorter.

Regina's fingers follow suit, her thumb dragging back and forth against her clit with each of her movements.

She lets out a low moan as he describes his head dipping forward to take her breast in his mouth and her back instinctively arches up to meet the lips that aren't there. But she remembers what it felt like and luckily for her he's a thorough storyteller.

Her breath begins to grow ragged as little whimpers escape her—she's close again, she feels her orgasm building.

Robin can sense it, too.

His voice changes.

Her thoughts drift back to that night they spent together—that one night where her thoughts have spent so much time—and she remembers the way he looked down at her as he fucked her, his blue eyes dark with love and lust, like he could live forever in that very moment.

And in a way, he had.

She remembers the ways her body wrapped around his, her legs around his hips and her arms around his shoulders—even then, she craved him.

The memory is enough to push her over the edge as she writhes beneath her own hand, calling out his name in a ragged voice as her fingers clutch desperately to the phone's receiver.

Then suddenly, it's all too much. Her hand falls away and her body momentarily goes limp as her eyes flutter open, her cheeks flushing as she comes back down to earth.

And when she's finished, Robin offers a wry chuckle. "I don't know how much longer I could at and that—listening to you, imagining you, and not being able to touch you."

"I know," she murmurs, sitting up and feeling a bit dazed. "I might miss you more now than I did before."

"One day—"

"Yeah."

"Fuck—" Her brow furrows slightly at the gruffness of his voice. "I'm also a little jealous."

She shrugs her robe back up over her shoulders. "Why is that?"

"Because you were able to just… let go like that."

Her cheeks flush and her eyes widen. "You mean you weren't… I mean… I thought we were both…" Her eyes press closed as she winces with embarrassment. "Oh my god."

"I'm in a post office, Regina. A post office with a very large front window. I couldn't exactly pull my cock out and just hope no one walked by."

"No," she murmurs. "But, oh god, I—"

"Gave me a lot to think about when I take a very cold shower as soon as I get home."

Despite her embarrassment, she laughs. "So you were just… standing there, uncomfortable and—"

"Enjoying every damn second of it."

Her brow arches and a smirk edges over her lips. "Well, isn't this an interesting tidbit for me to store away."

"Store away for later use," he says, his voice amused. "I like it. There's hope in it."

"There is," she says in a tentative voice. "I need to believe there is."

"But just so you know, denial is negative points."

It takes her a moment to understand, but when she does, she laughs—an honest, genuine laugh. "We should do this again," she tells him, leaning back in her chair and drawing her knees up and ignoring how tired she is. "Well, maybe not this exactly…"

"Don't want those negative points, eh?"

"I don't like these negative points."

"Well, tonight wasn't—"

"Even though I denied you your pleasure?"

"Oh, there was plenty of pleasure in it for me and you didn't deny anything, that was me and my… my damn shame."

She laughs, imagining his struggle.

"But this one was neutral," he tells her, "The fact that we got to talk washes out those negative points."

Regina's eyes narrow. "This is a very complicated system."

"This is a very complicated situation."

"Touché."

And then she yawns—and she hates herself for it.

"You're tired," he says, his voice full of regret. "It's gotta be late—"

"Or early, depending on how you think of it."

"Right…"

She sighs, disappointed that the call is winding down. "Maybe the next time we talk, it could be earlier."

"If it's earlier, it can't be like this."

"That's okay," she says. "I just… I just need to hear your voice again."

"Soon."

"Yes, soon."

"After the holidays?"

She nods despite knowing he can't see her. "Yeah," she murmurs. "I'm usually here."

"We'll figure something out."

"Definitely." She draws in a breath and stifles another yawn, suddenly struggling with her emotions. "You should go have that shower."

Robin scoffs or maybe he laughs. "God knows how much I need it."

"Okay then."

"Okay."

She swallows hard and her eyes press closed. "Good night then."

"Goodnight," he tells her.

There's a pause.

A moment of silence between them—neither want to end the call.

"I love you," she says, her voice cracking a little.

"I love you, too," he replies easily—and then there's a little click on the other end and the line goes silent.

For a moment, she just sits there, the receiver still in her hand as she wonders how it's possible that she misses him even more now.

Drawing in a shaky breath she hangs up the phone and stands, knotting her robe tightly at her waist before ascending the stairs, Robin's voice still echoing in her ears.

"You're welcome."

She stops, stiffening as she stands in front of Mal's door—and then she laughs, shaking her head as she continues onto her own room her thoughts shifting once more to Robin and his cold shower.