Regina felt a rush of emotion as the Britannic docked in Portland that morning—emotions she was still trying to sort out.
Arthur sent a car to collect them, and before they were even off of the ship, their luggage had been collected and loaded into the trunk. The driver was kind—an older man with a white bristly beard and a handlebar mustache—and he let Henry sit in the front of the car with him, answering question after question about his facial hair and how to maintain and style it.
Eventually, Henry ran out of questions to ask and the driver switched the topic, narrating his way through the rather dense woods that led to Storybrooke. Henry listened but did so with far less interest, and every now and then, Regina watched as his gaze turned to the window as he stared blankly, just watching the scenery go by. She'd watched him for several minutes, unable to read his expression. Perhaps he was just pensive, she'd thought—and then she'd noticed Mal was watching him, too, a look of concern clouding her expression.
Regina shifted uncomfortably as she looked back to Henry, still staring blankly out the window as the driver told him a story about a beaver dam that all but dried out a stream. Maybe he was just bored, she thought, and maybe Mal was just sober.
Still, Henry's expression gnawed at her, reminding her of the way he'd looked when he asked whether or not Leopold was really his father, the way he looked when she'd all but lied to him.
Finally, they arrive, the car coming to a halt in the circle drive, positioned just in front of the door. Years ago the door would've already been opened and the house's butler or housekeeper would be standing there, just waiting.
But today, no one comes to greet them and the house looks eerily still.
"Welcome home," the driver says as he pulls the last of their bags from the trunk. "Do you need help carrying them in?"
"No," Regina says, reaching into her purse and fishing around for a set of keys she hasn't touched in years. "I think we can manage."
And they do.
She and Henry open up the house and haul in the bags, and Regina directs him up the stairs, keeping a watchful eye on him as she wonders if he remembers how to navigate the house.
Finally, they reach his room and Regina holds her breath as she enters the room—breathing out in relief as she finds it musty, but exactly as she left it. Leopold hadn't touched it. She'd feared he would. Grinning softly, she looks around the room until her eyes settle on Henry as he steps into the room that belonged to a much younger version of himself.
"Are we staying here?" Henry asks.
"For a bit," Regina says as she walks through the room and throws open the drapes. "I think it'll be better once we freshen it up."
"It smells like something died in here." Henry's eyes widen as soon as the words leave his mouth. "I'm sorry. I….I didn't mean…"
"It's okay," she says, turning back to him and grinning. "No harm done."
Henry shifts uncomfortably on his feet as he goes to the dresser, running his finger over the dusty top. "Is Mary Margaret here?"
Regina hesitates as she pushes the window open, her eyes pressing closed as the cool November air rushes in. "No," she tells him after a moment. "She doesn't live here anymore. She and her husband, David, have a house now. And a baby, I think."
"Oh."
"I have a meeting with her tomorrow," Regina says. "You could tag along."
Henry chews at his lip. "Maybe."
"Well, I'll leave it to you," Regina tells him as moves toward him, and loops her arm around his shoulder. "Come on. Let's go get the rest of our bags and open up more windows."
For the next hour, she and Henry run around the house, opening up windows and pulling sheets off of furniture in the rooms they think they'll use. The house is sparse and it's clear that Leopold had been trying to stay afloat for a while by selling off some of the more expensive things in the home. Privately, she wonders just how long this had been going on and just how big of a hole Leopold had dug.
But she doesn't dwell on it. She'll know more in the morning after meeting with the lawyers, estate manager, and Mary Margaret to go over the contents of Leopold's will and figure out how much of a mess he left for her.
Until then, she wants to keep busy—and given the state of the house, that won't be a problem.
"Hey, what do you say we take a walk to the store and get some groceries to stave us over for the next few days?"
Henry shrugs and nods, and a moment later, they're bundling up and on their way, deciding to take the scenic route.
When Henry was little, she used to take him for long walks after breakfast. They'd wind through their neighborhood and always found themselves at the private park nestled at its center. Henry always wanted to feed the ducks, and Regina always let him. But as they walk today, there's no flicker of recognition. All of those memories that she cherishes from when he was small don't exist for him.
They pass the school and playground—a sort of bridge between the wealthy section of town and everyone else's part of town. There's a group of boys around Henry's age playing on the rings and poles, doing flips and contorting themselves in all sorts of different ways, constantly trying to outdo and impress the others. They're laughing and yelling, and look as if they don't have a care in the world. Regina watches the way Henry looks at them—longingly, almost—and she feels a pang of guilt. She hasn't yet told him they won't be returning to England, that the London school he called home for the last five years and the boys who had become like brothers to him are now all a part of his past.
Regina loops her arm around Henry's shoulders and leads him away from the school, cutting through a neat little neighborhood before reaching Storybrooke's small downtown.
The downtown is nearly just as she remembers it. A few of the storefronts are different—a couple shops' windows are covered in brown paper, their signs removed from the facade—and it's less busy than she remembers it being. But there's a familiarity to it and in an odd way, it's comforting to her.
She and Henry pick up a few things to get them by Thanksgiving—some bread and milk, eggs and sticks of butter, canned vegetables and a sack of potatoes—and of course, a cherry pie that stopped Henry in his tracks as they passed the bakery window. By the time they reach the butcher's shop, her arms are tired and sore, and Henry's excitement over the pie has waned—and as she watches other women confidently placing their orders and stuffing their meat parcels into bags as they make small talk with the others and keep tabs on their children, she feels a twinge of jealousy. They're all managing it so well.
When it's her turn, the butcher stares blankly at her, expecting her to tell him what types of meat she wants—and so she just rattles off the first three items that come to mind, overwhelmed by her options. The butcher just nods and disappears into the back room, and when she glances down at Henry, she finds his brow arched with skepticism.
"What's a pork loin?"
She stares at him for a moment. "It's, um… the loin of a pig."
"That sounds gross," he tells her flatly. "What do you do with it?"
"You cook it and eat it."
"With what?"
Her lips tighten into a thin line as she draws in a breath. "I don't know."
"Can't wait," he murmurs, looking away.
Her eyes roll, but before she can respond, the butcher returns with her meat, all wrapped up in brown paper and tied with string. He smiles, then thanks her when she pays. And then, she and Henry are off.
It seems colder as they head back outside, wandering down Main Street with grocery bags lined up in their arms. Regina watches for a cab, but after several minutes, none pass and she resigns herself to the reality that she and Henry will just have to walk.
"Can we stop there?"
Regina looks up, and follows Henry's gaze. He's looking at the pharmacy, or more specifically at the window sign advertising penny candies. Regina sighs. She doesn't want to make another stop and she doesn't want another bag to carry, but Henry's eyes are wide and hopeful, and she reasons that if they make another stop, they can set down some of the bags for a bit. So, with a resigned sigh, Regina nods—and no sooner than she does, Henry takes off running toward the pharmacy, leaving her waddling behind him.
By the time she reaches the pharmacy, Henry's already standing in front of large glass canisters, examining the candy, flipping a little satchel of pennies from hand to hand. She shuffles down an aisle toward the magazine rack, audibly sighing in relief as she sets down her bags and plucks up a copy of Ladies Home Journal, smiling as she thinks of Robin and his steadfast belief that all the solution to all domestic problems could be found in the pages of a copy of Ladies Home Journal.
She's vaguely aware of the bell on the door, followed by footsteps that she doesn't pay attention to until they halt behind her—the scent of evergreen catches her attention.
Slowly, she turns—and there he is, his blue eyes sparkling as he smiles.
"Hello, Regina."
"Hi," she murmurs, her voice squeaking out in a way that would normally embarrass her. "It's… it's good to see you."
Robin nods, biting down on his lip. "It's good to see you. It's, uh… it's been a long time," he says. "Welcome home."
"Thank you," she murmurs, her breath catching in her throat as her cheeks flush. "It's… it's so nice to see you, Robin."
He nods, his smile deepening. "It's good to see you, too."
For a moment, they both just stand there, staring at each other and smiling, each of them seemingly at a loss for words. When she thought of what it'd be like to see him again, she hadn't anticipated it'd be a chance encounter. In fact, she'd meticulously planned it out. She'd written a note that would go into the post tonight, inviting him over the following evening once the boys were in bed. Her hair would be done and her makeup would be fresh, and she'd be wearing a lacy black negligee—one that was featured in a set of pictures she'd sent to him earlier that year for his birthday.
"D-do you have a minute? For a cup of coffee or—"
Robin's voice halts as she shakes her head and looks back over her shoulder to where Henry stands, still debating over which candies to buy. Robin's gaze follows hers, and when their eyes meet again, he offers an understanding little grin.
"So, um… what about dinner, maybe?"
"I… think for tonight, it'd be better if it were just me and Henry."
"Understandably."
"He's…" Regina sighs, her smile all but faded as she feels a twinge of guilt. "This is all so new to him."
"Of course."
"And he doesn't know about you and me. I mean, he knows of you, but he thinks you're just my friend."
"I am your friend, Regina."
"I know, but that's… that's not all you are."
She bristles, again looking back toward Henry and watching as he reaches for a paper sack, finally having made his decision. She's running out of time and still struggling to find the right words.
"I just… Henry's going to need some time to adjust and… I just… I need to be careful with him, you know?
"I get it."
"This is all just going to be such an adjustment," she says, her bottom lip catches between her teeth. "He doesn't know that we're here to stay and…"
"Regina," Robin cuts in, his voice low and soft. "I understand. I do. Your kid is your first priority. That's always been the case, that's always been our understanding."
She nods—his understanding doesn't make her feel less guilty. Nor does his look of disappointment despite his words. "I just…I think it'd be smart to go slowly for a bit. Just for a bit."
"If that's what you need, I don't want—"
"But I want to see you," she says, her voice cutting in and raising an octave. "I just…could you do a nightcap? Tonight, maybe?"
His smile is immediate and he nods. "I can."
"I know it's short notice, but—"
"It's plenty of notice," Robin interjects. "And even if it weren't, I'd figure it out." Regina grins at his eagerness—and as Robin reaches out, his hand touching to hers, her breath catches her chest. "How about ten?"
"That should work. I've got a hundred things to do tonight, but—"
"Would tomorrow be—"
"No," she cuts in, her voice rising over his and her cheeks flushing a bit. "I want to see you tonight."
Nervously, she looks back to Henry, watching as he approaches the register, hoisting up his paper sack of candy before fishing a penny from his satchel—then as he looks back to Robin, she grins, suddenly aware of the way his thumb is rubbing at the back of her wrist, suddenly aware that he's looking at her as if he wants to kiss her.
And she wishes that he would.
Her eyes sink closed as she takes a step back, but Robin doesn't let go. "I have to tell you," he says, "That is an excellent publication."
"Is it?" She asks, flustered.
Robin nods. "There's an excellent herb chicken rub in there."
"Too bad I'm looking for something that'll go on a pork loin."
"Ah, nothing in this one," Robin admits, "but I can bring a recipe tonight, if you'd like."
She nods. "That would be… great."
Robin's eyes away from hers and with a heavy sigh, he releases his hold on her. "Are you two walking?"
She blinks, caught off guard by the question. "What?"
"Are you, Henry, and your collection of bags walking home?"
"Oh," she breathes out, her cheeks flushing. "We are. It seemed like a good idea when we left, but now…"
Her voice trails off and Robin chuckles softly. "I'd offer to give you a ride, but that doesn't seem like a good idea right now."
"Regretfully, I agree."
"Doc can call you a cab," he tells her. "He'll charge it to my account. I'll let him know when I get to the counter."
"Oh, you don't have to—"
"I want to."
There's a pause and her stomach flops—remembering all of the times Robin used to come to the house under the guise of taking or dropping off an order, and they'd sneak away to the cellar for a little time together. Nothing ever happened, but she always wished that it would. And she feels that way now.
"Henry's coming," Robin murmurs, taking a step back and offering a quick wink. "He looks… just like you, you know that?"
"He doesn't," she says, her heart racing a bit. "But thank you."
"I think he does—I think it's the way he carries himself."
Her brow arches and looks to Henry, watching as he trudges toward her, looking like he's on a mission. She laughs—and when she looks back to Robin, he's gone. She can hear him talking to Doc at the pharmacy counter around the corner.
"So, what did you get?"
"Butterscotch buttons," Henry says. "I was going to get the peppermint wheels, but those are more Christmassy than Thanksgiving-y."
"Thanksgiving-y?" Henry shrugs and Regina laughs. "A cab is going to come and get us," she tells him. "So, while we're waiting, why don't you pick out a magazine or—"
She doesn't finish the sentence before Henry plucks up a copy of Boys Life and starts flipping through it—and she returns her own attention to Ladies Home Journal.
A slow grin stretches over Robin's lips as he walks toward the light at the end of the hall, his stomach churning with nerves.
He can't believe that he's nervous—not now, not because of her.
Two years ago, his nerves would've made sense to him. Two years ago, as he'd walked down this very hall toward the private bar where she waited for him, they'd been on the cusp of scandal. From the outside looking in, it would've been hard to tell that it was even an affair—at its worst, it'd only been a bit of innocent flirtation between friends and a few soft kisses here and there, nothing that could get either of them into any real trouble. And by the time the affair took a less than innocent turn, it was all but over—over before it'd ever really began.
Still, that night, there'd been danger in what they'd done—a risk he'd walked into with his eyes wide open—after all, her husband was entertaining in the room beneath them and there were at least a hundred pairs of eyes that might have seen him slip up the stairs. But that night, none of that had mattered, the risk barely mattered to him. He trusted her when she assured him that his presence would go unnoticed—and truly, he'd felt they were safe, hiding in plain sight.
Consequences, be damned.
After all, that night he knew that she wouldn't pay the price for their affair—the next day, she'd be on her way to London.
But now, it was different—now, it was real.
There were no longer parameters around them—neither physical nor emotional—and there were no longer any reasons to keep the other at arm's length. She was free to do as she pleased, no longer trapped in a marriage that made her miserable, and he had finally made peace with the idea of moving on.
And if something went awry, they had more to worry about than Leopold Blanchard's bruised pride.
He takes a breath and rubs his hands down over his pants, grimacing at how strong his cologne suddenly seems. But there's nothing he can do about that now, so he pushes forward, stopping as he steps over the threshold—and when his eyes settle on her, he feels a sense of calm settle over him, a smile stretching over his lips as he leans against the door jamb.
Regina doesn't notice him at first, she's too caught up in whatever it is that she's doing. The bar is set up like an office with papers everywhere and a large black leather-bound ledger in front of her. Her hair is pulled back, wound up in a bun atop her head and she's wearing a thin white belted sweater. Her face is propped up in her hand and her index finger is rubbing at her jaw—she looks perplexed, he decides.
For a moment, he considers just letting her be, but then she looks up at him, and everything in her demeanor changes, softening.
"Hey, I didn't hear you come in."
"I came in the back way," he admits, shrugging as he pushes himself forward. "Habit, I suppose."
"I didn't expect you for another half an hour, at least."
Their eyes meet as he halts. "Is Henry asleep? If not, I can…"
"He's asleep," she interjects, biting down on her lip as her cheeks warm. She's nervous, too, he realizes. "He was out like a light an hour ago."
Robin watches as she slips off the stool, smoothing out her knee-length knit skirt as she does—such contrast to her bare feet, chipping away at the polished veneer she wears as a facade.
"If I'm interrupting—"
"No," she's quick to say, cutting in again, and again, flushing at her own impatience. "I'm due for a break." She sighs, looking back at the mess of papers atop the bar. "I'm just… looking at Leo's financials and…" Her voice trails off as she looks back to him, shrugging her shoulders. "It's making me cross-eyed."
He nods, feigning an understanding he doesn't quite have—an understanding he doesn't quite need. It was no secret that the crash had hit Leopold Blanchard hard. He'd invested most of his fortune—Regina's too—and several of the last investments he made were poor ones. News of his losses spread like wildfire through the town he all but owned. Some said he lost it all, and given the events that quickly followed the crash, there was every reason to believe that that was true.
Regina, of course, was the one person who knew the truth of Leopold's losses, and he wouldn't ask. If she wanted to confide, she would. If she wanted to keep that information to herself, she could. It didn't concern him nor did it matter to him.
"Are you hungry?" He considers for a moment. He did already eat—John made a chowder. "Henry and I had pasta. There's some leftovers in the kitchen."
A crooked little smirk tugs up from one corner of his mouth. "You cook now?"
"Well, Leo let the staff go before… well…"
Again, her voice trails off—it's something else she doesn't need to finish.
"Will you eat?"
"I could."
"Alright then."
He watches as her eyes fall to his hand and she hesitates momentarily before reaching out and sliding her fingers over his, wrapping her hand around his and tugging him toward the door and into the darkened hall.
"It's so… quiet."
"I know. It's almost too quiet."
"The last time I was here there was a party going on."
She looks back at him and grins, nodding. "Even without the parties there were always people rustling around—hallboys and maids—it made the house feel like a home. Like it was lived in. Like it served some sort of purpose." She pauses and looks back to him as they start down the stairs, her fingers tightening around his hand. "It's funny, really, I felt so lonely here, but I was never really alone."
"It's possible to be lonely when you're surrounded by people. Those things aren't mutually exclusive."
"I know, but… in comparison it's…"
Her voice trails off as she searches for a light switch at the bottom of the stairs—and when she finds it and the light illuminates the space, he finds that they're just outside the ballroom. The grand piano that once sat outside its entrance is gone and the worn wallpaper clearly shows where large paintings once hung, a shadow of what once was. Even the glistening crystal chandelier that hung from the ballroom's vaulted ceiling is gone.
Regina pays the sad little room no attention, instead tugging him toward the kitchen and flicking on the light.
"Do you like garlic toast?"
"Who doesn't?"
She grins, giving his hand a tight little squeeze before letting it go. "Good, I overestimated how much toast a baguette would make."
Robin watches the way she moves around the kitchen and he smiles, remembering how stiff she'd once seemed in this space. Perhaps it was because she was always on guard when she was in this house, perhaps it was because she wasn't used to spending time here, but regardless, there's a marked difference in her movements. There's an ease and comfort now, and as he watches her fill a warming plate with bread and pasta, and push it into the oven, he can't help but think there's a degree of happiness there, too—in spite of everything.
"It'll be a few minutes," she tells him.
"I can wait," he tells her, a grin stretching across his lips. "I've become very good at waiting."
"I suppose you have," she says, a soft laugh rising into her voice as her cheeks flush slightly. "But, some things are worth waiting for, aren't they?"
Again, she bites at her lips, allowing him to see her nervousness—and he finds himself nodding, and taking a step toward her.
"Of course," he tells her, reaching for her and tugging her to him. "It makes it all the sweeter when you finally get to enjoy the thing you've been waiting so long for."
Regina's tongue brushes across her bottom lip as her eyes cast up to meet his—and as he holds her, fingers rubbing gently over her hip, he feels that nervousness fading away. Regina draws in a breath, slowly releasing it as her hand presses to his chest, her fingers tracing the buttons of his shirt.
"You smell like forest."
He chuckles wryly as he kneads her hip. "Is that a good thing?"
"Mm—it's exactly how I remembered you smelling." She leans in, her head dipping forward as she draws in a long breath. "I missed you," she breathes out. "God, how I missed you."
It's been two years since they were last together. In many ways, it feels like an eternity has passed; yet, at the same time, it feels like they're suddenly picking right back up from where they left off.
"I thought about you daily," he tells her, reaching and brushing his fingers across her cheek. "I thought about a moment like this daily."
"I, uh… I assume the pictures were a help, then?"
"God, yes," he says, his answer coming out too quickly. He's almost embarrassed to tell her just how much—and how often—he enjoyed those pictures, or how his entire day would be derailed every time he opened up a new set. "But… they pale in comparison to the real thing."
It's as close as they've been in two years, and suddenly, the anticipation is killing him—but he isn't sure what she wants, or how much she's willing to give, and he doesn't want to overstep her boundaries.
That afternoon, she'd hinted at wanting to be cautious, reluctantly wondering if he'd be willing to take things slowly. She had Henry to think of, after all, and already he was dealing with so many adjustments to his life. As a parent, he understood that—and when she'd invited him over that night, he truly wasn't sure what to anticipate. He'd be content with whatever she had to offer—just as he always had been.
He had no other choice.
But now that he was standing there with her in his arms, now that he could feel her breath on his lips and feel her heart beating in rhythm with his, he was realizing how difficult that would be—how damn near impossible it would be.
And then she kisses him.
It's neither soft nor chaste, and it doesn't leave much room for misunderstanding, making his internal struggle only a moment before a moot point—and for that, he's grateful.
Her arms link around his neck as she draws back a little, grinning as her eyes fall to his lips. He watches as her tongue slides slowly over her bottom lip, her grin turning a bit coy as she steps back in, pressing herself closer. He smiles, too, swallowing hard just before her tongue parts his lips and slips against his. He breathes her in, relishing in her kiss as if to try and savor it, almost as if worried that should he make even the slightest move, it would awaken him from the sweetest and cruelest of dreams.
Regina offers a breathy sigh as she looks back again, sucking on his bottom lip as she looks up at him with hooded eyes before smiling at him, almost as if daring him to kiss her back—and so he does, not wanting to disappoint.
Robin smiles gently just before his lips crash back down onto hers, his arms wrapping tighter around her as two years of pent up emotion spill out of him in a single kiss. He feels light—almost weightless—as he kisses harder, his hand cupping the back of her head to draw her closer and deeper. He can feel her heart beating faster, he can feel her breath growing ragged.
"Robin," she breathes out, his name just more than a whisper as she breaks the kiss and lets her head fall back, practically inviting his lips. "Oh, god. Robin…"
He kisses up her neck and over her chin and up her jaw until he reaches her ear—and when he does, she lifts her head, smiling coyly once more. Her skin is flushed and her eyes glitter with wanton desire, and if it weren't for her son sleeping upstairs, he'd take her right there on the countertop.
"I should… check the pasta," she tells him as she backs away. "I'd hate to burn it."
He nods, exhaling a breath. "Yeah. That'd be a shame."
"There's still a bunch of wine in the cellar."
"Should we open one?"
"Well, that depends," she says, grabbing an oven mitt. "Are you staying?"
Robin swallows, his throat tight as he remembers the boundaries she'd put up only that afternoon. "Are you asking me to?"
She hesitates for a moment, and then nods. "I want you to stay."
"What about—"
"Henry will sleep til noon if I let him." Robin nods, a little chuckle rising up from his chest as he pushes himself forward. "I'll tell him, eventually," she says. "Soon. I promise. I just—"
"No need to rush. I get it. He's going through a lot right now and this would just be one more thing," he murmurs, his voice sincere and a sly grin pulling at his lips as his arm hooks around her waist. "Besides, we have all the time in the world right now."
She nods and grins, her arms looping lazily around his shoulders as if a moment like this one weren't a rarity, as if him standing in front of her in her kitchen wasn't at all significant, as though it were commonplace.
"I make no promises about this pasta."
"I'm sure it's fantastic."
"Henry called it tolerable."
Robin laughs, leaning in to peck her lips just before she spins away from him, momentarily turning her attention to the leftovers warming in the oven—and suddenly, he feels almost giddy.
Finally, time is on their side.
She isn't sure if it's the wine or Robin's company, but for the first time since docking in Portland that morning, Regina's shoulders feel relaxed. For the first time in a long time, Henry isn't consuming her thoughts. She isn't thinking about what he might say or uncover, what dots he might connect. She isn't worrying about what Leopold's will will reveal or what the estate manager will have to say to her tomorrow morning when they meet nor is she thinking about that mess that Leopold made, wondering if it'll be up to her to clean up or the effect it'll all have.
She's at ease. She's present in the moment—lost in, in fact. She'd forgotten how he could do that to her, how he could ground her and make everything else disappear.
Over a plate of pasta and a couple of glasses of wine, Robin had caught her up on his life. It seemed so strange not to know every detail of what he'd been doing for the last few weeks while she travelled, and she relished in the update.
Roland lost yet another tooth, making that three in the last month. He was also going to have a part in the Christmas play at school and had a newfound interest in shepherding and sheep. He was also growing like a weed. And—Robin added with a gruff little sigh—Roland had also buckled down on his efforts to convince Robin that they needed a pet.
Robin also updated her on the house he and John were building—the biggest and most significant update being that electricity now ran through the house. Robin painted such a vivid image of its progress in his letters that she was almost caught off guard when he said he hoped that he could take her to see it soon. Though it was obvious, somehow, she hadn't quite realized that she hadn't actually seen the house yet.
He asked her about her travels and about Henry's first impressions of Maine, and she grimaced when he asked about her holiday plans. Up until that morning, she'd all but forgotten that any holiday was nearing, and Mal informed her that Arthur had invited her and Henry. She'd accepted without thinking—and now, was in a position to turn down Robin's invitation. But he took it in stride and suggested they could meet for another nightcap once their respective celebrations had concluded. And of course, she'd easily agreed.
"Have you seen Mary Margaret yet?" He asks as the conversations stalls.
"No. I'll see her tomorrow, though. At the meeting."
"Ah, right." Robin hesitates. "Are you nervous?"
"About which thing?"
"Both."
"Then yes," she says, bristling as she reaches for her wine and takes a long sip. "To both." Robin nods and she considers it for a moment. "I keep debating which has me more unsettled—seeing my stepdaughter or finding out what's in that will."
Robin draws in a breath, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Do you have… any ideas of how tomorrow's going to go?"
"With Mary Margaret, I have no idea, but… I have some idea of the rest. Not much, but some."
"Something's better than nothing."
Regina scoffs but nods. "I tried finding a copy of the will, but… there isn't one here, or not one in a place where I'd think to look."
"Are you… worried about something that might be in it."
"Henry, mostly," she admits. "I was never quite sure what Leo knew about him. I never knew which lies he bought and which he saw through, and…" Her voice trails off as she thinks of what Henry said to her when she collected him from school the morning that they left England for Maine. "I just… I don't want that to be the way he finds out, you know?"
She leaves out the part where she could've come clean, still regretting her choice to evade Henry's inquiries.
"And I'm also worried that… that I might be liable in some way."
Robin's brow furrows. "Liable? For what? His death?"
"No. No, just what led to it."
Robin's brow juts up. "Unless you caused a global market crash—"
"No," she cuts in. "Not for that part."
Drawing in a breath, she sighs, her eyes closing momentarily as she collects her thoughts and pushes that sickening feeling down again.
And then she tells him.
She tells him about the initial losses Leo faced in the previous spring and summer as the British markets plummeted. Leo's losses weren't unlike Mal's. They were significant, but certainly not damning. What was left would've still been considered a massive amount of wealth to many. And like Mal, Leo's initial response was to start moving money around, to invest in new schemes, to try to recoup what he could.
But that's where the similarities ended. And that's when he began doing business with a man named Robert Gold.
She wasn't sure how they met, but by the start of summer of that year, Leopold had invested a tremendous amount of money in a real estate venture in Florida—luxury apartments in the Everglades, to be exact. Tucked into Leo's ledger was a photograph of one of the buildings and receipts of the initial transactions. The returns were stellar—and the more Leo earned, the more money he invested.
At some point, Leopold began investing more than his own money. As the president of the bank, he saw the money his customers were losing. He saw how they were struggling and he was well aware of the trends in the market, so he knew how much they stood to lose if the American market followed the British market. And Leopold Blanchard never missed an opportunity to play the part of the hero.
The trouble was the apartments didn't exist.
It was that one building, and that was that.
He'd come to this realization that September, and spent the whole of October trying to figure out a way to get the money back. But he couldn't, and his personal losses were so severe, there was no way he could pay back the bank. And of course, by the time he realized all of this, Gold was long gone.
The stock market was his only hope of recouping and with the money he had left, he began investing even though everyone who knew anything about the way the market worked was pulling out.
And then, the market crashed.
Robin's brows arch as he breaths out a low fuck.
"Yeah," she murmurs. "My thoughts exactly."
"B-but why would… why would he…" Robin's voice trails off, unable to formulate the question. "I just don't understand."
"I've never understood anything that man did."
Robin stares at her for a moment. "So, you think, you're somehow responsible for paying all of those people back."
Regina shrugs. "It's possible, I think."
"Because you're his wife."
Regina nods. "It's either going to me or to Mary Margret and David, and…" Her eyes press closed. "I could sell this house, but I'd never get what it's worth."
"And from the looks of this place, Leo already sold off most of the wealth inside of it."
"I doubt anyone around here is interested in buying Tiffany lamps or Waterford crystal glasses," she murmurs before reaching for her wine and taking a long swig. "But that's tomorrow's problem."
Robin blinks, looking very much as if it's a problem for right now.
And that's the last thing she wants.
"It's almost midnight," she tells him. "You're sure you can stay? I know this evening wasn't exactly planned."
"I can," he says, a little grin tugging up from the corner of his mouth. "John's staying with Roland tonight." Beneath his scruff, she sees his cheeks flush a little. "I, uh, I know that's presumptuous, but I wasn't, uh… I wasn't sure if…"
"Then we should go upstairs."
Robin blinks. "What about the plates?"
Laughing, Regina rises from her seat at the counter, extending her hand to him. "Yet another thing that sounds like it's tomorrow's problem."
Robin grins and takes her hand, letting her lead him up the stairs to her bedroom—and she can't help but notice the way his eyes linger where paintings once hung and where antique vases once sat as if grappling with how it all could have been lost in a single summer, grappling with the sheer stupidity of it all.
"This room looks the same, I think," she tells him, a soft little grin edging onto her lips as she closes the door and locks them in. "Though, I think the last time we were here together the lights were off."
Robin laughs softly, his eyes casting downward as he rubs at the back of his cheek as he nods. "I believe they were."
There's a moment of awkwardness as they both just stand there, both unsure of what should come next.
She'd taken the lead the last time, she remembers, and she wonders if he's waiting for her to do it again. So, she makes the first move, closing the gap between them and kissing him. One hand slides up his back and the other finds his, her fingers pushing down around his, entwining. She smiles into the kiss, his lips taste like wine.
And then she steps back, leaving him a bit flustered.
"Are you nervous?"
"I thought I would be," he admits. "But I'm not."
"Same."
She watches as a playful grin stretches across his lips, and a moment later, they're kissing again. One of his hands is in her hair the other is on her hip, his fingers kneading at the knit fabric of her skirt. His lips leave hers, sliding down her jaw and to her neck, and instinctively, her head falls back. It feels so good.
Regina's hand slips beneath his suspenders, guiding them down his arms. Drawing in a breath her hands linger on his arms. She swallows hard as Robin lifts her chin, his thumb rubbing gently at her jaw.
Her heart beats a little faster with anticipation as she steps in a little closer, smiling as his hand slips from her hip to the small of her back.
And then the phone rings.
It's piercingly loud, the ring echoing down the long hall.
"I can't believe …"
Robin bites down on his lip, trying and failing to stifle a laugh. "It sounds like a god-damned fire alarm."
Regina laughs, too, her forehead resting on his chin monetarily. "I should… go and shut it up."
"I think you have to."
"Before the Fire Brigade shows up?"
"Or neighborhood dogs start howling."
"Right, and give the neighbors yet another reason to hate me."
"That might be wise," Robin says. "Or before you know it, Henry will be joining the neighbors and Fire Brigade in wondering what the hell is going on in that hall."
Regina grins, bristling as the phone continues to scream from the end of the hall. "Oh, that's one interruption we won't have to worry about. He can sleep through just about anything—a trait inherited from his namesake."
At that, Robin looks amused.
"Right," she nods, taking a few steps back. "But in all likelihood, it's just Mal. She doesn't consider anything before three as late."
"A true bohemian."
"She'd like to think so." She draws in a breath, annoyed that whomever was on the other line hadn't taken the hint when no one answered after the first couple of rings. "Go ahead and, uh, just make yourself comfortable. If it's Mal I'll be back in just a second, but if it's not… well… someone better be dead or in serious need of help."
Regina catches Robin's grin in the mirror as she opens the door and scurries down the hall, the phone still ringing and rattling on its stand—and when she reaches it, she feels a rush of annoyance.
"Well, finally."
"Mal," she sighs. "I could murder you right now."
"You weren't sleeping. You don't sleep well when you're worried, and I know you're worried about tomorrow. I thought you could use some company."
Regina's eyes roll. "I wasn't sleeping, I'd actually be less annoyed with you if I were."
There's a pause—then a little laugh rises out of Mal. "Oh. Oh, you invited Robin over!"
"I did, and—"
"Are you wearing that lacy black little thing he liked so much?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Mallory. You can't be serious right now."
"Oh, god, you're wearing that white woolen—"
"Mal—"
"It's just so unsexy, Regina."
Regina's eyes roll. "Look, I'd like to—"
"Fine, fine, fine. Listen, I'll be there at eight-thirty to collect Henry. Is that too late or—"
"It's perfect. I'll be sure he's ready."
"Great. The girls are excited to see him."
"I'm sure."
There's a pause, and then a click—and a sardonic little laugh escapes Regina. Mal hung up on her. Taking a breath, she sets the receiver back onto its cradle and yanks the cord from the wall—unnecessary, but cathartic, she thinks as she heads down the hall, suddenly very aware of her boxy white sweater with all of its buttons and ankle length skirt.
When she returns, Robin is sitting at the foot of the bed—he looks stiff and out of place, and for whatever reason, it makes her smile.
"You… took off your shoes."
"You said to get comfortable."
A smile twists onto her lips. "I meant naked."
"Then you should have said that."
"You also don't look comfortable," she says, again closing and locking the door.
"Well, I thought it might be some sort of emergency or—"
Robin's voice halts as Regina shakes her head. "Not at all," she tells him.
"So, it was Mal."
"Yes."
"And everything's alright? It's awfully late."
"I assume she's bored. Everyone at Arthur's is probably in bed and she hasn't yet hunted down a maid willing to entertain her for the next few weeks." She grins as Robin's brow arches. "She just wanted to check in, see how I was—"
"She's a good friend."
"Generally, I think so, but right now, I want to kill her."
Robin laughs, looking up at her as his arm circles around her waist when she reaches him. "Why's that? No harm done."
"I suppose that's true," she murmurs, one hand falling to his shoulder and the other settling at his jaw as she leans down to kiss him.
Robin's lips are soft and warm, and she feels his shoulders beginning to relax as they kiss. His fingers knead at her hip, eventually finding their way underneath her sweater. They're feather-like on her skin—just barely touching her and sending a little shiver down her spine.
Regina pulls back—laughing softly as Robin's lips try to follow hers—and she rests her forehead against his. He smiles as their eyes momentarily meet and a moment later, he's tugging his shirt over his head, pulling his cotton undershirt off with it. Her eyes trail down to his bare chest and her hand rubs over his arm, reveling at having him here and not just in her imagination.
She twists her shoulders and peers back at him. "Unbutton me?"
"Mm, of course," Robin murmurs as he stands, and pulls her to him. He trails a few soft kisses down the nape of her neck before turning his attention to the buttons that line the back of her sweater. She laughs softly to herself as a muffled yet exasperated crickey these are small escapes from him, but before she can apologize, she feels the sweater loosening at her shoulders. It's enough to slip it off.
Slowly she steps away from him, grinning a bit devilishly as she gives him a soft push back toward the bed. Grinning, he follows suit, again sitting at the foot, his eyes narrow with curiosity.
She can't help but giggle as she unbuckles the belt at the bottom of her sweater then pulls it over her head, revealing a cream-colored satin bra. It's a far cry from the black lace one hanging in her wardrobe, but Robin doesn't seem to mind.
Quite the contrary, in fact.
Robin's lips part and he swallows hard, his eyes fixated on her as she drops the belt and sweater to the stool at the dressing table then unbuttons her skirt. She unbuttons it slowly, shimmying it down her legs, leaving her in the bra and an almost, but not quite matching satin tight-fitted slip with a white lace trim. Her garters peek out from beneath the slip, holding up her silk stockings—and Robin is mesmerized.
"My god," he murmurs as he stands, moving toward her and pulling her to him. "Somehow, you're even more beautiful than I remember."
Regina's breath catches as Robin's lips make their way to her neck, and for a moment, she just lets them linger there. Her eyes close and her head falls back as she loses herself in his touch.
She groans when he pulls away and he chuckles as he moves to the other side of the wall, turning off the overhead light and leaving just the lamp.
He grins coyly as he makes his way back to her, unbuttoning his pants. "Should I give you a little show, too?"
Regina laughs and sits down on the edge of the bed. "Oh, please do."
Robin laughs, swaying his hips dramatically as he slowly pulls off his pants—and she laughs too. "I think you were better at this than me," he tells her, kicking off his pants. "Your socks are sexier, too."
Regina giggles as she takes in Robin, standing in front of her in a pair of blue and white striped cotton boxers and white tube socks that come midway up his calf.
"Mm, I disagree," Regina says, shaking her head as she leans back. "Those boxers are… quite modern."
Robin's eyes roll as he moves to the bed, awkwardly pulling off his socks. Regina looks up at him and her brow cocks as he sinks down to his knees. "I'm just glad I didn't wear the red striped shorts today. I'd have looked like an absolute clown."
Regina laughs. "Ah, I suppose that's something for me to look forward to."
His eyes roll, but then his smile fades a little as he reaches out and pulls the pin from her hair, letting it fall down around her shoulders. There's a brief moment then where they just stare at each other, almost in awe of the novelty of it—the novelty of the implication there will be another time after this, the novelty of not needing to rush, the novelty of being a regular part of the other's life again.
"Mm, among other things," Robin says, a sweet but sly smile returning.
Again, her brow cocks—and this time, his hands slide up her legs and over her knees, untying the garters holding up her silk socks. Slowly, he peels them down her legs. Leaning in, he kisses her knees, and almost instinctively, Regina edges back further on the bed. A soft moan escapes her as Robin's lips slide to her thighs and his hands slide up her outer thighs in search of the waistband of her slip.
His fingers hook into it, slowly pulling it down her legs, she sucks in a breath of anticipation—grinning as he smiles up at her and drops the slip to the floor. Robin trails kisses up her thighs and when she feels his warm breath between her legs, she bites down on her lip and her heart beats a little faster.
Robin's tongue swipes over her sex and swirls around her clit. Her head falls back as his finger enters her, slowly slipping in and out of her as his mouth continues to work at her clit.
She squirms beneath him, her eyes pressing closed.
It feels so good to be touched by someone other than herself.
To be touched by him.
Her eyes open as he pulls away from her and she smiles as he pulls himself up to lay beside her, smiling as he leans in to kiss her.
The kiss is long and languid. She rolls toward him, her fingers sliding up his cheek and rubbing gently at his stubbly beard, enjoying the prickly sensation. His hand finds her ass, kneading it as he pulls her onto him, and her lips slide down his neck, pecking at his chest before she pulls back and sits up so that she's kneeling over him.
A crooked grin tugs up at the corner of his mouth as he lips his hips and pulls his boxers down over them, wriggling his legs to kick them up, his cock springing free. Robin looks up at her, his eyes trailing over her and watching as she reaches behind herself to unclasp her bra, swallowing hard as she slowly pulls it down her arms and drops it to the floor.
She smiles as he takes her in, his eyes wandering over her appreciatively—and he sucks in a breath, nearly hissing, when she reaches down, giving his hard cock a few strokes.
"Oh, god," he murmurs, his breath already ragged. "Regina…"
She lowers herself onto him, letting out a breathy sigh as she slides down, taking him inside of her. Robin watches her, entranced, swallowing hard and biting down on his lip as though relishing in the sensation.
Slowly, she begins to move her hips, rocking them back and forth. Her heartbeat rises and her breath grows ragged as Robin's hips move in rhythm with hers, his hand moving to her clit. The faster she moves, the harder he rubs, and doesn't take long for her to reach the edge.
An orgasm ripples through her and her thighs feel weak, shaking as she struggles to remain in control. Robin's arms wrap around her back, pulling her to him and kissing her, his lips moving from her mouth to her jaw, his tongue flicking at her earlobe before his mouth settles on the crook of her neck.
When she's come down from her high, he shifts them, rolling her onto her back. He hovers over her, his eyes once more lingering over her and taking her in, as he slips back inside of her. For a moment, he stays still, his eyes pressing closed as he exhales a breath—and then, as he eyes open, his hips begin to rock back and forth. He thrusts slowly at first, then picks up speed as his own orgasm builds.
With a low groan, Robin explodes, his eyes closing as he savors it. His movements slow as he finishes, and when his eyes open, a half-cocked smile tugs across his lips.
Regina's hand slips over his hip, her fingers tracing feathery lines on his back as she smiles back at him—and then his lips come crashing down onto hers.
Again, the kiss is long and languid, but this time there isn't any urgency in it. His hand slides into her hair as he rolls off of her and positions himself at her side.
She could get used to this, she thinks.
She wants to get used to it.
It's Robin who breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against hers. "Did I tell you how much I missed you?"
"You did," she tells him. "But I don't mind hearing it again."
"It was a long two years."
"Trust me," she laughs. "I know that."
He strokes his fingers through her hair. "I suppose you do."
She grins at the heaviness of his eyelids and tips her head up to kiss his forehead. "If I let myself fall asleep, I'm not going to wake up without you, am I?"
"Why would you think a thing like that?"
"Because the last time we fell asleep together like this, I woke up to a note telling me that you were cutting me loose."
"I… don't think that's completely accurate," he says, laughing a little.
"Maybe not," she murmurs. "But you weren't here."
"Had I stayed I don't know that I would've been able to cut you loose." He presses a soft kiss to her forehead. "I'm far more selfish than I've led you to believe."
Regina cuddles in closer. "I never got to properly thank you."
"You thanked me."
"Sure, but…" Her voice trails off and she sighs. "I love you."
"And I, you," he murmurs as he pulls her closer, his breathing steadying out as he drifts to sleep beside her.
For a while, she just lays there, watching him sleep—and then, when she can barely keep, she carefully reaches over and turns off the light.