Roland grins up at him as he pulls a toasted marshmallow from the fire. "Now what?"
"You need to smush it between two graham crackers," John says, nudging Roland's arm and holding out the cracker. "Kind of like a sandwich."
"When do we use the chocolate?" Roland asks, looking between them before his eyes finally settle on the bar of Hershey's chocolate they bought just for this occasion. "Can't we use that instead of the graham crackers?"
Robin laughs. "Then your fingers would get all messy."
"So?"
John laughs. "Let's get the marshmallow on the cracker, and then we'll worry about the chocolate."
Roland hesitates, but agrees, and lets John show him how to slide the marshmallow from the skewer. Robin grins as he watches Roland—bright eyed and amused—as he watches his uncle closely. He squirms as John reaches for the candy bar, then frowns when John breaks it in half.
"You know, I bet it'd be even better if we used the whole bar."
"I knew you were going to say that," John says, shaking his head as a soft chuckle escapes him. "You know, too much chocolate might ruin it."
"That's a lie and you know it."
Robin bites down on his lip, stopping himself from outright laughing as his five-year old son calls his uncle's bluff. "Well, think of it this way, if we save some of the chocolate, you can have two."
John glares as Robin gingerly reaches for another marshmallow to prepare the skewer again for Roland. "You know, I think we're doing this good cop, bad cop thing wrong," he sighs. "I'm the uncle. I should get to be the fun one."
"I don't know where you got that impression."
John's eyes roll, but before he can reply, Roland bites into the s'more. His eyes widen and a little squeal escapes him before he devours the rest of the chocolatey, marshmallowy goodness—and as soon as he's done, he starts preparing the next one. This time, he does the assembly himself and eats it twice as fast—and then, it's time for bed.
Normally Roland's bedtime routine is tedious and exhausting for everyone but Roland. However, on Christmas Eve, it's a breeze. He washes up and brushes his teeth without complaint and puts on the first pair of pajamas Robin pulls out of the drawer, and half way through his bedtime story, he's at least pretending to be asleep.
"Maybe we can convince him that Santa does monthly check-ins or something."
Robin smirks as he sits down in the chair opposite John. "But with our luck, he'd think he got s'mores or some other messy treat for the occasion."
"That seems like a fair trade,"John says, laughing heartily as he pushes a bottle toward Robin. "Homemade ale, compliments of Marco and Eugenia."
He takes the bottle and opens it, taking a long swig. "I… uh, I think I might be having an affair with Regina Blanchard."
John nearly chokes. "You think?"
He looks up at him, taking another, shorter swig. "Yeah—"
"How can you possibly be unsure about whether or not you're having an affair with a woman?"
"It's… complicated."
"Or you're just dense."
Robin just stares at him. "About a week ago, she invited me over."
"Invited you over," John repeats.
"Well, Leopold was having one of his parties and she invited me."
"You went to a party that her husband was hosting."
"Not… exactly." He sighs, and explains what happened.
He starts with her invitation early that morning in the cemetery and tells John that he spent the rest of the day considering it. Up until that moment, their encounters could easily be passed off as friendship. But that invitation had simply felt different.
And maybe that's what spurred him to kiss her.
Or maybe it was a culmination of things.
Really, why he kissed her didn't matter. What mattered was that he'd done it, and she'd kissed him back, neither of them pulling away until they were flushed and breathless.
She'd grabbed his hand and led him over to the bar and poured them each a glass of whiskey, and for awhile, they'd just stood at the bar enjoying their drinks and talking. Every now and then she'd give him a look, and every now and then, he'd find himself staring at her lips, wanting to kiss her again. When they'd finished the whiskey, he'd asked her to dance.
Regina came around the bar and offered him her hand, and he'd pulled her close before they started to sway. He's not sure how they lasted through the entirety of a song before he kissed her again, but it wasn't long before he found himself in an armchair with her straddling his lap as they kissed.
They stayed in that armchair for the majority of the night, cuddled up together as they shared drinks and talked, and no matter which way their conversation went, it always somehow led to another kiss.
She'd asked him to stay with her and it killed him to say no; but, of course, he'd wanted to be there when Roland woke up in the morning, and of course, she understood.
"She asked me to come to their party tonight," he murmurs, his eyes shifting to the clock. "But I told her I wouldn't be able to make it."
"When did she invite you?"
"As I was leaving the party last week."
"Have you talked to her since then?"
He sighs. "No. I told her this week is always nuts for us and—"
"You really are that dense. My god."
"What? We are busy and it's Christmas Eve. I can't leave—"
"Roland? He's sleeping."
"I know, but—"
John sighs and his eyes press closed. "You spent a night making out with a woman that you clearly like and then don't talk to her for a week because you're busy with work."
"Well, it's not like—"
"Do you want to see her?"
"Yes, but—"
"Then go. I can hold the fort down here."
"What if Roland wakes up?"
"Any other night, I'd entertain that possibility, but there's no way that kid is getting up until Christmas morning."
Robin hesitates, looking John dead in the eye. "I'm having an affair with a married woman."
"Yeah. It sounds like you are." Robin sighs and takes another sip of the ale. "But everyone knows the Blanchards' marriage is a sham." Robin looks up from over the rim of his bottle. "I mean, look at her then look at him. Nothing adds up there."
"It was arranged."
"Well, there you go. Mystery solved."
"I… might be falling in love with her."
"Then go see her."
"You… don't even like her. Why are you encouraging this?"
"Because you like her," John says easily, grinning as he reaches for his own drink and takes a short sip of it. "And if you like her, she can't be that bad."
It hadn't taken much convincing, after that.
He arrives at the Blanchard house less than an hour later and lets himself in through the back, just as he did before. He sneaks upstairs and smiles when he sees a light coming from beneath the door. Slowly, he opens it, and for a moment, he just stands there, watching as Regina stands by the window, staring out at the night sky.
It's snowing lightly and she looks lost in thought. Her wavy hair is pulled back with a diamond-studded pin and she wears a shimmery silver dress—she is absolutely breathtaking.
He almost hates to interrupt the moment.
Almost.
"I bet you thought I wouldn't come."
Regina whirls around, her eyes wide and her smile is immediate. "Robin, what are you—"
"I wanted to see you," he says simply, shrugging his shoulders. "And it took me far too long to realize that I could."
"But it's Christmas Eve. What about Roland—"
"He's sleeping, and John's with him." A smile curls onto his lips. "Besides that, I have a gift for you."
"Do you?" He nods as she crosses the room to where he stands and presses a quick kiss to his lips. "Can I make you a drink? Or—"
"I'd like that."
He follows her as she goes to the bar, watching as she mixes a drink. He tells her about Roland's new-found love of s'mores as she tells him about her phone call that morning with Henry. They talk about the snow and their mutual dislike of New Year's resolutions, and they talk about Christmases past—good experiences and bad. They talk well past the point of finishing their drinks, and when Regina notices it and makes them each a second, they take it to the armchair by the fire.
She nestles into the crook of his arm, and there's something about that that's both exhilarating and familiar.
For more than a month now, he's enjoyed her company—simply enjoying being in her presence. He's not sure when that enjoyment began to shift from wanting to be her friend to wanting to be more than that, but he's not sure that's what matters.
It's been a long time since he had this and he hadn't realized just how much he'd missed it. For years now, he's struggled to keep his head above water. Since the war, everything has been a struggle. Marian had been his life preserver, offering security, keeping him afloat, and reminding him that everything would be okay. And then, she'd been yanked away. Had it not been for Roland, he's not sure what would've happened to him; he's not sure that he would have even wanted to survive.
He'd stopped thinking of himself after Marian's death—truthfully, he couldn't—and he'd thrown himself into being a full-time, sole parent. He didn't think about his grief or his loneliness. He didn't think of his own need for comfort, and he swore himself to a code—a code he's lived by ever since.
He wanted to set an example for his son by living a life that was both righteous and true—but, of course, his own definitions of those concepts were slightly askew. It didn't bother him that what he did for work was illegal because it allowed him to provide a comfortable home for them and it put food on the table. It didn't matter that Roland saw him tell a million little lies about their lives everyday because he told the truth about the things that mattered. And it didn't matter to him that Regina Blanchard was someone who he should consider off-limits.
He'd mulled her marital status over and over again, knowing that he should be bothered by it; but no matter how many times he considered it, he just couldn't find anything wrong in what they were doing. It wasn't like Leopold Blanchard loved his wife—truthfully, he wasn't even sure that Leopold Blanchard cared at all for her—and like him, Regina was merely trying to stay afloat.
And there was something poetic in the thought that they could help one another to get by.
He holds her a little closer, strumming his fingers slowly up and down her, smiling as she tells him about one of the gifts she got for Henry—the erector set that Mal's promised to clear a space for in her living room—and though she wishes she could see his face when he opens it, hearing about it on Christmas afternoon will be the next best thing. He presses a kiss to the top of her head, and she grins up at him before resting her head back down on his chest. It seems so strange to think that just a couple of months before she hadn't even seemed real to him, that she was more illusion than human—and now, her humanity was all he could see.
He can't remember the last time he felt so content and at ease with another person—and while he hates that tonight will be the last time for a long while before he feels it again, he knows it'll all be worth it in the end.