Author's Note: Technically, the story is over. If ended with Regina leaving for London, and Robin loving her enough to let her go. However, I have a handful of prompts and requests to continue. So, I'm going to add oneshots here and there to give a glimpse of what happens next in their story. They may go out of order, so I've added a date to give you an idea of the time frame / when things are happening. They'll mostly consist of either letters between Robin and Regina, or reactions to letters. At least that's my thought as of right now. Thanks for reading :)

New Years Eve, 1927

For the most part, Robin's always seen himself as a realist.

He didn't keep people on pedestals, he never anticipated an unlikely happy ending, or relied on luck. When times were tough, he knew that no one was going to swoop in and save him; he'd have to figure it out on his own, find a path that worked for him, and find practical solutions to solve his problems. He didn't always go about things in the ways others expected, he was never one to follow the crowd. He was an independent thinker, he was self-sufficient, a leader instead of a follower whose life was guided by a strict code of conduct.

And from that code, he rarely strayed.

When Regina Blanchard came into his life, he'd proceeded with caution despite his attraction; and when she proved his preconceived notions about her wrong, he'd accepted that, understanding his own shortcomings and that he didn't have all of the answers. Still, he hadn't meant to fall in love with her—and yet, despite knowing all of the reasons that he shouldn't, he let it happen.

Because for all of his practicality and realism, at heart, he was a romantic.

And for the last several weeks, he's been something of a dreamer.

He hadn't felt any hesitation when he bought her a one-way steerage pass to London, though—and when he wrote the note he attached to it and suggested the possibility that she might come back, he knew that she wouldn't take it. He'd simply said it in case her circumstances changed and because it seemed like the right thing to say. But he couldn't imagine her making a willful return, he couldn't imagine her choosing to leave her son and returning to a life that made her miserable—and he wasn't deluded enough to think that whatever was happening between them outweighed her need to be a mother to her own son. She didn't need romance to make her happy; she needed her child.

So, he stood at the window of his apartment, Regina's letter in hand, watching the distant pier. He watched the boats come in and he watched the birds dip down toward the dock. He watched as the sky turned orange and the sun began to set, marking the end of yet another day delaying the inevitable—and for just a little longer, allowing himself to dream of a happier end for them...

He takes a breath and looks down at the still-sealed envelope, focusing now on his name in her beautiful, careful penmanship—then he forces his finger beneath the flap, tearing it open and pulling out the creased paper.

Again, he hesitates.

Thinking of the last time he stood at this very window, consumed by thoughts of her.

It'd been Christmas morning. Roland had already opened up his presents and was happily playing with a new set of little green army men while John napped by the fire. Then, he was keenly aware of the time—she'd be going to the pier, she'd be at the pier presenting her ticket, she'd be boarding the ship, she'd be setting sail—and all the while, he wondered if he should go for a final goodbye.

He pictured himself running toward her as she walked down the dock. He pictured himself pulling her out of the line and pulling her up against him as her breath caught with surprise, and he pictured himself kissing her without care of who might see them. He pictured her flushed as they pulled away—her deep brown eyes wide and a bit teary—as she took a step back from him, offering a little wave and a grin as she returned to the line. He pictured himself watching as she boarded the ship, waving one last farewell before the ship set sail and slowly disappeared into the horizon.

But he hadn't gone.

Because the truth was someone might see them and that could spell a world of trouble for her—and that was the exact opposite intent of his gift to her. He wanted to make her situation better, not worse; and he rationalized that he loved her enough to let her go, that that sweet kiss as he left her asleep in her bed was a perfectly acceptable end to something wonderful. She was starting a new chapter; he didn't need to muddy that. And he most certainly didn't want her to think that there were strings attached to his gift, that was anything other than free.

Robin,

For days now, I've been trying to write this letter, but I'm finding it more difficult than I anticipated. I think you know what my decision will be—how could it be any other?

I didn't tell Henry or even Mal that I was coming. I thought it'd be a nice surprise, and really, it had to be. There wasn't enough time to make a phone call or post a telegram—and truthfully, I was too afraid that the wrong person would over hear it and your thoughtful gift would be spoiled.

I was over the moon to see Henry. He's so much taller than I remember, but still has that babyface that used to stare at me across the table and beg for an extra dessert. I feel like I arrived just in time.

And now that I'm here, now that I have him so close by, I can't imagine going back to the arrangement we had. I can't imagine only having the occasional phone call and a letter here and there, or guessing what he might like in a care package based off the likes of other boys around his age or a rushed comment from a too-short phone call. Here, I can be his mother again.

I thought it only fair to tell you now rather than waiting. I wish I could have thanked you for this selfless gift in person, but again, time didn't allow it. I'll never forget your generosity—though, I admit, I am hanging onto hope that one day I'll be able to properly thank you. And should that never happen, please know the tremendous mark you've left on my heart.

All my love,

Regina

His thoughts are interrupted by the door opening—and then before he can tuck it into his pocket, Roland comes barreling at him.

"Papa! Papa, look! We got sparklers!"

"A little something to ring in the new year."

"I… think you two have got the wrong holiday." A grin twists onto his lips as he reaches for Roland and lifts him up by the arms. "But who could resist ninety seconds of fiery fun?" John replies with a snort as he sets Roland down—and something tells him the purchase of the sparklers was his son's idea and a battle John lost. "Go and wash up for dinner, alright?"

Roland scurries off and John's brow cocks. "Ninety seconds of fiery fun—that's, uh… that's quite a line."

"What those things only last about—"

"I'm just picturing you wooing the ladies with that zinger." John can't help but laugh to himself, but as Robin groans and stiffens, he stops. "Too soon?" Robin shoots him a look and John sobers—he's well aware of how difficult this week has been. "Sorry."

Robin sighs, lifting the letter and looking at it. "I'm just… not in a great mood."

John's eyes fall to the letter. "She wrote—"

"Yeah."

"And?"

"She's not coming back."

"But you knew that was possible, likely even."

Robin nods. "It just feels… final all of the sudden."

Sighing, John shifts awkwardly, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Sometimes relationships—"

"Aren't meant to last."

John frowns, but doesn't say anything, again, awkwardly shifting his weight from foot to foot. "I wasn't going to say that but—"

Robin shrugs. It's true though—and though their slow-burn romance had come to an abrupt end, it had ended on his terms. He shouldn't be feeling this way.

And yet, here he was.

Practically pouting.

"I miss her," he murmurs quietly. "I think I'm just going to need some time to…" His voice halts and his head drops. He was about to say mourn. He was going to say that he needed time to mourn the loss of her—but that isn't quite the word he wanted and his brother-in-law isn't the audience to hear it, and he has to remind himself that losing Regina as he did wasn't at all the same as losing Marian. "Never mind."

With a sigh he goes to the couch, sitting down and letting his head fall against the back of it, feeling frustrated with himself, with his thoughts, with his inability to accept something he set into motion.

"Do you regret it?"

"What?"

"Starting things up with her?"

He looks up, thinking of how cautious he'd been at the start of it. "No."

"Do you regret sending her off to London?"

"Not at all," he says without hesitation. "She belongs there."

"Well, at least you don't have regrets to live with," John says, smirking as he plops down beside him. "I mean, there was that idiot move about not going to see her off, but—"

"I don't think that would've helped."

"Maybe not, but it would've been romantic."

Robin nods. "Yeah. It would have been."

Taking a breath, John points to the letter. "Is it… too personal, or… can I…"

Robin offers him Regina's letter, watching as his eyes skim it. There's nothing scandalous in the letter. She was careful with her wording. If the letter were intercepted, the reader would never know they'd been lovers. There was no reference to their night together, no mention of their affair. Still, there was a warmth to it—and undertones that he could read as something more than gratitude for friendship.

Finally, John looks back at him. "This isn't like Marian—"

"I never said it was."

"I know. You've done a lot of not saying when it comes to Regina."

Robin's eyes fall. For as slow as things started, he felt like he'd fallen so fast and before he could even process those feelings, he was sending her away in a grand gesture. It was all a whirlwind and now, his head was spinning. "I know—"

"All I mean is that this isn't permanent."

"She's not coming back," he says, looking up again. "She's—"

"Alive and well, an ocean away."

"Exactly."

"Write her back." His brow cocks. "You said that you asked her to write and she did. You're not just going to leave her hanging, are you?"

Robin looks up. He did ask her to write to him, and at the time he made that request, that idea seemed so romantic. "And what would I say?"

"All the shit you're not telling me." His brow arches and he grins coyly. "I'm sure if you think about it long enough you'll come up with something."

Robin nods. "I just don't want her to feel guilty about—"

"Then don't make her feel that way."

"You make that sounds so easy."

John nods and hands him back the letter before rising to his feet. "She managed. You can, too." Robin's eyes fall to the letter. "Think about it." There's a long pause as Robin considers what he might say and how he might respond, and for a moment, he loses himself in thought. "I, um... I'm going to go doctor up the parsnip soup you made so that your kid will actually eat it."

Smirking, Robin looks up. "It's a bisque—"

"Your five year old doesn't care."

Robin chuckles and shakes his head. "Well, according to the latest copy of Ladies Home Journal—"

"Another thing your five year old doesn't care about—and on this one, neither do I."

"Just don't load it up with Velveeta."

John feigns offense. "Robin, it's a bisque. This calls for fancy cheese, like Parmesan."

He rolls his eyes as John disappears into the little kitchen across from the living room. With a sigh, he sits back down on the couch and looks to her letter—and this time as he skims her words, he feels something different and a little smile tugs up from the corner of his mouth. As much as he misses her, he's glad that she's happy—and selfishly, he's glad that he was able to give that to her.

Standing up, he takes her letter and goes to the desk by the window, pulling a sheet of paper and a pen from the drawer.

Regina,

I am so glad to hear that you arrived safely and are enjoying time with your boy—it's much deserved…

He smiles as he considers what to write next—and his chest flutters as he thinks of the Cadbury Cocoa he saw that morning at the market. He picked up the canister and looked at its yellow label as memories of her flooded him. She was everywhere, it seemed. And though in the moment, it made him sad, now that he had the opportunity to tell her about it, he felt quite differently.

So, he continues to write.

Since you left, I've thought of you constantly…