Mal twirls her cigarette, her brow arching up as she stares at Regina. "You're being difficult."

Regina's eyes roll. They've been through this time and time again, and for whatever reason, Mal just wouldn't let it go. A week ago, it'd started—Mal had come home bright-eyed and buzzing—and since then, she hadn't let up on the idea of "fixing Regina up."

She'd tried to spin it in a hundred different ways. At first, she'd tried to convince her that she was only looking out for her, that she was looking for a balm for her loneliness. She'd pointed out time and time again that dating didn't have to lead to anything else—dinner and some laughs, a movie at the cinema here and there, nothing major. She described it almost as if it were a way of cultivating friends—albeit only male friends, at first. But then, she realized that all of the dates Mal proposed to her had a commonality, a trait that linked them all together—each and every man was not only married but married to one of her many girlfriends.

And that detail made it harder to believe Regina's loneliness was the guiding force behind Mal's motives.

"And what about Robin?"

Mal shrugs. "What about him?"

"Well, we're… I mean…he's sort of my..." Regina's voice trails off and she sighs, not sure if she's annoyed more with Mal or with herself.

It was hard to explain what exactly she and Robin were to one another. They traded letters, and in those letters their relationship was both distant and intimate. And in a way, that worked for her—after all, she was married, he lived on a different continent, and they both had children who were rightfully at the forefront of their lives. In some ways, their relationship—or whatever it was—was an afterthought for them both, a hobby they fit in when they had the time and desire. But then in other ways, whatever was between them felt so authentic, so real. She was able to open to him in ways she'd never been able to open up to others, able to confide things she'd never dream to say aloud. He cared more about the uninteresting details of her life more than the tantalizing details everyone seemed to know, and he was one of the few people who'd ever seen her for who she really was. And had she stayed, she can only imagine how messy things would've gotten—how messy she'd have gladly have let things get.

"Regina," Mal says, looking her straight in the eye. "You're in love with him, I know that, and I'm not saying you should do anything to put that in jeopardy."

"Oh, you mean like dating another man?"

"Dating and going on a date are completely different things." Regina only blinks, unconvinced. "It's been a year, Regina."

"It's been ten months."

Mal blinks. "That's still a long ass time, Regina."

"You don't think I know that?"

"Letters full of sweet nothings can't keep you warm at night."

Her jaw tightens. "Those letters mean the world to me."

"I know that, and again, I'm not telling you to stop writing to him. In fact, you'd be an absolute idiot to throw him away. Who knows? One day, maybe the two of you will end up in the same place at the same time, maybe one day you'll be ready for more than a pen-pal." She sighs, letting her features soften. "Regina, you told him you didn't want to hold him back, that if he met someone he liked and wanted to—"

"That's different."

"Why?" Mal counters, her shoulders squaring. "Because he's a man?"

"No," she scoffs. "We… have rules and..."

"And those rules only apply to him?"

Again, Regina bristles. "No."

"Look, you've been holding him at an arm's length—which, is fair enough given the ocean that's between you. But how do you know that he's not doing exactly what you're doing, driving himself crazy and denying himself any sort of physical—"

"How do I know that he hasn't been denying himself?"

"Ask him."

"Oh, sure," Regina nods. "I'll just add a cute little note at the end of my next letter and ask if he's fucked anyone recently."

Mal's brow arches. "Well, there's one idea."

Regina's lip purse. She'd be lying if she said the mere idea of Robin with someone else didn't hurt her, and truly, if he had been with other women over the course of the last year, she didn't want to know. While the condition had been her idea, it was never one that sat well with her; however, it was better than tying him down in a relationship he could expect little out of, and if she wanted to keep him, she had to do something.

"Look, Regina, I'm not saying you have to sleep with the guy—though, I think you could use a good lay—I'm just saying you could get out. See someone who isn't me or Henry, have a fancy meal that you don't cook, enjoy a show and some drinks, have a few laughs. That's all. It can be perfectly innocent if that's what you're looking for."

"Innocent, sure."

"Regina—"

"That's what every married man wants from a date who isn't his wife."

"Who said anything about being married?"

"You."

Mal's brow furrows. "When?"

"When didn't you? Every man you've tried to set me up with has been the husband of one of your girlfriends."

"Oh. Right." Mal sits back, taking a few puffs from her nearly forgotten cigarette and they both watch the smoke puff out in front of her. "Well, it's not my fault I don't know any unmarried men." Her shoulders straighten as she once more twirls the cigarette. "I made it a point not to fraternize with them."

Regina's eyes roll. "Which again takes us back to my original point—"

"Sex. Right." For a moment, she thinks Mal might concede that she might just see the myriad of flaws in her plan, but then a grin slowly curls onto Mal's lips. "What if you wanted to sleep with him?"

"Oh my god—"

"Regina, it's been a year. This isn't healthy."

"Plenty of people go far longer without—"

"Are you truly saying that you wouldn't even consider the possibility of sleeping with an attractive and willing man simply because you're in love with someone else, even though you gave that someone else permission to sleep with whomever he wanted?"

Regina's shoulders straighten and her chin tips up with indignation, hating that she can feel jealousy toward a faceless woman that may not even exist bubbling beneath the surface.

"That… wasn't a no."

"It wasn't anything. I didn't respond."

"Sometimes no response is enough."

"You're insufferable, do you know that?"

Mal grins. "It's one of my best qualities."

"That wasn't a compliment."

"The way I choose to take things is completely up to me, Regina." Again, she takes a puff of the cigarette before putting it out in the little ashtray beside her. "Look, life is made up of blurred lines and gray spaces. Nothing is ever absolute and it's foolish to pretend that it is." Leaning forward, he reaches out, placing her hand over Regina's knee. "You're living in limbo, Regina, and you're not doing anyone any favors by doing that."

"And dating will solve all my problems?"

"Of course not."

"Then—"

"It'll just give you something to do. You go out, you see things. You enjoy good food and wine and music, see a show or two. You meet people. You might not like your date, but who knows? Maybe he has friends you'd like."

"So, you're suggesting I use these men."

"I'm suggesting your world doesn't have to be so limited."

"It's not limited. I have a job—"

"That you hate."

"Irrelevant—it's something to do."

Mal's eyes roll. "But you don't enjoy it."

"I enjoy seeing Henry."

"On weekends—"

She frowns. "And school breaks."

"So, you have a job you hate. A child you see sporadically and a very strange, symbiotic relationship with the post delivery man."

"I have you."

"I know, dear, and I love having you here. But I'm a flake—"

"Mal—"

"No, I'm serious. How many times have I cancelled on you?"

Regina's arms fold. That last bit is untrue—Mal has been a better friend than she deserves. She always has been. And if she were being honest with herself, aside from a job and Henry and waiting for the mail, she had little to look forward to in her days. Though she'd be miserable in her marriage, her position had afforded her a busy life that gave her purpose. She hadn't seen it then, but looking back, there was a part of her that missed parts of the life she'd given up.

Not enough to go back, of course. But just enough to make her feel wistful when she was down…

"It wouldn't be fair."

"To who?"

"To anyone."

"Not even you?"

"But this isn't just about me."

"Why not?"

"Mal, there are other people involved in this scheme of yours."

Mal frowns. "For a married woman willingingly having a love affair, you're awfully sanctimonious."

At that, Regina laughs.

"Take Robin out of the equation—"

"I can't—"

"Just for a second. Pretend." Regina's eyes roll, but she nods. "If you left Leo and came here and there was no Robin, would you be so hell bent against this?"

"But he is part of the equation."

"Pretend—"

Bristling, she looks away. "Yes."

"Liar."

Regina looks back at Mal with wide eyes. "Excuse me?"

"You used to do this sort of thing all the time. Ever since you married that tired old man."

Biting down on her lip, Regina looks away. Mal isn't wrong. She's never been faithful to Leopold Blanchard, and outside of two extramarital affairs that were more to her than affairs, she'd lost track of her indiscretions.

"It wouldn't be fair to those poor men you'd set me up with."

Mal's eyes narrow. "So, your worst case scenario is you disappoint someone who's used to being disappointed?"

"You are a terrible human."

Mal grins. "Is that a yes, then?"

"If I agree, just once, will you shut up about it?"

"Of course."

Rolling her eyes, Regina draws in a breath. This wasn't going to work. "Fine. Do it. Set me up."

"Really? You mean it? You're not going to back out at the last minute?"

Taking another breath, Regina fakes a smile. "Like you said, it's just a nice dinner, maybe a show, and some laughs, right?"

"Exactly." A grin twists on Mal's lips as she bounces up, her excitement nearly palpable. "And I know just the man for you."

"Do you now?"

"Mm, I do. He's perfect in case you change your mind about the sex. Everyone wants him."

"Except his wife, I assume?"

"His wife doesn't know what she wants," Mal sighs, shaking her head as a little laugh escapes her. "She's not really my type, a bit of a bore, actually. But after you get a few drinks in her, she really comes alive."

Regina smirks. "So who is he? Anyone I've heard of?"

"Killian Jones."

Killian Jones isn't unattractive.

In fact, he's incredibly attractive. His dark features are offset by piercing blue eyes, and his smile is that sly mischievous sort that makes women go weak in the knees.

For a while, she finds him absolutely beguiling. She finds herself smiling and laughing, completely taken in by his charm… or perhaps it was just the champagne. Regardless, it was nice to be in the company of someone else, nice to be out, nice to be enjoying herself.

As they're seated at their table, vaguely perusing the menu, they make small talk—she tells him about Henry and his schooling, he tells her about his own daughter (a little girl named Hope whose name she tries in vain not to cringe at), and then their conversations shifts to the war years as it always seems to with anyone of their generation.

She tells him about Daniel. He tells her about Milah—a Irish nurse whom he'd planned to marry. Unlike Daniel, Milah survived the war, but only months later succumbed to the first and most devastating wave of the Spanish Flu.

That's the first time it happens.

As Killian speaks, she can't help but think of Robin—the pain in his voice as he spoke of Marian's death, the way that pain resonated in his eyes as he recalled the details of that terrible day, and her way her own heart ached for him. By the time she returns to the present moment, Killian's moved on to his courtship of Emma. She blinks a few times, trying to focus as he chuckles about their age difference and how he'd found her absolutely enchanting.

The cynic in her creeps up then, her head tipping to the side as her eyes narrow. "Interesting," she murmurs in an unconvincing voice.

"How so?"

"Well, you're here… with me," she says, not worried about offending him. "And if Mal's to be trusted, this isn't the first time you've stepped out of your marriage for an evening."

Killian's eyes fall away from hers as he nods. "My marriage is a complicated thing."

At that, she scoffs. "Well, I know a thing or two about that."

"Of course."

Her brow arches and she reaches for her glass of wine, taking a long sip.

Killian doesn't ask for details.

Robin would've asked. He'd have noticed the tone of her voice and the way her shoulders tensed, and though it might not have been the courteous thing to do, he'd have asked if she wanted to talk about it. In fact, on numerous occasions, he'd done just that.

She musters a smile as her chest tightens. She misses him. She misses being in his company and the ease that had settled between them. She misses the way that he cared for her, the way that he put her first in the moments when they were together, the way he took away her guilt.

The waiter arrives at their table and before she can find the item she'd selected for herself, Killian orders for her and she stifles the urge to roll her eyes.

As the waiter leaves, Killian resumes their conversation—if he can really be called that when he's done most of the talking—returning to his courtship of Emma. She doesn't hear it, though. Instead, her thoughts once more shift to Robin, a soft smile edges onto her lips as she thinks of Robin and their little coffee dates.

She remembers the way they just happened to meet on mornings when they'd just happened to be free, and how they'd settle in a booth, sipping on coffee and munching on pastries, talking about whatever popped into their heads. She learned so much about him on those little dates—if they could even be called dates. She learned about his childhood and his family, his interest in archery, and his love of the outdoors. He asked about her, too, listening with genuine curiosity as she talked about her equestrian training as a girl and her dislike of ballroom dancing. He asked her thousands of questions—asking about her favorite foods and flowers, what she liked to read, her thoughts on politics—and in turn, she asked the same ones of him until the seemingly insurmountable differences between them seemed few and far between.

It's not until their food arrives that she realizes she hasn't said a single word since the awkward comment about understanding what it was like to have a complicated marriage, and Killian either doesn't notice or doesn't care. In truth, she's not sure it bothers her, either—there are only so many ways one can say Oh, how interesting before it loses its meaning.

Killian grins as he reaches for the bottle of champagne at the end of their table, first filling his own glass and then filling hers.

"Good, isn't it?"

"Mm, very."

"It's expensive."

She nods. "Of course it is. I wouldn't expect a place like this to have cheap champagne."

Killian laughs, a boyish grin spreading over his lips and reaching his blue eyes—and again, she can't deny that when he smiles like that he does have a sort of rakish charm that makes her stomach flutter.

But it ends there.

"You know," she begins. "In the states, champagne like this was hard to come by."

"Ah, right. Prohibition."

"Yes."

"Such a stupid law."

She nods. "I suppose it had its purpose—"

"Not that I can see."

Again, she nods, momentarily thinking of launching into the political reasoning behind the well-intentioned yet unenforceable law. But she doesn't. He wouldn't care and, truthfully, neither does she.

"A… good friend of mine was a bootlegger."

"A bootlegger—"

"He smuggled liquor from Canada."

"Seems dangerous," KIllian murmurs, his eyes shifting to the plate before him.

"I'm sure it was, but he had a—"

"You know this salmon is world famous."

Her brow arches. "Is that so?"

"I read about it in the papers—"

"Mm, seems like a wonderful ploy for publicity on the chef's part." She laughs softly to herself. "Some could just as easily say my cocoa is world famous."

Killian grins at her, but says nothing, instead reaching for his knife and fork to cut himself a piece of the fish. "I've only had better when out at sea where the fish was truly fresh."

"In the Navy, you said?"

Killian practically moans as he chews the salmon. "You have to try it, Regina."

"Considering it's what you ordered for me, I don't think I have much of a choice."

Focusing on her own plate, she looks at the salmon. She can't deny that it looks and smells incredible, but as she cuts another piece, Killian again moans and a little laugh bubbles out of her as she again thinks of Robin and their less-than-random random breakfasts and the day she confessed she'd never had eggs over easy.

He'd been floored, insisting on ordering them and when their plates of eggs and toast arrived, she felt her stomach churn as she watched the liquidy eggs giggle. But the jiggle is the best part, he'd said to her just before ramming a piece of toast into the center of the runny center, hoisting it up for her to see. Her nose scrunched as she watched the yolk drip down the edge of the toast and then, holding her breath, she reached for her own slice of toast, daintily dabbing the edge into the egg. He'd laughed at her as she chewed, watching as she assessed the eggs-toast combo, and he'd grinned in triumph as she admitted that it "wasn't that bad" before proceeding to finish the contents of her plate.

The rest of the evening isn't unenjoyable, despite the lack of interesting conversation.

They finish dinner and head to the cinema. They see the aptly named show A Woman of Affairs starring Greta Garbo, and though she scoffed at the title, the film ends up being one of the best she's seen that year.

As they exited the crowded theatre, Killian slid his arm through hers, once more offering that charming smile that was supposed to make her putty in his hands.

"You know," he murmurs in a low voice. "I've an apartment not too far from here. Just a ten minute taxi ride."

"How nice for you."

Stepping in a little closer, he brushes his lips over her jaw. "I'll show you just how nice it can be."

It takes everything in her not to recoil. "I…don't think so," she says, taking a half step back and pulling her arm free. "But I do want to thank you. The salmon and champagne were fantastic and the show was sensational." A smile pulls onto her lips and she feels herself brighten. "Really, I can't thank you enough. Tonight was exactly what I needed."

Regina says no more, leaving Killian standing at the theatre's entrance as she slips into a waiting taxi.

It's not long before she arrives at Mal's flat and she's surprised to find the lights on.

"How was the date?" Mal asks almost as soon as the door closes behind her. "I imagine it was a disappointment, given that you're home and it's barely eleven."

"It was… interesting," Regina says, grinning back over her shoulder at Mal as she kicks off her shoes. "The salmon was good—"

"The salmon—"

"Yes."

"And the husband?"

Regina laughs as she slips into the chair opposite Mal. "Charming, for the most part—nice smile, decent storyteller, made excellent food and drink choices for the both of us."

"And yet, you're here with me and not with him."

Her brow arches. "And yet you're here with me and not his wife."

Mal's face sours. "I told you she was dull."

Regina laughs. "I'm sorry."

"So am I," Mal says with a sigh. "More than you'll ever know."

For a moment, Regina says nothing, memories of Robin and their time together still swirling through her thoughts. "You know, I… I came to a realization tonight."

"Did you?"

"I don't want Robin dating other people. I don't care if it's not fair."

Biting down on her lip, Mal looks down, shaking her head as a little laugh escapes her. "So, do you still think Robin's interested in dating other people?"

"What?"

"Regina, come on."

"I don't see what—"

"Must you always be so damn difficult?"

Innocently, she blinks, completely lost. "Mal, I—"

"Regina, you just went on a date with one of the most sought after men in London and you're home at eleven o'clock. Robin Locksley is just as nuts about you as you are about him. There's no way he wants that silly little out you gave him. He only wants you, however he can have you."

Regina feels her cheeks warm as she draws in a breath, nodding as she releases it and looks back at Mal. "I'm glad you think so because… I came to the realization that I don't give a damn about how difficult this relationship may or may not be due to the distance. I don't want him dating anyone else or sleeping with anyone else or..."

Mal's eyes roll and Regina's voice fades. "Well, look at that. You've finally arrived."

Biting down on her lip, Regina's eyes narrow. "So, this was… a set-up?"

"In more ways than one."

"And what if I would've slept with him?"

"Then you'd have gotten laid and solved a different problem."

"I swear—"

"Look, it's not like you listen to reason. I had to do something that made you see what an absolute idiot you've been over this." Mal sighs. "That's always been your problem, you know that? You're never content to just see where things go and let them evolve as they should."

At that, Regina scoffs, though, she can't bring herself to even try to deny it. "So, how do I fix this? How do I take back what I said before?"

A grin curls up from the corners of Mal's lips. "Oh, I'm so glad you asked."

Before Regina can respond, Mal jumps up, grabbing her hand and dragging her up the stairs to her bedroom. She pushes her back to the bed as she flicks on the light, disappearing inside of her closet and returning with two skimpy little pieces of lingerie.

"Pick one."

"What?"

"You might not be able to keep him warm at night, but you can certainly still keep him satisfied." She grins as a little chuckle escapes Regina. "Now, pick one of these, I'll go get my camera."

October 18, 1928

Robin—

I hope this letter finds you well. I apologize for the curtness, but I have to go pick up Henry for the mid-fall holiday break by noon, so I haven't much time.

But the reason for this letter is twofold.

First, I don't want us to leave our options open and I don't care if that's selfish. I want to be exclusive, despite the ocean and complicated circumstances that sit between us.

Second, I've enclosed a few pictures for you to enjoy at your leisure, a small consolation prize, of sorts… assuming, of course, that you'll accept my new terms.

Love always,

Regina

Biting down on her lip, she reads over her words then looks at the small stack of photographs that Mal took and later had developed by a friend. She chooses her favorites and wraps a sheet paper around the, securing it with a piece of tape. Open when you're alone she scrawls across it before wrapping her letter around it and tucking it into the envelope.

Drawing in a breath she seals the envelope and presses on the postage, her stomach fluttering with nervous anticipation, hoping she hadn't ruined the good thing blossoming between them—and though anything was possible, she felt confident that she hadn't.