"Married yet?"

Robin blinks—he's barely through the front door.

John grins slyly as he drops down the morning paper. "I assume you're a married man now."

Robin steps inside, his brow furrowing. "What, uh… what gave you that impression?"

John's brow arches smugly. "Only that you've been obsessing about this woman for—"

"I didn't obsess."

"You spent the entirety of your days for years collecting tidbits of anecdotal information about your day to fill in letters and chasing down the mailman. You're obsessed."

Robin frowns and tosses down his keys. "I don't see how that's relevant."

"Well, she's back now."

"She is," Robin says, a slow grin pulling onto his lips. "She is back now."

"And she's staying?"

"It appears so," he replies, his smile brightening. "But, uh… we're going to take things slow for a bit."

John's eyes widen. He looks frustrated. "Slower than the snail's pace you've been on?"

"Nah, upgrading to turtle speed."

"Jesus," he mutters, tossing down the paper. "What the hell? I thought…"

"Look," Robin interjects, falling back into the arm chair across from John and propping his feet up onto the coffee table. "She's worried about her kid. All of this is… it's a lot for him and—"

"Kids adjust."

"He just lost his father."

"Leopold Blanchard wasn't his father."

"He doesn't know that."

"Maybe now's a good time to tell him," John muses. "Poor kid'll probably throw a party not to be blood-related to that blustery bag of hot air."

Robin's eyes narrow. "I… think that's the strongest opinion of Leopold Blanchard I've ever heard you elicit."

"Yeah, well… Tink might've spent half the night talking my ear off about how he treated that kid. And… well… the kid really bit a bullet… er, well… for lack of a better term."

Robin's jaw tenses. "What do you mean?"

"Just…" John's voice trails off. "I'm sure it's already stuff you know."

Robin nods—but he doesn't know, or at least, he doesn't think he does. He's never pried for the details of Regina's marriage and he willingly accepted the piecemeal bits of information that Regina offered about Leopold's lack of interest in Henry. But he'd always assumed that if there was something Regina wanted or needed him to know, she'd tell him; and he'd always just assumed it was too difficult to discuss. There was a lot of regret surrounding Henry and the choices she'd made about his upbringing, and there was no changing what was already done.

"I, uh… I thought Tink didn't like Regina."

"She doesn't," John replies easily. "But she never had anything against the kid."

"Ahh…"

"So… I take it Regina won't be joining us for Thanksgiving?"

"She has plans with the Pendragons."

"Of course."

"I invited her—"

"I can't imagine our type of celebration is really her thing."

A grin tugs up at the corner of Robin's mouth. "You'd be surprised."

John's brow arches and a gruff little laugh escapes him. "Something to look forward to for Christmas, then."

"Maybe."

For a moment, silence falls between them and John resumes his reading of the newspaper, scoffing and making under-the-breath and expletive-laced comments about President Hoover's request that wealthy Americans show grace to those affected by the crash.

Robin's eyes narrow and he rubs his palms over his knees, butterflies suddenly fluttering in his stomach. "I, uh… think I might be engaged soon, though." Robin smiles—it's the first time he's said that aloud.

"Yeah. Roland showed me the ring that's been in your sock drawer since August."

Robin's eyes sink closed and he sighs. Of course he did.

"Doesn't that sort of… negate the point of upgrading to a turtle-like speed?"

"Engagement and marriage are very different things."

John shrugs. "I suppose." Robin's eyes roll and he crosses his arms, falling back against the chair. "But, hey. Congratulations on the upgrade to Banana Slug Status." Robin's brow furrows and John laughs out, his eyes and face softening. "Yesterday evening I took Roland to the library and he spent the better part of an hour practicing reading a copy of National Geographic to me."

"And something called a Banana Slug was covered in it?"

"Sure was," John says, sighing as he rubs at his brow. "It's the fifth slowest creature on Earth. It's also the cousin to the Garden Snail and native to the Pacific Northwest."

Robin blinks. "Does this mean Roland is now going to obsess about taking a trip to Northern California?"

"Absolutely. He's already started."

"Great."

"Yeah. Made bedtime really fun last night," John says, his eyes rolling. "But, hey… maybe that can be a honeymoon destination? I'm not sure about Regina, but I think you'd really like seeing the Redwoods."

"Yeah, digging up bugs in the woods sounds like the perfect romantic getaway."

Laughing softly to himself, John shrugs and reaches once more for the newspaper. "But seriously, man—congrats."

Robin nods, taking a breath as he rises up from the chair. "Well, hold off on congratulating me until she actually says 'yes,' alright? I don't want to jinx anything."

"Do you actually think she's going to say no?"

Pulling himself up, Robin leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. "I don't think so, I just… I know that nothing about the trajectory of our relationship has made any sense to me, I haven't expected a single turn it's taken."

John's eyes roll. "So what you're telling me is you think it might be too soon for Banana Slug Status. You think she's content at Turtle."

"Is there something in between?"

"Sorry, man."

Robin sighs and stretches out his arms. "I, uh… I think I'm going to go take a hot shower."

John chuckles wryly as he flips the page of the paper. "What an upgrade from the cold showers you've been taking for the last few years."

"Funny… you're really funny," Robin muses, his eyes rolling as he passes John and makes his way to the back bedroom to collect his things—and as he closes the door behind himself, he pulls open his sock drawer. He reaches for the cigar box tucked all the way in the back, slowly and gently pulling it out and resting it atop a mound of socks. A picture of Marian, her memorial card and her wedding ring; a baby picture of Roland and the first tooth he lost; a medal his father was awarded for his service and the slew he'd won in the Great War; the pictures that Regina sent to him while she was in England. Reaching into his pants pocket, he pulls out a worn red satin box and nestles it back to its place in the cigar box—maybe it was too soon, he thinks.

For the better part of two hours, Regina successfully avoided making eye contact with Mary Margaret.

That morning, Mary Margaret was late, and when she finally decided to grace them all with her presence, she also graced them with the presence of her fussy infant. So, not only did their 9-o'clock-sharp meeting not begin until nearly ten, it constantly paused and stalled as Mary-Margaret tended to the baby's needs, dragging the dreaded meeting out, making it last far longer than anyone wanted.

Even the lawyer looked both bored and annoyed…

The details of Leopold's will are underwhelming and vague, at best, detailing properties and monetary gifts that could no longer be honored.

It was clear that Leopold's will had never been at the forefront of his mind, that he hadn't updated it with any regularity.

Regina's name was never mentioned—but the general title of "wife" was awarded the house and any money that remained. Regina bristled as that bit was read, confident that the aforementioned wife was Eva, Leopold's first wife, and not her. The lawyer's eyes met hers, at that moment, and her voice got caught in her throat. She didn't know what to say, so she said nothing.

Following the lawyer's lead, Regina's eyes shift to Mary Margaret—a pit forming in her stomach. If she'd inherited the house, there was nothing left for Mary Margaret, regardless of Leopold's intent.

"There should've been some money," the lawyer murmurs, "But not much, so… I suppose there's no great loss there."

Regina watches Mary-Margaret closely, watching as her eyes cast down to her finally-sleeping infant. "I see…"

"It seems your father wrote this in… more optimistic times," the lawyer says. "He assumed by the time of his death, you'd be married and… um, quite settled in a life of your own." The lawyer clears his throat. "There is some mention of you selecting some mementos or trinkets from the house, should you want to do that."

"I see," Mary Margaret says meekly as Regina's eyes shift away from her, the gnawing pit in her stomach worsening. "I suppose that's… something."

"Indeed, it is," the lawyer murmurs, shifting awkwardly before moving on to the rest of the mundane contents of the will.

Henry's name was never mentioned.

Regina exhales a breath, her eyes glancing toward the clock mounted on the wall. She resists the urge to yawn—the meeting took double the time it should've taken, but all things considered, there was nothing damning in it.

"But, of course, then there's the matter of your father's trust."

Both Regina and Mary Margaret look up—and she's surprised to see the lawyer's eyes waiting to meet hers.

"What trust? My father's will was… hashed out years ago. He didn't leave me a—"

"It was for your son."

Regina's brow furrows. "My… my father left a trust for Henry?" Swallowing hard, she shakes her head. "That's impossible. Henry was only a few days old when my father died. He… he never even saw him, he didn't even have a name yet."

"Well, he knew that you were with child, did he not?"

"Of course he did."

"And he knew you birthed a son."

Regina nods. "He did."

"It was set up only a month or so before your father's death, and it seems he met with his lawyer days before it." The lawyer offers a soft smile. "Because things happened so quickly, it was verified that this was your father's intent, and his own lawyer recalled how happy he was to know he had a grandson."

Regina blinks. "My father never…he never said anything…"

"No," the lawyer murmurs, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "It seems that your husband, Mr. Blanchard, believed you were… not in the proper state to attend the reading of your father's will. Your mother agreed."

Regina feels a lump rising in her throat. She remembers that—and she agreed to that. She didn't want to go.

"What, um… what does the trust entail?"

The lawyer's eyes narrow and his head cocks to the side—he looks surprised. "It's fairly simple," he says. "Your father's family owned quite a bit of land in Puerto Rico—"

"Sugar plantations."

"Yes, well, he sold off quite a lot of that land."

"I didn't know he inherited any of it. His brothers—"

"Comparatively, it wasn't much. He sold it ages ago and invested the money. He did well with it."

At the word invested Regina's stomach flops. "Oh. I see…"

"He pulled the money a few months before your son was born." His eyes narrow. "You… you truly didn't know?"

Regina shakes her head. "No. Neither my mother nor husband ever told me about it."

The lawyer clears his throat. "Well, nonetheless, your father left strict instructions for how the money could be used." Regina shifts, biting down on her lip, watching as the lawyer shuffles through the papers, looking for his notes. "It was to be used for the child's care—schooling needs, the fostering of hobbies, payment for a nanny or possibly a tutor, that sort of thing."

"His tuition," Regina murmurs, her eyes sinking closed. "That's where the tuition money was coming from, that's why Leopold was paying it."

"Likely," the lawyer tells her with a nod. "The rest was meant to be Henry's on his twenty-first birthday."

Regina nods, drawing in a breath. "Did Leopold, um… did he lose the money? The tuition payments stopped rather abruptly and—"

"No."

"What?"

"Your husband did not have access to the account. He had to request permission for its use from one of your uncles."

"My uncles?"

"Yes."

"So, why did the payments stop?"

"I'm not entirely sure, but from what I gather, they caught wind of his financial troubles and feared that he would abuse it." The lawyer clears his throat, looking away and ignoring Mary Margaret sitting sullenly to Regina's left. "And given how he abused his access to accounts at the bank, I'd say they were wise to do so… if, of course, that's what they did."

Regina's heart races, pounding in her chest. "So, the money…"

"You'd have to iron it out with your uncles, but it's there for Henry—and possibly for you, depending on how you'd plan to use it."

"I see."

"I can give you the documents your father drafted in relation to the trust, but I think it'd be best to reach out to your uncles or even your father's lawyer, directly. They'd have more information than that available to me."

The lawyer continues on, shifting the conversation to the debts Leopold owed, and Regina loses focus as nausea overtakes her as reality hits her like a ton of bricks—her father had to have known about Henry, and if her father knew, her mother likely knew… and if they knew, it wasn't a far leap that Leopold knew her secrets, too.

And everything she did—everything she thought she had to do to protect her son—was all for nothing.

Though it hadn't been his intent to spend the day before the Thanksgiving holiday on a ladder painting ceilings and walls, the opportunity presented itself when Chip invited Roland to go ice skating for the day. His uncle had a cabin not too far away and his mother needed to go and pick up a turkey—so a plan quickly came together.

Now, it's nearly dusk as Robin loads up the back of his truck with empty paint cans. His arms and back are sore, and he knows that come morning, he'll regret having painted the entire first floor of the house. But a month from now, he'll be glad that it's done, and a month from now, he and Roland can officially begin moving in.

At some point over the summer, when they were still putting up walls and stringing wires through them, he'd set a goal to be moved in by the time Christmas rolled around. At the time, he seemed to have infinite time, and he liked the idea of starting a new year in a new house, ready to build a new life in a place that would give himself and Roland space to grow.

Usually as he worked on the house, he occupied his mind with thoughts of what it'd be like to move in—for both he and Roland to have spaces of their own, to have a full kitchen to cook in and a backyard for Roland to play in. But today, his thoughts were elsewhere as he thought of carrying Regina over the threshold, holidays spent together as a family, graduations and weddings and growing old—and thought he kept telling himself that he was getting ahead of himself,

"Well, imagine running into you here."

Robin whirls around, smiling at the sound of Regina's voice—but his smile quickly fades as he takes her in as she stands at the end of the drive, her cheeks strained by tear tracks and her eyes red.

"What happened?" He asks, dropping down a box of brushes and going to her. "Is Henry alright, did something hap—"

"Henry's fine. He's… having the time of his life right now with Arthur's kids." A faint smile tugs up at the corner of her mouth. "Lance, Arthur's boy, is taking archery lessons, and the girls are learning to paint—and—" Her voice cracks. "He's staying overnight, since we'll be back in the morning, and I'm not sure wild horses could drag him away after dinner tomorrow."

Robin grins. "I'm relieved to hear it—and another time, I have a thing or two to share about archery."

Her head tilts to the side and, for a moment, it looks like she might smile. "You… have things to share about archery?"

"I do," he tells her, nodding. "My father taught me and, once upon a time, I was on a team."

Regina's brow cocks. " A team, my—"

"High school," Robin says with a shrug of his shoulders. "Not like I was an Olympian or anything, but… if Henry were ever interested, I could teach him a thing or two."

"That's sweet."

Robin grins as he reaches for her gloved hand, giving it a tight little squeeze. "Tell me what happened."

He watches as she draws in a breath, her eyes sinking closed as she exhales, a little puff of smoky air escaping her. "I… have spent the better part of the afternoon counting all of the ways I ruined Henry's life."

"Regina, that's not true."

"Oh, no. No, it is." Her eyes open and he watches her tears well. "All of the things I did to protect him—all of the stupid lies—were all for nothing."

"How—"

"My father knew."

His brow furrows. "What?"

"My father knew that Henry wasn't Leopold's son, and…" Regina's voice trails off as she looks away. "I'm pretty sure Leo knew, too."

Robin considers it for a moment, taking it in as he watches tears roll down her cheeks. "Come here," he murmurs, tugging her to him and putting his arm around her shoulders. "Let's talk about this inside."

Nodding, Regina lets him lead her into the house—and it's only then that he realizes there's nowhere to sit. Awkwardly, he looks around, and his cheeks flush. "I, uh… I didn't really think this through…"

"That's okay," she says. "I didn't give you any warning. I didn't even know I was coming here until I was walking toward the house. I… was just out for a walk and then… I saw you."

"How… serendipitous," he says, grinning softly, choosing not to comment on how cold it is outside or how late it's getting or how far from home she is. "I, uh… I do have some cups and can probably muster up something to drink." Looking around, he motions to the fireplace. "And there's some wood—"

"I'll make the fire, if you want to scrounge up some drinks."

Quickly, he moves to the kitchen and puts on a kettle of water, rifling through the cupboards looking for something other than the rum disguised as cooking oil—and he laughs a little when he finds a box of cocoa that Regina sent to Roland as an entirely-too-early Christmas present that past August. He'd hidden it at the house so that Roland wouldn't find it.

When the kettle whistles, he pours the hot water into the mugs and arranges the rest on the tray—and when he rounds the corner back into the living room, his chest tightens as Regina smiles.

"You have cocoa!"

"Mm, I do—compliments of a thoughtful, but early present for my son."

"Whenever I see cocoa, I think of him, you know," Regina says as he sinks down beside her. "I think about that day at the school."

"Ah, right," Robin murmurs. "The day I was finally convinced that you weren't the devil incarnate."

"Well, the jury's still out on that one."

"Regina…"

"Do you remember the night we met?"

"Of course," he says as he opens the canister of cocoa. "You told me off."

Regina scoffs and nods. "Turns out, you were right."

"I wasn't. I insinuated something awful."

"You accused me of sending my son away for no good reason at all."

Robin holds her gaze as he scoops the cocoa into the cups. "You did it to protect him. You did it to—"

"I did it for money."

Robin blinks and uncorks the rum, his eyes narrowing—in a roundabout way, that isn't untrue, but still, there's something that seems wrong about it. "You did it to protect your son's future."

Regina stares at him for a moment, then looks away, shaking her head. "I somehow got it in my head that a distant, absent father who never extended even a kind word to my son was better than…" Her voice trails off and she looks pointedly back at him. "I can't even finish the sentence because… I don't know how. I don't know what it would've been better than."

"You didn't have any recourse."

"That's the thing—as it turns out, I did."

Robin's brow furrows as he extends one of the mugs to her. "What do you mean?"

"My father died shortly after Henry was born and I was supposed to go to the reading of his will. I chose not to."

"Well, I'm sure you weren't in any condition—"

"Had I gone, I would've known that he left a trust fund for Henry."

Robin's brows arch up as she continues. "H-how do you know that?"

"Because Leopold knew about it. His lawyer informed me of it today, and after the meeting I called one of my uncles—my father's oldest brother—and he told me that my father was worried about Henry, that he knew that Leopold wasn't Henry's father, and he worried what Leo would do when he found out the truth."

"Regina, you can't beat yourself up for—"

"I was afraid of him," she admits in a small voice.

Robin's jaw tightens.

"I was afraid of what he'd do to me and to Henry and…my life didn't have to be like that. Henry's life didn't have to be like that."

"Henry's young."

Regina nods. "Did I tell you that he used to write to Leopold? He told me after he learned that Leo died, and today, after that meeting, I went back to the house and finally dared to enter Leo's office, and they were there, in a drawer. At seven years old, Henry was begging his father to come visit, begging him to give a damn—"

"Regina, none of that is your fault," Robin says, his voice cutting in over hers. "Listen to me, you did the best you could with—"

"I chose not to go to the reading of my father's will. I could have gone, but I didn't want to. I was too busy feeling sorry for myself."

"Your father had just died and you'd just had a baby. I hardly think—"

"I was a coward."

"You weren't."

"Robin, I was, and—" Regina sucks in a breath and it's evident that she's been beating herself up above this for hours and he knows better than most how cruel that little voice inside of her head can be to her.

"Hey, c'mere," he murmurs, setting down his cup of cocoa and sliding toward her on the hearth. His arm stretches around her shoulders and presses a kiss to her hair. "Listen, you can't blame yourself for what Leopold did."

"For once this isn't about what he did—"

"But it is," Robin interjects. "He could've told you about the trust—whether or not he thought Henry was his son, whether or not you chose not to go, he could have told you. He should have."

Regina doesn't say anything, but she picks her head up from his shoulder, so he offers her a soft grin and continues.

"I told you that when Marian died, everyone thought I should send Roland away, that it'd be better for him to be raised by an aunt or something."

"You told me about that in a letter," she says, her eyes meeting his. "I can't imagine how anyone could've thought something like that."

Robin nods and reaches out, tucking her hair behind her ears and letting his fingers linger at her jaw. "Eugenia once told me that we can't blame people for the choices they make, that everyone's just operating with the information available to them and with the resources that they have."

"But—"

"When Marian was dying, I was very likely working my way to the bottom of a bottle of gin, and the guilt of that could easily eat me alive, but… I didn't know. I didn't know that she was that sick, I thought she was getting better." His eyes press closed and he draws in a breath—he's only ever admitted that to Marco and Eugenia. Not even John knows that. "The point is that we all screw up," he says, his eyes opening and meeting hers. "We all do things that we regret, but most of the time, for most of us—for you—those screw ups didn't happen because of ill intentions, they happened because we were working with what we had at the time."

For a moment, Regina says nothing, and then she looks away. "And suppose I ruined my son's life, suppose—"

"Henry's life isn't ruined," Robin interjects. "Henry loves you and Henry is only ten years old. He has an entire life ahead of him. There may have been a few bumps early on, but overall, you've done a helluva job with him."

Taking a shaky breath, Regina looks back at him. "I sent him away."

"And then you joined him."

"Years went by."

"He was at school, Regina. Plenty of kids go away to school, and from everything you've told me about that school, he loved being there."

"But—"

"You're not responsible for Leopold being cold-hearted towards him, plenty of men love children who aren't theirs. That Leopold couldn't do that isn't on you, it's on him."

"But had I—"

"You aren't responsible for what you didn't know." Leaning in, he presses a kiss to her hair, smiling when her head falls to his shoulder. "Now, drink your cocoa before it gets cold."

She doesn't respond, but she does lift her cocoa to take a sip—and for a while, they both just lie there together, lost in their thoughts as they stare into the fire.