A/N: THIS IS A REPOST OF AN OLD FIC. This was originally a series of three ficlets in my ficlet collection, but I've combine them into a single one shot.

WELL, THIS IS AWKWARD

Regina nearly screamed in frustration as she rattled the door handle for the third time. Locked? How could it be locked? She was going to choke on the discordant scents of every cleaner known to man in this god-forsaken janitor's closet. That and the cologne of the miscreant stuck in here with her.

"Well," Robin said behind her, sounding annoyingly amused, "this is awkward."

He wasn't wrong. This was a whole new level of awkward. She'd dragged him into this hole in the wall to berate him in private (her office was on the other side of the building) about his lackadaisical attitude with turning grades in on time, with classroom discipline, with collecting uniform fees for the soccer team. Not to mention his staunch unwillingness to forget the thing that almost but didn't happen during the faculty holiday party two months ago.

She had finished with an excellent zinger, ready to exit in a dramatic huff and let him chew on her reprimands. Except the door didn't budge. And he was laughing. Laughing. When he was supposed to be properly cowed for his dereliction of duty. She was the principal, for crying out loud. Apparently he didn't know the meaning of job security.

She dug into her pocket and cursed when she realized that she'd left her phone in her office. Great. Fantastic. This just kept getting better and better. She shook the doorknob one more time to vent her frustration.

"Maybe you can yell it into submission." Robin leaned against the shelves, arms crossed over his chest as he smirked at her.

"Very funny," she snapped back at him. "Got any ideas, MacGyver?" He did have an unnerving ability to get into places he shouldn't be able to. He could make good use of those unlawful skills now.

"Let's see," he said, straightening and coming toward her. There wasn't enough room to maneuver around him, so she pressed her back against the door as he reached for the knob. He twisted it once, twice, and then looked down at her.

"In my expert opinion," he said, "I would have to say that the door is locked."

She gave him a flat stare. "Oh, it's locked, is it?"

He hummed and the sound did things to her that were absolutely not allowed. "Terribly locked." He glanced at his watch. "School has been out for twenty minutes now, so it's unlikely anyone would hear our cries for help, and the janitor doesn't come in for another hour." He moved toward her a fraction—and he was already too close for comfort.

"However shall we pass the time Miss Mills? Debate the merits of George Orwell's 1984? Discuss the politics of Animal Farm? Or—" His gaze dropped to her mouth and she suddenly forgot how to breathe.

"Or?" she prompted with more air in her tone than there ought to be.

"Or we could," he murmured, teeth grazing over his bottom lip, "pick up where we left off last time we were alone together."

"It's against school policy." The argument was flimsy at best, and she should have been mortified that he could befuddle her with his proximity alone.

He gave her an enigmatic smile. "I've never been very good at following school policy, as you so aptly pointed out moments ago." He hooked a stray lock behind her ear, tracing the shell in a languid movement before drawing back. "Regina."

And that was all it took to break her resolve, the bastard.

She yanked him by his tie, crushed her mouth to his in a clumsy, heated kiss. She was going to regret this later—maybe even blame it on the fumes—but right now, all that mattered was his hand gripping her hip and the other tangling itself in her hair. He tasted better than any man who made her life hell on a daily basis had a right to. Her knees practically buckled at the way he inhaled her as if she had become oxygen itself.

This was wrong. This was so wrong. And so, so good.

Until the room suddenly echoed with the tinny notes of God Save the Queen. He had his phone on him! She shoved him back. She was going to kill him. She was going to torture him with lunch detention for the rest of the year. And chess club. And the debate team—no, the Mathletes! That ought to be loads of fun for the Languages Arts teacher.

She fished the phone—now letting out a voicemail alert—from his coat pocket and held it up to him. "Make a call."

He let out a heavy sigh as he took the device from her. "You should know this," he said, dialing a number, "whatever retribution you have planned for me, it was well worth it. I have no remorse. You're a beautiful, strong, stubbornwoman, and I'm absolutely taken with you."

She rolled her eyes despite the warm fuzzies prickling in her chest. "Pretty words from an English teacher."

"I meant every single one."

His call never went through.

And if the janitor noticed the principal's unkempt hair or the suspicious red smear on Mr. Locksley's collar, well, he was very good at keeping secrets.

From the moment he shook her manicured hand, Robin had an inkling that Principal Mills would one day be the death of him. Early that first term, he thought her white-knuckled adherence to protocol and policy would raise his exasperation to lethal levels. Certainly their rather vocal disagreements soon became the subject du jour—tous les jours. But that, it turned out, would not be the cause of his undoing.

Henry was the beginning of the end. Not that Robin didn't like the boy—quite the opposite, in fact—but Henry forced him to see Miss Mills in a new light. She was different with her son, teasing, laughing, smiling. By god, that smile. So unfettered. Not even a hint of a smirk. Robin felt a pang of envy, and that was far more problematic than when she dressed him down publicly at the last faculty meeting for exceeding his book budget. He certainly didn't appreciate that smile making an appearance in the hazy thoughts before sleep at night. (It took the place of another smile he adored years ago, now faded by the same time which had weathered his grief.)

As the school year melded into another, her biting reprimands about his rumpled appearance (really, did it matter that he favored a single Windsor knot over a double one in his tie?), his laissez-faire attitude about deadlines, his proclivity to deviate from approved lesson plans for the sake of instilling a passion for all learning in his students, not just in Language Arts—all of her complaints, aired in a serrated tone, no longer raised his hackles. He couldn't say why he wasn't bothered, other than it was becoming terribly difficult to concentrate on the content of her scorching critiques when she looked so insufferably fetching whilst delivering them.

The real trouble, however, came at that blasted holiday party. He'd watched her steal away in the middle of the festivities, and curiosity got the better of him. She had sequestered herself in the gym, half-way up the bleachers with her cherry red stilettos next her as she drank from a champagne bottle.

"Too royal to celebrate with the benighted masses?" he'd asked as he approached her.

She rolled her eyes. "Apparently, I can't escape them."

She didn't balk, though, when he took a seat next to her—only wordlessly passed the bottle in a silent understanding that she would not be the only one imbibing at this party of two.

The conversation that followed meandered from innocuous topics about work (where, unsurprisingly, she seized the opportunity to take a verbal swipe or two at him), to the tribulations that come with being a single parent, to the heartache of losing a loved one that never quite dissipates. She was beautifully vulnerable—real—and he felt his heart inching dangerously close to the precipice between safe infatuation and the plummet toward genuine affection. He said something—he couldn't recall what—that made her laugh, and it was over. Because she gave him the smile.

Her hair was soft between his fingers as he leaned forward to taste not Principal Mills, but Regina. Only, her cell phone had gone off. The untimely call might have saved them from a drunken snog, but it came too late to pull him back from the brink of madness that would become loving the impossible woman.

He really thought he had her with their interlude in the janitor's closet. Not that he'd planned it, but he chose not look that gift horse in the mouth. Perhaps he should have, though, considering her militant professionalism the day after. He decided not to push too hard—to give her space, instead—but that seemed to be a mistake too as the week wore on to another. A month passed, then another, and she became even more skittish in his presence, evading him whenever possible.

Why, of all the women in the world, did he have to fall for this one? Because she was everything he didn't know he wanted.

An hour after final bell on Friday, he saw her leave the main office with Henry in tow. Robin considered that it might possibly be the worst way to approach her, but desperation had conquered reason, and he jogged after them, calling her name.

"Oh hey, Mr. Locksley," Henry greeted him with a wide grin. (Robin really did get on famously with the boy.) "Are you heading home, too?"

"Actually," Robin answered, "I was hoping to have a word with your mother—by your leave, of course. It won't take long."

Henry shrugged. "Sure."

"Now is not a good time," Regina interjected. She did a fantastic job of sounding her usual stern self, but Robin hadn't missed the way her eyes rounded a fraction. She was positively terrified of him, and he wished he knew what he'd done to make her so.

"It's cool, Mom." Henry jabbed a thumb in the direction of the parking lot. "I'll just wait in the car. See you later, Mr. Locksley!" He took off before Robin could raise a hand in farewell and blessedly before Regina could protest.

She did, however, continue walking down the hall in a hurried pace, her heels clack, clack, clacking against the vinyl flooring. Of course she wasn't going to make this conversation easy.

Robin gritted his teeth and stepped in front of her. "You've been avoiding me."

She glanced to the side as if to make certain they wouldn't be overheard. "Yes."

That was unexpectedly frank, and rather like blade between his ribs. "I suppose I shouldn't have come on as strong as I have. You did mention that fraternization was against the rules, after all." This was—well, to put it in the native vernacular of his students: this really sucked.

She closed her eyes and let out a heavy sigh. "That's not it." She started off again as if that were all the explanation necessary.

He had half a mind to grab the woman by her arms and shake her until sense fell out of those ruby lips of hers. "Then what is it?" he demanded, once more putting himself in her path. "Why have you been running in the opposite direction every time you see me coming?"

"I haven't been running!" she shot back.

"Yes, you have!" he returned. "You're always either 'in a meeting' or out when I come to your office. You won't answer my calls or emails. What am I supposed to assume but that I've offended you in some manner! Now, what is it?"

"I'm pregnant!"

Robin was fairly certain that the world stopped spinning on its axis properly in that instant. The ligaments and tendons in his legs seemed to have turned into warm taffy. He steadied himself with a hand against the wall. He couldn't have heard her right. "You're what?"

"I'm pregnant," she repeated in a hiss. "Now you know. Are you happy?"

Pregnant? Pregnant? With his child? From that one time in the janitor's closet imbued with the musty scent of ammonia? He hadn't used protection, but he assumed she— No, that wasn't true. Birth control hadn't crossed his mind at all. Not in the heat of the moment while her nails made tracks down his back, nor afterward when the heady glow of finally having her gave way to despair when he realized he didn't. What an incredibly selfish, irresponsible prat he'd been.

She sighed again. "Listen, I don't expect anything from you. You don't have to worry about me coming after you for child support. I know you weren't planning on this." She let out a brittle laugh. "I certainly wasn't. This isn't your problem."

"Not my—?" He stared at her. She was stark raving mad. Not his problem! As if he were the sort of cad to who went around impregnating women for the hell of it, damn the consequences. He sucked in a breath. This was a backwards, upside-down mess, but he knew one thing for certain. "What if I am?" When she frowned, he clarified, "What if I am happy?"

"What do you mean?" The hesitation in her voice made his chest ache.

He stepped toward her and gathered her hands in his. "You're right," he said. "I hadn't planned for this to come about in this particular way, but you're mistaken if you believe I haven't thought about a life together with you—and Henry and Roland. And now, one more."

Her eyes, wet with unshed tears, widened. "You have?"

"Against all reason." He smiled at her. Reality was beginning to sink in. He was having a child with the woman he loved. The thought was both terrifying and thrilling—much, much more of the latter than the former.

The corner of her mouth turned upward. "It's still against school policy."

He laughed. "There's an opening at Mist Haven Prep that I've been considering."

"Don't even think about asking me to write you a letter of recommendation," she said with a raised brow.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

Then her lips were quite suddenly on his, and the world righted itself again. As demises went, he could think of none better.

Robin's fingers danced down her spine. Gentle, fluid like a quartet of water droplets. Chills puckered her flesh as Regina lay still and bit the insides of her cheeks to keep an involuntary giggle from bubbling out.

"Concentrate," he admonished in a quiet voice behind her as he traced a pattern across her back.

Up, down, up, and down. "M," she exhaled.

"Well done." His lips brushed over her skin, and she closed her eyes. "Here's another."

Up and down again, but only once. Finished with a horizontal slash. Regina smirked. This game was too easy. "A."

He laughed, soft and raspy. "Always so clever."

"Not always," she returned. "I'm in bed with you."

"Oh, my wounded heart." His tone was light, playful. "For that insult, madam, you will do five in a row or suffer the consequences."

"I'm quaking in my boots."

"And what lovely boots they are." His palm glided over her hip, down her thigh, and he hooked his thumb in the lip of her leathery footwear. "I'm so glad you left them on this time."

She rolled her eyes despite the flutter in her stomach. "I thought you were going to challenge me."

"Right, of course." He brushed both hands across her back as if he was erasing a blackboard. "Ready?"

She blew out the long-suffering sigh her role in their ritual banter dictated, though she was anything but exasperated. "Would you just do it already?"

"Patience, patience," he murmured just before his fingertip flew across her skin in a frenetic ballet.

How many letters had he said there were? Four? Five? Upper or lowercase? One or two of them felt cursive. There was an E in the jumble, an M too, she was sure of it. The rest she couldn't make out, but she was hard pressed to admit as much to him.

"Do you need me to do it again?" Robin asked with a hint of smugness his tone. When she refused to answer, he said, "I'll go slower this time."

Up, down, up and down. "M."

Up, down, and a slash. "A. Didn't you already do those?" She craned her neck to look at him, but he turned her away with a gentle push.

"No cheating, Miss Mills," he warned, "or I shall have to report you to the superintendent."

Regina snorted. "Not going to send me to the principal's office first?"

"I know the principal, and I fear she might be biased in your favor."

She swallowed down a laugh. "You know what they say," she countered. "Power breeds corruption."

"Among other things." Robin punctuated his statement with a fleeting caress toward her abdomen, and her cheeks flushed warm. In another month or two, she wouldn't be able to lie comfortably in her stomach anymore.

"Maybe you could use your charm and wit to convince her to take your side."

He made a noise of disbelief. "I'm afraid she's immune to those tactics. Now," he said, cutting off the retort forming on her tongue, "pay attention. This will be on the final exam."

Down and up in the same line. A curve and then down again. P, no its an— "R."

"Good, good."

Another R, followed by what seemed to be a U with a long, swooping tail. Not a U but a Y. He was onto the next letter before she could name the last. Up, down, up and down. M. And a half box shape with a line through its center. E. His fingers left her back.

"Well?" he asked in a near whisper.

M-A-R-R—

Her eyes went round as the rest of the letters fell into place. She rolled over and found him kneeling at the side of the bed, smiling, holding a small red velvet box toward her. Her heart stuttered in her chest. "Are you sure?" She hated that she sounded so small and vulnerable, but no one had loved her. Not since...

Robin's brows drew together briefly, though his smile didn't drop. "Considering that I've had to practically sell both my eternal soul and our unborn child in order to pay for this, I would have to say that I'm absolutely certain that I'm proposing to you." He opened the box and pulled out the ring. The diamond was a full carat, or close, set in a delicate filigree etched from white gold. "I think the more important question is," he said as her drew her hand toward him, "can you stand to spend the rest of your days with an incorrigible Language Arts teacher and his little rascal of a son?"

She let out wet laugh. "Roland is adorable," she scolded or attempted to. It was difficult to be stern with the tears blurring her vision. Pregnancy hormones were doing her in.

"One of the many gifts his mother graced him with," Robin agreed. "Will you have us?"

It was a breath or two before she could find her voice. She desperately wanted to say yes, but— "It's only been a month and a half."

His smile faltered a hair then. "What? You don't consider the previous year and a half of heated arguments and biting rejoinders as courtship?"

She laughed again. He was an idiot, and she told him as much. His mouth curved into that endearing smirk of his, the one that deepened the dimples in his cheeks.

"Well?" he asked again, holding the ring just over the tip of her finger.

Her heart constricted and she hesitated. They were an unlikely match, though he managed to be the only one besides Henry who made her happy. Could it work in the long run? She wanted it to—desperately. That was answer enough, she supposed.

"Fine," she answered with mock resignation. She was afraid if she confessed how she really felt, she'd turn into a blubbering mess.

He grinned as if he knew everything she wasn't saying. "I'm honored that the great and venerable Miss Mills would deign to take such a miserable sod as her consort."

"Just put the damn ring on, already," she said as she splayed her fingers.

He obliged her and crawled up the bed over her. "Such uncouth language, young lady." He clucked his tongue. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to send you to the superintendent after all. Unless—" He bit his lower lip.

"Unless, what?"

"Unless you can persuade me otherwise."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down on her. "Now that," she said with promise in her voice, "is something I'm good at."

~FIN~

A/N: Thank you so much for reading this! If you have a moment, I'd love to hear your thoughts!