Like the rest of the world, I have listened to hello by Adele and I am ready to offer her all of the grammy's. Anyway, I tweeted that I could NOT have been the only one who thought of an OS after listening to it (a few hundred times but who's counting), and well, it led to this. No one shoot me.

TW: CHARACTER DEATH PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION. This is AU.

My many thanks to the lovely SimplyMaterial for all her patience and for my panini RegalPixieDust for her encouragements.

I highly encourage listening to Adele's Hello while reading *laughs*

This is for the beautiful friendship that is NicLor.


"Hello from the other side
I must've called a thousand times
To tell you I'm sorry for everything that I've done
But when I call you never seem to be home

Hello from the outside
At least I can say that I've tried
To tell you I'm sorry for breaking your heart
But it don't matter, it clearly doesn't tear you apart
Anymore"

He listens to her until his ears burn.

ooo

"Hello, it's Regina," she says as soon as the beep goes, her voice loud and clear, the deep dulcets of her voice fading into giggles as he chimes in with, "And this is Robin," there is a sound of a squeal and the sound her hitting him playfully on the chest, "We're not available at the moment, but we'll get back to you as soon as we can," she continues as regally as she could before the beep signals the end of the message.

He remembers that day clearly.

She'd kept that voicemail for years, ever since they first started living together. He'd been pleased about it, thinking how it was an important mark of their relationship, an indication of the seriousness of their relationship. He remembers how he'd captured her lips in a heated kiss after that, glad and eternally grateful that she was his, that they've found each other and they were in love. It had been years, five to be exact, but now he sits in his bed, head in his hands thinking of how that would change now, surely it would. After all, nothing lasts forever, not even blissful relationships—they all come to an end.

He just hadn't thought that their story would come to such an end, over a stupid thing too, something that seems so unimportant now as he is faced with the fact that she is no longer a part of his life and he needs to go on living without her. For five long years he'd gotten used to us, we, ours, and now he's going to have to get used to the fact that those words no longer apply to them, they are no longer they, instead, they are a he and a she, two separate entities and no longer together.

And he could apologize over it a million times but it won't mean anything, because you can only fix something too many times until it's completely broken and left beyond repair.

ooo

He isn't sure how or where, but he does finally gain enough courage to pick up his phone and call her. It's taken him months to do it. But he did, he finally did, unable to restrain himself any longer.

His days stretch from seconds to minutes, to hours, until another night passes and he is still without her. His bed feels too cold without her by his side to warm it up, his arms are oddly empty without her to fill them, and his heart strangely hollow as she resides there but is no longer able to fill in the gaps left by her abrupt exit in his life. He'd tried, tried so hard to do as she had wished when they'd broken up, had stayed away from her and tried to erase her from his memory, delete her from his heart, and remove her from his life. He'd tried to forget, but ending a five year relationship does not leave without scars, and he realizes that now there is nothing left in him but the imprints she'd left in his soul and the bruises that marred his heart when she'd packed her bags and walked out of his life.

Sighing, he picks up his phone and dials the number he knows by heart. He places the device against his ear, his heart thundering and his pulse racing. It feels odd to be calling her and not really knowing what to say, to be waiting for her to pick up when he knows not what to say.

He hears a beep.

"Hello, this is Regina," her deep voice is as beautiful as he remembers, but there is a sadness that haunts it, the echoes of heartache clear in the way she speaks (but only because he knows her too well, knows every single part of her). He hears her voice crack and her breath hitch as she continues, "I can't come to the phone right now, but leave a message after the beep and I'll try to get back to you."

His heart cracks inside his ribs, the sound inaudible, but he feels it inside, feels the organ breaking, shattering and he inhales deeply, exhaling through his nose as his eyes fall shut and he tries to regulate his breathing. The pain resonates, grappling, and it feels like it's never going to end, feels like it consumes him.

It is almost ridiculous how one single voice recording can break his heart so much, but it does, it breaks him, and it takes him a long, long time before he calls her again.

Yet when he does, nothing's changed, he's still on the other side of the line, listening to her as she, in the littlest way possible, takes him out of her life.

ooo

It's a year later yet he finds that he still haven't found enough pieces of his heart to glue it back together. He realizes that he can't, not when he'd left it where it belongs, to her, and he asks himself: what is a puzzle when there are no pieces? How is he going to mend his heart when he doesn't have it with him?

He rings in their anniversary nursing a glass of whisky, the amber liquid trailing a fiery path down his throat, but even the bitterness of the liquid does not rival the bitterness he feels inside. He is broken, shattered to the core and he knows it would take more than just a bottle of whisky to numb away the pain.

Still, he drowns himself in alcohol, hating himself for associating the drink to her—but what is he to do when this is basically where their relationship started? How can he forget the night that he'd met his soul mate when she'd accidentally bumped into him in a bar, whisky in hand, and drenching him with the amber liquid when she'd tripped and landed right into his arms. She'd apologized furiously, telling him she'd pay for the damage she'd done, but he'd been too mesmerized by her flushed face and rounded eyes that he hadn't care. He'd told her he'd toss the whole bloody shirt, and that rather it was he that owed her a drink, after all, it was hers that had been spilled.

She'd raised an eyebrow at him, her lips quirking to the side as she finally tilted her head to look up at him, shaking it good-naturedly when she'd found him peering at her curiously.

"Ah, you're going to buy me a drink?" she'd taunted, and for a while he'd thought that she'd turn him down, pass him down as another slimeball in the bar.

"I owe you a drink," he'd told her, smiling at her and showcasing those dimples to charm her as much as he can.

She'd have to be quite charmed because she nodded her head once, her eyes twinkling as she smirked, saying, "Yeah, I suppose you do."

He'd taken her out on a date then, finding himself falling for her charm and wit quite quickly (she's funny, intelligent and gorgeous, with a big heart and soft spot for children and animals despite her sharp tongue), and it had taken a short time for him to fall head-over heels in love with her.

And on the 23rd of May he'd asked her to be his lady, she'd agreed, and he'd been over the moon that she had.

They'd had a good five year relationship.

But on this beautiful spring day, on May 23, as he picks up the phone and calls her, wanting nothing more than to hear her voice if he can no longer have her in his life, he feels his soul being ripped apart, feels numbness seep through him.

"Hi, this is Regina," she greets, the sadness in her voice had gone and she sounds light, so far away from what he currently is, what he currently feels, and it tears him apart, "leave a message after the beep and I'll try to get back to you."

She sounds okay, sounds so much better than he, sounds like she'd moved on and found peace at last…so why the hell couldn't he?

ooo

Christmas passes and New Year comes in with a rush, with a certain kind of anticipation that he doesn't feel. He feels weary, feels exhausted down to his bones, feels like he's grown old so much, yet he hadn't felt like he'd lived.

He spends the holidays in the apartment they used to share, memories of the past five years floating in his mind, and he tries to grasp them, tries to hold on to them as much as he can but they are slowly fading away, slowly digress to a painful reminder of what he's had and what he's lost.

He listens in for the sound and noises he knows are no longer present in the confined space. His constant companion these days are emptiness and the loud echoes of his heart breaking. He feels miserable, and surely he looks just as he feels, there is no doubt to that. His friends have repeatedly told him to get his life back together, to stop wallowing, that there is more to life than Regina Mills, but they don't understand. How can he make them understand that she is his life, his everything, and now nothing means anything without her by his side?

How can he even begin that she'd stolen every part of him, his heart and soul? (She'd probably argue that it cannot be stolen when it's freely given, and she'd be right, because he had given her all of him; firmly believing that she'll complete what is missing).

And so he does what he does best…he spends his time pining for her and what they used time in between trying to appear okay and pretending to actually be alright.

He tries very hard not to think of her, not to reach out, but sometimes it just hurts too much not to have her presence, to come home to a dark empty house that shouldn't have to be in the first place.

So he gives up and gives in.

He calls her, one more time because he needs to hear her voice, needs to let her voice be the balm to his aching heart. His spirit soars as her voice greets his ear, and it feels like the beginning of spring after a long winter, like finding an oasis in the middle of the desert.

"This is Regina Mills," he hears her say, sounding formal and clipped, but it's an act, he knows that. His thoughts are confirmed when she giggles, "leave a message after the beep!"

He wishes he has the courage to do just that.

ooo

It's funny, how things work out when they do, when they are supposed to. He has always believed in the power of timing, and god, what rotten one he's got that on the time he calls her, after one and a half year of separation, wanting to leave a message, she actually picks up the phone.

"Hello," she greets, and this time it is definitely not the voice mail, it is her. Her voice sounds real, live, beautiful.

His heart stutters, stops beating in his chest, his breath strangled and whooshing out of him. He cannot speak, feels like there is something wrapping around his throat, or something is lodged in it and he cannot find it in himself to speak. His brain seems to not work as well.

"Hello?" she repeats, more questioning now than greeting.

"Hello," he stammers, barely letting the world out, and he sounds pained even to his own ears.

"Robin," she breathes out.

There is a moment of dead silence that ensues, the sound of breathing filling the quiet. He feels tears press against his lids but he tries not to cry, he doesn't really have any more tears left.

"Robin," she says again, always the first one to break the tension.

"Regina," he manages, his voice trembling.

Silence again as they wait each other out. The silence is pregnant with the words that needed to be said, but none comes out, the quiet sound of their hearts breaking filling in instead. She sighs audibly.

"I miss you," he blurts out, his mouth working faster than his brain, and he curses himself because there are so many other things that he could say, he could have tried leading with a sorry, but he hadn't. He'd blurted out exactly what his heart is feeling.

"And I you," she whispers into the receiver, the words sending him into a shock and rebuilding his heart bit by bit.

But the disconnection tone that follows her admission is just enough to break it again.

ooo

She is the one who calls him next, just when he'd given up any hope that he'd ever hear from her again. He'd been surprised to see her calling, but it's a pleasant surprise, his mind going on overload. He hadn't known what to do then.

"Hello," she whispers. He can barely make out her voice, can barely understand what she is saying, she sounds like she'd been crying.

"Regina," he gasps out, almost disbelieving that this could be anything but a dream.

"I just…" she trails off then, and he waits, sits patiently as quiet as a mouth as she gets her thoughts cleared and she is coherent enough. "I need…"

He thinks he knows exactly what she needs but he doesn't want her to say it. He doesn't want to hear her say that he needs to let her go, needs to let her let him go, because he isn't ready for that. He cannot say goodbye. A year and a few months later and he is still not prepared to say goodbye.

"I can't do this," she says with an exhale of breath.

He isn't sure if he means this call, or this conversation, or this limbo in which their souls remain tethered to each other, but stay apart leaving their hearts broken.

"Please don't call again," she pleads before she hangs up.

He doesn't even get a word in. He tries to call her again, but she doesn't pickup.

"Hi this is Regina. Leave a message after the beep!" is what greets his ears instead.

ooo

He finally does it, after months and months of calling her, listening to her tell him (well, not just him) to leave a message, he finally does that.

It's been after a long meditation that he does, and many, many days and weeks of her ignoring his calls that finally pushes him to.

He stares at a picture of her on his phone as he lies in the bed they used to share, wishing more than anything that she's there in his arms instead of this, instead of being apart. He traces her face, her smile, trying to commit memory every single part of her, knowing that there is no way that he can ever forget.

He does not ever want to forget.

He picks up his phone and dials her number, her infernal voice mail message greeting his ears once more.

"Hi, it's me," he begins, "It's Robin. And I know you said not to call you again, I know that you meant goodbye when you'd said that but I can't, Regina. I'm sorry. There is not a part of me that can say goodbye to you yet. I know it means nothing to you anymore, but I'm sorry, and if I could take it all back, change everything I will." He pauses as tears choke him and he is unable to do anything but suck in a deep breath. He closes his eyes and continues, "And I know that you don't want to be with me anymore, that there is no hope, but I love you. So I suppose what I'm saying is…" he pauses to breathe, "Even if you find yourself no longer in love with me, please don't ask me not to love you, because that is something I can never do. I cannot un-love you."

He is disheartened when only that damned annoying beep greets his ears.

ooo

It's been two years and he had tried and gained some semblance of normality in his life. It is not to say that he'd gotten back the colors in his life that he'd lost when she'd gone, but it does mean that he'd gained some kind of treaty with himself. He'd accepted the fact that she's gone, that she is not coming back, and that from now on, he needs to go on with his life as if the past five years were not his everything.

He still calls her constantly, indulges in letting himself hear her voice through her voicemail, and he tells himself that he's only doing it so he can move on, until he can move on, even when he knows how big of a lie that is. He doesn't think he can move from her.

He doesn't hear from her, but he hears of her, hears her, because even after everything he still listens to her voicemail every day. He stills calls her, if only to hear that message once more, memorizing her words by heart, reciting it in his mind like it is a verse or a prayer, because it is all he has left of her.

But deep in the recesses of his heart, he still waits for that call that he'll never get.

He says he'll be okay without her, says he'll survive without his heart and half his soul, but it's not true. He can't.

He hadn't realized how true it is until one day he gets a call from her cousin.

"Robin?" Mary Margaret, her closest cousin, calls him out of the blue and it surprises him, shocks him to the core because they are not exactly friends, friendly maybe, but not friends.

"Yes?" he asks, confused when he hears her sniffle, her next words making him understand and making him feel like a bucket of cold water has just been dumped in his head, shooting chills through his vein.

"It's Regina," she says, and he doesn't even get to ask what's wrong before the words are rushing out of her mouth, "She's been hit by a car, and she's…she's gone."

He feels the world crumbling beneath his feet, feels his heart drop to his stomach and his blood to run cold.

"She's…" but he can't complete the sentence, the mere thought killing him piece by piece.

He doesn't know what to do, doesn't know what to feel. All he knows is that right now, he feels like dying right alongside her.

Fate is a cruel bitch and time is a fickle thing.

And sometimes, no matter how much he tells himself to play with the cards that he's been dealt, he finds that there really are things much easier than done, because right now, he really doesn't know how to deal with this.

ooo

The rain is pouring and everything is gloomy and dark. He feels emptier than he's ever been, and if he's thought that losing her then had been enough to kill him, then losing her this way had slayed him.

She's gone.

He doesn't understand, can't possibly understand. And he thinks that this is just a nightmare, it should be, but it's not, it's really not. It is as real as it could get.

He weeps in his bed, unable to even open his eyes much less get up. He'd lost his strength, his will, he'd lost his everything. And there is not a part of him that can believe this. So he calls her, thinks that maybe this is some cruel joke she's playing on him. He dials her number and places the device against his ear.

"Hello, this is Regina Mills," her voicemail message greets his ears and his heart sinks further into his stomach. "Leave a message after the beep, and I'll try to call you back." Beep.

He swallows the lump in his throat as his tears come in anew. He lies back down the bed, tears coursing through down his cheeks, and he calls her again, listening to her voice once more, knowing that he'll never even hear her anymore, this would be the only way.

"I love you," he whispers through the phone as her voice message fills his ears, but his words float away, linger to the air, left unheard by the person he wants to hear it the most.

He'd call her again and say hello, beg her to come back, but she'd never pick up, never answer, never hear his pleas.

So he calls again and listens to her until his ears burn.

FIN.


Please don't kill me.