Author's note: hello everyone, and thank you for your patience! Here is the final chapter. I've been sitting on it for a while, perhaps because I didn't want it to end? Nonetheless, the time has come, and here it is. I won't make this note any longer, but I will write a final author's note at the end of this chapter. Happy reading.

Regina would never stop dreaming about Daniel.

Not really. He had been her first love, and was permanently stuck in limbo in her mind as his early-20s self, kind and gentle, maybe a little overconfident in the way that young men are. A loving, if not slightly naive, father. An enthusiastic and energetic lover. A friend.

But her dreams about him were about to become fewer and fewer.

The night she returned to Paris from England with Robin, she had one of her last really long, vivid dreams about Daniel.

She was walking with him through the streets of Montmartre.

The dream was actually based on one of the first real-life dates they had spent together, ever, back when she was a student: she remembered that time vividly. Paris was awash in rain, the wetness making the cobblestones slick. Regina had been in a bad mood, so Daniel ushered her into a cafe and they sat comfortably as the hours ticked by unnoticed.

Unlike what had happened a decade or so ago (she and Daniel had gone back to her student flat and had spent the night together), in this dream, they later had a conversation in her current apartment, while Henry was tucked into bed.

"You should live in the apartment," he said to her. "It will make you and Robin happy."

"It's so small."

"It is, but it's cozy, and Henry has a separate room."

"True."

In the dream, she was talking with him like he was an old friend.

"He's not a thief, right? Or some sort of criminal, or robber…?" Regina asked, doubtful, needing Daniel's opinion.

Daniel chuckled. "I think you know the answer to that. No. You should get married."

"Not every relationship needs to end in marriage. Or with a child. Or both," said Regina slowly, side-eyeing him.

"No, but he would make you happy," Daniel said.

"He already has made me happy," she stated.

"So there's your answer."

"What answer, Daniel?"

"Whether you should go to New York. He makes you happy. That's enough. Will the job make you happy?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

"A job is 8 hours a day."

"Hah. On what planet?"

"There are 24 hours in the day."

"There are."

"And you should spend all 24 of them happy…"

"I can find someone else."

"You can."

"I miss you, Daniel."

"I miss you, too."

Regina's dream faded after that.

Suddenly finding herself awake in the dark, she fumbled with her covers a bit and gasped a little for air. Her heart was beating rapidly. As the sound of it thudding in her ears eventually slowed, she sensed the tiniest bit of movement next to her and heard deep breathing.

Robin.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then rolled over and went back to sleep.

..•..

"Let me make dinner," Robin said the next evening. "Or at least help you. You're always cooking for me, darling," he said, resting his hand over hers, massaging it gently.

"Well, at least I have managed to make up for that burnt lasagna I served to you back for your first meal with me," she said.

He nodded and laughed slightly. "You have. Although you have never cooked me lasagna again. Speaking of which, I do happen to know a pretty good lasagna recipe, if you want to give it another go?"

"Really? You know how to make lasagna?"

He shrugged. "Why so surprised? Sometimes when I was volunteering I'd sit in on one of the cooking classes at the school. Picked up a thing or two."

"All right, fair enough. Let me start by sending you to the store to get the right ingredients, while I tidy up the kitchen and living room? I haven't been around much for a week, so it could use a bit of a dusting," she suggested.

"Sounds fair," he said.

She sent him to the corner grocery with a list. He returned, thirty minutes later, after she'd managed to give the apartment a decent pass with a duster.

"For you," he said, striding into the kitchen to greet her with a full dozen pink and white roses.

She smiled, not knowing what to say, and took the bunch from him, inhaling the fresh green scent of the bouquet.

"Thank you," she said simply.

"I do try, m'lady," he said, bowing slightly and exaggerating his accent.

She giggled - a sound that even surprised her (when had she ever giggled? possibly never…) - before turning to arrange them in a light blue vase on the dining room table.

"Perfect," she sighed, stepping back and admiring the bright bouquet in the apartment.

They set to work on the lasagna, splitting up the tasks and focusing on each step that they were responsible for. The result, an hour later, was a perfectly bubbly, delightfully tomatoey and cheesy dish that they could enjoy on the terrace with a glass of ruby-red wine.

"Not a burnt edge in sight," Regina declared proudly.

After they ate, full and content, they sat for a while, talking, watching, enjoying the air surrounding them… until they migrated indoors, and shut the frothy white curtains behind them before they fell onto the bed to thoroughly enjoy each other's company.

..•..

"When do you have to give them an answer?" Emma asked Regina the next morning. Robin had returned to his apartment that day, as he was to meet Roland after work for dinner and needed a change of clothes.

Regina crossed her legs. They were sitting on Emma's terrace, warm in the morning sunlight, with a fresher, cooler breeze that signaled they were nearing the end of summer.

"Today," Regina said into her cup of espresso.

"Wow. And dare I ask, what are you going to do?"

"I think I've made up my mind," Regina said, looking into her eyes.

"There's no wrong answer, you know," said Emma. "Hot boyfriend versus great New York job… can't lose there," she said, smiling, attempting to ease the tension that was still quite visibly written across Regina's face.

"I know," Regina said, not sounding overly convinced. "Well, maybe I know. I don't know for sure. But I still think I've made up my mind."

"For the record, I want you to stay here."

Regina laughed.

"Seriously. And if you ever lose your writing job for your current magazine, you can write legal papers for me once I start my job."

"Duly noted."

"And who else'll give me some serious fashion advice once I start my job? I don't know how to wear anything other than jeans and leather jackets and t-shirts, and once I get into a law firm, I'm going to have to step it up."

"You'll be fine, dear," said Regina.

"Yeah? Well, so will you," Emma said, sipping from her cup, licking her lips, and smiling warmly at her.

..•..

Regina walked through the sunny streets. Instead of her usual quick steps taking her towards a destination - to a meeting, to a shop, or simply searching the sidewalks for an impeccably dressed woman to photograph for the fashion blog - she allowed her shoulders to relax, her steps to slow. She gazed at the Art Deco architecture of a hotel as she passed, the rainbow of colorful flowers displayed neatly outside of a florist. She took the steps down to the streets below, finding that she knew her way around the city's many twists and turns much better than she had months ago. She'd grown familiar with the city. It no longer felt completely strange and disorienting, like a city that existed only in her imagination, or deep in the memories of her past.

Paris was her present.

Yesterday, she'd made up her mind and sent off a message to NORA's Editor in Chief. Robin had had Roland at home, and they hadn't had a chance to talk.

All things considered, over the past few days, he'd reacted differently than she'd expected him to about her serious consideration of the job in New York. She'd expected him to be distressed, but he had been nothing but enthusiastic and graceful towards her, professing support for whatever her decision would be, and even exhibiting some pride… she was occasionally thrown off (shouldn't he be dropping to his knees and begging her to stay? She wasn't sure she wanted that, so maybe it was okay he wasn't…) but once she shook off those feelings, she realized she loved him a little bit more for his complete, unselfish support of something wonderful in her life.

Which had possibly made her decision even harder.

But this morning he'd called, and Robin suggested that they meet. He could bow out of work for a few hours and take a walk, he promised her. The day was threatening to be hot - one last burst of intense summer weather before the season dissipated - but now it was still cool and breezy, with sun and blue skies.

He said he had someplace to take her. "Two places, actually. Wear your practical shoes," he instructed her over the phone.

She'd smiled at his instructions, and duly changed into something slightly more practical: a pair of espadrilles, paired with an elegant cerulean blue dress the set off her dark hair.

"Well, here is the world-famous writer," he said, beaming proudly as she approached him at their arranged rendez-vous spot outside of the Saint-Germain-des-Près metro station.

"Reporting for duty," she said. "So, where to, today, Mr. Locksley?"

"I want to take you somewhere that is very touristy, but nonetheless worth seeing. And appropriate for a day like today."

"Oh?"

"Come," he said, motioning her to follow him across the street.

They went to a cafe, Les Deux Magots.

"This is where Hemingway used to go, isn't it?" Regina said, in slight awe, as Robin held the door for her and she stepped inside. They were shown to a small table in the dim room.

"The very place," he said. "Also known as a frequent haunt by none other than Simone de Beauvoir, Jean Paul Sartre, and artists like Picasso."

"Incredible," breathed Regina, gazing around at their surroundings, which were modern, not really betraying the location's legendary heritage.

"I think you'll find their cafe au lait to be more than adequate," Robin promised her. "I also like the slices of toasted brioche. Simple… but perfect."

Regina looked around her and sighed. "Simple but perfect. That describes so much in this city. I don't know how I'd leave."

"Are you afraid you will have no inspiration if you go back into editorial work in New York?" Robin said, avoiding the real question of the day.

"Well, clearly there's no shortage of inspiration there," she said, waving her hand. "But I like things here… they are elegant, orderly, simple but luxurious. I've never felt like this in New York."

"But New York really is the center of the publishing world, that's why you got the offer there. The top publications want you."

Regina paused as she was served her creamy cafe au lait by a waiter who moved elegantly in his starched white shirt. The creamy porcelain cup was steaming lazily in the morning light that drifted through a nearby window, wide open to the street.

"It is. It's really… as a fashion writer, it's the pinnacle. It's the job I always hoped I might achieve someday," she admitted.

Robin took a sip of his coffee - he'd ordered the same.

Regina thought for a few moments. "I don't know if I'm making the right decision. Robin, I-"

Robin raised a hand. "Just relax. Enjoy this morning. You can tell me what you decided later, and we'll talk about it then."

She nodded as the waiter brought their brioche.

Regina watched an older woman with white hair and a simple blouse and pants sit down with an elderly gentleman neatly dressed in a fine suit and tie.

"You know, Robin, my heart. It's here," she said, her eyes lingering on the elegant couple, before moving back to Robin, her scruffy, blue-eyed, tortured computer engineer who was desperate to work on something more meaningful with his life. He was still searching for a job that he didn't dislike, one that was better suited to his personality; nurturing, socially conscious, clever, thoughtful. And here she was. Her dream job had been handed to her.

A French man at a table near them got up, paid, and then a German family of three took the table.

Maybe it was her love for writing, or the old building, but Regina could somehow sense the spirit of the writers who had worked there. She felt a part of them: a writer who had found her stride as a writer in Paris. She was no Hemingway, but she was some sort of 21st Century version of a writer who might have an influence over someone, somewhere, somehow.

She told Robin.

"I knew you'd like this cafe," he beamed proudly. "It took me forever to understand you at first. Your impractical shoes. Your reserved nature - except for when it came to whisky. But I finally know how to spot a place that is truly you."

"You do," she said, smiling.

..•..

After the cafe, they went for a walk. Robin said he had something else to show her (not, surprisingly, the Saint Germain des Près cathedral, which he said was "remarkable" and promised to take her back to sometime; nor was it the famous St. Germain liqueur, which he said was "decent" if you "are into flowers.")

"I've served St. Germain as a drink for brunches I've hosted," Regina told him. "I'm well acquainted with it.

"Of course you are. Anyways, follow me."

They went down several nondescript, angled streets, until finally Robin found what he was looking for. It was actually a small boutique hotel, and he entered, with the hotel concierge nodding a hello to him. He said hello to the concierge, then hi to someone else.

Regina wondered how he knew them, but didn't ask.

They climbed five flights of stairs along a grand staircase, which was quiet as it was a down time during a hotel's day: many of the guests had checked out, or were at work, and the evening guests had not yet arrived.

Robin led her to a side door on the top floor, then opened it. They stepped outside onto a roof top.

"Here," he said, as they navigated around the heat shafts and past a few benches and a picnic table. "My final surprise for you today."

"An air vent in the hotel?" she said, smiling at him and crinkling her nose.

"Hah. No. You know how we kept saying we'll go up the Eiffel tower? To finally experience it?"

"Yes?"

"Well, we're not going up the Eiffel Tower today. But that is only because there is one slight problem with going up it."

"And that is?"

"That when you are in the Eiffel Tower, you can't actually see how beautiful the Eiffel Tower itself is, perched among the city's rooftops. You miss the most emblematic monument in Paris, because you are, well, in it. From this roof, on the other hand, you have a perfect view of it. Like a postcard."

Robin gestured his hand behind where he had guided her to stand, and Regina turned around. Sure enough, there was the famous structure, reasonably close but still far enough to see it in its full glory very easily. She stared at it in awe.

"If only I had my camera," she said, smiling and leaning over to kiss him.

When their lips parted, he took a small box from his pocket and Regina sucked in a breath. For a split second, she wondered if he was going to propose - and how she should react. This lovely view of the Eiffel Tower was a beautiful surprise, but a proposal…

But her thoughts didn't need to catch up. He didn't propose.

"My mother gave this to me," he explained quickly, probably sensing her nervousness at the sight of the tiny box. "When we were visiting my parents a few days ago. She said she wanted me to have it, and I could give it to you."

Regina took the box. Inside, a beautiful gold necklace on a delicate chain, with a pendant that was shaped like an arrow. A diamond was set in it.

"An old family thing," Robin said softly. He clasped it around her neck.

"I can't accept this - it's your family's," she protested.

"You can, and I insist you do," Robin said quickly. "It's for you. I think you'll appreciate it, and I hope you'll always remember our times together. No matter where in the world you go to write."

She smiled. "It's perfect. I don't know what to say, really. Other than…" she then smiled up at him. "I… well, I decided."

"And?"

"I'm going to continue being a writer based in Paris," she said, her chocolate eyes meeting his light, sparkly blue ones.

"Oh. Really? And… are you sure?" His expression was an odd mix of supreme relief and slight concern.

"Very sure."

"What made you decide?" Robin asked slowly, a slight hitch in his voice as the weight of her decision hit him. They both knew that he was a part of the equation, he was a part of the reason she wanted to stay.

"It was something you said a few days ago, when we were visiting your old home, and your parents. How you said that Roland is your home, and your couch… Well, I just thought, I've never really felt grounded at all, especially after Daniel died. Not to a particular apartment, or even a couch. So, I'd been searching and searching for my place in the world. Coming to Paris was a way for me to escape my life for a little, to take a vacation. And even though I wasn't looking for anything, or expecting anything in particular, I ended up finding my life. What I have here is…"

She took a deep breath. She wasn't accustomed to letting everything out at once - at least not on paper - but all of the sudden the words tumbled out of her, freely, as if being on this rooftop alone with Robin, the wind swirling around them and the sounds of the city below drifting up to them, had set them free.

"I have everything I've ever wanted - more, really - right now. I know what I'm good at. This experience only reaffirms it. I don't need to keep moving, or wandering, or wondering what I should do next. This is my next. I am a writer, with my beautiful son, and a place to live, and a beautiful, fulfilling relationship. Being here, writing the fashion blogs that got all of this attention, writing about this city, writing about us… well, through it all, in this time I've discovered that I was basically writing my future. My own story. I was writing who I am, and who I am becoming. And I like it."

"I like it too," he said, softly, his arm wrapped around her, tucking her close to him.

"Robin, these past few days, I've learned… felt, well, I really do believe I…" she took a deep breath.

But he knew what she was about to say. A smile tugged at his lips as he moved closer to her. "I know," he said, before kissing her, gently and beautifully, on the rooftop in Paris, overlooking the Eiffel Tower.

.

.

.

Epilogue: One Year Later

Regina received a package in the mail.

It contained five copies of her first-ever book, which was being published by a small independent press in the UK.

Saturday Mornings in Paris had gone from a web-based blog to a column in the print edition of a magazine to a book. A real, paper-ink-binding, tangible book.

To Regina-

Your first books, hot off the presses.

Don't get too excited, you'll be signing about 1,000 of these soon to go to bookshops all over the UK and world.

Sidney

P.S. Look in the book on the bottom of the stack for a surprise.

She smiled at Sidney's (her literary agent) comment about signing 1,000 books. She'd do anything right now, she was so euphoric to see her words printed and bound.

After taking her time to thumb through the first book, inhaling the fresh scent of paper and ink, appreciating the weight of the incredible book, her book, in her hands, she followed Sidney's instructions and picked up the last book in the stack in the box.

Oddly, that book had a green ribbon tied around it.

She opened it, and suddenly, she realized that book wasn't hers - she didn't recognize the words, they were all in French, and the pages were yellowed - it was some other book from some other time and place.

And oddly, a few of the last pages of the book had been torn out,

And in their place was a sparkling gold ring with a princess-cut diamond flanked with two small round emeralds.

"What?" Regina breathed.

Along with the ring, a small note written on a thin piece of paper fluttered out.

"Marry me? -R" was all it said in scrawled, almost-messy handwriting.

Regina held up the ring to the light, amazed. The diamonds and emeralds caught the light and threw a prism of rainbows onto the far wall.

Robin wasn't home yet - he was still teaching his class at the college - but she continued to smile as she went ahead and slipped it on her finger.

It was a perfect fit.

Author's note:

What a strange feeling to know that this story has drawn to a close! I originally posted the first few chapters on here as a sort of experiment after talking about fan fiction with two real-life friends (who also write fic). I'd written fan fic in the past, long ago, but hadn't tried it out again until now. In fact, I hadn't written any fiction in many years... I've been in grad school, and writing a thesis all day kind of takes a lot of creative writing energy out of you. (Fun fact, one of these chapters was actually posted the morning of my master's graduation ceremony! For that reason, I don't think I'll ever forget this little fic, because it was a part of that important day.)

Anyways, when I posted the first few chapters, the story for Saturday Mornings in Paris had just an idea I'd been tossing around in my mind. I like writing AUs because I enjoy taking the characters we know and love and fitting them into new situations (obviously, based on this story's premise!). I had a lot of fun doing this for Robin and Regina, and in fact, as I wrote this story, I was surprised how many things from OUAT really fit in well. I guess it's testament to the universal appeal of Robin and Regina's story.

What I did not expect in the beginning was for this little fic to get so much attention. The traffic it's received has surpassed every expectation I had. In fact, I was not expecting any attention at all, and certainly not these reviews, likes and follows. Thank you all so much for taking the time to read my work. It really is gratifying beyond words. I also appreciate the time you took to leave a comment. It was motivating and humbling. Like Regina (in this story), it reaffirms my love of writing and has motivated me to continue.

To preserve anonymity, I have not linked to my real Tumblr profile (I'm involved in a few other aspects of the fandom and wanted to keep this part of my fandom life more private) here on . In addition, Ana is indeed a pseudonym. If you are interested in following my real Tumblr, just drop me a note either here or on my sideblog/pseudonym Tumblr, which is .com and I will share it privately. It's not really a huge secret (or huge surprise or anything, haha) who I am, I just want to keep some control over who knows I'm writing fan fic, as I do also work as a professional writer in "real life."

Thank you again so much. I have a few other creative ideas planned for the future, so you might want to check back in the next few weeks to see if I start something new.

Warm regards,

Ana

P.S. and as a final disclaimer, I do not claim ownership over these characters and some of the OUAT-inspired plot points. My awe, kudos and great thanks to the writers who do. :)