Regina sat curled against the armrest of Mary Margaret's loveseat, her heels kicked off and her feet tucked underneath her. Another night at the loft – the unofficial headquarters of Team Mongoose (and that was a testament to Henry, that she now gave everything a code name in her head). Eventually she would have to suggest that they start meeting at her house, rather than cramming into the already overcrowded loft. For now, though, she would sit quietly on the lumpy loveseat and try not to let her foul mood piss anyone else off.
Good luck with that, Regina, she thought as she shifted again on the cushions. How old was this crappy furniture anyway?
Oh, right. 30 years old, just like everything else she'd created in their little town. She sighed and dug her toes into the hideous floral cushion. She had nobody to blame but herself for the worn-out cushions, she supposed.
Robin sat next to her on the loveseat, his arm slung against the back, leaning slightly toward her. She'd told him that he didn't need to come along, but he'd insisted. I can help, he'd said, and she'd been too tired to argue the point. She had curled into a ball on the loveseat as soon as she'd arrived, and Henry had plopped down next to her, glaring at Robin with all the fierce intensity he could muster at his age. She should have scolded him for his manners, but she was too touched with how protective he was of the former Evil Queen to correct him. Nevertheless, she was his mother, and he had homework to do. Being the son of the Savior and the mayor didn't absolve him from algebra, and she shoved him off the loveseat and toward the kitchen table. "If you want to stay, you have to do your math," she had said, not surprised when he immediately opened his mouth to protest.
"Your mother is right," Emma had cut in, "Get busy." Regina couldn't help but smile at Emma, grateful not only for the assist (it was exhausting sometimes, being the bad guy), but also for the easy way Emma referred to her as Henry's mother. As soon as Henry had shoved himself off the loveseat, Robin had taken his place. He didn't dare to meet her eyes, no doubt afraid that she'd tell him to shift it and find somewhere else to sit. So she'd nudged her shoes off, curled her legs underneath her, and made a point of looking anywhere but at him.
Not that she needed to look at him to know he was there, damn him.
Snow and David were washing dishes, Snow handing him each dish to dry and put away carefully in the cabinets. The practiced, easy moves of a couple at ease in their routine. Regina couldn't help but feel a tug at her heart at the easy way they moved, completely in sync with each other. Killian was in the rocking chair, bouncing baby Neal on his lap, and Emma leaned against his legs. The yearning looks Emma shot the pirate holding the baby didn't escape Regina's notice. Didn't escape David's, either, if the grim expression on his face gave any indication. Regina couldn't help but feel for David – after all, she had maybe a few years before Henry became interested in girls, but David's firstborn had arrived in his life with barely a breath before her love life smacked him square in the face. She thought to herself that she should try to be a little bit more patient with David, but the Evil Queen lying dormant in her mind scoffed at the thought.
And, after all, David enjoyed goading Regina as much as she enjoyed poking at him. Who was she to deny them both that satisfaction?
Regina shook herself back into the moment. Snow was asking her a question, and her cheeks flushed when she realized that she had no idea what her stepdaughter had said. Snow shot her a knowing look and repeated herself, "I said, what did he say that Rumpel wanted?"
Right, the author. "He said he wanted the author to fix what was broken inside him."
"Hardly an easy task," Hook said. "Wouldn't even know where to begin with that one."
"I do," Robin said quietly, and six heads swiveled toward him. "It's his heart."
"What do you mean, his heart?" Snow asked, placing the dishtowel on the counter.
"It's dying," Robin said. "I found out when I saw him in New York."
Regina furrowed her eyebrows, not sure whether or not to believe Robin. Not that she didn't believe that he was being honest, but how could he have known what Rumpel's weaknesses were when she herself did not? Robin raised an eyebrow at the look on her face, and she heard her own voice echoing in her head. Why are we even listening to him? He's a thief. She smoothed her features, trying to shove the memory of his smirk in the Enchanted Forest out of her mind.
"You didn't tell us Robin saw Rumpel in New York," Emma said to Regina, pulling her back to the present, and there was a hint of anger in her voice. "That might have been a useful detail."
"Well, I'm very sorry," Regina spat. "I had a lot of things to worry about, you know. Next time your boyfriend can be the one to hightail it out of town and you can take all the notes you need."
"Can we not do this?" Robin cut in with a pointed look at Emma, trying to dispel the tension in the room. "His heart is very nearly black. He's afraid he's going to die, and he knows his magic won't save him."
"So he wants the author to rewrite his story," Regina finished. Of course he did. Once again, Rumpel had taken what Regina wanted, a chance to have the author rewrite her story to a happier end, and turned it into something ugly for his own purposes. She buried her face in her hands, regretting every word she'd spoken to the Dark One that day in her car (the day that Robin had left, the day that everything had changed). Robin reached out and pulled her hands from her face.
"This is not your fault," he said quietly. "If anyone is to blame, it's me. I should have called you immediately and told you."
"Oh, come on," Snow said. "It's not your fault, or Regina's, or anyone else's. Gold did this to himself. And I'm sorry if his heart is in jeopardy, but I'm more concerned about us."
Regina shot an appraising look at Snow. Gone was the girl who relentlessly saw the best in anyone, and the woman that remained – the woman who had tasted the darkness – was proving to be a formidable ally, every inch as unyielding as she was compassionate. Though it was a thought she could never voice aloud for risk of reminding everyone how dangerous having an Evil Queen in their midst could be, Regina was privately grateful that she'd been so lousy at trying to kill Snow White.
"Well, the author is locked in Regina's vault, so we should have nothing to worry about. Gold had him for days and couldn't figure out how to get him to rewrite the story, right? So maybe it's too late for him," David said.
"He won't give up that easily," Snow countered, and Regina nodded in agreement.
"Whatever is keeping him from changing that book, Rumpel will find it," she said. "We need to find it first."
"You should ask August," Henry piped up from the kitchen table, math homework forgotten. "He's the only one who's ever changed the book. If anyone would know, he would."
Out of the corner of her eye, Regina saw Hook shoot an uncomfortable glance at Emma and shift in his seat. Clearly the pirate was not a fan of inviting August back into the inner circle. Regina felt a stab of sympathy for the pirate. Better than anyone, she knew how frustrating it was to watch the entire town fall in love with Emma, and to live with the knowledge that she wouldn't measure up.
"This apartment is too cramped already," Emma muttered, and Regina could almost see the relief radiating through Killian's body. "I'll call him tomorrow."
Tomorrow, Regina thought as she shifted position to free her right leg and roll her ankle in an attempt to wake the foot that had fallen asleep, tomorrow is a great time to think about this. Her joints cracked as she flexed her foot, her body audibly agreeing that she'd been through enough for one night. She tilted her head back as she pointed her toes, thinking about how wonderful her bed was going to feel when she finally managed to escape this apartment for the peace and quiet of Mifflin Street.
A hand grabbed her ankle, and Regina's head popped back up in surprise. Robin tugged her foot into his lap, and his strong thumbs began pressing into her arch. "What are you doing?" she asked, shifting against the armrest and trying unsuccessfully to free her foot from his strong grasp.
"I'm helping," he said mildly. "You're tired, and your feet hurt."
"My feet are fine," she argued, but he shot a pointed glance at the stiletto heels lying askance on the floor in front of her. He didn't even bother to respond; he just pushed his knuckles into the ball of her foot. "Robin," she said, warning in her voice, but he cocked an eyebrow at her and held even more firmly to her ankle. "My feet are sweaty," she said finally, trying to find something that would get him to release her, to stop teasing her sensitive skin with his callused fingers.
"Regina, my son throws up on me at least twice every time he falls ill. I am not in the least bit put off by sweaty feet." He reached out and grasped her other ankle, giving it a tug until both her legs were firmly in his lap. With one hand, he continued to worry the arch of one foot; with the other, he kneaded the calf muscle of the opposite leg.
"You can't really want to touch my feet," she muttered. He leaned in a bit closer and said, just above a whisper, "No, Regina, I don't. But I'll take what I can get." She looked up to meet his eyes, darkening with heat, and her own pulse quickened to know that he would take any excuse he was offered to touch her. She should pull away, she knew, but God, it felt good. The rest of the room faded away, and her eyelids fluttered as she allowed herself to fall into the simple, perfect sensation of his hands on her body. His thumb pushed more aggressively into her arch, and she shifted involuntarily against the loveseat.
"Mom," Henry said, just above her ear, and Regina jumped at the sound of his voice. She jerked her legs back, and this time, Robin let them go willingly. "I'm done with my homework." She looked up at her son and saw disapproval written all over his face. Clearly she wasn't the only one having trouble forgetting what had transpired in New York. "If we're not going to talk to August tonight, maybe we should go home."
"I thought you were staying here tonight, kid," Emma said in surprise. Henry shook his head. "Not tonight. I think Mom needs me more," and Regina stifled a laugh at the pointed way he was not glaring at Robin. She swung her legs to the floor and reached down for her shoes, loathe to put them back on.
"Say goodnight to everyone, Henry," she said, "and let's get going." Robin stood as she did and reached out a hand to steady her back – a reflex, she knew, a chivalrous gesture. "You should get back to the camp too," she said to him. "I'm sure Roland is wondering where you've gotten off to."
"Roland is so excited to be with John and Will that he barely remembers my name," he said with a rueful grin, "but you're right." He turned to Snow and David. "I should let you get your rest. Thank you for your hospitality."
Snow dismissed him with a wave and a wide smile, telling him he was welcome anytime, and Regina didn't miss the quick grin her stepdaughter shot her way. Regina sighed. Snow was still trying to play matchmaker, which meant it was definitely time to go home.
Emma perked up from her position against Killian's shins. "You didn't drive over here," she said. "Want me to poof you home?"
"Good night, Emma," Regina said firmly and pushed Henry toward the door.