It wouldn't be accurate to say that Robin is surprised to see Regina Mills two spots in front of him in line at Storybrooke Coffee Co., on the twenty-second of December. She hasn't come home for every Christmas since he's known her, certainly not since she's been married—and in the four years since her father passed, Robin is certain she's only been home twice—but there had been a time when he could count on seeing her at the annual Winter Festival, or at Granny's New Year's Eve Bash.
So no, it's not entirely a surprise to shiver off the cold of a Maine morning and look up to see the unmistakeable back of her head, the recognizable shape of the Birkin bag slung over her arm, the familiar silhouette of her profile when she turns her head to point out something in the pastry case.
Robin's heart skips a beat, as always. It's done the same since the day Marian introduced him to Regina and Daniel nearly twenty years ago in that corner booth at Granny's. Her hair had been longer then, twisted over her shoulder in a messy braid that had been mussed by the wooly cap she'd been pulling off, rather than the neatly styled bob she's been sporting the last half-decade or so. And she'd been pink-cheeked and grinning, a light in her eyes, her smile, that Robin doesn't think he's seen since they lost Daniel.
And then she'd started talking, had been fun and witty and whip-smart.
Robin had been madly in love with Marian at the time, and the little jolt of attraction he'd felt for Regina Mills had made him feel more guilt than pleasure, so he'd pushed it down. Dismissed it. They were both happily attached, and the world was full of attractive, interesting people. None of them were Marian, nor worth losing her, so Robin had done the next best thing he could with his interest in Regina: he'd made a new friend.
And friends they've been, to varying degrees, ever since.
With Marian several years gone now, that little punch of attraction comes with much less guilt. Less, but not none – coveting another man's wife and all.
But a little coveting never hurt anyone (that's quite the lie, and nobody knows it better than the two of them), so he doesn't say hello just yet. Instead, he takes a moment to watch her, tilting his head shamelessly to get a good look at her around Leroy's bulky winter coat. She's in dark denim, and heeled hiking boots the color of red wine, her black parka long enough that he can't ogle her too inappropriately.
Probably for the best.
As it is, he feels a sharp jab between his shoulder blades and turns around to find Ruby Lucas in line behind him, her brows rising toward her hairline in amusement.
Robin shrugs, and tells her, "I'm going to talk to her in a minute; I figured I'd let her order first."
"Uh huh," Ruby says doubtfully, and then the line is moving forward, Regina stepping to the side to wait for her drink, pulling her phone from her bag and frowning far too seriously at it.
She's always been far too serious, Regina.
Leroy orders a coffee, black, with an extra shot of espresso, and then Robin asks for his usual London Fog.
When he's finished paying, Regina is still scowling down at her phone. As he takes a step closer, Robin can see that she's distracted not by text messages or emails, but by what appears to be a particularly vexing game of Sudoku.
He smiles a little, and then leans in even closer, startling her slightly as he says, "Let me guess: a Candy Cane Mocha, skim milk, no whip."
Her smile blossoms as she adjusts to his unexpected presence (her lips are the same wine color as her shoes and bag, and she looks far too pretty for not-even-ten AM, but then, she usually does). His assessment has her shaking her head with a low chuckle.
"Robin," she greets warmly, although there's the usual hint of awkwardness underneath it. The slightest hesitation that's lingered under their hellos ever since that Christmas before he'd married Marian, the one when they'd made The Mistake. It always fades quickly, and today is no different, her head tilting, eyes narrowing slightly as she corrects, "Whole milk, with whip, extra candy pieces."
Robin's brows lift. "Madam Mayor that bad already?"
She laughs, one hand lifting to run through her hair (it's a bit mussed, and he can see a grey cap tucked into the front pocket of her coat), as she says, "Among other things. And let me guess – a London Fog, extra tea bag, whole milk."
Robin shrugs his shoulders and admits, "You know me too well. Or perhaps I'm just boring."
"Comfortably predictable," she tells him, and then something shifts in her expression – a shadow flickering beneath the ease of their banter. Her smile wanes just slightly, then bounces back, a little tighter around the edges.
He's managed to touch a nerve, somehow. The urge to smooth it over is reflexive, has him asking, "Are you off to somewhere, or do you have time to sit for a minute and catch up over coffee? If you'd like, that is."
That smile loosens, eases, and she gives him a little nod, says, "I need to stop by Zelena's at some point this morning, but it can wait. Do you need to get to the shop?"
Robin glances up at the clock on the wall, and tells her, "I have twenty minutes, and it's just across the street."
"Then I'll grab us a table – you get the drinks," she orders, turning in the small space to find an open spot.
The coffee shop isn't terribly busy today, thankfully, so she nabs them a quiet corner table, and Robin juggles their two drinks and her cranberry scone as he makes his way to her. She's shrugged out of her coat, leaving her in a sort of marbled grey jumper that puddles cozily around her. It looks unbearably soft, and despite the fact that she's perfectly casual, it's all so effortlessly put together that Robin feels somehow underdressed when he sets their drinks down and unzips himself.
He's in old, worn jeans and a navy henley, the hoodie he'd thrown over it to keep out the December chill sporting a small hole along the seam of one of the cuffs. His boots are scuffed heavily along one side, one of the laces knotted together where it had popped at home a week ago – he's been meaning to nick a pair from the store and re-lace them ever since.
Thankfully, Regina doesn't seem to notice any of it, reaching for her coffee and lifting it to her lips, humming softly in satisfaction after the first sip.
"I've been looking forward to that for months," she sighs as Robin pulls the to-go top from his own drink and takes a cautious sip – he's burned his tongue on his morning tea one time too many.
It's alright today, though, so he swallows and asks, "Was it everything you remembered?"
"Mm," Regina hums in confirmation, "And more."
She reaches for her scone and breaks off a piece of it, asking him, "So, what's new in Storybrooke? If I ask Mother, she'll just talk my ear off about changes in the town charter or who is violating city ordinances."
Robin chuckles and leans back a little in his chair, squinting up toward the ceiling as he tries to think of anything notable.
"Well… We had our largest Miner's Day celebration in nineteen years, and raised enough to keep the convent open for God knows how much longer. But the real excitement came from Sister Astrid giving up her vows because she's fallen in love with Leroy of all people."
Regina's eyes pop wide, her jaw dropping and then spreading into a disbelieving grin.
"No," she gasps, and Robin nods. "Leroy?"
"He's like a different person," Robin chuckles. "It's bizarre."
"Oh, this I have to see," she laughs, shaking her head and taking another sip. "I can't believe Zelena didn't tell me."
"Well, you know how she's always felt about the Sisters."
"All the more reason she should have told me," Regina argues, breaking off another hunk of her scone and offering it to Robin. He takes it as she asks, "What else?"
"The ice cream parlor is now a day spa, much to my endless disappointment," he laments before popping the bit of scone in his mouth, and Regina smirks.
"What's the matter? You too manly for a manicure?"
"Absolutely," Robin nods around his mouthful, swallowing before he tells her, "Granny's serves poké now, although I think that's to do with Ruby taking over more and more."
Regina's brows rise and fall, both hands wrapping around the base of her cup. Robin's eyes are drawn to the motion, and it's then that he notices it: her left hand is bare.
He falters for a second, only one, but it's long enough. She notices what he's noticed, and her fingers curl in alongside her cup, as she offers him a quiet, acknowledging, "Yeah."
The shift in tone is sudden, like a door slamming shut on their casual levity and leaving a deafening silence in its wake.
Robin's heart aches with sympathy as he tells her, "I'm sorry."
But she shakes her head at him, her lips curving into something that should be smile but isn't.
"I'm not," she tells him. "It was my choice. One I should have made a long time ago. But then, you always knew that, didn't you?"
Robin glances down at the table, his teeth sinking into his lower lip. He'd never liked Leo Blanchard – or rather, he'd never liked him for Regina. And he'd told her so, once, before they'd married. Had told her he'd thought she was making a mistake, in a rather tense conversation he'd sooner forget.
"I shouldn't have said what I did back then," Robin says to her, dropping his voice to afford them a bit of privacy. "I couldn't understand yet what you'd meant about having had your one big love. Feeling like nothing will ever measure up, so why bother. I get it, now."
Regina nods slowly, turning her cup absently, as she tells him, "I'm sorry that you do." She sucks in a breath after that, forcing her smile into something a bit more cheeky and teasing him a little when she says, "Is that why nobody has snatched you up yet?"
Robin leans forward, reaching across the table and breaking off another little hunk of her scone (she moves the plate to the center of the table when he does, a silent agreement that it's both of theirs now), before he says to her, "I suppose. I've been out with a few women over the years, but…" He frowns, and tells her, "This town is a bit too small, if that makes sense."
Her smile grows again, blooms into a soft chuckle, and she tells him, "I can see how that would be an issue."
"Everyone here knew me with Marian – everyone here knew Marian." He breaks off a little bit of crumb, but doesn't eat it, just grinds it lazily between his thumb and finger until it dissolves onto the plate between them. "There's always this feeling like she's there. Even when she's not. Does that make sense?"
"It does," Regina nods. "Dating Graham after Daniel was… strange, sometimes. It's hard to build something new with someone who watched your last relationship unfold and end tragically. That was one of the things that drew me to Leo in the beginning. Getting to know someone new, someone who I could tell my story to, in my own way. Share as much as I wanted, or keep as much as I wanted."
She's the one breaking off a piece of the scone now, popping it into her mouth and chewing after she says, "It was nice."
There's something in the way she says it, a sort of tone. As much as she may say she's not sorry, he thinks she's still bruised.
Robin can't resist asking, "When did it happen? The split? The two of you seemed happy last Christmas."
"Happy enough," she tells him, a wry echo of what she'd told him a decade ago, when he'd asked her if this man she was set to marry really made her happy.
Robin's lips curve sympathetically, his head bobbing slightly. Happy enough isn't happy at all, not really. Not in a lasting way.
"We just finalized," she tells him softly, "But we split about three months ago, officially."
Still fresh, then, he thinks, reaching over on impulse and weaving his fingers in between hers.
She gives him a little squeeze and then relaxes, but she doesn't let go.
"We weren't going to tell anyone until after the holidays," she says, scowling a little and adding, "Or, over the holidays, I suppose. But I walked in the door last night and my mother somehow already knew."
"I can't say I'm surprised," he mutters, rubbing his thumb over hers. "Mayor Mills does always seem to know what's going on in everyone's lives."
"That she does," Regina sighs, her eyes rolling heavenward for a moment. "I managed to claim exhaustion and get out of the conversation before it dragged on too long, but she's determined to revisit it. So."
She raises her coffee with a pointed look, and confesses, "I ducked out while she was on a call this morning. Not very mature, but I'm forty-one years old; I don't want a lecture about the choices I make for my own marriage."
"She thinks you're making a mistake?"
"She thinks…" Regina sighs, and disentangles their fingers, wrapping both hands around her coffee cup again and then lifting it to take a sip before she finishes her thought.
Her tongue peeks out to swipe a bit of mocha from her lip, and Robin presses his own lips together. It's a wholly inappropriate time to think of kissing her, but he does anyway. He remembers her, thinks about her occasionally, when he's alone and thinking of Marian leaves too much of an ache. Thinks of the way he knows Regina kisses, strong and sure and passionate. The quiet sound she makes in the back of her throat when he sucks at her lower lip.
He shouldn't be thinking about this.
Robin takes a deep gulp of his tea, grateful for a distraction when she starts speaking again.
"She told me once—years ago, before I married Leo—that infatuation was for silly teenagers, and that one day, I would grow out of it. I would meet a man whose trajectory matched the one I wanted for myself, and I would choose a life that made sense, not one that made me all moon-eyed for some boy who taught kids to ride horses."
Robin snorts a little, shaking his head.
"It was a while after he'd died, and it made me so angry that she would reduce Daniel to that – to some schoolyard crush that I'd outgrow. I'd loved him, so deeply." She digs her thumb into the edge of her cup, tilting her head slightly, and continuing, "But… it's what she'd done herself, and I knew that. She married my father because it was smart, not because it was… passionate. And after Daniel…" She hesitates for a moment, and drops her gaze to the melting whipped cream on top of her cup as she speaks swiftly, "There was only one other person I ever felt that sort of… spark… with. And he was dating my friend."
She glances up at him then, nervously, perfect white teeth biting down on red-painted lips, and Robin's heart does this sort of tripping drum-beat as his mouth opens in surprise.
It's not that he hadn't known she'd felt something for him back then – he's seen her naked, he's been inside her, he knows there was something between them, once. It's just that he hadn't expected her to lend voice to it, after all these years.
He's a bit dumbfounded, caught off guard, and it throws him just long enough for her to take his gobsmacked silence the wrong way. Her cheeks flush pink as she laughs uncomfortably, and mutters, "I'm sorry; I shouldn't have said that."
That snaps Robin back into action, one of his hands reaching out to squeeze her wrist as he shakes his head and insists, "No, it's alright. Me, too. You definitely weren't alone in that."
Her shoulders sink on a relieved exhale, but she's still excusing it all, telling him, "I wasn't in love with you or anything like that. I just… had a little crush."
"Oh, I had a big crush," he assures her shamelessly, pleased when she laughs at him. His grin echoes hers as he admits, "From the moment we met, I was utterly smitten. But I loved Marian, and you loved Daniel, so… I never indulged it."
A memory bubbles up, a much younger Regina, trying very hard not to make a sound as she orgasmed in his childhood bed during the winter holidays, and, okay, well, never is probably not accurate, is it?
So he concedes, "Well, I guess there was London," and watches her silly smile warm to something a bit more knowing.
"Yes, there was London," she agrees, and he likes to think that the way her tongue wets her lips ever-so-briefly means she's thinking of the same things he is.
But it's just a moment, and then she's continuing her tale, telling him, "And then you were back with Marian; you were taken. And I was never sure if I really felt that way about you or if I was just envious of what the two of you had. What I'd lost when Daniel… passed. Either way, you were no longer an option, and the one time we made that mistake again, it…" She grimaces, and he sobers, agreeing wholeheartedly with the rest of her assessment: "Wasn't exactly a shining moment for me – for either of us. So I told myself whatever attraction I may have felt for you was selfish, and childish – an infatuation, like Mother had said. And I moved on, and found myself a man whose trajectory matched my own. And I thought matching trajectories would be enough to make me happy, but it wasn't. Maybe that kind of marriage had been enough for her, but not for me, and I don't expect her to understand that. How could she?"
"That's sad," he tells her, and then he realizes how that might sound and clarifies, "Her – not you. It's sad to think someone could never understand why settling isn't enough."
Regina's head bobs slowly, and she lifts her drink again, taking a few swallows as a comfortable silence settles between them. When she sets the cup down again, there's a bit of whipped cream clinging to her lip for a just a moment, until it gets swept away by her tongue. And then she sighs, and says, "You know what? I think we're lucky, you and I. We may have lost our big loves, but we had them. Not everybody gets that – something real, and soul-moving like that. My mother didn't. We're lucky that we did."
"We are," he agrees. "I've always thought that – cancer is a bitch, but… I've never regretted loving Marian, no matter how painful the end of our story was. I was fortunate to have every day with her that I did."
"It's just a shame that it leaves such big shoes to fill for the next person. Nobody seems to measure up."
"Isn't that the truth," Robin commiserates. "I keep telling myself that I need to stop using her as a yardstick. Stop comparing. But how do you do that when someone has been so much of your life?"
"I would say it gets easier the longer you're with someone, but… I still thought of Daniel when I was with Leo. I wondered how things would be different if I'd been able to marry him instead." Her lips curve into a wry smile, and she admits, "Especially when I was angry with Leo, or when he was being… obstinate, or… when we disagreed about something we wanted for our lives. I'd imagine how much better it would be if it had been Daniel – because of course, he'd have taken my side."
"Naturally," Robin agrees gamely, and they both laugh softly.
"That's probably not a healthy habit," she grimaces. "Probably wasn't very good for our marriage."
"Getting married probably wasn't very good for your marriage," he mutters, caught up in the conversation and forgetting for a moment how much a comment like that might cut. At least, until she gives him The Look, her brows sliding up slowly. Robin coughs a little, and apologizes. "I'm sorry; I didn't think."
"Sure, you did; you just didn't like him," Regina says knowingly. "No point in pretending you did now that it's over."
"He was nice enough," Robin concedes, because although he'd found Leo to be a bit arrogant, and dull, and superior (she's right, he hadn't liked him), he'd never been unkind, and he'd always seemed to treat Regina well. "But no, I suppose I didn't like him overly much. And I still think you deserve more than 'nice enough' or 'happy enough.' If ending things is what you needed to do to be happy, then I can't say I'm sorry you did it."
She smiles sadly at that, and then that smile wavers a little and her eyes well with tears and Robin's stomach drops. He reaches out for her again immediately, but she draws her arm back before he can make contact, shaking her head and blinking rapidly, telling him, "Don't. I'm alright." She sucks in a breath, lets it out, and her eyes seem to dry by sheer force of will. "I don't want to cry here, and if you do that, I will."
"I'm sorry," he tells her, sincerely. "I didn't meant to upset—"
"You didn't," she assures him, going back to turning that nearly-empty coffee between her hands. "It's just that… I'm not very happy."
Regina smiles again, or tries to, but it's a pained, pale imitation of the real thing. She keeps talking, her voice soft and private, quiet enough that he has to lean in to hear her properly.
"Our marriage was over long before I asked to end it; we both knew that, I think. But I didn't realize how used to it I was until I had my own place, and my own things. Nobody else taking up space in my bed, or putting their pickled onions in my fridge, or cluttering my bookshelves with biographies of every U.S. president and founding father." The edge of exasperation in her voice is familiar, makes him think of the cabinet of 80s cassette tapes that he'd packed away long after Marian died, and he can't help but smile a little. "It's just me. And it's lonely – especially over the last few months, when we weren't telling anyone about it. It's a relief that the marriage is over, that I can start to move forward, but it's been hard. And scary, too. I've been 'Leo Blanchard's Wife' for the last ten years; now I'm just me. And 'just me' is… too quiet. My bookshelves are too empty, and I just bought an electric blanket because I was tired of stretching out and finding the cold spot in the bed."
Robin has his hands clenched against his thighs to keep from reaching out for her again, because those tears have managed to find their way back to the edges of her lashes. They spill over as she admits just above a whisper that she'd "decorated an apartment I wasn't even going to spend the holidays in, because…" and she rushes to wipe them away, losing her thought in favor of cursing herself softly and sniffling, and Robin can't take it anymore.
"Can I please hold your hand?" he asks her, because she cannot expect him to just sit here while she cries. She nods, and he reaches out, grasping her hand and squeezing. The moment they touch, her shoulders shake with a silent sob, and another tear slips out and down her cheek. And of course it does, because she's been going through all of this alone, keeping it all a secret. But it's not a secret anymore, so Robin decides to hell with it, and scoots his chair around the side of the table, using their joined hands to pull her in close as he murmurs, "Come here, darling."
She crumples into his side, pressing her head to his shoulder, ducking it into his neck to hide her tears from the few other people sipping their coffees and chatting around them. Her shoulders shudder as he wraps his arm around them and rubs his hand up and down her bicep. That jumper is just as soft as it had looked, and the familiar scent of her perfume wafts around him like a cloud now that he's this close.
He presses his chin against her hair and makes a soothing sound as she sniffles again, her shoulders rising sharply on a deep breath, as she gasps, "I'm sorry."
"It's fine, love," he assures, giving her a little squeeze as she wipes at her cheek again.
And then she's muttering a wet, choked, "Oh God, everyone knows me in this town; me sobbing on your shoulder in the middle of the coffee shop is going to make it all the way through the rumor mill by noon, and good luck keeping the divorce private after that."
Robin chuckles sympathetically, but reminds her, "You're telling Zelena, aren't you? She'll have told half the town by noon anyway."
"True," she chokes, and he thinks the way her shoulders quake this time might be a laugh. Her sister isn't exactly known for her discretion.
Regina stays there against him for another few seconds, and Robin feels her take a deep breath, and then one more, before she pushes away, sitting up and brushing one last time at flushed, damp cheeks. She's still sniffling, and her eyes are red, but she's trying to pull herself together.
Robin knows she's right – anyone having a good cry in the coffee shop won't go undiscussed, but it being the Mayor's daughter won't help matters at all. And the fact that she's leaning on him while she does it, well… Small towns have long memories and he has no doubt that there are a few out there who remember their little indiscretion all those years ago. So he lets his arm fall away from her, dropping his hand subtly to her knee under the table instead and giving it a squeeze that he hopes nobody can see.
"I'm sorry," she says again, sounding far more embarrassed than she has any right to be. "I don't know what came over me."
"Regina," Robin chides gently. "You're allowed to be upset over this – even if it's what you asked for."
She nods, another of those sad, forced smiles making its way onto her lips, and then she narrows her eyes and asks him, "Aren't you late for work?"
Robin startles, craning to see the clock, now solidly past ten AM, and mutters, "Shit!"
When he turns back, her smile is less forced, more hopelessly amused, and she shakes her head at him as she says, "I'm sorry I made you late."
"Nah, it's alright. Luckily for me, I'm the boss." Robin smirks at her, then gulps down the last of his tea.
"Yes, lucky you," she teases, her voice still a little thick from her crying jag. She wraps her napkin around the little bit of scone left on her plate and shoves it into the pocket of her coat, then shrugs said jacket onto her shoulders as Robin grabs both their cups and her plate and gets rid of them.
She's all zipped up, bag over her arm, tugging on that cap that had been stowed in her pocket when he returns to the table and insists, "Let me walk you to your car."
"Oh, I'm just parked out back," she dismisses, but Robin will have none of it.
"I insist," he tells her, pulling on his own coat and zipping it up.
She doesn't argue again – which is good, because he'd have had to fight her on it, and Lord knows the two of them can bicker until they both turn blue.
It takes a whole minute for him to follow her out the back and to her parked Mercedes; when she reaches her driver's side door, she turns to him with a look no doubt meant to point out how pointless his escort had been.
But he'd followed her out for a reason, and it wasn't simple neighborliness: There's nobody else back here, so it affords them just enough privacy for him to open his arms to her for a proper hug. Regina smiles a little, and steps into his embrace.
Robin rubs his palms up and down her back, assuring her, "It sounds like you made the best choice for everyone, even if it's hard right now. The happiness will come, just give it time. And when you get lonely, you have my number, alright? Any time, day or night, just call."
Robin feels her arms squeeze around his middle, feels her nod against him, and then she's pulling back, and telling him, "Thank you," and, "I'm really glad we ran into each other today."
"Me, too," he says, stuffing his bare hands into his pockets as the wind whips up for a moment. She feels it, too; he sees her shoulders hunch forward just a little to burrow herself deeper into her coat. "It's been too long since we had a proper catch-up."
"It has," she agrees. And then she's telling him, "Merry Christmas, if I don't see you in the next few days," and Robin finds he doesn't at all want to lose her company.
But she has plans, and he has a business to open for the day, so he doesn't press for more time. He does, however, make sure to ask her, "You'll be at Granny's on New Year's, I hope?"
She smiles, and promises, "Wouldn't miss it."
.::.
Regina is just fine until she turns off of Main Street. Or at least, she's still dry-eyed. Mostly.
She'd been glad to run into Robin – she knew they'd bump into each other somewhere, eventually. It would be almost impossible not to in this town. She just wishes it hadn't ended in such a mortifying way.
She's not sure what had come over her. She'd been fine, has been fine for weeks. Sure, there have been a few tears, a few moments of weakness, but those had always been in the comfort and privacy of her own home, late at night. She hasn't broken down in public like that.
But then, she hasn't really had an opportunity to, has she?
She certainly wasn't going to tell Leo or the lawyers about the pervasive, aching loneliness of living on her own after so long, and there had been nobody else.
Actually speaking the words aloud (and to someone she trusts, someone so warm and open) had done something to her. Her confession had scraped open a scab on her heart and left her bleeding right there in front of him.
Thank God it hadn't been somebody else.
Thank God she'd been able to button herself back up before she really gave in to the twisting, pinching ache in her chest.
But that reprieve seems to be temporary, because as she drives away from the coffee shop, she can't shake the sensation of a warm body holding hers close, of the scratch of his beard against her hair or the soft sound of his voice offering her comfort. The scent of his cologne wrapping around her like a welcoming fog as he'd given her one more hug for the road.
If they'd been somewhere more private, she thinks she'd probably have stayed much longer in the soothing safety of his arms. Would have soaked up every bit of warm comfort he offered her, until her emotional tank had risen from its currently blinking warning next to the proverbial dreaded E all the way up to the top.
But back parking lot or not, they'd still been in the middle of town (and as much as she's aching for something to fill that yawning void in her middle, she can't just force him to fall face-first into the abyss for her), so she'd pulled away after a polite amount of time and made her exit, dignity still semi-intact.
Right now, though, she's thinking that maybe she should have sacrificed some more of that dignity, because her cells are screaming at her to turn the car around, to go back, to pull him into the semi-dark of his locked-up store, and tug his arms around her again. To stand there a little while longer, and let someone coddle her for a bit.
Somehow that little reprieve from her loneliness has only whet her appetite for more contact, more connection, and she feels her eyes well again with stubborn tears just as soon as she's left the little stretch of downtown for the back roads that lead to her sister's farm.
She blinks rapidly as the road wavers wetly in front of her, one hand wiping angrily at the traitorous tears that slip down her cheeks. They're only replaced by more, though, and this particular back road is still a little snowy, making everything blur white at the edges.
It's dangerous to drive like this, even this early in the day, so Regina pulls carefully over onto the little strip of shoulder and puts her car in park.
Then she unclips her seat belt, drops her forehead to her crossed arms over the steering wheel and lets herself cry it out. No use in trying to keep it all bottled, especially if it means she might end up blubbering all over her sister, too.
It's not pretty, this second not-so-little crying jag. She blows her nose no less than three times, fishing a travel pack of tissues from her glove compartment, and she is so, so grateful nobody is around to hear the way she gasps and sniffles, her throat thick and choked, aching at each tight sob that works its way up from her chest. Her tears run steadily, too, wiped away again and again with the edge of her sleeve, until it finally passes.
It's not more than ten minutes, all told, but when she flips down the visor mirror after she finally turns off the waterworks, she can't help but grimace at her reflection. Her cheeks are flushed and blotchy, and her nose is red and stuffy. She blows it once more for good measure, then punches the button to lower her window and let in some cold air before she reaches for her purse. She fishes out foundation and her emergency concealer, covering the slight redness and saying a prayer of thanks for waterproof mascara as she resorts to eye drops to urge her bloodshot eyes back to normal.
They're still a little puffy, but she has a good ten minutes' drive left, and if she leaves the window down, they'll hopefully settle.
Deciding she's done the best she can, Regina puts her car back in gear, and heads once more in the direction of her sister's place.
Several minutes later, she turns up the long drive toward Zelena's farmhouse, unsurprised to see twin rows of reindeer looking skeletal in the daylight, waiting for night to fall and their owner to flip the switch and bring them to twinkling life. There are balsam firs in all different sizes lining the drive, several empty stumps where this year's crop has been cut down and sold.
When the house comes into view, there are more decorations on the lawn. Snowmen and another pair of reindeer, more than one Santa, and some waving elves.
What their mother lacks in festive tendencies, Zelena more than makes up for.
Nothing about the farmhouse is imposing or austere in the slightest – it's homey any time of year, but especially at Christmas, when the porch is strung with large, retro multi-colored bulbs that Mother insists look cheap and tacky. Regina likes them, though. They're very… Zelena.
She pulls up next to her sister's beat up old Pinto and parks, taking a deep, cleansing breath to flush out the last dregs of her little breakdown before she steps out onto the gravel drive.
There's a mat in front of Zelena's door with a cartoon owl on a snowy branch, and the words "Owl be home for Christmas." Regina chuckles down at it as she rings the bell, absolutely certain that her niece is responsible for the purchase. Even Zelena's sense of whimsy has its limits.
After a moment, the door swings open, Zelena on the other side in an apron flecked with flour, her ginger curls pulled back in a messy braid. Regina can already tell something has her in a mood by the cock of her hip, the way her hand shifts to wrap around the edge of the door itself instead of the handle.
She gives Regina a quick once-over, then asks, "What's wrong with you?"
Regina bristles, the idea of hanging back and hiding with Robin for the day looking better and better.
"Well, hello to you, too, Sis," she bites, asking, "What kind of a greeting is that?"
"Your eyes are all red," Zelena points out, stepping back and opening the door a little further to invite Regina in as she surmises, "You've been crying."
"Oh…" Suddenly her question makes a lot more sense. "I just had a…" Sobfest on the shoulder of the friend you've always been convinced was half in love with me over the divorce I've yet to tell you about doesn't seem a wise response, so Regina settles on, "conversation that upset me. It's nothing."
"Not with our mother, I'm assuming. She called twenty minutes ago to see if you were here," Zelena tells her, and that explains her testy mood. Regina unzips her coat and stashes it in the front closet as Zelena continues, "She said you 'snuck out' this morning to avoid her. Seemed quite miffed that you'd give her the slip on your first day in town."
Regina sighs, raking a hand through her hair and wondering if maybe she should have just stayed and put up with the interrogation this morning rather than pile onto Mother's irritation with her.
"I didn't 'give her the slip,'" she mutters, "I just… left while she was busy, and didn't say goodbye."
Zelena snorts and shakes her head, smirking as she turns toward the kitchen and says, "That sounds an awful lot like sneaking out to me. And next time you use me as an alibi while you're off having secret conversations, be a dear and let me know, would you? That way, I can at least come up with a proper lie."
"I didn't use you as an alibi," Regina tells her. "I stopped for coffee and ran into Robin Locksley; we got caught up talking."
Zelena pauses just outside the kitchen door so she can offer up a pointed: "And crying."
Regina's brows lift and fall, a sort-of admission. "I mostly cried after, to be honest. But yes."
"Mostly?" Zelena questions, pushing open the kitchen door and stepping inside. "What on earth could he have said to get you so riled up?"
Regina follows her, unsurprised to find the kitchen table covered in baking accoutrements. The whole room smells like fragrant spices, and there's a pie dough already rolled out on a silicone mat over the table's wooden surface, along with a bowl half-filled with tart green apples. She'd guessed from the apron and flour that she'd caught Zelena in the midst of baking, but what she wasn't expecting was to discover she's not alone.
Parked by the table carefully peeling the skin from another firm fruit is a little girl who isn't so little anymore. Ophelia is twelve now, as of about a month ago, and has gotten downright gangly if the long legs clad in purple snowflake leggings are any indication. When she looks up and catches sight of Regina she breaks into a grin that reveals a set of braces meant to perfect the gap-toothed grin Regina has always so adored.
"Aunt Regina!" she exclaims, hopping up and thoroughly derailing the conversation the two sisters had been having. To be honest, that's fine by Regina – she doesn't mind a little detour away from the subject of her divorce.
What she does mind, though, is the realization that her niece has nearly surpassed her in height already.
"When did you get so tall?" she asks as she returns the girl's enthusiastic hug.
"I grew up," Ophelia shrugs as she steps back, tucking a lock of red hair behind her ear. She really is Zelena's mini-me – the same hair, the same icy blue eyes. The same tendency for dramatics if Regina recalls. Case in point: "Maybe if you didn't wait so long to come visit, I wouldn't look so tall."
Regina laughs and shakes her head, telling her, "Alright, point taken. It's been a busy fall. But that doesn't change the fact that you're nearly as tall as I am. Soon you're going to be taller than me, and then what will we do?"
"Send her to the Goodwill for jeans, if she keeps growing out of them at this rate," Zelena mutters in the general direction of the crust she's returned to rolling out.
Ophelia looks scandalized, letting out a far-too-teenage, "Mom! I'm not wearing hand-me-down jeans to school."
"It's not as though they put it on the label," her mother points out, an argument that doesn't help in the slightest.
Regina chuckles, and urges Ophelia back toward her apples, taking up one of the paring knives herself and grabbing a fresh apple to peel.
"Speaking of school," she starts as she runs the sharp knife in a spiral starting just beside the stem, "I didn't expect to see you today. Isn't it a school day?"
"Not today," her niece explains, finishing her own apple with the vegetable peeler. "It's the first day of break."
"Ah."
She should've figured.
"You know, I do have another peeler," Zelena points out, as Regina continues to drag her knife beneath the peel in one continuous ribbon.
"Now where would be the fun in that?" she taunts, giving Ophelia a wink.
Ophelia grins and tells her mom, "I want to see if she can peel the whole thing in one piece."
"Of course she can," Zelena mutters. "She always does."
Regina and Ophelia share a smirk, and Regina shrugs with a smug, "True."
For a few minutes, they work in silence, Zelena finishing her crusts and then starting to cut out little snowflake shapes from the extra dough for decoration, while Regina continues her slow peeling of the apple and Ophelia cuts hers into appropriately pie-sized wedges.
It's comforting, homey, nice. Something Regina misses, living so far away. It's less than a day's drive, and an even quicker flight, but somehow she never manages to make the trip as often as she'd like. Time just seems to get away from her, the little day-to-day tasks piling up until a week has gone by, then a month, two, three...
"Where's Uncle Leo?" Ophelia asks, breaking into Regina's thoughts and making her stomach plummet and twist. So much for that little conversational detour. "Is he still at Grandma's?"
"He's, um…"
Regina focuses hard on the end of her apple peel ribbon, avoiding eye contact under the guise of trying not to fail just before the end. She'd come here to talk to Zelena about everything, but hadn't counted on having to explain it to a pre-teen. Especially with all these raw emotions somehow so close to the surface again.
She decides to keep it simple, and vague, telling them, "We broke up, actually. So he's… not here."
She hears Ophelia's surprised, "Oh," and Zelena's sympathetic, "Oh, sweetie…" at the same time.
She reaches the end of her ribbon, and drops it in front of Ophelia, then reaches for a fresh apple as she insists, "I'm fine. It's… fine. It was my…"
Regina sighs, digs the knife in near the stem again and starts over.
"It was mutual," she tells them, glancing up again at Zelena to add, "It's actually why I wanted to come over this morning – to tell you, in person, although honestly I'm surprised Mother didn't tell you this morning when she called."
They're both looking at her with too much pinched sympathy, the same knit in their brows, the same scowl, and Regina doesn't want that. She came here to break the news, not for people to feel sorry for her over something she chose for herself.
So she forces a smile and brightens her tone a bit, reaching over to give Ophelia's hand a squeeze as she says, "But I don't want it to take over Christmas — I want to spend the week here, with you guys, having fun. So, what are we going to do together? Because as much as I love your grandmother, and I do, if I have to spend the entire week at home getting pestered about my personal life, I might just scream."
Ophelia giggles, well aware of her grandmother's tendency to needle and pick.
She seems to trust Regina's desire to brush off the topic of her divorce (it's not as though Ophelia and Leo had ever been close; he was never very good with kids – a flaw she wishes she hadn't been so willing to overlook early on), all too happy to perk up herself and suggest, "There's always the winter festival! That's what we're making more pies for."
Of course. Regina had thought that maybe, just maybe, this pie was for Christmas dinner, but there's far too many apples piled up for just one, isn't there? Zelena has had a stall at the Storybrooke Winter Festival for just about as long as she's been growing things on this farm. Mostly canned goods – pickled vegetables, and jams, and apple butter, applesauce. And eventually, pies.
It's ironic, considering how bad she'd once been at baking. Really, truly terrible, until Regina herself had spent more and more time escaping to the little farmhouse when she came home, teaching her how to make use of all the apples she had from the tree out front, all the raspberries from the bushes she'd planted out back, or the rhubarb that grew in a patch along the side of the house.
Now the student has surpassed the master, it seems.
"Speaking of the winter festival," Ophelia continues leadingly, glancing over at her mother with her lip trapped between her teeth for a second, and then asking, "Can I go the day after Christmas? With some friends? By myself?"
Zelena narrow her eyes and asks, "Which friends?"
"Trevor, from my class," Ophelia answers, with a but too much excitement tinged with innocence.
"Absolutely not," Zelena shuts her down, earning an emphatic protest of Mom! "No, Phee, I'm not letting you go on a date with some boy to the winter festival."
"It's not a date," Ophelia insists, her cheeks going pink in a way that makes Regina think a date is exactly what it is. She remembers being twelve, and wanting very much to follow a certain boy all around the autumn harvest festival, sneaking off to share her first kiss behind some piled hay bales and getting giddy over spiced apple cider and clumsy flirting.
She looks at her niece and wonders what happened to the girl who used to want to play Barbies every time Regina came to visit.
"Is this the same Trevor you've been talking about nonstop for weeks?" Zelena questions, and Ophelia goes practically crimson.
"I have not!" she squeaks; Regina has to fight not to smirk, focusing hard on the apple she's peeling.
Zelena is still going: "And you want me to let you go spend a romantic evening unsupervised with—"
"It's not a 'romantic evening,' Mom, it's just the winter festival," Ophelia tells her, sounding more exasperated by the moment.
"You're too young for boys."
"He's my friend!"
"You're too old to be friends with—"
"Okay," Regina cuts in pointedly, growing weary of the ping-pong match, and frankly starting to feel like Zelena is being just a little unfair. She sets down her knife and apple to suggest, "What if I took Ophelia and Trevor to the winter festival? That way, they won't be unsupervised. And nobody takes their aunt on a date, so you won't have to worry about any… funny business."
Ophelia's face lights up, her spine going straighter as she nods her head. "Please, Mom?"
Zelena narrows her eyes at Regina, her scowl pinched, her jaw shifting. "You really want to spend the night babysitting?"
"I wouldn't have offered if I didn't."
She relents, waving a hand in defeat and telling Ophelia, "Fine, if your aunt is there, you can go to the winter festival with Trevor."
Ophelia lets out an excited squeak, apples forgotten as she launches herself at Regina and clobbers her with a hug, spilling a litany of, "Thank you thank you thank you!"s, then bouncing over to her mom to do the same.
And then she looks between them, and says, "I'll be right back!" before making a swift exit.
"Why do I get the impression she won't be back any time soon?" Regina wonders with amusement.
"You're the one who got her the cell phone for her birthday," Zelena grumbles. "I'm sure she'll be on it for the rest of the day now, so you'd better be fine with apple duty."
"I haven't complained yet," Regina points out, reaching for the peeler now that speed and efficiency rest solely on her shoulders.
"And it's definitely a date," Zelena continues as though Regina hadn't said anything.
"She's twelve," Regina reminds. "Even if it is a 'date,' he'll buy her a cocoa and they'll walk around looking at trinkets until their noses get frostbite, and then I'll bring her home. And I will be right there with them the whole time."
"You know, you don't have to spoil her just because you only see her twice a year," Zelena says, reaching for an already finished batch of pie filling. "She adores you even if you don't help her defy her mother."
"Maybe I just want to escape our mother for a night," Regina challenges. "Did you think of that?"
Zelena makes a face, a sort of commiserating widening of her eyes and raise of her brows, although she stays focused on spooning the filling into her pie crust. "Am I right in guessing she was less than thrilled when you told her you and Leo broke up?"
"I didn't tell her, actually," Regina admits, irritation bleeding through. "In fact, I… fibbed a little when she asked why Leo wasn't with me – and then she told me that she already knew about the divorce."
Zelena snorts and tells her, "Sounds about right."
"Mm," Regina confirms. "So not only did she have to find out about her daughter's divorce from someone else, said daughter lied to her face about it on top of that."
"But on the plus side, I get a break from being the family disappointment," Zelena smirks, scooping up the top crust of her pie and laying it carefully over the filled bottom shell.
Regina chuckles ruefully and teases, "Well, whatever I can do to make life easier for you, Zelena." She makes quick work of the apple she'd been peeling, reaching for another as she says, "And no, to answer your original question, she's not thrilled. She said I should 'take the week to decide if it was right,' and that we could 'discuss my options'—hence my early exit this morning."
"I don't blame you," Zelena mutters; if Regina were to look up from her apple, she'd find her sister deftly pinching together the two crusts of her pie. "Are you sure you don't want to spend the week here with me and Phee? We don't have a three thousand dollar mattress, but I hear the pull out couch isn't bad."
Regina smirks, but shakes her head. As tempting as the offer is, "I think we both know how well that would go over. And no matter what 'options' she thinks there are, the papers are signed. It's done." She just hopes Mother will see it that way. "And besides, she'd find a time to say her piece either way. At least if I'm staying with her, I stand a chance of it being at home, alone, without an audience to my shame."
She'd said it with a healthy dose of derision, with enough sneer that she'd hoped Zelena would laugh, or overlook it, or… well, anything but what she's doing now: pausing in her task long enough to really look at Regina and ask her genuinely, "Are you alright, sis? Truly? I know you said you were fine, but Ophelia was here, and I'm guessing this is what has you looking like you need to buy stock in Visine?"
Regina waves a hand dismissively, assuring her, "I'm fine. Really, truly."
Zelena lifts her brows doubtfully, and Regina lets loose a sigh, and explains, "Leo and I decided to keep it between us until after the holidays, so talking to Robin today was the first time I really got to talk about it. It just dredged up some feelings, that's all. But I had a good cry about it, and now I'm fine."
"If you're sure…"
"I am. I promise." And she is, but she'd thought she was this morning at the coffee shop, too, and look how that had turned out. So in the interest of keeping her traitorous emotions at bay, Regina changes the subject: "Now, tell me everything I need to know about this Trevor…"