Author's Note: Here it is! The final chapter. I hope you guys enjoyed this little holiday jaunt. Now it's time to get back to our regular programming. :)

When Regina wakes in the morning, it's to warm blankets, soft touches, and a vague tackiness between her thighs left over from last night.

She smiles at the memory – last night had been amazing.

A freeing rush of being perfectly connected with someone, with Robin. Nobody else in the world to worry about, no expectations, or limitations, or judgments. For the first time in God knows how long, she'd been able to simply let go and enjoy herself.

And, God, had she ever enjoyed herself.

Their second round had been less frantic than the first but no less passionate. After she'd decided they'd spent enough time wandering memory lane, they'd ended up kissing again. A lot. They're good at that – the kissing. In fact, Regina is fairly certain that she's been kissed more in the last twelve hours than in the last twelve months.

Somewhere in the middle of things, he'd murmured against her mouth that she was 'quite a good kisser' and she'd grinned and vowed to show him just how good before ducking under the covers to give him a more proper blow job than the few lingering sucks she'd given him before she'd straddled him earlier.

This time, he'd let her, rewarding her with groans, and quiet curses, and tensing, jumpy thigh muscles as she'd laved her tongue along his length, taken him in her mouth, pressed her lips over him from root to tip. Eventually, he'd pulled her back up for more kisses, moaning into her mouth and flipping her onto her back, running a hand down her belly and slipping two fingers inside her. (He'd moaned again, then, too – his pleasure had spurred her own, and so she'd already been wet and responsive, arching into his touch with a gasp.)

It hadn't taken long for her to be ready for him again, and the feel of him sinking inside her had been just as wonderful the second time as it had been the first. She'd reveled in every little bit of the sensation, from his hips moving against the cradle of her thighs to his weight pressing her into the mattress to the kisses he'd started sucking along her shoulders, her neck. At one point, he'd hiked his elbows under her knees, levered himself up slightly, and made her see stars.

When she came, it was with her arms wound around his neck, his groin grinding hard into her clit with every thrust, and the slick slide of sweat between their bellies from all their generated heat trapped under the blankets.

She'd fallen asleep not long after, sprawled over the sheets beside him, her body sated and her heart soothed.

And now here she is, spooned up against him in the early (late? She has no idea…) morning hours. There's a hand on her breast, a thumb rubbing lazily over a stiffened nipple, and an erection pressed up against her rear end.

Regina has no idea how long he's been toying with her nipple, but it's been long enough for her to wake aroused and wanting him again.

She also wants a toothbrush. Badly.

The sugary sweetness of just enough champagne has left her mouth feeling stale – she's almost reluctant to turn in his arms and say good morning. Almost, but not quite – it's been hours since she's kissed him, and that simply won't do. Not when there are so few kissing hours left before she goes back to D.C.

So Regina smiles, and stretches (grinding her ass back against his erection as she does and enjoying his little groan in response), and then she rolls until she's on her back beside him, her hip cradled in his big spoon now. He looks as sleepy and satisfied as she feels – his blue eyes warm in the morning light, his dimples peeking out at her from either side of a smile.

That hand that had been on her breast strokes down her belly instead, and back up, as she murmurs a scratchy, sleepy, "Hi."

"Hello, darling," he answers, his own voice rough from lack of use.

And then he's kissing her again, those slow, morning kisses she remembers from lovers past. She tries not to think about the state of her breath or the tackiness of dried sweat and cum on her skin as she rolls the rest of the way and weaves her legs with his.

By the time he rasps, "Did you sleep well?" against her mouth, he has one arm tucked beneath her head, the other on her ass, his hard length pressed between them and grinding lazily against where Regina is increasingly wet. She hums an affirmative, and kisses him again; it's the last coherent thing they say for quite some time.

That hand on her ass ends up between them, somewhere in the midst of tongue-filled kisses and wandering explorations of each other's shoulders and necks and collars with hungry mouths. He strokes her clit, rubs it in little circles that make her breath catch as she reaches down to wrap her fingers around his cock and pump it slowly.

She wants him inside her again, wants all of this inside her again, thick and strong and sure as they rock together toward another release.

And she's wet enough, ready enough, so she hikes her knee a little higher on his hip, presses closer and drags the tip of him down past his fingers, through her wetness, to guide him inside her. They both moan quietly as they come together, his grip shifting to grasp at her thigh as their hips begin to rend and sew.

They keep the rhythm slow, languid, their hips rolling against each other like waves. It's not enough to make her come, but it's good, enough to make her pant and sweat and moan. Enough to have her dragging her nails lightly down his back as she breathes a drawn-out, "Fuck…"

Mouths meet and part and meet again, and when Robin isn't gripping her thigh, he's cupping her breast, rolling her nipples, murmuring quiet encouragements as she arches her back slightly and lets out a high, needy moan.

They fuck just like that for long minutes, working up a sweat beneath the covers until finally she pushes at them, the shock of cool air making her hiss. Robin draws her into another warm kiss, then asks, "Is this enough for you?"

His voice has the low heat of embers well-stoked, and it makes her toes curl, makes her want him even more, even as she breathes, "No, not quite, but – ohh… – it's still good."

Their mouths meet again, tongues teasing against each other, Regina biting gently at Robin's lower lip and grinning when it makes the breath rush out of him. And then he retaliates (she thinks) by stopping and pulling out of her.

She frowns, asks, "What are you—"

He cuts her off, hands on her hips as he urges, "Turn around; let me rub your clit."

Oh. Well, that's a whole different story.

Regina turns onto her other side, the way she was when they woke, shimmying her rear end back against him once more. This time, he's waiting for her, guiding his cock up and into her, and it hits her at just the right angle to have her gasping.

"Good?" His voice is warm against her ear, his breath tickling her neck. Regina nods fervently and he draws back, thrusts in again, then starts a steady rhythm. Faster than before, but by no means fast. Enough to get the job done, though – especially when he skates a hand down her belly to rub her clit as promised.

His fingertips press circles against her in time with the pace he fucks her, and soon they're both grunting and gasping and moaning. Oh yes, there! And Fuck, you feel so… and Mm, God, don't stop and So good and Fuuuck and Oh, I'm gonna— and Let go, darling, come for me and Oh, love, oh… fuck… mm!

He has to hold tight to her hip when she comes to keep her from bucking him out of her as she jerks and shakes and breaks apart at the seams with bliss. He keeps moving inside her as she comes, just like last night, and every thrust into her clenching, coming body makes pleasure bloom again and again. By the time he grips her hard and drives home one last time, coming inside her again, her heart is beating like a drum, her skin slippery with sweat, her fingers clenching in the pillows, the sheets.

He doesn't pull out, just curls more tightly around her and presses more kisses to her shoulders as she waits for her breathing to return to normal and her limbs to stop feeling little aftershock tremors of pleasure.

They fall asleep again, spooned together like that, and wake half an hour later when they've used up all the extra body heat of exerting themselves and wind up cold.

He's slipped out of her by then, leaving another dribbling, slick puddle on her upper thighs, and the first thought on Regina's mind is, "I really need a shower."

Robin chuckles from where he's sat up to reach for those covers they'd shoved down earlier, flopping back to the mattress beside her and tugging them up as he goes.

"I mean it," she grins. "I stink, and I'm covered in, well… you."

Robin doesn't look the least bit put off by her state. In fact, he just looks smug. Sounds smug, too, when he says, "Just evidence of a night well spent. And you don't stink."

"I smell like sweat and sex," she argues, but he only shrugs, and presses a kiss to her shoulder.

"As I'm the one you had sex with, I don't think you really need to worry about that."

He has a point, she concedes with a lift of her brow. But be that as it may, "I do have to leave here eventually – I have brunch plans, you see. If I haven't already missed them."

"Ah, yes, you may have mentioned those," he teases, craning back to look at the clock. "Our reservation's in forty minutes; you've some time." It's the only day of the year one needs a reservation for a seat at Granny's Diner; the people of Storybrooke don't mess around about New Year's brunch – they need something to soak up all the champagne Granny served them the night before. "Unless you just want to stay in."

It's tempting – spending the whole day wrapped up in each other here. But she'll have to answer to her mother and sister eventually – after all, she was supposed to come home last night. They're probably making snowman pancakes without her right now and having to artfully explain to Ophelia why Auntie isn't in the house this morning. (Oops.)

And besides, "I only have one day to use that free breakfast voucher," she reminds him. "At least, until I come back. I probably shouldn't let it go to waste."

Robin tries very hard to look nonchalant, but does not very much succeed, when he asks, "When do you think you'll be back?"

And, well, that's the question, isn't it?

Regina rakes a hand through the hair at her crown and sighs, staring at the ceiling for a moment before admitting, "My mother wants me to move back permanently. That's why she doesn't want me working for Leo; she wants me here." She shouldn't say it, she really shouldn't, it's her mother's private business – but it's Robin, and she's been brooding on this alone for days, so Regina adds carefully, "She wants me to replace her."

She chances a glance in his direction and finds him predictably surprised. "Replace her?" he repeats. "As in…?"

"As in, she's thinking she'd like to retire, and apparently thinks the mayorship is a title that can be handed down like this is a monarchy."

Robin chuckles, his hand settling warm on her belly and rubbing soothingly from there to her hip. "Your mother would think that."

Regina smirks, and gives her mother a small amount of credit: "She knows I'd have to run – she offered to oversee my campaign. I told her that I don't think I'd win. I haven't lived here in twenty years, I have no experience in government outside of a year as Class President in high school – and I think we can all agree that doesn't really prepare one for actual governing." He smirks, and kisses her shoulder gently. "But she seems to think that if I moved back now, and stayed, and ran when her term is up that I'd be a shoe-in."

For a moment, Robin just looks at her, studying her face. And then he surprises her by saying, "She's probably right."

"What?"

"You may not have lived here in years, but your family has – and you're well-liked. Much more so than your mother. People think you're… well, a bit rich and prissy, I suppose—" She rolls her eyes and mutters, Gee, thanks… "—but I think the assumption is that one apple didn't fall particularly far from the tree, in that regard. But you're smart – you were wasted here, with the Harvard degree, and the fancy husband, and all that. You were always going to leave. But unlike your mother, you lack the tendency to occasionally make it seem like you think you're better than the people you left behind. You understand how this town works – you've seen firsthand what it takes to govern it. You're a part of this place, and if you wanted it, and you put your mind to it, I think you could win."

He's all sincerity, all honest eyes and earnest faith in her. Right up until he smirks and adds, "And I'm not just saying that so you'll stay where I can seduce you on a regular basis."

She rolls her eyes, a little laugh breaking free at his teasing. It's not as though that reason hasn't crossed her mind in the last few days – maybe with less seducing and more possible dating, but after last night she's not going to pretend that the world-rocking orgasms aren't a draw.

But she can't move back for orgasms alone. That's far too much pressure to put on a new relationship – and they don't even have a relationship. They just have this – a couple of one-night stands, and a long history. She doesn't even know if he wants a relationship. So she can't move back here unless she has something other than Robin to do with her time.

And maybe she could win if she ran, but…

"I'm not sure I do want it," she tells him, shifting her leg until it's slung over his bent knees (she doesn't realize quite how much it splays her until Robin moves that hand from her hip to her thigh). She licks her lips and swallows, and says, "It'd be a big change."

"It would," Robin agrees with a nod, drawing little tickling zig-zags over her skin. They're relatively tame, though – not wandering, not moving any closer to her sex – so she tells herself to cool her hormones while he's asking, "But you don't have to decide right now, do you?"

"No." She doesn't, she supposes. "I have time." A particular pass of his index finger makes her shiver, and she smiles, and teases, "To be honest, this probably isn't the best time to be making big decisions – when I'm all sex-addled, and you're touching me like that. I might do something impulsive like never leave here."

Robin's hand freezes, and he grins. "I changed my mind; decide right this minute."

Regina giggles, closing her thighs a bit (his hand slides away, and she finds she misses it; she shouldn't have said anything, should have stayed right where she was). "I'll decide after I get back – once I've had a few days of normal. It's a big move – McLean to D.C. felt like a big move and it was nothing. Moving several states away would be an entirely new level of stress." And besides that, "I don't even know where I'd live – not with my mother, that's for sure. With Zelena, maybe? At least until I can find my own place."

Robin bites at his lip and squints a little, like he's trying to decide whether to tell her something or not.

Whatever it is, she'd rather know than wonder. So she ask him, "What?"

He lets that lip go with an a heavy exhale, and tells her slowly, "I don't want you to think I'm attempting to sway your opinion here, but… Arthur Pepperidge died three weeks ago, and I know for a fact his daughter is putting the house on the market once they've got all his affairs sorted and everything moved out."

Regina lets out a little gasp, a punch of longing hitting right in her middle. The Pepperidge house is an old Victorian with cozy blue shingles and white trim, and a long wrapping porch, set on the edge of town on a decently quiet plot of land – one sufficiently far from her mother's.

Regina has loved that house since she was a girl and Fiona Pepperidge was still alive – Fiona had always decorated that porch to the nines, making it a festive beacon for each and every holiday. Jack-o-lanterns, and scarecrows, and gobs and gobs of fake spiderwebs on Halloween (she used to save a caramel apple for Regina instead of the run-of-the-mill candy Mother had a pesky habit of tossing in the trash if it hadn't all been eaten after a few days). Gourds and colorful leaves and dried ears of corn (paper turkeys in the window – old relics from the 50s that Regina has never seen again) on Thanksgiving. She used to wrap the porch rail in pine garland, and holly berries, and—

Robin chuckles, pulling Regina from her reverie. "I feel you're already mentally redecorating."

"More like remembering it in its full glory." Fiona had died when Regina was in her early 20s, and her husband had never quite managed to keep the place to the same standards. "I love that house. I used to imagine it was mine when I was little; it felt like something out of a fairytale."

"I remember – you went on and on about it one year when you were home," he tells her softly – and of course he knew, or he wouldn't have told her about it, would he? She wonders what other little nuggets of information he has stored in the pile marked Regina. "They've done a lot of work to the inside in the last year. Arthur's been in the senior home for the last six months or so – he couldn't do the stairs at the house anymore. So they've been prepping it to sell, eventually. New floors, new bathroom fixtures, open plan, all that."

Another desperate noise works its way from her throat, her heart squeezing in her chest. Regina can't even bother to be embarrassed by the way Robin chuckles at her again.

She needs to see the inside of this house.

"Think about what you want," he tells her, "And if you decide you want to move home, I'll let Annie know you're interested. She brings those boys into my shop at least once a week."

Regina can tell by the way he says it that "those boys" are a handful. Now she's the one chuckling at his expense, shaking her head and telling him, "Thanks. I'll keep that in mind," instead of the Call her immediately that she wants to say.

She needs to wait. She has to wait. She can't move home just for good sex and her dream house. (She can. She could. She might.)

"Good," he says, leaning in and pressing a smooch to her lips. "Now, why don't you go get cleaned up, and let me take you to breakfast. If we don't get moving, we'll lose that table."

.::.

Regina showers quickly, but carefully – avoiding her hair at all costs, and focusing on ridding herself of sweat and… other things. She doesn't have the time or tools to fix her hair, and as much as she knows people will talk regardless, she doesn't need to feed the rumor mill by showing up with Robin so obviously freshly showered.

She hears the door squeak open and shut again while she's under the spray, but doesn't realize why until she cranks the water off and wraps herself up in a towel.

And then she realizes her attempts to be sly about having showered were for nothing.

Robin has brought her clothes into the bathroom for her, a neatly folded pile on the edge of the sink: her glittering party dress and dark tights and underwear, and nothing else. If that doesn't scream Walk of Shame, nothing does.

Regina chews her lip and resigns herself to adding even more grain to the gossip mill. She towels herself dry, scrubs the makeup from her face (it's all smudged and smeared; and she flushes with embarrassment at the thought of Robin spending the morning looking at her in such a state), and tries to think of some way she can make that dress work in the daytime, barefaced.

She wishes she'd brought her Birkin, instead of just zipping the necessities into her coat pocket for the night. If she had her bag, she'd be able to do nearly a full face of makeup – right now all she has is that nude lipstick.

Her hair is salvageable, at least. She works the tangles out carefully with her fingers, glad that she'd curled it last night because it means that today she can get away with the "messy tousled bedhead" look. She just wishes it wasn't so obvious that she got it in bed.

But when she goes to dress, she only makes it halfway. She slips on her thong, pulls up her tights, but when she reaches for the dress, she just… can't.

She can't.

She can't go have brunch in this dress at Granny's Diner and not feel like the entire restaurant will be sitting there staring at her and Robin and imagining all the sex they so obviously had the night before.

A knock at the door startles her from her fretting, and Regina presses the gold sequined number to her front (she doesn't know why; he's intimately acquainted with her breasts – but there's something about being half naked that feels so much more vulnerable than being in her birthday suit) before she opens the door.

Robin is standing there, looking apologetic and asking if he might hop in the shower before they head out – it turns out they both smell like sweat and sex.

They're pressed for time, so she takes the Dress of Shame to the bedroom to change, tossing it on the bed and scowling at it.

"Mother will be so proud," she mutters to herself. "Definitely mayor material."

She sits herself bare-breasted on the edge of the bed with a frustrated sigh and listens to the shower run. For a brief moment, she imagines Robin under the spray, that pleasantly muscled body dripping with suds…

Maybe they should just stay in, after all. She'd be able to avoid the scrutiny (and the inevitable lecture when the rumor mill passes her indiscretion along to her mother), and have another blistering orgasm or two.

Her gaze slides to the clock (they're nearly late), and then to the clothes Robin had tossed on the bed before getting in the shower. His shirt from last night, and those grey slacks.

And just like that, it clicks.

The key to preserving her dignity.

She doesn't think he'll mind the little invasion of his privacy, and if he does, well… She'll find a way to apologize. She has needs. He'll just have to understand.

.::.

When Robin emerges from the bathroom, he finds Regina in one of his sweaters, the largest one she could find, a cozy red cable-knit that covers her ass and looks like it could actually be intentionally oversized. She's not thrilled about being braless, but at least the chunky knit hides the way the tickly wool makes her nipples harden.

He stops in the door when he sees her, an expression settling over his face that makes her heart beat faster – he looks at her like he can't quite believe she's real (she knows the feeling – he's standing there in jeans and nothing else, a hickey on his shoulder; the urge to pinch herself is acute).

And then he tells her, "I was not prepared for how stunning you look in my clothes. Warn a man somehow next time."

Regina bites her lip, shrugging her shoulders and telling him, "It was this or show up in the same dress I left in. People have been talking about me enough." She does a little turn, and asks, "It looks okay, right? Looks intentional?"

Robin reaches for her, pulling her in close, and winding his arms around her waist, his hands sliding down to squeeze her ass as he murmurs, "It looks like we'd better get out of here in the next few minutes, or I'll have to have you in this jumper, and then we'll never leave."

Regina laughs, and lets him kiss her again, but stops short of letting him wander beneath that sweater.

.::.

Granny's Diner is packed – no surprise there.

Nearly every table and stool has an occupant, so it surprises Regina when Ruby leads them to a booth that could easily fit several more people instead of having them wait for one of the two-tops.

And then she gives Regina a knowing once-over and says, "That top looks better on you than him," before handing them both a menu and smirking herself away from the booth. Suddenly Regina isn't thinking so much about two-tops versus booth seating anymore.

She turns a wide gaze toward Robin, muttering, "So much for my attempt at subterfuge."

Robin smirks a little, opening his menu and focusing particularly hard on it as he admits quietly, "Granny made that sweater for me for my birthday last year. I'd have said something, but I figured Granny would be discreet and you seemed so worried about anyone knowing. And if we're being quite honest, I think that particular cat was out of the bag already, considering how we left."

It's loud enough in here to mostly mask how quietly he's speaking, but Regina still feels her cheeks heat.

"I suppose so," she sighs, taking a look at her own menu, even though she knows the whole thing back-to-front and back again. But it's a New Year, full of new possibilities, and Regina thinks this morning she might break with tradition.

"I forgot about Ruby," he admits, and she sees his hand twitch, moving an inch or two in her direction before he freezes and draws back like he's realized they're in public and maybe he shouldn't be too touchy. They've held hands in public in the last week, but somehow now that they've had sex it seems like every touch is a neon sign blinking MORNING AFTER.

Which wouldn't be so bad if they were dating… If this was… something. But they're not dating, she's leaving (she might stay, she could stay, there are lots of reasons she could relocate back to Storybrooke…), and then who knows what will become of this.

It seems like too soon to be moving on after Leo – the divorce is only just final – but she's been moving on for months now. Years, even. She has been slowly severing the ties of her heart ever since that last Christmas in St. Barts.

So maybe the divorce is new, maybe the separation itself is nascent, but… she wants this.

It scares her how much she wants this. How much Robin has crawled into all her empty, aching places and filled them up with so much warmth and familiarity in just a few days. If she lets herself, she can imagine a life here, with him – a life where she lives in the Pepperidge house and turns that back den (if it still exists) into a home office, and does who knows what. She'd get her candy cane mochas on the first of December instead of the 23rd, and string flag pennants along her porch on the Fourth of July.

Robin would come over in the evenings, spend the night naked and glorious beside her, on top of her, inside of her.

She'd take Ophelia apple picking, teach her how to cut the peel in one single ribbon. Teach her her to choose just the right shade of lipstick, or apply eyeliner that looks subtle and classy, not too-thick and adolescent and wobbly.

She'd get more than one free breakfast this year at Granny's.

It all sounds… nice. So much nicer than going back to her empty apartment in Washington. Back to her electric blanket, and her too-cold holiday decorations, her Keurig single-cup.

"You're awfully quiet over there," Robin says softly, and Regina realizes she's been staring at the same spot on the menu (STUFFED FRENCH TOAST – STRAWBERRY OR APPLE) for who knows how long.

She clears her throat a little and says, "I'm sorry, I was just… thinking."

"Dare I ask?"

He's looking at her that way he does – inviting and open. Thoughtful. His hand is resting open on the table between them – not quite close enough to look odd, but close enough that she could reach out if she wanted. He's just that way, Robin – patient. Steady. Present.

Regina swallows thickly and decides to just lay it out there on the table between them; at least then she'll know.

"What, um," she begins. "If I did… relocate… You and I, would you want to see—"

"God, yes," he answers without even letting her finish. That nervous energy in her belly fizzles out into nothing as he admits, "I've been trying hard for the last hour not to tell you every terrible thing I can think of about life anywhere else, and every wonderful thing about living here. I know you probably need more time to feel things out, consider everything you're going through, but honestly? Right now? I'd try to make it work from here to D.C. if you'd have me; I'm utterly wrecked for you."

Regina smiles at that, closing her menu and folding her hands over it, her heart starting to race for reasons unknown (she lied about that nervous energy; it's back suddenly, and double-time). She drops her voice low, so close to a whisper that she has to lean in for him to hear her: "I think that may be the sex talking."

He grins, those dimples flashing, and then he says, "I think we've had to wait too long for a day's drive to be a hindrance."

There may be something to that, but Regina doesn't get a chance to dwell on it.

Granny always takes the first complimentary breakfast order of the year, and they've had plenty of time to peruse the menu, it seems. She sidles up to their table, pad in hand (she notices the sweater, too – Regina can see the moment she recognizes it and smirks – but unlike Ruby, she has the tact not to point it out), ready to take her order.

"Alright, what can I get ya? Fair warning – if you pull a Leroy and ask for one of everything off the brunch menu, I might just take that voucher back and refund you for the raffle tickets."

Regina smirks, and promises, "One meal at a time is plenty." And then she orders the eggs Benedict instead of her usual apple pancakes – in the spirit of new beginnings.

"Anything else?" Granny asks, jotting the order down on her pad, breathing a sigh of relief when Regina just asks for coffee and an orange juice. "Thank God for you, girl," she mutters, turning to take Robin's order.

He nudges Regina under the table with his foot, and says leadingly, "Didn't you want a side of extra bacon, too?"

Regina frowns. She doesn't really need bacon to go with her Benedict; there's meat on it already. And she hadn't said anything about bacon, so she's not sure why he'd think—

His brows rise slightly, pointedly, and she realizes. Free bacon.

Regina laughs softly, and says, "Yes, yes, I did." She looks to Granny, tells her, "And a side of bacon, please," but the old woman isn't fooled.

She hmphs, and scowls at Robin, and says, "I think you can afford your own bacon."

.::.

They've ordered and gotten their drinks by the time Regina realizes just why they'd ended up with such prime seating.

She's doctoring her coffee with cream and sugar, her ankle pressed to Robin's beneath the table, when a perky ball of energy plops into the booth next to her, with a brace-face grin and red curls, and Regina's cashmere sweater.

Regina startles slightly at the sight of her niece, her stomach swooping as Zelena slides into the other side of the booth (Robin shifts over to make room for her, equally surprised, but adjusting quickly).

Ruby's right behind them, calling, "We're a little short on room, and I didn't figure you'd mind!" as she heads for the kitchen.

"No, why would they mind?" Zelena murmurs knowingly, and Regina meets Robin's eyes across the table.

He presses his lips together, tamping down a smirk, she thinks, reaching for his teacup to hide it. He's only just taken a sip when Ophelia asks, "How was your date last night?"

So naturally, he chokes on it, coughing hard as Regina looks to her sister and hisses a furious, "Zelena!"

Zelena just shrugs nonchalantly and says, "Answer my texts."

She'd had several when she finally pulled her phone from her coat pocket this morning, and had answered exactly zero of them. But still, that's no reason for her sister to retaliate by telling Ophelia that she'd spent the night dating Robin.

"What?" Ophelia shrugs, reaching tentatively for Regina's coffee; she pushes it closer to the girl, much to Zelena's chagrin. Ophelia lifts, but doesn't sip, a perfect mimicry of Cora when she's about to make a statement. And sure enough, she tips up her chin and declares, "I think it's cute. I had a date this week, you had a date this week. It's fun!"

"And how is young Trevor then?" Robin asks, successfully changing the subject as Ophelia takes a tiny sip of Regina's coffee, then puts it back down.

Zelena mutters, "About to be turned into a toad by her mother – and I'll let you handle that caffeine rush, thank you very much."

But it's no use.

Robin is smart enough to know that asking a teenage girl about the boy she's enamoured with is enough to derail any current conversation entirely, and so they spend the rest of the time until Robin and Regina's food arrives hearing all about Ophelia's young romance.

Zelena looks positively miserable about the whole thing, which Regina thinks serves her right. Robin asks all sorts of questions, most of which boil down to determining if Trevor is, in fact, a stand-up young man worthy of Ophelia's time and affection.

It's sweet – and comfortable. There's no awkwardness between them; Ophelia laughs and rolls her eyes at Robin just as much as she does at her mother, at Regina. It hits Regina again just how much she misses being away, and her heart squeezes.

.::.

When Granny sets the plates on the table, there's Regina's Benedict, Robin's lumberjack breakfast, and an extra plate of bacon.

Robin looks up at her with adoration and sighs, "Bless you; you are a goddess among women."

Granny lets out a doubtful, "Mmmhm," but she doesn't quite manage to suppress the smile at the corners of her lips.

She takes the rest of their orders—Green Eggs and Ham for Zelena (it's just a spinach and goat cheese omelette with a side of country ham, but Granny has a sense of whimsy) and apple butter stuffed French toast for Ophelia—and then leaves them to their pile of bacon.

Ophelia digs in immediately, grabbing the crispiest piece and munching at it, mumbling over her mouthful how Granny knows how much she likes her bacon extra-crispy. Zelena skips the bacon (Robin makes up for it by stealing three pieces for himself), and opts instead to reach over and pluck a piece of melon from Regina's plate.

Regina scowls and takes a half-hearted jab at Zelena with her fork, but all she gets for her trouble is her sister sticking her tongue out at her before popping that melon in her mouth and chewing.

"Very mature," Regina chides, and is promptly told that she, as the younger sister, doesn't get to lecture on maturity. She shares a glance and an eye roll with Ophelia, and then feels Robin's foot nudge her ankle intentionally beneath the table.

When she looks in his direction, he shifts his gaze pointedly to the nearest set of pushed-together tables, where Annie Gable, née Pepperidge, has just been seated with her four sons.

Regina's heart trips and stutters, butterflies kicking up in her middle unexpectedly.

When she looks back to Robin, he's smiling at her, his brows lifting and falling once as if to say, What are the odds?

.::.

Somehow they finish that first plate of bacon and half of a second, along with all of their breakfasts, before they throw in the towel and admit defeat.

Regina feels stuffed to the gills by the time they ask for their checks – although to be fair, they'd all done a lot of sharing. So technically, she's had most of her own breakfast, several bites of her niece's French toast, and half a pancake off Robin's plate – no wonder she's full.

"I think you're going to have to roll me home," she tells Ophelia with a groan. "I ate too much."

Ophelia giggles and tells her, "I can't; Mom said I could only wear your sweater today if I didn't get it 'smelly, sweaty, or dirty.' Pretty sure I'd work up a sweat rolling you all the way to Grandma's."

Regina's brows rise imperially, and she straightens her spine, folding her half-balled napkin and pressing the crease cleanly as she says, "Excuse me, but I am light as a feather, even with a belly full of breakfast."

"You'd puke anyway," Zelena tells her, slumped back in her seat just like the rest of them. She rolls her head toward Robin, and says, "Regina doesn't really spin – something we learned the hard way on the teacups at the county fair when she was about Phee's age."

"Okay," Regina interrupts as Robin turns to smirk at her. "I don't think that's a story we need to share right after consuming a large meal."

"Oh, I've heard it," he assures her. "Giant pickle, funnel cake, a bit too much centrifugal force – have you forgotten that I married one of the people you threw up on?"

Regina groans and drops her head forward; she had forgotten for a moment.

"You puked on Robin's wife?" Ophelia asks, incredulous.

"And about four other people, including yours truly," Zelena tells her; this conversation really has taken a turn. Next time, she'll ask Robin to carry her over-stuffed self home – she's fairly certain his response would involve far less personal humiliation.

But they're here now, so Regina sighs and corrects, "Technically, I threw up on a friend of mine, who just happened to marry Robin about twenty years later. And I vowed never to go on the teacups again. Or the tilt-a-whirl."

"Or that little plane ride for children; don't forget that one," Zelena taunts, and Regina balls up that napkin again and throws it at her. She gets half a strip of bacon lobbed in her direction in response, and then suddenly Granny is there, dropping their checks on the table with a barked order not to start a food fight in her damn diner.

Appropriately chastened, Regina shares a guilty glance with Ophelia, then reaches to sip down the last of her coffee. It's gone a bit tepid, she could use a refill.

When she glances across the table, she catches Robin looking at her, smiling a sort of dopey, warm smile that she can't help but answer with one of her own.

For a moment, she can't bring herself to look away, their eyes locked on each other. Regina has a sudden bone-deep feeling, a sense of rightness, of hyper-awareness. Ruby laughs somewhere near the counter, Annie Gable's youngest boy lets out a whiny yell that has something to do with pancakes, and someone else's lumberjack breakfast wafts by en route to another table. The jukebox switches songs, reconnected again after its month-long break for the sake of holiday classics. She recognizes the electronic beat immediately – Yazoo, "Only You."

Something shifts in her chest, her smile widening, and she already knows the answer when Ophelia sighs beside her and asks, "Auntie Regina, when are you coming back again? I already miss you."

She keeps her gaze on Robin even as she turns her head slightly toward her niece, and says, "I'm moving home."

His grin is instant and wide, dazzling, and that hand finally stretches across the table to grasp hers. Regina meets him halfway, turning to catch Ophelia's ecstatic, "Really?!" and Zelena's far more stunned, "Really?"

She squeezes Robin's fingers and answers, "Really. I just need to go back to D.C. long enough to wrap things up there, and figure out what I'm going to do here, and then I'll be back."

The noise Ophelia lets out is almost eardrum-piercing in pitch, and Regina has to let go of Robin's hand to return the bear hug she's suddenly crushed in.

She laughs, burying her face in curls that smell suspiciously like her own shampoo, before looking up to catch Zelena's eye across the table. She's not sure what reaction she expects, but what she gets is a sly smile, and a shake of the head.

And then Robin is giving Zelena a nudge, urging, "If you'll excuse me…" He glances back at Regina. "I need to go see a woman about a house."

Regina laughs softly, pulling back from Ophelia as Zelena slips out of the booth to let Robin pass. She watches as he walks straight up to Annie Gable and bends to whisper something to her; the woman looks back at Regina and smiles, mouths, Welcome home, and her heart feels like it might beat right out of her chest.

Regina Mills doesn't always enjoy being home for the holidays, but right now, in this moment, she can't think of anywhere else she'd rather be.