A/N: This one's for my conscience.
She's warm, a feeling she's not too familiar with, but one she's completely aware she's captivated in at the moment. It's also a feeling that has her curling further inward towards the core of this warmth enrapturing her. It's hypnotizing; almost making Regina regret any decision she's ever made against relationships and the dreaded feeling of love. Usually, those two things only make her feel caged up and weak, defenseless against those who aim to hurt her, but right now, that's quite the opposite of how she feels—she feels safe, protected and far from the arms of any kind of emotional abuse that could be given to her.
It hasn't exactly hit her who this safety and protection is, that is, until the blanket of arms around her snorts a little in his sleep.
Robin.
Shit.
How is it again that she's managed to land herself tucked away safely in Robin's arms with the lilt of his breathing sounds slowly tugging her back to sleep? She knows how—she practically orchestrated it herself. Regina knew exactly what she was doing the moment she told him that he was staying for dinner. If she's totally honest with herself, subconsciously her current situation was part of her intent. Of course, she didn't know that this exact scenario would have come to fruition, but she did know that letting Robin stay over for any given amount of time, while they were alone, would only lead to some kind of mischief. That's not to say that she planned for them to be making out on the couch either, or anything, but somehow the forbidden fruit of their friendship beckons her and she couldn't resist the temptation.
She's comfortable at this moment, stored safely beneath Robin's bulky arm, which he has draped across her chest. She doesn't move, doesn't dare even breathe for fear of waking him. But she does maneuver just well enough so that she can tilt her head back to look at her patio doors (that don't really lead to a patio but rather a makeshift ground floor balcony) to see the sky lighting up, reaching out towards the sunrise. They need to get up, especially so that Robin can go home to change and not show up to school wearing the same outfit that he wore the previous day. There would be rumors then for sure and she'd have no way to fend them off because even if they aren't sleeping together, the circumstances don't look strictly professional anyway. She doesn't want to move, though, doesn't care to rip herself away from the comfort she currently feels and no one knows that it's her apartment that he stayed at, so she snuggles in closer and lingers there in Robin's arms.
And she doesn't move again until he croaks sleepily and shifts around beneath her. She stays still, thinking that maybe he's still asleep because he goes quiet after that, but then he voices her name quietly, almost inaudibly and she knows they have to get up.
She sighs, rising and feigning the appearance of having just woken herself. "Robin?" she asks wearily, rubbing one of her lids with her fist.
"Good morning," he answers with sleep-drenched syllables and it does something to her, making her feel weak in the knees and shaky her thighs.
"Good morning," she parrots back, her top teeth extending out over her bottom lip to scrape across it. The last part of her bottom lip she catches and chews on as she looks up at Robin.
"We should probably get up," he tells her and she's fairly certain she hears a touch of reluctance in his voice and her heart rises to the occasion. In fact, she nearly suggests that they just stay as they are for just a little while longer. Maybe they could just call in. Deep down, she knows it's impossible and she knows she needs to sit up this instance and get ready for work.
But, then there's always stalling, "We should…" She leaves the statement open-ended in hopes that he'll catch her drift, sucking in part of her bottom lip between her teeth again.
It must have some effect because she can feel his arms tighten ever so slightly around her waist and she can envision the sultry smirk settled upon his lips.
It's going to be a long morning.
"I'll get up if you do," he offers, but his hands and arms don't move an inch, staying securely wrapped around her abdomen.
He, of course, is leaving the decision up to her. Asshole. But it makes sense—she usually would be the one to end the fun and games to get down to business. She mulls it over, quietly humming a tuneless song. They really do need to get up and move. The kids can't each themselves Common Core—hell, adults can't even teach themselves Common Core.
"Fine," she finally grouses, shifting out of his hold, save the brief struggle before he can move his arm and let her out.
When they've both managed to free themselves from the comfort of the couch, she speaks, "We slept in late so if you'd rather get ready here, you can. I have a couple of Graham's dress shirts that you can use."
He pauses momentarily, then nods. "Yeah, sure okay. Who's gonna shower first?"
"That depends," she gives him a suspicious look, "are you gonna use all the hot water?"
"On my honor, I won't." He throws up a hand and places the other across his heart.
"Fine. Since you are my guest, you may shower first."
"I'll be quick, promise."
She rolls her eyes, knowing that probably won't happen, but she leads him to the bathroom, anyway. She instructs him not to use her organic lavender citrus shampoo but he's welcome to use the Head and Shoulders that Graham left and hasn't been back to use in like a month but everything else is off limits. He complies and she departs, remarking one last thing over her shoulder about getting water on her floor and the likelihood that she'll reenact the shower scene from Psycho.
Regina busies herself with making coffee allowing for her apartment to be draped in the musky fragrance, which doesn't quite wake her but makes all of her nerve endings become alert and open up to the possibility of rousing. The scent wafts through the open space of her kitchen and out into the living room enough to where Regina can brave taking a seat back on the sectional without worrying about falling asleep again. She rests, at the very least, for just a moment, taking a few calming breaths to brace herself for the day before she hears Robin call for her again.
She should've known that he'd break something.
She pads her way back to the bathroom, finding out that the smell of the coffee has drifted all the way to her bedroom. She takes a swift view of her room, checking that everything is still in order (she hasn't forgotten Robin's swipe of the Starbucks card) even though she knows that he hasn't touched anything. It's all as she last left it—her silky dark taupe sheets and pure white down comforter are perfectly made, her things that she left on the dresser are there still and the floors are tidy as they should be. The only disparagements in sight are the vase of wilting white carnations next to her bed—she must stop forgetting to water them—and the light that's poring out of the bathroom on to her laminate flooring. She approaches the bathroom with caution, unsure of what exactly she'll find in that light. But when she reaches the entrance and peeks her head in, she discovers Robin rising from a squatting position in the shower with his dress shirt and boxers still on.
She blinks at him for a second, trying to register in her brain that Robin is standing before her half naked.
"You trying to seduce me?" she jokes, down casting her eyes and feeling slightly embarrassed. It's not as though she's never seen a man without his pants on but she fears that this one might be a touch too inappropriate. Then again, she's the one who allowed for it.
"Is it working?" he tries, giving her a look that she thinks is meant to be sexy but fails.
"No," she replies flatly, trying to fight against her insistent smile. She finally plucks up the courage to peek over at him. He has really small legs, she notes, but they're long, or well, longer than she thought. Their height difference isn't much when she's in heels but now that she's free of the iron grip of knock-off designer brand stilettos, which are equally as painful as the real deal, she notices that he's a good head taller than her. But his legs are tiny in width and it almost makes her laugh because he has a good build in his abdomen and torso and she guesses that she just expected them to be larger. Although, not that much larger because it's not like he has chicken legs or anything, but he's not far off.
She supposes if he were naked then maybe she could see that he's evened out. Not that she's thinking about the idea of him being naked—or, at least, solely for curiosities sake of his build not that she desires to see him naked in any social context.
She gets agitated with her own thought process and concludes that she has nothing to prove to herself. Her frustration, however, bleeds into her words, anyway. "What do you need?"
He looks sheepishly at her, peeking beneath the cover of his short, but visible, eyelashes. "I was trying to start the shower on my own but it seems I'm incompetent."
"Well, I could've told you that," she taunts.
"Don't kick a man while he's down," he grumbles back.
"Oh, hush," she chastises and walks over to the knob, pushing it in ever so slightly to turn it. "There's a trick to it."
She knows she should've warned him to get out of the way but she doesn't and simply watches as the water comes falling down on him. Jokes on her, though, because, as she watches the water cascade down his torso, it soaks his shirt and clings tightly to his body, giving her a sharpening view of his chest.
Look away, Regina.
But she can't take her eyes off of him, watching as the shirt becomes more and more see-through.
She's so distracted that she doesn't even hear him holler out a, "Hey!" until there's water being splashed in her face.
She is thrown off guard and sputters before looking at Robin, who she can tell is feeling daring and simply waiting for her next move.
"You're gonna regret that," she threatens, flaring out her nostrils for effect.
"Eh, I think there's something else, you might make me regret more."
"What?" She knows as soon as it's out of her mouth that she shouldn't have said it, and he only justifies the feeling by reaching out for her and snaking his arms around her waist to pull her into the shower with him.
"Robin!" she roars as the water begins to fall on her now.
He tips his head back and laughs buoyantly, filling up the space around them. "You asked."
She doesn't answer but engages in a struggle with him beneath the running water. They splash each other in an attempt to gain the advantage and push the other into the line of water raining down but it's no use because they're both soaked head to foot.
At this rate, they may as well shower together.
Her nerve endings are super charged, far past the reach of the coffee that's burning in her kitchen but that's distant from her mind now as she watches Robin saunter nearer to her. She backs up a step equivalent to every pace he takes towards her, until she reaches the shower wall and has nowhere left to move. All she can do is watch as he gets as close as he possibly can to her.
He locks her in place, back firmly against the wall with his arms on either side of her.
The way his eyes dig immediately below the surface of her skin, mentally mapping out every part of her, sends a zing straight down to her clit and has her pressing her thighs firmly together, as if to mask her feelings of arousal or maybe to satiate it. She can feel her tongue glue itself perfectly to the roof of her mouth as her throat becomes as dry as it often does in Albuquerque. Her eyes, on the other hand, are tracing the outline of his mouth, the way his soft pink lips part and take their final descent to her skin, but he forgoes her mouth, which she doesn't anticipate, and starts straight on the spot just below her jaw. Her head immediately falls backward in response, accompanied by a soft exhale.
He suckles sweetly at that point before moving downward, carefully placing warm tender kisses to various places on her neck, leading all the way down to it's base. He detours to her clavicle, or at least, what he can reach of it, nipping at it and eliciting an almost indiscernible hiss from Regina. He murmurs an apology in the crook of her neck and then continues to kiss back up to that same spot he started at.
Her head is spinning, whirling around like a mobile, slowly and deliberately, but all the more dizzying. She doesn't even notice as her fingers clamor to the buttons of his dress shirt and his to the hem of hers to tug it upward. Their arms get stuck in the crossfire, tangling amidst garment and other limbs.
She doesn't understand what she's doing but it feels natural, fluid, like she always does this with Robin.
But it's with Graham, she registers somewhere in her basilar thoughts. She knows it's Graham that she does this with, but it's not Graham in front of her now. There's no making sense of it, though, because her mind keeps telling her that she's in the right place, pinned against the wall by Robin in a shower, while his warm lips devour her jugular and her hands smooth themselves over his chest. She makes another attempt to rub her thighs together to get some pressure where she needs it.
"Someone's wet," he teases playfully, cocking his right eyebrow nearly to his hairline.
"I think that would be both of us," she answers a bit breathlessly. She's been holding it while she's been trapped in close quarters with Robin, as they are, for a few reasons. One being that she has yet to have brushed her teeth this morning; and another being that should she breathe, Robin might catch its shaky nature and interpret how nervous she is.
"Ha, yes true, but I wasn't exactly referring to that kind of wet per se…" He's looking at her so mischievously, and she can't deny what a turn on it is.
She doesn't remember how it happens—it's kind of like a blip, one minute he's hitting on her and the next suddenly she's sinking down on her knees. Both their shirts are off. His boxers, however, have stayed where they are, constricting against his growing erection and leaving Regina's curiosity only piqued for what's inside. Her hand reaches for the thin cloth veiling what she really wants, but if Robin wants to play games, then she will be more than happy to oblige. So she reaches up, skimming her hand, in feather light fashion, up the fabric, just hard enough for Robin to feel it, but just soft enough to where it's not nearly enough friction.
He groans aloud, giving Regina the encouragement to do it again. Robin's breathing only gets shallower and his voice more guttural and desperate, but Regina doesn't relent so easily. She keeps the steady motion going, trailing her finger lackadaisically, while the other tugs softly at the waistband of his boxers.
"This is unfair, you know," he rasps, smiling down playfully at her and threads his fingers through her hair. He adds, "At least, touch yourself if I can't."
Those words create a massive lump in her throat but she doesn't protest and takes the hand tracing the outline of his cock down to her pants, slipping it inside her own underwear and pressing two fingers firmly to her clit. She moans softly as she starts rubbing circles, grinding her sex against her fingers. Regina feels like she's going into sexual overdrive and wastes no time after that for teasing. Instead, she claws at his boxers, unable to get them off fast enough.
She knows somewhere in the back of her mind this makes no sense, because she's certainly more dignified than having dirty shower sex with Robin. And yet, it all feels natural, so she doesn't stop herself.
With Robin's help, they get the boxers down and she waits until his boxers can shimmy themselves the rest of the way down his calves. She immediately reaches for his shaft then, pumping it several times in her fist before crawling a little closer to dart her tongue out to the tip.
"Oh, Regina," he cries out too the ceiling while tipping his head back, but his moans are cut short by a shrill ringing.
At first, she remembers the coffee and knows it's probably burning, causing her smoke alarm to go off, but it's not her smoke detector, and instead, another faintly familiar sound. She's puzzled by it for a moment, knowing that it means something because her body reacts to the noise by perking up and tensing to the sound. She thinks and thinks on what it could mean and why she's so attentive to it. Her thoughts follow the trail of the sound, which searches in her mind to the place that knows it. And she drifts farther and farther into her thoughts until she finally finds the one neuron that fires to tell her what it is.
Her alarm clock.
Suddenly, she's cold, a feeling she knows well. She's cold despite the fact that she's covered by a blanket and the leather of the sectional around her has absorbed her body heat and is returning it to her. But she's cold because it does not mimic the warmth of the body that was once lying beneath her. Confusion hovers like a cloud overhead, fogging up the memory of her dream and the reality she's now cautiously opening her eyes to. She has to ask herself out loud where she is but as she blinks everything into focus, she looks over to her coffee table and finds a box of Trouble and two mostly empty wine glasses. The floodgates open and her brain is swamped with reality, while her dream slowly drowns into a faint memory.
The pictures and sounds fade away, but the feeling stays, settled right in the pit of her stomach, heavy as a rock, but brittle enough to send pebbles of emotion into her throat.
She had sex with Robin—in her head—but still.
Her eyes dart around to see if he is still around but there is no trace of him, giving her a safe haven to grip the idea that she just dreamt about giving Robin Locksley a blowjob in her shower.
It was going to be a long morning, indeed.
[:]
She has a headache. But that kind of comes with the territory of being a teacher and after her brain took a trip down erotica lane, the pain has been magnified. She doesn't notice, though, until she's filing children into a lunch line and then taking her seat at the teacher's table. She's alone, the other teachers haven't arrived, and so she takes a moment to gather herself.
Deep breath in.
Deep breath out.
She's going to make it through the day, hopefully. But field trip days are always the worst and given her sleeping arrangements the night previous, she pretty much set herself up for a headache. Then again, it could be self-fulfilling prophecy where she gave herself a headache, knowing that she inevitably would get one. Because, if she's honest, she slept really well last night. Of course, she can't admit that aloud, nor even simply to herself, so she'll just blame this stupid day instead.
But this is only the beginning of her stupid day, she realizes, as she feels her phone buzz in her pocket and she pulls it out to see who's calling.
It's her mother.
Cora Mills only calls twice a year. Once on Regina's birthday in February and again on the day Regina's father died.
But today is neither of those days, so she hasn't the damnedest clue why her mother is calling. Nor does she understand why Cora insists on calling when she knows that her daughter will never answer. It's been years, long enough for Cora to understand that Regina will never speak to her again. Not after what she did. Never. And yet, year after year, Cora still calls.
Regina can feel that prickling at the back of her skull and all the blood drain from her face as she watches the screen light up and feels the vibrations in her hand.
"Who's Cold, Heartless Bitch?" she hears behind her, giving her reason to jump and turn to find the intruder.
Robin. Of course.
She scowls, not in the mood for his games or any pleasantries that she knows he will bring to the table (literally). She can't take it, not now with her mother breathing down her neck all the way from Phoenix.
It's strange because that's the exact feeling that Regina gets whenever her mother calls or even comes up in a conversation (though that seldom happens, Regina is sure of that). Cora can be miles away and have had no contact with her daughter and still manage to be the little gnat buzzing in her ear on a hot summer day. Regina can hear the voices inside her head, whispering low and callously, nitpicking everything she does and reminding her of what she did in Phoenix. Her presence is still regrettably felt despite the distance.
And to make matters worse, there's a second nuisance right beside her.
"What are you doing here?" she growls, looking anywhere other than at Robin, because he has that thing about him, one that can make her shut off her defenses enough to let him seep in little by little until he's seen her at her most vulnerable—until he's torn down all her walls from the inside. And he can do all that with just one look.
"Well, I work here, much like you," he answers jovially, oblivious to her hostility.
She knows he's grinning, she can sense it but she tries to focus on a kid across the way who's attempting to put a green bean in another kid's hair. She thinks to get up and go scold the children, but she doesn't move and just observes.
"Wow, I had no idea. And here I thought your job was to follow me around." Her response is far more rancorous than she means but he's so apt to piss her off that she can't help it. Her snaps roll straight off the tongue.
He's unfazed and returns the biting wit with more humor. "Ah, see that's simply just a part time job. I needed another one to pay the bills, you know?"
She only scoffs and pulls her lips into a firm line, trying to fight her smile. But Robin ends up helping, by reaching forward and grabbing her phone. She watches in horror as he slides the green bar across and raises it to his ear to greet the person on the other end. Instead of a response, he frowns and tells her that she must've hung up.
Regina doesn't speak immediately because she can feel an angry fire burning just below the surface of her skin. She wonders what would've happened had Cora answered the phone. Of course, Regina would've hung up the moment Robin handed the phone back to her but then Cora would still know that Regina's phone works and that her daughter is perfectly alive and well and probably seeing the guy who answered the phone. Though, Regina is almost certain that Cora is probably keeping tabs on her anyway but Regina tries to evade aiding her mother in caring at all—it hurts less.
When Regina has regained some semblance of composure, she snatches the phone right out of Robin's hands. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
He shrugs. "Well, you didn't seem to want to talk to Cold Heartless Bitch, so any enemy of yours must be a friend of mine, eh? 'Sposed I could've talked to her."
"First of all," she snaps, "you do not touch my phone. And second of all, you, nor anyone else in my life—whether I want you to be a part of it or not—ever speaks to my mother. Am I clear?"
"That was your mum?"
"Am. I. Clear."
"Yes," he concedes, averting his eyes. "But why don't you wan-"
"That's none of your business," she cuts him off. "Now, what do you want?"
She cannot stay on the topic of her parents for too long because one well-worded question could unlock the Pandora's box of truths about Phoenix. And no one gets to know about Phoenix. She can feel the tears right at the back of her eyeballs. They've been putting up a good fight all day so far. She's yet to have swallowed them down entirely, meaning they'll threaten to ensue a complete meltdown if she ever yields to them in the slightest during the day.
Regina hates feeling like that. When that overwhelming sadness won't leave her be, causing her to tiptoe through her day. A conversation that goes too long could entice the tears to find their way out or someone could dare them to come out by asking if she's okay—god she hopes no one asks if she's okay.
Deep breath, Regina.
"I, uh, just wanted to thank you for last night. I really enjoyed it." she can hear the apology in his voice and she almost feels bad for being angry with him—almost.
But her anger subsides when he mentions last night because then she's revisited by her subconscious' take on amateur porn. She feels the heat of anger that's on her face quickly succumb to the heat of embarrassment. Oh good, the distraction from her familial issues is just as bad; and was technically escaped via her familial issues in the first place, leaving stuck in a continuous loop between the horrors of her past and the horrors of her present. Perhaps, the headache was meant to be a warning after all.
"You're welcome," she replies shortly, still averting her eyes, especially now. She won't be able to look at him for at least a week, maybe even longer.
She doesn't know why she's so mortified by it. It's not like she buys into all that Freudian crap. Her dreams do not really represent the dormant sexual desires that are holed up in her subconscious. It was merely because it's been awhile since she's had sex and Robin was the most recent thought in her mind so he took the place that Graham should've had. Her dreams were simply just telling her that she needs sex, not with Robin per se—just sex. And that would be with Graham because that's who she's with and that's who gets to bed her.
Not Robin Locksley. Never Robin Locksley.
"Thank you for helping," she adds after a brief pause because she is grateful that he was there. It was a great afternoon, the boys seemed to have enjoyed themselves and even Regina can't deny that she had a lot of fun. She can feel a smile tug at the corners of her lips as she thinks on their rousing game of Trouble but the memory quickly sours once she remembers Robin's betrayal, giving her good reason to thwack him on the arm and incite an exclamation of pain from him.
She's looking at him now and she feels her heart gush a little because even in pain, he still smiles. Though its edges are a little faded, the light still burns bright in his eyes and his dimples persevere.
"What the bloody hell was that for?!" He's still smiling.
It's nearly impossible not for her not to be smiling, too. "That was for Trouble yesterday. I told you that you'd regret it."
She told him he'd regret something else in her dream this morning but she sure as hell fell back on that promise. She almost hits him again for that even though it isn't his fault for that one.
Robin rubs his arm and pouts a little. "All's fair, Mills. I'll keep in mind next time, that you're a piss poor loser."
"I'm not a 'piss poor' loser," she mocks his accent with lazy detail, "I beat you. And I was just keeping my promise of making you regret your decision."
"Oh," he laughs softly, "is that what that was, hm?"
She doesn't realize how closely they've moved into one another until she feels something wriggling between them. It's Roland Cassidy, who's trying to encircle his arms around Regina's waist and hug her. Her smile is full-blown then, one of those good, crinkle-eyed, toothy grins that are the best show a person can give for the happiness overflowing in their heart.
"Hi, Miss Mills," Roland says sweetly, squeezing her as hard as his five year old arms can.
Regina doesn't look down to the boy anymore during the hug, but instead, to Robin, who's looking right back at her. He shares that moment with her. Their thoughts are in sync and she knows it. They don't have to say a single word but she knows his mind is trailing down the same thought pattern as her own. It's just the three of them in their own little bubble.
She had the same feeling last night when she looked at Robin across the couch and they had the same little moment that they're having now. She knows exactly what he's thinking, and yet she hasn't really got a clue. Or maybe she does know but she doesn't want to be honest because she knows those thoughts mirror her own. And she doesn't want them to.
Because she knows. She knows.
"Roland," Robin chides softly, "shouldn't you be sitting down?"
Roland's eye shift straight to the ground and rubs his tiny hands together, having removed them from Regina's waist. He answers with a meek, "Yes, Mr. Locksley."
She can hear laughter etched into the spaces of Robin's words as he reaches for Roland's chin, pointing it upward so that both of them can see his lip poking out and tears forming in his eyes. "Well, as long as you know that," Robin tells him. "You're not in any trouble." He leans close to the little boy. "Except, you might be in trouble with Miss Mills, for beating her in Trouble yesterday. I hear she's very upset with you."
Roland's big brown saucers for eyes turn to Regina, then, with his mouth agape.
"But," Robin continues, "I think she's willing to forgive us all for our superior Trouble skills, right, Miss Mills?"
Regina feigns a smile and tells Roland that she is certainly not angry at him for yesterday, resulting in a hug and Regina mouthing an, "I hate you," in Robin's direction.
"Now, go sit and eat your lunch, m'boy before we go to activity."
As Roland skips away, Regina makes the first remark, "You're a terrible disciplinarian."
"I'm a perfectly good disciplinarian," Robin fires back defensively, "he's siting down, inn'he?"
Regina scoffs dismissively. But, he is right, much to her dismay.
"Just because I don't eat children for breakfast, doesn't mean I'm a bad disciplinarian."
"Kids are merely snacks. I eat adults for actual meals," she volleys back flippantly and follows his gaze over to Roland and then back to his face.
"Where's Henry today?"
"Sick."
She has a feeling that's not true, can sense it in the pit of her stomach, a place where her worry for him churns away. She doesn't know why she's overtly concerned, he probably just skipped because he forgot to get his permission slip signed.
"Hope he's okay," Robin mutters.
The truth easily slips out for Regina. "Me, too."
"Well, I suppose, I'll leave you be, then." He rises and gives her a farewell nod.
"Good things come to those who wait," she teases.
He simply laughs as he departs and she keeps tuned to its frequency until it's out of earshot.
She realizes how quickly she sobers once Robin is gone and her tears are right back at the top of her throat, just as before. She can feel her heart tug across the room to him and she curses herself for such a feeling. But she can't stop herself from watching him chat animatedly with Mrs. Lucas, his aide. His excitability is something she's secretly always been fond of, because, though she may not show it, it's a certainly contagious trait and one that she enjoys losing herself in when he's around.
Regina finds herself making a checklist, then, of all the things about Robin that make her go weak in the knees—his physical attributes, of course, his stunning smile and accompanying dimples, his striking blue eyes that are worthy of drowning in, his woodsy scent, his impeccable hairstyle, parted just right every time and when not in pristine condition, has a few stray hairs fall in his face, making him look spent but in the sexiest way possible. And there are his emotional characteristics, his outstanding kindness, his flourishing amiability and his joie de vivre, his need to spread kindness even to those who do not want it, his love for children and his profession, and his simplicity in everything. He might be crass from time to time and achingly annoying and conceited, but when posed with his better faring qualities, she actually rather likes him—or well—
No, who is she trying to fool?
She likes him. It's not wrong to admit it. Honestly, any woman in her right mind would say that about Robin. It doesn't mean she's going to lust after him—never, because she has Graham, but she can admit that she's fond of Robin Locksley. As a person and a friend, she can admire him. There's nothing at all wrong with that.
And yet, she still feels awful for it. The lump in her throat is now practically tangling with her uvula and nearly choking her. She knows it's all the other things that are piled up on her today that have got her in this funk and making her feel like shit. The dream has her feeling like she's betraying Graham, her mother always makes her feel like shit even when they don't even exchange words and then there's Phoenix, the bane of her existence.
She thinks about going to the restroom and getting the tears out. Once she gets a good cry out, she'll feel relatively better. She might still feel like shit but at least, she won't have the threat of bursting out into tears in public looming overhead.
But fate intervenes, determined to make her miserable.
Kathryn plops down with a defeated huff. "Bad news bears," she mutters exasperatedly to Regina.
Great, bad news is all she needs now.
"What?"
"Field trip's canceled," Kathryn informs, stabbing at a piece of lettuce.
The vexed sigh now comes from Regina. "You're kidding?"
"Nope," Kathryn rebukes, "it's pouring outside and David would rather wait until next Friday then chance getting a kid sick."
Regina silently intakes the sound of Kathryn munching on the lettuce to try and evade the pounding in her ears and the throbbing in her skull. The tears are stronger than ever. Usually, things like this make her annoyed, at best, but this time, it's all but caused her to have an emotional meltdown.
But she's got enough composure to ask, "So what do you wanna do with the kids? I have no lesson plans for today and I'd rather not start on tomorrow's."
"Long indoor recess in the gym and then movie day?" Kathryn suggests.
"Sounds good."
"How about Finding Nemo, since they were meant to go to the aquarium?"
Regina cackles, "Sounds perfect."
[:]
Somewhere right after Nemo's mother is eaten, Regina feels another round of buzzing in her pocket. She figures it's Cora trying one last time to reach her daughter before she gives up, but Regina gets a surprise when she looks at her phone screen.
There's a voicemail.
Cora might be persistent in phone calls but she's never left a voicemail in the many years it's been since she and Regina had last spoken. Regina has half a mind just to delete it but it's just so out of the ordinary, so she doesn't. Instead, she gets up hopscotches around the mass of children sprawled out on the floor to get to Kathryn. She informs the blonde that she's stepping out for a moment to check on something and Kathryn nods, never taking her attention away from the film.
Regina ducks out of the room, then, and clicks play on her mother's voicemail.
"Hello, Regina, it's your mother," she coughs and Regina feels a tinge of worry for her mother even though she shouldn't.
It's weird hearing her voice after all this time. It sounds a lot like the voice she expected to hear. No matter how much time has passed, Regina can still hear her mother's voice inside her head, a sound she could never forget. But this voice is still slightly different. First, it's kinder, warmer, more maternal and Regina isn't sure if it's Cora faking it, to get her daughter's attention, or if she's actually softened over the years. But the biggest difference is that it's scratchier and weaker, feeble like she's got a bad case of the flu.
But it's not the flu that has her mother sounding the way that she does.
"Regina, honey," Cora starts delicately, "I'm going to cut right to the chase because I'm sure you're already considering deleting this message, if you haven't already. I don't know how to put it any simpler, or better, than I'm dying, dear." Her mother sighs. "I have stage 4 metastatic melanoma and I've stopped responding to treatments. The doctors say that I've got about six months, give or take a few. I know, I've hurt you, Regina, and you have every right to think to yourself that I deserve this and that you don't want to see me." She coughs again. "And I understand if you don't wish to, but I'd love to see my daughter one last time and make amends before I go. Okay, I'm going to stop talking now, mostly because I'm tired, and also, because I'm not sure you're still listening, but if you are, you can call me back, if you wish. If you don't, just know I love you and I am truly sorry."
Regina stares dumbly at a tile in the floor that's a little darker than all the rest, an equal representation of how she feels, but it's more like emptiness than darkness. The tears, however, tell another story. They finally win over her battle that was staving them off until now.
But Regina is stronger, because she knows she can't cry in the middle of the hallway, so she pulls herself together the best she can, enough to make it to the teacher bathroom in the office. Going in the student bathrooms would inevitably lead to trouble for her.
When she's locked in the bathroom, safe from any prying eyes, she tries to reassure herself that this could just be a ploy by Cora to get her to call. But Regina can feel in the pit of her stomach that, this time, that's probably not the case. And she's knows the exact way to find out.
It's been at least a year, maybe longer, since Regina has called Mallory Draconis, but Mal is the only person with all the answers—Regina's only tie left in Phoenix, besides her mother. Despite it being so long, it feels like riding a bike, dialing her old friend's number. She doesn't know exactly how Mal will respond when she figures out it's Regina calling but the last time they spoke, they were still on well acquainted terms, so she imagines her friend will oblige her this once.
"Hello," a chill voice comes through the receiver. She sounds like the same old Mal.
"Mal," Regina sighs, the tears clear in her voice.
She can hear her friend hum quietly on the other end. And when Mal answers, her voice is condoling, "I was wondering when you'd call. Can't believe that old bitch actually got through to you."
"So it's true?" Regina nibbles on her lip. Another nasty habit.
"I'm afraid so kid."
Regina loses it then, breaking down into full tears streaming in a steady current down her face. She's sure Mal can hear her because she hears a gentle apology coming from the other end.
"I'm so sorry, Regina. I really hate to do this, but I've got to get back to work, but maybe I'll come and visit you this weekend. Or I'll call again tonight. Look, if it makes you feel any better, that bitch got what was coming to her." Yeah, Mal, that certainly provides comfort. "I know she's your mom, but, Regina, she treated you like shit, and you don't have to feel bad for her. Whatever you do, don't beat yourself up over her illness. I really gotta run, but, I promise, we'll talk about this soon."
When Mal hangs up, Regina just watches herself unravel in the mirror. Her mother is dying. Cora is dying. She doesn't know how to process it, though; she keeps repeating the words over and over in her head. All she can do is watch her face get redder and redder.
That is, until there's a knock at the door. She startles, and attempts to pat at her face with some cold water, wiping beneath her eyes, as well.
"Just a minute!" she calls out.
Just keep your head down and don't make eye contact and they won't notice.
She does just that as she opens the door, but her eyes immediately shoot up to the voice saying, "Of course, it'd be you hogging up the bloody loo."
Of. Course.
Her red-rimmed eyes meet his clear blue ones and it takes mere milliseconds for him to know that something is wrong. "Regina?"
"I-" she tries but the tears make a threat.
"Not here," he whispers, and he grabs her hand, tugging her toward the conference room.
When they get in, he closes and locks the door behind him. Then, his eyes are fast upon Regina, studying her with care but saying nothing.
She can barely get out, "Aren't you supposed to be somewhere?"
"My kids are in activity," he dismisses. "What's wrong, Regina? What happened? Is this about your mum?"
That's how the dam breaks.
Regina misses her mother, but she hates her all the same, and she can physically feel the hollow ache in her chest as the broken sobs start displaying her feelings for what they really are. Her chest divvies up the sounds in chunks but the tears run smoothly down her face. She hates crying, it's such an obvious display of weakness and vulnerability, but more importantly, she hates her mother, absolutely loathes her and if hate had the power to move, Regina would singlehandedly deliver her mother straight to hell. Cora has done nothing but destroy Regina and she doesn't deserve her daughter's love. Cora doesn't get the right to come crawling back to her daughter, trying to make amends for what she's done. She burned her bridges a long time ago, and Regina isn't going to be there to help her rebuild it. Cora has to do that first on her own and then Regina will still have to consider even crossing the damn bridge.
But for now she stands on her side of the river accompanied by someone she's not exactly sure what she considers to herself and she mourns for the things she's lost and the things she might be losing. And her company stands there and watches as her body collapses on itself, her head hangs, her shoulders droop and begin shaking to the convulsions in her chest, and her torso is bent in half as she tries to curl into herself. He doesn't move, doesn't breathe, doesn't respond in anyway as she falls apart before him. She almost feels a pinch of anger at him for not moving to comfort her, for not taking her in his arms and whispering to her that it's all going to be okay. But most of her anger is geared toward the fact that she's vulnerable and he's there, and as much as she hates Cora Mills with all her might, she's spared a little bit of it for Robin. He's wanted to see her weak and defenseless, he's been prodding and probing subtly ever since they met. She's certain that he had to have been waiting for this exact moment where she crumbles into pieces before his eyes. It feels as if it's been a conspiracy against her all along.
So she stands there, shrouded in relative darkness crying in front of someone she hates.
There's another round of buzzing in her pocket and she has half a mind to chuck her phone into the wall and watch it shatter into a million pieces. Perhaps, she could even aim it directly at Robin's head and kill two birds with one stone. He's certainly hardheaded enough to break it. She doesn't know if he'll respond, though, because at present he's as still as a statue—one might even believe him to have been frozen, if not for the subtle rise and fall of his chest and the fluttering of his eyelids.
And they're like that for a solid few minutes, with her trying to control her tears and force them back into the place she can usually keep them locked away in and failing miserably, and him just blinking and breathing. The air is thick, suffocating, and she can't help but grasp at her chest and nearly dry heave to alleviate the chunks in her throat. She chooses to focus on Robin's shoes—they're these ugly taupe loafers, which are laced and reach just below his ankles. Her aversion to them almost pulls her out of her tears long enough to critique them, but her tears prove to be the more perseverant of the two and she continues to crumble. She tries to focus on the shoe, though, rather than the searing pain, rocketing through her chest. If she can just study every element of that disgustingly hideous shoe, she might be able to find enough inner emotional balance to stop crying. So she traces the outline of the shoe from the apex of the toe all the way back to the heel, until she's calm.
"What do you want?" she can finally manage once her tears have given way to her composure.
He looks puzzled, starting with an, "I—"
But she cuts him off and finishes her statement to clarify, "From me. What do you want from me?"
He's still confused, brows knit together and mouth shaped into a deep frown, but she doesn't elaborate anymore this time. Instead, she watches him watching her, initiating a volleyball game of eye contact.
"Nothing," he murmurs quietly, his confusion still dabbled in his features.
"You must want something!" she rages. "There has to be something you must want because you're always here—always around when I don't want you to be, so what is it? What is it that you want so much from me?"
Regina doesn't even know if she believes all the slanderous things coming out of her mouth, but she can't stop them, she can't stop her agony from bleeding out onto Robin. And it works, she can see the words register to him and make their impact. He reacts in pain and almost looks contrite, as if her accusations hold some merit, and they do in the most basic way, because he is around all the time but it's not because he wants to get something out of her. She knows this, deep down she knows it, but she's poisoned her heart to believe the opposite—he's just like all the rest, desperate for something, whether it's gossip, or sex, or whatever—he wants something.
He believes it, too, but just briefly. The flame of guilt flickers before he snuffs it out, shaking his head a few times, and stepping toward Regina. But she knows how to dance in a box—he steps forward, she'll step back.
"You want to know what I want?" She opens her mouth to speak, but she only releases a feeble noise before he cuts her off again. "To not see you like this."
His voice is soft, a gentle whisper as he closes in on her, enticing the tears back to the forefront once more. But she doesn't start sobbing this time, instead the tears well out and dribble frivolously down the apples of her cheeks.
"You have a funny way of showing it," she quips.
He smirks and nods, taking another step. "Yes, what I meant was I want to help you stop feeling like this."
"I don't need your help."
"No," he rebuffs her, "you think you don't need my help because you don't want my help. Little do you know that I'm probably the one thing you need."
Regina scoffs loudly and goes for a retort but he's quicker, plowing through to defend his point. "You wanna know why I'm here? It's because no else is. Because these other people in your life follow your every whim. When you say stay, they stay. But then when you tell them to go, they'll go. But I won't. I never will. You know what you need Regina? You need someone who will tell you no, even when you don't want to hear it. And that's why I'm here. Because, Kathryn might do as you ask and Graham might do as you ask, but I won't if I think that you need help. And you do, Regina. You need someone who'll be there, even when you don't want them to be."
She can hear the sound of her molars grinding harshly against one another. It's another habit her mother despised, especially when it was time for dentist office visits. Cora Mills did not like having a daughter with maimed teeth, but mostly, she didn't like to hear it announced every time they went. Of course, then Regina got a mouth guard for grinding in her sleep but that didn't stop the daytime habits. Though she'd learned to curb it as she grew up, there were times when she'd get upset enough to just fall right back into the pitfall of the horrible habit.
"First," she growls, teeth still gritted, "don't talk about Kathryn and Graham like you know them—"
"—I know them well enough to know that what I just said was the truth."
"So what, you pride yourself on the ability to do the opposite of what I say? Congrats Cat in the Hat."
"It's the Things, actually," he corrects her.
"What?"
"Thing 1 and Thing 2, they're the ones who do the opposite of what you want."
"That… is irrelevant," she stumbles over herself, feeling them ebb back into the flow of their usual banter, where it feels almost homey and natural, but this time there's an edge that provides discomfort.
"I don't know. I mean you shouldn't stray from the plot like that; it's a bad habit." She can tell he's trying hard to bring the lightness back to their conversation but he can't fight against the mounting tension.
"It's creativity."
"Or relative plagiarism."
She grimaces. "I'm just glad to know you're still reading on your appropriate reading level."
He does that half laugh thing he always does, where he flashes a smile and then wets his bottom lip before holding it between his teeth. It's natural for him, so much so that she's sure he doesn't even notice that he does it. But she does. Every time he's done it, she's taken extensive mental note of it.
Robin must notice that she has relaxed, at least a little bit, because he dares to take a step closer.
This time, she doesn't move backward.
And when he reaches out toward her, she doesn't move then either. Instead, she welcomes the gesture, allowing him to push her hair behind her ear and rest a palm against her cheek.
"Let me help," he whispers tenderly, running his thumb across her damp cheek, her eyes closing as the caress beckons her.
She thinks to say yes, to spill all the secrets she's hidden. But it's too much; the burden is too much to give to another person. Robin doesn't deserve the weight of her misgivings and her demons. And though he's valiant and would take them on anyway, she can't let him. It's her cross to bear, her weight to carry.
Regina pulls away, turning her back to him and quietly muttering, "You can't."
She can hear him inhale before he answers with, "Why must you be so stubborn?" It isn't said in an accusatory way but almost a patronizing curiosity.
"Why must you?" she counters, her voice shooting up a couple octaves. She sighs and reaches for the pencil on the conference room table, weaving it through her fingers to keep her hands busy. Her back stays, facing Robin as she continues, her eyes fixed only on the pencil. "Why can't you leave well enough alone? And don't feed me some crap about how you're the only one who'll say no. That's about what I want and what I need. But what about you?" She finally turns back to him. "What is it that you want and what you need?"
He tries to answer but she talks over him, "Robin, if this is some ploy to try and finish what you were doing with Marian, it won't work. I'm not her. You can't fix what you had through me. It doesn't work that way."
Now, she falls silent and allows for him to speak, except it takes him a moment. He sort of just blinks perplexedly at her, at first. She wants to take the comment back now because she knows she probably crossed a line.
"Why," the kindness has receded out of his voice, "are you so hurt, that you refuse to accept that I just want to help you? This isn't about Marian, it's about you!"
"But why?" she whisper-yells.
"Because I like you!" he roars back at the same volume, galloping forward with his exclamation.
The words echo off the walls, as his cry begins to garner meaning to them. Her eyes grow wild and her heart might have skipped more than just one beat. But, Robin, on the other hand, is shaking his head and waving his hands in front of his face.
"I didn't mean it like that," he quickly recants.
Her heart plummets back down to where it belongs and she can feel her face falter with the sensation.
He's stammering now, lost in a jumble of words while she's lost in the chaos of her thoughts. "I- I just meant that I like you as a person because you-" he huffs, carefully calculating his words to avoid another blunder. "You are beautiful. And witty and charismatic and funny and- and beautiful—"
"You already said that." She takes a step this time.
"I know," he chuckles nervously. "Because I want you to hear it, to really hear it." Her eyes are locked with his but his steps in time with his next sentence do not go unnoticed. "You. Are. Beautiful. And you deserve to know that. And you deserve to know how wonderful you are. I don't know what happened with your mum, but you don't deserve to feel this way. You only deserve to be happy. And you deserve someone who will tell you that. What I want is to be that person. But you have to let me in. You have to let me be that person."
The tears are welling once again, but for a newer reason and partially for the old. "Okay," she answers softly, "Robin, you can have that. You can take me on adventures to clay pits and pull me into conference rooms and tell me I'm beautiful while cuddling on my couch watching Breakfast at Tiffany's. You can have all of that. But not this, not Phoenix." Her tears a falling now. "Phoenix is mine, okay? And that includes what all has happened with my mother. You can't have Phoenix. Please, understand that."
"Okay." The gentle melody of his voice is back and his arms are enveloping her in a hug, one she doesn't hesitate returning. "Okay," he says again, "I won't ask about Phoenix. And if ever I ask a question that's too close to Phoenix, all you have to do is say Phoenix and I'll leave you alone, I promise."
"Can I just say Phoenix whenever I want you to leave me alone, period?" she mumbles into his shoulder, which shakes with laughter in response.
"Sure," he hums into her hair, "if that is what you want. But you know I'm obligated to say no."
"I'd expect no less."
"You're certain you're alright?" he asks her after a brief pause and presses a chaste kiss into her hair.
Their hug begins to unravel and she keeps her gaze pointed to floor. "I am. Thank you."
"You're sure?"
"Robin," she sings, casting her eyes upward and feeling the catch in her throat. There are already a plethora of physical features that Regina has already acknowledged that she's fond of, but she's yet to have collected the one she's discovering now. There is a glint in Robin's eye, one that she's not sure was there before. And that glint carries a big meaning, because it's something Regina hasn't seen meant for her in quite sometime, but she'd recognize it anywhere, it's unmistakable—the look in his eyes is a look of love.
Of course, that doesn't mean that Robin is in love with her or anything, but it does mean something, and Regina can feel her brain go into overdrive, trying to discern it. He did just say he doesn't think of her in such a way but…
He doesn't realize it's there, though. He can't see what she sees. Maybe, he doesn't even know how he feels. Then again, neither does Regina. The more important question, anyway, is how she feels about the prospect of his feelings.
You have Graham, she tacitly reminds herself.
Robin can be the friend who looks out for her, just as it's meant to be and what they both intend. Any kind of romance or anything else with Robin would simply be in her dreams—oh god, her dream!
She's in too deep already, she thinks. Perhaps, the look in Robin's eyes is actually a reflection of her own feelings. But she's loyal to Graham, and wouldn't do anything to hurt him. She just has a lot of feelings toward Robin because she's grateful for all he's done, that's all. In fact, she's going to call Graham as soon as this is over and prove it to herself. This is simply overreacting from immense gratitude, nothing more than that.
Regina is so lost in her own thought that she doesn't notice him slipping her hands into his palms and gripping them tightly, that is, until his words bring her back, "Just promise me, okay?"
She fights her damned hardest against the will not to look him in the eye and swears, "I promise. Now, I've kept you long enough, you're kids should be getting out of activity soon, so go."
He holds her gaze for a moment longer, scanning her eyes, as if they'll confess whether or not she's truthful. Then he concedes without another word, and she watches him exit, taking one final glance at her before he leaves her to her own devices in the conference room.
Her hands are shaking terribly as she runs them through her hair, snagging on a few tangles along the way, which mimics her collection of all the information she's gathered in the past hour. Her mother is dying and wants to make amends before she does. Robin is Robin and suddenly (or perhaps, not so suddenly) she's overcome with some type of feeling about whatever he's doing. And most importantly, right now she wants to forget about it, so she fishes her phone out of her pocket to find the one person who doesn't know about her mother and doesn't really know about Robin, save their one brief carline meeting, that has probably all but been forgotten by Graham.
He picks up on the second ring. "Regina," he says as a greeting.
"Hey, you," she answers nervously, her bottom lip trembling just slightly. Dear god, she thought the tears were done.
Graham must note her tone of voice because his response is gentler, "Hey, what's up?"
"I'm sorry to call in the middle of the day," she apologizes, feeling a rush of anxiety. "I know you're probably busy, it's just I've had a rotten day and I was hoping that maybe we could have an early dinner maybe talk…?"
"Oh, Regina." His voice is regretful and she knows that means he's about to say no. "I actually had plans with the guys," he waits for a beat before adding, "but, I mean, I can always cancel."
She can hear it in his voice, though, how he'd give just about anything not to cancel so quickly rejects his offer. "It's okay, maybe tomorrow?"
"Yeah," the gentle tone is back and it almost pities, "definitely tomorrow. Text me what you want and I'll cook, alright?"
"Okay."
"Regina," he says just before she's considering hanging up without a proper goodbye, "are you sure you're okay?"
"Yeah. I just need a break, that's all, I think. Maybe I'm coming down with something." Then her tone shifts to a hastier one, trying to pawn it off like she's fine and really in a rush to get off the phone. "Anyway, I gotta go, gotta get back to that teacher thing, you know? I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"
"Yeah, see you tomorrow, Regina."
"Tomorrow," she vows, and then her phone is in her pocket and she's returning back to her spot on the carpeted floor in Kathryn's classroom, finding herself oddly jealous of an animated Blue Tang fish with short term memory loss.
[:]
She's staring at his drawing, his stupid dumb drawing that she really wants to shove into her garbage disposal and listen to it be eaten up into mulch. As she leans against her wooden cutting board and sips on her beer—she hates beer, always has, not to mention her mother absolutely abhorred the idea of her daughter smelling like a distillery and made sure that Regina was painfully aware of it—Regina aches to rage against something, to seek revenge for the hollow panging in her chest. She can't fight her father because he's dead. She can't fight her mother because she's dying and Cora would only end up making her feel worse. She can't fight Graham because he's all but entirely absent from her life and she's already getting decent payback by drinking the beer in her hand that technically belongs to him. And then there's Robin, who she's already had it out with once today and but she still feels angry at.
Except, this time it's a new anger. This time she feels a wanton pull, one that has her eyeing his picture and not thinking for a second of Rocinante but of only Robin. She'd meant what she'd said earlier at the lunch table. She hates him, but not in the way that people typically hate each other, with venomous thoughts against their wellbeing and the desperation to destroy everything about the person that they hate. Instead, she hates him because she feels the opposite. Today, he confessed that he wanted her to be happy and that he wanted to protect her, and today she had realized that she had the exact same sentiments towards him. She might be shit at showing it and she might not have exactly known that's how she feels but she does. And now, she can't help but stew in her need to give him the same person who will make sure that he's happy and taken care of even when he doesn't want it.
It's strange how the decision all comes together in her head, like a puzzle that she's just moving around the pieces for randomly, until they finally click together, purely by accident. But as soon as they're together, everything seems to make sense. She sets the bottle of beer that she's been unconsciously twirling between her fingers beside her hip onto the counter and walks closer to the picture. She observes the terribly shaggy sketch lines and shoddy coloring on the paper, how it doesn't look much like Rocinante at all, but those things don't matter. Despite it's imperfections, it's one of the most perfect thing she owns. It's a gift, not given out of expectation for something in return or for praise, just a gift out of the kindness of his heart.
And what has she done? What has she given Robin? He'd told her friendship was something he deeply valued but even with that she'd been stubborn and unrelenting. So what has she truly given him just out of pure goodness?
He took her to coffee. He bought her a drink and took her home. He drew her a picture. He won her the adoration of Principal Nolan. He took her on an adventure and made sure she was warm and cared for. He helped her with the kids at her apartment. And today he did what no one else had ever done—he cared.
Then, she's decided. She's going to do it—she is going to march her ass straight to Robin Locksley's door and finally return the favor. There's no telling exactly what will unfold after that but she knows what she wants and that's what she plans to get.
She just hopes he's planning for the same thing.
[:]
Regina doesn't know why she's out of breath when she makes it to the front door, it's not like she's been running, but she's panting anyway. She tries to gain her composure, enough to enter and scope out the lobby. Her apartment doesn't really have a lobby, but his is nice, for an apartment complex anyway. There's deep stained hardwood flooring and cozy little linen lounge chairs off in the far corner.
She's made it—well, sort of, she still has to actually get to his door.
Then it finally registers that she doesn't exactly know where that is. Fortunately for her, there are people congregated in the lobby, chattering with one another, most of them younger but a few around her age and one older man. At least one of them has to know where Robin lives. Then again, she doesn't know where most people in her complex live, aside from those who live around her. But, it's the only shot she's got besides calling Robin up and awkwardly telling him that she's down in his lobby, waiting to find someone who knows where he lives so that she can come up to see him. Oh god, this is ridiculous, she shouldn't have come. But, she's all this way now, there's no point in turning back.
So she sets off, asking around if any of the tenants knew where Robin Locksley stayed, but everyone came up unhelpful. The only piece of information she got was from a very short man with white hair and glasses that said Robin stayed with a John, but he wasn't sure what his exact room number was, just that he was on the third floor. She can't very well go knocking on every door on the third floor, desperately trying to find some guy. It's time to call it quits, she admonishes, you're being silly and it's not like it's a life or death situation, Regina. So she obliges herself, but not before scanning the room one last time for any sliver of hope that might lead her to Robin.
Seeing, none, she haphazardly makes her way to the door, not noticing the gigantic man passing her on her way in, the man who, had she waited and spoken to, would've told her all she needs to know. But thankfully, the white-haired man she had spoken to is able to bridge the gap between the two, leading the gigantic man back out of the building that he'd just entered out into the street where Regina is rustling in her bag for her keys, not even paying mind to the two men walking to her.
It isn't until the white-haired man is right in front of her that she pops her head up to notice.
"Miss?"
"Yes?" she replies politely with a smile, glancing between the two.
"This is John Little, he's the roommate of the man you're looking for." The bigger man extends a beefy hand to her, which she takes and introduces herself.
As the smaller man departs, the panic sets in upon realizing that she has to explain to Robin's roommate why she's there. But she's devoid of a good reason, so she tries to steer the conversation away from giving reasons. Instead, she simply tells him that she was looking for Robin to talk about something and is just wondering if he's home.
"No," he tells her simply. "He's at the Rabbit Hole, actually. Or at least I assume he still is, he was pretty taken with this blonde before I left."
She frowns. The Rabbit Hole? On a school night? Robin and some blonde?
As Regina goes crestfallen, he realizes it's not the best thing to say and quickly amends his previous statement, "I just mean they seemed to be in… deep conversation, so he might be awhile. You can come up and wait for him if you'd like, and if it's an emergency, I'm sure I could call him."
She feels even stupider now that she basically staked out his apartment and his roommate is offering to let her stalk him a little longer.
"No, no," she smiles awkwardly, "that's quite alright. I'll just catch him tomorrow or something."
"You sure? I mean it's no problem really to call."
God, she's so embarrassed. "No, it's fine, I have to go anyway. Thanks for all your help."
Regina starts to jet towards her car, blindly scooping her keys out of her purse this time.
John is calling after her again, "Hey! Do you want me to tell him you stopped by?"
She turns around but doesn't yell because there's not that much space between them, a fact he must not realize, given his volume. "No, please don't. It's fine, I'll just talk to him tomorrow."
He doesn't get to say anything else because she rounds the front of her car, rips open the door, slides into the driver's seat, and cranks the car, all in one fell swoop. And then she's pulling out into the street, looking in her rear view mirror, to watch John re-enter the building.
It's not until she reaches the first red light that she lets her mortification consume her. She should've never gone to his apartment. It was foolish of her. And now his roommate is going to tell him that she stopped by, which means she's going to need a decent excuse, but that can be decided on when she's tossing and turning later on in bed.
Right now, though, she needs a distraction. Graham is unavailable and Robin is off talking up some pretty blonde, so she does something she'll more than likely regret. She calls up Kathryn, who, upon hearing Regina's proposal for dinner and drinks, immediately accepts.
"This is so unlike you, Regina, I'm impressed," Kathryn surmises.
She's been unlike herself for sometime, now. In fact, Regina doesn't even remember the last time she felt like the authentic Regina Mills. Maybe before Robin? Maybe before Cora molded her some more after college? Maybe after that fateful year in Phoenix that changed everything for her?
That doesn't matter, now, though, because she wants to forget Regina Mills, altogether, and that sure as hell means forgetting Cora, Graham, Robin, Mal, and anyone else who's tried to get to the core of Regina Mills. Tonight, she just wants a normal Girls' Night Out and a chance to erase this day at least for a little while.
"Just call the others and see if they wanna go out, okay?"
"Okay…" Kathryn drawls. "Regina, are you okay?"
"I will be."
Or at least some version of Regina Mills will be.
A/N: Hi, all! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I'm sorry it took so long. There's just been a lot going on in my life and there still is, which unfortunately means that updates will still take awhile, at least, until summer time. I don't even know if I'll be updating again until then. But that does not mean, at all, that I am going to give up on Study Hall. I fully intend to keep writing on it, when I can, but at a much longer and laborious pace. I hope you'll stick with me through it because lots of good stuff is coming up. Thank you to all who take time to read this and to all of you who've been waiting for an update—you're real champions!