For OQ August Angst Fest Day 2.

Prompts used:

6. Please don't leave

22. I trusted you

27. I have every right to be angry

28. Why did you lie?

39. Where the hell were you?

40. I got scared, okay?

41. You need rest, I'll be right here

43. I miss you.

Two weeks later, she shows up at his doorstep one night. And she's angry.

He's been wallowing, numb to all emotion except his self-caused loneliness, so to see her there, drenched from the pouring rain and glaring at him is a surprise, to say the least.

"Where the hell were you?" she demands. And she's drenched from the pouring rain outside, her hair sticking to her face as she shivers and holds onto her cane for support.

"Regina?" he asks, "What's wrong?"

"I fell. I went to the hospital and you... you weren't there! Why weren't you there?!"

"I... I had the day off," he stammers, and she's pushing him away from the door with her cane and walking inside, stalking as best she can towards his living room.

He's dumbfounded, to say the least, but still has the good sense to grab the jacket he keeps on the coat rack and bring it with him, wrapping it around her even as she glares at him.

"Please tell me you got checked out," he begs.

"I'm fine," she grumbles. "Nurse Lucas cleared me."

He breathes a sigh of relief at that, and takes a seat across from her.

"You never have Thursdays off. That's when you fill out your time sheet and arrange your schedule for the following week. You told me that when we first started our sessions," she accuses.

"I'm sorry."

"I needed you," she says then, "I needed you and you weren't there." She sounds... hurt. It tears him apart to even think he's the cause of it, but there she is, voice trembling as she asks again. "Why?"

"I, uh... I took the day off to pack," he explains in a low voice.

That catches her attention. "Pack?"

"Yeah... I'm being transferred to the Boston facility in a few days."

"You're moving? Without telling me? Without saying goodbye?!"

"Next week," Robin confirms. "And I didn't think you'd want to see or talk to me after... you know." Something flashes in her eyes, a sadness, a shock, and then she's pushing herself up on her cane and standing, shaking her head as she moves for the door.

"Please don't leave," he begs, "just... talk to me."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea anymore," she admits, and she doesn't sound angry anymore. Just... defeated. And it's even worse somehow.

"Tell me what happened?" he prods. "Please."

She huffs, leaning her weight on her cane more than she should, he notices. Her legs must be tired, and he gestures towards the couch again, urging her to take a seat before she speaks.

To his utter delight, she takes him up on the offer, and he can see the way her body relaxes when she sinks into the cushions, her eyes closing for a moment as her limbs loosen and stretch.

"Now that I can walk, I figured it would be a good idea to go back to work, so I've been working from home most days, but today, I wanted to go into the office. I wanted to walk in there and show them I was okay."

He nods, not daring to interrupt.

"I was stupid," she says with a humorless chuckle. "Thought I could just put on my heels and walk in there with this stupid cane and I'd be fine. But as it turns out, my feet don't remember stilettos, and I face-planted before I even reached the front door of my apartment."

He wants to smile at that, because the image is so utterly endearing to him, but he can see how much the fall has affected her, how it's brought back to the surface all those fears he'd made it his mission to drown with his positivity.

And it occurs to him that that's why she sought him out. Not because of the fall itself, but because for the past few months, he's the one who's been bringing her back up every time she's down.

"You're not stupid," he says first. "Lots of people fall using stilettos, and most of them haven't gone through what you've gone through. One minor setback does not in any way diminish all that you've accomplished, Regina. Just give yourself time to adjust."

Her eyes are welling up with tears, but she's looking away from him, out the window towards the city lights and the rain.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there," he says then, hoping she can hear the honesty in his tone. "And I'm sorry about... how we left things. I was an idiot."

She nods. "You were."

"Are you still angry?" he asks, curious.

"I have every right to be angry," she defends. "You said it yourself, you were an idiot, and you... I trusted you, Robin, during all this time we spent together, day after day, it wasn't just about the therapy. I trusted you, I opened up to you and you... you downplayed everything and made me feel so insignificant... like I meant nothing to you."

"I'm so sorry," he says fervently, hating himself for hurting her like this. She means everything to him, absolutely everything, had fallen hard and fast for her from the moment he met her, and the fact that he's botched everything up in a fit of jealousy eats at him, his chest clenching painfully at the thought. "I didn't mean any of it, I swear."

"I know you didn't, which is why I forgive you, but it doesn't... it still hurts," she explains, and god, her eyes, her beautiful brown eyes are so watery he expects the tears to fall any minute.

He doesn't deserve her. Will never deserve her.

He has no idea what to say to her, what to do, so he finds a way to stay busy. She's shivering, so he sets about making her comfortable, something he probably should've done the minute she walked in, but, well, he's still a bit in shock that she's here to begin with.

"Let me make you some tea," he begs, "you're shivering, it'll help warm you up. And I can throw your clothes in the dryer, too, I'll grab you something clean to put on in the meantime."

"Thank you," she says, shrugging off his jacket and refusing his help as she tries to stand.

It takes her a moment, and he can see the almost imperceptible wince she gives as her leg straightens, her hand grabbing her cane instantly and leaning heavily on it.

"Bathroom?" she asks, and it snaps him into action.

"Just there," he says, pointing to the door down the hall. "I'll be right back."

She nods, and wobbles to the loo while he dashes to his bedroom. His wardrobe isn't exactly stylish, but it's definitely comfortable enough for Regina to wear for a little while, so he grabs a pair of freshly laundered scrubs and heads out to the guest bath, knocking softly on the door.

"I have something for you," he announces, and squeezes the clothes in through the small gap when she opens the door slightly, answering her muted Thanks with a pleasant smile and taking her wet clothes from the arm she sticks out the door.

The laundry room on his floor is just two doors down, so the trek is short and quick enough that he can get back in before she steps out of the loo. Robin places the black loose-fitting trousers, gray V-neck and black vest Regina had been wearing into one of the empty machines, making sure to select the proper cycle before heading back to his apartment and into the kitchen to get started on that tea.

There's a steaming cup set on the coffee table a few minutes later. Robin sits on the armchair, leaving the couch free for her, and sips his own cuppa as he waits for several minutes.

She's swimming in navy fabric when she steps out, the R. Locksley, PT embroidered in contrasting white on the right side of the chest resting a little too low on her. The V of the shirt dips farther down than it does on him, and his very skin heats up at the sight.

She looks tired, and he notices she's limping again.

"May I?" he asks when she takes a seat on the couch, his feet carrying him toward her before she can answer.

"I told you, I'm fine," she insists as he kneels before her, and she looks... embarrassed. Fidgets with the fabric of his shirt for a moment. "I should go, coming here was a bad idea."

She moves to stand, but he stops her by holding onto her hand, his eyes pleading with her.

"Regina, let me help," he implores her. He trusts Nurse Lucas's diagnostics, knows she wouldn't have released Regina if there had been more serious consequences to her fall, but this is more for Robin's own benefit than it is for hers. He needs to feel like he's doing something, anything, to make up for not being there when she needed him.

Regina sighs, nods to give him the okay, and Robin immediately reaches for the hem of the pants, lifting the left leg of fabric at a snail-like pace and uncovering the bare skin underneath. The living room is quiet, no sound except his breathing and hers mixing with the rain pounding outside.

When he's hiked the pant leg up to her knee, he moves his hands slowly down her calf, kneading and feeling her muscles, massaging as he goes. Regina sighs in relief, but doesn't take her eyes off his hand, refusing to meet his gaze while he continues.

Robin reaches her foot, and holds it around the arch as he circles it in one direction and then the other, his other hand placed on her ankle to feel the bones as they move. There's a small pop there, but nothing out of the ordinary, thankfully.

He's focused on his task, eyes zeroed in on her ankle as he prods and checks it over, but he doesn't miss the hitch in Regina's breath when he moves his hand up her calf again. There's nothing inappropriate to the contact, not really, he's still kneading and checking, making sure there isn't any hidden injury he should address.

"I, uh... I hit my knee pretty hard," she tells him, and he looks up at her, nods with a small smile, and moves his touch to the back of her knee, using his free hand to guide her leg into a stretch as he feels around the bone. There's a bit of inflammation around her patellar tendon, but nothing out of the ordinary, and yet he can't seem to move his hand away from her.

"Why did you lie?" Regina asks then, so quietly he almost can't hear her.

"Pardon?"

"You said you were just my therapist. Why?" she insists, and there's that tone of defeat, of disappointment, the bitter tinge of it hurting him more than her anger ever could.

Robin swallows, then admits, "I was jealous."

"Of what? I told you Samdi was a friend," she whispers, crossing her arms over her chest as a wet tendril of hair falls over her face. Robin reaches up to tuck it back behind her ear, not realizing how intimate the action is until her eyes widen in response.

"Sorry," he says instantly, his hand quickly moving away. "And I know, but I was just... he seemed to want more than friendship with you. Not that that's something that should concern me."

"Because I'm just your patient?" she asks, her voice taking on a derisive tone as she almost spits out the words at him.

"Because you're not mine to be jealous over," Robin corrects. "Even if you were, I... it was wrong of me to act the way I did, and I'm sorry."

She hums at that, her eyes closing for a moment. When they open, he becomes aware of just how tired she is, and asks, "Regina, how did you get here?" as he sits on the coffee table in front of her.

"Uber," she says, reaching for the cup of tea that has now likely grown cold. She sips, and sips, avoiding the raised eyebrow Robin is giving her as long as she can before she confesses, "Driver dropped me off half a block away, I walked the rest of the way."

"No wonder you're so weary," he chides. "You shouldn't have done that."

"I've been walking for almost three weeks and getting better, I can walk half a block, Robin, I'm not weak," she snaps, fire igniting in her eyes at his insinuation.

"No, you're not. You're quite possibly the strongest person I know, but you can't exert yourself like this, least of all after you've had a fall."

"I'm fine," she says again, annoyed.

"And yet you came to me."

"Because I got scared, okay?" she claps back. "I was scared, and alone, and I... I wanted my friend, the person who's been looking after me all this time, the one who told me he'd be there for me day or night, to tell me everything was okay, and you weren't there."

He sighs, apologizes again, and she huffs, looking away.

"I miss you, too, you know," he says then, and that has her turning her head back to him, curiosity etched on her face as she sasses, I never said that.

He shrugs, but stays silent for several minutes, until she sighs and prods, "So... you miss me."

"Every day," Robin admits. And he wants to say more, but she does look so tired even as she smiles at him, and he can see the calming properties of the tea working their magic on her now, her posture seeming more relaxed now as she sinks into the cushions.

So he smiles, tells her, "You should get some sleep. Why don't you go into the bedroom and take a nap? I'll stay out here."

"No, I'm fine here," she tells him, sighing as she relaxes further into the couch. "Don't really feel like moving."

Robin chuckles at that. "Alright," he says, grabbing the mustard-yellow throw from the armchair and draping it over her as she gets more comfortable. "My room's down the hall, if you need me just—"

"Don't go," she says quickly. "Just... stay here a little longer. Please?"

"As you wish, milady," he quips, and her eyes are closed, but she smiles. He's called her that since their first session. He'd meant it as a joke, a way to break through her tough act, to make her laugh, and then it had just... stuck.

"We can keep talking," she tells him, eyes still closed as she adds, "I can stay awake."

Robin breathes out a laugh, shaking his head and insisting, "You need to rest. I'll be right here when you wake up, we can talk then."

He's surprised by how much that promise soothes her, the last bits of tension melting away as she surrenders to her exhaustion. Her legs are tucked up under the throw, but her toes peek out from beneath it, the hem of his pants long enough on her to cover half of the exposed skin there as he tugs the blanket down to cover the rest.

Robin smiles, appreciating the sight before him and wondering just how he got lucky enough to have this woman in his life.

It's ridiculous, how much he's come to feel for her, how much he yearns to see her on the days she's not around, how a smile from her can instantly make his day that much better. How her presence here has reminded him why he loves living in Maine.

And then pain stabs at his chest when he remembers he'll be moving away soon, and won't ever see her again.

He stays there, watching her, pondering on his life, on the decisions he's already made and cannot back out of, and then reminds himself that he and Regina are not in a relationship, that they're just friends, and he can't just rescind his acceptance of the new job because his heart is playing tricks on him. He has professional decorum to maintain, a code of honor he must live by. He's moving. End of story.

It's his neck that wakes him.

His phone screen reads 3:41AM, his eyes shutting against the painful stab of light. There are sore, tense knots on his nape, and he must have shifted incorrectly in his sleep, because his awareness of the pain is sudden, has his eyes snapping open as he winces, grinding his teeth to avoid growling loudly at the unexpected, needling ache.

It's only as he sits up that he realizes he's not in bed. He remembers getting up after Regina had been deep in slumber; remembers heading out and grabbing her clothes from the dryer two doors down, folding them neatly in a pile by the coffee table and sitting on his armchair to watch over her for a little while longer.

It seems he fell asleep here. Bad choice, that.

But Regina is awake, looking cozy and downright stunning as she exits the bathroom, back in her own garments now. She walks over to him and places his folded scrubs on the coffee table before she takes up the couch again, cuddling between the back and the arm of it and throwing the blanket around her once more. She stares up at him and smiles lazily, and he'd take that neck pain every day for the rest of his life if it means waking up to her like this.

"Good morning," he rasps, ignoring the fact that it's still dark outside.

"Well, look who's finally woken up," she teases in return, her voice a scratchy, delightful thing.

"I apologize, but, uh... that was the best sleep I've had in a very long time," he quips.

"Your neck doesn't seem to agree," Regina banters. Robin shrugs with a smile, and regrets it instantly, his neck seemingly determined to prove her point.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stay so late," she says, "or to keep you from proper sleep in your own bed."

"It's quite alright," he rushes to assure. "What about you? Are you sore? Any pain?"

"None," she confirms, and there's a fond smile on her lips, one that makes him ask What?, his curiosity getting the best of him.

"Nothing, I just... I love when you're concerned about me," she tells him, and he can see the tiniest hint of a blush on her cheeks at the admission.

"I'm always concerned about you, Regina, I care for you."

Her smile gets wider, and then something flashes in her eyes that seems to sober her up in seconds.

"So... when do you leave?" she asks, and that's it, isn't it? The elephant in the room.

"Wednesday night, my flight leaves at 8:15PM."

She nods, sitting up on the couch.

"I should go."

"Regina—"

"No, it's... it's fine. I'm not mad at you, I just can't be here right now."

"I thought you wanted to talk," he insists, because he's starving for her voice, her presence.

"What's there to talk about, Robin? You're moving, and we're just friends."

"We're more than that," he says, and it's funny, isn't it? How he went from denying it to embracing the full brunt of it in such a short time.

"We can't be more than that. Not anymore." Her voice shakes a little, and it splits his heart in two to know she's hurting.

He takes her hand as she stands, begging her with a simple "Please."

And he's not expecting it, not at all, but what happens next is everything he's ever wanted.

She fists her hands in his shirt, brings him down to her and crashes their lips together.

He's shocked by the action, and she's pulling away before he can kiss back, staring up at him with a nervous expression, as if she's getting ready for him to reject her, to tell her this isn't right.

But it is right, it's the most right thing he's ever felt, and soon he's pulling her against him as he kisses her again.

His mouth opens for her, lips catching her upper one and sucking delicately as the tip of her tongue peeks and slides against his. She tastes of ginger and honey and her, a combination Robin knows will never be surpassed by anything or anyone else.

She moans, a tiny, almost shy kind of moan, but he hears it, feels it, wraps his arms tighter around her waist and kisses her deeper, one hand moving up to tangle in her hair. He delights in the texture of it, plays with the locks near her nape as he kisses and kisses some more, unable to get his fill of her, needing more and more and more with every second.

Because they've been dancing around this attraction they feel for each other for so long, shying away from pursuing it for so long, trying to respect their boundaries as patient and therapist for so long, that everything has been bottling up, building and building, exploding now in every press of their lips, every pass of his tongue against hers, every tingly little nibble she gives his bottom lip; Robin cannot get enough of the unbelievable sensation.

And then it all goes to hell.

He hears a sniffle, but doesn't really register it until he tastes the salt of her tears, and he stops immediately, lets her push against his chest until he's far enough away that he can focus on the tortured expression on his face.

"Regina?"

She's shaking her head, fighting so hard to stop the tears, wiping furiously at them as she declares, "I'm sorry. I can't do this."

"But—"

"Please, don't," she begs. "I... I should go. Please, just... just let me go."

He doesn't want to. Not at all. But he's hurt her enough with his stupidity, he has no right to her, no right to demand anything from her, no right to make her stay.

So he swallows, nods and lets his hands fall from her, his heart wrinkling in despair as she grabs her cane and goes for the door as fast as her legs will carry her. She wobbles a little as she turns the knob, her hands shaking, and Robin gives it one last, desperate attempt.

"You're more than just a patient to me, Regina," he says, his voice gruff. "I'm sorry I ever made you think otherwise. I'm sorry I screwed this up before it began."

She doesn't turn back, doesn't say a single thing, merely walks away from him yet again, her shoulders shaking as she cries.

The door slams behind her, and his heart shatters.