Hey there! Thank you for all the reviews and sweet messages here and on tumblr, you all are an amazing lot! And thank you, you two - you know who you are, you-finally-together, you, who are probably all cozy at home and already drinking. Wonderful ladies, lots of love! Rosé and shine!

I many times thought Peace had come

I many times thought Peace had come
When Peace was far away -
As Wrecked Men - deem they sight the Land -
At Centre of the Sea -

And struggle slacker - but to prove
As hopelessly as I -
How many the fictitious Shores -
Before the Harbor lie -

She was running.

Already out of breath, she was running through an endless corridor. Panic like a cold fist in her chest, she threw a glance at her sides while she ran, and there was a woman running next to her – long raven hair, frightened eyes, and a white dress, floating like a pair of wings behind her. The woman kept looking at her, with pauses of seconds, and then looking ahead – the long, long corridor, it wasn't ending – then at her, then ahead again.

Finally, she did realize. That woman was herself, and the wall was covered by a mirror. She turned her head to the other side – another mirror, and infinite versions of herself running, in a loop of white raven-haired ghosts. She looked down, down to the floor, and her eyes met her own gaze, because the floor too was a mirror, and – the ceiling was a mirror, and she was running, from – from someone, she couldn't even remember, why was she so scared?

Another look at her right, and her reflection grinned at her – but she was sure, she was not grinning in return – her reflection brought up her hands, to her face – she realized she had a white mask, and her hands flew up, the mask was starting to press around her face. Frantically, she searched for the ribbons, without slowing down, hands finding her hair and… nothing else.

She was running, and her fingers went on searching, feeling the contours of the mask around her eyes, pulling it, but – it was glued to her skin – it was melting, mask and skin together in a unique fusion, her heart hammering faster in her chest – the panic redoubled, and she glanced at her reflection again. She felt her feet slowing down, finally, she neared herself to the mirror. One step, two steps, she stopped, panting, lifted a hand until her fingers touched the cold surface, immediately mirrored by the other woman.

And the reflection grinned again, and she saw a red spot in her white dress – their dress – a red pool, wider and wider, right in the middle of her chest, between her breasts. And an excruciating pain, right there, the blood red, like wine – no, not red, almost black – black spreading out in the dress, eating all the white, up to her mask, the reflection was smiling widely.

"No," she whispered, but her double was now laughing. The dress was black, the mask was black, the last remnants of white disappearing quickly.

"Welcome, angel of death," she said, in a perfect replica of her voice.

She felt her mouth was slowly opening to scream, but nothing exited.

She stared at the mirror, and heard a noise, louder, louder – was it… water? Her double was laughing, like a mad woman. Her arm flew up, she squeezed her fist, slamming it on the glass. The glass stilled, frozen for an instant, then a web of cracks began to unravel in front of her eyes. Her hand was red of blood, red from the shattered fragments, dirtying the black of her dress – red spirals on the black fabric, and something ended, something started.

A weird feeling, down – she looked down, at her feet, and there was water, sea water, rapidly rising, filling up the corridor, washing over the mirror. Her dress was heavy, soaked at the edges. The water went up, and up, the salt burning her skin where she had cut herself, reaching her waist, her breasts, the horrendous cut on her chest, up to her neck. And she couldn't move, she could only wait for the water to rise even more, because fluctuating up, to keep breathing, it wasn't an option – broken fragments of mirror around her, whirling –

Voices, all around her.

Regina, Regina? Regina! –

Regina?

Regina…

–

"Regina!"

She woke up with a jolt, slamming her eyes open, heartbeat still fast, and his blue eyes looking at her.

"Robin?"

He was lying next to her, his elbow pinning on the mattress and his head up, and he had this concerned look that never failed to make her heart flutter. He was scanning her face, his fingers brushing her cheek – she realized she had been crying, and probably screaming, and he had a worried frown.

"Are you okay?"

She couldn't hide a sudden hiccup, like a spasm, and she shook her head. He sighed, pulling her closer, and started rocking her gently. Images of the dream still haunted her mind, and she pressed her nose against his bare chest, inhaling his scent, while he was stroking her hair, murmuring It's alright, it was just a dream, it's alright. She tried to put all of her willingness not to cry, but the sobs were building rapidly inside of her, like angry bubbles, and she collapsed on his shoulder, her chest shaking up and down, calm down, calm down, he repeated.

Had she been her usual self, she would have protested against his hold, maybe made fun of him for being so cuddly, but her heartbeat had just started slowing down. She didn't know for how long he had held her, but after a while, she had replaced the horrible visions from her sleep with the calm darkness of the room. "It was just a dream," he repeated, whispering. But was it? Just a dream? She focused on her breaths, inhaling, exhaling, her eyes closed now, and on his hand on her back. This is real, his hand is real, it was a dream, don't worry. It took a while, he didn't protest, just held her. "I think I'm okay now," she said quietly. He pulled away from her, meeting her eyes in the dull shades of light from the half-closed shutter.

"You want to sleep a little more?"

She nodded, closing her eyes, and went to snuggle against him. A heartbeat of hesitation. Normally, when she was like this, sleep didn't come easily. Maybe, this once, though… Not to mention, this time she was exhausted. His arm slid above her stomach, and she finally relaxed, with a content sigh. "Thank you," she whispered, feeling his slow breaths against her hair. His answer was so low she thought she had imagined it.

"Always."

§§§

He woke up slowly, that morning, the light was now sharper and it hurt his eyes. He moaned, trying to stretch his arm, but finding out it was trapped under a very naked and beautiful body. He lifted the other arm, feeling still groggy, his vision blurry, and went to caress her slowly, beaming when she stirred.

Her eyelids fluttered open, but she shut her eyes down almost instantly.

"Good morning, beautiful," he cooed, and felt her smile against his chest.

"Mmm," she answered. Her skin was warm, and soft – he inhaled the rich scent of her hair, memories of the previous night flooding his mind. Regina bare and gorgeous, trembling in pleasure as he undressed her slowly, Regina dancing with him, a red mask covering her features, Regina screaming, lost in her satisfied desire, when she had finally let him slide inside of her – Regina waking him up in tears and scaring him –

"What time is it?" she sighed contently, her head still pillowed just under his own. He shook away the unpleasant thoughts. As he scrambled his hand away from her bare forms towards the nightstand, he imposed himself to calm down, that it had been a simple nightmare, and it had nothing to do with him or the ball. And yet, he thought as he swiped the screensaver, and yet the ball hadn't exactly been easy. Gold, and Ingrid, he remembered. The deal, and the secret garden, and the sensation of danger. Lingering in the air, like a ghost, always present, it had glided into Regina's dream. He felt a surge of fierce protectiveness, all of a sudden. Who was that man, that he could enter her subconscious and make her cry in fear?

And she wasn't like that, Robin knew it. She was bold, and she was courageous. This… exposure of hers, in the middle of the night, had been a casual, unique event? Or there was more?

"It's eight," he informed her, and she moaned, protesting, then chuckling lightly as he dropped a kiss on her hair.

"Let's stay here forever," she proposed, fingers brushing his skin. He smiled, sinking in the mattress.

"Fine by me," he agreed. He started toying with one of her dark locks, rolling and unrolling it around his index. "Are you… alright, Regina?"

He had to add it, because there was a knot of worry in his stomach. And although he was there, with this stunning woman in his arms, he felt this wasn't the blissful morning it could have been under different circumstances.

"Yes, why?" she answered, lifting her eyes to meet his.

Robin's hand went down to circle her waist, under the sheets. He didn't speak, but looked at her, taking in her face, her frown, the lovely shadows of ancient freckles, her olive skin. "Your… nightmare," he started.

She shook her head, slightly, the ghost of a smile pulling up her lips. "Don't worry, it happens quite frequently," she said, almost nonchalantly, like it was normal to wake up crying. His hand was splayed above her stomach, and he subconsciously started a path of soothing caresses, gentle strokes meant to comfort her.

"Are you sure you are –" he began, but his voice broke. And his hand stopped.

Regina's skin tensed under his touch. She flatted her stomach, escaping his hand. Her eyes were avoiding him, looking down. Shit. He lifted slowly his fingers, but couldn't avoid one last light brush. Silence fell between them, and no one was willing to dare and speak first.

A thousand of thoughts passed through his mind, shame and worry being the most pressing, and Regina was still staring at the sheets, eyes out of focus.

"I…" he tried to say, but she immediately lifted one hand to stop him.

"Wait," she murmured.

"For what?"

"Give me one moment."

He nodded, slowly, giving up all his attempts of understanding her. She was keeping her hand on his, his hand which had gone where it shouldn't have gone, and there was silence again. He could almost hear the far swooshing of the waves, from the channel flowing near the palace.

He didn't have a clue about what she was waiting for, but he waited with her, focusing on the warmth of her hand, on the slow, imperceptible rising and lowering of her shoulders. He didn't have a clue about how much time had passed. He didn't have a clue about what she was thinking of, why she was biting her lip, and taking deep breaths.

And finally, she spoke.

"I… didn't want you to… know about this in this way," she began, uncertain. He felt a pang of guilt, felt like he was pushing her to reveal something she was not his to know, and yet, she turned on the mattress, she turned to face him. He had expected her eyes to be teary, but instead, she had this… hard gaze. He saw only decision in her eyes, and maybe – trust, it was trust. She trusted him with this.

"But I wanted you to know, sooner or later, and… I don't want to hide anymore," she told him. She moved her hand, the hand that was holding the sheets – she moved it down, and he watched, dumbstruck. She uncovered her breasts, he couldn't help but enjoying that glorious vision, in the sunlight of the morning, before kicking himself – because this wasn't the time for that.

She stopped, glancing at him, and he shook his head. "You don't have to, you know," he said. "Whatever it is you want to tell me, I can wait…"

Her head lifted, her eyes meeting his, and he held her gaze for long seconds. Then, with a last deep breath, her hands fisting nervously the cotton, she pushed down the sheets, uncovering her stomach. What Robin had just touched with his fingers became a clear image in front of his eyes.

§§§

Give me a moment, she had told him, trying to gather her courage. She summoned images of the previous night, to give her strength. It's Robin, she thought. He likes you. He has slept with you. You can't have sex with the lights off forever. You're lucky you managed to, yesterday night.

And yet, she was almost terrified.

Give me a moment, because it could be the last moment you look at me without pitying eyes. Give me a moment, so I can pretend – for just one moment – that we are nothing more than two people who made love, and slept together, and woke up in each other's arms.

He was trying to give her space, to reassure her, and it was wonderful, and she nearly fell into this temptation – not to tell him yet, to wait a little more, but she couldn't. She didn't want to.

And before she could change her mind, the white fabric went down.

There was a scar, running through her stomach. It started from her hip-bone and went up, for about four inches, not too big, but of a blue-black color, with the classical stretched marks of the stitches. And it was an enhanced sign, visible.

She was piercing his face with the intensity of her gaze. She was trying to read every shade of his expression, ready to back off at the first trace of pity or compassion.

She saw surprise, at first. The only-hinted widening of his eyes, and then she saw him biting the inner of his cheek, eyes roaming over her scar. She would have given up almost anything, in that instant, to know what he was thinking. When he lifted his eyes, she felt her breaths accelerate slightly, and expected to be pushed away – it would have hurt, but then, she was… damaged, and marked, for… well, for life –

"Regina," he whispered. She didn't answer. Her eyes flew away from his, but his fingers trailed up to her chin, gentle, careful. "I…" he tried, letting out a breath, then resumed his words. "You are so beautiful, love," he said, and she nearly scoffed at that. Really? She had just shown him one of her biggest reasons of shame and fear of judgement, and he was trying to make her feel better like that?

He clearly sensed he had got something wrong, because he shook his head, his hand moving from her chin to the nape of her head. His other hand, however, landed tentatively on her thigh, then went up, and she stood silent, waiting, waiting to see what he was going to do.

He arrived at her hip, right near the scar, and glanced at her, as if he was asking for permission.

She nodded, gazing down, following the path he was drawing, and felt him push her mildly towards the mattress. She lowered herself, her back coming into contact with the mattress, hypnotized by his eyes. It was… it was almost like he was rediscovering her body, as if it was completely new, right there, bathed in the light of day.

He started to kiss her. Not just that, he started to talk to her. He was whispering against her skin, lips leaving feather kisses here and there. On her knee. "This part of you, is beautiful," he murmured. He went up. A kiss to the inner of her thigh. "This part of you, is amazing," he continued. Up again, to her shoulder. "This part of you, is strong." So lightly, near her nipple. "This part of you, is exciting." Down, shy of her entrance, just above her clit.

Oh.

Her fingers grasped the sheets, but she kept watching him. A kiss on her stomach. "This part of you, is tender." And then, he glanced up at her, with the beginning of an affectionate smile – it made her heart swell and curl in pleasure.

His lips went just there, where the offending scar was, and he left three smaller kisses, oh, so sweetly. "And this part of you… is resilient. And is what I admire most, because you decided to keep going."

She closed her eyes, and felt herself smile, and she thought she could have started to cry, it was so easy, right there, because he was wonderful, and she didn't deserve it, none of it. Because… how had she got so lucky? And before she could give in to the dark shadows of her mind – they had already started telling her things like You know what happens when you care about someone, and Everyone leaves you in the end. He's just happy he got to have you during the night. He's just pretending, silly girl, he doesn't care in the slightest – before of these thoughts, he was kissing her, and she was parting her lips to welcome him, her hands between his hair, dragging him closer.

He kissed her, and kissed her, just because he could, with gentle pecks, then deepening his hold, pressing her against him, fingers tangled between her hair. "Thank you," she breathed, when he let her go, trying to put in those words all the sentiment she could muster.

"I meant it," he said, earnestly. "You are beautiful, no matter how many scars you have."

And right there, laying on that bed where he had made love to her for the first time, where he had discovered one of her deepest fears, soothed her nightmares, made her tremble in pleasure, right there, it hit her. She was already in too deep. He had entered her soul like the water washes over the sand, slowly, and then going back, and then up again. That morning smelled like sea and salt, tears and sex, and it was beautiful.

"You…" she started, unsure on how to continue. Unsure, because she didn't know if she was about to ruin it all, to ruin all the peace he had brought to her soul. "You aren't going to ask me about it?"

He shook his head, then went to lay beside her, his hand stroking her bare stomach, a feather touch that got her instant goosebumps. "Not today," he assured. "When you're ready – and I think you've said enough for today."

Regina nodded, with a thankful, heartfelt, just whispered okay, her hand went up to circle his neck, and she stared into his eyes, in silence, waiting. He brought one of her dark locks back behind her ear, his face close to hers on her pillow, and he nuzzled his nose with hers, in an affectionate bump.

"And thank you for tonight, the ball, and… everything," he added, causing her to smile. She wanted to say something witty, just to revive heated memories, but…

"Sorry I've… woken you up," she answered, and god, why was her voice so shy? Why did she keep returning to that subject? And yet, he was still there, at her side. "It has been a hell of a ball, indeed."

"Ah, that is true," he said. His thumb was stroking her cheek, his eyes impossibly close. "A ball I won't forget soon, you can be sure of that," he continued. He had his eyes locked to hers, and a thought crossed her mind, I'm not the only one who's nervous about this – because the previous night had been a sublime perfection, and it had been so easy to lose themselves in one another. This… morning after, on the other hand… it had been special. His voice, when he spoke again, was a mere breath, as if he didn't want to burst their little bubble. "Listen… would you like to come to my place… and let me cook you breakfast?"

Oh. Her heart jumped a little, because it was so sweet – that he wasn't ready to let her go yet. "That sounds lovely," she murmured. "But we both know… I'm not dressed in the right way for that."

"I'm sure Ingrid could borrow you something," he shrugged, kissing the tip of her nose. He slid one hand down to take hers. "Shall we go, then?"

§§§

Half an hour later, she was watching him fish his keys out of his pocket. He was still dressed in his suit, holding a carefully zipped plastic bag with her dress inside. Regina, on the other hand, was wearing a white, long-sleeved dress, kindly given by Elsa, who had been delighted to find her with her aunt.

And so they had strolled down the streets, some of them still wet and muddy from the high waters of the previous night, with blackish remnants of dirt, and she had had to waltz between thin puddles, in high heels, towards Robin's house. His place was a nice nook between two higher buildings, not too far from the palace, and he had glanced at her somehow sheepishly before pushing the door to let her in.

It was a small apartment, white walls and dark door, two steps to help preserve the floors from the waters. Small, but quite elegant, considering he was almost never here during the year, and she briefly wondered – who was the caretaker? And why did he still have a place there, after all the years passed from his studies in Venice?

She didn't get to see much of it, because he was already guiding her towards the kitchen – just the essentials, fridge and oven and counter, and one of those tables attached to the wall, with high stools and a basket of fruit on top of it.

"What would you like to eat?" his voice came from the counter, and she snapped her eyes at him, smiling in response.

"Eggs?" she tempted, shrugging. She didn't know if he was good at cooking, so she settled for something not too difficult to make.

He lifted one eyebrow, as if he was challenging her. "Scrambled?"

"Will do, I guess," she said. "I wouldn't say no to some bacon, though. I had Italian breakfasts, these days, and I think I miss the American way."

"And bacon you shall have," he nodded solemnly, starting to pull out ingredients from the fridge. She nodded in return, watching him, the way he moved in the kitchen, the way he broke the eggs.

They stood silent for a while, Regina observing him, when he spoke.

"So… care to tell me about Emma?" he threw her a glance above his shoulder. "If you want, of course."

She stretched a bit on the stool, her chin going to rest on her closed fist. "I guess I owe you that one, yes," she smiled, remembering their little exchange before Ingrid's speech.

And she started to talk. She told him of Emma – of how they'd met at school, forced to share a desk, and the blonde little tomboy was nothing like the pretty refined brunette. Emma had been a wild and curious child, always in detention. She told him of her own mother, of her recurrent work trips abroad, and of Emma running from her foster parent's house to hide at Regina's. It hadn't been that bad, though: having a friend at school, a friend who was willing to keep her on track and make sure she studied for tests, had let Emma have a somewhat good relationship with her adoptive parents.

I wish your Dad could adopt me, so I could be your sister, she had confided to Regina one night, in tears, after an ugly fight with them.

Robin let her speak, and kept tending to the eggs, finally sliding a plate under her nose. Regina began to eat, knocking back forkfuls of egg, and gulping down one sip of juice. He didn't interrupt her, and she alternated morsels and words.

"She had a… difficult time, after high school," she continued. "Bad companies, and we… lost each other for a while," she said, with a sudden wave of sadness. That time had been awful, watching Emma sink deeper into a vortex of crappy days, having to pay her bail once or twice – nights in prison, little thefts with her boyfriend, who had knocked her up and then flown away.

"My father helped her, when she got pregnant," Regina said. She felt Robin reach for her hand and squeeze lightly. "It was about… five years ago, and sometimes is hard to think that… that Emma and this one are the same person. She got a job, and finally let me in, and I got my friend back, and a wonderful little boy to watch over and spoil with ice cream…"

Robin nodded, as she fiddled with the remnants of her bacon. "So she named him after your father?"

"Emma was eight month pregnant when Daddy died," she explained. "She was working part-time, and we have been… devastated," she admitted. "You see, she grew up with me. Mother was… tough, to say the least… but Daddy was wonderful with us."

"You and Emma, you… seem to have a unique bond," he observed, and she smiled at that.

"Are you worried of meeting her?" she asked, only half-joking – she really wanted to know his answer.

"That depends," he frowned. "Is she worse than Mal?"

Regina laughed, throwing him a glance from above her glass. "Different kinds of evil, dear," she smirked. "Mal looks like she could kill you, but, deep down, she's caring and forgiving… Emma looks like she's a sweet angel, but you should see her when she's pissed off. I think I had to pay for a drink, once, to bribe a guy out of reporting her to authorities, for punching him…"

She spotted Robin's concerned face and smiled. "They're protective, don't worry, you'll be able to handle them," she told him. "Now, why don't you tell me of your friends?"

His frown opened into a smile. She continued to eat, and listening to him while he talked about his friends, and sitting on a stool in his kitchen and laughing at his anecdotes – there was a little something, swirling in her mind. I could easily get used to this kind of morning with him.

She listened – about John, when he had had to invite a girl to the ball, at school, and he had asked her every morning for one month in thirty different ways until she had said yes, and that girl was now his wife – about Alan, when he had convinced Robin to go camping and then forgotten the tents – after a while, she was relishing in being lulled by his voice, her elbow pinned on the table, her head resting on her open hand, and an idiotic smile on her mouth.

I'm already used to this.

§§§

One hour later, Regina found Mal in her room – slightly bigger than hers, but not so full of light. She was surrounded by paperwork, cursing over her laptop. The window was open, and she had lit a cigarette. When Regina entered, she blew the smoke out, shutting the screen of the computer close.

"Everything okay?" Regina asked carefully, and Mal groaned, pressing the stub into the ashtray.

"We'll never win this case, honey," she said, annoyed. "This guy has the worst combination of charges I've seen in years, and I have yet to understand why on hell, why is Gold so confident we'll win, why has he accepted to defend him?"

"Because he likes impossible challenges?" Regina asked, sitting on her bed.

"Because he, and I quote, doesn't fail," she answered, rubbing her neck. "Anyway, how was the ball?" she smiled, leaning on the chair, and stretched a hand to take her lighter. Regina averted her eyes, not sure on how to begin. Mal took another cigarette, and sighed contently when she inhaled the first breath.

"It was… fine, I guess," Regina answered, because she had no idea on how to start telling her about the ball, and the new mystery, and she wasn't even sure she ought to tell her about that.

"Just fine?" Mal smirked, lifting an eyebrow. "Then I suppose you're back at…" she glanced at her watch, "eleven in the morning, because you two spent the night playing cards?"

"Oh, shut up," Regina huffed. "I'm not giving away any detail, okay?"

Mal kept smoking in silence, scrutinizing her face, until she smiled. "You can keep the dirty details for yourself, just tell me about the ball," she continued. "I know you only talk about sex if you're drunk…"

"Mal!"

"What?"

Regina lifted her eyes to the ceiling – unlike her room's one, this ceiling was an intricate pattern of flowers and ivy, painted carefully in green and pink and violet. "Fine," she said, annoyed. "So, he brought me a white rose…" she started, and Mal looked at her contently, crossing her legs and preparing herself to listen.

§§§

The morning after, Regina had to take a boat in order to get to the courthouse. It was quite near to Granny's house, but she managed to ruin her best camisole with a splash of water lifted from a passing motorboat. Mal followed her into the bathroom, where she was inspecting the damage – she hadn't paid more than a glance to the splendor of the palace, situated near the Grand Canal, with a series of elegant white arches and ochre walls.

Regina put some soap on a paper towel, hissing through her teeth – just wonderful, right during the first day of the trial. "That's a damn lucky sign," she said, rubbing the stain.

Mal shrugged, adjusting her perfectly curled hair. "Just button your blazer, darling, you'll be fine," she told her. "Come on, Gold will have your head if you're late." She went out, with a last smirk, and Regina sighed, renouncing to fix the damage, and followed her.

The trial was awful. She had experience of trials in foreign countries, and they were all the same. She had been in Spain and France, both times with Gold, but it had lasted three week tops, divide and rule, and they had managed to go back home… home, to Henry and Daniel… But this time, her boss had asked for two months. Why exactly two months? This trial, was the front for something more? The defendant, she had never met him – he was a fresh face in her horizon, and since Gold had brought them his name, she was wondering if there was something about him, something that Gold wasn't telling them.

How stupid, she thought, following Mal across endless corridors, their heels ticking on the marble floor. A general rule was to inform the team of everything that could have been useful to the trial. What's his game?

Was it a hidden scheme, a deal between Gold and the defendant? Wouldn't be the first time, she thought bitterly. And yet, what she had heard at the ball was increasing her worry, and Ingrid's words resounded in her head, this isn't legal. She shook the thought off. Why was she implying that the Ingrid affair had something to do with this particular trial?

I have to talk with Robin, she decided, stopping right beside Mal in front of the main door – the door which led to the court room.

"About time you two showed up," Gold said, calmly, ignoring the annoyed look Mal threw him. Arthur arrived in that moment, surrounded by a blatant smell of smoke – his usual pre-trial cigarette, and Regina started opening her mouth to tell Gold they couldn't be so late, if Arthur was gracing them with his presence only then, but Mal placed a hand on her arm. "Leave him," she whispered.

They went inside, finding a stranger standing beside the defense's desk. He was tall, bald for the most part, with greyish tufts at the sides of his head. He was talking with a blonde young woman, who must have been his assistant, because she nodded and slid away while he turned to greet Gold.

"Duff, always a pleasure," he said, with a thick accent. "Too bad the circumstances are a little… complicated, aren't they?"

"Ah, I wouldn't have fun, if it were otherwise," Gold smiled, shaking his hand. "May I introduce you to my resourceful team? I don't believe you've ever met them… this is Arthur Knight…" he started pointing at them, listing their names. "My wife Belle, you have met her – and Elsa Noelle, our youngest associate… Mallory Drake…"

Mal had that plasticized smile that only a few people – someone who knew her well – could have told apart from a real one. Her expression was weird, and Regina wondered why… it was as if she was disgusted from this man.

"… and this is Regina Mills," ended Gold, and she had to shake the man's hand. He held on to her a bit longer, and she had to slide her finger away from his grasp. "Everyone, this is our judge, Leopold Bianchi…"

"Very pleased to meet you all," Judge Bianchi said, talking to all of them, but looking at her. She averted her gaze, feeling unpleasantly scrutinized, and knowing that his gaze was falling briefly on her cleavage. Mal coughed slightly, and crossed her arms on her chest.

"Should we start?" she asked coldly.

"I think it would be best," Regina added, lifting her eyes towards Gold. "Besides, we don't want anyone thinking that the defense is flattering the judge, do we? Because that would be embarrassing… almost like having a snake in a nest of innocent birds," she said, smiling kindly at Leopold, who suddenly frowned. His gaze turned hard, but she kept watching him, until he nodded.

"You would consider yourself as an innocent bird, Miss Mills?"

Regina felt everyone's gazes on her skin, and Mal smirking at her side. Oh, this was her game. This was exactly what she was born to do, her best talent. Pissing off other people… with diplomacy.

"Oh, Mister Bianchi, what did you understand? I am the snake," she answered, watching him while he lifted his eyebrows. "If I were you, I'd be careful not to be bitten," she ended, trying to hide the quiet triumph of her voice.

"I'll keep that in mind," he told her, sliding one hand down to lift hers to his mouth, kissing her knuckles before she could have the chance to avoid it.

He motioned for Gold to follow him towards the prosecutor. Once they were alone, Regina met Elsa's worried look – but Belle and Mal were smiling at her, as if she had just put some kind of victory flag on their desk. "Well done, little viper," Mal whispered, sitting down, and she smiled back.

She toyed with a pen for a few minutes, throwing glances towards Gold and Bianchi, who were talking quickly, in ushered whispers, before the judge could finally shake Gold's hand one last time and head to his chair.

"We now start with the first trial of the day, for the records: Judge Leopold Bianchi, the jury, in the presence of the prosecution team from Heller's & Co., of the defense team from Gold Associates, and the defender, Jefferson Kingsleigh, with the impending charges of: border violation, illegal drug trade, suspicion of kidnapping…"

§§§

On Friday morning, she was growing anxious. She hadn't seen Robin in two days, and it was such a short time for not seeing someone. After breakfast, on Wednesday, they had parted ways with the promise of calls and another meeting, and on Thursday there had been work, and today work too, and she was tired.

And he was not answering.

She had told herself that maybe there was a reason, maybe his phone had broken, because he absolutely wasn't the kind of person who sleeps with someone and then doesn't reach them in some way.

Two days of hell, and all she needed right now were his arms and his advices and his silent strength. It wasn't quite like her, to go after someone – she liked to be chased down, but damn it, she wanted an explanation. Did this make her weak, wanting an explanation? Did this make her look like an idiot – this surprise visit?

No, she needed to talk. A long talk with someone who wasn't Mal or Ruby or Granny, and maybe, later, she was going to try and convince him to show her that bedroom of his…

She tried to picture Emma's face if she could have read her mind. Truth was, without… this, this thing that was growing between her and Robin, if there wasn't this other thing she had to investigate upon, she would already have kissed goodbye to this case.

Gold had not reacted well to her little showdown at the trial – he had just frowned, disapprovingly, but called her later, and told her to get a grip, or else to start looking for a new job. Bianchi is a fundamental pawn to win this trial, Regina, he had hissed, grabbing her arm, as if he wanted to talk to her in private. He may think he's the king of the chessboard, but he's not – I am. I control all of this, dearie, so whether you stop being a rejecting, ungrateful stupid girl, or you're done. That would be a shame, though. You could be my ace in the hole, the queen who wins the game… if you let me show you how.

Mal had been pissed at that. She had said Regina, that little idiot wants to mess with you because he's angry, because he couldn't go on without your participation, without you in the team. You had every right to react in that way, and you know it. But she knew better.

She wanted to start investigating. She wanted to know, to find out what he was planning to do with Ingrid, and those whispers with Judge Bianchi were suspect to say the least, no matter what Gold had told her, that impish two-faced man. Maybe it was only her imagination… Trust your gut; it's always right, her mind said in an extraordinary well-placed imitation of Emma's voice.

She hadn't told Mal about Gold and Ingrid. Not yet, she had to talk with Robin first. They had to come up with a plan, because she trusted Mal – and she was sure there were people Robin trusted, too, but she couldn't say a word, not yet.

She shook her head, strolling down the streets of Venice. It was almost seven, and the sun had already gone down – to drown in the sea and surge again in further places. She shivered, tying the belt of her grey coat, and glanced at the restaurant near Granny's B&B – it was a nice place, cozy and not too crowded, and she thought that she could have brought Robin there, sooner or later. Maybe even tonight.

Oh, she had missed him.

How was that possible? Friday, she told herself. I met him a week ago, and we already kissed and danced and he has seen me sick, and he has made love to me, we have drunk together and he has met Mal… and he has seen my scar and cooked me breakfast and heard my stories…

Maybe it was too fast.

A gondola passed near her, pushed slowly by a handsome man dressed in black and white. Regina threw a look at the passengers – not two lovers, but four teenagers, chirping cheerfully and taking selfies in the middle of the channel. She sighed, bringing up a hand to replace a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

Robin's place, she had discovered, was only ten minutes away from Granny's house. Convenient, but even ten minutes were too long when you had to walk in the impossibly high heels she used for work. She was already spotting the pale green building near his apartment – a rather strange color, but Ruby had told her that in one of the small islands near Venice, Burano, all houses were painted with vivid shades.

Nearing the house – finally, her feet were starting to kill her – she smiled, slightly, because no matter how stressed she was about the last days – seeing him was a salve to her soul. It was scary, how fast she had gotten used to this – to them, falling into domesticity, and feeling she could have continued to wake up next to him, and that she didn't want it to stop. She thought of the night that had yet to begin, of how she wanted nothing more than a kiss and maybe a hug to soothe her worries – for now – and how wonderful it was not being alone anymore. Well, she wasn't alone – she had her family and friends, but it wasn't the same as having a partner.

A partner.

The world rolled on her tongue, a mere whisper as she took the last steps towards the house. She hadn't had a partner for years, and it was so weird – so different from when she was with Daniel. She was all different, not so naïve to believe in things like forever, always. But maybe, it wasn't like that, for him. Maybe she was just a fling, a shooting star of some dances and occasional sex, and she didn't mean so much.

But she had seen something more, in his eyes. Something that had brought a warm, tiny ball of hope to blossom in her chest since their meeting, growing stronger and warmer.

She felt herself becoming calm, more serene, and approached to the steps, ready to knock, when her gaze fell to the next window. The curtain was disclosed, elegantly folded on a side, and she glanced inside, and immediately regretted it.

There was Robin, in the living room, and he wasn't alone.

She froze in her steps, her hand still lifted, and kept watching. He was standing in front of a woman – blonde, probably pretty, she couldn't see her face, only a cascade of silver gold and a red dress. She saw him take her hand, talking fast, agitated. The woman nodded, and he smiled, kissed her cheek – threw his arms around her neck and hugged her.

Something broke inside of Regina's heart, with a shattering sound.

She recoiled from the door, with one last look – Robin's arms were still around the woman's waist – the same arms that had circled her while she slept. She turned and ran away, the pain at her feet completely forgotten, and tears were starting to sting. When the first one fell, she had already reached the middle of the bridge.

All she wanted, right now, was to reach her room. One single thought, in her mind.

I know, deep inside, that hope doesn't work.

Then why do I keep hoping?