"So, what's your plan?"
Emma added a couple of running steps to her stride to keep up with the determined powerwalk of Regina.
"I need to talk to Robin. Go back to the apartment and tell him to meet me at the bar down there."
She pointed at a sign that read "The Tavern".
"You need keep watch over the bitches, and I need to get a bit of planning done before sorting this out."
Emma gave a curt nod, and left her.
The bar was bustling with life, and she thought to herself that taverns in New York certainly were much fancier than in the Enchanted Forest. Not to mention cleaner. Every table was occupied, so she headed for the empty stools by the bar and sat down.
No matter how this encounter would play out, she was going to make him chose good and properly. Under no circumstance was she willing to go through the uncertainty and achy-breaky heart she had struggled with ever since the return of the dead. She was bound and determined to find out exactly how he was reasoning, and what he intended to do. If he should try and get back with her, she needed to know it was because of her, and not because of that damned honour of his. Ergo; no hint of her growing anything. All she was certain of at this point was, as she had said to Emma, that they would take the lot back to Storybrooke as fast as humanly possible. She would not stay one day longer here than absolutely necessary. Her mind was in overdrive, and it was hard to keep a straight line of thoughts.
She went back to making mental notes and trying to follow the list to the T. First, the most effective smokescreen for pregnancies was alcohol. She knew she had pulled that one off with the queens of darkness in their already alcohol induced state. Robin would probably be just as easily fooled. She ordered a glass of whiskey, picked up her bag and went to the toilet for a little rehearsal. Secondly, she honestly had no idea, and concluded that emotionless winging was the route to follow.
Luckily, she was the only one in the little girls' room, so nobody could eye her with suspicion or ridicule. She supposed practising in front of the mirror would look even more stupid to an incidental passer-by than to her.
Mirror, mirror on the wall...will this look like drinking at all?
How much did she need to tip the glass, and how tight should she close her lips to make it look natural without getting anything past her lips? After all, she had intended to drive home tonight without being charged of DUI, so a careful sip every now and then, maybe even only one, would suffice to keep the cover. At least she hoped it would. And the glass would provide something to hold on to and play with, in case she needed it.
Within minutes the move was perfected, and after a quick visit to the stalls she went back out. As she rounded the corner, she could see he was already sitting by the bar. Her stomach did the same somersault it always did when she suddenly saw him some place she didn't quite expect, and she was feeling very uncertain and out of control, like a teenager about to talk to a scary crush. That was apparently not a feeling one grew out of, but she needed to suppress the teenager fast.
The thing she was most concerned about was the conflict between her urge to beat him to a pulp and leave him without a second glance, and the equally strong desire to cling to him and beg him to never ever leave her again, and let him kiss her into oblivion. No matter how much she detested the whole bloody mess they were tangled up in, she was so deeply into him that the mere thought of never seeing him again made it harder to breathe.
At least he had agreed to meet her in private, so he must see the need for a conversation just between the two of them. When she was certain her expression was correct, she turned directly towards him and walked over. She sat down by the bar, a corner dividing them. In order to keep her face straight and rather unfazed, she stared straight ahead as she calmly held around her whiskey glass and traced the rim with her finger. He had ordered one of his own, she noticed. Obviously the evening for strong pick-me-ups.
He didn't say a word and was partly hunched over the bar, one hand on his glass, the other altering between running through his hair, wiping his brow and supporting his head that seemed too heavy to keep up on its own. She started to tap a slow rhythm with her glass on the counter. The barman had provided her with a napkin as a coaster, so the thumping was a bit more dulled than glass on wood, but still the sound was clear in the silence between them.
"So…"
She didn't really know how to start, but had to break the silence somehow.
"Yeah…"
He seemed equally unsure.
"So you moved on. With her."
Her face was still blank and she had fixed her gaze on the rows of liquor bottles on the shelf in front of the bar mirror. If she as much as cast a glance his way, she was sure to crumble. Of all the elements in this farce, the fact that he moved on was the one that hurt the most. Everything else was just seasoning and condiments. True, they were just as ill tasting as the main course, but they would never exist if it was not for the…
God! How on earth am I going to finish this ordeal and still be able to hold my head high?
Her thoughts were interrupted by a snivelling that annoyed her to no end, but she kept her façade.
"That's not fair. You understood. You agreed!"
He even had the audacity to sound indignant! Her blood was boiling, and the need to scream was enormous. Of course she had agreed. She had urged to him save his wife's life, to leave the apparently still active curse that was fed by the magic in Storybrooke. Because that was the only decent thing to do. It was the only option! However, she did not for one second imagine him forgetting her and continue on with his life as if she didn't exist. Not only his life, mind you, but to go back to live with Marian as his wife!
"Understanding it and seeing it are different."
Even an idiot would understand that. Couldn't he see what this seemed like for her? Didn't he understand that she felt both betrayed and belittled? She wasn't even good enough for her soulmate to fight for. Just a few weeks apart, and he had not hesitated to bed and impregnate his dead wife! And her sister. Somehow it sounded worse when she thought about it – as if he had had it off with multiple hoes, rather than only his wife. But nothing was good about this. It was all sickening and disturbing and crazy!
"That's hardly the most important point here. My son! Zelena's not gonna keep wearing that glamour, and Roland's not gonna understand where his mother's gone. For him to lose her again!"
That made no sense. It had nothing whatsoever to do with her previous sentiment! But she got the gist; she was not the important thing. She never was. And to be honest, she had already voiced her concern about Roland and how to explain this mess for him. All that excuse for a man had done was to look at her with a pained expression and his mouth half agape.
Her mind was derailed again. How could two words be spelled just the same way, and yet be worlds apart? Agape. Stupid word, stupid hope, stupid love.
She got back on track and replied in a milder voice.
"A forgetting potion. Just take him back to before the fake Marian showed up. He'll lose time, but it's better, right?"
She knew she gave him an easy way out, but she didn't have it in her to fight at the moment. And he did have a point. There was no way she wanted this mess to make things harder for Roland than absolutely necessary. She would go to great lengths to protect that little man.
"Yes! Thank you."
The reply came too quickly. He was agreeing to anything, just to keep her satisfied, or whatever he was trying to do! He needed a punch in the teeth! But still, she kept her mildly exasperated mask on and answered with a hardly detectable nod.
Apparently, her mind wasn't the only one going haywire and all over the place. He was retracting again, and she could positively feel the frustration and downright pain radiating off him in waves, like coloured sound waves with spikes directed at her soul. She took a sip of her glass, and put it back down. The taste of whiskey lingered on her lips and was some sort of comfort.
"God! Poor Marian! And…Zelena just killing her like she meant nothing so that she could play this sad farce with us. I just… I wanna…"
He was taking a deep breath and looked like he was altering between crying and strangling anything that could pose as Zelena. At the moment the bar got the brunt of his rage. His knuckles whitened as his grip tightened and he sat straight up for a second before deflating again.
"But I can't. I mean, I knew that things didn't feel right, but I just didn't know why."
No matter how pissed off she was, she couldn't shut out his pain. Was that some kind of soulmate connection? His anger, frustration and desperation seemed to lace itself in between her own pain and made everything ten times worse. And yet, her anger seemed to diminish somehow, at least for a moment. She reached for his hand and held it in hers as she gently swept it with her thumb.
"I'm sorry. This was all about me. For her this was all about making sure I never get my happy ending."
She was entering a yet undiscovered part of her confused mind, one that actually saw past her own troubles and glanced out of a window and saw the turmoil that was in her wake. She did screw everything up, didn't she? It never boded well for men who fell in love with her. Eventually she would somehow destroy them. It was devastating.
"If by happy ending you mean us, then… at least still in a way, that's possible again?!"
His voice was a bit lighter, hopeful almost. She looked at him with a frown and he bowed his head and waved his hand at her, as if to stop any further protests. She just kept looking at him, in case he actually came up with something useful.
"It's messy, I know, but…between us…"
Useful? Yeah, right! She cut him off with an exasperated laugh.
"There's a huge obstacle! And it's going to get bigger every day, not just for nine months either! It's a lifetime she is cooking in there. No matter what happens from now on, there's going to be this child. You're tied together in a way…in a way we'll never be."
Pretend! Remember the pain and desperation! Lie through your teeth, Regina. He needs to know that he'll never have a child of yours. Make it sting. Make him choose you for the right reason!
Judging by his puzzled expression and the sudden change as the words sunk in, she reckoned she had pulled it off. She could easily imagine how utterly devastating the news would have been if she had not known she was in fact cooking something equally long-term. As long as she carried to term, that was. She did not want to think about that now. Crying was not part of this particular plan. She finished off the rant in a voice closer to a whisper, almost to herself.
"I was such an idiot to think life wouldn't kick me in the teeth again."
She didn't look at him, but could feel his eyes drill a hole in her head. After a pregnant pause that probably didn't last for more than a couple of seconds, he spoke.
"I hear you. Just…"
"Just what?"
She snapped, for the first time that night. Her temper was running short by then, and she could feel an all too familiar headache creeping up upon her.
"What do we do now?"
His tone was back to normal; matter-of-factly and without a trace of anything remotely annoying. He needed answer to a problem, and for once this evening she could give him an answer.
"I'll rent a car, and we're all going back to Storybrooke. I'm not staying here one minute longer than necessary."
She got up and collected her bag, and as they headed for the door, she felt him putting his hand at the small of her back to escort her out, like that was the most natural gesture in the world. As usual, the light touch sent sparks up her spine, but unlike every other time, these sparks made her feel creeped out and violated, and she turned abruptly towards him and hissed; "If you ever touch me like that again, Robin of Locksley, I'm going to see to that you won't be able to touch anything for the next fifty years!"
His hand snapped away as if she had burned him, and his hurt expression was evident for everybody. She took a step to the left and effectively put half a meter between them, and as she sped up to get a bit ahead of him, she felt oddly satisfied. Nothing particular productive had come out of this little rendez-vous, but she had a feeling that with a bit of work from both parts, and a massive cooling down on her part, they would eventually find a solution.