Hello hello. It's been a long time! Sorry to post this at such a time where everything is so crazy and just so painful in the cannon, hope no one hates me for it. :( I don't think this chap is THAT angsty anyway, so you know :) let's just get on with it.

For Geli who likes to beat her feels a lot.

T-shirt

"Nothing feels right when I'm not with you."

The bitter cold winter breeze hits her face as she jogs around Central Park, her cheeks hollowing as she huffs and puffs, her feet landing against the pavement making light slapping sounds. She keeps her eyes trained on her trail humming along the music as Adele blares out of her earphones.

The bitter coldness that makes her huff and puff a little heavier is nothing compared to the bitter coldness fraying the edges of her heart, but she ignores that steadfastly, lets her feet thump against the ground in a perfect rhythm, each step she makes a step further away from the problems and issues she is trying to run from. But really, how can she run from them when they're in her heart? When the issue that she tries to run away from is carved in her heart so deeply, so engraved in her being, and etched in her mind she feels the need to rip her soul apart to take the pain away.

Robin.

His name ghosts in her head and her heart that she finds herself pausing, her palms slapping on her knees as she hunches down and huffs and huffs, her breath coming out of her lips with a fog. She needs to stop this, needs to get her life together because really, this is the choice she made for the both of them, and she needs to stick by it. In fact this whole getting out and taking a run had been her brilliant idea of taking her life back from the hands of grief and despondence.

She feels the tears prick at her eyes, and no she shouldn't, couldn't, cry over this again. She feels her throat thicken and her vision blurs. But this is her choice, isn't it? She's made this decision: to let him go and set him free, and as cliché as it probably sounds, she needs him to get his life together, not for her, but for himself, because she can see how quickly he's losing himself, and no, she doesn't want to have to keep being the one to stand for the both of them when she knows how very capable he is to stand for himself. That it is not the man he is, she knows that, and maybe, he needs a bit of push. And it's selfish of her, but she doesn't, didn't, think she could stay in a relationship that ate at her, and him, and their relationship until they are nothing more than tattered pieces of something that used to be whole, and only waiting to fall apart.

They need time apart, that much she knows and that much had been decided, clearly.

Maybe he needs to find himself first, again, before he can give himself to her.

Maybe she needs to find her will again before she can help him find his.

God she only wishes it didn't hurt this much, because damn it, she feels her heart break into tiny pieces.

Sucking in a deep breath, she stands up straight and lifts her chin. Taking the route back to her new apartment, she jogs slowly this time, and works hard in trying to breathe in and out, tries not to stumble.

Sometimes, people really do get stuck in the choices they make.

ooo

Her tears mingle with the warm water cascading from the shower head, and for what seems to the nth time, she cries her heart out. It doesn't feel freeing, not like she's always felt when she cries, this feels like a burden, like all the weight of the world falls on her shoulders the more they heave, feels like her heart falls apart and breaks at the seams and she doesn't know how to put it back. No, that isn't true, she knows…so why the hell is she punishing them both this way?

She tries to remind herself that it's for the best. But an aching heart is not easily cajoled, isn't easily healed by words, and when actions are necessary, but not something that can be made, what is a heart left to do?

She hears her phone ring even through the sound of the water falling, pooling at her feet, but she pays it no mind, concentrates instead on the feeling that is knotting in her chest, the one that holds her heart in a tight grip, squeezing and squeezing.

The phone beeps, and the voicemail kicks in, and for a moment she lets herself hope that it's Robin, checking in on her—and yes, that is selfish, but she wants to hear his voice, craves him so much it almost isn't logical—only to be left disappointed to hear that it's only Mary Margaret, checking in on her, asking her for her plans this coming weekend.

Regina snorts at that.

She doesn't have plans, can't fucking make them anymore, not without him because for the past few years it's always been them, a party of two, together, but now it's her and him, he and she, and it doesn't feel right, doesn't sit well with her.

She lets the message run through and stays under the warm spray for a few minutes longer until she feels her fingers pruning and the water turning colder. She steps out of the shower and dresses herself. Really, she needs to sort some of her things and not wallow like this.

Squaring her shoulders, she readies herself to tackle the last of the remaining boxes that need sorting. She's piled them on her spare bedroom, not really wanting to deal with them at all—the boxes are comprised of the things she's acquired while with Robin, the remnants of the last six years she's spent by his side…it's all nothing but memories now it seems.

She parks herself on the floor and opens the flaps of the boxes, her heart hammering in her chest and her hands trembling. When does anyone ever become ready for this, she wonders.

It isn't half way through sorting the box that the onslaught of tears really did begin, however, and really, she hadn't thought she'd cry over this, but she supposes it isn't so much as the object itself but the memories that come with it.

…

"Robin, no," she yelps as she sees him coming towards her with a grin on his face and the brush on his hands. They'd been painting the spare bedroom, and had been a bit carried away, splashing each other with paint, and as a result, their t-shirt now bore the marks of their "paint war".

"Regina, yes," he teases as he comes towards her, hand raised, ready to fling the paint on her. She doesn't mind not really, they'll shower it off together, and this…this is actually fun. "Come 'ere, love."

But she doesn't, instead she makes a break of it, makes a mad dash down the hall and towards their bedroom where she almost escapes him by a breadth, but he nips her by the waist, pulling her back to him, making her squeal (and no, she doesn't really squeal, but she did just) and laugh as he nuzzles her neck with his nose, nipping her skin, and tickling her just as he does.

"You can't escape me darling," he says with a laugh.

She turns in his arms and holds on to him, smiling softly, "I never did say I want to," she tells him sincerely, leaning to him and kissing him, letting her actions tell him exactly what her words couldn't.

She'd tugged on his shirt then, pulling it off from him as she pulled him in the bedroom, closing the door behind him. She'd slept wearing his shirt that night, letting the smell of fresh pine and something so distinctly Robin waft through her senses and fill her being.

…

She holds that very same t-shirt in her hands, and the memory brings on a plethora of emotions she isn't ready to deal with. She lifts the shirt up to her nose and inhales, her eyes falling shut as his scent lingers and invades her senses.

Without thought, she pulls the shirt over her body, closing her eyes and imagining that he's the one holding her now, imagines him soothing the pain away.

Only he is not, and she's left with nothing but his t-shirt to find comfort with.

But even the smell of forest that lingers on the piece of fabric can't be a balm on the aching wound of her heart.

a/n: Yes, italics are flashbacks. Thoughts? Next top, Robin! :)