A/N: Hello, hello! If you were thinking you could get rid of Taylor and Nicole, you, my friends, were sadly mistaken. We have taken it upon ourselves to co-write a story together and we are so excited to share in this journey with you all! This will be multi-chaptered and split between Regina and Robin's POVs, and again, is co-written by the two of us.

For any of you who have expressed concern over the publications of our other works, don't worry! All of our other fics will be published concurrently with this one. Updates might just be a bit slower for each though, haha.

We hope you enjoy and please let us know what you think!

Cover art by our lovely friend Annie who's at ibreathenumbers on twitter and fromthemiddleoftheocean on tumblr!

Home.

It's something Regina Mills hasn't had in so long that even the mere word feels foreign in her thoughts. The concept of having a home, feeling at home, has been a concept she hasn't allowed her mind dare wander to in the past five years.

Until now.

Now she stands outside, beneath the sweltering sun of Atlanta's summer, her stare fixated on the exterior of a four bedroom, three bathroom, two story craftsman style house- her house, the physical manifestation of what her home is supposed to be.

She had purchased it and had it professionally furnished, the new build in a tranquil suburb just off the main drag that leads downtown, while she had been on the road (on the tracks, in the air, Regina has become quite accustomed to various means of transportation over the years) and this was her first time seeing it, in person, as the owner.

Heat sticks to her skin as her eyes stick to the stucco and stone that make up the siding of the residence, anxiety blooming in the pit of her stomach, her fingers curling tighter, her knuckles turning whiter as a result, around the handle of her suitcase.

She's finally settling; after five years, two months, and sixteen days, to be exact, spent as a freelance reporter, bouncing from location to location, sleeping anywhere from a five-star hotel to an overrun hostel on any given night, with only the occasional weekend trip back to Georgia, where she was born and raised, Regina is now settling into a life of stability- a life she had secretly dreamed of.

And, yet, she can't shake the feeling that something is missing.

Scratch that - she knows something is missing.

Taking a deep breath, she tugs at her suitcase and slowly walks up the pathway, climbs the stairs of the porch and using the key in her opposite hand, she opens the front door and enters her house, enters her home.

Regina walks about the first floor, glancing around the dining room, running her fingers over the granite countertops in the kitchen (one that she is already itching to start cooking, baking, destressing in), and circles back around to the living area.

The designer captured her style effortlessly, it appears. It's all dark accents and white linens, clean lines and comfortable features. She kicks off her heels, ones that were nowhere near suitable the seven hour plane flight she had just come from, and feels the fluffy white rug covering a large portion of the hardwood flooring beneath her toes. She exhales, contentment making it's way through her bones as she shuffles closer to the electric fireplace, has ideas of lighting it, even though the weather outside is unbearably warm, pouring herself a glass of Pinot and curling up on the suede sofa against the wall and marathoning Scandal on Netflix until she's too tired to keep her eyes open to see Olivia Pope's next situation to handle.

But those plans evaporate from her head as Regina's eyes are drawn away from the fireplace and to the mantel that hangs above it, dark cherry hardwood that she had pictured strewing assorted scented candles upon when her realtor had first shown her the house.

Except now she'll have to make room for them.

Sitting beside the interior designer's touches (a white silver mosaic vase and a vintage style black alarm clock) are a series of picture frames- filled picture frames.

One holds an old photo, a perfect example of her childhood actually- posed and stiff - of a 12-year-old Regina sat between her parents, Henry and Cora, in a family portrait. She mirrors her former self, frowning at the image. Not caring to delve into those long-buried issues, her gaze is lured towards the next frame.

Towards the people who, for years, she considered closer to her than her own parents- and, concurrently, issues she has yet to bury.

One picture is of a child, a little boy to be specific, with head full of big, brown curls and a face hosting even bigger dimples bookending his lips as he smiles, bright and innocent, at the camera that had been pointing at him, the one Regina had been aiming at him. She had captured that moment at his fourth birthday party last year when, on a rare occasion, she had been able to travel back home, surprising her "little knight", resulting in a high-pitched squeal of "Auntie 'Gina!" that Regina can, to this day, hear echoing in her mind.

His name, her honorary nephew, is Roland and he appears in another picture adorning the shelf, but in this one he's blowing out the candles of his Batman-themed birthday cake, his parents flanking either side of his miniature figure. Robin and Marian Locksley, donning cheerful, proud expressions in the photo, have barely aged since college, which is where Regina had met them both.

And speaking of the collegiate period in their lives, the last picture is one that has her skin prickling, her pulse racing, and her heart pounding. It contains a younger version of herself, a more naive version of herself. She's laughing, this other Regina, her nose scrunched, her eyes shining, a hand raised in a "rock on!" symbol as her other one leans on Marian's, whose tongue is sticking out playfully and whose eyes are closed, shoulder. The girls, the ones in the photo, the ones who had yet to experience the difficulties of life, are perched upon laps. Regina on Robin's, his chin on her shoulder with his expression contorted into a goofy one, including crossed eyes.

Meanwhile, it's whose lap Marian is sitting on that has Regina's breath constricting in her throat: Daniel.

He was always a cute guy. With kind, blue eyes and pale, smooth skin, he was the person you could always depend on, the friend everyone wished they could have- the friend Regina did have, once upon a time.

In the picture, he's got his lips puckered, his eyes comically wide, one arm curled around Marian's waist, the other slung across Robin's back, with his hand resting on Regina's shoulder.

Her gaze drifts back to herself and Robin, remembers how relaxed she had been in his embrace- when that photo was taken and every other time. Remembers how his stumble, one that she always wonders if he continues to retain even with Marian's insistence that he shave it, would tickle her neck, how he'd make her laugh, make them all laugh, how she'd feel the humble of joy in his chest, and how he'd squeeze a bit tighter, wrap her up in his arms a bit more firmly when she'd cry into his chest about a poor grade, with doubts of her abilities to be a writer, ones that he always abated for her.

Not that reminiscing on those details is productive, nor, probably, healthy.

She's not sure how these photos, this one in particular, with the three people who are- were - are - the ones she loves most in the world, came to squat on her mantel. Though, she can't help but stare at it, them, for another few seconds.

It's the best representation that Regina's can possibly conjure of the four of them, of that period in their lives. Comfortably close, silly and carefree, the best of friends.

And she suddenly realizes how it has appeared in a thick, black-rimmed frame on her mantel.

She grasps her purse from where she had unceremoniously dropped it with her suitcase, near the front door, fishing out her iPhone and scrolling until 'Maid Marian' catches her line of vision.

She had asked Marian to oversee the designer and movers while she was still out of town, had wanted to come home (a word she's still having trouble repeating to herself, be it physical or emotional) to a fully furnished house, where she could, as she's done, drop her bags and just live. And despite an obscene amount of money Regina was paying for professional services, one could never be too cautious with their possessions.

Marian had happily agreed, still elated by the fact that her friend was moving within driving distance from her after years of only seeing one another, in the flesh, for barely once every twelve months, Regina supposes. And in that elation, it seems, she took it upon herself to add touches the designer didn't, memories the designer couldn't.

Regina hits call and plops onto the couch, the one that is, indeed, perfectly comfy for fictional White House shenanigans and getting slightly more tipsy than a 28-year-old woman probably should by herself.

The phone barely rings once before the call is hastily answered.

"Are you here?" Marian's familiar voice, more enthusiastic than normally, breathes in through the speaker and Regina can't help but smile.

"Yes," She confirms, her grin stretching wider across her lips and nearly splits her face when she hears her friend release a small squeak of delight, "And I see you assisted the designer. I do hope you got paid for that, dear."

Regina expects to hear Marian's signature giggle, a melodic mix of her pal's soft, honeyed tone with a throaty chuckle, however, she is met with silence on the other end of the line. After a moment, now a melancholy question comes through, "You're already at the house?"

Ah, now she understands.

"I didn't want to ask you to drop everything and pick me up from the airport, Marian; that's what Uber is for anyway."

"Well," Marian sighs, and Regina can practically see the smirk she imagines to be developing on her former roommate's rosy, full lips as she continues, "I suppose you can afford that, can't you, Ms. Editor?"

Regina laughs loudly and rolls her eyes in amusement, "And here comes the razzing, alright, give me what you got, Maid."

"Calm down, Your Majesty," She teases in return and Regina can't deny how nice it feels to fall back into a natural exchange, nicknames and all, yet her smile falters as Marian says, "I'm not going to make fun of you. I'm proud of you, of all you've accomplished. Though, as selfishly ecstatic as I am, I must admit I'm still shocked that you decided to take a local job."

"Waiting for CNN to offer me a position was becoming tedious," Regina tries to counter with the same playfulness, but can hear her own voice waiver a bit. She doesn't expect Marian to even have an inkling of why she truly wanted to return, to put down roots.

"Hey, maybe you'll get to interview Robin about the show! Did you watch last season? I think it was the best yet."

Of course she watched, Regina has watched every show Robin has produced, but despite that fact, and the hopefulness in Marian's voice as she suggests a collaboration of some sort between her husband and friend, Regina gently dismisses the notion with a "Oh, I don't think I'll be doing much field work. I'll be kept busy at a desk."

"I want to see you!" Marian suddenly exclaims, "Before you're chained up in some office and in person, where we can't lose a connection like FaceTime always manages to do." Regina is silent for a moment, a moment too long, it appears, because she's on the receiving end of a sales pitch, "Come on! We can go to the bar, have dinner, and eat food that I, as someone in the medical field, should probably advise against. I'll have Robin watch Roland so it can just be a girl's day."

At the mention of Marian's family, Regina swallows hard, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip, nipping nervously. She searches her mind for a response, as always when she communicates with Marian, it's a balance of conveying a coolness while concealing her emotions, ones that after five years of separation and roaming anywhere that wasn't Atlanta, she thought, she'd be able to better suppress.

"You know what," Marian begins, "I'm not giving you the opportunity to say no. We're going. Put on your stupid heels..."

"Excuse me for liking something a little sleeker than converse," Regina rebuts, teasingly, and feels lighter as their conversation starts to tread more familiar territory. They had debated clothing, shoes in particular, since the day they met at UGA's freshman orientation. "How do you walk in those things?" Marian had asked of Regina's four inch kitten heels while Regina had volleyed back, "With poise and composure. How do you walk in those flat, dirty things? Might as well go barefoot." It hadn't taken long for them to become fast friends.

And remain, though perhaps not as close as they had once envisioned, friends to this day.

So Regina sighs, stands to her feet as she retrieves her, as Marian called them, "stupid heels", slipping them back on as she says, "Okay, I'll meet you there in fifteen."

"Great! I'll-" But Marian is interrupted and the line goes muffled for a moment, Regina wonders if the call dropped, if she has to send another strongly worded e-mail to her provider, but then she hears: "Roland Daniel Locksley, you are not having ice cream before dinner!"

And Regina's heart stutters in her chest.

Marian's laugh, closer and more distinct, fills the line again, as Regina tries to calm her breathing, "Sorry about that! A mother's work is never done, can't wait for you to experience this chaos someday."

Regina manages to mutter a half-hearted chortle, then quickly confirms their plans for dinner and hangs up the phone call as soon as the last syllable in Marian's goodbye is spoken.

She drops onto the sofa, tossing her phone to her side, and allows her head to fall forward into the hands she has propped up on her knees.

Regina knows what's been absent in her life, has known for quite some time, has only voiced it to herself, alone, as she had done research online or passed by certain aisles in department stores, has been debated if what she wants fits with what she has, or rather had, this move, this house she now resides in, a step in marrying her desires and her ability.

And hearing Marian, just now, on the phone, she feels more certain than ever.

Regina Mills doesn't just want a home, she wants a family.