(A/N-Special thanks to Bekki boo for beta reading this. This one shot is now a multi-chapter fic. I added in chapter 2 later in this chapter. Hope you enjoy!)

Time, time is a funny thing.

Because at times you want time to freeze. Moments and days.

Then there are days you want to wish away.

Three hundred and sixty-four days.

That's was Regina Mills first thought upon waking this day. Her eyes were still closed, wanting to stay in her dreams.

There are three hundred and sixty-four days before doom and destruction would descend on her in the form of her thirtieth birthday.

Three hundred and sixty-four measly days.

It's not nearly long enough. She feels like she's practically already on her deathbed. She can feel her skin drying out and wrinkling as she lays there. Her bones are getting brittle. If she slipped and fell, she'd likely snap a femur. Gone are the days of being carded at nightclubs and bars.

She groans and pulls the covers over her head.

She's twenty-nine, and she feels like she hasn't anything in her life. The end is near. She's almost thirty.

She might as well keep her eyes closed.

Before she can give in to slumber, her cell phone rings. Curiosity drives her to pick it up. There are only two people who ever call her this-her mom and her brother—and neither would ever dare to call so early in the day.

Regina looks at the name on the screen and sigh. If she ignores it, Belle will just call back.

After pushing accept, she puts the phone to her ear. "Really? A phone call? Is your keyboard broken or something?" Because seriously. Who calls instead of texts?

"What?" Belle asks, confused by her greeting.

Perhaps Belle hasn't known her long enough to find her fussiness endearing. "Nothing. What's up?"

"Not much. I'm not working with you today, and I wanted to check up on you." It's only been two months since she transferred to Storybrooke Library, and yet it's been long enough for the extremely nurturing (and extremely extroverted) children's information specialist, Belle Gold, to have taken her under her wing. Though at times she teeters on overbearing, Belle finds that she's quite fond of her. "You seemed a bit down when you left the bar last night. Everything okay?"

"Except for the quickly approaching occasion of my death, I'm great!"

"Oh brother. Drama queen much?" Regina throws the covers off and climb out of bed. "Am I, though? Or am I a realist? Facing my inevitable doom head on?"

"It doesn't sound like you're facing anything of the sort. You're lamenting. Dramatically lamenting. Everyone gets older. And sometimes you're lucky to turn thirty. You still have a year before you do. Welcome to life, sister."

Regina shuffles toward her kitchen as she talks, heading for the Keurig that she had bought herself as a birthday present. It's been one day, and she's already in love forever.

"Don't you mean 'welcome to death?" She puts in a pod of southern pecan, push start, and wait for happiness to pour into her Mirror, Mirror On The Wall Who's The Fairest-Oh Forget It mug.

Belle doesn't think the joke is funny. "This is really bothering you, isn't it? Why do you think that is?"

Oh God. She didn't really want to talk about her feelings.

Regina sighs, a favorite pastime of hers. "I don't know. I'm just missing something. There has to be more than this." From the kitchen, she looks around at the two-bedroom condo. She was able to afford the down payment by using the last of her inheritance from Grams, the rest of it having gone to pay for her Humanities and Western Civilization degree. Her personal book collection is already close to outgrowing the space, but it's been all she's ever needed. Exactly what she's always wanted.

Why does it feel so empty?

"You need a man," Belle says decidedly.

"I don't. That is not what I need." Regina means it, too.

"I know it's a weird dating scene out there now, but I do have a brother who is a-"

"Belle, I don't need a man." But Regina does need something. She runs her finger down the edge of the pamphlet that's been hanging on her fridge behind the Chinese delivery menu since she had visited the fertility clinic last month.

Is this what she needs?

The cost for artificial insemination isn't as much as she's expected. She could swing it if she really tried, even on a librarian's salary. But a nameless father… Her mother would go ballistic.

Cora Mills was not one you wanted mad at you.

Still. She's mulling it over.

Now that death is fast approaching, she should probably mull faster.

"You don't even miss sex?" It seems like an innocent question, but from Belle, she's certain this line of questioning is the kind that will lead to a blind date if she's not careful.

"My vibrator works just fine," Regina informs her. "And isn't cocky or conceited and doesn't leave."

"No, it just runs out of batteries."

"I have the rechargeable kind."

"That's not the same. Listen, Regina, I'm going to give you some hard words of wisdom." But she doesn't hear what she has to say because a series of beeps covers her speech, indicating she's received a text. Several texts.

Regina pulls the phone away from her face to read the messages.

So, I think I'm in trouble.

Like big trouble.

Like really, really big trouble & now the cops R here and U might need 2 bring bail cuz my mom's working at the hospital and my dad is working as well, they can't come help me but I did something.

Regina

REMEMBER ME WHEN I WASTE AWAY IN JAIL.

WHAT IF I MISS THE NEXT SEASON OF GOT?

They're from Violet, a teen that she worked with a lot at the library. Now she's a legit drama queen.

Regina puts the phone back to her ear. "Hang on a sec, Belle." Then she types Violet a quick message.

What's going on? BE BRIEF.

Violet responds with a panoramic picture of what looks to be the parking lot of her high school. Regina can't make out much of what's going on except there are lots of cars lined up behind her, there's a policeman, and it appears Violet has chained herself between two trees and has therefore created a barricade across the school driveway.

Today the drama seems to be warranted.

After quickly saying goodbye to Belle, Regina shoots another text to Violet.

Be right there.

Regina throws on some leggings and an oversized T-shirt that maybe should have been in the laundry instead of on the chair in her bedroom. Then she throws her hair into a messy bun and check Violet's response.

U R the best! Pick up an iced caramel macchiato on your way? Kthnx.

Regina didn't stop for the damned iced caramel macchiato.

Traffic seems to be flowing okay when Regina arrives at JCM, Ryan's high school. She pulls her car up to the parking space closest to the commotion and survey the situation before getting out.

As the picture suggested, Violet's blockade must have been preventing cars from rounding the circle drive for morning drop off. The chains are gone, but traffic has been diverted to another entrance because she's still standing in the middle of the driveway. She's wearing a gold and purple cheerleading uniform and holding a sign with letters so bold Regina can read them from here: Your Impure Thoughts are Not My Problem.

Regina feels like she knows what Violet is doing.

Violet's only fourteen, but she's already a social activist. She rarely misses an opportunity to protest when she feels a person or a group has been wronged. One day she marched outside the library fighting for mothers' rights to breastfeed in public. Another day she joined her church youth group at Civic Hall to protest the taxation of groceries. Once she handed out pamphlets at Crown Center about the plight of the sperm whales.

Regina does care a lot about the emotions of this fiercely passionate girl. She's well-meaning and big-hearted. Whatever trouble she's gotten herself into, she hopes that she can help her out of it.

She chugs the last of her southern pecan coffee—she's so glad that she thought to bring it with her(She's going to need the caffeine)—and step out of her car. Immediately she can hear Violet's voice.

"Do I give you impure thoughts?" she shouts to a group of tardy students as they hurry toward the school. "Do I?"

Oh dear.

Though class has surely started, there is a small crowd gathered near her. Several adult women are there—probably administrators—a couple of teenage girls, and a police officer.

Regina makes her way toward them.

The cop is talking with one of the adults as Regina approaches, his back to her.

"You're strong enough to pick her up," the woman tells him. "I can tell you work out." She's flirting so hard she can hear it from yards away.

"CrossFit," the cop says with a shrug. "Five days a week."

God, he's one of those. Cocky. Conceited. Cop-like. Regina knows his type. She prepares herself for their upcoming interaction.

"It's completely obvious," the flirter continues. "Why don't you just move her yourself? Carry her fireman style." She's good at this. She has black hair, pasty white skin that is so unnatural it had to have been applied, and red, red lips. Regina has a feeling seduction is her primary hobby, if not a part-time job.

"I can't touch a female minor—it's against department policy. We'll have to wait for the woman officer dispatch is sending over. But I appreciate the use of the bolt cutters."

Bolt cutters. So that's how they dealt with the chains. Now that she can look, she sees a pool of silver links by the tree on this side of the road.

Oh, Violet. What did you do?

Patiently, she waits behind the cop waiting for a good time to interrupt.

"I'm not a minor," one of the teenagers says, twirling a long piece of dirty blond hair between her fingers. "I'm eighteen. You could touch me, Officer Locksley."

…and this seems to be the moment.

"Pardon me," Regina says in her librarian (aka friendly but assertive) voice. "What's going on?"

When she hears her, Violet spins in her direction. "Regina!" She almost runs to her then seems to remember she's not budging on purpose. "Hey, where's my Starbucks?"

Regina throws a stern glance at her then shift her eyes back just as the cop turns around.

And then she understands what all the fuss is about.

He's hot.

Like, I-forgot-what-I-was-going-to-say hot.

I-should-have-shaved-my-legs hot.

Here's-my-panties-sorry-they're-so-wet hot.

Regina's not even sure exactly what it is about him. His body? His closely trimmed scruff? His sober expression?

The oversexed Snow White wasn't exaggerating when she said he obviously works out. His arms fill out his sleeves, and even with all his gear on, I can tell his shoulders are broad and his waist is trim. He's obviously in great shape. He's, like, can-I-touch-your-guns fit, and she's never thought in her life she's use the word guns to refer to a guy's muscles, but it's appropriate.

And yet, as hot as his bod is, it's his face that has her heart stuttering. His cheeks and jaw are chiseled, the jut of his chin is hidden somewhat by his scruff. His nose is straight and strong, and, then, damn. The pièce de résistance are his aviator sunglasses, which make him look like sex in a blue uniform.

It's possible she needs to go lie down.

"And you are?" Officer Too-Hot-To-Remember-The-Name-She-Just-Heard-Him-Called asks.

"I'm…here," Regina says because she can't seem to find the answer to his question when he's staring at her, and she can feel that he is, even behind those metallic lenses.

"Yes. You are." He almost smiles, and she has a feeling that isn't something he does on the job all too often. He's much too solemn. Too professional. Too all about the facts and nothing but the facts, and holy Jesus she's thrilled to provide him with whatever facts he wants.

Just as soon as Regina has a clue of what the facts are.

"That's Regina," Violet chirps behind us, reminding her of that specific fact. "She's here for me!"

Bolstered by this bit of information that she can give with confidence, Regina proudly says, "That's right. I'm Regina. Regina Mills."

With both hands on his duty belt, the cop looks from Regina to Ryan and back to Regina again. "Are you her…mother?"

"No!" Regina gasps, completely horrified. "Oh my God, do I look old enough to be her mother? She's fourteen! I'm not old enough to have a fourteen-year-old daughter."

"Her mother's been called," one of the women says from behind him. "And her father. Both were unavailable."

Regina smirks as though she's proved some kind of point.

The cop, who hasn't taken his focus off of Regina, simply says, "It's my job to ask, ma'am."

Regina shudders. "Don't call me ma'am." As an afterthought, she adds on, "Please."

There's no response from the police officer.

Silently, she continues to fumes.

The one fortunate side effect of the humiliating reminder that she's aging (and apparently not so gracefully) is that it's knocked her out of the this-cop's-too-hot-to-think stupor. "I'm her friend," she informs him. "I work with her at the library. She texted me when she thought she might be in trouble."

The cop—Officer Locksley, she recalls now-looks at her sternly, his expression giving nothing away. "Do you have some identification on you?"

"Does it look like I have identification on me?" Regina doesn't have any pockets, and she's not carrying a purse. In fact, she thinks that she might have left so fast that she didn't even throw it in the car. Shit. Just what she needed this day. A ticket for driving without a license. "Do I need my ID?"

He looks Regina over from head to toe. Regina wishes that she could see his eyes so she could have an idea of what he's thinking. "No, I suppose not."

"Good." Regina relaxes enough to get in a decent breath. "Then we can deal with the matter at hand. What exactly is happening?"

"Well, as you can see, the minor—"

"Violet Knight. She has a name." Regina can already tell Violet's going to be in trouble. Officer Locksley doesn't seem like the kind of guy to let something slide. Maybe if he sees her as a person instead of just "the minor," he'll give her a break.

"The minor," he continues as if she didn't say a word, "chained herself in between these two trees on either side of the school's driveway, thereby causing a traffic jam at this morning's drop off. We've cut the chains with bolt cutters procured from the school office by the attendance secretary—"

"That's me! I found them!"

Great. Oversexed Snow White's a hero.

He turns toward the woman and nods appreciatively with just enough smile to send a blush crawling up her face.

His smile is actually killer. Regina almost wishes that she had been the one to bring those bolt cutters just so that he'd bestow that smile to her.

Officer Locksley returns his attention to Regina. "But the minor has refused to move. We're waiting for backup to proceed."

Regina sends a glare at Violet. Refused to move? Are you kidding me?

Of course she can't read her mind, but she gets the gist and she shrugs.

"How much trouble is she going to be in?" Regina asks the cop, softer now that she realizes that she has nothing to bargain with.

"We can talk about that once we resolve our situation here."

Regina shifts her weight to one hip, trying to come up with a way out of this for Violet, "If I can talk her out of this…get her back into the school before anyone else gets here…would that make a difference?"

"It's not just up to me." He turns to look at the group behind him.

As if he's beckoned her, one of the women walks over to them—not the flirty attendance secretary, but the one who called Violet's parents. "Hi, I'm Diane Miller, the principal here. Thank you for coming. We'd love to be able to work this out with as little excitement as possible." She whispers the last part of her sentence, as though that will automatically minimize the drama of the situation.

At least she seems like an easier pushover than Officer No Nonsense. "Will there be any consequences if I make that happen?" Regina asks.

"I can't let her actions go completely unpunished. Half of the school saw what she did here today. I can't let that slide."

"You're right," Regina says with a tone that says she clearly disagree. "In fact, how about I call Channel Nine and have them cover the protest so far? Make sure no one misses it when they drag her away in handcuffs later too? Violet can even make a statement. Sound good, Violet?"

"Yes! Statement!" She bounces on the balls of her feet. "I already have one prepared!"

The color drains from Diane Miller's face. "On second thought, I think we could probably get away with just a warning. If you can get her back in class without any press finding out, that is."

"Okay, okay," Regina feels the tide is turning. "What is she protesting anyways?"

Violet pipes up in answer. "This stupid school has banned cheer uniforms on game days. Cheer uniforms! Because some boy complained it made him think impure thoughts. As if women are to blame for what men think. It's ridiculously unfair. I cry injustice!"

"Why does she even care?" another female teen says.

"Right?" her friend replies. "She's not even a cheerleader."

"I'm a cheerleader, Officer Locksley," the first one calls to him.

"Of course you are," he mutters under his breath, and Regina almost feelsl sorry for him.

Almost.

"It's only during the school day, Violet," Principal Miller says. "They can still wear their uniforms at the games."

"That's not even the point!" Violet groans.

"You really banned the cheerleaders from wearing their uniforms because a boy complained of impure thoughts?" Regina asks. "I hate to tell you this, but teenage boys are going to have impure thoughts no matter what girls are wearing."

"She's not wrong there," Officer Locksley admits under his breath, but enough that Regina heard him.

"Certainly." Regina's smile is tight. Fake. The kind of smile that accompanies a lecture. "But we believe in respectful behavior at our school, Ms. Miller. We surely aren't going to encourage objectification of women."

Regina marches over and takes one of Violet's signs and holds it up.

Violet breaks into a grin and resumes her protest. "Do I give you impure thoughts?" she shouts to someone walking his dog along the school grounds.

"Oh, come on," Principal Miller complains loudly.

Officer Locksley sighs and saunters toward Regina and Violet

"Do I give you impure thoughts?" Violet yells in his direction.

He ignores her, unfazed.

When he gets close to Regina, really close, she can literally feel the heat radiating off his body, he stops and says in a low voice that Regina is sure only she can hear, "Now if you were wearing that outfit, the answer would be a definite yes."

Regina's head twists toward him. "What did you say?"

"You aren't helping things," he says louder.

"That's not what you said," Regina says, quieter. Because she wants to hear the other thing he said again. Wants to feel the shiver down her spine at the thought of him thinking those things—impure things—about her.

He doesn't repeat it. Doesn't acknowledge it. He holds his palm out toward her instead. "Hand me the sign."

Regina tightens her grip on it. "I'm helping her."

"Are you? It's my impression that you want this whole thing resolved with the least amount of damage to her record. Am I right?"

Oh, God. His smirk is incredible. Regina can't look directly at it.

"Keep talking," Regina says, but he's already said enough. Regina knows what she has to do. She just likes the way his voice sounds, the way it rumbles in his chest when he lowers it so that others can't hear what they're saying.

"Get her to class, and I'll make sure there aren't any consequences for obstructing traffic."

This isn't like him. Regina knows it's not. He's not the type to let charges go. He's about order. He's about the law. So why was he doing it? Regina was suspicious.

But she can't take my eyes off him. She's completely under his spell.

Regina hands him the sign.

He gives another hint of a real smile, this time it's all for Regina, and her knees practically buckle beneath the beauty of it.

If she looks at him a moment longer she feels like she might actually, literally faint.

Regina turns and grabs Violet's arm for support, pretending she meant to simply get her attention.

"Violet—" Regina starts.

"You're going to tell me to stop this, aren't you?" She pulls away from Regina. "Well, I won't. I won't stop fighting for women. I won't stop fighting against injustice."

Regina moves around to face her. "Of course I'm not going to tell you to stop fighting. I'd never tell you that. Haven't I always encouraged you to speak your mind whether it be through words or action?"

She narrows her eyes, unsure whether or not to trust Regina now. "Maybe."

"I'm encouraging the same thing now. Just, there are sometimes better ways to be heard. Look." Regina gestures to the few people standing around her. "This is a very small crowd. You'd have much better reach if you took the matter to the next school board meeting where you could actually effect change. Don't you think?"

She twists her lips as she considers.

"Those aren't even our uniforms," the cheerleader shouts randomly from the side of the driveway.

Violet throws her head back in frustration and groans. Then, suddenly, as if she hadn't been completely ready to march to Washington on behalf of the cause, she shrugs and says, "Okay. I should get to second hour anyway. American history. We're watching a documentary about suffragettes."

She removes the remains of the chains that Regina notices now are still on each of her arms and hands them to me. Then she strolls toward the school building.

"Where's she going?" Principal Miller asks Regina anxiously.

"To class!" Regina announces smugly.

"Not dressed like that! There're no cheerleading uniforms in school!" She marches after Violet, urging the rest of the administration to follow as well.

"She has a change of clothes," Regina tells no one in particular. "I hope." Man, being someone's mentor is a tough job. It might require more caffeine than one K-cup pod.

"Officer Locksley, I'm only sixteen," the cheerleader's friend calls over to him, "but that's the age of consent in Kansas."

"I'm frightened that you know that," Regina says rolling her eyes.

"Go to class before I fine you both for truancy," Officer Locksley says, but not before she hears him let out a soft chuckle at Regina's comment.

"What's truancy?" the two girls ask in unison.

"Oh my God," Regina groans, "you need to go to school. You might actually learn something."

They scurry off, and though Regina would like to take credit, it's probably more likely because the bell has just rung.

And now everyone's gone but Regina. And the cop.

The very hot cop.

It suddenly feels harder to get air in her lungs than it did just a second before.

"Nice job with her," the cop says, nodding his head in praise. "Maybe you can help keep her out of trouble in the future."

Regina bristles. "Just because she's passionate about things, doesn't mean she's going to get in trouble in the future." It's really his compliment that's bothering her. She's bothered by how it made her feel. How it made her feel good.

"Right," he says, and she swear he's thinking things about her that would make her die a thousand deaths if she were to find them out.

She frowns, feeling awkward. "Well. Anyway."

Regina knows she should thank him, but he speaks first. "Have dinner with me."

"What? Dinner? Why?" That wasn't at all the kind of thoughts she hoped he was thinking about her. Not at all the kind of thoughts she wants him to be thinking about her, yet her stomach flutters anyway, like it's a good thing. Stupid stomach.

"Because in the evening I get hungry, and I find that eating a meal tends to make that hunger go away." He's completely straight-faced, and it's so sexy she's not sure she can stand it.

Regina looks down, away from his fuck-hot jaw and his fuck-hot lips. "You don't need me for that."

"Eating alone is lonely."

But she can't escape that fuck-hot voice. Her skin is on fire even in the cool spring wind. "I'm sure what's-her-name from attendance would be glad to join you for dinner."

"I'm not asking her. I'm asking you."

Regina looks up at him, and her heart starts to pound. Even behind those glasses, she can sense that he can't take his gaze off her. Goose bumps skim down her arms at the thought.

Dinner. She eats dinner. She could eat dinner with him. What would be wrong with that?

If Regina could see his eyes, she was sure she would have said yes by now.

"Heya, Officer Locksley!" Apparently the attendance secretary didn't go inside after all. He turns toward the vampire-Regina swears, she hasn't seen the sun in a decade. "I left a sticky with my number on your police car. Call me sometime."

Officer Locksley makes a non-committal noise. But then adds, "Thank you again for the bolt cutters."

Vampire secretary simpers at him. "It was no trouble, really."

Regina don't listen closely to the rest of their exchange because without his attention on her, she can think again, and she suddenly remembers what would be wrong with dinner and why she absolutely does not want to go out with Officer-I've-already-stolen-your-panties-Locksley.

Because he's a man.

And men leave.

Especially this type of man—the type with the confident smile and the tight-fitting uniform. (Seriously, the way his ass fills out those pants…damn.)

There's always a woman waiting in the wings for a hot cop like him. A flock of them, even. He could have anyone he wants. He doesn't need to try to bang the librarian driving the Prius. They were oil and water. He's the type who has a reputation. She was the type who'd show up with a sign and protest it.

Without giving him a response or even a goodbye, Regina makes her escape. She bets she's already at her car before he even notices she's slipped away.

As she drives away her thoughts go back to their encounter. She didn't know why, but she felt like this day in time was something she would remember for her entire life.

(Now this is what I have added from the original one shot!)

Officer Locksley

"Every year, I think I won't have to come up here and tell you this, but then every year, here I am."

The sound of the HR director's tired voice echoes through the large meeting room at city hall. There's a cough, the sound of someone behind Robin discreetly trying to eat something crunchy out of a plastic bag, the whir of a ceiling fan overhead.

The HR director sighs heavily, his shoulders slumping, and gestures to the PowerPoint slide behind him. The slide reads:

Don't have sex on duty.

"That's it," the director says, a touch mournfully. "That's all there is to it. Don't have sex in your police car. Don't have sex in your uniform. Don't pretend to do a business check at McDonalds's and then have sex in the bathroom. Just don't do it. Because then I will have to fire you, and it's so much paperwork for me, and then I will have to climb back up here next year and beg you not to do it again. Please don't make me."

There are a few awkward laughs, a few sly shoulder nudges. Everyone remembers last Christmas, when the Captain caught Will Scarlett doling out a little extra Christmas cheer in the backseat of his patrol car. To the Captain's college-aged daughter.

Or the year before that, when Killian and his wife wanted to act out some role play and Killian's mic button got stuck, which meant everyone on duty heard him say, "Now that's the long arm of the law!" right as he came.

Who would be dumb enough to do that shit? Robin thinks to himself. Aside from the fact that the backseats of most patrol cars are cramped vinyl shells that have been puked on, pissed on and worse—it's against the rules, and he doesn't break rules.

Rules are good. Rules are there for a reason. It's his job to protect those rules and make sure everyone else follows them. That satisfies something deep down inside of him—not like a hunger for power or anything—but it's the same feeling he gets when all the weights are in order at the gym or when his house is clean and his lawn is mowed. Clean and neat, everything in its place.

He thinks of that kid today, though, definitely out of order and creating massive snarls of traffic trying to get out of the parking lot during the morning drop off. There were three fender-benders, one verbal altercation between a dad and a vice principal, and Officer LaTasha Palmer had to issue a property damage citation because one impatient mom had driven up over the curb and crashed into the school fence.

It was pure chaos—unnecessary chaos—and then the most exquisite woman that he's ever seen marched right up to him in skintight leggings and flip-flops and started creating more chaos. Normally he wouldn't have welcomed yet another upset adult demanding answers and action while he tried to sort out the mess, but the thing was, he kind of felt for the kid. She reminded him of his sister—in fact, he couldn't be sure Belle hadn't chained herself to school property at one point—and it was almost a relief when Regina appeared and started defending her. Because he didn't want the teen to get into trouble…he just had to make sure the parking lot exit was cleared so cars would stop crashing into each other.

So, he was glad the teen had someone there for her. And it didn't hurt that Regina wore those tight, tight leggings, which showed off every curve of her sweet thighs and scrumptious ass. Even the t-shirt she wore had been accidentally sexy, the thin fabric revealing a cute pink bra when she stood directly under the spring sun…

His dick stirs in his pants thinking about it, just as it did this morning when he looked at her. God, he'd wanted to pull her hair out of that adorably sloppy knot and twine his fingers in it, wanted to bend her over the hood of his car and run his greedy hands all over her body. He wanted her in the kind of hungry, urgent way he hasn't wanted a woman in a long time.

He had to find her again.

She never gave him a real answer about dinner, after all.

The dispirited voice of the HR director brings him back to the present, and he listens as he describes more ways they can't have sex on duty. Although now Robin is wondering less who would do that and more if he would do it, given the right woman. Like, say, a brown-eyed spitfire with leggings and the kind of face they model Disney princesses after.

The HR director wraps up his speech and leaves the room with the defeated air of a man who knows he'll be back to give the same speech again next year. The chief takes the low stage at the front of the room, giving them all a quick smile as he adjusts the microphone.

"Thank you for that policy refresher," he says to the director's retreating back. "And even though I know it's not normally how we do things, I thought I'd take the opportunity to open the floor to any questions you might have for me. No chain of command, no formality—just ask and I'll answer."

A ripple of interest goes through the room of bored officers. Their new chief has been pretty invisible for the most part, hiding out in meetings or in his office, and so having the chance to talk to him directly is unexpected.

But not unwelcome…

Robin shoots a glance over at his sergeant, Theresa Gutierrez, who is already raising her eyebrow in a well, are you going to do it or am I? look.

Robin sticks his hand in the air.

The chief smiles and points at her, the two quick blinks before saying, "Officer?" telling Robin that he doesn't know his name.

"Hi, yeah," Robin starts, suddenly aware that all the eyes in the room are on him. Robin thinks of Regina this morning, all bravery and determination in her flip-flops and messy bun. Robin thinks she'd approve of him right now, and for some reason that sends a little glow through his chest. "I was the head of the body camera committee last year, and we submitted a recommendation for the department to purchase the cameras for every officer working the field as soon as possible. I was wondering where we were on that?"

There's a sudden tension in the air. Not only had Robin coupled the committee's recommendation with a detailed budget analysis and cost breakdown by manufacturer, but he'd also done a department-wide poll and found that over seventy percent of the field officers wanted body cameras. But even though Robin had done all the research legwork, even though most the cops here want the upgrade, the administration keeps stonewalling them.

The chief's smile has frozen into something that can only be described as irritated politeness. "I believe there was a memo sent out last month that addressed this very concern."

"With all due respect, sir, it didn't address anything. It just said that the department was still considering all their options. But we," Robin gestured around the room, "think that this issue is important enough that we need to have it resolved now."

There are nods and murmurs of agreement around him. The chief lets the forced smile slip a bit. "With all due respect back to you, Officer, this decision is a bit above your pay grade. And while I appreciate your passion for it, I ask that you appreciate the complicated budgetary nature of such a purchase, not to mention the statements made by many citizens concerned with privacy. It's not a decision to be made in haste."

"It's been over a year since the recommendation, sir. I don't think you have to worry about haste anymore." Robin shouldn't have said it, he knew the moment the words left his mouth. It's easily insubordination, something Robin could be written up for, and by the way the chief's eyes narrow, he wonders if he is really considering it.

"I'm sure what Officer Locksley means," Sergeant Gutierrez cuts in smoothly, "is that most of the other agencies in the metro area already have body cameras built into their budgets in the coming years. If we're not careful, our city could be the only one still using outdated policing standards."

"I just want to make sure we're serving and protecting our citizens to the best of our ability," Robin adds to his supervisor's remarks.

The chief smiles again, a mechanical smile. They've got him trapped and he knows it, because in a room full of street officers, the chief can't admit he cares more about preserving admin salary perks than spending money on citizen and officer safety.

"Duly noted," he says after a minute. "I'll make sure to check on the status of the cameras today and send out another department-wide memo."

"Thank you, sir," Robin says. It's not what he wanted, but it's not a total loss either. Like Regina and her teen friend, Robin would live on to fight another day.

"Son, you've got to cut that out."

Robin looks over from the couch, he's sprawled on to his grandfather's chair, where Richard Locksley or Pop as Robin calls him, is drinking his third—or maybe seventh—cup of coffee for the day and searching for the volume on the remote so he can turn up the sound on the HGTV show he's watching. Richard has two passions in his twilight years: shows about buying houses and bad coffee. The first means that he's always fussing around outside in the quest for maximum curb appeal, even though he has no plans to sell the place, and the second means that his house always smells like the inside of a diner.

"What do I have to cut out?" Robin asks with a sigh.

"That. That right there—all this sighing. I can't hear these idiots arguing about which tiny house to buy over all your mooning."

"I'm not…mooning, whatever that means."

Okay, well maybe he had have been mooning a little. Robin wasn't normally the type to flop around on the couch on his day off—not when there are baristas to flirt with and some pavement to pound on his daily run. But he's already pounded seven miles of pavement and hit the gym, and he still hasn't shaken off this funk. It's partly the meeting from yesterday—this body camera issue giving him the itchy feeling of work left unfinished, which he hates—but it's partly something else.

Someone else.

The someone else being the reason he didn't flirt with any baristas this morning or answers the texts he got last night from an old ex of his.

Regina Mills

Robin couldn't take his eyes off her, and now, a full twenty-four hours later, it's like she's still in front of him, blocking his vision of everything else.

Robin had to find her. Dinner, drinks, handcuffs—all of it.

Pop takes a sip of coffee and puts it next to his iPad mini, which is only used for mah jong and some game called Candy Crush. Then he folds his knobbled hands over his belly and levels a cut-the-bullshit stare at him. Robin calls it the Vietnam look. It's a look that says, I was in a fucking war…you think you can pull one over on me?

"Son," Pop says, still giving Robin the Vietnam look. "You've been sighing all morning. You sighed before the gym. You came back and sighed after the gym. Now you're even sighing at the tiny houses, which don't deserve any guff from you. Is it a woman? Did you meet a woman?"

"I meet lots of women, Pop."

"I'm not talking about the women you pick up going quail hunting."

"Quail hunting?"

Pop rolls his eyes. "Hunting for chicks! Finding a bird! I thought your generation was supposed to be smart!"

Robin blinks at him.

"My point is, you don't sigh over those women, ever. So, this woman must be special."

Special.

Robin thinks back to Regina's thick hair, the color of a raven's wing. Robin thinks back to her skin, smooth and clear, and then he thinks of the way she faced down the swarms of teachers and Robin to protect her friend. And he thinks of those leggings, so tight and so flimsy—flimsy enough he could rip them apart with his bare hands to get to that perfect ass underneath.

Yeah, Regina is something special all right.

"Robin, my boy, you're mooning again."

"Okay, okay," Robin admits. "There was a woman yesterday on a call. And she was beautiful and feisty and—" Robin searched for the right word. "Stunning"

Pop shakes his head at him. "Now, don't you go saving some damsel just because you think she's in distress. She probably doesn't need saving, especially from the likes of you."

The doorbell rings once, then four more times in rapid succession, as if someone is really excited about the opportunity to ring a doorbell. And Robin knows exactly who that somebody is.

Robin swing his legs off the couch and stand as he asks Pop, "From the likes of me? I'm a police officer. Saving damsels is in the job description."

"I don't mean as a police officer. I mean as a man who likes to go quail hunting."

Robin opens the front door as he mumbles, "I still don't get what quail hunting means."

Robin's brother-in-law, Robert, stands in front of him holding one very sleepy toddler and the hand of one very bouncy four-year-old, who is almost certainly the manic doorbell ringer.

"Ah, 'quail hunting,'" Robert says, dragging his sons over the threshold. "A slang term for dating, or more specifically, searching for women to date."

"See? You're the only one who doesn't know what it means, Robin," says Pop from the living room. Robin's oldest nephew, Kevin, runs right up to his chair and clambers on top of Pop's belly. He immediately grabs for Pop's iPad.

"Candy Crush," he demands seriously.

At the mention of the game, his other nephew, Joey, lifts up his head from his father's shoulder. He squirms down silently, his pinky firmly in his mouth and his stuffed lion in his fist, and he also makes his way over to Pop's chair. Soon the two boys are arranged happily with the iPad balanced on Pop's belly between them, and Pop is even happier snuggling with his great-grandsons and cradling their curly heads in his spotted and gnarled hands.

Robin turns back to Robert, holding his hand out for Joey's diaper bag. "Nice one with the quail hunting,"

He grins back at Robin.

Robert gives Pop a handshake and then gives Robin a quick inventory of the diaper bag as they walk back to the door. "Joey only wants grapes today, but if Belle asks, he had veggies and protein too. She's on a food pyramid thing lately."

"Got it. And if she catches me lying, I'm blaming it on you."

Robert shakes his head. "Grown man's afraid of his baby sister."

"Have you met her? Of course, I'm afraid of her."

After a pause, Robert admits with a smile, "I'm afraid of her too."

After his brother-in-law leaves, Robin stands for a minute in the doorway, thinking about his sister again. When Robert said her name, a little bubble of a thought had emerged…a bubble with dark eyes and leggings…

Regina said her teen was someone she worked with at the library—did that mean she worked at the library? Surely not—Belle has been working there for years, there's no way he wouldn't have noticed Regina before.

So maybe she's a tutor? Robin knew lots of local tutors met up with their students at the library. Or maybe a volunteer?

Belle would know, Robin decides. Belle knows every coworker, volunteer, and patron that enters her domain. And especially someone like Regina, all fired up and ready to fight with the police and the school and anyone else she has to. Robin smirks, remembering her waving that sign in the air. He wonders if she'll be that fired up in his bed—and there's no doubt in his mind that she will be in his bed tag.

Or hide the nightstick.

Robin's favorite game.

Robin grabs his wallet and phone, glance in the mirror at my jeans and Captain America T-shirt, and then, like the sexy badass he is, shoulders the diaper bag and drag the Red Flyer wagon out of the garage. Robin walks back inside to his nephews, prepared to bribe them with promises of grapes and as many picture books as they can carry.

"Who wants to walk down to see Mommy at work?"

"It happened again?" Megan half asks, half exclaims.

"Yep," Regina whispers. The children's section of the library is quiet tonight, but this is the kind of conversation that would be particularly bad if an overprotective parent overheard. "This time I caught the guy in the act."

"You mean, he was actually—?" She holds up her hand to make sure no patrons can see her and makes a motion as though she's jerking off.

Regina nods. It's the third time in a month she's caught someone using the library computers for VPU—Very Personal Use—and though Regina should be used to it by now, she still continues to be astonished every time.

"What did you say?" Belle's eyes are wide. So far this has been the only bit of excitement on an otherwise slow night. As the children's specialist, she doesn't generally have to deal with the VPUs anyway, which makes the tale extra enthralling. She did, however, once have a flasher—an old man in a trench coat, stocking cap, and white knee socks who loosened his belt in the middle of a story time.

"Trust me," Megan says every time she recounts the story, "Brown Bear didn't see much."

Though she's seen many VPUs in her day, tonight has been the first time that Regina has actually caught a man with his personal Item in hand. Regina was still a bit stunned, but thinks she did well in the moment. "I told him, 'Sir, these computers are for public use and the viewing of pornography is strictly prohibited. Please kindly log off and leave the library.' Then I handed him a box of Kleenex and walked away."

Belle laughs, clapping her hand over her mouth when she realizes she's been a tad too loud. "Lysol that computer down. Then spray it with bleach. And tell me which one it is so I can make sure to never use it myself."

"It doesn't matter if I tell you which one it is. They've all been used for that purpose at some point, I'm sure! Men are disgusting!"

Regina leans across her desk and props her chin up with her hand. She was still getting to know her, but she's already learned a few things about her. She's met her husband and two boys a couple of times, and she's heard her mention her only sibling is a brother. "You're surrounded by them. How do you manage with all that testosterone?"

She shrugs as she goes back to cutting out shapes from colored paper for an upcoming children's program. "I grew up with just my Pop and my brother. Guys are all I know." She cocks her head and looks at Regina. "Do you really hate men that much?"

Regina stands up, affronted. "I don't hate men at all! I don't hate kangaroos either, but I'd probably have better luck at getting one to stick around."

"That's a stupid analogy. Where the hell are you going to find a kangaroo around here? You just haven't found the right guy yet. The right guy will stick around. Look at Robert."

She's missing the point, which is that it would be just as hard to find a decent man as it would be to find a kangaroo. It's why she's stopped looking.

It's a hard point to explain without sounding like a quitter. Or asexual.

But she likes Belle, so she tries anyway. "You didn't know Robert was the right guy until you gave him a chance to be the wrong guy, did you?"

She pauses her cutting, and for a moment she worries she's going to tell her she knew it was love at first sight. After a beat, she says, "I guess not. No."

"Right," Regina says, as though she's just gotten a Bingo. "And I don't want to do that. I don't want to not know. I don't want the uncertainty part. I'm done giving chances."

She opens her mouth and Regina can sense a rebuttal coming, but she doesn't need to hear it. She's made up her mind on this. She jumps in before she gets the chance. "Look. I've had three serious boyfriends. Not as many as some, but enough to learn that relationships are like playing roulette—odds are, the ball isn't going to land on your number. You got lucky with Robert. But how many times did the ball land somewhere else before Robert landed on you?"

She doesn't bother to hide her smirk. "I don't know. Robert landed on me pretty quickly."

Regina runs two fingers over her forehead and sighs. "I didn't mean…"

"I know what you meant," she huffs. "That's how life works, Regina. You don't get anything good without risk."

"I prefer living without that heartache, thank you very much. I like the safety zone. Maybe the returns aren't as exciting, but I know what I'm getting."

Belle's jaw tightens into a frown. "Let me guess—you don't like going to Vegas either."

"Ew. No." Regina shudders.

She shakes her head, unable to solve the mystery that is Regina Mills. "Well, if you're happy in your career, happy in your home, and you don't want a man, I don't know what you're missing. Maybe you need a dog."

Her eyes light up, and she turns to follow her line of vision and sees Kevin, Belle's oldest son running toward them. Behind him, Joey, her youngest, toddles after his brother. He barely manages to cross the distance without tripping over his feet, his stuffed lion flapping at his side as he waves his arms for balance, and her chest fills and tightens with the overwhelming cuteness. Is this what they mean by ovaries exploding?

"Yeah, something like that," Regina replies, with no intention of getting a dog. But something. For sure.

Joey coos behind his binky as he nears his mom, and Regina's grinning ear-to-ear when her eyes casually drift to meet those of the man who is following behind the boys. She'd expected it to be Robert, and so she's surprised when it's not.

Then she even more surprised when she sees who it is instead.

Officer Panty-Thief Locksley.

Officer I'm-Sexy-in-Blue-Jeans-Too Locksley

Officer I'm-Not-Wearing-My-Sunglasses-and-Now-You-Must-Drown-in-My-Eyes Locksley. His blue, blue eyes. They're pools of cobalt, and Regina forgets to blink when she looks into them. Forget how to breathe. Forget how to look away.

Now this is what they mean by ovaries exploding. Regina's are exploding. They've exploded. Kaboom. His manly aura has sent signals to her baby-makers and caused instant combustion. That's how hot this man is. And he's not even in his uniform.

Imagine him not in anything at all…

Bad idea, bad idea. Her knees buckle, and she has to grip the counter. Regina wills him into his clothes again in her mind, but not before imagining the washboard abs he's barely hiding under that tight T-shirt.

Oh God. She's woozy. Too woozy to even question why he's here.

Thank god for Belle.

"Let me guess," she says, gesturing with her scissors toward the diaper bag that I now notice is slung over Officer Locksley's shoulder. "Robert forgot to pack something." However impossible, she seems completely unaffected by the cop's magic manliness and super-blue death pools.

Also, she's familiar with him. Which is a good thing since it seems he's the one who brought her kids.

Regina's not usually this slow. It's just. That body. That stubble. Those eyes.

Speaking of those eyes…they dart over in her direction, sending sparks shooting like fireworks throughout her body, then return to Belle. "No, everything's there. Kids wanted to pick out a book." He picks up Joey who goes easily into the cop's arms. "Didn't we, buddy?"

Regina's ovaries, those which are left, have just exploded.

Joey grins and makes an mmm sound behind his binky, kicking excitedly.

"Unca Robin pulled us in the wagon," Kevin says, tip-toeing so he can see over the edge of the reference desk. "He said we can fill it with all the books!"

"Only five each!" Belle says in a rush. "Which is plenty!"

"Aw, that's hardly any," Officer Locksley says, triggering another elated burst from Joey.

Kevin mimics the man. "That's hardly any."

Belle seems about to argue but then glances down at her little boy's anticipating face. "Yeah, well if any of them get lost, it's on you," she says threateningly to the cop.

And all Regina can think is how insane it is that a woman can talk to such a gorgeous man—let alone threaten him—when she can barely stand in his presence, especially now that he's cuddling and cooing at these kids like he's shooting one of those charity calendars where the hot cops model with adorable children and he's so freaking hot, and ah, fuck. There go her ovaries again.

Regina's thought about him several times in the day since she'd seen him. Not that she'd meant to think about him, but he'd been attractive, and sometimes attractive things can get stuck in the brain the same way a catchy tune can. At least that's what she's been telling herself.

Problem was, she hadn't been remembering him properly. Regina remembered him hot, but not this hot. She hadn't realized his pecs were this toned underneath his protective vest. She hadn't remembered his perfectly sculpted hair or the black ink that peeked out on his right forearm.

"How about we compromise? How high can you count, Kevin?" the gorgeous man asks.

"Ten!" Kevin says, immediately demonstrating his counting skills by rushing through the numbers at high speed.

"Great. Then pick out ten for you and ten for Joey. Got it?"

Kevin is already running off toward the picture books. The cop puts Joey on the ground, and her lips break automatically into another smile as she watches him wobble happily after his brother.

When Regina moves her attention away from the kids, she finds the cop's eyes waiting for her. Her heart skips a beat. Or ten. She's have Kevin count if he hadn't just run off.

"Officer Locksley," Regina says in greeting. Because she doesn't know what else to say. Because she has to say something. She can't just stand here, combusting under his gaze.

He scans the length of her, slowly, burning every inch of her skin before returning to her eyes. "Ma'am."

"Don't call me ma'am!" Regina snaps, as much upset about the way he makes her belly tighten and her thighs clench as she is about the way he continues to address her. "I'm twenty-nine. I am not a ma'am yet."

"Though Regina believes that thirty is death," Belle snickers, "so you can probably call her ma'am after that."

Regina presses her lips together and pretends she's not scratching her eyes out in her head.

Suddenly her brows shoot up. "I didn't realize you two knew each other."

"We don't," Regina says quickly, eager for her to know that she most certainly does not know this very fine-looking man.

She studies her, then Officer Locksley. "Right." She drags the word out, and she's not sure what she's thinking, but whatever it is, it's not good.

"Ms. Mills was a witness at an incident yesterday," Officer Locksley explains, his eyes never moving from Regina's eyes.

"Ah, so you haven't been properly introduced." With scissors still in hand, she points first to Regina while looking at the cop. "This is Regina. She works upstairs with the grown-ups and the teens, and she's cool, so don't be a dick." Sternly, she adds, "You know what I mean."

Then she points to the cop and turns her attention to me. "Robin is my big brother. His nobleness comes off as stern and overprotective sometimes, but he's really a teddy bear."

He scowls. "I'm not. I'm a warrior."

"You wish." She rolls her eyes and returns to cutting out the star that has been dangling from her paper for the past several minutes.

Robin—even his name is sexy—glances toward his nephews, checking up on them, then returns his heated gaze to Regina.

And she's just standing here. And no one's saying anything. Now there's awkward silence.

At least she considers it awkward because, as far as she's concerned, any silence between strangers is awkward. Especially when the stranger is six feet of pure sex and it's oozing off of him like a contagion that she's afraid she's about to catch—if she's hasn't gotten it already— and when she does, there's every chance she'll jump on top of the counter behind her, spread her legs, and beg him to come on in.

So obviously she can't let the silence continue.

Regina puts on a smile that exudes more confidence than she feels and turns to her friend. "Belle, you never told me your brother was hot." Oh my God. She didn't just say that.

And judging from the smirk on Robin's face, she did.

So much for playing it cool.