Robin's Storybrooke, February 2019

Snow and Charming are trying to torture him.

Or at least that's what this feels like to Robin. Attending Regina's birthday drinks with the Charmings had been one thing, but at the end Neal's babysitter had called with some minor problem, and now he's the one walking a tipsy Regina home. He wouldn't even have agreed to come, as insistent as she had been this fall about giving her space, but when Snow had implied that she'd asked if he was coming, he had given in.

Her flushed cheeks and bright eyes absorb his attention, contrasting as they do with her grey suit dress and the black peacoat draped gracefully over one of her arms. Even as her relatively good mood bolsters his, a frown tugs at his lips. He knows from experience that it won't last long, that as even the slightest edge of drink wears off, her happiness will fade like the temporary illusion it was.

A few blocks from the house, a hand on his arm stops their progress. Her wide, dark eyes focus on his in the dim light. "Your eyes are beautiful," she murmurs.

"You're drunk." Hope throbs in his chest; springs through his veins like fire.

"Maybe."

"Definitely."

"So?" Her hand settles on his chest. His body thrums with their closeness.

"What're you doing?"

"What does it look like?"

His hands fall to her hips, contradictory urges telling him to push her away, to pull her closer. "Regina…" She bends closer, hands curling around his jacket collar, eyes never leaving his. He can feel the heat coming off her in the late winter chill, the acute awareness of it almost a touch itself.

One of her hands slides around his neck; cool, ungloved skin touching his. "Maybe tonight, I don't have to think so much."

"Regina," he croaks, as her lips hover over his, so, so close.

"What?"

He pushes her gently away. "I can't." The flames in his veins die down into embers, embers to ash.

She sobers quickly, pulling away, his skin empty where she'd touched him. She turns her head, walking with her face shadowed from him, her unsettled breaths just loud enough for him to hear.

He fights a desperate urge to apologize and take back his words, to pull her into his body and kiss her until they both forget why they haven't in four agonizingly long, all-too-short months. Her shoulders shake—the cold, he wonders, or pent-up frustration, or an almost-hidden sob?

If only being with him didn't rob her of even the briefest of good moods.

When they reach her door, she turns on him in the bright porch light. "Why haven't you come to see me?"

His stomach lurches. He thinks of their brief conversations here, in the doorway, these past months. The weather is horrible today, and Do you need to borrow an umbrella?, and all the things left unsaid those days, the eyes reaching and yet scared of what they might find. And so rarely, the real words: Roland asks about you often and Are you doing all right? and Yes, we should talk someday.

With each, he'd watched her crawl deeper into her shell, farther away from him.

He searches out her eyes, swallowing against the rush of the contact, the pain in their depths. "It wasn't helping either of us," he finally says.

She presses her lips together and nods curtly, looking at the ground.

He sees tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.

Clearly it's not the waning effects of liquor that have pulled at her mood this evening, but him. "Goodnight, Regina."

She turns and opens her door. "Goodnight."

Halfway across the lawn, he stops to catch his breath, running a hand over his face. Her perfume lingers on his jacket, and his skin fairly buzzes with her touch.

But they can't do this. They can't.

He can't take it.

And if she were to confuse what he wanted, to think a few drinks and the occasional romp in her bed were enough for him, he wouldn't forgive himself.

It has to be like this.

Robin's Storybrooke, June 2019

"Yeah, I'll be right there," Robin lifts a shoulder to hold the phone, pushing the door open with his now-free hand. "Sounds good. Bye."

"Oomph." His phone clatters to the ground, the Granny's takeout bag landing a few feet away, though he somehow manages not to completely knock over whoever it is he's run into. "I'm sorry, I didn't see—Regina."

She holds out the bag he'd dropped. "Hi."

They stare at each other.

Robin lifts the bag to break the silence. "Breakfast. Roland wanted muffins, and my baking skills, unlike yours, leave something to be desired."

Smiling softly, she raises a hand to shield her face from the sun. "You left Roland in the apartment by himself?"

"No, Marian's there."

Shock rushes over her face.

"No just—" he huffs in frustration "—she's picking him up for the weekend. I was sent out for breakfast while he decided which of his thirty stuffed animals is making the trip." He can see it flash through her eyes, the assumption that they're the family. It makes him want to shake some sense into her. Or maybe kiss some sense into her. He squeezes his eyes shut to get a grip. But after all the things they've been through together, could she truly think, even for a moment, that—

"He does have a lot of them."

"Hm?"

"Stuffed animals."

"Right." He searches her face, but most of the time it is closed to him, masked. And always with that flicker of pain, like talking to him makes her feel worse.

"You could teach yourself." She gestures towards the bag of pastries. "They're not so hard to make."

Wouldn't have to if you were around. He bites his tongue before he says it.

"I should go." She starts to push the door open.

"Wait."

She looks back over her shoulder. He tries to find the right words, some opening, something real and raw, but as he tests the weight of each on his tongue, all he tastes is the bitterness of their fights, the wounded, hardened iciness of her stare.

"Nothing. I hope you have a good day."

She smiles, not quite reaching her eyes. "You too."

Robin's Storybrooke, August 2019

"Papa, come look at my painting!" Roland drags Robin into the house without preamble.

Regina gives Roland an eager smile that sobers slightly once the boy looks away.

Robin hasn't been inside this house in…three months. Has it really been that long since the last time he came in to help Roland pack his things? It is spotlessly clean. Not a rarity, by any means, but the absoluteness of it, the complete lack of empty water glasses on the counter or spread-out blankets on the sofa or bookmarked books on the coffee table, stands in stark comparison to the home they'd shared.

She only ever kept things so pristine as a way of taking control over some small aspect of her life, as a defense mechanism for darker days.

The photos, he realizes, forcing himself to pay attention as Roland points out various features of the drawing he'd done with Regina this morning. He keeps looking up between responses, staring at the now-empty spaces on the wall. He'd loved those, and she'd…

Anger surges in his chest. But the anger at her lasts only a breath before it turns in other directions. He's thought himself lonely this year, but to live as she does, with only bad memories for company, refusing herself good ones… Why couldn't the world see fit to leave her alone, now; to let her be happy. Why did it always have to take from her, not only her family and friends and choices but her trust in herself, turning the very things meant to love and protect her into weapons? (When had he allowed himself to become one of those things? Why couldn't he make her happy?)

The last time they'd been apart, when Marian returned, Roland had been like this, dragging them into each others' lives. But then, it had been different. They'd just begun.

Now they know what it's like to be together, and everything about their not-quite-togetherness aches so much more.

"I have somewhere to be." Robin and Roland turn to see her in the doorway.

"Right, sorry." Robin clears his throat. "We can go."

"Papa, I didn't show you the other one."

"Hm? Oh, sorry Roland. What other one?"

Roland pulls his first painting off the easel to reveal a second one behind it. He's painted a woman who is clearly Regina, smiling at a little boy as she chases him through a yard with a garden hose. "We did that last summer, remember Regina?"

Robin glances back to see her half-smile and nod. "Yes, I remember."

That had been one of the last good days in their relationship, laughing and dodging Henry's water balloons and sitting in the sun-dried grass to dry off. Later that night, as he'd washed his face, still grinning, she'd come in with a mild frown, as though her own good mood had to be hidden for its fragility.

"We haven't played like that in a while," Roland comments.

Robin fumbles for a response, and is grateful to hear Regina step in. "That was fun. It's a lovely drawing."

When Roland looks up at him, Robin sees tears beginning to fall. "What is it, son? What's wrong?"

"Do I have to leave Papa? I miss Regina when I don't see her."

Robin puts a hand on his shoulder, trying to keep his voice even. "It's all right. You'll see her again this weekend."

Roland looks over to her, and she nods. "Promise."

"Okay," Roland sighs. Pulling the painting from his father's hands, he hands it to Regina instead, throwing his arms around her waist. "Bye, Regina. I love you."

She sighs, kneeling to his height to return the hug, smoothing curls from his forehead. "I love you too, Sweetheart."

Their bond has always made him smile, but now it also makes his chest ache.

Regina catches his eye over Roland's shoulder. He mouthes thank you.

Of course, she replies in kind, her expression darkening.

In hand with Roland as they walk to the door, Robin wonders what that look had meant.

Robin's Storybrooke, November 2019

Soft voices filter into Robin's ears. His head throbbing, he leaves his eyes shut as pain floods his back and shoulders, and he tries to piece together how he ended up here.

"He's waking up," someone says.

A cool hand slides from his.

"Robin?"

He knows that voice.

As he forces his eyes half-open, he catches the barest glimpse of glimmering white light flowing toward him before it disappears. For a hazy moment, all he sees is Regina's face. She sits on a chair beside him; he seems to be laying on a sofa. They had traced a suspect to the library, he recalls, memories filtering back, and then there had been a crashing sound, and a cloud of red light…"What happened?" he asks, wincing when he tries to lift his head. Resting it back against the cushion beneath him, he does his best to look around without moving his neck. The room has the faded wallpaper and eclectic furniture of a suite at Granny's. Emma, Snow, David, and Belle stand in a cluster a few yards away.

"You were thrown against a wall. Whoever's been stealing magical artifacts must have magic themselves. " Robin blinks, his confusion fading back into reality at Belle's words. His gaze snags on Regina—her eyes, her jaw, her lips. It's been so long since they were this close. "Right." Looking down, he sees the edge of a white bandage under Regina's jacket.

She follows his gaze. "Some glass from a broken window," she explains, standing. "It's fine."

Snow comes over with a glass of water, offering painkillers in the other hand and helping him sit high enough to take them.

"Will you lie back down," Regina snaps, impatient if not truly angry, scowling at his attempt to sit fully upright. "Even magic won't vanish away a concussion in five minutes."

The slightest of tremors colors her voice, and, when she pushes hair behind her ear, shows in her hands. Perhaps the others don't even see it.

"Hey, at least he didn't puncture a lung again."

"David," Snow chides.

Robin's lips quirk halfway up at the reminder of the very first time she'd healed him, until he sees the dark expression spreading over Regina's face. The words to ask what is wrong gather in his throat, and for a moment he wonders what has happened to him, that he holds them back.

But every time he pushes at her armor these days, it comes back stronger, harsher. Every step closer a stab at the shield allowing her to survive. How selfish would he be, to try and break it? Someone will ask, he thinks, hopes, someone will see. Perhaps one of these others who, unlike him, has not broken her heart.

"Are you all right?" Snow asks, apparently having caught his somber expression.

"Fine." He leans back against the sofa, resting his head. With relief, he finds that the throbbing subsides.

When Regina next turns to his side of the room, he briefly catches her gaze with his. His chest tight, he forces himself to look away.

Robin's Storybrooke, March 2020

"What are you doing here?" The clatter of raindrops on surrounding trees forces them to half-shout to be heard.

"Roland called. He was worried about you. He said you'd been out here for hours."

Robin looses another arrow, embedding it in the hole-ridden target fifty yards away. "Why is he worrying about me? I'm not the one who—"

"I'm fine, Robin." The drizzling rain is picking up, the ground already muddy beneath his feet.

"You fell thirty feet and broke half your ribs."

She takes a step closer. "And Emma healed me."

Another arrow flies into the target, this time going wide of the center target.

"I was trying something new, where the rift had been. I didn't see that the crevasse in the ground was still there."

Finally, she stands close enough that they can speak at a normal volume, the trees no longer shielding her from the rain. His arms sag. "I know. I'm the one who found you. You know that, right?" He presses on before she can stop him. "The same way I found you when Elsa's ice cut through your shoulder, and the same way you found me when those men who were searching for her stabbed me. I felt it."

Her voice is soft. "I know."

He spins to look at her. "That magic didn't work when we were together, only when we—"

"I know."

"So that's it, then. It's been decided." As if they hadn't been apart for almost a year and a half already. But still, he'd hoped, that somehow…but the magic, the stupid, ridiculous, life-saving magic had known they weren't together, and had warned him that she was hurt. When had this become a permanent thing, a we-can't-ever-fix-this thing?

"What's been decided?"

He hates her stare, the wide-eyed, almost tearful gaze buried beneath a face set in its mask.

Normally, or at least normally for these last eighteen months, he'd pull back, ease off, try not to upset her more. But he's out of patience for that today. "Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"That shield, that iron face as though nothing in the world is wrong. I can see that's not the case. I know you far too well."

"Please don't…"

"Why, are you afraid of something?" He feels vicious, his pain twisting into arrows, launching at her as surely as the ones protruding from the distant target.

"Robin."

"Why haven't you tried to fix this? Why don't you want us to be happy? Or was it all a lie before—"

"Robin!"

He doesn't mean any of it, doesn't believe it, but it hurts so badly, and he misses her so much. It is such an easy reflex, made easier by the curse, to stab back, to push where he shouldn't.

Tears pool in her eyes, just shy of falling, mingling with the rain running over their skin.

"Why didn't you just say no to me at the beginning?" he whispers, shoulders slumped even as his hands turn white gripping his bow. "Why did you kiss me? Why did you have to…I wasn't happy, before, in the Enchanted Forest. But at least I hadn't known what I was missing."

"Robin of Locksley," her voice is like ice, "don't you dare—" it cracks.

They reach for each other at the same moment, falling into an embrace so tight he can hardly catch his breath.

"I'm sorry," he croaks into her ear as she presses her face into his neck. It's all he's good for now, it seems. Making her cry. "You scared me."

"I always cared about you. That wasn't why—"

His hand slides across her back. "I know that. I know that, I promise."

She sinks into him. Something about this feels more final than arguing, like an ending. He soaks up the memory of this, her body pressed into his, the smell of her rain-damp hair, the rush of her breath over his skin. Knowing this will have to end, and hoping that it doesn't.

He can't do this anymore. Not to himself, and especially not to her.

He clings anyway.

"This is how it has to be," she finally says, voice mostly even. She begins to pull away, sliding her arms from around him, taking a step back. Each lost bit of contact numbs him, and like his arms, overworked from archery, his heart feels too spent to ache as much as he expects it should.

Storybrooke, June 2021

"Can we see Regina again tomorrow, Papa?"

Robin marks their place in the second Harry Potter book with a finger and turns to his son. "Why?"

"I want to make her some cookies. Since she gave us those pancakes. I know the recipe for cookies all by myself."

His son has never really stopped talking about her, but today he's brought her up more than usual. "We can do that, if you'd like."

"Really?"

Robin ruffles his son's hair, drawing out a giggle. "Really."

"How long have we known her, Papa?"

Robin thinks for a moment. "About six years now."

"It feels like it's been forever."

"It does, doesn't it?" In Roland's young memory, it almost has.

Roland snuggles into his bed, and Robin opens the book to resume reading.

"Hey, Papa?"

"Mhm?"

"I miss when we were all together."

Robin sighs, wrapping an arm around his son's shoulders and kissing the side of his head. "So do I."

.

.

.

Robin switches off the lights and sinks onto his bed with a heavy sigh. Whenever he closes his eyes, he sees her face this afternoon. The relief when he'd touched her. Had that rainy day, over a year ago, really been the last time?

Her questions haunt him. Has he truly changed so much, become so unrecognizable to her?

But then, he admits to himself, she might have worried about those things anyway. She has always been so certain of the frailty of her relationships, the ease with which people stand and walk out of her life.

Frowning, he rubs a hand over his face. She'd been so sure, when Marian returned, that he'd hate her, so confident that she would become a monster in his eyes. And he'd fed those fears, using her as a release for his own pain, his hurt, his guilt, his confusion. He'll never forgive himself for the way he spoke to her in those first days, how he avoided admitting to them both that he had fallen in love with her.

He'd been trying to help this time, to do what she'd asked and give her space. Each time he had seen her, staring at him coldly because she would otherwise break, he'd been reminded why he did what he did. Because he'd promised himself he'd do his best never to hurt her.

But in doing what he thought was best, had he failed her again?

I didn't want to leave, he's ached to tell her every time he's seen her. I wanted to do what was best for you, to save you from more pain, but I never, ever wanted to.

Does she know that? Had she known that? Had she believed it?

His fingers sliding unconsciously over his tattoo, he pulls back his sleeve to stare at it, murky and ill-defined in the moonlight. The mark had always been so poignant to her, something to seek out or avoid; caress or cover. He's had it for so long that to him, it is merely part of his body. But looking at it now through her eyes, he can understand why he'd always caught her staring at it, why, half asleep with their limbs tangled, he'd often felt her tracing the shape of it with light, tickling fingers.

The touch lingers in his memory as he lies back, trying not to imagine what it would be like, if things were the way Roland had said, when they were all together.

.

.

.

"You are different."

Regina's eyes dance. "And you're tall."

"Mom," Henry whines.

"Your usual?" Granny asks as they take seats at the bar.

"I suppose." Regina frowns, brushing crumbs from the counter and hoping her usual here is tolerable. And caffeinated.

Granny sets down a steaming mug of black coffee, satisfying enough as the smell reaches Regina's nose. But she's relieved that the woman returns a moment later with an understanding nod and two hot chocolates.

Granny narrows her eyes at them. "You don't look right."

Regina looks up sharply, Granny staring down her spectacles.

"I hope it's something going on with that man of yours."

"Granny!"

"What? Any fool could see he's still in love with you. And last time I checked, you weren't the type to fall out of love so easily, what with cursing the entire town and all."

Regina scoffs.

"What you need is one of your boy's operations." She nods to Henry. "Like the old days."

"Old days don't last forever. People move on."

Granny bristles. "Now what would you know about that?" She stalks off.

Regina looks to Henry, her furrowed brow confused.

"She and Ruby had a nasty fight last year," Henry explains. "Something about Ruby's boyfriend."

"What, Whale?"

Henry nods.

"And Ruby thinks it's her grandmother's fault that she and that fool have problems?"

Henry shrugs. "Business has also been bad I guess. They got rid of lots of the part time staff, cut back on hours…"

Leroy sits a few seats over and grumbles, "This place has gone to the dogs if you ask me. No wolf pun intended."

Regina rolls her eyes. "I notice it hasn't stopped you from coming."

The door jingles, and Leroy turns red-faced as the new customers enter. "What're you doing here!" he shouts at four of his brothers. "It's Sunday. I get the diner on Sundays."

Sneezy puffs out his chest. "We'll come here when-when-achoo!-whenever we want."

"Yeah, right."

"Stay our of our way, Leroy."

"You stay out of mine. This is my place—"

"This is my shop," Granny interrupts, looking at Leroy over her glasses. "Leave them alone."

Grumpy scowls, turning away to pointedly ignore the others.

For several minutes, Regina asks Henry about classes and school in detail he hadn't covered on their walk here. But soon the brothers are shouting across the diner again.

Emma and the un-Charmings, Snow and David, Granny and Ruby…what is with this place? It's almost like her curse, but that had been days and days of mind-numbing sameness, and here everything seems to be getting worse.

"What's going on with them?"

Henry shrugs. "They've been doing this for a while."

The shouting picks up again. She turns to the brothers. "Leroy. Leroy."

"What, lady."

"Keep it down, would you?" She turns to the others. "And that goes for you, too."

"We will if he does," Doc argues.

"Yeah, we-we-we…" Dopey elbows Sleepy as he yawns.

Regina throws a glance at Granny, who is wiping tables halfway across the room. The woman shrugs and moves on, ignoring them.

"Oh, for pity's sake," Regina grumbles.

"They're the ones who started it," Leroy argues.

"No we didn't! You're the one who decided you were better than all of us, going around telling all of us how to do things."

"Yeah, we-ah-achoo we got tired of it."

"You started all the arguments."

"You're one to talk—"

"Oh really? And you didn't—"

"Shut up."

They turn to look at Regina, stunned. Henry covers a grin beside her. "Now, what were these arguments about?"

They stare at her blankly.

"Well…"

"I was—"

"It was…"

"I…don't remember," Doc finally says, staring at her with slightly fearful eyes.

"His name is Grumpy. Of course you get into occasional fights. Isn't that his purpose? Now, would you all get over whatever this is so I can get back to my coffee?"

"There is the curse," Henry reminds them. "Maybe you weren't as angry about the whole thing as you think."

The five brothers stare at each other blankly.

"Grumpy, do you wanna have coffee with us?"

"No, I don't."

"Well then—" Sneezy starts. Regina glares at him. Sneezy stands straighter. "We're going to have coffee with you."

They march over to an empty booth, Doc dragging a semi-reluctant Leroy behind him.

Half-smiling at Henry's grin, Regina lifts her hot cocoa for another sip.

A quarter of it sloshes over to the side, the mug clattering as it drops the few inches back to the table.

The dizziness always takes her by surprise, though it's happened nearly every day here. When she opens her eyes, the diner, Henry, and the brothers have faded, as though distant, and she sees instead the blurry shapes of dark rocks, and hears the rush of a river. Out of the corner of one eye, she catches a glimpse of—herself? A woman, in the clothes she wore in the Underworld, standing amidst the rocks…

Regina blinks again, and is back in the diner.

"Ok, what was that?"

Regina frowns at Henry.

"Don't say it's nothing, Mom. I can handle it. And I can tell it's definitely something."

"A dizzy spell of sorts. I saw the Underworld, but as I left it."

"Like, years ago?"

She nods.

"It's happened before, hasn't it?" Henry guesses.

"Yes."

"When?"

"When Emma and Snow were over yesterday. Twice, actually." And the walk with Robin.

"You don't think…"

"What?" she presses.

He pushes back from the counter, gathering his backpack from the ground. "We have to go home, where I left that book about Pandora."

.

.

.

"I've read this a hundred times, but I never understood…" Henry flips through the pages, skimming until he finds the riddle:

If cursed with evils from this box

and kept outside by its firm locks,

Pandora's hands you must possess

to free the world from its distress."

Regina stares. "What? I don't understand."

"I think that's it, Mom. Someone has to be Pandora, and show people why they cared in the first place. They have to be reminded of the good things. The hope at the bottom of the box. That's how it opens."

His meaning takes a moment to sink in. "And you think I'm somehow here to do that?"

"It happened when you made the brothers remember that they care about each other. And when you and Mom and Grandma were working together for the first time in years. That was your spell wasn't it? To try again? You'll break the curse, and then things will be right here again!"

"Henry…" She thinks more about it, embracing Snow, and touching Robin's hand, and breaking up the brothers' fight. Could that be it? "I don't think that's possible. I cast that spell in the Underworld so that we could have another chance at the key, so that we could break the curse before all of this happened. Clearly, that failed." Henry must've been waiting, hoping all of these years, that this wasn't real, that some magic would intercede and make it all a bad dream. What will happen to him when his hopes are disappointed?

"But it explains everything. Your spell, the time travel, your visions of the Underworld. It's your spell, working. Just, not exactly how you imagined."

He's so sure. So Henry.

He gives her that look, the one he does when he knows she's taken by an idea, no matter how hard she tries to fight it. "Even if that were true, it doesn't answer how I get back."

"Maybe, when you've broken the curse, you will get back. Once the spell wears off."

"Henry, these are great theories, but—"

"It's worth a thought, okay?"

She sighs, wishing she didn't hope so much that he could be right. He stares at her earnestly for several moments, then relents and leads her toward the kitchen.

"Now come on. I've been looking forward to some home-cooked food, and I won't be here for lunch tomorrow."

"You're going to Emma's?" She guesses. That usually involves microwave or takeout fare.

Henry looks suddenly uncomfortable. "Actually, I'm meeting Robin."

Oh.

"I set it up before we knew…"

"It's fine, Henry."

"I know."

She wants to ask more about what it's been like these past few years. More, really, about what she's been like.

Later, she decides. When this isn't all so…new.

.

.

.

"It's been a while."

Robin looks up as David slides into a booth beside him, a half-empty drink in his hands.

He can almost hear Regina's voice, retorting what a Charming introduction, the sharp little games they used to play, without any real malice. A private grin tugs at his lips for half a breath. "I came after her. That was as it should be."

Years ago, Robin might have suspected Snow of sending her husband here to talk to him. But these days such things are unlikely. He almost wishes for that time again, when Snow and David were still hopeful and scheming, still attached at the hip. "But you had become our friend, as well."

Robin looks down, stirring his melting drink.

"She ended it, didn't she? She never really said."

Robin looks up, brow furrowing.

David nods. "Of course she did."

Robin takes a drink. "I dunno. Maybe she was the brave one. It had been bad for so long, and she forced us to admit it." Even as the words leave his mouth, he knows it's something he speaks as though willing himself to believe it.

David tosses back the rest of his drink. "I can see what you mean."

Robin may not have seen them much in the last two years, but he hasn't been blind to the coolness between the Charmings. Perhaps it is its own kind of curse, to be close and yet distant. "I saw Henry today. He thinks this—" Robin gestures vaguely toward town, the fires and time travel and Regina, "—means the curse is breaking, and then everything will just go 'back to normal'."

"Wouldn't it be easy if life were like that?" David asks after a moment'a pause.

Robin scoffs. "Very easy."

"If I never said, I am sorry about you and Regina."

"Thank you." Robin thumbs his damp napkin until it begins to tear. "Do you ever wonder if things could've been different? If not having the curse would've changed things?"

"All the time. You don't?"

"It's not that. I just…I've wondered sometimes if we were heading here anyway."

David laughs.

"What?"

"I've known Regina for a very long time. Stepmother, queen, prisoner, enemy, evil queen, mayor, mother, godmother, friend. I'm not sure how anyone could know where her life was heading."

"You have a point there. I'm not convinced that she sees it that way."

"Well, she always has been stubborn."

"Incredibly stubborn," Robin agrees. So certain her life was meant to go in one direction, toward darkness, loneliness, hurt. "Much like your wife." The woman who will never give up on anything or anyone.

"Sometimes I think they can both be too stubborn for their own good."

He'd wondered for weeks after her birthday, the February before last, if she'd meant that moment in the street to be a first step toward reconciliation, if she'd simply been too stubborn to say so out loud, if he'd been too stubborn to understand her. He'd thought, after that day of her fall, that her icy stare had been her way of stubbornly keeping herself from wanting—lord knows he'd sometimes had to do the same himself. Maybe they all had been too stubborn for their own good.

And he cannot help himself from thinking that people that stubborn should be able to put things right.