Happy Holidays everyone! This was my advent piece for the marvellous OQ Advent. I loved participating and loved even more being able to write about my two favourite things: Scotland and Outlaw Queen. Huge thanks to Brittany, Grace and Manuela for all their help with this one. Enjoy!

The Christmas List

Regina fell in love with Scotland in the summertime.

Her fondest memories were formed amongst vibrant greens and that clear blue blanket in the sky. Five weeks of her summer were spent exploring the jewelled wonders of Edinburgh Castle, hiking the many trails and paths that the eastern coastline had to offer and all with her favourite person in the world: her father. They had their alone time, of course; whilst Henry dabbled in a game of golf on the oldest, most treasured golf course in the world - the very beating heart of St Andrews - Regina found her heart beating for an entirely different reason.

She hates the term summer fling with a passion. It wasn't anything close to a fling, at least she doesn't think so. It was a summer friendship that turned into a crush, okay, maybe a bit more than a crush, but one that fizzled away after she returned to reality.

On the flight home, she and her father talked about going back as soon as they could. They couldn't wait to return to the same spot, visit their favourite places again, and reconnect with the friends they had made. Only they never got the chance.

Their vacation was a decoy. It was one last opportunity for Henry to spend quality time with her before her mother, Cora, swiftly divorced Henry and stripped him of any visitation rights until she was eighteen. Even then, Cora kept her grip on Regina so tight that it wasn't until she was in her early twenties that she courageously cut all ties with her mother's overbearing soul and moved as far west as she could go without physically touching the ocean.

Regina packed a bag, got on the first flight out of Boston she could, and moved right into her father's spare room to try to salvage their relationship by any means possible. Not that such a task would be a difficult one.

They fell into a familiar pattern incredibly fast - sharing every little detail, encouraging each other like it was going out of fashion... and speaking of fashion, that's where Regina's heart was. She fell in love with fabrics, colours, stitching - the whole lot. When she started designing coats, it felt like the only person in her corner was her father, and as lovely as that was, there was always that nagging feeling in the back of her mind screaming that he was only there because he had to be - that's what parents do, after all.

But all his encouragement was worth it the day she sold her first coat, then her second, third, and before she knew it, she had a small business up and running. She was over the moon, even if it had taken over five years to get there.

It was Henry's encouragement that deserved a proper thank you. And what better way to thank him than with a gift he'd never expect. Another trip to Scotland - just the two of them and whoever they met along the way. Only this time, it would be over Christmas, Henry's favourite holiday.

A Scottish Christmas had been on his wish list for quite some time. For years he talked excitedly about seeing the trees and lights in Edinburgh, dancing the traditional steps of a Scottish Country Dance at a Ceilidh, and sharing drinks with the friends he'd made all those years ago.

And feel the cold? She'd tease relentlessly, to which he'd always grin shyly and wave his wishes away, blaming his age and stressing that he'd never want to do it without her by his side.

The last time he brought it up was in February, and the second she got home that night, she started planning. She was finally managing to save up money; she was essentially her own boss. So Regina threw caution to the wind and vowed that this year would be great for both of them, not just her.

She secretly booked the flights in April, reserved the nicest room she could afford in Henry's favourite hotel - the same one from before, of course. She dug deeper and deeper to find any local traditions that they could experience together, pantomimes or markets they could visit. She was so excited, could hardly keep it a secret most of the time. Regina had it all planned out, down to the ridiculous Home Alone jumpers they were going to wear on Christmas Day… and then the unthinkable happened.

Henry Mills passed away in Los Angeles, California on Friday, December 1st, 2017.

She had to write that sentence more times than she could count. She read it forwards, read it backwards, hating how it sounded every single time, but they needed it for the obituary. The funeral home needed something.

All she needed was her father to walk through her door mumbling his repetitive complaints about traffic or how her coffee order was messed up because they misheard him, even though Regina had always known that he just had a hard time remembering her ridiculous order in the first place. Was it one pump or two? He'd always ask.

But she'll never have that again. No more messed up coffee, no more unnecessary traffic reports. All she has now is a planned trip to Scotland that she never even had the chance to tell him about. A trip that will never see either of them because she was sure as hell not going without him. She cancelled everything bar the flights, a small tug in her gut telling her to hold off on that for a little while longer.

And it was just as well.

"You have to go," Ruby told her sternly.

"I can't," Regina stressed, fighting back tears as she and her assistant had the same argument for the umpteenth time.

"You won't," Ruby corrected, arms crossed for extra measure. "Henry would want you to go,"

Regina opened her mouth to fight back, the norm over the last couple of days, but Ruby beat her to it. "And before you start mouthing off all your ridiculous reasons again, I need you to remember just who he was. He would be the first person in line to drag you to the airport." Regina couldn't argue with that. It's the harsh reality that she had been trying to push aside. "Rebook your hotel. Get on that plane and spend Christmas with your father. Even if it's just in spirit."

And that's how she ended up here, an hour into her flight from LAX to Manchester, alone and next to an empty chair that might as well be screaming at her. She tries to sleep, tries to focus on some childish animated movie, but that damn empty chair won't leave her alone.

Henry would have brought cards or at the very least a long book to keep himself occupied, though he'd constantly ask if she was okay. She can just see it now, his eyes darting in her direction over and over until she glanced back. With his thick-lensed glasses balancing right on the tip of his nose, he'd smile, just to let her know he was there.

She outright laughs at the thought, tears brimming along her lower lid. He'd want her to have a good time. He'd want her to stop with the tears, take some risks and do something exciting.

She leans down to reach into her purse, grabs the first pen she feels along with her small notebook and flips it open. Henry talked about everything they would do together if they ever did this, so she starts remembering all she can, jotting down all the things he would bring up.

Instead of a bucket list, she'll call it a Christmas list. And she will do everything she can to score each and every one off before her trip comes to an end.

December 23rd

The moment she steps off the plane, Regina realises that she has been rather moderate with her layers and that these coats that are her entire livelihood are actually quite awful at keeping out the cold wind. She's heard the horror stories of the bleakness that is the winter months in this part of the world, and boy, has she underestimated those stories.

As she leaves Edinburgh airport, the cold licks at Regina's face and creeps under her clothes, spreading across her skin as the unforgiving wind off the North Sea batters against her body. She grimaces at the frigid winter; it's nippy and unforgiving. With lips tinged icy blue and teeth chattering , she wraps her thin coat around her tightly and curses her less than stellar outfit choice for this weather.

Luckily, the car she arranged to pick her up is right outside arrivals, and her wonderful driver had the fantastic idea to leave the engine running so everything is warm and toasty when she climbs into the backseat.

As wonderfully cosy as it is, the car journey is rather boring. It's dark out, despite only being mid-afternoon, and any of the sights she could see are hidden by the void that comes with little street lighting and no sun. It passes quite quickly, however, and her eyes squint as she notices a clustering of lights up ahead, right at the bottom of a slight hill.

She knows it's St Andrew's even before the driver mutters in his very thick accent that they are almost there. At least that's what she thinks he says.

They drive through town, and she can tell that the driver has noticed her interest in the surroundings. He has slowed down to give her the chance to really see… and she can't stop. She can't stop looking around. They pass the park she spent many afternoons in and small coffee shops she and her father used to meet at for lunch between his tee off times. A lot has changed, too, not that she should be surprised; it's been almost fourteen years since she's set foot in this place.

Okay. She's excited. Really excited. She might even need to give Ruby a raise for talking some sense into her.

When they pull up to The Old Course Hotel, she takes a minute to collect herself before stepping out into the cold again, twirling her scarf tightly around her neck and pulling at the lapels of her useless (albeit adorable) coat and braces the cold. She thanks her driver profusely, tips him generously, and wishes him a Merry Christmas before pulling her suitcase into the foyer of her home for the next five days.

Stepping in, she's immersed in familiar scents. She can make out the cinnamon almost right away, the smell of a hearty broth wafting from the kitchen, then a hint of something that she could never quite pinpoint the first time she was here. She snorts a little, realising that it's whiskey, and huffs the remainder of her gentle laugh into her scarf as she unwraps the warm wool from around her neck.

She looks around the grand reception and hardly anything has changed. Everything is just as she remembers, all but the decorations: draped tinsel around the desk, little snowflakes hanging from the rafters, and the almost terrifying Santa Claus statue propped up against the computer by the check-in desk.

"Miss Mills," a cheery voice sounds from her right, a bouncy accent greeting her fondly. "We've been expectin' ya."

"You... You have?"

"Aye," he nods enthusiastically. "You are our last Christmas guest to be checkin' in and yer the only one I dinnae recognise."

"Oh," she breathes, smiling politely, glancing down at his name badge quickly. Brandon.

"Let me get ye checked in," Brandon starts clicking away at the keyboard, moving the mouse around to select whatever he needs to. "How was yer flight?"

"Surprisingly very comfortable," she responds, not sure whether to give more information or to keep any conversation going, but fortunately Brandon exclaims a happy and proud all done before there could be any awkward silence between them.

"Would ye like a hand with any bags?" He asks.

It's just the one, so she politely declines, wishing him a good evening after he tells her in which direction to go.

She ended up downgrading her room. The suite she had originally booked was much too large for just herself, and to be completely honest, if this is what a downgrade looks like, she can only imagine how gorgeously extravagant the original room must've been.

The entire room is pristine, not a thing out of place. And they've taken just as much care in decorating the rooms for Christmas as they did their entrance and foyer. The small tree in her room is beautiful, the deep red tinsel sparkling as the blinking lights outlining the windows work their magic.

Her attention is stolen by the clock on the bedside table. It's barely six p.m. If she sleeps now, she'll ruin any chance of making the most of her days here and make jet lag a new, annoying best friend. So instead of succumbing to the sweet, inviting look that the bed is throwing her way, she ignores it, tosses her suitcase onto the bed and unpacks quickly. She hangs anything that needs to be, tucks everything else neatly into the drawers she has before she decides that a hot shower is the only thing that could possibly keep her awake.

A shower it is, then dinner downstairs and an early bedtime.

Regina dresses casually for the most part, nothing as fancy as her mother might wear to dinner in a hotel such as this. She decides on a pair of dark wash denim jeans and a beautiful, deep red sweater. She's decked in just enough Christmas spirit to fit right in with the rest of the guests and not a bit more. The heels of her black ankle boots click on the marbled floor all the way from the elevator to the carpeting of the dining area, and when the material beneath her feet changes, she stops to take in the familiar room. The bar is gorgeous, the tables decorated with red and gold napkins and festive centrepieces - some sleighs, some snowmen.

It's stunning. And it's not as busy as she would expect, but she supposes not everyone enjoys travelling at this time of year. She could easily pick any direction to walk and find a table. She decides to go to her right, swivels on the balls of her boots and is ready to take a firm step when a small boy collides with her legs with enough force to almost knock her over. Luckily, she's quick and catches herself, latching her hands on his shoulders to keep him from falling as well. Mopped curls are the first thing she sees when she looks down, steadying herself. When he stares up at her nervously, he mutters a soft oops and then a sorry before taking a tiny step away and fidgeting with his fingers.

It's a miracle they didn't both fall backwards, but there's really no harm done. Regina bends and balances expertly at eye level with her miniature attacker. He's adorable. Accented dimples even with the embarrassed frown on his face. "Are you alright?" She enquires, reaching to give his shoulder a quick squeeze to let him know that she's not angry in any way - he did apologise immediately and he looks like anything but someone whose motivation was to cause mischief.

His bouncy head of hair moves when he shyly nods, and that's when, over his shoulder, Regina notices that they've gained the attention of a man who seems to be making his way over to them. She assumes it's his father, based on the concerned look he's giving the boy, no doubt with an apology prepared to on his lips. So, she ruffles the little boy's hair, stands up through the cold-induced aches (she refuses to admit that it's age-induced quite yet) in her knees and gets ready to wave away any attempt at an apology.

But the man stops before he reaches them and their eyes meet across the free space of the dining area. Eyes that captivated her for a long while over a summer many years ago, coincidentally at this very hotel.

It can't be, she thinks, and she watches his face twist curiously and tilt in her direction, then he asks, "Regina?"

Turns out it can be. That summer fling, the one she refuses to call a summer fling, is currently staring at her, directly into her soul it feels like, and her heart starts to pummel against her ribcage.

"Regina Mills?" He asks again. He's examining her intently and taking a few more steps until he's closer, close enough that she can now fully see the grown up face of a boy she knew, once upon a time. "Don't break my heart and say you don't remember me…"

She smiles shyly, staring into those crystal blue orbs she's thought about from time to time over the years, not sure of what else to do, so she tells him, "I doubt I could ever forget meeting you," and she finally exhales a breath, a breath she didn't even know she'd trapped in her lungs the moment she saw him from across the room. His blonde hair from years ago now glistening in places with small slivers of silver, but his broad chest still seems to be in shape, and he's just as handsome as she remembers. "Robin," she states his name as proof, whether that proof is for him or for her is anyone's guess at this point.

Then comes one of those dreaded awkward moments, the kind where neither can decide if they should shake hands, hug, or just nod at each other. But Robin was always a hugger, and that still seems to be the case. He closes the large gap between them, chuckling with disbelief from deep in his torso and wraps his arms tightly around her.

It's friendly, and she returns it. It only lasts a second or two, but there is no way he didn't feel the way her heart was beating like a drum kit at the loudest rock concert on the planet. But he doesn't say or do anything. He just smiles at the boy between them and back up to her.

"I see you've had the pleasure of meeting my rather vivacious son," he says, patting the young boy's hair. "Regina, this is Roland," he reaches down to perch his hands on Roland's shoulders and gets his attention, "Roland, my boy, this is an old friend of mine, Regina."

"Hi, Regina," Roland delivers gleefully, his wide, toothy grin on show just for her.

"Lovely to meet you, Roland."

"Now, I want you to apologise for running into Regina," Robin demands gently, but Roland is quick to promise that he did already, that it's the first thing he did. Robin looks to Regina for confirmation and she nods affirmatively.

"He was a true gentleman," she assures. "Absolutely no harm done."

Robin gazes down proudly at his son. Oh my God, he has a son. And he tells Roland to head back to their dinner table while he talks to her.

"Bye," Roland waves, running with every ounce of energy he has back to the far end of the restaurant, completely ignoring Robin's defeated and useless don't run.

He could barely even finish the phrase before realising how pointless it was. Instead, he closes his eyes and shakes his head, much like she's seen on any slightly frustrated parent.

Regina shrugs her shoulders when his eyes are open to see it. "He's cute." Really? That's the first thing she can think of to say, regardless of its truth? "Uh… Hi." Oh yes, because that was better, Regina.

He must notice how flustered she is because he smiles with tight lips and says, "I suppose I was the last person you were expecting to see."

"You can say that," she sighs nervously, stuffing her fingertips into the ludicrously tiny front pockets of her jeans. "I didn't think I'd bump into anyone, to be fair."

"Well, you're in for a treat," he smirks softly. "My entire family is here for Christmas; Mum, Dad and Roland. Little John moved up almost ten years ago and manages a small pub in town, so he'll be around. Even Will travelled up to spend the holidays with us."

Her mouths falls agape; she can't believe that is happening. "Will Scarlet?" She asks, the name rolling off her tongue slowly, one she never thought she'd ever need to say out loud again. What are the odds that this once in a blue moon trip has coincided with every single one of the boys she once called friends being in town?

Robin is nodding when he adds, "It was touch and go for my lot for the longest time, but a room opened up at the last minute." He shrugs again. "We would have been idiots to pass it up."

The conversation halts then. It simmers down to neither of them really knowing what to say, though there are a million things they could be talking about.

Then he asks the dreaded question, the one she realises she could now potentially be asked numerous times: "Is Henry with you?"

Her heart switches from rock concert setting to nothing, sinking deep within her chest. Dare she say, she had almost forgotten for a little while. The persistent ache was shaken away when Roland slammed into her knees and hadn't reared its ugly head again until right now.

"Uh…" She needs to just come out with it, to tell him and be done with it, but she can't form the words. In lieu of any words, her body decides that having her eyes soak with unshed tears is a much better solution.

"Oh, Regina…" Robin murmurs supportively. He's not stupid. He can tell how her mood has dropped to the floor.

"He died three weeks ago," she coughs away the uncomfortable lump in her throat. "Heart attack. It was really sudden." Something she always liked about Robin is that, while he was very much a hugger, he always knew when to hold back. This is one of those moments. He reaches over tentatively to squeeze her forearm gently, muttering a soft apology and his condolences. "It's okay," she assures. "He'd be happy that I came here even though he couldn't be with me."

"That he would," Robin agrees. "Are you here alone?" There's no judgement in his question, only genuine interest. That makes it easier for her to admit yes with the nod of her head. "Come and join us for dinner," he insists. Her instinct is to decline politely; the last thing she needs right now is more questions and to completely hijack a family dinner. However, he keeps insisting without being prompted. "If you don't and my mum sees you sitting alone, she'll make us all move over to your table."

"Helena is still a handful, then?" Regina jokes lightly. The last time Regina and Robin's mother were together, she was showing Regina every possible embarrassing picture she could find of Robin that she had in her possession at the time.

Helena Locksley is the epitome of a stereotypical mother - loving, caring, a genuine heart on legs, but also a little frustratingly overbearing and intrusive at times, especially when it comes to their child's privacy.

"You have no idea," he sighs, though Regina can certainly imagine. "Luckily enough, she has shifted a lot of her focus to obsessing over the ins and outs of Roland's life, so I have a little more freedom." His voice is light and full of merriment, the sound of a man who adores his mother very much. He talks of Helena the way Regina talks of Henry. "Please join us," he urges genuinely.

Again, her instincts are screaming at her to decline, to even turn around and hideout in her room with room service. Henry's voice in her head scraps that idea entirely, telling her to live your today's like he always would whenever she would consider passing up an opportunity.

"Okay," she agrees, and Robin smiles brightly, leading the way to a crowded table of familiar faces, jubilant jumpers and surprised smiles.

Robin's heart forgot how to beat the moment he laid eyes on her. It was barely functioning as Roland ran back to sit with his grandparents, and it might as well have been non-existent by the time she was tripping over her own words.

He can't believe he actually managed to say the words when he invited her to dinner because his entire body wanted to reduce itself into the pile of goo that it felt like. Never in a million years did he think she would actually agree, despite how convincing his argument was.

He's walking her back to their table while his mind is trying to devise a way to keep his parents from asking about Henry. Not an easy task, mind you; Robin's father and Henry were friendly, fellow golfers. Regardless, the last thing he wants is for Regina to feel sad or uncomfortable, especially after he went so far as to use him mother's illustrious personality as a way to persuade her.

As they approach the table, he's still out of ideas and chooses to jump straight into introductions (or reminders at this point). "Mum, Dad, I'm sure you remember Regina Mills. Regina, my parents, Malcolm and Helena, and let's not forget the bowling ball that I created."

Roland waves politely again but is far too engrossed in his very important colouring task for anything more than that.

"Aye, I sure do," Malcolm responds immediately, politely tipping an imaginary hat. "It's lovely to see you again, m'love."

Then his mum, well, she always likes to go the extra mile. She stands and wraps Regina into an embrace, and thank God Regina doesn't appear to feel uneasy. At least not until Helena has leaned back and is cupping her cheeks, expressing loudly, "Oh, look at you. You're just as beautiful as I remember, if not more." Regina glances over Helena's shoulder and meets his eye, smirking ever so slightly, and suddenly he's sucker punched back to being eighteen and smitten.

He slings himself back. Phew, he thinks. At least Regina's half-smiling and sharing a bit of Helena's excitement to be reunited.

"How is your father, dear?" Helena asks.

Bollocks.

Like an absolute pro, Regina sits down calmly in the chair Helena has pulled out, and even though her eyes are quite obviously brimming with pained tears again, she softly announces Henry's untimely passing.

"I'm terribly sorry to hear that," his father says first. His voice has dropped a tad, deeper and sad, as he divulges, "He was quite the chap."

"Thank you, Malcolm," Regina nods curtly and gladly takes Helena's outstretched hand.

"Not the best at golf though," Malcolm retorts playfully, winking across the table and thank the high heavens it makes Regina choke on a short laugh and not reach over the table to murder him.

There's a beat before she snorts - a cute little thing - and sasses back, "I believe he would have said the same about you."

The conversation switches, his mother's doing. She asks where Regina is living nowadays and opens up several opportunities for conversation not rooted in the heart of her pain.

Dinner goes quite well, pleasantly so. Regina was tense at first, but with time, Robin watched as she began to settle and seemed to find a comfortable place to reside for a while. She laughed with his father, reminisced with his mother, and even assisted in helping Roland with his sacred colouring - "you can do the star on top" - he set her the task while handing her a bright yellow crayon to fill in the decoration at the top of the Christmas tree, "but remember to stay in the lines."

She gazed up at Robin after that, only for a second, with a raised eyebrow - impressed almost. She wasted no time helping him with the picture, colouring in happily and talking with his son, her voice a pitch higher and with emphasised reactions.

During dinner, Robin hardly said anything. He let his parents take the reigns on the conversation, but at least one was kept flowing.

Robin decided to stay silent like an utter twat.

His mind is like a menu that's too big - there's far too much that he wants to say or to ask and deciding on where to start is nearly impossible. Thankfully, he has the better sense to know that Regina, why did you never call? isn't the best thing to be throwing at her right now.

"Are you okay?" She asks softly from his side, poking her forefinger against the cuff of his forest green shirt to get his attention.

"Yes," he assures quickly. "Forgive me," he whispers apologetically, "I just can't believe you're actually here."

"Me neither," she confesses, louder now so the entire table can hear. "I cancelled every reservation I made, everything except my flight. I'm very lucky to have an assistant who isn't scared to give me a stern talking to and threatened my very existence if I didn't come."

"We almost didn't make it either, dear," Helena adds. "One of the suites became available and, just by chance, it was the suite that Robin had specifically requested earlier this year."

"Wait… It's not suite twenty-three, is it?" Regina asks.

Robin is watching the exchange between them, and when Regina turns to direct her question at him, it all begins to piece together.

They're in Regina's original suite. Of course they are. This was a trip for her father, naturally, she booked the same room as before.

"No way," he mutters, realising that, "It opened up because you cancelled." Robin knows he shouldn't feel bad about that. It was fate working in its mysterious way, but the guilt rains down into his full belly and causes the muscles to tighten there. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be silly," she wards off his apology, then chuckles softly, at the coincidence he assumes.

"It's a four-bedroom suite. It was too big last time and it would have been too big this time, even if Daddy could be here. I'm happy that by cancelling it means that I got to see you all again and meet my new favourite person."

"Me?" Roland perks up.

"Yes, you!" Regina nods, bringing about his son's signature dimpled look, adorable and enough to melt the iciest of hearts. "Anyway," she mutters, slumping back into her chair. "I really should get some sleep. I'm exhausted. I was just going to charge to my room, but let me know how much-"

"Don't even worry about it," Helena dismisses happily. "It was a pleasure to have you join us."

"You're sure?" She double checks, catching Robin's gaze for a second opinion.

There's no way his mother is letting her drop even a penny on this table, "I'll walk to you the lift."

He's glad to see that she doesn't protest to that, standing as she offers her goodnight to the table and happily walks by his side into the foyer.

Again, he's met with that assortment of questions. As he scopes his options, he stays silent for a ridiculous amount of time, making his offer to walk her here exceptionally pointless. Before he knows it, they're at the lifts and she's clearing her throat awkwardly, pressing the button on the wall.

"Thank you for the invite. It was much nicer than being alone."

"Anytime," he nods curtly before he finally admits to himself that he doesn't want her to leave just yet. He has so much he wants to say. "Must you?" He asks tentatively, and she furrows her brow, confused. "Call it a night, I mean. I'm going into town to meet John and a few others. They'd love to see you."

He knows that look on her face. She's biting her bottom lip the way she always used to when she was worried about hurting someone's feelings. So he needs to give her a good reason.

If only being desperate to be in her company was reason enough. She's only just gotten into town after what was most likely a very tiring day. She probably is exhausted but selfishly, he suggests, "You know, if you come along, we can do our best to keep you awake until closer to midnight and you can battle that pesky jet lag in your first evening."

It's a long shot, and he doesn't dare let her see how his fingers crossed behind his back.

She starts to nod slowly, thinking about it… thinking about it… then it becomes a much more affirmative nod, and she's agreeing. "Okay."

He's fighting the urge to fist pump the air, but he won't. He keeps his cool and swallows it down, "Great. I said I'd meet them around nine at the Blue Stane."

"I'll meet you there at nine then?"

He'd offer to share a taxi, but he drops it, chooses not to push any further than he has. He'll see her at nine.

She had an hour to spare after dinner and decided to change into something different, into something more fitting for an evening in a pub. Something more appropriate for the outdoor weather she'd encounter on her way from the airport this morning. The warmest thing she had the smarts to pack were a few pairs of dark grey woollen tights that she had stuffed in the back of her closet. She opts for those, paired with a deep navy dress that she made herself; it's neat, hugs at her curves wonderfully and, at Ruby's suggestion, there are some pleats sewn around the neckline. It's one of her favourites and it's a thicker material, too thick for a hot day in California, but she hopes it will work out in her favour.

When the time came, she wrapped herself back inside her black coat, ignoring how the folded corners of the list she wrote earlier are prodding at her torso from the inside pocket. She twirls her scarf around her neck and makes her way downstairs with bare ears and fingers.

She makes it into town with time to spare. The streets are quiet tonight and dark, too, unlike the summer nights that welcome the tourists and sunlight until much closer to midnight. She had the taxi drop her off closer to the cathedral at the east of town, happy to walk down the cobblestoned road of Market Street in hopes that she can take in the town as much as she can.

Every store is closed, only a restaurant here and there with their lights still on inside. The small display of lights, bright whites and blues, twinkle from where they are woven around the lampposts. The grand fountain in the middle of the street is turned off, most likely due to the icy temperatures. She checks left and right from the pavement for any oncoming traffic and carefully treads on the cobblestones until she reaches the centre and can lean onto the edge of the fountain, peering inside. Just as she expected, the water inside is frozen into one solid block, trapping the plethora of pennies at the bottom.

Regina had decided to bring her favourite picture of Henry with her, she placed it carefully against the base of the lamp in her hotel room. It was taken right here, in this very spot. She turns to lean her back against the stone, recalls how the sun felt beaming down on her face, how she could still taste the remnants of the delicious, sweet strawberry ice cream on her lips, and how her father demanded a picture. She curled up against his side and smiled brightly while the fountain behind them filled the empty space of the frame.

Robin took that photo, she remembers. It's all flooding back - Robin trying to balance her gigantic tub of ice cream in one hand and trying to angle the camera just right in the other.

She can't believe Robin is here. In St Andrews. At the same time as she chose to come on a whim, especially when she had battled the idea for so many weeks. Not to mention that he wouldn't be here if Henry was still alive. Her father would call it fate, the most magical of occurrences. Although, she can't help but wonder if it's maybe fate slapping her in the face.

She and Robin became so close. Close enough to share secrets, dreams, and fears. Close enough for her to give him her first kiss and to take his in return. He made that summer just as special as Henry did.

She ended up acting like a coward, falling victim to her mother's harsh words and expectations.

She never spoke to Robin again after that summer, even though she promised she would. She's convinced that fate really has thrown her into this situation and it wouldn't be a surprise if it was punishment for every time she put a pen to a piece of paper in an attempt to explain herself to him and ultimately gave up.

She abandons the fountain, and it only takes her ten minutes or so to make her way to the Blue Stane, but she is freezing. Her fingers are pretty much icicles and the tip of her nose is stinging, so she hurries along until she finds the sign, follows the arrows until she catches sight of the entrance.

She holds the ice-cold handrail to avoid slipping down the few steps towards the door of the bar, her heavy breaths slipping through her lips as vapour into the brittle, icy air. The small window in the door is frosted over as she peers inside, catching glimpses of tipsy holiday cheer and small toasts among friends.

Maybe coming here was a bad idea.

She's pondering her options when a firm hand squeezes her shoulder, almost pulling her around to face the tall, heavy build of an old friend, grinning. "You really are here."

Regina smiles brightly at first glance, then her jaw drops open slightly, shocked to see how much he has changed, how much he has grown, as she asks, "Little John?!"

"Not so little anymore," he smirks proudly.

"I can see that," she gestures to his height and impressive build, shaking her head to rid of the disbelief as she enters his open arms that offer a hug.

"Who ya got there, John?"

Regina leans back from John's hold. She'd recognise that accent anywhere. Her eyes widen when Will Scarlet leaps from the hand railing of the stairs like a daredevil, jumping down the four steep steps, landing firmly on the concrete floor only inches from her. "Miss Mills," he bows charmingly, clearly two or three drinks into the evening.

He bowed the same way when they first met. She remembers laughing at him wildly when he did, also laughing at his sense of humour. Every memory in Will's presence involved laughter in some shape or form. Appeasing his large grin, much like she did when they were young, she responds with a quick curtsy, a swift bend of her knees and outstretched arms, dramatic and utterly ridiculous.

"You remember," his grin never falters, even as he's shoving his hands into his pockets and murmuring a barely audible "shit, it's cold, mates."

"Go inside," John slaps Will's shoulder, giving him a good shove towards the door. "We'll be right in."

"Aye, alright."

The door swings open and he waves over his head, leaving Regina and John still standing outside alone, not even a smoker in sight. Not that she'd blame anyone to stay inside. Her teeth start to chatter involuntarily.

"You're cold." John states.

"Freezing," she shivers, crossing her arms over her chest to brush over each of her thinly covered arms. Her coat really isn't doing much and she's already thinking of ways she could make it better.

"Our winters are the real deal," John says in his own shivering voice.

She hears shuffling behind her until she's wrapped in the warmth of his jacket as he drapes it over her shoulders. "I'm so sorry about your dad," he says softly and she stiffens, realising that news sure does travel fast around here. "I'm sure being back here is bringing about a lot of memories, so come in when you're ready. I promise you life is happy on the other side of that door."

John was always the wisest of souls, always spouting the words she needed to hear. He seems to have kept that adoring quality.

"Thank you." She cranes her neck around with a tight smile.

He squeezes both of her shoulders gently, "Plus, Will is most likely going to embarrass himself tonight, that's always fun." She chuckles from deep within her belly, nodding fondly in agreement. Will's drunken behaviour isn't anything he tries to hide; it's always loud and full of unbridled joy. "I'll save you a seat."

He disappears into the warmth and leaves her to deal with her mischievous thoughts. They waste no time in rallying back in line, picking up where they left off. She thinks she should leave, only now she has John's jacket.

That sneaky little… John must've known she was on the fence.

Well, she has to go in now. John needs his jacket, and she really shouldn't treat Robin tonight the same way she has for years. He doesn't deserve anything of the sort, especially after he saved her from a dinnertime of self-loathing and monstrous thoughts. Not to mention, her father would want her to walk through this door. Let's be honest, he'd push her through himself if he could.

Live your todays. Live your todays. Live your todays.

Alright.

She pushes against the door, doesn't even care how loudly it squeaks as she pushes her palms firmly against the frosted wood until there's enough room for her to slip inside. She becomes eagerly engulfed in sweet warmth, her muscles relaxing as she pulls John's jacket from her shoulders and she starts shaking the lingering cold from her long hair.

"Regina!" Robin calls over from a table in the back passed the bar, tucked away in the corner.

He's waving her over from across the crowded floor, small pockets of clustered friends with their pints in hand. She weaves between the opens spaces, turning and manoeuvring as she needs to and shyly approaches the stuffed booth.

There are a lot of people. She didn't think this far ahead. She hadn't considered that her evening would end in a way like this at all - instead of the comfort of a cosy duvet, she has a number of unfamiliar faces looking up at her just waiting for an explanation, so she's at a loss. Unsure, she just waves awkwardly to everyone while Robin scurries away to drag a chair over for her, planting it right next to his own.

"Introductions," Robin announces loudly, slapping his hands together. "Regina, you already know Will," he points Will's way, "How about you order our lovely old friend a drink while she gets to know everybody else?"

"Gladly," Will shimmies from the bench, "You still a cider girl?"

Smiling appreciatively, she says, "I will be today," and when she reaches for her purse, Will scoffs playfully and tells her to forget about it, to consider it an early Christmas gift.

"Last time I saw you drink cider, I seem to recall your incessant need to go swimming," Robin teases before bringing the brim of his pint glass to rest again his bottom lip while he stares at her, just waiting for her reaction.

"Oh," a man at the back of the booth has a moment of sudden realisation and asks, "This is that girl?"

"That girl?" Regina asks Robin with a raised eyebrow.

His cheeks pinken as he tries to play it off as nothing, sipping down a gulp quickly and placing his glass back on the wooden table. He ignores her question entirely, so blatantly that she finds it amusing, especially when Robin then breathes out the tiniest of embarrassed sighs. "Regina, meet Tuck. You'll find that he has a hard time keeping his mouth shut."

Tuck nods proudly at that and Regina purses her lips a little, bites her cheek to keep from laughing. Amongst Robin's scowled staring at Tuck, Will carefully sits her very full pint of cider on the table in front of her as Robin continues to introduce, "We also have Graham, Killian and you know John."

"Nice to meet you all," Regina smiles politely.

"Now that the formalities are out the way," Will raises his glass to the centre of the table, everyone following suit, even Regina though she hasn't a clue why. "Why don't we make this a night to remember, eh?"

Glasses clink, agreements are mumbled, and Regina takes a small sip of some eminently tart cider along with the rest of the table.

After a few hours, the group splits.

Will and John are having words about the music. Will is begging to have the jukebox released from its Christmas music hostage situation; he's mumbled bitterly about losing his mind if he has to hear Mariah Carey whistle her way through another festive monstrosity one more time. Best just to let them fight it out, Robin sniggered.

Tuck and the others start mingling with locals that they know, while Robin and Regina manage to score a couple of seats by the small fireplace in the corner, right beside the Christmas tree.

She's buzzed. More than buzzed. The ciders keep coming, her empty glass suddenly becoming full again over and over (John's doing, no doubt), and Will suggested that a tequila shot would be a bright idea in the midst of a heated sports debate that neither of them were interested in. They snuck off and stood at the bar, throwing back a couple of rounds of burning, amber liquid. He laughed at her twisted face, and she swatted his hand jocosely.

She's missed them. All of them. She feels much more free tonight than she has for a long time. She's let the alcohol soak into her soul and her words come easily. Talking has never felt easier.

For either of them, it seems. Robin has spent the last fifteen minutes fawning over Roland, mumbling about all the joy he exudes and how excited he is to be spending the holidays somewhere so exciting.

"I was so desperate for him to see this part of the country," Robin gushes, pointing to the windows ravished by condensation. "My happiest memories happened out there and I want him to start making some of his own."

"He's wonderful," Regina notes, moving her weight about in the chair to get more comfortable.

They've both tried to squeeze into a large armchair, but it's still not quite big enough for them both. They shuffle together, Robin palming at one of her knees and bringing a leg to swing over his thighs and then reaching down to the other to do the same.

Anyone else would have stood up and tried to find another place to sit, but it's packed, and he seems happy to accommodate. It's better. Much better. She might as well be sitting in his lap completely, but neither of them cares.

With her ankles dropping over the edge of one of the arms and her back leaning nicely against the other, she sighs comfortably, noticing, "He has your dimples."

"That he does," he nods, agreeing, but then frowning slightly when he tries to reach over her to pick up his drink. She snickers a little, reaching over for the cold drink herself and gives it to him. "Cheers, milady."

As he's taking a gulp, Regina can't help but wonder about Roland's mother. She wasn't brought up at dinner or anytime so far this evening. He's not wearing a ring, she can see that much. Oh God, she's staring at his ringless finger and he's noticed.

"She died a long time ago."

Idiot, she scolds herself. "Robin, I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"It's okay," he assures, balancing the base of his glass on her thigh, the cold wetness soaking through the wool there. "It was bound to come up eventually." His free hand is playing with the buckle of her ankle boot and he explains, "There were complications with Roland's birth. She got to spend two days with him before she…" he coughs sadly, "...It wasn't enough time." Her hand falls to rub at his neck and then to his shoulder. "And she would have loved it here."

"I've yet to meet anyone who hasn't."

"But enough about me," he squeezes onto her calf, shaking away that entire conversation, and she can't blame him. "Tell me about you. What do you do? I want to know everything."

Everything. How can it be so much and so little at the same time?

"Well, like I told your mom, I moved to California in my twenties. I threw myself into the fashion industry, and now I have a small clothing line."

"You do?" He asks, impressed. "And what kinds of garments do you design?"

"Coats mostly, but I like to dabble in other areas," she gestures down to her dress, "I made this one." Robin bows his head to study the soft material, desperate to touch it, she can tell, but he refrains. "I also made my coat."

She finishes off the last of her cider before answering and strategically placing her empty glass on the floor in hopes that whoever has been shovelling her full of cider doesn't notice. All while he cranes his neck around to get a good look at where she left her coat. It's hanging over the back of the chair they're in, and this one he can touch. He gives her his glass to hold and awkwardly twists his arm back for it, bringing the garment to rest on her legs that still rest on his.

"You made this?" Robin asks, mouth agape and trying to wrap his head around it. He's canvassing the dark stitching, admiring it in a lot more detail that she thought he would, feeling the black fabric between his fingers, tracing the shape of the lapels. "And here I thought you were dead set on being a lawyer or a politician."

"If my mother got her way, I would be," she shrugs. "And she almost did. But my dad, he…" Regina sighs happily as she remembers the day her dreams were shoved into the spotlight. "He risked a lot to stand up for me. He inspired me to follow my heart, and while it led to a lot of botched sewing attempts and stabbing myself with needles more times than I could count," he's chuckling heartily as she tells him, "I learned as much as I could, and now I've made a bit of a name for myself."

"I can see that," he assures, brushing his fingers over the embroidered label verifying that it's hers - small silver letters stating R. Mills.

"What about you?" She asks.

"Ah, I work with dad," he mutters off as if it's hardly anything, but as far as she can remember Malcolm owned quite the prestigious landscaping company rooted in green technology. "Nothing quite as impressive as a fashion designer, but the forestry industry makes me happy."

"The Earth needs all the defenders it can get," she compliments.

She always knew he would end up doing something outdoorsy. How could he not? He was the most avid camper she's ever known and he could track his way through any terrain. Without him, there's no way they wouldn't have ended up lost in the Scottish woodlands time and time again.

Robin's lips twitch into a gentle smile when he looks back down at her coat. "He must have been so proud of you."

"He was," she says gratefully. He was the proudest he could have ever been… and he should be here. "Ugh," she groans. "I wish he was here. He would be having the best time right now. He'd be up there standing his ground with Will about this music," she laughs.

As much as Henry loved Christmas, he was a much more a fan of the classic Christmas music, especially White Christmas. He could sing that for days.

Thinking about Henry, she's reminded of the list she knows is burning a hole in her coat pocket, and she feels the urge to talk about it. She couldn't imagine telling anyone but Robin at this point, even if he might think that she's crazy for doing it but… screw it.

"I…"

She starts to smile tightly, slightly embarrassed. "I... I wrote a list on the plane." She has his full attention, watching her closely as she talks. "Sitting alone was unbearable, and I kept trying to think of ways he would pass the time, and out of nowhere, it hit me. He'd have made a list of things to do while we were here. He loved to plan ahead," she chuckles sadly. "He would drive me mad with it sometimes. I knew he'd have one written for us this time but he never could, so I wrote one instead."

She reaches into the inside pocket of her coat for the folded piece of paper tucked inside. "I know it's probably a bit stupid-"

"It's not stupid at all," he says firmly, squeezing her knee again. "It's beautiful that you did that for him. What was lucky enough to make it onto your Christmas list?"

Unfolding the paper, she scans from her cursive writing to his captivated eyes and back to the first item. "The Polar Plunge," she reads, darting her eyes up to him to gauge his reaction, and it's just as she expects.

He groans from deep in his abdomen, she feels it vibrate on the backs of her thighs, drawing a small laugh from her, "You willingly want to toss yourself into the North Sea in these temperatures?"

"It's tradition, isn't it?" She argues, all sass and smirk.

"It is," he agrees, gritting his teeth a little when he shares, "However, that particular one is a New Year's Day tradition, love."

"Oh," she frowns. It's just typical that the first thing she wrote on her list would be a bust.

"Don't worry, there's a lot of fun to be had," he encourages. "What else?"

"Uh… the Edinburgh Christmas Market."

He nods knowingly, muttering a supportive of course. It might as well be law that you have to see the market if you're here during the Christmas season. "The Falkirk Wheel in lights." He nods again at that one, but his face lights up, biting his smiling bottom lip when she reads the last thing she wrote down, possibly one of the most important as it was one of the things he was most vocal about. "My father always wanted to go to a ceilidh."

Henry was a fond lover of tradition - especially cultural dancing - even if it meant he'd have to dust off his dancing shoes and learn some new moves.

You'd think she had just given Robin a puppy by the look on his face. "A ceilidh?" He asks, his eyes widening in hopes for the clarification he's wishing for.

She nods eagerly, tells him about how her father had always wanted to get lost in that sort of atmosphere, the kind where all that matters is the music, the dancing, and the people you're with.

"Will!" Robin calls out, gaining the attention of almost the entire bar in the process. "Forgans?"

Will makes his way over to them as Regina asks, "Who's Forgan?"

"Not who," Robin shakes his head, "Where."

"It's a place just down the street. Home of St Andrews' best ceilidhs," Will explains. "Maybe even the best in Scotland."

"You're kidding?" Excitement is increasing her buzz. "Can we go?"

Robin gently pushes at her legs, giving her the momentum she needs to stand upright again, following suit when he can. He puts his jacket on eagerly, Regina grinning and doing the same.

It's time to start scoring things off this list.

Forgans is beautiful. It's rustic and warm, even if a bit on the small side. The tree in the corner is tall and magnificent, baubles the size of her head hanging beautifully from the branches, glossy reds, blues and golds. The shimmering tinsel is draped carefully around, large glittering bows positioned perfectly. It's grand and simple, enough to put her mother's expensive showboating to shame.

She immediately feels the essence of that atmosphere her father craved. The room is filled with friends, family, and strangers all unified in their desire to celebrate and have fun. She breathes it in the moment they walk through the door and are swiftly brought to an empty booth prepped with champagne and a round of their preferred drinks already. Will had stayed a few feet behind on the phone as they walked from the pub, it would appear he knows a few important people and was able to have them smuggled through the back door instead of waiting in the line outside.

"Who knew you had friends in high places, Will," Regina teases, careful not to seem ungrateful.

He's popping the champagne open when he retorts with, "if you had to wait outside in that line, love, you would have become an ice lolly before our very eyes."

That's fair, she thinks, chuckling while Robin is helping her out of her coat.

"As beautiful as your coat is, it's doing nothing to help keep you warm," Robin chastises facetiously.

"If I didn't know any better," she rejoinders, taking the offered glass of bubbling liquid from Will's outstretched hands. "I'd say you guys are insinuating that I didn't prepare for this weather." The boys fall silent as she sips from the thin flute, then she adds, snickering at her own misfortune, "well, you'd be correct. I didn't even pack a hat or gloves."

"I'll see if my mum brought any spares," Robin pouts, a bit more genuine than she expects, and she tells him that'd be great. "And it looks like we got here just in time," Robin points over to the far corner where a small band is setting up. Washed in a spotlight, there's four band members prepping their instruments - a guitar, a flute, a violin and a hefty cello. "Are you ready to party like the Scottish do, milady?"

"Wait, what?" He has the wrong idea entirely. She can't dance. She tells him so, "I can't dance. I don't even know the steps."

"Nobody knows them," he chortles, taking her champagne glass from her hand and pulling her into the middle of the packed dance floor with their now laced fingers. "Besides, they call out the steps as we dance."

"Robin, I can't." She hasn't ever danced in her life, never once tried to move along to music at all except a couple of evenings after far too much alcohol in college. She can't dance with him. Not in front of all of these people. "Can we just watch for a while?" She barters, sweetening the deal a bit by adding, "then maybe I can give it a try."

He nods, thank God, and they walk back to the table together. Before she sits down, he comes out with, "But… you have to promise to dance at least once, even if not with me. Otherwise, you can't score it off your list. That's cheating."

She could argue with him, let her nerves get the best of her and prove that the list really only said to attend a ceilidh… but he's right. Of course he's right.

"Deal," she agrees, sitting down at the table and swallowing three large mouthfuls of champagne. "If I make a fool of myself, it's your fault," she huffs out a single nervous laugh.

"It's impossible to make a fool of yourself here," he promises. The band starts to introduce themselves loudly, and the lights throughout the room go dim except for the ones lighting up the band and the dance floor. "Just watch, you'll see."

Robin once fell in love in the summertime.

With the very smile that is radiating on her face right now and the eyes that have widened as she watches everyone dance merrily in the centre of the pub. Not to mention, the heart that managed to fight through immense pain enough to create something as beautiful as some sort of posthumous bucket list to carry out in her father's stead.

She's as beautiful as ever… and having her here is giving the feelings that he shoved into the depth of his mind reason to seek the light again. The months he spent waiting to hear from her and the future summers he prayed he'd bump into her again seem unimportant.

"Let's do it," she suggests giddily, her excited laughs bubbling like the champagne she has shown a lot of love to tonight. "Let's dance the next one."

He was planning on asking if she was sure, but she's already pushing at his shoulders gently, telling him to move. They make it to the edge of the dance floor, hand in hand, and wait to hear the name of the next dance.

The Gay Gordons.

An easy one and one she's seen danced already which might work to their advantage, or at the very least save anyone's toes from being stepped on. The band calls out for each couple to get ready in their starting positions, standing side by side and holding each other's hands at shoulder level. Robin stands on her left, holding her left hand up close to her shoulder, and props his other arm over the back of her neck to meet her free hand at her right shoulder.

Here goes nothing.

The music starts and they're immediately a mess. Even just counting to four seems difficult for them, but it's hilarious. They are howling with laughter as they try to follow everyone - stepping forward so many steps, backwards so many steps, twirling around - but consistently a beat or two behind each step. When they have to step in close to hold each other while skipping around the room, Robin decides to pull them out of the circle of dancers so they can mess up and laugh without disrupting anyone else.

"Outstanding!" Will shouts through cupped hands over from the table, and it only makes them laugh harder.

Regina is bent over, her laughter spilling out with no sign of stopping, and Robin's stomach is clenching, getting worse with each humoured exhale. She grabs his hand tightly and drags him back to sit down.

"We suck," she says breathlessly, patting her chest as she collapses back into the booth, reaching up with her finger to wipe away some of the collected moisture in her eyes. "Well, I suck."

"Neither of us were exactly stellar out there," he chuckles. "And now…" He eyes around the booth for her coat again. It's by Will. Robin asks for it and when it lands next to him after a mighty toss across the table, he rummages inside the pocket for her list, giving it to her happily. "You have officially attended a ceilidh."

She looks as if she could cry but in the best way. It's the sort of look Robin has seen on his mother's face when Roland brings home a carefully drawn and coloured picture just for her.

Regina's proud of herself, she's surprised herself in the most pleasing of ways.

When she unfolds the paper, she looks back up at him, "I don't have a pen."

John does, has one inside his shirt pocket, and he very graciously gives it to her.

"Score it off," Robin urges, a pleasant warmth striking in his chest as he watches her lean the list against the table andscratch a line through her words.

It's just past midnight when Robin decides they should taxi back to the hotel. Will wants to stay with some friends a little longer but makes the call for them while Regina and Robin huddle close to each other outside, bobbing up and down to stay warm. She presses her forehead against his chest, mumbling into this shirt that he's so warm.

Neither of them are, by any means, inebriated. However, he can confidently say that he is a little more drunk than tipsy. It's not until they are sitting in the back seat of the car that he truly realises that a little bit more drunk is actually closer to a lot more drunk. At least they are in the same boat and they make it back to the hotel safely and with smiles on their faces.

"I'll walk you to your room," Robin offers, and Regina happily nods a thank you. They ride up to the third floor in comfortable silence until the door dings loudly, startling them both as they step out.

"Can I ask you something?" He asks quietly, careful to be mindful of the others on her floor.

"Only if I can ask you something," she counters.

It's not the response he expected, but he can play along. "Ladies first."

She stops just outside her hotel room, turning around to lean her back on the door. "Before, at the pub, when Tuck called me that girl," her eyebrows narrow expressively, "what did he mean by that?"

His chuckle is nervous, "I don't know if you noticed…"

How is he going to word this? Summarising how his heart changed, how it beat different every time she was around, is next to impossible in this short of a time constraint. Their relationship started off as a mutual annoyance with each other. They'd nitpick at small things and eventually that turned into stolen kisses when their friends weren't looking and late night conversations.

"... Regina, I was head over heels for you that summer," he admits, refusing to meet her eyes, "I was completely smitten." It's not what he used to rehearse in the mirror, but it's good enough. "You're that girl. You're the one I let get away."

Regina's eyes are wide and surprised, unlike her mouth that is clamped shut. She probably expected that response about as much as he expected that his son would ever barrel into her thighs unexpectedly. The silence is killing him.

She coughs softly, meeting his eyes, "And what was your question?"

Now's the moment to bring up the question that has burned a hole in his soul. "Did you ever think about writing? Trying to reach me at all?"

There's no intent to make her uncomfortable or make guilt wash over her. It's merely a genuine question that he has had in the back corner of his mind for as long as he can remember, and when her answer comes as a sad and guilt-ridden all the time, his heart aches.

"Why didn't you?" He inquires, causing Regina to sniffle and wipe at her eyes furiously. "Shit. No, I'm sorry. Forget I asked. Please."

"My life fell apart after that vacation," she explains, teary-eyes threatening to overflow. "My parents divorce lit like a wildfire only days after we got home and it wasn't pretty. They went to court, I was dragged through a custody battle. I ended up in my mother's care and her demands were the only things she allowed to be in my focus. I'm not proud of it, but I was seventeen and all I wanted was to make my mother happy."

"It's okay," he assures, reaching forward to pull her in close to his chest. He feels awful for springing that on her, especially now when there's cider and champagne in the mix.

"I wanted to write to you," she swears, her breathy words brushing passed his earlobe. "But the the longer I waited, the harder it was to know what to say."

"Don't worry about it," he soothes, rubbing his palm up and down the back of her coat. "You're here now. Let's focus on that."

A few tears have spilled, her eyeliner has smudged a little when their embrace breaks apart and they are left face-to-face, almost nose-to-nose, but he won't kiss her. Not tonight, maybe not ever again. No matter how much his heart is threatening to leap out of his chest at this point.

Instead, his lips find her forehead, just above her brow. "Get some sleep. Goodnight, Regina."

December 24th

Her head is pounding. Oh god. Her brain is hammering against her skull, every thud reminding her of each shot she threw back, every gulp of warm cider she welcomed into her belly, and the couple of champagnes that really have given this hangover the power it needs to take on a life of its own.

There's a soft knock at the door.

Her muscles fight every movement she makes as she claws her way out of the thick comforter. Her bare feet meet chilled wood flooring as she slumps to her door, tightening her big white robe around her middle as she presses her forehead against the cool panelling of the door. She pulls it open, groans at the bright light in the hallway, all while scrunching up her face and turning away.

"Oh boy," Robin chuckles at the sight of her. "How are you feeling?"

She tilts her head his way as if to say are you serious? And he laughs, offering her one of the two cups of coffee in his hands.

She takes it, fuses her fingers to the warmth of the paper cup, and thanks him as she stands back from the doorway, welcoming him inside while taking a hearty gulp of the warm liquid.

"What's on the agenda today?" He asks, taking up residence in the arm chair in the corner of the room, then teasing, "Or what was the plan?"

"Oh, shut up," she snorts, slowly finding the hilarity in the situation. With each sip of tar-like coffee, she finds herself becoming more and more human, even more so when she pops two painkillers in between swigs. "I actually don't have much of a plan, to be honest."

"Well, that just won't do," he says. "Can I see your list again?"

"Uh..." She's taken aback slightly, not expecting him to still have much interest in it, but she shrugs, "Sure." It's still tucked away in her jacket pocket, the one he's managed to sit on. "It's under you, in the same pocket," she points at the coat hanging over the arm of his chair.

He opens it delicately and begins to read from the top, muttering, "I still can't believe you wanted to do The Polar Plunge."

It was a long shot that she'd ever actually have completed that one, but while she was breathing in recycled airplane oxygen and was a few small glasses of wine in, it seemed like a decent idea. "Go big or go home, right?"

"You won't be here New Year's Day will you?," he asks cheekily. "I would pay to see you do this."

"Ha. Ha." She rolls her eyes, deciding to climb back into bed and into the warmth she left behind. As she props herself back against the headboard, she tells him that she won't be here. "I leave two days after Christmas."

He tries to hide it immediately, but Robin's face drops, only to be masked by the clearing of his throat and his continued reading. "Edinburgh lights, Edinburgh market," he mutters off plainly, but then narrows his eyes at her, confused, "And the ferris wheel?"

She sinks against the headboard, confessing, "I'm still on the fence about that one."

"You're afraid of heights," he states knowingly.

He tried to get her up into The Watchtower in St Andrews and she quite literally almost bit his head off when he wouldn't stop pestering her about it. So, he's not wrong. "I'd be petrified… but daddy would have loved to do it."

He hums and nods, understanding of her reasons, and continues to read silently for a moment before folding up the paper again and leaning forward to rest his elbows on his thighs, a proposition ready on his lips. "If it's alright with you, I'd like to take you to Edinburgh today."

He must sense her question before she has the chance to ask it because he quickly adds, "Roland and my mother are spending the day together down by the duck pond and doing some last minute Christmas preparation."

"You don't have Santa duties to attend to?"

"I'm very prepared, I'll have you know," he assures, but the cheeky grin on his face makes her think otherwise. She raises her eyebrow knowingly. "Oh, alright. My father has more than happily taken on the responsibility so that I could bring you some coffee."

"Ever so chivalrous," she grins.

"I have a car. We can drive through, park near the market, and do everything on your list."

He's unbelievable. Just as generous as he's ever been, but how he can even think about moving, let alone driving, after the night they've had is beyond her. Her head is still banging against her skull, her thighs feel like they might turn to stone, and the balls of her feet are reminding her all too much how stupid it was to wear heeled shoes.

"How are you so put together?" She wonders. "I feel like a truck has run over me multiple times and left me here to suffer."

"Well, for starters," he chuckles, "I avoided that champagne at Forgans. It's killer."

Traitor, she thinks. "You didn't think to share that particular knowledge?"

"You were having a good time," he shrugs. "Who was I to stop you? Besides, everyone made it home safely, both of us included. I say that's a successful close to an evening."

The word successful isn't exactly how she would define how their evening ended. She's so embarrassed. He confessed so much, and she just stood there like a statue refusing to acknowledge the things he said. To be honest, she's surprised to even see him today at all, let alone to have him offering to spend the day with her.

"Robin… About last night…"

He stops her quicky. "It's fine. We both had a bit too much to drink, memories had taken over, and we forgot about the fifteen years between them and our reality." He stands up from his chair and stretches his arms high above his head.

"Still, I feel awful," she sulks. "I was so oblivious to how you were feeling and disappearing the way I did... I was so horrible to you."

"We were young," he voices firmly, convincingly, perhaps even to convince himself. "We both had lives that needed living and things needing to be dealt with. Like I said, you're here now, so let's not dwell on what could have been, yeah?"

He seems sure, but she has to ask, "You're sure?"

"Absolutely. Now get up," he strides over to the end of her bed and pulls the comforter away. "Or do I need to resort to the tactics I use to get my five year old out of bed?"

"No! I'm getting up," she concedes, absolutely not wanting to know what those tactics are. She stands out of bed and starts pushing him toward the door. "Let me shower and try to reclaim some of last night's lost dignity, then I'll meet you downstairs."

"You weren't that bad," he promises as he reaches for the door handle. When he swings the door open, he cranes his neck around and teases, "Well, only at the dancing part."

"I can only be as good as my teacher," she sasses back quickly.

"Ouch," he hisses, feigning hurt as he steps out. "That hurt. See you in about an hour?"

"Okay," she nods. "But, only if you're sure about this. Edinburgh's quite far and I don't want to keep you from any original plans."

"If I don't come with you, I'll end up back at the pub with Will, and then I will also feel like I've been run over by a truck. Edinburgh is only an hour," he shrugs. "Besides, I'd be willing to bet that seeing you on that ferris wheel will be quite the show."

Her jaw drops as she playfully smacks against his shoulder, smirking widely as she chastises, "You're awful."

"Maybe," he winks, turns to walk away. After a step or two, he calls over his shoulder, "And wear sensible footwear."

Regina takes his advice and decides to go with flats for this outing, still boots to keep her warm, but flat ones nonetheless. When she steps off the elevator, she hears Roland before she sees him. He's an excited little boy, and who could blame him this close to Christmas?

He's oohing and aahing at the newly added decoration under the tree in the foyer; It's a large circular train track with a train following it around.

"Good morning," Regina politely greets Helena.

"Are you looking forward to seeing the market?" She asks Regina while opening up her large handbag and rummaging around inside.

"Yes," she breathes elatedly. "My father has been talking about it for ye-" Helena distracts her when she holds out a collected heap of red wool in her hands - a pair of gloves and a hat. "What's this?"

"Robin mentioned that you were needing some layers," she nods, urging Regina to take the offered accessories. "I had some to spare."

They're not exactly her style. Hats with a big bauble on top aren't necessarily her go to, but she'll take warmth over preference at this point. "Thank you so much," she says, pulling the wool over her the top of her head.

"Looking lovely," Robin teases from behind her, donning his own hat. Green, no surprise there. "Are you ready to go?"

She has everything she needs, so after waving goodbye to Helena and Roland, they settle in Robin's car and make way on their journey.

It's quiet for the most part. Soft music plays on the radio, and they have short conversations about the view and the attractions they're passing. They make it to Edinburgh just short of noon and the sun looks like it's already ready to set, the sky washed with golden oranges, pinks and purples.

Princes Street is magnificent, even more so than she remembers. The holiday lights stretch for miles, decorating the trees in the park and the lampposts in the streets. There are bagpipes echoing around her as they play festive songs. Robin left Regina for a moment, something about paying for parking, giving her a chance to take in every little detail before they blend among the market go-ers and last minute Christmas shoppers.

A steaming paper cup appears in front of her face. "Warm apple cider for you..." Robin holds the rim of the cup until she takes it from him, "...and hot chocolate for me." The warmth of the cup heats through the wool of her gloves as she holds it close to her face. It smells divine, tastes even better. "What would you like to do first?"

There are so many directions they could go, but stalls set up in the park spark her interest. They're definitely the heart of the market. He lets her walk first, stepping aside so she can lead the way down the stone stairs into Princes Street Gardens.

The smell of popcorn and sweet candy is overwhelming, emanating from food trucks near the entrance. Everywhere she looks there are little trinkets being sold, homemade treats being chosen by joyful shoppers.

"These are so pretty," she picks up one of the necklaces on the table, holding it up to admire it. It's large and chunky, a shimmering purple gemstone in the centre of the pendant. It's the exact purple she likes, a profound, regal purple.

"That it is," Robin agrees, picking up a similar necklace to examine himself. "Treat yourself," he suggests.

She'd never wear it. So, she places it back down on the table. "As gorgeous as it is, I much prefer a simple piece of jewellery."

"Duly noted," he nods into a sip of his hot drink. "Let's scope out the rest of the tables, you might see something you like."

They walk around for almost two hours, gazing upon fascinating homemade items. Time and time again, she finds herself infatuated with something, mostly home decor. There are wood carvings, music boxes, and even the most intricately designed mirrors that she would put in her bedroom in a heartbeat, but she didn't come equipped with the room to take something like that home with her.

She's not leaving empty handed though. She shamelessly spent almost twenty minutes taste testing homemade marmalades, jams and butters. Robin would have had to pry her away with force if she didn't purchase something, and now she's the proud owner of three jars of apple cinnamon butter. Even Robin has a bag of his own, the sight of a successful market trip. He remembered how much Roland loves a certain fudge, joked his son made the same sounds she was making as she tried those jams when he tasted the sweet treat, and had to backtrack to pick some up for him while she paid for her butter.

They've seen almost everything they can at this point, spent enough time walking around to see the setting of the sun behind the infamous Edinburgh Castle.

"If we leave now, you could make it home before Roland goes to bed," she tells him. She feels guilty about stealing him away from Roland, especially today. She loathes the idea of Robin missing the excitement of Christmas Eve with a young child.

"One last thing before we go," Robin announces, digging deep into his jeans pocket. He asks for her hand and places a coin-like token in her palm.

She huffs out a cold breath, recognising it as a token for the ferris wheel immediately and admitting, "I was hoping you had forgotten about that." She'd strategically manoeuvred them through the market in hopes that he wouldn't pay much attention to the large amusement ride.

"Only if you want," he assures, lifting his hands to emphasise that it's merely a suggestion, that there's no pressure.

She looks back at the ride to assess her options. It's actually not as high as she thought it would be, and the view of the castle from up there would be breathtaking.

"Will you come with me?" It'll be much easier with a conversation to distract her.

"Of course."

When the capsule closes behind them on the wheel, Regina's stomach starts to clench and knot. Robin sits across from her, balancing out the weight of the rocking cabin, but once the wheel starts rotating, she calms down quite quickly.

Her heartbeat slows down to a normal rate and she realises it's not as bad as she thought. At least when they are both as still as possible. The slightest movement makes their cabin swing and she doesn't like that. Nope. Not one bit.

They make three or four rotations, she's lost count, before they are stopped at the highest point of the wheel, and she takes a moment to look down. It's beautiful, the street even more magical looking from higher up. Only one problem, she can't see the castle, and wanting to get a better look at that is what got her up here in the first place.

"I chose the wrong side," she laughs nervously, realising that the castle is behind her. She could turn her head around, but she's too focussed on staying still, anything to keep the capsule from swinging.

"Come and sit next to me," he suggests, shifting over to make room. The entire capsule shakes and her heart lurches into her throat, causing her to grip onto the bars at each side of the car. "Sorry," he groans, reaching out to hold onto her forearm and squeezing supportively. He skirts down her arm until his hand is cupped over her own. "Real quick," he says, clutching around her fingers.

Okay, it'll be worth it, she thinks. Exhaling a puffed breath, she welcomes the lacing of their gloved fingers and lets him yank her weight over quickly. She twists around so that she lands right next to him with an oomph and grips onto his hand for dear life until the pod is stationary again.

"Better?" He asks, stretching an arm behind her to hold her tightly pressed up against his shoulder.

She feels secure, tells him so, and now she can have her fill of the breathtaking castle in front of them. There are pink and blue lights shining brightly on the exterior, highlighting every brick and groove.

"It's so peaceful up here," she whispers, her words mixing with the breeze that flutters passed. "I can actually hear myself think." He's smiling at her sweetly, and her cheeks become warm as her unexpected blush rolls through. "I still can't believe you're here. Is that weird?"

"Not at all," his head shakes, then a rumbling laugh vibrates in his throat. "That was one heck of a summer."

She joins him in the reminiscing, chuckling as she asks, "Do you remember the night we had the beach party? We spent hours walking on the coastal path to find the perfect spot."

"We stayed there all night," he remembers. "I could never forget that night..." his eyes are burning against the side of her face, just waiting for her to meet them. When she finally looks, he finishes, "...that was the night I first kissed you."

She hasn't felt that special in the longest time, not until right now. Everything he's done for her in two short days… she can't wrap her head around it. He's exactly the same person she opened her heart up to years ago. On the night he mentioned, they stayed awake for hours more than Will and John. They were curled up in their sleeping bags while she and Robin stayed perched on the log by the fire, talking about everything and anything. She can't remember what they were talking about, but she remembers laughing uncontrollably, unable to stop, and then his lips met hers briefly, tentatively.

What she'd give to be as carefree now as she was then, to lean over and meet his lips for just a brief moment.

Theferris wheel starts to move again, lowering them away from their memory. "I think it's time we head back," Robin proposes as they are let free from the wheel. "We can stop and pick up some dinner on the way."

She's exhausted when she walks into the foyer of the hotel. She might have had a full night's sleep but her body's clock is working against her violently.

"I could sleep for a year," she yawns, pressing the button for the elevator four or five times impatiently. "Do you and Roland have any sort of Christmas Eve traditions?"

"Does a Christmas story and insanely festive pyjamas count?" She sniggers through her nose, a little sad that she won't see it. "What are your plans for tomorrow?"

"Uh…" she hasn't really thought about it. "I suppose I will eat far too much and watch Christmas movies until I fall asleep," then she jokes, "Total bliss."

When they step into the elevator and press the buttons for their respective floors, she notices how Robin's face has developed a sad look. "You can't spend the day alone."

"I came here knowing that I would be," she reasons.

"Join us."

"Absolutely not," she shakes her head. "You have already gone above and beyond for me," her hand reaches for his, squeezing, "Tomorrow is a day for you and your family. So, as much as I appreciate the offer, I refuse to be a burden."

"You never could be," he debates.

The doors open on her floor and she slips out, but Robin refuses to let go of her hand right away. Looking over her shoulder, she breathes a sincere, "Merry Christmas, Robin," and then drops his hand, letting the doors close.

She feels immediate regret, the voice in her mind berating her for not even giving him a simple hug or, god forbid, the kiss she has been dying to give him since their ride together on the ferris wheel. The feeling washes over her like a ton of bricks, and she knows that if she were to strip away the awkwardness, forget about her mistakes, it would be like no time had passed between them.

She's halfway down the hallway when she decides to turn back around. She walks back to the elevator and presses the button again, but it's taking forever. She'll never catch him in time if she waits for this moronic piece of machinery.

The door to the stairwell is to her left, and it's possible that her legs make the decision for her. She's climbing the two flights of the stairs up to his floor, huffing labored breaths all the way, desperately refusing to acknowledge the aches in her thighs.

When she emerges on this floor, she has to yell his name before he closes the door to the suite. Perplexed, he steps out again, clicking the door closed and rapturously meets her halfway.

Once again, she hasn't thought much further than arriving face to face with him. So, she follows her heart for once, reaches up high to place her hand at the base of his neck, leans up on her tiptoes, and presses a sweet kiss to his unprepared lips.

"I, uh…" she murmurs against his lips, flustered and riding on the coattails of intense adrenaline. "I…"

He traces the ridge of her nose with his, smiling the widest of smiles, "I thought today was about crossing things off your Christmas list."

He's notoriously a smooth talker and it always makes her knees feel a bit like jelly. Biting her bottom lips alluringly, she snorts a soft laugh through her nose and leans in again, claiming his lips once more.

December 25th

She woke really early this morning, the taste of Robin's unsuspecting lips still lingering on her skin. He offered many more times to have her join them today, but she just couldn't bring herself to say yes, no matter how much she wanted to.

Instead, she took advantage of her early morning and has a relaxing shower. She even throws on her comfiest black sweatpants in preparation for the laziest day she's had all year. She brought the softest Christmas sweater to cosy up in, white wool with large black letters proclaiming Merry Christmas, Ya Filthy Animal, which is incredibly fitting considering she is halfway through Home Alone - Daddy's favourite. She had picked out a matching sweater just for him, but she left that at home. She couldn't bear the thought of having it staring her in the face while she was here.

Considering everything, she's quite happy and content with her lazy day so far, but it's short lived when she is startled by frantic knocking at her door. Frantic becomes excited, very much like the Regina, open up! that sounds from the other side.

"Roland?" She asks when she peeks through the peephole, greeted by the bouncing boy in his bright red and green elf pyjamas when she opens up. "Is everything alright?"

"You have to come," he demands, sticking out his hand for her to take.

He's alone and that makes her uneasy. Robin and his grandparents are nowhere in sight, so she asks again, "Is something wrong?"

"Papa said to come and get you," he explains, still holding his hand out. "It's an eme'gency."

He struggles with that last word so she knows he's been put up to this, and it can't be much of an emergency if Roland is the one down here to get her. This is Robin's sneaky ploy to have her join them, she can tell, and Roland is smiling wide in her direction. Those dimples suck her in, exactly how Robin knew they would.

It's hardly fair that these Locksley boys have such a powerful weapon to use against her.

Oh, alright. She tells him to wait a moment so she can switch off the television and pick up her phone and room key. Roland grips onto her hand tightly and all but pulls her toward the elevator and then along the hallway upstairs to their suite.

Robin is waiting at the door to let them both inside and he's holding a small glass of something orange for her when she steps inside. Roland high-fives him when he walks away and into the main room of the suite.

"A Bucks Fizz for you, milady," he gives her the glass before his eyes dart down to her chest and back up. He's snorts a little, "Nice jumper."

"Well, I wasn't expecting to be seeing anyone today, was I?" She bites softly, no harm intended, but then she sighs and thanks him for the drink. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," he replies, bending closer to press his lips against her cheek affectionately.

How was he supposed to know that his small gesture would lead to a sharp intake of breath into her lungs that refuses to leave?

"I really do like your jumper," he vows. "That's one of my favourite films."

"I was just watching it downstairs," she smiles as Robin guides her into the sitting room. "Now, what exactly is this emergency your son was so concerned about?"

Everything looks fine. Malcolm and Helena are all smiles and conversing with Roland, the suite looks homely, Santa clearly made it here on time.

"Ah, Roland," Robin calls him over, taking the drink she didn't even get the chance to sip away from her. "Would you like to tell Regina why she had to be here?"

His young eyes light up and he waves Regina over to the Christmas tree, and with all eyes trained on her, she bends down to kneel next to him while Roland starts rummaging amongst the gifts. Confused is an understatement, and when she looks back to Robin, he just provides her with an amused shrug.

"Here!" Roland cheers loudly before turning around and places a small wrapped box in her hands. "Santa made a mistake."

Confused is definitely an understatement.

"We think Santa might have gotten a bit confused, dear," Helena chimes in, her teetering laughter the daintiest Regina has ever heard. "He seems to have left your gifts with us instead of in your own room."

"But-"

Sure enough, she looks at the label on the gift and, in handwriting very similar to a certain mother and grandmother she knows, is written: Regina, From Santa Claus.

"It must be because we booked your original suite," Robin sits on the sofa behind her. "Thank goodness Roland noticed in time to come and get you."

She almost laughs at how involved he is in making Roland believe this was a genuine Santa Claus mistake, his voice is perky and higher in pitch. She'll wait to tell him later, but it's cuter than she could have ever imagined it would be.

"I'm sure Santa is sorry," Roland expresses before clapping loudly. "But now you can spend Christmas with us."

"If you want to, that is," Malcolm emphasises, and she's grateful for that, thankful that ultimately the choice is hers and that there's very little pressure.

Truth is, being alone might have been just fine for her in the long run, but the five minutes she's been here are already certainly feeling much nicer. She can't believe this entire family put together such an intricate ruse just to make sure she knew she was welcome to spend the day with them. Her heart is swollen.

"I'd really like that," she nods, ignoring the pesky pinch of tears in the backs of her eyes, and just like that the festivities began.

Robin returns Regina's drink, which is absolutely delicious. She and Helena work their way through a couple of glasses while Roland tears apart his gifts. He's so appreciative of each little toy he unwraps, and it melts her heart every single time. He's so, so patient as Malcolm and Robin stress over unboxing every action figure and figuring out what batteries go into what toys.

"He's such a good kid," Regina fawns to Helena. "I know some adults who could take pointers from him."

"I'm the luckiest lady in the world. With a son like Robin and a grandson like Roland, I am utterly spoiled," she beams lovingly. "Much like your father was as spoiled with a daughter like you."

"Well," Regina chuckles softly into the rim of her glass. "I wouldn't exactly say that."

Helena seems to disagree with her, but simply shrugs. "All I know, dear, is that he loved you in ways he couldn't even find the proper words for."

It might be the warm, fuzzy feeling brought on from the alcohol on an empty stomach, maybe, but Regina can't seem to figure out if Helena is talking about Henry or Robin anymore.

"You both alright?" Robin asks and startles her. Regina jumps until her heart leaps into her throat, and she has to cover her mouth to conceal her gasp. "Apologies," he chuckles, kneading his palm against her shoulder. "I think Roland has finished if you want to open up your gifts."

Helena scurries over onto the other sofa next to Malcolm where they sweetly start exchanging gifts and sharing beloved kisses.

"Ugh, they're cute," Regina comments with a smile.

"They always have been," he agrees, reaching inside the fridge for a cold beer. He offers her one, but she's fine for now. "You have a gift or two as well, you know," he grins before bringing the rim of the bottle to his lips.

She's aware. She's also painfully aware that she has nothing in return for any of them.

"You didn't have to do this." It's not unappreciative by any means, she just feels like it had to be said. "Christmas is meant to be a day spent with family and-"

"I'm going to stop you right there," he says, clinking his beer down onto the glass of the coffee table before sitting next to her on the soft sofa cushion. "You were meant to be here with Henry, and while I understand that you came here because he would have been down in the dumps about you cancelling, you didn't come here to spend Christmas alone. And despite how much you kept saying the word, you are the farthest thing from a burden."

"I just hate feeling like I'm imposing on your family time," Regina shrugs her shoulders, still anxious about the entire situation.

"You're not," he assures, taking her hand and lacing their fingers together. "In fact, this entire thing was my mother's idea."

"It was?"

"I wish I could take credit for something this brilliant," he chuckles, squeezing her hand tightly. "Stop being so concerned about being a burden. We aren't your mother. We want you here because we adore you. Alright?"

How can she argue with that? "Okay," she nods, and for extra measure she repeats, "Okay. You're right."

"Music to my ears," he teases, jerking suddenly to avoid her responsive, fun-loving jab to his side. She's thrilled when he asks Malcolm to grab the final few gifts from under the tree, so she can feel the warmth of his fingers mingled with hers for a little longer.

"These are from us, love," Malcolm whispers as he gives Regina two medium sized packages, one much heavier than she anticipates. She whispers back a heartfelt thank you before Roland manages to steal his grandpa away.

"They really shouldn't have," she tells Robin while ripping off the shimmery silver wrapping paper from the softer of the two parcels.

She wants to outright laugh out loud when she catches a glimpse of the very thoughtful hat and glove set. After relentless teasing, she finally has her own. They're a stunning deep purple colour, very similar to the ones Helena let her borrow yesterday. They're perfect.

Before she can rip into the heavier one, Robin tells her to wait, to open his instead. It's the little box that Roland had initially given her. What's inside is gorgeous. It's so simple and just stunning. She lifts out a thin, delicate chain from the box and gazes at the arrow charm that dangles from it.

"Robin…" she utters softly, blown away by his gift. "When did you do this?" She asks, playing over in her head all the time that he had to hurry off to find something as precious as this.

He takes the chain from her, tells her to turn around and lift her hair so that he can fasten the chain closed for her. "Yesterday at the market, when I told you that I promised Roland some fudge..."

Now that she thinks about it, "You never did have any fudge with you after that, did you?"

"You were so nervous about getting on that ferris wheel, I guess you never thought twice about how small that bag actually was," he shrugs, muttering an airy there when he clasps the necklace closed. "Now you can open the heavy one. It's from all of us, and in a way for all of us too."

Intrigued, she pulls at the paper to reveal a plain white box, leaving her with no new information. Even Helena and Malcolm are really watching her open this one. She opens the lid of the box and the smallest and softest of sobs escapes in the form of a gasp.

It's Henry's favourite whiskey: Highland Park 18

Never in a million years did she think a bottle of alcohol that she hasn't ever tasted in her life could reduce her to tearful eyes so quickly, but she's catapulted back to many an evening with her father. That logo would be front and centre on the bar.

"We thought we could have a drink for him later on," Malcolm explains. "Since we know it's what he would have been having."

"If he were here, we would have had to pick up two bottles," Helena jokingly mutters under her breath, making everyone but little Roland chuckle. She couldn't be more correct. Henry loved his whiskey.

"I don't even know what to say," Regina breathes, her mouth falling agape and she lifts the bottle high in front of her face. "Thank you. So much."

Cora Mills has one hell of a superpower.

She can ruin someone's entire day without even being on the same continent.

Regina has been ignoring the texts all afternoon. She even set her phone to completely silent so that the little vibrations couldn't make her aware of her mother's insistence.

Cora didn't know anything about the holiday plans, not even before Henry's passing. There was no point, it would have just ended up being something else that Cora became dead set on ruining. Only now, she probably knows where Regina ended up; Ruby no doubt let it slip if Cora called the office.

Around three p.m., Regina decides to brave her phone, and yeah… Cora definitely knows. The several texts exclaiming Scotland?! are the giveaways. She withstands the angry messages for a record-breaking thirty seconds before locking her phone again, any longer and her blood might have actually started boiling.

Ever since Regina moved to California, her relationship with Cora got worse (if that's even possible) and still, Regina's biggest weakness is that she will let her mother get inside her head in mere seconds and relinquish every shred of control she has within her own body.

"Oh," Robin exclaims when he comes into the room without warning. He apologises for interrupting her, which is ludicrous considering she is the one hiding out in his bedroom. He doesn't leave though, instead he asks, "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing," she insists, shaking her head to exaggerate the lie.

He's not buying it. He tells her to sit down on the small sofa that's against the far wall of his room, and when she does, he sits directly in front of her, perched on the wooden coffee table. "What's wrong?" He asks again, expecting the truth this time.

She sighs heavily, letting her shoulders slump before she gives him his phone to see for himself. She can't bear to watch him read through the horrible messages that Cora has decided to send her on today of all days. She closes her eyes, bows her head and concentrates on the feeling of her palms brushing together.

It's when he places the phone back in her hands after staying so silent that she looks back at him.

"There," he says. "Problem solved." She opens up her phone to see her messages, every single one of them, is gone. "The delete button is a magnificent tool, love." It's so simple. Possibly one of the most simple things in the world. How the hell didn't she think of that? When she begins to berate herself internally, Robin reaches for both of her hands and begs, "Please, don't do that. Don't say things to yourself that you have only ever heard from her."

"I don't know why I need her approval so much," Regina mumbles during a shaky exhale. "I don't think I've ever received it and here I am… still thinking that it's attainable."

They've been here before. The same conversation. Henry tried to keep the divorce a secret, tried to keep the custody issue out of her mind, but she knew. And it was Robin back then who knew all the right things to say, and it's Robin right now saying all the things she needs to hear.

"She's your mum," he understands. "Of course you want her approval, but never forget that wanting and needing are two entirely different things."

Though his hands in hers are helping to keep her grounded, and their knees pressed together is sucking away that feeling of loneliness, she's still tightly wound. She furious that her mother refuses to love her the way Henry always did. She's livid that on the one day a year she should be celebrating with family, she's having to deal with a maternal attack from a different timezone.

She's scowling, gritting her teeth angrily, then dissolving them into pure sadness, a pout then a sniffle. Robin leans his forehead against hers, his left hand weaving into the hair on the side of her head. You're okay, he whispers faintly, and welcomes one of her hands to clutch onto his shoulder, the other clasping around his wrist by her cheek. Between them, her phone screen lights up with another message from Cora and before Regina can even react fully, Robin has reached for the phone and placed it face down on the coffee table he's sitting on.

"She doesn't get to ruin this," he declares, dotting a warm kiss to the end of her nose, one to her cheek, and a final chaste thing to her lips. "Take a deep breath and take back that power."

His inflates his lungs loudly and exhales deeply. He does it again, giving her a steady rhythm to follow. She does. She breathes in and out with him a few times, dare she admit she even gives a hint of a smile on that last exhale.

"Better?"

"Yeah," she answers honestly.

"Do you need your phone while you're here? For work?

She needs to call Ruby, but only to wish her a Merry Christmas, the office has been closed since she left. "I only have one call to make."

"Then make it." He picks up her phone again, unlocking the screen and fiddling with it again, making sure there's no messages there for her to see. "Then turn it off for the rest of the day and come out to celebrate with a family who cares about you."

It's not an outrageous idea. Cora isn't going to take this day from her.

The first thing Robin does when he retreats from his room is hug his mum, a tight embrace that locks her in close to his chest and he counts his blessings. He's always known he's had it lucky with her, but seeing Regina so distraught has made his luck seem so much more of a treasure.

"What was that for, dear?" She asks, pleasantly surprised. When he tells her that it's just because he loves her with a shrug of his shoulders, her lips tip into a frown unexpectedly. "It's her mother, isn't it?"

"How'd you know?"

"Henry was so afraid that he wouldn't be able to take Regina from her when the divorce was finalised," Helena explains. "He spoke with your father a few times that year."

"You kept in touch with Henry?" Robin asks, sitting down on the sofa and leaning against the cushioned arm.

"For a while," she nods, sitting down beside him. She pats his knee the way she always has near the end of one of her pep talks, right before the final piece of wisdom she has to offer is revealed. "All we can do is show her how much she means to us. I can tell you care about her…"

"I really do."

"Then you make sure she knows it."

Regina emerges from his bedroom then, closing the door behind her gently. Her smile is nervous, but Robin's happy to see that she displays her powerless phone to him before setting it face down on the marble of the breakfast bar.

"Go get her," Helena whispers as softly as she can, throwing a discreet wink over her shoulder as she leaves them alone in the sitting room.

Dinner has been, without question, the most fun Regina has had in the longest time, not to mention incredibly delicious. Will joined them all, bringing with him the laughter everybody loves. Turns out the Locksleys are a highly competitive bunch and take their games much more seriously than she anticipated.

At the eruptions of a small heated discussion, she can't help but take a step back and enjoy the show.

Robin and Helena are desperately trying to disprove Will and Malcolm's attempt at a rule change, and little Roland hasn't a clue what's going on, but he's watching everyone talk back and forth with such piety.

Even with all the wisecracking comments and oddly cheerful torment, they are the picture perfect family.

"Regina, I need your back up on this one," Robin calls out, practically begging her to come back to the table.

With her empty wine glass refilled, she moves to stand behind his chair, peering over his shoulder without a clue to the purpose of their game. Board games were never much of a tradition in her household. Cora would have ridiculed the very thought, no doubt.

"I can't be of much assistance, I'm afraid," she confesses honestly. "I've never played this one."

Robin's attempt at questioning her is diminished when Roland unleashes quite a rambunctious yawn. It garners everyone's attention, and they watch on as the youngest of the troops is overcome with exhaustion, rubbing harshly at his sleepy eyes.

"I think it's time to call it a night," Robin tells him, reaching over to rub his back. "How about you brush your teeth, crawl into bed and I'll come and read you a story."

He doesn't need to be told twice. Roland hops off the chair and stammers toward his bedroom, closing the door to his bathroom.

"I should be going, too," Will says, downing the last few gulps of wine in his glass. "I still need to make my way into town."

"Another night on the town?" Regina asks, cocking an eyebrow.

She laughs with Robin when Will cheekily asks, "Would you expect anything less?" before bowing out for the evening.

"That boy is unstoppable," Malcolm notes as he starts to put the pieces of their game away, Helena snickering behind him and helping with the clean up.

Robin disappears for a moment into Roland's room but comes back faster than she expects.

"He's completely wiped out," he tells them, lifting up his almost finished glass of wine. "He's already asleep."

Regina glances over at the clock reading almost nine p.m. on the small bookcase, "He did quite well for himself," then she yawns, "I might be taking a page from his book soon."

"Well, not before we crack this open," Malcolm insists, bringing the whiskey they'd gifted her to the dining table with four tumblers gripped between his fingers. "If you'd like to, that is," he directs to Regina.

"Please do," she nods happily, watching as the whiskey is divided into the four glasses and given out to each of them.

Silence falls over them and six respectful eyes fall on her. "I suppose I should say something…" Playing with the glass, she stares down into the dark spirit, watching it swirl around as she moves her hand in circles. There's so much to say and no clear place to start.

"Henry Mills was one of the best people I ever had the pleasure of knowing," Malcolm says confidently, taking over the makeshift eulogy. "He had a charm about him, something that made you feel comfortable to be yourself. While I am saddened by his passing, I am thrilled to have been given the opportunity to spend such precious time with you, Regina. You're more like him than you'll ever know."

The pinching behind her eyes is unbearable, tears gathering quickly and with fervour.

"To Henry," Robin announces, holding up his glass in a toast. His parents do the same and they all wait for her.

With a watery smile, she lifts her own glass, clinking it with the rest. Then they drink. She lets the liquid slip passed her lips and it hits the back of her throat. It's vile. She coughs violently and immediately starts laughing wildly.

"It's disgusting," Regina laughs, dropping the glass onto the table and wiping at her mouth furiously. "My father enjoyed that?"

"It's an acquired taste, dear," Helena giggles. "What will you two be getting up to for the rest of the evening?"

"Oh," Robin mutters. "We hadn't really thought about it."

"We don't mind watching the boy if you want to sneak off to the bar for a drink or something?" Malcolm offers, Helena agreeing happily behind him.

"Oh," Regina mutters. "You know, I left a movie unfinished this morning and I might go ahead and finish that." Robin looks a little disappointed. "You're welcome to join me, though. If you want…"

"Oh, he wants to," Helena sing songs on her way to her bedroom, waving over her head and ignoring Robin's scolding, embarrassed, Mum.

"Enjoy your evening, kids," Malcolm winks.

Regina chuckles as she wishes them a goodnight, grinning madly at Robin's embarrassment. "Let's go," she holds out her hand for him, and to no surprise, he takes it willingly.

Regina immediately pulls back the covers and crawls into her bed with the television remote in hand. Robin, the gentleman that he is, refuses to set foot under her sheets until formally invited. She pats the space next to her and he shyly toes off his shoes, climbing in beside her. He sits on top of the duvet, though, stretching his legs out straight. That won't do, she thinks, pulling at the comforter until it pries from underneath him and rearranging it until he's cocooned beneath it with her.

"Shall we finish your movie?" He asks, and she's already looking for it.

"We can start from the beginning," she offers and makes the selection on the screen, leaning back against the headboard with their shoulders touching.

The soft music from the movie starts to play when he reaches over her, taking something off of her bedside table. She's surprised when he sits back against the headboard with her list in his hands. "You didn't score anything else off," he observes.

Oh. She was far too consumed by the adrenaline from his kiss and the conflicting exhaustion from their day yesterday to remember to mark the paper. "I'll do it now."

Taking the pen from the bedside table, she presses the paper down against the awkwardly soft comforter and scores through all of the finished tasks: The lights in Edinburgh, the market, and that terrifying ferris wheel. "There."

"You've made quite a bit of progress," he notices, reading over the things that are left. "Only three more to go."

"Three that I won't get to," she frowns but only slightly. "I still did better than I thought I would when I wrote it."

Regina takes it from him, folds it up and puts it back by the base of the lamp before scooting down further on the mattress and leaning against his warm chest. "I never would have completed anything on that list if it weren't for you."

"Don't sell yourself so short," he presses a kiss against the top of her head.

"It's true though," she whispers with a sleep ridden voice, yawning, sleepily watching Kevin McAllister be scolded by his showering uncle on the screen. "I love this movie."

She doesn't make it through the first ten minutes.

December 26th

Regina wakes in Robin's arms, her cheek smushed against his chest. It's still dark outside, the only thing lighting the room is the small lamp on the bedside table, and the television has fallen silent. She pushes away slowly, groaning a little at the uncomfortable feeling of her hair matted to her face; Robin has proved to be a human furnace.

He's snoring softly and looks horribly uncomfortable. He's managed to slip into sleep with his shoulders pressed against the wood of the headboard. His neck is going to be strained with the way it's hanging to the side.

She whispers his name softly, pressing her palm against his abdomen and slowly rubbing in small circles. He doesn't stir right away, but after a couple more soft whispers, his eyes flutter open.

He smiles coyly, saying, "Hello," with a sleepy voice and asks, "What time is it?"

"Just after four…"

"What does it say about us that we can't stay awake for our favourite holiday movie?"

"That we were exhausted," she concludes. "And you're warm." She leans back against him, tightening her arms around his middle and craning her neck up straight to smile at him.

There's a beat before Robin lowers his lips to hers, captivating her immediately with the sweet gesture, and this time she doesn't let him pull away. Planting a palm firmly on his chest, she pushes herself up until she's swinging a thigh over him, straddling his waist. He gasps in the back of his throat, a little bubble of a thing that is swallowed into their kiss.

She melts into his touch when his palms slip under her sweater, gliding up the soft skin of her back and down again until he kneads at her hips. His moan vibrates against her lips when she presses her entire front to lay on his chest, fusing them together warmly. She never knew just how much she loved the feeling of fingers threaded in her hair, but when he does it this time she sighs deeply into the kiss.

Their long, languid rhythm becomes soft peppered pecks between smiles. She could easily never move from this spot ever again and be fulfilled in every sense of the word, those blue eyes could be the last thing she ever gazes into and she wouldn't complain.

"I should get back," his breathing is laboured while his palms paint lines over the curves of her thighs on either side of his hips. "I can only imagine the teasing from my parents if I wander in later on."

There's no lie there. Helena would have a field day if Robin were to stumble through the door at an early hour of the morning, still in yesterday's Christmas jumper.

"Will I see you today?" She asks hopefully.

"You can count on it. I have planned a surprise for you actually," he teases with a bite to his lip, slipping out of bed and stretching his arms up high in the air.

"You have? What?"

"I guess Roland isn't the only one who struggles with the concept of a surprise." She rolls her eyes, but he leans across the mattress to steal a kiss anyway. "Be ready by ten. And bring your robe."

"My robe? What for?"

"You'll see."

Robin has been trying to slyly get this put together since the market on Christmas Eve. He sent texts to everyone he could think of, pleading with them to help with an idea that spurred in a moment of madness.

As far as he knows, everyone who was willing is at the beach already and waiting for them.

This idea is mental and one he will most likely sorely regret later, but Regina had one particular item on her list that didn't fit into her timeline, and while it might not be the same, the least he could do is plan something similar.

"Okay, you have to tell me where we're going," she calls out as she walks from the elevator with a large tote bag hanging from her shoulder. She's put on jeans and he almost winces loudly. Being a bit more descriptive about the dress code might have been a smarter move, but they aren't going far… she'll survive.

She's smiling brightly as walks straight up to him and… should… should he kiss her? Are they in that position now?

"I've been trying to figure it out, but I haven't a clue," she's talking fast, excited.

Just as she starts to mumble another string of words, Robin decides that he can't not kiss her, not when she looks utterly ravishing and fired up for their little adventure.

So, he cuts her off by nipping gently at her unsuspecting lips, kisses her slowly but quickly before mumbling, "Come on," against her lips, reaching for her hand and walking with her toward the back of the hotel.

One of the reasons he loves this hotel so much is how close it is to the beach. The longest, most beautiful strip of sand in the country. In the summer, it's the home for late night parties and barbecues. In the winter, well… it's for nutters like him when crazy ideas come to the surface.

It's an icy day. The temperatures are well below freezing and the nasty wind not doing much help. She feels the cold instantly, curls up against him the second they walk through the doors, but she doesn't question anything while they walk the short distance to the shoreline.

"Does this surprise involve me freezing?"

He shouldn't laugh, but he can't help it, telling her, "It's funny you say that," pointing over her shoulder, just waiting to see how she reacts to it.

There's a group huddled together in the distance, all waving over at them, and they are not dressed appropriately for this weather. As she walks closer, careful to avoid getting any sand in her sneakers, she notices John and Will rubbing at their bare arms furiously to keep warm.

For the life of her, she thinks they must be out of their minds.

Roland is there too, in shorts and a t-shirt. He must be so cold, she worries, bending over swiftly to lift him up after he sprints the short distance to meet her.

"Why are you all outside wearing close to nothing?" Regina asks loudly, widening her eyes as she looks everyone up and down. "Aren't you freezing?"

"Not as much as I'm about to be," Will responds through chattering teeth.

Robin chuckles when Regina turns to face him, confused and with questioning eyes. She shifts Roland higher on her hip and asks, "What on earth is going on?"

"You said you wanted to do the plunge," he reminds her.

Her jaw drops open, twisting to look at the battering waves of the North Sea on the coastline. There's no way… There is absolutely no way. He will have to drag her in himself.

"You can't be here for the tradition, so we are bringing the tradition to you."

"You are delusional," she affirms, hugging Roland closer and telling him in a whispered voice near his ear, "Your father is crazy."

Roland giggles, "But it's on your list."

She groans, defeated and outnumbered. "Using your son for such a thing… that's terrible," she jokes lightly.

"There's only a few more things on your list," he shrugs nonchalantly. "This one we can make happen today."

"Aye," Will agrees, still shivering. "It'll be a laugh."

"I'll even hold your hand," Roland presses his cold nose against her cheek.

She exhales a conquered laugh, sighing heavily. No one in their right mind would deny such an offer. She places Roland carefully on the ground. "Fine… You win." She looks over at Robin and gives in, "I'll do it."

"Can we get the show on the road then, mates?" Will asks impatiently. "Cause the sooner I'm warm, the happier I'll be."

Robin raises his eyebrows at her cheekily and starts to strip off.

He loses his sweater first and then his jeans. That's when she realises she'll have to shed a layer or two as well. Wet jeans she can handle, but she's sure as hell not doing this in a woollen sweater.

She shouldn't be doing this at all. God, this is going to suck.

There's no realm in which something like this wouldn't suck, and it's her own fault that she's here. She just had to put this particular thing at the top of her list.

She almost starts laughing when she thinks about how much Henry would be encouraging her, though. This is the kind of thing he lived for and he'd no doubt be gearing up to do it himself if he were here right now.

Ignoring the ice cold wind attacking from every direction, she peels off her thick sweater, exposing her arms and shoulders when she's left in a thin, strapped vest.

The wind is arctic and feels like needles pricking her skin. How anything like this can be a celebrated tradition is beyond her understanding. It's downright crazy, foolish. It's…

"This is going to be fun!" Roland cheers.

Not exactly how she would describe it, but she can roll with it for now. "Ready?" John asks loudly, encouraging the boys to mutter their enthusiastic yes's while a single laugh erupts from her throat, decorating her nervous no.

Roland takes her hand as promised, bobbing his knees up and down with excitement, ready to sprint toward the water. Robin takes Roland's other hand, Will takes Robin's other, and John slips up next to Regina to take her free hand.

"Let's do this," John winks at the rest of the group and they run.

Roland's little legs can't keep up and he ends up running on air while Regina and Robin carry him along. The closer they get, the more she tenses her muscles. The edge of the water is creeping closer and closer and before she knows it, she's waist deep in the coldest water imaginable.

She yelps loudly when her jeans shrink against her skin, when her blood thickens and fights to circulate through her veins. Her spine tenses, her muscles contract, and like Robin and Roland, she is scrambling to run back out onto the sand.

Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.

Her entire body is frigid. Her clothes have become rock hard. She inhales sharply through her teeth, laughing nonsensically when she realises that John and Will have taken it a bit too far and are continuing to swim further out to sea. They all tie their dry robes around their wet clothes, still shivering and shaking.

"Leave them," Robin mutters, waving his hand in John and Will's direction before he takes her hand and starts running back indoors, Roland right behind them.

Robin's first priority was getting Roland into dry clothes. His own chilly clothes remaining stuck against Robin's warming skin as he ran a hot bath, but with time, their insides melted and they began feeling normal again. Regina had run to her own room to do the same and promised to join them in their room when she was ready.

They've made their way through The Grinch and halfway through The Polar Express since drying off after their plunge. He's helping Roland colour when soft knocking sounds at their door, and Roland is the one running to the door to let her in, dragging Regina inside by her hand.

"You survived," Robin nods. She looks far more comfortable and warm in her purple cardigan, a colour she looks breathtakingly stunning in.

"Barely," she sighs thankfully. "It was touch and go for a minute. Never let me do that again. Are your parent's here?"

They were long gone before Robin woke this morning, they planned a nice walk along the coastal path. "They're spending the day together. I doubt they'll be back before nightfall."

"That's a shame," she's shoving her hands into her jeans, "I was hoping to take you all into town as a thank you for everything over the last few days."

"It's entirely unnecessary," he assures.

"I've never known you to turn down ice cream," she cocks an eyebrow, purses her lips knowingly. If she's about to suggest what he thinks she is...

"Especially not Janetta's ice cream."

"Roland get your coat," he says immediately, bringing out a hearty laugh from her chest.

"That's what I thought."

"They have so many flavours."

You'd think that is Roland's excited voice, but no… it's Robin's.

Janetta's Ice Cream Parlour saw them almost every day during their summer here, and it's possible Robin had a different flavour every day. "I don't know which one to get," he says, perplexed.

It's best to let Robin explore all of his options alone, especially when the decision is such an important one. So, she and Roland decide to choose their own as a twosome. He's perched on her hip and they peer into the glass displays where the bright colours and strange flavours are listed.

"Oooh, look at the blue one," she points against the glass to show him. "It's bubblegum.' He shakes his head. "Hmm, what about chocolate?" Another shake. "Strawberry?" Nope.

Like father, like son.

"Well, I am going to have the strawberry and balsamic vinegar," she tells the sweet looking girl behind the counter, who giggles brightly at Roland's twisted face of disgust. "It's good," Regina promises. "It's my favourite, actually."

Robin is still carefully weighing his options when she's given her tub of pink ice cream. "Alright, alright," he says seriously. "I think I am going to go for… vanilla."

"You can't be serious," she glares.

"And me, Papa!"

Regina can't help but grin over the counter when she rolls her eyes, asking for two tubs of vanilla for the indecisively boring duo. "If that's what makes you happy," she teases after paying, eating a heaped spoonful of her own as they walk into the small sitting area. They find a perfect table, right by the window.

"Thank you for this," Robin smiles gratefully, "Getting ice cream wasn't even on my radar."

"It's my pleasure," she nods, licking the remnants of her last spoonful from her lips. "I couldn't think of a better way to spend my last day."

"I wish you didn't have to go," Robin tries to hide his frown by bowing his head down a tad. "Do you need a lift to the airport?"

"I've had a car arranged since I got here."

"Oh…" he reaches over to ruffle Roland's hair. He isn't aware of their conversation, much too invested in the pattern that the tree lights are blinking in the corner. "When will you be picked up?"

She puts her tub down on the table, the sweetness becoming too much and sitting heavily in her stomach. "Early. My flight is at ten, the car is picking me up at six."

"Well, we'll be happy to see you off," Robin declares. "Won't we, Roland?"

"Yup!"

She wouldn't expect anything less from him and she's glad he offered. That beats having to come up with an intricate excuse to see him before she leaves.

They can't spend the evening together, not tonight. Regina has to get a good night's rest and Robin's parents are currently getting ready to head to an event. They haven't long before he needs to return back to the suite. So, for now, they choose to sneak in a few kisses before they need to go their separate ways.

He told Helena that he needed to ask Regina about her flight details and hurried down to her floor, knocked gently at her door, and claimed her lips desperately the second he caught a glimpse of her.

She's pressed against the door of her room, holding herself up with the arms she's looped around his neck. There's urgency, desire, almost desperation in their open-mouthed kisses as they know this will be the last time they will get to be alone for a while.

The kiss and they kiss and they kiss until he has to leave, fatherhood calling his name and stealing him away.

"I'll be at the check-in desk at six," he promises with laboured breath, pressing his forehead firmly against hers. "Goodnight, love."

December 27th

She's all packed up and ready to go by five a.m. She spends her last free hour putting some things together for Robin. She refuses to let this be like the last time she walked away from him at this hotel. She'll call him when she lands, she'll text him when something exciting happens at work, when she's having a bad day, the whole lot.

Before she knows it, it's a quarter to six and her car will be outside soon.

Robin's by the check-in desk, just as he promised he would be, and she can just barely catch a glimpse of Roland with Helena inside the restaurant - poor thing must be so tired at this hour.

"He's desperate to see you," Robin whispers, pulling her close into a hug. "He practically sleepwalked down here. But I wanted to say goodbye to you first."

"I really hate goodbyes," she sighs heavily, slumping her shoulders and leaning more into him for a moment, inhaling as much of him as she can.

"Me too," he mumbles against her hairline. "Did you get everything packed?" She nods against his chest, she won't let go quite yet, as he quips, "Well, everything except that whiskey. I've claimed that as my own since you loved it so much."

She giggles softly, barely audible, as she stands up straight again, biting her bottom lip, "I see how it is… thief." He smirks as she reaches into the front pouch of her suitcase and gives him a thick envelope, "This is for you." He takes it curiously and tries to rip it open, but she stops him. "For years you waited for a letter, and you deserve that letter… even if it's fifteen years too late, but please wait until after I go."

He agrees, lowering the wad of paper down to his side. "Is it bad that I hope that your flight is cancelled?"

"Yes," she laughs, but truly she hopes it is, too. "I wish I could stay."

"Then stay."

He suggests it like it's the easiest thing in the world.

"The longer I stay, the harder it will be to say goodbye... and I have a business to get back to. But, this time is different," she points at the envelope, "You have my number, my email, and my address. There's no reason we can't keep in touch." She reaches into her pocket for one last thing "...and I want Roland to have this."

Robin calls over for Roland and Helena to join them, and Roland looks exactly how she feels as he slumps over to them. Bending down to be at his level, Regina presses her lips against his forehead and slips her Christmas list into his little hand. He takes it carefully as she explains, "There are only two things left to do. I thought maybe you and your papa could do them for me."

"It'd be our pleasure," Robin smiles.

At the desk, Brandon very tentatively interrupts, letting her know that her car is outside.

"I guess it's time for a hug then, huh?" She asks Roland, who melts into her embrace, mumbling his goodbye and a very heartbreaking I'll miss you. "I'll miss you most."

Helena is waiting with open arms when she stands up straight, "Malcolm sends his love. Have a safe trip home, and don't be a stranger this time."

"I won't," she promises, fighting against every urge to cry like a baby in the foyer of this grand hotel as Helena takes Roland back to their room, waving a final, sad wave before disappearing out of sight.

Thus leaves the hardest of goodbyes, but then she wonders and poses the thought, "Maybe we shouldn't even say it."

"Goodbye?" He asks.

"Yes," she nods. "I have no intention of this being the last time I see you, so what's the point?"

He nods slowly at first but ultimately agrees, "I think I can deal with that... and I would very much like to kiss you farewell. Only thing is, I can feel my mum staring at us from the lifts."

Regina bursts out laughing. He's right. Helena is sticking her head around the corner every few seconds to see what they're up to.

"A quick one for the road?" She requests, and he's more than happy to comply.

Stepping close, he leans down to meet her lips gently, loathes to let her go in any capacity. She has to break away.

"I'll see you soon?" He asks, hopeful.

"Soon."

She reaches down for the handle of her suitcase and starts rolling it across the marbled floor. She has to maintain a steady stride or she might falter and be sucked back into his arms, but there's something she has to ask him. One question that's right on the tip of her tongue, and she knows it will eat away at her if she doesn't ask it right now.

"Hey, Robin," she calls out, turning back around to face into the foyer. He's by the elevator but nods so that she knows he's listening. "You said you put your name down for a particular suite. Why suite twenty-three?"

His head bows slightly, his mouth curving into a smirk, "I fell in love with a girl who stayed there once."

December 31st

Regina went back to work the second her plane touched down at the airport. Her five day vacation led to the work week from hell. Regina was supposed to be home hours ago, but a complete mess up at the office turned her day upside down. It's almost seven p.m. on New Year's Eve, and her bed is calling her name.

She climbs the stairs to her apartment, fighting through every ache and pain in the balls of her feet, all the way to her front door where she jingles her keys around to find the right one. She's so out of it, she almost misses the envelope taped to her door.

Peeling it off, she looks around to see if whoever left it is still here, but everyone who's anyone is at some sort of party tonight, so she doesn't hold her breath. She makes her way inside, locks up behind her and rids herself of her shoes. Instead of retreating to her bedroom straight away, she stands by her entryway table and rips into the envelope that has peaked her interest.

Her heart flutters.

It's the list. It's her Christmas list with every item scored through. They finished it.

But, wait, there's one more item at the bottom, one that wasn't there before.

Ring in the New Year with us.

And as if by fate, the doorbell rings at that exact moment, causing her lips twitch into a small, knowing smile. She reads the final item again and again, and from the other side of the door comes a thrilled, childish giggle followed a drawn out shhhhh.

Daddy always said that she once left a piece of her heart in Scotland, but the truth is, she left it with the person standing on the other side of that door.

All she has to do is open up and let him in.

A/N: I think a New Year's chapter is in order! Maybe?