It's been a year since he last saw her, and he wonders if her smile has changed, if time still graciously stops when her laughter suffuses the air with its piquant warmth, just to let him commit it to memory. Does her soul still peek out from the effulgent corners of her eyes, and pull him out of shadows, out of banality and aimlessness? Or has the waning light flickered out? He's partially responsible, if that's the case, though he can't even recall how these days. Twenty years of marriage, and though they've had their ups and downs, it's been wonderful.

And yet, one day, they both mutually agreed that something was different. The spark was muted, there was an apathy in both their hearts, a feeling that marriage was something they got up in the morning to do, rather than it just being part of who they were. The love was still there - is still there - but he couldn't be certain what kind of love it was anymore. He didn't want it to become acrid, fall away to enmity.

So they said goodbye on a train platform after dinner and a glass of wine, an eerie yellow light trembling above them and trying to decide if it should focus on such a sad and quiet moment. He'd held her hand and wondered if it would be the last time, even as they promised to stay in touch, to let time do its job and allow them the chance to reconnect later, with what they hoped would be renewed passion and perspective.

He held her hand, felt the roots of his soul against her own skin, seeking purchase there, their connection undeniable, but so uncertain now.

She was gone only moments later, and his fingers trembled as they sought refuge in his pocket, idly playing with a loose fiber as he left the platform, shuffling into days ahead without her.

They kept in touch, though the first two months, every conversation simply ended with a kind sentiment wishing each other well, both of them abstaining from using the word love; they didn't quite know how love fit into their lives, and it was for the best. But gradually, it crept back in, and he wasn't sure at first if it was the sort of love you might wish for a dear friend, or something more.

He knows how he began to feel, that spark slowly alighting his soul again. But she spent a year in Italy, painting canvases and letting her heart speak through her fingers. She sent him pictures, and he feels honored that he got to be part of the process, the deconstructing and rebuilding, starting anew, or fixing, or the satisfying conclusion of This is perfect, this is everything I wanted it to be. And every painting, in his mind, was glorious; even the half-finished ones, even the ones she hated because she painted them after too many glasses of wine and nights spent waxing poetic about the stars and their doomed love affair with the moon, and how very sad they must feel to only ever kiss when they're falling from the sky.

He doesn't want that last kiss on the train platform, saying goodbye, to be the one he has to carry with him into irrevocable twilight, he doesn't want that to just be a memory when he's old and weary, and turning away from the sun to follow those stars.

He wants to hold her again, wants to feel her heart throbbing with song when their lips meet, and every time the coffee shop bell jingles now as he sits and waits for her, he feels a twinge of excitement surge through him like cool rain spilling over the desert, seeping into parched cracks and assuaging the drought of too much time passing without being touched, or known.

He's already stirred the sugar into his coffee, there's nothing left to stir, barely any heat to coax out of the mug, yet his spoon circles clockwise in the black liquid, banging without purpose against the sides as he stares down into its depths and wonders if she still takes her coffee with a splash of cream. Does she still like apple turnovers to go with that drink, or has she changed in the months they've been apart?

Does he have to relearn everything?

The moment he looks up again, hoping to see her eyes in the crowd, she's already just a few feet away from him, looking poised with both hands stuffed into her dark purple coat pockets. A scarf is hugging her neck tightly, but elegant fingers reach up to tug it loose, strands of hair - tinged with a slight grey - not yet conceding to let go of the warmth still cling to it, and she has to brush them aside before the scarf gets placed on the booth seat.

He hasn't stopped watching her eyes this whole time, memorizing the lights and shadows anew, breath taken away by the new wrinkle hugging the left curve of her lips. A nascent smile, tired and small, graces her face, but she seems almost unsure about letting it exist until she knows how he'll react.

So, he wastes no time in pressing his palms to her cold-kissed cheeks, cradling the treasure that is her countenance with reverence while his thumbs begin their ascent over the curve of her cheeks, then downward, skirting near the edges of her mouth. His heart settles like a soft fog calming stormy seas, making his soul take a deep breath and relax.

This is alright. This is good.

Her eyes begin to glisten, and her smile brightens and widens enough to be felt by his fingertips. He gets to touch her happiness again, right there with his palms pressed to her skin, and he shuts his eyes to press his forehead to hers, breathing her in.

"I've missed you," the words slip out, and her shaky hand comes out to rake through the hair at the base of his neck.

Her breath catches, and, "You look good."

Which is, of course, I've missed you too, but her unsteady voice leads him to believe those words are harder to get out for her. Maybe because she went so far away, because she told him once that she pushes people away sometimes when she doesn't want to get hurt, and she sensed this, initiated it, said they should take a step back for a little while, probably thought the end was coming and that he would never welcome her back, so she had to let go first. Maybe she's afraid she's hurt him too much, and that's why her palm comes to rest against the center of his chest now.

What have I done to this? Her eyes ask silently.

His thumb slips beneath her fingers as he kisses her forehead, prying her hand gently away and up so his lips can press assuredly to her knuckles now.

You're making it better now, that's all that matters.

"I've just ordered a bit of coffee, we could have a look at the menu, or -"

Regina clears her throat, her free hand now shifting so her fingers can glide across his cheek. "Let's get a room at that hotel across the street."

A part of him hesitates, about to ask inane questions like, Are you sure? Are we ready? It's been so long, should we really leap into this?, but they're married, this is his wife stroking his cheek and seeking out a way to reconnect because it's been too long and they've missed each other, and clearly the separation had done them well because there's mutual desire to make love again, that's obvious in the way she's looking at him, lips parted and eyes darkening.

Kissing her forehead - because he intends to save that first kiss to her lips for when they're alone - Robin tosses a twenty dollar bill on the table because the waitress was nice, and he hopes she can use that money for something that makes her feel good. Then he grabs Regina's scarf and drapes it over his arm, leading her out of the diner with a hand perched at her waist.

Snow flurries dust their hair and coats as they wait for the light to turn, and then cross at a swift pace, their fingers now laced together until they've made it inside. She's glued to him as Robin moves to the check-in counter, leaning his elbow against it and smiling as he asks for a king suite - eyes drifting to Regina just to confirm that's alright - his thumb moving over the soft lines of her knuckles, her fingers playing with his own as though they were adolescents sneaking away for the afternoon. They're quickly given room keys, and he tunes out nearly everything else before thanking the staff member and guiding Regina up to their room. They're on the tenth floor, overlooking the city humming with life. But he shuts the curtains for now, and just as he's turning to look at his wife, she rushes at him, hands bunching up the fabric of his turtleneck sweater as their lips meet in a heated kiss.

A blissful moan leaves his lips as they're pressed against hers in a kiss that's about discovery as much as it is an affirmation of their love. He thinks for a moment that maybe this passion is a temporary madness, a way to assuage the pain of not seeing one another for far too long, and when tomorrow comes and the fog lifts, will they be right back where they started?

It still doesn't halt his frenetic movements, his fingers dancing at her blouse, popping buttons loose until her upper torso peeks out. The blouse is pushed off swiftly, along with her bra, and then Regina returns the favor in kind, lifting his sweater off so their upper bodies can press together, the warmth sending delightful shivers down his spine.

Her fingernails are raking across his skin, marking him as hers all over again, and as tongues tango passionately near teeth, there's a brief taste of copper in his mouth. They're breaking each other open, letting their renewed love seep back in. Renewed, because it can't be anything else, he won't allow those thoughts to destroy this.

The moment they're both at last naked, Robin tugs her, pushing the luxurious down comforter on their bed aside so they can drape their bodies on the sheets. Their legs tangle together, his foot dragging up and down her thigh as she first rolls on top of him, straddling him while fingers circle his chest. Then he rolls a moment later, attempting to straddle her as she laughs at his movements, but she shakes her head, coming up for air to say, "Like this."

Tugging him so they're facing each other, encompassed by the other's arms so protectively, Robin sighs blissfully.

He's already wanting for her, but he has to be sure she's ready, and there's an urgent need just to touch her, to remember this.

He only shifts so his face can kiss slowly down her neck, sucking deeply in spots across her collarbone, his tongue always soothing the red marks he leaves behind. But it's satisfying as he thinks, We belong to each other.

Lips press to her chest where her heart is pounding a steady rhythm, and he pinches a nipple between his fingers until she moans happily, her head jerking back, limbs stiffening and relaxing intermittently with burgeoning pleasure. The minutes drag by as Robin dotes on her softness, wondering about the cold, lonely nights that kissed this skin, and the warmth he can bring back to it now.

"My love…" He whispers against the pulse point of her neck, shifting back up now to capture her lips again in a deep kiss.

Her hands have not been idle, and though he's kept his loud moans at bay, when her hand cups to his ass to push him closer, her name is tucked into a groan. She's ready, that's her silent signal, and with one hand resting on her hip, his thrust joins their bodies together again, as they always should be.

He doesn't move for a moment, just acclimating to this sensation, to how perfect it feels to be with her again. There's love lighting up the corners of his heart, he can feel it beating again, and his eyes glisten with unshed tears as he finally begins to rock his hips against hers.

Regina needs to see, needs to know, apparently, because she cradles his cheek to see his eyes, smiling tearfully back at him. And even with their hips knocking together, she takes a moment to tenderly stroke his cheek, to kiss his lips softly and reverently now. "I love you."

His eyes close as his forehead presses to hers, emotion nearly overwhelming him as he replies, "I'll always love you."

Her arms now encompass his neck as she keeps their heads tucked close, becoming breathless with him as their hips rock together faster. As light gasps fall from her lips, Robin shifts just slightly, feeling where she's throbbing with pleasure, pressing up hard against that spot, unrelenting in his thrusts.

With that precision, she slides into blissful euphoria only moments later, and Robin is quick to follow, pressing her name up against her ear as he climaxes. When they've both managed to regulate their breathing, light kisses are dropped to lips, corners of mouths, cheeks, foreheads, both of them just doting on the other.

They lay there tangled together for what must be ten minutes, and they've shifted so that he's on his back and Regina is draped over his chest. His hand is stroking up and down her arm, and he speaks softly, "When we check out of this room, Regina, I...I can't go home without you. It's not home, not when my heart is across the ocean, or wherever you are."

She's silent for a moment, then lifts her head, assuring him with a kiss to his lips. "We won't let this slip away from us again. The only place I truly want to be is here, right here." And just to banish any doubt, she lays back down on his chest, in the safety of his arms.

Right there, tucked into his heart.