The next day, he wakes to Roland bouncing up and down on his bed, calling for cereal and cartoons.

"Papa, wake up! It's morning!"

Robin groans and rolls over, capturing his son in his arms and dragging him beneath the covers with him. "No, I'm sorry my boy, it's still night time."

Roland shrieks with laughter and squirms against his hold. "Papa, the little hand is already on the eight and the big hand is on the six."

At this, Robin cracks open an eyelid and sees that his son is right, it's eight thirty in the morning, and in ten minutes the little bell and hammer alarm clock on his nightstand is going to start ringing. "So it is, Roland." He rubs his hand over his face and opens both eyes, blinking owlishly at his son to make him laugh.

He reaches over and turns off the alarm and throws back the covers, uncovering them both. "How about you go pick out what cereal you'd like, and I'll be along in a moment?"

"Ok," Roland says, scooching off the bed and scampering down the hallway to the small kitchen.

Robin slides his feet to the floor and puts his head in his hands. A quick glance at the nightstand reveals that last night wasn't a dream. The bejeweled red apple earrings are sitting next to his phone. He glares at them, wishing them back to their owner, but he does not have magic, and they stay put. With a sigh, he pushes himself off the mattress and pulls on his blue plaid robe.

Shuffling into the living room, he finds Roland sitting on the floor in front of the couch, shoveling store brand marshmallow cereal into his mouth by the fistful straight from the bag. Robin frowns and makes a detour into the kitchen to gather a bowl, spoon, and the last of the milk. "Roland, come eat at the table first," he says.

"But Papa, it's Scooby Doo," Roland whines, soggy marshmallows falling out of his mouth as he talks.

"Don't speak with your mouth full, please. Now come on."

Roland chews furiously and gulps before acquiescing to his father's request. With him settled at the table, Robin sits on the couch and picks up the remote. "Once the commercial comes up, I'm going to check the weather," he warns Roland, waving the controller at him.

"No! You always wait too long and then we miss parts."

"Roland, what did I tell you about talking with your mouth full?"

The little boy pouts and splatters milk on the table when he plunks his spoon into the bowl with a vicious little grunt of dissatisfaction.

Robin rubs a hand over his face again (God, that whiskey did a number on him) and thumbs the channel button until he finds the local news station.

"Weather and traffic are at the bottom of your screen as always. And now we turn to Janet Reagan who's on the scene at the residence of CEO Leopold King who was found deceased this morning in the family's pool. Janet?"

"Mark, we're down the street from the King residence at the request of police as they continue to investigate the death of Leopold King. Now the information we're getting from them is that he was found by his daughter at the bottom of the pool just after 8:00am this morning. No word yet on whether this was an unfortunate accident or something more sinister, although we did see police escorting Mrs. King and her step-daughter away from the house just before this broadcast. As always, we'll keep you updated on any developments in this case. Live from Persimmon Street, I'm Janet Reagan, Channel 17 News."

The newscast moves on to the next story, a fluff piece about a police officer rescuing a kitten from a storm drain, but Robin doesn't hear it, doesn't hear anything but roaring in his ears.

King is dead.

"Papa, Papa!" Roland tugs on the hand that has the remote. "We're missing Scooby," he says, and pushes his lower lip into a pout.

"Of course, my boy. I'm sorry," Robin says, clicking back over to the cartoon. He lifts Roland into his lap and wraps his arms around him, resting his chin on his tiny shoulder.

"Papa, you're crushing me," Roland squeals.

"I love you, Roland." Robin squeezes him and then loosens his grip, allowing the boy to settle against him in a more comfortable position. "More than anything in this world."

"Love you, too." Roland kisses his hand and reaches behind him to smack Robin's cheek, only his aim is off and his nose takes the brunt of the affection.

They snuggle on the couch longer than he would allow on a normal Saturday, soaking in the wash of cartoons late into the morning. He holds Roland tight as he waits for the phone to ring. The police will be calling everyone who'd been at the party the night before, questioning anyone who may have seen or heard something, and God help him if they found his gym bag in that downstairs powder room.

The phone is silent until the afternoon when Robin is standing over the stove mixing boxed macaroni and cheese for Roland's lunch. The boy gets to the phone first, picking it up from the cradle and crowing, "Hello, we're the Locksley's!" before Robin can stop him. Roland frowns and wedges the phone between two couch cushions, speaker end sticking up and stretching the coiled cord taught.

"Papa! A detector wants to talk to you."

"A detective, Roland," Robin says, giving the pasta one last turn with the spoon for good measure. He brushes powdered cheese from his shirt, wipes a dash of butter from the back of his hand. "Go wash up for lunch, please."

As Roland hops down the hallway on one foot (his latest accomplishment and one he's loathe to pass up an opportunity to use), Robin pulls the phone from the couch cushions and sits, taking a moment to compose himself before saying, "Hello?"

The call is brief. The detective asks a few cursory questions and then gives him a number to call if he thinks of anything else. Robin drops the phone back in the cradle and lets out a breath. That had gone well. Almost too well. Had no one spoken about the incident on the dance floor to the police? But why should they connect that with him? It had happened in the center of the dance floor, sure, but there was a lot going on at the time, and no one had raised their voice or made any threatening motions that would have drawn attention, had they? The only people who knew his name and that he wore the lion mask were Regina and that Sidney Glass fellow, and after their little confrontation he doubted the man would try to cast suspicion on him.

Roland runs back down the hallway and skids into the kitchen on socked feet. "I'm ready," he says in a sing-song voice.

"Coming," Robin says. He pushes himself off the couch with his knuckles and joins his son in the kitchen. As he dishes macaroni into two plastic bowls he glances at the clock on the microwave.

1:30pm. After eleven, as Regina had requested.

Roland carries his bowl to the table with two hands, clutching his lunch to his chest. Robin joins him and lets his son chatter away about how excited he is to be going back to preschool next week.

He won't take the earrings to Mr. Gold, he decides, sliding four noodles onto the individual tines of his fork. He'll call John, explain about the mask, and then see if Granny will let him pick up more jobs until his new position begins.

He wants to contact Regina, ask her about the things that happened last night (magic, fucking magic is real), but until this mess with King is resolved he can't afford to do anything that will cast more attention on him and his son.

Over the next few days whenever a knock comes at the door or the phone rings he tenses, but the police never contact him again, and neither does Regina, even after Sidney Glass is arrested for the murder of Leopold King. Robin's new job begins, Roland returns to preschool (funded by extra shifts with Granny), and he works out an installment plan to repay John for the loss of the mask. The earrings he wraps in tissue paper, stowing them in the fireproof box kept underneath his bed. He doesn't want to keep them, but it feels wrong to cash them in as Regina had intended him to do, so he'll keep them safe until she figures out he still has them.

Two months later, a crow taps on his bedroom window, a message capsule secured to its leg. Robin frowns and knocks on the window, trying to scare the bird away, but it doesn't move, taps even harder on the glass. Sighing, Robin opens the window and the crow hops inside, holding its leg out in a dutiful manner. He retrieves the message, unrolling the slip of paper and squinting at the tiny handwriting.

You broke our deal, thief. Again. Why?

Robin grins and reaches for a pen. "You'll take this back to Regina?" he asks the bird, feeling only mildly foolish when the crow caws at him and flaps his wings once. "Right." He scribbles a response (Extenuating circumstances, you understand) on the back of her message, and sends it off with the bird.

Her reply comes quicker than he expects.

I made myself perfectly clear. Earrings. Gold. 11am.

He chuckles (stubborn, she's so stubborn, like him) and replies with a request that she call him like a normal human being to continue their argument. As the crow leaves, he glances at his watch. He still has thirty minutes before he needs to pick up Roland from preschool. He reaches underneath the bed for the fireproof box containing the earrings and is startled when his cell phone phone rings.

Unknown number.

Robin swallows, slides his thumb across the screen, and raises his phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"What did I ever do to give you the impression that I'm a normal human being?"

He smiles. "Nothing, nothing at all."

A/N: If you still reading, thanks for sticking with me! Please leave me a review and let me know what you thought!