Summary: Before they adopt Robin and Regina go through a rough patch and she asks for a divorce. For Saturday of AngstFest featuring prompts 32, 30, 3, 10 and 1.

Robin liked Aesop's. It was a bar not three blocks from his station. There was a neon sign above its door, classic rock on the jukebox and pure alcohol on the shelves, none of that watered down crap. He'd been coming here as long as he'd been on the force. Being so close to the station, it was a regular hangout for him and all the other cops. Not a week went by without him going there. He knew when it would be crowded, which bartenders were heavy-handed, and how many drinks it took before the regulars turned rowdy. He liked Aesop's.

He just didn't expect to be spending so much time there after he got married.

It hit him as he was sitting at the bar, staring down at his second glass of Jack Daniels before six and he realized that it was the fourth time he'd come to the bar in a week. And it was only Thursday. He'd gone to the bar after work every day this week and at least three days the week before. It was like he didn't want to go home.

He didn't want to go home.

The realization hits him like a sack of bricks to the gut. Every day for the past few months he'd ended his shift, changed into his street clothes, walked out the door and felt his heart deflate at the thought of going home. At the thought of going home to her.

The thought of going home to Regina… depressed him.

He'd powered through that feeling for a long time but these past few weeks he'd been escaping to Aesop's, pushing back his inevitable return home.

Trying to swallow his alarm and disappointment, he lifted the glass to his lips, draining it of alcohol in one gulp. Whiskey stung the back of his throat as it fell to his stomach, doing nothing to settle the dread inside of it. He wanted to order another - and possibly another after that - to help dull the ache in his heart but he knew it was a bad idea. Alcohol wasn't the solution to his problems.

Sighing, he stared at the clear bottom of his glass wondering just how he got here, how they got here. They loved each other. He knew that. There wasn't a person in the world he loved more than Regina Mills. She was the woman he married, the love of his life. It shouldn't be this hard to go home to her. It didn't used to be.

A bartender came and swept away his empty glass. "Another Jack?"

Robin looked up at him, silently debating his answer. After a moment he shook his head. "Nah, I should probably get home. Get back to the wife and all that."

He prays the look on his face doesn't reflect the misery rising up in his gut.

It doesn't take him long to get home. When they were engaged and looking for a place to live, they'd printed off a map of the whole city, drawing two circles to mark the ten-mile radius around his job and hers, promising each other that they'd only look for houses where the circle overlapped. It'd been three months before their wedding and they'd been happy… then.

Robin finds himself regretting that decision now. If they'd moved closer to her job - like he'd been more than willing to do - he would've had more time to himself. Instead it takes him only ten minutes to get there.

Walking through the door, he sees her on the couch, her black hair pulled back into a ponytail and her reading glasses on as she sits with an open book in her hands. He wishes he could marvel at how beautiful she looks, because she does look beautiful, she always does. It's one of the many reasons he used to count himself as one of the luckiest bastards in the world but sadly, how beautiful she looks doesn't even register with him right now.

Instead, all he can focus on is how still she is. She doesn't turn to him as he walks through the door, she doesn't even look up. If it wasn't for the slightest twitch in her jaw as he closes the door, he'd think she didn't even realize that he was home. But she does. He knows she does. She's just ignoring him. The same way she has for the past seven months.

He can't help but roll his eyes at her attitude. It grates on him. It's annoying and childish and what's worse, he's certain that she knows that. But she just won't stop.

"Hey," he mumbles, slipping off his jacket.

She doesn't respond to him, even flinches when he dares to press a kiss to the back of her head. He tries not to be hurt by that.

She used to greet him when he came home. His heart used to flutter when she'd see him and break into that ten million dollar smile she had. God, he can't remember the last time he saw that smile.

Her shoulders tense up as she finally speaks, not even looking up for her book. "You stopped by Aesop's… again?"

It's a question but it doesn't sound like one. It's too judgemental and punitive to be a question.

"Yeah, one of the guys had a birthday," he lied.

She sucks her teeth and raises her eyebrow before pointedly turning a page. "Seems like there's a lot of birthdays this time of year," she softly mumbles under her breath.

Something bristles beneath his skin at her tone and he clenches his jaw. "I was gonna call and see if you wanted to come."

"You don't have to call, Robin." She finally lowers her book to look him in the eye. "I've got better things to do than spend my weekdays at some dirty cop bar. Don't worry."

He presses his lips together, holding back all the angry things he wants to shout at her. Like the fact that Aesop's is not just "some dirty cop bar." It's the bar where they had their first date, where she said she first fell in love with his laugh.

Like the fact that despite her claims that she had better things to do, he knew that she hadn't been out with her friends in months. That she had been so prickly, immature, and confrontational that she's alienated almost every person she loved.

He doesn't say any of those things. Because if he said those things the house would quake with the force of all the emotions they would both let out.

So instead, he simply shakes his head and mumbles, "I'm gonna take a shower."

She only lifts her shoulders in response, as if to say don't let me stop you.

Getting undressed feels like a chore at this point. Doing anything in this house feels so damn exhausting, lately. It was like all the oxygen disappeared when they were there together, like every breath he took ran the chance of upsetting some delicate, invisible balance that could crush everything around him if disturbed. Life had become a minefield. Standing in the shower, he wondered if this was how it was gonna be from now on. Was he gonna spend every day for the rest of his life drinking in bars, dreading going home and deftly avoiding bombs when he got there?

Pulling on an old pair of pajama pants and t-shirt, he went back to the bedroom to find her sitting on the bed waiting for him.

"You left your shoes by the door again."

He closed his eyes, irritated. It was one of many pet peeves she'd picked up in the last year. Griping and nagging about how he left his shoes by the door, instead of in the closet. She never cared before but suddenly it was her biggest annoyance. She yelled about it constantly but he just got home from work, he'd barely got his pajamas on and for god's sake, could this not wait until the morning!

He sucked in a deep breath, trying to hold back his irritation. "I'm sorry."

"I told you a million times not to leave your shoes by the door. I trip over them."

"I know and I am sorry," he gritted out.

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "Whatever."

One word shouldn't be able to make him so angry but it's that word and the way she looks at him, looks through him actually and the way she speaks to him. Like he's some child who hasn't learned what they should already know, like he's one of the kids at her school. He glares at her as she climbs beneath the blankets

"Fine, if you want me to move my shoes, I'll move the damn shoes." He heads toward the door, stopping in his tracks when he hears her mumble, "It's too late. I already moved them."

He clenches his jaw so hard, he swears he can feel his teeth crack. If she'd already moved the shoes, then what was the point of this display? Oh yeah, to needle and nag him and remind him of all the little, insignificant ways he has failed to make her happy. God forbid, they address the big one.

Breathing out through his nose, he tries to let it go. "Fine," he grits out. "I'm going to bed."

"Right now?" Her eyebrows grow up in equal part offense and surprise. And though it pisses him off, he can't exactly blame her. For the past few weeks, they'd developed an unspoken routine where she went to bed first and he waited thirty minutes for her to pretend to fall asleep before climbing in next to her and remaining on his side of the bed, not touching or so much as looking at her side.

"Yes, right now," he snapped, pulling back the blankets. "Because this is my bed, I paid for half of it and I will sleep it whenever I so please. If you have a problem with that, then I promise you the couch is free and clear."

Her head reared back in surprise at his outburst. Once she got over her shock she set her jaw tight, angry lines forming between her eyes as she nodded. "Fine."

"Great," he spat, climbing in and turning on his side, away from her. "Goodnight."

He expects her to have some snarky retort, for her to angrily turn on her side and turn off the light, so they could both lay there stewing in their mutual misery before it carried them off to sleep. But she didn't do anything of those things. Instead he could feel her, still sitting up on her side of the bed staring at his back.

"Robin… I can't do this anymore."

He sighed, rolling his eyes before turning over, annoyed. "Can't do what?"

"This," she firmly declared, shaking her head. "I… am so tired."

"You're tired?"

"And exhausted and...I think things have just changed. They've changed between us and it has become so hard."

"Hasn't been a picnic for me either," he muttered, knowing he was being an ass and regretting it the minute he heard what she said next.

"I want a divorce."

The four words shake him to his core. He sits up on his elbows, staring into her eyes, seeing nothing but regret and resolve in them. She means these words. They are not a joke, they are not a threat. They are legitimate request, that she dared to speak aloud to him. They sink into his bones, hitting him like bullets.

"You want a divorce?"

She nods pensively. "Yes, I do."

"No."

His response is hard and automatic. He sits up in bed, suddenly overflowing with a hot, righteous anger that only intensifies at the look of disbelief on her face.

"No?!" she questions, her voice rising with indignation. "You think you can just say no!"

"I don't think I can! I am saying no! No! No! No!" He rips the blankets off himself so he can get out of bed, set on fire by her audacity.

Not to be outdone, she climbs out with him, her eyes wide as she rounds the bed and charges in front of him, anger radiating from her every pore. "Are you serious right now, Robin?! Do you actually believe that any of this is working?! That any of this is good?!"

She's yelling so hard, her face has turned red, tears are starting to form in her eyes as her emotion grows with every passing second.

"I am not happy!" she shouts, desperately. "I am so unhappy! Deeply, completely and totally unhappy! Are you really gonna stand there and tell me that you aren't!"

"Of course I'm not happy!" His throat feels hoarse as he yells at her. "I am miserable every goddamn day, Regina! I come home to a wife that doesn't want to touch me or talk to me or look at me every single day! It has been that way for months! So of course I am not happy! How could I be?!"

She stares up at him, her chest heaving with every breath she takes. "Then why?! Why can't we just end it?!"

"Because I am not done yet!" he roars.

She steps back, knitting her eyebrows together. "What?"

"I am not done," he hisses. "I'll admit that things are bad, that they are downright miserable… but I am still your husband. You are still my wife and I am not throwing that away. If we are going to end it, then we're gonna end it knowing we tried everything we could, that we fought with everything we had and nothing less. I am not gonna give you a divorce just because you're too afraid to talk or even look at me!"

"I look at you!" she said. "I look at you every day, Robin."

He shook his head. "No, you look through me. You stare at me with dead eyes, but you don't see me at all. You don't even try to."

She went silent then, running her fingers through her hair as he walked past her. He heard mumble behind his back, "I tried Robin. Don't tell me I didn't try."

"You never talk to me," he said, turning to face her. "It's like I don't even know you anymore. We haven't talked in so long."

It's true. He can't remember the last time they had an actual conversation, the last time they even spoke to one another without snapping or scolding or holding back. Some days it felt like he didn't even live with his wife anymore, just an angry ghost.

"Fine," she whispered, crossing her arms and defiantly sticking out her chin. "You want to talk, then let's talk."

Robin glared at her. "Really? Right now, you want to talk right now?"

"Oh absolutely," she sarcastically drawled, nodding her head. "Because according to you, I've been silent for the last six months. So yeah, right now, let's talk! Let's chat! Why don't you let me know what's on your mind, sweetie?!"

She's being nasty and cold, trying to provoke him. It's working, more than she realizes but she is about to find out.

"Okay, you wanna talk, we can talk!" He charges into their walk-in closet, heading straight for a small yellow box, hidden directly behind a pile of winter sweaters. Gripping it tight, he returns, holding it up so she can see. "Why don't we talk about this?"

Regina goes still at the sight of the box in his hand. Her eyes, which were cold as stone a moment before, immediately go soft. A shaky breath escapes her as her chin starts to tremble. She clenches her jaw trying to hide it.

Her voice is shaky but hard when she speaks, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. "Robin… don't."

"Why not? You said you wanted to talk, and I can guarantee you we never talked about this," he said, his tone unyielding.

He should pull back, he knows that he should. He knows what's in the box, how painful the thought of it is for her and for him. There's a reason it was buried in the back of the closet after all. But he meant what he said before, he wasn't ending this marriage without trying absolutely everything.

She flinches when he opens the box and pulls out a tiny newborn onesie. One that he'd bought nearly two years ago when they'd decided to start a family.

"You said we could talk.. I want to talk about this," he says holding it up.

She glares at him, moving closer to brokenly whisper, "Screw you Robin."

Her black hair flips over her shoulder as she turns and stalks toward the bedroom door, leaving him alone. A guttural noise comes from the back of his throat as he drops the onesie on the bed following her down the hallway. The ends of her robe flutter behind her like a cape as she rushes to get away from him.

"You know what, Regina? Why don't you just admit it?"

"Admit what?" she spits at him.

"Just admit that the day you found out we couldn't have a baby was the day you stopped fighting for us!"

She instantly stops at his words, whirling around with a wild look in her eyes. Advancing on him, she hisses, "I stopped… I stopped fighting for us?!" She repeats his words, the tone of her voice incredulous. "Robin...I bled for us! I was poked and prodded and stabbed with hormones for us! I was the one being examined, critiqued, letting doctors screw with the very chemistry of my body just so we could have a baby! So you do not get to stand there and tell me that I stopped fighting! Because I was fighting harder than you could ever imagine or even hope to reciprocate! I fought!"

She grew more and more emotional with every word she spoke. By the time she finished, her face was red, her voice was wobbly, and tears had spilled down from her chin. He feels a foot shorter with every sentence she finishes. He must've been two inches tall when she finally turns away from him, rushing into the guest bathroom and slamming the door behind her.

Standing alone in the hallway, his throat feels tight and his cheeks burn with shame. He thought it would feel good, letting out all his anger and frustration. He was wrong. He just feels tired and hot… and guilty. He remembered how hard the fertility treatments were on her. It was even rougher when she discovered that they didn't work. How he'd ever allowed himself to forget that was unacceptable.

Shuffling toward the bathroom door, he raised his hand to knock on it, pausing when he heard the muffled sound of her cries coming from the other side.

He pulled back his hand, guilt washing over him again. Turning, he softly fell back against the door, slowly sliding down to the carpet until he was sitting indian-style in front of it. He could still hear her crying through the wood. Every sound she made went through his heart like a knife. He never wanted to be this person. The guy who came home and made his wife cry. It was a fucking nightmare.

He loved that woman. It might not seem like it at the moment but he did. He'd loved her from the moment he saw her. Becoming the person who hurt her had never been part of the plan. The plan was to marry her, to have kids with her and make her happy for the rest of his life. He'd succeeded at step one but failed miserably at step two and three. God, he was failing so hard. He just wanted the chance to make it right.

She stops crying eventually, but doesn't leave the bathroom. He's sure she's waiting him out, planning to leave as soon as he's gone. Maybe it would be smarter to leave her be, let her have her space, but against his best interest he felt he still had things to say.

After an hour sitting in front of the bathroom door, he finally decides to speak. "Regina… you were right."

There's no response, at least not one that he can hear, but he keeps talking.

"When we were trying… you were the strong one," he admits. "You took everything they threw at you and more while I was just… I was just there. I was watching, I was waiting and hoping for the best, but I just felt helpless the whole time, not that I said so. And when we found out nothing worked, you kept being strong. You acted like it didn't hurt, and I let you, even when I shouldn't have. I thought I was giving you space, but I… I wasn't doing my job. I'm your husband and I was supposed to be there for you and I did a really bad job of that. I'm sorry for that."

He waits for her to respond, to say something, anything but she doesn't. Nothing but silence comes from the other side of the door. For another hour he sits there, waiting for her. Finally, he moves - standing to his feet and ambling off toward the bedroom like his bones are made of glass. Sinking onto the bed, above the blankets, he feels so tired, but knows that he's not going to sleep. He doesn't sleep without her next to him.

It takes a while for her to come back. He almost doesn't expect her to come to the bedroom, but sometime after midnight she shuffles through the door, her red-rimmed eyes widening a little when she sees him still awake on the bed. Biting her lip, she approaches him. "Thought you'd be asleep."

"I couldn't sleep," he replies.

She nods her head acceptingly before sitting on the bed her back to him. A silent moment passes before she speaks. "You left me first," she whispers.

His eyes flit to her, alarmed. "What?"

She turns to him with sad eyes. "You didn't pack your bags, you didn't move out but… Robin, you left me. In all the ways that mattered, you weren't here anymore." She sighed. "Maybe I retreated a bit after the IVF failed, but when I was ready to be here again… you weren't there. I tried to set dates and dinners and you missed every one. You were working every overtime shift they offered, taking extra hours as security for parties and parades. You were never at home. It was like you couldn't stand being around me."

Her voice broke on the last sentence, causing him to sit up and shaking his head. "No, that's not what was happening."

"Then what did happen?" She begs for an answer. "Why were you always gone? Why weren't you with me?"

"I was working," he stressed. "I was trying to save up extra money."

"For what?"

"For us to try again."

She stares at him, shock in her eyes. "What?" she whispers.

Robin shrugged his shoulders. "The first round of treatment cleaned us out," he reminded her. "I was trying to be optimistic, but all the doctors told us it was a long shot and when it didn't work...I didn't want to give up. I wanted us to try again."

She bites her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. "Robin… did you ever think that maybe I didn't want to try again?"

His heart cracks open at the pain in her voice. Her eyes start to water again as she shakes her head at him.

"The doctors told us what the chances were," she said. "And we always knew the IVF was a hail mary. And when it failed, I felt like I failed. And I didn't want to keep feeling like a failure."

"You weren't a failure," he immediately assures her. "Regina, I told you that."

"No you didn't."

"Yes I did."

"Robin… no, you didn't."

He stared into her eyes and saw no exaggeration. Thinking back to those first few months, he remembered numerous pep talks about miracle babies and success stories of other women… but not one of him comforting her about the reality of it never happening for them or that it wasn't her fault.

"I didn't tell you," he whispers, his heart in a vice. "Wow…"

"Yeah…" she mutters.

Together they sit in silence, buried under the weight of past mistakes. For the first time, Robin can finally see how they got to where they are. All the little choices and holding back turned them into strangers.

Regina sighs. "What's it gonna take for you to give me a divorce?"

"Look me in the eyes and tell me you don't love me."

I don't love you. It's the only answer he'll accept, the only words powerful enough to convince him to throw away the one thing in his life that matters more than anything else… and she can't give it to him.

Instead her eyes well up again, a soft, desperate sound coming from her the back of her throat. "What does that matter Robin? There's no future here, so what's the point anymore?"

"What do you mean there's no future?"

"Robin… you want something than I will never be able to give you."

"So what, I'm just supposed to go out and marry the first woman I see, start a family with her?"

He expected a witty retort of some kind but she just remained silent, her brown eyes the only thing betraying how hurt she was at the picture he'd just painted. Tilting his head, another gut-wrenching realization grips Robin by the throat.

"Oh my god…" he whispers. "That's what you think I'm gonna do, isn't it?"

She averted her gaze, dropping her eyes to the blankets. "Well… it's not like you don't have time. You could still find somebody-"

"Stop!" The word comes out sharp and forceful. "Just stop please."

It's too much. The fact that she's been carrying around this idea that he could ever be happy without her, that there was some other woman in the world who could possibly give him more than she could that was intolerable. He couldn't stand it.

"Regina do you love me still?"

She hesitated, her chest heaving beneath her shirt as she let out deep breath, but she nodded. "Yes," she whispered. "Yes, I still love you."

Relief flooded through him. It'd been so long since she'd said the words, he hadn't realized how much he'd been doubting it. Hearing her say that she still loved him, it felt like the first time he could breathe in months.

"Then give me a chance," he begged. "A chance to fix this, to fix us. I don't want to start over with someone else, I want to rebuild what I have with you."

A tear fell down her cheek but a spark of relief flashed in her eyes. Her voice was thick when she asked, "How are we gonna do that?"

It was a loaded question. One he didn't really have the answer to. All he knew was what he wanted to do right now.

"Can I start with your holding your hand?" he softly asked.

A surprised, tearful laugh escaped her at his simple request. She nodded. "Yes, you can."

His hand reaches out to hold on to hers. Their fingers are laced together, gripping tight onto one another, both of them letting out soft breaths at the first hint of affection they'd received from each other in months. It's a small gesture but it means so much.

Sitting on the bed holding hands they know that none of their problems have disappeared but for the first time it feels like one day they might.

TW: Infertility

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