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Best Ongoing Stand Alone Fic
What if we killed off Thadwick earlier & replaced him with someone good? đđ„č Thatâs this fic.
@machinefey has masterfully woven the HWFWM plot from the perspective of a secret 2nd outworlder with unforeseen consequences.
If you were suddenly thrown into Thadwickâs shoesâyouâd react accordingly too. đ
I love the issues faced throughout the story so far from an LGBTQIA+ perspective, while also balancing out cis relationships. (Dusty is living his best life in this fic.)
The fic is currently at 72k+ words and still going strong. đȘđŒ
Thank you MachineFey for sharing this epic journey with us! We love a good redemption arc! đ„°đ
At least a quarter of the whiskey bottle remained, and heâd committed fully to polishing it off, but it seemed like it was taking forever.
That probably had something to do with the fact that he couldnât quite breathe through his nose.
The nose thing, well, that was from the crying, not that he would ever tell anyone about that. Especially not Dany.
Fuck, now his eyes were burning again, and he wasnât supposed to think about HER, not her name or her smell or her taste, Gods, the way she tasted was insane. There was this spot just at the pulse in her neck, where she was so sweet, and something about the way her heartbeat would speed up under the tip of his tongue, the way he could fucking feel her getting hotter for him, just made him crazy.
Jon slapped a hand against his own cheek, wincing a second after the loud crack sounded through the air, furious with himself. âStop it.â
He heard a whine and looked up to find Ghost watching him from the corner, which was shocking on itâs own because the dog had refused to even look at him since heâd gotten back from his breakup and subsequent breakdown in his truck. How the dog had known heâd spent an hour in that parking lot silently crying, swiping his sleeve across his face every few minutes until the fabric was soaked, he wasnât sure.
Who the fuck even was he anymore? He didnât remember ever being this fucking pathetic.
Ghost tilted his head at Jon.
âThis is your fault,â he answered, at the question in the dogâs eyes. He jabbed a finger towards Ghost, the rest of his hand wrapped around the liquor bottle, liquid sloshing as he pointed accusingly. âYou were supposed to stop me, pal. How did you let me get in this fucking deep, huh?â
Maybe it was the alcohol but he was sure, in that moment, that Ghost glared at him.
Then the dog huffed, and circled, and turned his back to Jon completely.
âDonât give me that bullshit, man.â Jon rose, a little unsteady, passing the muted television currently playing a âWesterosi Pickersâ marathon that he had chosen because he thought it would distract him but really all it had done was make him wish Dany was there tucked up right next to him like she was supposed to be, making fun of the hosts and eating all his chips and doing that thing he really liked to his earlobe during commercials.
No, no, he didnât need to think about that, and he pitched forward, hand finding the wall there in the corner, as he slipped down next to his dog, in the dark. Fuck, it was night.
How long had he been drinking?
Fuck it, it didnât matter, because he clearly hadnât drunk enough yet, everything still hurt too much.
Begrudgingly, Ghost shifted until he could put his head in Jonâs lap, then sighed.
âYou sad, too?â
Big eyes angled up to look at him, and another low whine emerged from the dog.
Jon set aside the bottle on the floor beside him and fished in his pocket for his phone, grunting with even that minor exertion. The screen swam before his eyes at first, but he managed to connect his phone to the bluetooth speakers above the television, and he fumbled around until he finally got his music app opened, the appropriate playlist selected.
There was dead air for a moment, and he met Ghostâs eyes again, resigned. âWe gotta do it, pal.â The opening strains of âEverybody Hurtsâ began to play, and Jon shook his head regretfully as Ghostâs ears pricked up. âTime for the breakup ritual.â
This wasnât gonna work. He knew it, even as he began to bob his head drunkenly, every forlorn word striking directly into his inebriated broken heart.
He knew it wasnât gonna work, but that didnât stop him from coming in where he always did, off-key and far too loud. âDonât let yourself gooooooooo,â he bellowed, face crumpling as he started crying again, mangling the next line terribly because he was finding you couldnât shout your heartbreak out when you were also sobbing.
But he pulled it together for the most important part, yelling and slurring to the empty room that everybody DID hurt sometimes, and he was everybody, apparently.
His head thumped back against the wall and he stopped trying to do anything but sniffle and hiccup and drink and just let the rest of the song happen to him.
It looped, three times, and now he could only manage short breaths through his mouth, but when his reddened eyes fell on the gift bag heâd shoved beside his coffee table he jumped as if heâd been electrocuted. âFuck,â he rasped, and crawled over to get it, leaning against the base of the sofa for support as he cradled the item in his lap.
Then a chill wracked him and it clicked in his mind why heâd tried to shove this out of sight earlier.
It smelled like her. Like that fucking lemon meringue pie body wash she used that made her smell fucking edible and he could almost taste her skin under his tongue, the firm give of flesh as he would sink his teeth into the rounded curve of her hip and she would moan and thread her fingers into his hair and pullâŠ
He let his fingers crinkle against the tissue paper and sucked in another thin stream of air through his nose, still stopped up, his eyes feeling heated and swollen as he looked down at the present she had given him.
If he opened he, that would be it. It would be over. He didnât know why, but it made a weird sort of sense, and he was convinced that this had to be true. So maybe he just shouldnât open it.
But he had to.
Because she gave him something, and he had to know, he couldnât not know, what was in this bag.
His mind flashed sluggishly to the desk calendar page he had meticulously poured over before declaring it a masterpiece, a brief record of what theyâd done, a little something to remember him by when she inevitably got scooped up by some lucky fuck who could behave himself at parties and be respectable and made better choices. Jon was just a ruiner, anyway, that was one thing Ygritte had probably been right about, that Jon ruined everything he touched, killed it until there was nothing left.
Dany was better off without all his bullshit, in the end.
So, while heâd had every intention of keeping Naked November for his own personal times of reflection heâd decided to give it to her.
He wondered if she had unfurled it yet, if it had made her laugh, or maybe sheâd studied it with that tiny devilish little smile that always popped up whenever sex between the two of them was involved.
Maybe she was doing what he was. Maybe she was getting shitfaced drunk and listening to sad music and trying to scrape together the will to purge Jon from her life. If he were going to continue on with his own special breakup traditions he would need to go round up all the things he hadnât given her back at the park, things around his place that he knew full well were there but he hadnât been able to part with. Her spare toothbrush, his extra from his last dentist visit, purple plastic spangled with silver glitter, still sat in the holder by his sink. Three berry yogurts were lining the door of the fridge, along with the pale ale sheâd brought the last time sheâd come over. Several of Drogonâs cat toys, his âfloatersâ that ended up travelling between both their places, were scattered in with Ghostâs.
Maybe she was wandering around her place right now and finding it was just as haunted by the spectre of him as his house was saturated with her.
Maybe she was crying. He didnât like the thought of that, at all. Sheâd looked upset at the park, putting on her best unaffected face for awhile, but maybe it was just the sex she was mourning.
A small, petty part of him hoped no one ever fucked her like he did, and made make all those amazing noises she made, and he hoped she never called someone else baby in that low throaty voice that made him want to bury himself inside her until neither of them could walk. That was his, and maybe it was selfish, but he didnât care.
âFuck it,â he muttered, and took another drink from the bottle, smiling bitterly at the burn then thrusting his hand into the paper. He grew still when his questing fingers encountered a hard edge, and for the life of him he couldnât begin to imagine what it could be.
So, he took a deep breath and braced himself, and pulled the object free.
A little farmhouse, laid mostly abandoned by its previous owners. It needs a few eager hands to slowly rebuild it into its past (or new) glory. Are your Sims up to the task, or is this little house slowly going to rot away and given back to mother nature?
---
It says a lot of packs are needed for this build, but I mostly recommend pets, get together, city living (wallpapers) and vampires (for the spider webs, cracks, and stains)
Prompt 58-59 of @oqpromptparty: Henry and Roland are friends (they are about 10 years old). Roland really likes Henryâs mom Regina and Henry thinks Rolandâs dad Robin is pretty cool. They decide to play cupid. Henry makes sure that several things in his house break and Robin (a handyman) has to come and fix them. Hopefully, his momâs broken heart as well.
AN: This oneâs dedicated to my friend @nepheliteâ, because itâs an old prompt of hers Iâd started working on months ago and finally, finally finished. Hopefully it lives up to expectations. I kept Roland a bit younger, I hope you donât mind. :)
âRemember, itâs top secret,â Henry stresses, leaning forward for added emphasis. âThey canât know weâre behind this. If Mom finds out, Iâll be grounded till retirement.â
Roland puffs out his chest, bouncing with excitementâthis he can surely do.
âDonât worry,â he says. âIâm brilliant at sneaking around.â
âRight. Which is why youâre the one planting your dadâs business card in my momâs pocket.â
Roland frowns at that, turning the forest green card in his hands. His treehouse has just been upgraded from favourite hangout to headquarters of Operation Lionheart, for which he and Henry are currently hatching out their master plan. There seems to be a rather obvious flaw in said plan though.
âYeah, but Regina already has Daddyâs number. Sheâs only ever called to confirm sleepoversâand theyâre never both there. What ifââ Roland pauses, voicing a worry niggling at him for a while now. âWhat if they donât fancy each other? Then Regina just gets someone else to fix the...whatever it is you break. Daddyâs not the only handyman in town.â
âMaybe not,â Henry admits, his enthusiasm not dimming one bit. âBut heâs the best. And soon heâs gonna be the only contact Mom has at handâwhy wouldnât she use it? Once they get to spend a little time together, get to know each other a bit, theyâre guaranteed to fall in love. I mean, Robinâs really cool. How could my mom not like him?â
âAnd Regina is wonderful! Sheâs funny and nice and has the best laugh. Pretty, too,â Roland adds, shifting shyly. âAnd her apple turnovers are magic!â
Henry chuckles. Roland can see whyâheâd be laughing, too, if he got to enjoy Reginaâs marvellous cooking all day, every day.
Maybe he willâthat and more. If this plan works. Then Henry will also be his true brother.
âSo,â Roland grins, rubbing his hands together. âWhat are you gonna break then?â
Itâs the Millsâ kitchen sink that first falls victim to their matchmaking.
Henry knows Regina is capable enough to handle minor things like a lightbulb switch, so those are out of the question. Heâs considered a leaking toilet, but heâs not entirely sure how heâd go about causing that particular issue, and thereâs plenty of bathrooms in the house for it to not be an urgent one anyway. Besides, a broken toilet just isnât romantic.
So down the drain go popsicle sticks, peanut butter, and a bunch of other objects Henry can think to stuff in, effectively blocking it just minutes before Reginaâs keys clink in the lock.
He meets her halfway between kitchen and foyer, twisting his face into a worried, urgent expression.
âMom, I think the drain is clogged. Weâll have to call Roâsomeone to look at it.â
But instead of dialling Robin Locksley, Mom unearths a mysterious bottle of home-made cleaning solution, which she pours a generous amount of down said drain. The blockage, and all of Henryâs hard work, dissolves within an hour.
Who knew Momâs magic extended beyond lasagna to solving plumbing emergencies with a mere flick of the wrist?
Henry definitely has her stubbornness and determination though, and he wonât be easily deterred. The backup plan is put to practice the very same evening.
Mom likes things clean and proper, and even one missed load of laundry is bound to throw her. Surely sheâll want the washing machine fixed right away, and surely sheâs going to turn to the one person whose contact she propitiously found in her pocket and flung onto the foyer table earlierâright?
Wrong.
âIâll find someone to come over Monday,â she sighs with a hint of frustration. âWe have enough fresh clothes for a couple of days.â
Henry cannot believe his ears. A couple of days? Who is this woman and what has she done with his mom?
Perhaps if he hinted at the card, or even mentioned in passing that his best friendâs dad just so happens to be a handyman, sheâd reconsider.
Or see right through him.
Thatâs the more likely scenario actually, considering Mom and he can often communicate through looks alone. Normally he finds this cool and comforting, but it really complicates things when his intentions are, well, less innocent and just a bit devious. Like now.
Leroy the janitor turns up at the mansion the next day, grumpy (itâs the weekend, and he probably wouldnât have bothered at all if Mom wasnât the mayor) but efficient enough, and by the time he leaves, the laundry roomâs abuzz with the quiet drone of the perfectly functional appliance.
âItâs almost as if she wanted to avoid Robin at all costs,â Henry sighs, leafing through an old issue of The Incredible Hulk. Itâs too dark to really read in their pillow fort despite the torch, but Roland doesnât feel much like comic books right now anyway.
Henry made another failed attempt to sabotage a vital appliance that afternoon, but as much as Regina loves her coffee, she only complained of a string of bad luck, joking that a vicious curse must be at work to have stricken a full three times now, and made herself a cup the old-fashioned way by boiling water on the stove.
When theyâd first moved to Storybrooke, it was hard to imagine life without their old family. Uncle John and Will and Tuck had stayed behind in faraway England with the distant promise of visiting at Christmas. Daddy had promised Roland would find new friends here in Storybrooke. Heâd been right of courseâHenry took Roland under his wing the first day at school, and theyâve since become inseparable.
Between treehouses and pillow forts, sleepovers and daytrips, Roland gets to spend plenty of time with Henryâs mum. He likes Regina. He liked her the moment she waved at him through the classroom window while heâd sat gazing forlornly after Daddyâs disappearing pickup truck. He likes coming over to hang out at the mansion with either Mills or both of them, likes her happy smile when he tells her the food is delicious or that her hugs are the softest, even likes the way she rolls her eyes playfully when he and Henry make a mess of her gleaming kitchen or build the worldâs biggest pillow fort using up her entire supply of bedding.
The door opens to a crack, and Regina pokes her head into the room.
âAll right,â she says firmly. âLights out, misters. You need your sleep before tomorrowâs soccer extravaganza.â
âItâs football, Regina,â Roland corrects for the gazillionth time, giggling at her little huff.
The torch goes out immediatelyâRegina is nice but also strictâand the blankets come off so that she can tuck them both in properly, kissing Henryâs forehead first and then Rolandâs, and wishing them both sweet dreams.
Itâs always like this with themâRegina treats Roland with just as much care as she does Henry when heâs staying over, and Robin does the same for Henry when theyâre camped out at the Locksley cottage.
Yes, Roland likes things the way they are just fineâbut why not make them even better?
If only there were a failsafe way to wreck something and make sure no one but Daddy is fit for the task of repairing itâŠ
The pristine facade and neatly trimmed hedges of 108 Mifflin Street greet Robin with silence. Not that he expected yelling, never that; but Roland sounded beyond agitated on the phone, reiterating over and over again that he wanted his Daddy to come over immediately.
Roland had always been a bit of a mischiefânot unlike his father, if Robinâs honestâbut heâs a good lad, had never gotten into any sort of serious trouble before.
What has gotten into him now?
Eager to find out, Robinâs barely a step into the porch when the front door flies open, and Henry tugs him inside with a subdued but unmistakable little grin that seems most suspiciously out of place.
âIn here,â he says, dragging Robin through the foyer and into the kitchen.
Roland at least is appropriately enthused to see him as he waves energetically, but much to Robin's surprise he remains sitting on his stool, shooting furtive looks Regina's way.
Regina turns around from the counter just then, and Robin almost doesn't recognise her. She's dressed down, casual by her standards in black slacks and black waistcoat over a grey tee, tucking away a strand of hair just come loose from her short pony. Even so, even here in the privacy of her home, she's still stylishâand still stunning. Somehow even more so than in her usual pantsuits, tailored dresses, or decadent gownsâand that's saying something.
If only she didn't loathe him so.
As things stand between them, she barely spares Robin a glance and acknowledges him with no more than a curt nod and a polite hello as she lays a tall glass of milk and two cookies in front of each boy, ruffling Rolandâs messy curls with a reassuring smile. The boy beams up at her with not a trace of trepidation, and not only is it clear Regina has been nothing but understanding about the incident, but Roland seems oddly cavalier about the whole thingâand that is most certainly unlike him.
âAnd have you apologised to Regina?â
Roland is suddenly too busy chewing and not meeting Robin's eye.
âHe has,â Regina says curtly, a speck of annoyance clearly somehow stirred by the elder Locksley. âAnd there's no need for you to do anythingâI only called you because heâd been so upset about it and asked for you.â
But Roland is the furthest thing from upset right now, stuffing a cookie into his mouth happily and snickering into his milk for no apparent reason.
Perhaps once home, he'll get to the bottom of his boyâs peculiar behaviour.
But Robin has a job to do firstâitâs only fair after all.
âI've all I need to fix it for you right now.â
âYou have a window pane with you,â she immediately challenges, eyebrow arching to very nearly disappear in her hairline.
âThat I do,â he canât help but smirk as her haughty expression falls just a tad. âRoland wasn't exactly articulate on the phone, but I did manage to catch that much. Now, if you would lead the way?â
Robin starts out on the wrong foot. First he tramples Reginaâs tulips; then he walks right into a rather obvious trap when he defends his ignorance of some town ordinance or other as he makes a painful attempt at conversation in a rather strained silence.
âForgive me, Your Majesty,â he teases a tad with the bold moniker, âIâm still somewhat new in town.â
âYouâve been here four months,â she scoffs. Sheâs hovering behind him with her arms crossed, as though he needed supervision for the simple task of fixing a broken window. âHow much longer do you expect to get a free pass based on that excuse?â
âNot a minute longer, it seems,â Robin returns, throwing her a wink she takes none too kindly to. Every venture of his has only ever been met with disdain or dismay on her part; yet he still canât help himself. âThe boys tell me thereâs been quite the epidemic sweeping through your house lately,â he muses. âClogged drains, leaky taps, broken down appliances? Bit of a bummer for a mansion this stately.â
âOh, so now youâre a real estate expert, too?â
âJust a handyman, milady,â he shrugs in mock innocence. âBest one in town.â
âDebatable.â
âNot for long,â Robin says, pulling himself up and brushing off his jeans. âAll done here.â
A shadow crosses her featuresâor so Robin fancies. Surprise, most likelyâshe doesnât think much of him after all. Either way, he blinks and itâs gone.
Not so the football peeking from under the rosebush, chequered black and white against the lush greenâand miles away from the miniature goalpost.
âSomething doesnât add up here.â
âAnd whatâs that supposed to mean?â she shoots back, going from crossed arms to hands on hips in an eye-blink.
But this isnât an accusationânot yet, and definitely not against her.
âYou said Roland kicked the ball?â
âYes?â
Robin shakes his head. None of this is making sense to him, but the facts speak for themselves.
âWell, Rolandâs got better aim than that. As a matter of fact, everybody has.â
âYour point, Locksley?â
But sheâs figured it out alreadyâhe can tell by how her brows knit, and by the subtle way she bites her lip before she catches herself.
âRoland may have a puckish streak,â she frowns. âBut heâd never do something like that. Not on purpose anyway.â
Robin swallows as her words, brimming with confidence and trust for his son, touch some chord in him that makes his chest expand fit to burst with affection for Regina Mills. His instinct, however, tells him theyâre going to have to face a different reality soon. That, and his observation skills.
Roland,â he addresses the trainered foot his son has failed to conceal behind the hazelnut bush. âYou can come out now.â
And he does, slowly, dragging himself all slumped shoulders and hanging head, the very personification of defeat.
Regina steps forward and crouches in front of a miserable Roland, who simply wonât look her in the eye.
âSweetheart, itâs okay. I know it was an accident.â
Far from soothed by this, Roland sniffs, his shoulders sagging further. All it does is confirm Robinâs suspicion.
âRoland, my boyâwas it an accident?â
The child chokes out a little sob, eyes trained on his the tips of his shoes, messy curls falling into his face and bouncing as he shakes his head and whispers: âIâm s-sorry, Regina.â
âItâs my fault, too.â Henry emerges out of nowhere, cheeks flushed but eyes shining with determination. He swallows, then squares his shoulders and puts an arm around Roland. âIf you punish Roland, then I should be punished, too. I did all the other stuff.â
âThe other stuff?â Regina stutters, exchanging an incredulous looks with Robin as understanding dawns. Ah, yes, the streak of bad luckânot mere chance after all.
Roland drowns out every possible follow-up question though as he throws his arm around Henry and insists: âTogether.â
âYouâve planned this together?â Robin clarifies.
The boys nod vehementlyâand theyâre an admirable twosome really, what with their mutual loyalty and courage when it comes to having the otherâs back, Robin has to give them that.
Regina looks between the two of them, brow furrowed as her mouth opens and closes several times before she gets out an entirely puzzled:
âButâwhy?â
Thatâs all it takes, though, a perfectly logical questions spoken softly and without a trace of anger, for Rolandâs tears, kept at bay for so long, to finally spill as he stutters brokenly:
âWe j-just wanted us to be a f-family.â
Robin Locksleyâs left nothing but his toolbox behind, forgotten on her lawn as the man had carried a sniffling, miserable Roland to the truck and driven off.
Theyâre back in the kitchenâHenry sitting stiffly in his chair awaiting a stern talking to, and Regina battling with the defiant coffee machine, playing for time.
Honestly, what had gotten into these children?
The damn appliance simply wonât cooperate, and if she can have neither her glass of whiskey (not exactly a coping mechanism she wants to model to her ten-year-old) nor her cup of good, strong coffee, she heaves a sigh and leans back against the counter.
âYou know youâre grounded, donât you?â she opens, relieved sheâs actually managed to keep the full brunt of her anger out of her voice. He wouldnât understand where itâs really coming fromânot yet anyway. Not unless she tries.
âI know.â
Itâs sincere, and unhappy, but she needs to make sure he gets why heâs being punished.
âHenry, I hope you understand what you did was wrong?â
âYeah, butââ
âDo you also understand why it was wrong?â
âWe were just trying to help,â he defends, his arms raised from the table palms up in a vehement gesture, his frustration clear. Then, just like that, he deflates. Before she can get a word in edgewise, his expression softens, and Reginaâs prepared neither for the gentle, reassuring tone nor the words her son speaks. âI know you loved my dad, so much. But he wouldnât want you to be all alone forever.â
Reginaâs jaw drops, her heartbeat going staccato as her chest tightens.
âI am not alone,â she says, her voice higher than sheâd like, a touch hurt. âI have you, and...I thought-I thought we were perfectly happy, just the two of us.â
âWe are,â Henry assures her quickly, leaning forward over the table. She sinks into the chair next to him, taking the hand he offers as he trudges on. âAnd I love the two of us. But I also really like Roland, and I like having Robin in my life. I know you just act like you canât stand him. Everyone deserves a second chance, Mom. If you just opened your heart to itââ
Is that what this is all about? Two boys playing matchmaker for their single parents? It would almost be sweet, or amusing, if it weren't so overwhelmingly terrifying. Shit.
âHenry,â she sighs, âa heart isnât like a household appliance. It takes more than a handyman to mend a broken one. And it takes time.â
âBut itâs been years!â Regina wincesâthereâs some truth to Henryâs argument, she just doesn't necessarily want to admit it. Admitting it would mean confronting ugly truths and hurt feelings she doesnât care to or dare acknowledge. But Henry, bless his heart, is relentless. âI just want you to be happy, Mom.â
âI donât even like Robin.â And that's a lie. She doesn't lie to Henry, ever. So she amends: âNot likeâwell, not like that anyway. Besides, he definitely doesnât like me.â
And that, she thinks as the dreadful lead of something-she-wonât-name settles deep in her belly, is definitely true. Thereâs been ample evidence for that.
âSure he doesâand yes, you do. I saw you bring him lemonade.â
âItâs common courtesy, Henry.â What is a jar of iced water and lemon zest with a hint of lime on a summer day, after all? Not even a little bother.
Henry grins.
âYou made it with mint,â he says triumphantly, as though sheâd just handed him a victory. Shit, she really didâshe casually accommodated a preference heâd mentioned in passing weeks ago, and didn't even realise. âYou remembered. You only act like you donât like him because youâre scared.â
âHenry,â she sighs.
âAaand I saw you checking him out while he was fixing our window.â
âHenry! Howâdâ Whereâd you evenâ?â
âMooom,â he rolls his eyes. âWhy donât you justâ?â
âGive him a chance?â she groans, rolling her eyes in turnâbut she knows she's not fooling anyone here.
Henry smiles with a wisdom belying his age, and squeezes her hand.
âGive yourself a chance.â
Regina has the toolbox ready when the doorbell rings to announce Robin Locksleyâs presence at her door for the second time that day.
âHowâs Roland doing?â she asks as she hands the toolbox to him. The poor boy was shaken up far worse than Henry. This town, and this life, is still reasonably new to him after all, and what sense of security heâd gained here seemed to have gone right out of that stupid broken window when Roland burst into sobs in her backyard.
âAsleep. Belle French is watching him.â
Regina winces. So much for Henryâs pep talk. Not that she didnât already know any attempt on her side to stop hiding from her feelings would amount to nothing anyway.
âI see. Well, I imagine you wanna get right back to them then.â
âActually,â he says as he adjust his stance, the toolbox swinging awkwardly between them, âBelle said no need to rush, her date doesnât start till later tonight. Ruby has a shift to finish first.â
Waitâwhat now?
âRegina, I must apologise again on my sonâs behalf. The boys meant well, but their behaviour is still unacceptable.â Robin sighs, rubbing the back of his neck, then looks her in the eye with grave sincerity and conviction. âNo woman should have a manâs presence imposed upon her by force or by trick. It wonât happen again.â
âRight,â Regina says, clearing her throat. If only her mind would stop buzzing and mulling over things it has no business dwelling on. âNeither should you. Be forced to be around someone you dislike, I mean. Iâm sorry, too, on Henryâs behalf.â
Robin tilts his head at that, his eyes boring into hers. Sheâs torn between wanting to bask in those brilliant blue depths and struggling to stop him from seeing too much in her own eyes. Whatever it is heâs looking for, whether or not he finds it, he takes a deep breath and, clutching his toolbox with both hands (because the thing is heavy or merely to occupy his hands?) as he makes a startling admission.
âI do like you, actually. A fair bit, too, in all honesty.â His gaze has gone soft, his smile gentleâand her heart flutters uninvited. Itâs over all too soon though, for Robin gathers himself and settles on that earnest tone again, the dreaminess of his earlier expression gone. âBut youâve made it abundantly clear youâre the furthest thing from interested in pursuing any sort of relationshipânot to mention a romantic oneâwith me, so obviously Iâd never act on it.â
Well this is just absurd.
âYou donât like me,â she counters, because what heâs saying just doesnât make sense, does it? âYou challenge me at every public forum.â
Robin chuckles at that.
âWell, someone has to do it. Good projects have come out of our, well,â he winks at her, âfiery exchanges, wouldnât you say? And I get to see you in your elementâthe way I see it, itâs a win-win.â
Not many people can boast having stunned Regina Mills to silence, and boast truthfully; but Robin Lockleyâs just made the list.
He takes her lack of response for something other than it is, though.
âRight, well, I wonât impose on you any longer. Justâfeel free to call me any time. Iâll be glad to helpâand I promise I wonât be underfoot.â
With that he turns to walk away, and no, she realises she doesnât want that.
âRobin, wait.â He spins back around, not quite able to tamp down the hopeful expression her words elicit. Regina needs time. She needs just a bit more time to process the latest revelations and just where to go from here. âTheâthe coffee maker could use fixing up, if you donât mind.â
He slips inside the moments she opens the door wider for him, and heads straight to the kitchen with a spring in his step that may or may not melt her heart a bit. Heâs fast and efficient, and instead of untangling her thoughts she catches herself watching him work, quite fascinated by the way his fingers work away at tiny components without the faintest hint of hesitation. He has deft fingers. Her mind definitely doesnât wander to other things he could do with them, and whether they would make her purr the way her coffee maker is now that Robinâs finished with it.
âMaybe youâre not so bad after all,â she teases, her voice hoarse somehow, and what the hell is wrong with her? Hell, repair works should definitely not be so arousing.
âWhy Madam Mayor, is that a compliment I hear?â he returns glibly. âThereâs not a single thing about me you didnât object to in that half hour on Minerâs Day, and ever since then youâve beenââ He trails off, leaving the sentence hanging.
Oh yes, Minerâs Day. They were flirting. Sassing each other, leading a prickly back and forth she rather enjoyed. And then, just as Regina had almost worked up the courage to even begin to consider there may be something thereâ
âYou went home withââ Belle. He went home with Belleâbut Belle is dating Ruby apparently, not Robin.
He lets out an ah of comprehension, and Regina wants desperately to duck under the counter and never come up again.
âJealous?â he asks, amusement dancing in his eyes as he bites down on that blasted smirk the way that makes her belly jolt pleasantly.
âYou wish.â
âAs a matter of fact I do.â
Oh. Thatâsâoh. Sheâd be mad if this had all been a trick designed to make her jealous, but his surprise just a moment earlier was genuine. Theyâre both staring now, eyes flickering across the otherâs features, sweeping gazes up and down their bodies, and perhaps the next thing sheâs going to need fixed is the heating, for it sure seems to have gone up by its own volition in the middle of summer.
They both take a rushed step forward at the same time, toes brushing, breaths mingling in a mix much headier than the smell of coffee wafting through her kitchen.
âI donât need to be fixed,â she tells him as his hands hover mere inches over her waist. âIâm not another thing for you to mend.â
âI quite agree. Regina, I wouldnât dream of changing a single thing about you. Youâreââ He hesitates, and Regina finds herself leaning forward, drawn to him, drinking in his words as a determined look settles on his face and a most astonishing brightness in his gaze, and he finishes with the slightest hitch in his voice. âStunning, in every way.â
He tastes like mint when she pulls him to her, fisting the lapels of his jacket and kissing his breath away as her head spins, as hearts quicken and small gasps fill the room. Robinâs fingers weave through her hair, and Regina sighs against his lips. The floor seems to tilt under her feet just as something deep inside her comes to life againâa corner of her heart sheâd locked away years ago now reawakened.
Somehow, she knows: theyâre going to work.
Itâs not a thing done at your average Storybrooke wedding, but Henryâs inherited every bit of Reginaâs stubbornness, and Roland lacks none of his fatherâs charm. It is hardly a surprise then nobody denies the brothers (in heart for a while and now, finally, as of two minutes ago, also on paper)Â this first mischief as new family.
Mr Mills and Mrs Locksley, as their parents have been referring to each other with hopelessly lovesick grins for weeks now, are positively beaming with happinessâand just a touch of warinessâas Roland runs forward with a large, very breakable, precariously balanced plate, and hands it to Henry gamely.
Never before has he seen his mom this radiant, nor have Robinâs dimples seemed so deep.
Henry smiles at Mom, grins at Robin, gives Roland a conspiratorial nod as they bring the plate up over their heads before smashing it into a million particles scattering on the floorâcountless shards of china not even a handyman of Robinâs calibre could ever dream to put back together.
Broken glass brought them together; broken china bears witness to their happy beginning.
And maybe, Henry wonders, itâs not about fixing someoneâs heart so much as it is about healing side by side.
Although when it comes to that first push setting up your mom and the handyman, sometimes you just gotta, well, do it yourself.
