Welcome to this year's Christmas fic! This one is somewhat loosely based on yet another Hallmark movie that I love, because why not?

Also, I should warn you there will be smut later on in this story, so if you're not into that, you might wanna skip it. I'll probably put up a warning when the chapter where it happens is posted.

I hope you enjoy this story and have a wonderful holiday season!

Los Angeles likes to overdo Christmas.

It's their way of making up for the lack of winter, her assistant had told her once, and it's quite the accurate description. Twinkling lights on every tree in every park, tinsel and Santa Claus hats on every surface, Christmas trees in every plaza, every mall, every open space, really. Ice rinks are set up, and fake snow, and light shows; even the zoo is decked out in giant sparkly snowflakes and colorful paper lanterns, boasting the entrance to one of the best light displays in the city.

Regina takes it all in as her driver weaves through traffic, heading up to the hills and the refuge of her home. She has spent her last five Christmases in this town, and she can't say she's a fan. Sure, there's always a party somewhere, and someone to party with, and it's not exactly the best way to celebrate her favorite holiday (what with her life being under scrutiny every minute of the day, down to the moments she's out having fun), but it's an easy enough routine, a simple distraction, even if at this point it's more to fill the paparazzi's pockets than her own soul.

This year, though, she won't have to think about any of that. She's (happily) alone again, no relationship to keep under wraps (but enough on display that her publicist, Ursula, can spin it into a career boost) while she tries to hold on to some semblance of tradition, void as it might be.

Her car has come to a stop outside the house, and as expected, there's a swarm of reporters crowding the entrance to the mansion, blocking her path.

"I'm sorry, Kristoff," she tells her driver, "I should've let you know to take the back road. I got distracted."

"It's alright," he tells her. "Where's John? I'll go get him."

"No," she says quickly. "his boyfriend is sick so I told him to go home early, I don't want to disturb them. I'll take care of it."

"You sure?" he asks, and he sounds... wary. No, protective, she realizes, and it makes her smile.

"I'm sure," she insists. "It'll be fine, Mal just announced the casting news, is all."

He Ohs, and nods, and steps out of the car to open her door, giving her an encouraging smile and letting her know he'll be back to pick her up tomorrow at six AM for her flight.

The second she's out of the car, the vultures swoop in.

"Regina! Regina! How does it feel to be both producer and star?!"

"Have you and Walsh discussed your scenes already?!"

"When did you decide to hire Walsh for the lead role?!"

"Is it true the movie is based on a true story from your life?"

"Why did you decide to get Walsh in the movie after he cheated on you last year?"

"Any truth to the rumors that you guys are patching things up?"

She takes a deep breath once she's past the throng of reporters, reaching her door and turning to address them at last.

"You guys never quit, do you?" she jokes, trying to wave them all off, and then one of them asks about Walsh again, his voice squeaky and grating. Regina turns to him, speaks to him directly, but her voice is loud enough for all of them to hear.

"Walsh Ozian is an amazing actor," she starts, "I'm always glad to share a screen with him, and this movie will be no exception, even if he's my ex boyfriend—" she puts emphasis on the "ex", lets her voice lace the word with that hint of annoyance that's flared in her at their presence in her home. "We're good friends, I have no doubt we'll both try our best to give our audience solid performances."

"Does that mean there's hope for you two?" a reporter asks, his gruff voice breaking the rapt silence of all the other vultures, everyone firing questions at her again, most about Walsh.

"He's my ex boyfriend, Leroy, nothing else. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to pack."

She says nothing else, ignores the many questions that ensue, rolls her eyes at the incessant clicking of cameras. Seriously, all they'll get a photo of now is her retreating back, why do they keep going?

The door closes behind her, muting the endless chatter from her unwanted guests, and Regina breathes out a sigh of relief as she sheds her leather jacket, not noticing at first, the giant Christmas tree that's being set up in the far corner of her living room.

"What are you doing?" she asks her assistant, who turns and gives her a determined look.

"This house needs some holiday cheer, Regina, you can't just not have any Christmas tree," she argues.

"Oh, but I can. I told you I didn't want decorations, Mary Margaret," Regina chides, because she's Mary's friend, sure, but she's also her boss. If she tells her not to do something, then Mary should listen.

"Come on, Regina, what's the harm? Look, I've compromised, I'm just doing the tree, no other decorations, just the tree, okay? It's just... it's so sad seeing this giant, beautiful house without at least one thing to mark the season."

Regina scoffs, says, "Fine, but it's only gonna sit here all alone with no one to see it. I leave for Maine in the morning. And I'm taking Zelena to Fiji for Christmas to drink away her breakup, as you well know."

"Yeah, yeah," Mary waves her off. "If you're done chiding me, could you come over here and help me out? I can't reach the higher branches."

And this, Regina realizes, is exactly what Mary wanted. She wanted Regina to help put up the tree. It's not about having it in the house, it's about getting her to participate in Christmas-related activities. On one hand, she's thankful, thankful that her friend still tries to inject some kind of joy to the season for her, to get her in the holiday spirit even when Regina is resilient about not joining in. But on the other hand, it's moments like these that remind her of everything she can't have. Quiet nights by the fire she can never partake in, snowmen she'll never build, mistletoe she'll never be kissed under... it's depressing.

When she signed up for this life, Regina saw what it did to the people around her, saw her friends and family turned into victims of the paparazzi. Daniel, her beloved fiance and the one person who always believed in her, had died because a swarm of photographers had followed him out of their hotel six years ago, causing him to jump into the street in a desperate attempt to outrun them. He'd been hit by a speeding car, left to bleed out on the pavement.

It was her fault. Daniel didn't want the fame, he was the owner of a coffee shop she frequented while she auditioned for anything under the sun, and he was supportive always, but he never wanted the spotlight, he just wanted to be with Regina, and the price of that had been his life.

"Has the director talked to the mayor again?" Mary Margaret asks, interrupting Regina's self-deprecating thoughts.

"Mal? Yes, I think so. He's still against this whole thing, but the council has outruled him and given us permission, they seem very excited for the movie."

"I still don't know if it's a good idea for you to head out there so early, especially after you had me reschedule John's itinerary. What if you meet the Mayor guy and he's mean to you while you're alone?"

Regina laughs at that, shakes her head at her friends overprotectiveness, and tells her, "Keith is sick, changing that itinerary buys John a few more hours with him before he has to spend the next two weeks halfway across the country. And I've met my fair share of bullies in this industry, Mary Margaret, I can handle one grumpy old man."

Mary looks torn, as if she wants to say more, but Regina levels her with a look, and adds, "Besides, my character grew up in the area, I want to get a feel for the place before the crew arrives and transforms the town."

At that, her friend sighs, nods her understanding, and then tells her to pass the candy canes that are going up on the tree.

And as melancholy as it is to remember all that she can't have, Regina finds she actually quite enjoys putting the tree together.

Storybrooke is... small.

Regina had done her research when she'd taken on the role of producer for this holiday movie. She knows this charming town in Maine has some of the most adorable Christmas celebrations, that snow covers it like a blanket during this time of year, turning it into a picture-perfect winter wonderland; she knows there are quaint little shops and a homey diner and an old fashioned bakery. It's the perfect town to shoot a Christmas movie, she knows that.

But she was not prepared for it to be this small.

She'd spent the night at a hotel in Augusta, and is picked up at the lobby the following morning. Her driver, a nice man by the name of Archie, explains he's not her real driver, "But Anton needed to fix some issues with his greenhouse, and I owed him a favor, so here I am in his stead. I'll be happy to get him on the phone if you want confirmation."

Regina smiles, climbing in the car as she tells him there's no need (the car plates match the ones Mary Margaret had sent to her phone, and she has Archibald Hopper as one of the people Anton listed as backups with the car company).

He's nice, makes small talk with her throughout the drive into town. It turns out he is the town shrink, and he tells her he's best friends with the town toy maker, who also co-owns Bella Notte, the one proper restaurant in town, an italian place where Marco (she's somewhat surprised by that, had half expected the man's name to be Gepetto at this point) prepares age-old family recipes with his brother Tony. Everyone knows everyone, and they all play a big role in each other's lives.

It makes Regina nervous about her character's background, has her wondering if she will be able to connect with the town at all in order to play her, tight knit as they are. But then they cross the town line, and joy spreads through her at the stunning display of Christmas decorations that the community has put together.

Every possible doorframe is decked out in festive garlands, colorful lights marking every window and balcony with festive flare. Decorated wreaths can be seen on the door of every establishment on Main Street as they drive through, the warm glow from what Regina can only guess is dozens of candles and lit fireplaces inviting travelers and family alike to take a look inside and ward off winter's chill.

It's almost like the town itself jumped out of a book, one of those age-old Christmas tales that children often hear while wrapped up in blankets and drinking cocoa. And to Regina, it's a throwback to a time and place where she would enjoy every single detail to its fullest. A time where she wasn't alone and isolated from the beauties of holly and carols and snowy landscapes that somehow warm the soul rather than freeze it.

"Can we stop here, Archie?" she asks her driver, the sight of the old fashioned bakery she'd read so much about startling her from her nostalgic thoughts. Archie nods and smoothly pulls onto the curb, the car idling while he turns and asks her what he can do for her.

"Oh, nothing, you stay here, I got it," she insists, scrambling to remove her seatbelt in her excitement. "I just want to order something for when the crew arrives on Saturday. Some cupcakes maybe?"

His smile warms, pulls a little more at his lips in appreciation as he says, "That's very sweet of you, Regina."

She smiles back, tells him she'll only be a couple of minutes, and hears his Try the eggnog cupcakes, they're wonderful just before she closes the car door, happily making walking inside under the sign that reads Granny's Bakery.

...:::...

In the thirteen and a half years he's lived in this town, Robin has never once felt out of place.

He'd gotten used to it fast, thanks in large part to Marian and how beloved she was by everyone here. She was born and raised in Storybrooke, after all, and everyone was excited to have her back after she'd gone out into the world and made a name for herself in the hotel industry.

He'd met her in Colorado, at the very first hotel she'd ever managed. He'd been there for a conference, and from the moment she introduced herself to him, he'd known she was the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. To his luck, she'd felt the same, and together, they'd formed a bond that transcended distance, until he'd up and moved to the States just to be with her.

Robin has loved Storybrooke from the moment he set foot in it. Years and years ago, Marian had decided she wanted to return home and open a little inn here, her own little slice of heaven where she could put down roots and live happily. He had abandoned his home, his life, even his family (who didn't approve of Marian to begin with, so good riddance to them as far as he's concerned), to settle down with her here, in this picturesque little corner of Maine, and as hard as it was to lose her, he doesn't regret his decision one bit.

It had taken them a long time to build the place, even with Robin using his skills as an architect to redesign the large old house and estate in which they'd spent most of their savings after they got married. They'd gotten pregnant on year three of the project, putting their plans on hold and their income to other uses with Roland on the way, and by his first birthday, the Sherwood Inn had finally managed to open its doors to tourists and friends.

And then leukemia had taken Marian, left Robin broken and alone with a baby to raise. But this town, the town that saw his life with Marian, had made it its mission to be a home for him and Roland even after she was gone. Everyone had stepped in, everyone had found a way to help, and Robin doesn't know where he'd be without the kindness and generosity of these people.

He loves the familiarity, loves that he can go anywhere here and find a friend. Like now, for example, when he's walking into Granny's bakery to grab the customary pies he buys every year to kick off the season. There's a spring in his step, a chipper kind of flutter in his chest as he enters the establishment and takes a whiff of the sweet homey scent of cookies and cakes.

"There you are, I've been wondering when you'd stop by," Granny Lucas greets him. "You got here just in time, I was about to head out to the diner, but I just put your order ready, plus a little something for Roland."

"Oh, stop that, you're spoiling him," Robin says good-naturedly, but she waves him off, tells him it's what Grannies do.

"Help yourself to some coffee on the house while I go get your things, okay?" she invites, spoiling him now, it seems. "I'll be right back."

Robin laughs, but nods and thanks her, never one to reject a cup of her Colombian dark roast. He easily steps behind the counter, grabbing one of the white ceramic mugs and pouring himself a generous splash of the steaming brew. He's just moving to grab the milk and sugar when the bell above the door chimes with the arrival of a customer.

He hasn't even turned to greet the woman and she's already speaking, yammering about ordering some festive cupcakes for her "crew". Her voice is not a familiar one, and Robin rolls his eyes while his back is to her. Tourists.

Plastering on the best smile he can muster, he finally spins around to welcome her into his town, and finds himself falling short.

The words drown before he can utter them, his eyes widening at the sight of her. She's breathtaking.

Sun-kissed skin that looks like it would feel smooth as silk, if he were ever privileged enough to touch it. She's all rosy cheeks and plump lips tinted in red, her hair a travel-mussed mass of raven waves his fingers suddenly itch to run through, long lashes framing eyes so dark and deep, he's afraid if he dives in he'll never come up for air.

She's a little breathless, but still talking, telling him she wants at least twelve dozen cupcakes for Saturday, and asking him what flavors he recommends. "I'm told the the eggnog ones are amazing, but I want to have more than one option."

"Oh," he starts, finally coming to his senses, "I uh—"

"You know what? Doesn't matter, surprise me, I leave that to you. Open me a tab and my assistant will come pay it when she gets here tomorrow, okay? Great, thank you."

She's out of the shop before he can even tell her he doesn't work here, and then Granny is sprinting out the door that leads to the back room, four boxed pies and a little bag in her hands as she pants, "Was that a customer?"

"Yes, she... she wants twelve dozen cupcakes for Saturday, she said her assistant would settle everything with you tomorrow...?" he sounds unsure, because he's not quite certain he's managed to retain the information properly, too focused as he is in the tornado of a woman that has just jumped into the back of a black sedan outside, and it's only when Robin sees Archie in the driver's seat that he understands, and his irritation grows.

He hadn't recognized her without the dramatic makeup and costumes he's used to seeing her in, but there's no mistaking her now that he's made the connection. None other than the star of the movie trilogy Roland is currently obsessed with. She plays the Evil Queen, who somehow turns good and goes on adventures rescuing creatures of the Enchanted Forest.

He'd be a little starstruck if he wasn't so utterly bothered by the reason behind her presence here.

Robin has never liked change. It's part of why he loves living in Storybrooke. Nothing ever changes, and why should it? They have a good life, they all do, there's no point in altering that.

So when the news broke out about a movie being filmed here during the Christmas season, he had been less than pleased, and the walking reminder of that has just gotten into a car and driven off, unaware of just how much she's inconvenienced him.

Beautiful as she is, Regina Mills cannot take away the fact that her movie is imposing on their town during the most important time of the year, that it's interrupting the holiday traditions Robin has seen his son grow up with. It may not be intentional, but it's happening anyway, and he can't shake his annoyance.

It's still bubbling when he arrives at the inn, and it isn't until his son runs out of his room to hug him hello that Robin is distracted enough to let it go.

Roland is all smiles as he peers into the little brown paper bag Granny has sent for him, his eyes widening and his mouth dropping open in an astonished smile as he informs, "It's a Christmas tree cupcake, Daddy! My favorite!"

He's four years old, so everything is his favorite, but Robin appreciates the enthusiasm all the same, nods and chuckles as he carefully takes the cupcake out of the bag, presenting it to his joyous boy, who asks "Can I have it now, please?!"

"Not before dinner," Robin insists.

"But what if I promise to eat all my dinner after, Daddy?!" he begs, practically bouncing as he stares at his treat.

Robin hesitates, and his sister chooses that precise moment to come down the stairs, commanding, "Oh, let the boy have his cupcake, Robin."

"Tink," he warns, because he's asked her not to interfere when he's trying to be firm with Roland, especially about this.

But the damage is done, and Roland insists, "See?! Auntie Tink says it's okay! Can I have it, pleeeaaassseeee?!"

"Who's in charge, Roland?" Robin asks, trying to remain firm. "Me or Auntie Tink?"

"Auntie Tink," both Roland and Tink say at the same time, giggling together as she crouches down to hug the boy around his tummy from behind, her chin resting on his shoulder as they both look at Robin expectantly.

Finally, Robin sighs. "Fine," he gives, tacking on a "But only if you promise you'll eat all your broccoli at dinner" amidst Roland's giggly celebration.

"I promise, Daddy, I promise!" his son squeals, and then sinks his teeth into the side of the Christmas tree topping his cupcake, green icing instantly clinging to his mouth and nose as he reports his glee with a very loud "Mmmmm!"

His excitement is so adorably hilarious that it pulls a laugh out of Robin even as he tries to glare at his sister, and she gives him nothing but a smug grin in return.

"He's my only nephew, spoiling him is a requirement," she defends when he huffs in her direction, and well, he supposes he can't argue with that.

The pies have been on the reception desk since he walked in earlier, and he moves to store them now, leaving Roland with his aunt while he gathers the boxes and walks carefully to the kitchen.

Bella Notte caters the Sherwood's entire menu, but Granny is always the one to provide desserts, and every December, Robin orders four specific flavors of pie: spiced cherry, classic apple, mouthwatering pumpkin, and a decadent chocolate and eggnog swirl. They kick off the season, and jumpstart Robin's weekly trips to the bakery for refills. The scrumptious desserts disappear faster and faster as more guests fill up the rooms, and mark the wave of peak tourist season for the holidays.

Routine, charm, and delicious baked goods. It's Christmas. It's home.

It's currently being interrupted by his son's loud squeal of Look, Auntie Tink, it's her, it's her, it's the queen!

Robin sighs as he sets the boxes full of pie on the kitchen counter, one hand going to the back of his neck and rubbing up and down. Of course she's staying here, it's the only inn in town. He'd imagined she'd have a trailer, or rent out a house like he's read some celebrities do on small locations like this one, but it seems today is not his lucky day.

As he walks slowly to the reception area, though, he takes a moment, hanging back, unseen, and watching as his son talks to the beautiful woman who's come to snatch away their perfect Christmas.

"I'm Roland Oliver Locksley," he recites, pausing briefly after each name to make sure he got it right. "This is my Daddy's hotel."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Roland!" Regina says, extending her hand to his tiny one and shaking it, crouching down to be at eye level with him. The gesture has Robin's chest expanding with this strange kind of affection he'll never admit to.

"This is my auntie, Tink!" Roland tells her, and Tink and Regina shake hands then, the latter still drawn down to Roland's height as she does.

"Tink?" Regina asks, and Robin sees the way her nose scrunches up in curiosity.

She's... adorable.

"It's Katrina, actually," Tink clarifies, with a laugh that makes her blond waves bounce, "I was obsessed with Tinkerbell growing up, I wanted to be her. My brother would call me Tinkerbell back then because of it and it just... stuck."

Robin grins at her casual explanation. She's skipped some of the details, like the fact that she dressed up as the Disney pixie for Halloween nine years in a row (and forced him to wear a matching Peter Pan costume for at least four of those years), or that the only reason he began calling her Tinkerbell was because she demanded it and wouldn't answer to her given name, but there will be time to elaborate on that later, he supposes.

"I saw aaaalllll your movies!" his son rambles, bringing the attention back to him by grabbing Regina's hand and leading her to the little bench in the foyer. "Well, not all, Daddy says I'm not allowed to watch movies for grownups, so I didn't get to see the one where you shoot people."

He looks positively downtrodden at the idea, and Robin remembers the argument quite well, still stands by his choice to not let him watch that film, and then Regina Mills inadvertently backs him up as she tells his son, "It's okay. The grownup movie wasn't that good, I like the fairytale ones better. Which one's your favorite?"

"The one where you rescue the Dragon!" he says immediately. They're both sitting down now, and he's waving his arms excitedly as he details her own movie to her, dimples on full display as he laughs and raves about his favorite scenes.

"Are the bad guys real, Regina? Were you scared fighting with them?"

"Oh, very scared," she says solemnly, nodding her head at him and saying, "But you remember how I beat them?"

"With the sword of truth!" he screams, and Robin would be a little embarrassed of his four-year-old's pestering if it weren't for the fact that Regina seems to be enjoying herself as she talks to him. "Did you bring it with you?!"

"Sadly, no," Regina laughs, "it's back in Los Angeles."

"But what if the bad guys come to steal dragon eggs like in the movie?" Roland asks, looking bereft at the very thought. It makes Robin smile.

"Oh, I'm sure we don't have to worry about that, Roland," Tink chimes in, "the Queen wouldn't abandon her best weapon if she wasn't absolutely sure the dragon eggs would be safe without it."

"That's right," Regina agrees, with yet another smile Robin that can tell is quite genuine. "And besides, it's Christmastime, Santa protects all the hidden dragon eggs during Christmas, so we're safe."

"Cool!" says Roland, and Regina chuckles at him, a beautiful sound Robin realizes he truly wouldn't mind hearing again.

"Regina, can you teach me how to swordfight?" his son asks then.

"Well, um, I don't know if that's the best idea," she answers, "we'd have to ask your mommy."

And then Roland casually informs her, "My mommy's dead," and the woman stutters an Oh, I'm... I'm sorry, fumbling and looking apologetically at Tink. Robin takes that as his cue.

"Alright, my boy," he interrupts, revealing his presence, "stop hogging Ms. Mills, it's time for us to get your dinner started."

"Oh," Regina says, recognition dawning on her face. "It's... it's you."

"It's me," Robin gives, smiling a little smugly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry or—"

"It's quite alright," he tells her, putting a hand on his son's shoulder and standing behind him. "We lost Marian three years ago. We loved her very much, didn't we Roland?" he looks down at the boy, who nods solemnly.

"Ever since then it's been just us," Robin says, amending "and Tink" when his sister clears her throat indignantly. "And the Sherwood, of course."

"Of course. So um, I take it that means you... don't work at the bakery?" Regina grins sheepishly, trying to endear herself to him somehow in her embarrassment.

It's working.

"I don't work there, no," he answers with a chuckle, ignoring Roland and Tink's confused looks.

"I'm so sorry about that," Regina cringes, and Robin is too charmed by her to do anything other than laugh it off and tell her not to worry.

She sighs her relief, thanks him for being so understanding, and then ruins it all by saying, "That was a horrible first impression, wasn't it? Sorry again, I know we're not very well liked here, if Mr. Mayor Stick-In-The-Mud is anything to go by." She chuckles at her own joke, adds, "I promise you, we're not the jerks he's made us out to be."

Robin says nothing, simply stares at her and lets Roland explain her misstep in between bouts of full-bellied laughter, Tink joining in with a loud guffaw of her own.

"Daddy is the mayor, too," the boy says, and Regina winces visibly. Good.

"God, I'm so sorry," she says again, "I didn't mean to— I just, I know you're not happy with us here and I... I'm sorry."

Robin doesn't reply, merely turns to his sister and says, "Would you show Ms. Mills to her room? I'm sure she's tired."

And then he takes his laughing son in his arms and lifts him up, saying, "Come on, little man, time for dinner. How does mac and cheese sound?"

His giggles stop, replaced by a squeal of "Yes!" that makes Robin smile as he walks into the kitchen, leaving Tink to deal with their celebrity guest.

The bell at the reception desk dings desperately when Roland is halfway through his meal, and Robin dashes out to the front to address a very big, very disgruntled man with long, bushy curls.

"Where is she? Is she okay? What the hell is the matter with you, why is there no security around here?!" he berates, and Robin instantly goes rigid.

"Who are you?" he asks with distaste.

"Regina Mills' bodyguard, and I swear if you've touched a hair on her head, I'm gonna—"

"Whoa, whoa, easy!" Robin interrupts. "She's fine. She's in her room. Now calm down or I'll call the police!"

The man sighs, taking a few moments while the commotion dies down, and then mumbles, a "You sure she's safe?"

"Yes. She's fine."

Another sigh, and a nervous pass of his hand over his head, the other landing on his waist as he breathes. "Okay. Okay."

"Is everything alright?" Robin asks then, because it occurs to him something might be terribly wrong if Regina's bodyguard is so adamant in finding her.

"Yeah. Yeah, yeah, man, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to freak you out. I just don't like letting her out of my sight for long."

That's an understatement, Robin thinks, but says "I see," instead.

"I was supposed to come here with her, but she changed my flight so I could have a day off, and then that flight got delayed, and baggage claim took forever, and the thought of her here alone dealing with a crowd or the paparazzi... it's been a day."

Ah, that he can understand.

"Well, she's alright. There have been no crowds or paparazzi that I know of, I'd daresay she kept her travel plans secret enough that no one found out she was here. She checked in a couple of hours ago and has been in her room ever since."

The man sighs then, relief visible on his face as he takes off his black glove and extends that hand to Robin, who shakes it as his new guest introduces himself. "John Little. Sorry again about the ruckus."

"Are you Santa? Why is your hair so dark?" a tiny, wondering voice chimes in, and both men look down to find Roland there, a yellow dollop of cheese clinging to the corner of his mouth as he chews the last of his bite.

"Roland, I've told you not to talk with your mouth full," Robin remarks, but his hand darts out to ruffle his hair all the same.

"Sorry, Daddy," he says, properly chastised, his eyes still curiously trained on John, who crouches down in front of him.

"Actually," he says, answering his question, "Santa is my great-great-great-great-great-uncle."

Robin has to resist the urge to snort, but gives the man a nod in thanks for humoring his child. Roland stares at him, wide-eyed and gasping.

"Really?!" he asks, and John nods, scratching his beard.

"That's why I look a little bit like him, see?" he explains, standing and slapping his big belly over his clothes, making Roland giggle.

"Alright, Mr. Little, I'll go check your reservation and get your room key, there's freshly made hot cocoa on the counter if you want some, just there," Robin says, pointing towards the pass-through between living room and kitchen.

"Thank you," he says. "And call me John, please."

Robin nods, smiles, and leaves Roland in the company of his new friend while he walks briskly to the reception desk.

He hears them talk while he checks John's reservation on the computer, hears Roland ask him about the North Pole and whether he's been there, and Do you help Santa make the toys? and Can you tell him I want a big train? and Do you get gifts, too?

Well, at least someone's having fun, Robin thinks, and fishes a key for John before making his way back to them.