Regina's apartment glows with the television's soft, blue light as Robin lets himself in with his key. It's early, still. Late for him, late for Regina as well once she arrives home from work in half an hour, but early for the night-sleepers.

Emma raises her head and squints in his direction as he closes and locks the door behind him. She must have fallen asleep on the couch, he thinks, taking in her purple, fuzzy sock-clad foot propped on the back cushions, the open bag of crisps clutched to her chest like an American football, and the faint hum of early morning infomercials spilling into the room.

"Is it time already?" she mumbles, flopping her leg down to the arm of the couch. "Feels like I just closed my eyes."

"It is," Robin says, scooting into the kitchen and popping on the light over the stove. "But I'll manage fine solo until Henry's alarm goes off if you'd like to sleep more."

Emma grunts and rolls over, tugging the afghan tighter across her body after she drops the crisps onto the coffee table. "Don't make too big of a mess or all the goodwill you're building up with her is gonna be blown out the window."

"Duly noted."

Robin pulls a package of eggs from the fridge, along with a stick of butter and the carton of milk, and then tugs a loaf of bread sitting on the counter towards the stove.

Mixing bowl, check. Fork, check. Spatula, check. Frying pan. Where the devil is the frying pan?

He ducks his head into the cabinets, pokes through every conceivable cranny of the kitchen to no avail. Regina has a frying pan. He's seen it before.

Thick, crisping turkey bacon sizzled on the stove while Regina held a fussy, infant Roland, dish towel tossed haphazardly over the shoulder of her work polo, and reassured him that no, his son did not hate him, he was just adjusting to being away from his mum for the first time, his first weekend alone with dad.

Robin smiles, index finger looped over the pull on the upper cabinet as the warmth of the memory spreads through his chest.

She'd been a big help that day, had thwacked him hard with a spatula when he'd begun spiraling into a vortex of parenting inadequacy fears and ordered him to get a grip, change his clothes, and heat up another bottle of formula. He'd snapped out of his funk and done as she bade, and the rest of the weekend progressed without further incident.

Which does not solve his current predicament.

Fortunately, Henry stumbles out of his bedroom just as he's about to pester Emma for the cookware's secret location, his red and blue superhero pajamas rucked up at the ankle and waist as an over-large yawn claims his face.

"Good morning, Sir Henry," Robin says, smiling as he closes the upper cabinet door. "Any idea where your mum has the frying pan hidden?"

"Dishwasher." Henry walks around the counter and lands heavily on a bar stool, both elbows slumped on the the kitchen island with his chin balancing precariously on the heels of his palms as he watches Robin tug open the dishwasher. "You started without me. Operation French Toast is supposed to be a joint venture."

Robin frowns, fingers curling around the pan's sleek black handle. He sets it on the stove and then turns to lean on the counter until he's eye level with Henry. "I haven't forgotten. I got here a few minutes early and wanted to have everything ready to go when you woke up, that's all."

Henry's brow smoothes and he nods. "Okay."

A whisper of relief ruffles through Robin's chest. The last thing he wants is Henry feeling left out in his own house. He glances over his shoulder to the list of words clipped to the refrigerator door with a Finding Nemo magnet. "Venture is one of your spelling words, is it not?"

With practiced ease, Henry covers his eyes with his hand and recites, "V-e-n… t-u-r-e." He parts two fingers to peek at Robin for the results.

"Excellent," Robin says, pushing himself into a standing position. "Now, would you like to do the honors and crack the first egg?"

"Okay." Henry slips off his chair and nudges a small step stool into the kitchen, wincing as he kicks it a little too hard, striking the base of the cabinet and earning a joint, Careful, from both Emma and Robin. "Sorry," he mumbles, stepping up to the counter, now the proper height. "Can you pass me a fork, please?"

"Of course." Robin places the requested utensil in the base of the glass bowl and hands it over along with the package of eggs.

Henry frowns as he cracks the first shell, emptying the slippery contents over the lip of the bowl with both hands. "Where's the rest of the stuff?"

"What am I missing?" Robin asks, slicing a gob of butter from the stick and tossing it into the pan. It's been years since he's eaten french toast, and now that he thinks about it, he's never actually made it either, but this is what Henry had suggested last night when he'd popped in for a quick chat with Emma about one of the girls she'd recommended to babysit Roland.

With a heavy sigh, Henry points to the cabinet at Robin's left shoulder. "Vanilla extract and cinnamon. Don't you know anything?"

"Henry." Emma's warning floats over from the living room, and he grimaces, apologizing.

"Why don't you show me how you and your mum make it then, yeah?" Robin suggests. "Does she keep a recipe handy? Something written out that we can work from?"

Aside from a grumpy eight-year-old's memory.

He's not much of a cook, never has been, but he's confident he can produce at least a mediocre miracle from instructions.

"Um… Emma, did you bring your tablet with you?" Henry asks, hopping down from the footstool. At her mumbled affirmative, he walks over to her faded-yellow backpack and unzips it, pawing through the contents. He pulls out a slim black rectangle and starts tapping at the screen as he returns to the kitchen. "Here," he says, sliding it toward Robin on the island. "That's the one she uses."

Robin spins the device around until he can see the recipe right side up. He scans the ingredients and directions, chewing absentmindedly on his lower lip. Okay, then. This isn't too different from the version in his own (apparently) unenlightened repertoire. He glances up, finding Henry resting his chin on his folded arms on the countertop.

"Is it too complicated?" Henry asks, a wide swath of innocence painted across his face.

Robin narrows his eyes playfully at the evil little smirk begging to dance on the boy's lips. A crooked halo dangling over his sleep-tousled head would not be out of place, he thinks. He is his mother's son.

"I think we'll manage alright, if you'll help me." Robin tosses his head toward the counter behind him, and Henry nods, smirk fading into a more genuine smile as he climbs atop the footstool again. "This is how she likes her french toast, then? She'll be happy with this?"

"Well, she's never exactly happy on Sunday mornings when she's working," Henry says, taking care as he taps each egg on the edge of the counter. "You know, cause she's still got one more day of work. But I don't think she'll be mad." He fishes a few scraps of shell from the sticky yolks in the bowl as Robin collects the remaining ingredients.

"Hmm. Well, we're going to try to change 'not exactly happy' to 'approaching happy' at the very least."

Robin turns the heat on under the pan to melt the butter as Henry mixes the eggs, vanilla, milk, and cinnamon together, and he has to admit, it smells divine. They dip piece after piece of bread into the mixture, coating them until gooey yellow curtains drip from the crusts, and then Robin tips the slices into the pan two at a time.

He keeps a weather eye on the microwave clock. With any luck they'll have timed the first batch to be ready the moment Regina walks through the door, but if not, they can nibble while they start round two.

As Robin flips the bread, Henry digs through the refrigerator and emerges with a half-picked over plastic carton of strawberries and an aerosol can of whipped cream, a plastic bottle of syrup dangling from his left two fingers. "Leave the cinnamon out, please. Emma and I like it sprinkled on top."

"Thanks, kid," Emma calls, still a misshapen lump of a burrito in the dim light.

"Got your back," he replies, and Robin shakes his head at the two. Peas in a pod, they are, though it's nothing compared to the three of them, Regina, Henry, and Emma all together.

Robin reaches dutifully for the requested spice between flipping pieces of toast and passes it to Henry, who's begun arranging a sort of assembly station for their breakfast on the kitchen island behind him. "How many pieces will your mum eat, you think?"

"Um, it depends. Sometimes she snacks all night and doesn't eat breakfast at all. But I guess two if she didn't?" The boy shrugs and steps onto the stool again, armed with a dinner knife, and begins slicing the berries.

"I'll eat whatever she doesn't," Emma says, sitting up and stretching. "I'm hungry as a polar bear."

"Hungry as a dinosaur," Henry chimes.

"Hungry as a wild Emma."

"Or a wild Henry!"

Robin chuckles as they continue their game, each suggestion sillier than the last, and tries to ignore the tiny pang shifting in his chest like a grain of sand caught between his toes. They're so close, the three of them. He misses this, being a part of a cohesive unit, a team, a family. If he and Marian had planned Roland while they were still married, what sort of rituals and rites would the three of them have formed? Pancake Mondays? Taco Tuesdays? Pillow Fort Fridays?

He knocks the wistful thoughts from his shoulders, and concentrates on keeping the toast from burning. He and Roland are starting to develop their own special things, and the thought of his son sends a sprightliness through his limbs. Roland will be here in less than a week, all his for an entire year.

"Robin, are you hungry, too?" Henry asks as he starts cleaning up the mess he'd made with the eggs, at Emma's behest.

Robin smiles, flips a piece of toast in the air twice. "Hungry as a fox in his den," he says just as the door opens and a weary Regina enters the apartment.

"What's this?" she asks, slightly dazed as Henry runs into her arms, knocking her back against the door with a gentle thump. She drops a kiss to the crown of his head, hugging him tight to her stomach. "You're awake early."

"We wanted to make you breakfast," Henry says, leaning back to smile at her. Regina smoothes his hair back out of his eyes and then slides her hand down to cup his chin as she rubs her nose against his. He squeals and covers his face with his palm, and Robin chuckles at the boy's, Mo-om, you're like ice, as he scoots the last batch of their breakfast onto a bright red ceramic plate.

Regina laughs and tugs her son closer for another hug as she winks at Robin and then turns her attention to Emma, now upright and stretching as the makings of her impromptu bed drip off the couch. "I see you fell asleep during CSI again."

"Maybe," Emma says, halfheartedly smothering a yawn with the back of her hand.

"Come on. I'll set you a place." Henry tugs Regina's bags off her shoulder and pushes her toward the kitchen table. "Go sit."

"Hang on, I've been sitting all night. I think I'll stand for a bit," she says, and Emma seems to take the hint in her tone and cajoles him into helping her fold the blankets on the couch while his mother takes a moment to breathe.

Regina leans against the counter next to Robin. "Breakfast?"

"Breakfast," he repeats. "Henry's idea. Operation French Toast. I've a code name, too, which I am not to repeat to you under any circumstance. All very hush hush, you understand."

Her eyebrows lift as her mouth curls at the corners. "Well, well," she says. "An operation and a code name after only six weeks of dating. I'm impressed."

He smiles at her, leans down to seize a brief kiss from her lips. "Of course I've also been threatened with exile should I do what I've just done in front of him. Because kissing is disgusting."

"That depends entirely on who is doing the kissing and where," she retorts, smiling. It's a small, wicked thing that heats his insides before her shoulders sag, the lightness melting from her face as she slumps back against the refrigerator. He watches as she pulls into herself, absently keeping an eye on Emma and Henry engaging in a small pillow fight with her throw pillows.

"How was your night?" he asks quietly, shifting the completed french toast from the counter to Henry's assembly station.

"Not bad. Not good," she amends with a one armed shrug. "Busy. The perps aren't as intimidated by the cold this year it seems."

He can understand that. With the change of seasons comes a change in the frequency and variety of patients he sees. It's not so different for her working at dispatch, he imagines. "Well I won't keep you long. Soon as the dishwasher is loaded I'll get out of your hair."

She stands up straight. "You're not going to stay?"

"I'll stay as long as you'd like, Regina. I don't want to be one more thing you have to worry about this morning."

"Stay," she says, her hand warm on his bicep. "Please."

"As the lady wishes." He lowers his forehead to hers, trying to infuse as much of his calmness, energy, and love into the touch as he can.

She hums, pecking his lips before pulling back to look at him. "So what did you do with your night off, Locksley?"

"Sat on my arse and played Halo 4 into the wee hours with the lads."

"Mm, and how are the Merry Men?"

"Undefeated, as always."

Emma wanders over and drapes herself over Regina's shoulder, which is a bit of a feat since she has a good three inches on his lady love on a bad day. "Mom, stop monopolizing the cook. We're hungry," she whines.

Regina chuckles and rolls her eyes, and when Henry bounds over with freshly washed hands, she shrugs and says she's ready when the food is, turning a questioning brow raise in Robin's direction.

"Which would be right about now," he says, moving the carton of milk to the island. "Breakfast is served, milady, good sir, milady."

He bows, flourishing the spatula before him, earning an eye roll from Emma and a good-natured, So corny, from Henry as they start serving themselves, but he only has eyes for Regina. She's leaned up against the refrigerator again, arms crossed over her stomach, but her smile is warm and her eyes soft, and despite her utter exhaustion, the 'headset hair', as she calls it, and the rumpled shirt and jeans she relishes wearing on casual weekends she works, he wants nothing more than to scoop her up into his arms and kiss her senseless.

A desire she shares if he's not mistaken, swallowing hard as he follows her gaze tracing a path along his lips.

"Guys. Guys." Henry waves his fork between them, breaking the moment. "Making out with your eyes still counts as kissing in front of me."

"Henry," Regina scolds, mildly, eyes wide and an embarrassed smile on her lips. She pushes off the refrigerator and kisses her son's forehead. "Go sit down, please."

Once she's set about fixing her own plate of food, Robin winks at Henry, tossing him a thumbs up, which the boy, thankfully, returns with a wide grin. All is forgiven. "Seems our operation was a success, Sir Henry," he says, voice lowered.

"Yup." Henry gives him the once over, lips pursed, and then takes a quick peek at his mom as she drizzles syrup over her plate. "I guess you can stick around. You made her happy on a Sunday morning."

Robin smiles, wrapping the boy in a quick, one-armed hug. "We made her happy. Now go on, eat the fruits of our hard earned labor."

As Henry scampers off to the table, plopping into a seat next to Emma, Robin walks over to the kitchen island and bumps his hip into Regina's. "You are happy, aren't you?" he asks, sliding the last three pieces of french toast onto his plate. "This was okay, my coming over here like this?"

She stops spooning strawberries and tilts her head back to look up at him. "This was perfect." Regina snakes an arm around his waist and tugs him close. "You're great with him, you know? With Henry."

"Well, I have been a father for all of fourteen months, I'll have you know," he says, puffing his chest out a bit, just to get a laugh out of her, and when it works and she squeezes that spot on his side that's ticklish he grins and bears it to see her smile and bite her lower lip. "You may have seven years on me, but I'm a quick study in 'cool'."

"Did my ears deceive me, or did my son call you corny not five minutes ago?" Regina raises her eyebrows as she slips away from him, rounding the kitchen island to join the rest of her family at the table.

Before he can retort, Emma stands and takes her empty plate to the sink. "New plan! Henry is gonna come spend the day with me while I pick out a new tv stand."

"What? Why?" Henry whines. "I hate shopping."

"Because I need something with space for my new Xbox One." Emma raises her eyebrows at Regina, still seated at the table, and Robin watches in fascination as they engage in a silent conversation that ends with Regina blushing and Emma smirking.

Henry spins around at the mention of the gaming system, one arm slung over the back of his chair. "Have I mentioned I have good taste in furniture? And I could probably help you hook up the console to the tv, too. You know. If you need help."

"Thank you, Henry, that would be great," Emma says, smirking at Robin. "We can head out once you're done eating, let your mom get some extra shuteye."

Henry turns and squashes his last piece of french toast into a cube and tries to stab it with his fork.

"Do not stuff that entire piece in your mouth, young man," Regina says, cutting her own breakfast into bite-sized squares one row at a time. "And you behave for Emma while you're out today, understood?"

"Yes ma'am." He lifts his fork and allows the bread to unfold with a syrupy thwack, grabbing his knife to start cutting ragged triangles.

Robin leans close to Emma and murmurs, "What just happened?"

"I bought you about fifteen minutes of alone time with the one and only Regina Mills before she passes out from exhaustion. You're welcome."

"Do you even need a new entertainment stand?"

Emma shushes him. "I don't notneed a new one. Now say, 'Thank you, Emma,' and go sit next to your girlfriend."

"Thank you, Emma." He pops a strawberry into his mouth. Slightly overripe, but still tasty.

"Don't mention it." Emma runs water in the sink while collecting syrupy dishes and crusted-over pans and utensils. "Just, if you stay over, don't be in flagrante delicto when we get back this afternoon."

Robin chokes and sputters, accepting a glass of water from an unimpressed Emma once he recovers. "That's really not any of your business," he says once he can speak again.

"And it's not Henry's, either, so don't put him in the position to stumble upon it. You. Together. Like that." She groans and flicks suds at his shoulder. "Your food's getting cold."

"On my honor as a pediatrician, I would never scar a child in such a manner," he promises, dodging out of the way as she flicks a larger puff of suds at him.

Regina narrows her eyes as he pulls out a chair and sits. "What were you two biddies whispering about over there?"

"The cost/performance benefits of the PS4 versus the Xbox One."

"Mmhmm," Regina hums, glaring at Emma's back as she rinses the dishes and loads the dishwasher. "I don't know if you two being friends is such a good idea."

"Too late. He's already been accepted into my good graces," Emma says, nudging the half full dishwasher door up and closed with the heel of her foot. "You ready, kid?"

Henry nods, still chewing the last of his breakfast. He swallows audibly and washes everything down with a gulp of milk. "Yep! Can I bring my comic kit with me? Are we gonna have time to visit Marco's for more paper?"

Regina frowns. "I just bought you a blank book last month."

"I was struck by a thunderbolt of inspiration last weekend. You can't ignore the muse, Mom."

"Tell you what," Emma interjects. "If it's okay with your mom, you help me clean my apartment and I'll buy your next sketchbook." Emma glances to Regina, and at her nod, looks to Henry. "Deal?"

"Deal." Henry takes both his plate and Regina's to the sink and then runs down the hallway to his bedroom.

Robin continues to fork french toast into his mouth as Regina and Emma continue discussing their change of plans. Henry was right. It tastes much better with vanilla and cinnamon.

"Are you sure you want to spend your whole day and another night with him?" Regina tugs a half empty water bottle from a pouch on her work bag and drinks deep, the battered plastic crinkling as it collapses inward and then pops back out as she sets it on the table.

"I wouldn't have offered if I didn't. Besides, you look like burnt toast."

"Thanks."

"Plus, this way I get my apartment cleaned for cheap."

"Make sure he doesn't play video games all day, please."

"No prob. I got this covered."

"Thank you," Regina says again, sincere this time, leaning over to rest her head against the side of Robin's shoulder, her hand curling around his forearm. He stretches awkwardly to drop a kiss to the crown of her head, and she squeezes his arm in acknowledgement.

Emma and Henry leave not long after, she with her yellow bookbag and he with a black bookbag crawling with doodles in silver sharpie. Once they're alone in the apartment, Regina sighs. Her eyelashes flutter against his sleeve as her eyes droop.

"Shall I tuck you in and read you a bedtime story, then?" Robin asks. He traces the hills and valleys of her knuckles with his fingers and presses another kiss to her hair as she groans.

"One day, we will both have time off together when I'm not asleep on my feet or nursing a sick child or on the way out the door to chaperone a field trip."

"And on that day I'll likely be called into work or come home smelling like baby sick or my son will be a holy terror and unfit for company." He chuckles as she groans again and sits up.

"Aren't you mister optimistic."

"I'm calling it as I see it, love. Our relationship was never going to be an easy thing."

"No, you're right." Regina puffs a lock of hair out of her face and considers him, fretting her lower lip as a crease forms between her brows.

"What is it?"

"I'm trying to decide if I'm too tired to proposition you for sex."

Robin laughs, sitting back in his chair. Her bluntness never fails to delight and amuse him, though he's sure that will change the moment she turns it on him during a spat. They've not had any fights yet, not real ones anyway, and he's seen flickers of her temper enough over the years to be wary when mixing it with his own.

"I'll tell you what," he says, covering her hand on the table with his own. "You go get ready for bed. I'll finish cleaning up out here, and then come give you a kiss goodnight. We'll see where the night takes us from there, yeah?"

She narrows her eyes for a moment, lips pursed, and then she relents. "Okay."

Cleaning the remainder of breakfast takes little time, Emma having done most of the work while waiting for Henry to collect his things. He can still hear the water running in the hallway bathroom, the faint hum of an electric toothbrush, so he drops a detergent pack into the dishwasher, refills the rinse aid, and taps the "Pots and Pans" setting to start the wash. He's never run hers before, but the one in his unit never rinses completely unless it's on that particular one.

By the time he's finished puttering around the kitchen, the apartment is quiet, aside from the gentle hum of the water filtering into the dishwasher. He flicks off the overhead lights, but leaves the tiny lamp on the counter illuminated as he pads down the hallway to Regina's bedroom.

She's drawn the blackout curtains across the single window next to her nightstand, shutting out most of the encroaching Sunday morning. The moment he pads over the threshold, he knows there will be no post-french toast nookie today. She's already curled below the thick duvet, hair tied back in a stubby braid that just tickles the underside of her jaw as she snuggles into her pillow.

"Anything else I can do for you, love?" he asks as he kneels by the side of the bed, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead.

Regina closes her eyes and sighs, a glimmer of a smile tugging the corners of her mouth. "You can park your ass in this bed and hold me." She yawns into the curve of her pillow and throws back the other side of the duvet. "I'm afraid I'd fall asleep in the middle of anything more exciting, and I can't really handle that level of mortification right now."

Robin snorts and squeezes her hand lightly before making his way to the other side of the bed. He strips to his boxers, leaving his clothes puddled just so on the floor in case he has to pull them on in a hurry, and setting an alarm on his phone before sliding it onto the side of the bed frame.

This is the first time he's ever spent the night, he realizes. There were a few weekdays when she'd come to his place while Henry was off at school, but him being here now, and on a weekend no less, feels like a bit of a milestone in their relationship. He smiles and tucks himself below the covers, rolling over to fold Regina into his embrace as requested.

"Hey," he says, surprised when his hands find the warm, soft skin of her belly where he expected the cotton of her sleep tank. He skims his palms down her sides, over the round swell of her hips, until he reaches her knees. "You're not wearing any clothing."

"Just because I'm too tired now doesn't mean I'll be too tired in the morning," she cheeks, tugging his hand away from her knee and planting it firmly on her chest. "And you're allowed to do this, now."

"What, this?" he asks, cupping her breast, giving it a gentle knead as he strokes his thumb over her nipple, light passes that match the quick little gasp that leaves her lips.

"Or this?" He lowers his head to plant a row of open mouthed kisses from the join of her shoulder and neck to the angle of her jaw, his cock stiffening further as a delicious, rumbly moan blooms under his ministrations.

"Definitely this, though," he says, pulling her close, tucking his knees into the bend of her hers, backing her hips into his, nothing suggestive, even though the effects of their play are obvious, and splaying his hand on her chest between her breasts, etching soothing patterns that dip down to just above her belly to quell the heat he'd briefly stirred up.

"Always," she says, one of her hands covering his own as he settles. She stretches for a moment, arching away from him, and then relaxing more completely into him.

Robin holds her a little tighter, adjusts them a little more so that he's lying partially on her pillow, and buries his nose in the nape of her neck, breathing her in. "G'night, love."

I love you.

"G'night." Regina lifts his hand to her lips and kisses his knuckles. "And thank you for helping Henry with breakfast. It was lovely."

"My pleasure," he says, dropping one last press of his lips to her neck before settling in for a few hours rest.