The sound of laughter and the running feet of children fill the manor newly decorated with twinkly lights and one too many ribbons, courtesy of her daughter.
Regina is presently lying down on their loveseat, oblivious to Roland and Neal's ongoing game of tag, her eyes quite engrossed in the lovely sight of Henry and Raven cooing at baby Liam. Pretty soon, her five-year-old daughter would have a younger sibling of her own to shower with affection.
Regina's swollen fingers rest on her growing belly tracing delicate patterns meant to soothe the baby seemingly eager to take part in the celebration. Regina understands all too well its frustration—Mary Margaret having given her strict instructions to rest and not dare go and exhaust herself. This was her house for god's sakes and she wasn't even allowed to get up for a piece of cake. Probably a good idea, come to think of it, because here she is getting started on her third piece.
A sudden pain has Regina sitting up and gripping her flimsy shirt in her hands, her nails still managing to leave imprints inside her sweaty palms. She looks down, as much as her belly allowed her to, enough to spot an unmistakable stain on her white couch. No, it's too soon. She, they, still had a month before the baby's arrival.
Robin, looking up from the floor where he'd playfully tackled the young boys, glances at his love in time to notice her panicked state. He immediately rushes to her side, his concern reflected in her own eyes which are now brimmed with tears. The baby is coming, she whispers as his hands go to release her fingers from their grip and proceed to stroke them gently in a naive attempt to calm her.
…
He doesn't even remember driving to the hospital, leaving the kids at the house with Emma, Killian, David, and Mary Margaret promising to take care of everything and await their call. But soon enough, half-dazed and barely standing on his feet, Robin makes it through the double doors, firmly steering Regina in her wheelchair, and into the room assigned by the nurse whose name escapes him.
Whale marches inside, instantly on the receiving end of Regina's glare as she, once again, curses herself for having the misguided notion that one physician would be enough for her one-horse town.
Regina chances a look at Robin's distraught face as memories, no doubt, flood him as they do her of the last time they were here, at a different birth under very different circumstances. But the end result will be the same, a beautiful new baby to love and to call their own.
Whale's inspection, much to Regina's chagrin, reveals that they still have hours to go before the baby's early but very much anticipated arrival. Every hour he comes back to check in, every hour he tells her the same, still a few centimeters to go, practically delighted at the prospect of prolonging her pain. And when she thinks it's finally time, Whale announces that her baby is breech and, in a sudden and uncharacteristic show of concern, to spare not only the baby's life but also Regina more pain, he insists on doing a caesarean section.
Robin, not having let go of her hand since they left the house, is unable to mask his distress at the prospect of his wife's unexpected surgery. Regina swallows down her own fear and gives him an encouraging smile in reassurance, always thinking of him before herself even in moments like this when no one, least of all him, would begrudge her for being thoughtless, and he would laugh at her stubbornness if he didn't feel like crying.
They barely have time to say a few words, only enough for Robin to whisper an I love you—she knows, she's always known—before they are forced to part ways, their fingers grasping each other until the last possible second.
Regina is ushered into another room, blindingly white and reeking of chlorine, where the only thing that seems to momentarily lessen her anxiety is the anaesthesiologist waiting for her with a warm and friendly smile. They've met before, in the waiting room of Archie's office where Anita finds herself more often than not since her Dalmatian caught Pongo's eye. Regina draws comfort from the way Anita exudes tranquility and assures her of her baby's safety, no words needed. Anita gently gets her ready and lies her down on the cot before Regina closes her eyes. The last thing she hears is Anita's lulling voice teasing last chance to place your bet before she sinks into a peaceful sleep, never having felt the needle.
…
She wakes up groggy, in unbelievable pain, with the feeling of faint coming on every few minutes. She's alone, the room eerily silent, no sign of Robin or Whale. No sign of her baby. She realizes she doesn't even know if she had a boy or a girl. Robin, her old-fashioned lover, hadn't wanted to hear the sex of the baby before he or she was born, and Regina wouldn't have dreamed of refusing him such a request.
The door opens then and Regina struggles to sit up, but her muscles are still unable to move and her lips unable to speak but they still find enough strength to give the tiniest hint of a smile when she glimpses the wee baby, wrapped up in too much pink, in the nurse's arms.
Robin steps into the room and the nurse places the baby in his arms. He's already met her, she thinks with fleeting envy, probably while she was sleeping. He comes to sit beside the bed and presents her with the most beautiful baby. Their daughter. Their daughter who looks up at Regina with bright blue eyes—they might darken, Robin muses—rosy cheeks, and perfect dimples. Regina's crying. They both are, mother and daughter softly weeping. "She's hungry," notes Robin and moves to place their baby at her mother's breast, holding her until Regina's hold is secure enough.
Their baby readily falls asleep after her feeding and Regina is reluctant to let her go. She finds Robin staring at her, his fingers softly brushing her hair (they somehow always are), smiling at the thought of his family, of this second chance he never thought he'd be lucky enough to have. "You are both so beautiful," he mutters against his wife's lips before he gives her a sweet yet searing (and most awaited) kiss. "The kids are right outside. Shall I bring them in? If you're up for it?" Regina's growing smile is all the answer he needs.
Their children all come in then, overly careful so as to not wake up their sleeping sibling—as per Robin's instructions, no doubt. Raven goes and sits on the bed, practically on her mommy's lap, her blond curls a striking contrast to the already visible dark wisps of hair on her sister's head—the same as Roland's, she reckons.
The littlest merry man has his arms around his father's waist and he looks so young right at this moment, so much like the boy she fell in love with in the Enchanted Forest and less like the preteen who lately enjoys testing his boundaries.
Henry has taken Robin's seat right by her side and he's the only one not looking at the newest addition to their family. He's looking at his mom and he remembers a small-town mayor telling him that one day he'd have more family than he'd know what to do with. And now so does she. "I'm proud of you, Mom," he whispers, just for her to hear, with that voice of his that makes him sound so wise and grown up—a man already, as he often reminds them. At this rate, she'll never stop crying.
"What's her name, Mommy?" asks a curious Raven. She looks up at her husband, looking quite eager himself to find out, and takes his beaming smile as confirmation when she answers, Paloma.
"Did you ever imagine the party would end this way?" he teases as he and Roland come to join the girls on the bed.
"She was feeling left out."
"I think she wanted to give you a birthday present as well," suggests Robin, his own tears flowing down his cheeks. Regina looks around at her family and thinks that this, right here, is exactly what she wanted for her birthday. After the craziness of that party, a party Mary Margaret had coaxed her into having (their daughter her biggest ally), all she wanted was a moment with the four—now, five—people she loved most, and who loved her.
"The best."