Taken from a tumblr prompt, "You crouched down to coo at my baby but I forgot to tell you their favourite thing to do is to play with people's hair and now they won't let go of you" Based of a pretty funny conversation I had with one of my cousins when her little boy learnt this terrifying (for her) and hilarious (for me) trick.

Trigger warnings because apparently I can't even write fluff without pain: hinted at domestic violence.

Roland is barely crawling but the little bugger is already getting into everything. And it's driving Robin mad. He'd baby proofed his whole damn house pretty much from bringing him home from the hospital, some dark cynical part of his mind whispering statistics and worse-case scenarios and I can't lose him too, not right after losing her, until he was at the hardware store buying everything google recommended for mobile babies before the boy was even mastering sitting up alone.

He had baby proofing down. He really did, he covered all sharp corners low to the ground, he made sure any and all plug sockets had those annoyingly fiddly little plastic shields, he put up baby gates on the stairs. He spent most nights he couldn't sleep, not without Marian lying next to him, reading any and everything he could find online or in the library.

Evidently Roland has now reached the development stage of pulling himself up. Which is great, his little boy is advancing every day and Robin is so fucking proud of him. He's also shitting himself a little bit because this morning he was treated to a tiny hand unceremoniously pulling one of his eyelids open and yanking him back into the land of the living to see his thirteen month old son clinging to the edge of his mattress, grinning his wide gap-toothed smile and babbling away now that daddy is awake too. After pulling the baby into bed with him, hoping to be able to coax the boy back to sleep for a few more hours (the sun isn't even in the sky yet, Jesus Christ) Robin's eyes snap open, this time of their own accord, and he looks down to where Roland is grabbing onto his feet mumbling away to himself.

He climbed out of the crib. He's climbed out of the fucking crib and shit is that even a thing that actually happens? But it must be, it fucking must be because it is almost six am and Roland has somehow crawled from his room across the hall to Robin's own. He thanks every God known (and unknown) to man that he's formed a habit of locking the baby gate behind him no matter what and then descends into silent panic of just how in the hell his son managed it. He leaves both doors open just so, just in case the batteries in the monitor die in the night and he can't hear if his son needs him. But still, he's both terrified and impressed by his kid and he has the horrifying thought that a child with both his and Marian's DNA is very likely to continue to cause heart palpitations with his little adventures.

He had planned to spend the day in the garden; it was meant to be a nice day, summer still going strong and he figured Roland would enjoy the baby paddling pool John had bought for his birthday. But no, turns out his little boy is doing his best to give him a god damn heart attack at thirty-five. So they're walking around the hardware store at ten am on a Saturday morning, Robin filling the cart with even more baby proofing paraphernalia (half of which he's not convinced is even necessary unless you don't actually watch your child, but better safe than sorry. Marian would kill him), stopping every now and again to remove an item from Roland's clearly inherited sticky fingers.

He's currently debating exactly what he needs to buy in order to stop Roland from unlatching the side of his crib and making it easier to clamber out of, (the sight of the lowered panel this morning just reaffirming that while he may look like his mother, Roland is taking after him in plenty of ways) when a soft voice interrupts.

"Oh, I think that might be mine."

Turning around, confused at the statement, Robin see a woman about his own age, basket awkwardly balanced on an elbow with a combination of products. There's no one else in the aisle so he knows she's talking to him but he can't work out why, until he sees that she is smiling down at Roland. Who is gripping a packet of different batteries and looks delighted at the attention being given to him.

"Roland," Robin sighs as he pries the set from pudgy fingers, pulls a face the quite clearly chewed on cardboard packaging and debates offering to find her a new one. But she just smiles, takes it from him and put it in her basket uncaring of the spit stained edges.

"Thank you," she says, and Robin's stomach may just drop a little bit when her voice is no longer slightly higher in pitch from talking to a baby.

"You're welcome, sorry about that," he gestures to Roland, pulls a dummy from the baby bag slung in the cart and hopes it'll distract him long enough to get through the store without accidentally shoplifting something.

She laughs, bites at her lip and shakes her head, strands of dark hair falling down from the messy bun she's thrown it in. "Don't be, I remember the picking up everything they can reach stage rather vividly."

He tries not to, but when she says that he catches himself glancing at her hands for a ring, feels odd when he finds himself oddly pleased that there isn't one. Though that doesn't mean anything at all; he took of his a month ago and keeps it safe in his bedside. And knowing about what is probably a fairly common phase with children does not necessarily mean she has them herself. She looks to be a few years younger than him; she could have nieces or nephews, friends with kids. But then she smiles, blindingly bright, at his son when he screeches a nonsense word to get their attention again.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart, we were ignoring you weren't we?" she coos, and her voice once again adopts that slightly higher, softer pitch as she addresses Roland but still never once slips into baby talk that Robin has come to find he hates. Roland bangs his hand against the cart's handle, looks intently up at her and makes another determined sound. Like he's telling her something of the utmost importance. He can say a grand total of two words, dada and a slightly butchered form of banana, but he's jabbering away to this woman who is making all the right agreeing sounds and listening as if it's the most important thing she's ever heard and Robin feels his knees weaken just so when she widens her eyes and asks "and then what happened?"

This woman is definitely a mother. She has to be.

He finds himself watching them, content, as Roland points as emphatically as a one year old can to where his stuffed monkey sits in the seat next to him. She's not wearing any makeup, at least not that he can tell, is in dark skinny jeans, a soft looking top and a dark green blazer. There are purple smudges under her eyes and coloured ink stains on her fingers, not doubt from colouring with her own child, and Robin honestly thinks she's stunning. Though how she is not sweltering from the heat, even in the air conditioning, he doesn't know.

He's so distracted by her that he doesn't realise she's leant down a fraction to stop Roland from craning his neck up to see her until he's already got a handful of the hair falling free of the bun and framing her face.

"Oh Christ," he jumps forward to try and detangle her, cursing himself for not catching on quicker and warning her about Roland's other favourite pastime; hair pulling. "Shit, here, um…"

"It's fine; he's not hurting me," she says, flicks her eyes up to him in reassurance and begins to deftly untangle Roland's little fingers from her hair. She keeps hold of his hands once she's free, scrunches her nose up at him and presses a smacking kiss to his knuckles, laughs quietly at the shriek of pure joy the boy lets out. "Sorry," she says as she straightens "shouldn't have done that…"

"No, god no, it's fine; I'm just sorry my child tried to rip your hair out." He rubs the back of neck, shifts on his feet and wonders what the hells he's meant to say next.

"It happens," she says, "I probably should have known bet-"

"Mommy, I found it!" A blur of dark hair and plaid comes skidding down the aisle towards them and a boy of around five crashes into her side, arms wrapping around her waist as she reaches out to steady him wincing a little bit. His eyes widen as he catches the same look of pain that Robin had, "I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry I… I didn't…"

She quickly reaches out with one hand, cups his chin and strokes her thumb over his cheek in a practised gesture, "Honey, it's fine. I'm ok," she adds when he continues to look upset about bumping into her, "but maybe we don't run in the store, yeah?"

"Okay," he says, still frowning and looking uncertain. "Auntie Emma is getting a drill and said she'd find us in a bit." He holds up a lock-change kit in one hand and deadbolt set in the other, "I got both kinds, Emma said we probably only needed one, but I wanted to make sure."

The woman nods at her son, smile still in place but there is a tightness to it that wasn't there before she saw his loot. "Okay, well put it in the basket and we can see if there's anything else you want us to get, alright?"

"Okay," he puts the packs into the basket and pulls out a bit of paper covered in a combination of childish and adult, though still messy, handwriting.

"What else is on this list of yours then?"

"Um, I think me and Emma got everything we wanted." He frowns at the paper, brows furrowed as he mouths out a few words and scrunches his nose much in the same manner his mother had just done to Roland.

Roland is quite clearly eager to be involved the conversation again as he throws his Monkey to the floor between their cart and mother and son, "Bah!"

The woman laughs when Robin sighs again and crouches down to pick up his son's toy, "Roland, we do not throw," he says, aims for stern but he's pretty sure it comes out more exasperated and amused, and hands the monkey back to him. Rolling his eyes when Roland squeaks out a "Ta," around his dummy and smiles up at them all, dimples on full display like he knows how angelic they make him look. This kid will be the death of him, he's positive.

He turns back to face the other two, gives Roland his hand to play with when he discards the toy and hopes it'll keep him occupied for a little longer. The boy has shifted slightly to stand in front of his mother's legs, like he's protecting her all the while leaning back into her body and the hand she has around shoulders like he wants nothing more than to hide behind her.

"Henry, this is Roland and," she pulls a face, "I'm sorry, I don't actually know your name?"

Robin grins, sheepish because he normally would have introduced himself by now, especially when his kid has already chewed on her shopping and liberated hair follicles in her scalp, but he was a bit too enthralled by her. "Robin," he says, nods when she says Regina back and he offeres his hand to Henry, grinning wider when the boy's eyes narrow before he shakes his hand. He's a got a solid handshake for a little boy, but he's clearly trying to emulate something he's seen people do; stares up at Robin like he's sizing him up and his small fingers flex like he's trying to squeeze firmly. So he makes sure to keep his body language loose, open and makes sure to keep eye contact. Whatever Henry sees must appease him because a tiny, barely there smile graces his features before his attention is grabbed by the boxes in Robin's cart.

"What're you getting?" He tilts his head, face creased as he tries to read all the words visible from where he stands.

"Henry," Regina scolds and the boy looks chastised for all of five seconds before he's looking to Robin for an answer.

"It's fine," he says to her before turning to Henry, "I am buying baby gates."

"What're they?"

"Well, Roland here is crawling and probably will be walking soon, and they're to stop him from falling down stairs, or getting into rooms that could have things he might get hurt by when I'm not there."

When Henry still looks unsure, his mum nudges his shoulder, "You've seen them before, sweetheart; Mary Margaret made David and Killian put them up for Neal, remember?"

The boy's eyes widen in recognition and he looks to where Roland is studying the way in which he can make Robin's fingers bend, "So it's like… for making sure he's safe, and protected?"

"Exactly," Robin says, charmed by how eager the kid looks when his head rocks between his mother and Robin.

"That's what I'm doing for my mommy!" He says, voice bright and oblivious to way Regina tenses behind him. "I'm the man of the house now, and me and Auntie Em are gonna-"

Regina cuts him off, "Henry, c'mon that's enough; I'm sure Robin doesn't want to hear about all that."

He bites his lip, not wanting to intrude but there's something about how Regina reacts to Henry saying that that sets alarm bells off in the back of his head, she's tugging at the sleeves of her blazer, making sure they're pulled down as far as they can be. And the way she flinched when Henry skidded into her side, how she seems to be favouring one leg slightly more than the other now that he's looking at how she's carrying herself and not how she interacts with his kid.

Henry is frowning up at her and she looks so uncomfortable that Robin finds himself nodding, "Well, that makes perfect sense, Henry. Completely understandable that you want to make sure everything's secure at home; especially if you're the man of the house now, you want to make sure everything safe for you and your mum. You know, I work for a security firm in the city," he says as me makes a show of looking over the items in their basket, winks at Regina and becomes ridiculously pleased when she offers him a weak smile, "and from what I can see you have everything you two need, and more to do just that."

"Really?" He asks, delighted.

"Absolutely," he ducks slightly to see his eyes easier, "You're doing a really good job, Henry." When he stands up Regina's eyes look glassy as she mouths thank you and squeezes Henry's shoulders.

"See? We have more than enough stuff."

Roland takes that minute to huff, bored of bending Robin's fingers back and forth now and getting fussy being in the cart's seat, and he's probably about ready for a nap; they've been up for hours now. But if Robin picks him up then he'll cuddle in and fall asleep, and pushing the cart one handed to the cashier, and then to the car seems to be asking for trouble. He settles for rubbing his hand over Roland's side, hushes him and offers the boy his monkey, which he does take but not without a deeply unimpressed pout that he's not being picked up.

"We're nearly done, buddy," he shushes him, thanking everything he can think of when Roland merely whimpers and buries his face into the fur of his toy.

Regina is watching them when he looks away from where Roland is cuddling down into grey fluff, and she goes to say something when a blonde woman appears at the end of the aisle, what looks to be a drill set in her hands and red metal tool box, "Hey, we about done here?"

Henry's attention is immediately on her and skips forward to check the items in her arms, "Mommy says we have everything, and that's Robin, he works in security, Emma, and he says so too!"

Emma gives him a once over, eyes hovering over the sleepy baby and to where Regina is standing examining her own items, ignoring her completely. She raises an eyebrow at her back, smirks at Robin before looking down at Henry again, "Really? Well that's good, kiddo! how's about we take all our bits to the till and pay, and let mom finish up here?" The last bit she aims at where Regina is now staring wide eyed at her, shit eating grin directed towards them both. "I'll take that, Regina, meet you by the door?" Emma snatches the basket and walks away hand in hand with Henry, listening intently to whatever is making the kid run over his words.

"I'm sorry, about her. About Emma," Regina rambles, twists her hands together and shifts on her feet like she's nervous and he can't help but think it's endearing. "She, uh," she laughs, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear "she likes to think she's helping. Honestly I think she just likes watching me squirm."

"She seems like a good friend," he says, thinking of the fierce look in her eyes when she'd seen them standing together. Like she was daring him to do something.

"The best, even if she is worse than my five year old and takes far too much pleasure in meddling in my life."

He thinks of John, of Will and Mulan and how they'd sat with him when he drunk himself stupid after the doctors told them Marian would be lucky to make it to full term, and advised them to terminate. Remembers the defiant look in his wife's eyes when she'd told the doctor to screw himself if he thought her life was worth more than their child's and how she'd enlisted his friends help to make sure he kept living should the worst happen to her. How they did just that when Roland came into the world far too early and Marian left all too soon. "They're the best type of friends to have."

She gives him a knowing look and nods. "I suppose," hesitating she opens her mouth to say something else but Roland chooses that moment to remind them he is still there, and still unimpressed at the world with a whine verging on a cry. "We're ignoring you again, aren't we sweetie?" He turns his huge, watery brown eyes towards her and whimpers again. "You should get him home," she says softly.

"I should," he agrees but neither of them move. Another cry from Roland snaps him into action and he's digging out a business card and passing it to her. "If you need any help with the ah, security measures Henry's undertaking." He doesn't say what he's thinking, that he hopes they're unnecessary, that she's playing along to keep her boy happy, that whoever they're trying to keep out is far, far away from them but he knows she can see it on his face. She takes the card, runs her thumb over the words and numbers printed on it and slides it into her purse, careful not to crease it.

"Thank you," Regina smiles at him again, muted but still heartfelt, "It was really nice to meet you, Robin." Then she reaches forward to scratch her finger over Roland's tummy, smiles a little brighter when he perks up for a second and babbles at her, "It was even nicer meeting you, Roland," she gives him one last tickle, quirks her fingers in a wave to Robin and heads to find her son and friend.

Robin looks down to see Roland staring up at him, eyes wide and confused, wondering where the pretty lady who talked to him has gone, "I know m'boy, we're in a bit of trouble there, aren't we?" He takes the sharp squeak of displeasure as an agreement and finishes getting what he needs before making his way out of the store.

He's packing up the car when he sees her again, in the passenger seat of a bright yellow bug, Henry in the back and Emma driving. She appears to be laughing as Emma and her boy sing loudly to the music he can hear as they drive past. She catches his eye when she turns away to look out the window, quirks an eyebrow and raises her hand in one last goodbye.

As he's pulling out of his spot, Roland now dozing in his car seat he thinks of Marian again. Of her telling him as her pregnancy advanced and her health declined that she didn't want him to hold onto her forever, that she wanted him to move on, and live, and be happy. He can't help but hope that Regina does call, but for now he hopes Roland stays asleep long enough to put the final touches to his baby proofed house.