This story is part of the Storybrooke Downs series. You don't need to be overly familiar with the AU to understand what's going on here, but this does reference events in-universe. This takes place on June 11, 2014, during chapter 13 of Dark Horse.

Regina moves with ease around the bedroom, straightening or picking up and using items as she needs to, talking the whole time. Robin always says he finds it amusing how she processes her day: some people keep journals, but Regina likes to talk. He always teases her that - as a lawyer who talks for a living - she shouldn't like to do so to unwind. And she used to keep a journal, she did, but only because Daniel - she loved him, she truly did - had never seemed interested in the goings on at law school, or how studying for the bar, or how work had gone when she finally secured her position. He'd get this glazed look in his eye if she talked for too long about work. "I love you, not your job. Tell me about you," he'd say, and it had been hard to impart the idea that she was her job, in so many ways. So she'd learned to keep it short, and sort out the rest in one of the many, many journals that now lined her bookshelves in her office downstairs.

But Robin thought it was interesting. And he understood the idea of identity and career being wrapped up in each other so much that it became hard to separate. Regina looks over at him now, sitting stretched on the bed with his back braced on the headboard, his reading glasses perched on the edge of his nose while he grades the term papers for his summer class.

It took a while to break the habit of keeping her daily recap short, but eventually Regina had abandoned her journals. Even now, when he's seemingly hard at work, he'll interject with a comment about a case she's working on, or he'll give some other sign to indicate he really is listening. And immediately after, he'll complain about the flawed hypothesis in a paper and write furiously in the margins.

She loves him, she really does.

She pauses to catch her breath, sitting at her vanity now. She can see him reflected in the mirror, grumbling under his breath about undergrads and scribbling away, with pens and highlighters littering their bed and his torso, adding an interesting design to his white undershirt. Then she feels tears forming in her eyes from how much she's smiling and thinking about how much she loves him. It gives her courage for the question she has for him tonight. He glances up at her, tilting his head to the side. "Regina? Is everything alright?"

She looks down briefly and then she turns towards him, still smiling. "Yes. Just remembering the first time you stayed here, and how you made fun of me for the vanity."

Robin chuckles, looking back at his papers. "I did not make fun of you, my love. I merely commented that it would only be natural for a beautiful woman such as yourself to have as many mirrors as she possibly could to ensure she always looked her best."

"You're forgetting the part where your tone was definitely sarcastic, and also how you definitely laughed first and commented second," she tells him wryly, getting up.

"My memory is perfect, thank you."

Regina hums disbelievingly, and she sheds the blue silk robe she'd been wearing. She drapes it across the back of her chair, aware of her husband's eyes on her even as he pretended to still be absorbed in his papers. He shifts a little too much when she turns back to him, his eyes on his work again, clearing his throat before asking, "That's nice. Is it new?"

She pretends to be surprised. "What, this?" she asks, looking down at the white, almost sheer, chemise with black lace trim. "No, I've had it for ages. I must not wear it enough."

"Indeed," Robin responds casually. "So, what is it this time?"

This time she really is surprised, but she keeps her features schooled, only raising her eyebrows. "I don't know what you're talking about, dear."

He glances up, giving her a very patient smile. "Darling, I know you. You are flannel pajamas that are falling apart in the winter because they're worn in the right places and you can't bear to break in new ones. You are practical - if silk - nightgowns in the summer, not…" he gestures up and down her body, the smile broadening to a grin, "this immodest contraption - though make no mistake, I am very appreciative of the view. So I, in my doctoral mind - honed for years in the art of solving the riddles of the universe - can only conclude that my very attractive wife is attempting to seduce me into doing something she wants."

Regina purses her lips, arms akimbo, trying very hard not to smile. "Alright, so what if I am?"

Robin laughs, and Regina climbs into bed next to him. She lays on her side, facing him, her head propped up on one arm, and again Robin barely spares a glance in her direction. He writes further notes on the paper, and then he flips to the next page. She can see the corner of his mouth twitching, like he's trying not to laugh - and she suspects that's exactly what's happening. "So…" she begins, and she reaches for his arm. She walks two fingers slowly up his bicep, her nails tracing lightly across his skin, leaving goosebumps rippling down his arm. The corner of his mouth twitches again. "I've been thinking about something."

"Clearly."

Regina purses her lips again, her ministrations paused with the urge to flick him or something. Fine, he wanted to act all unimpressed and nonchalant, she'd give him something to pay attention to. "I was wondering how you felt about the idea of having a baby."

He looks up, straight ahead, and then he looks back at his paper. "Well, Regina, I won't be the one carrying him or her, so I daresay my feelings on the matter are significantly less important than yours."

This time she really does smack him on the arm. "Be serious."

He sighs, and sets down his pen, looking at her finally. "I am being serious. I love you, and I love our life together. I love our boys, and I love that they love each other. And if you wanted to add to our family, then I would be overjoyed, and I would love our son or daughter no less than I do my own son or yours. But we talked about this before we married, your fears and troubles conceiving, and how Henry existing at all was a miracle in and of itself. And I told you it didn't matter, that I loved - love - you, not any ability to give us more children."

Her heart feels very full, and he reaches up to cup her cheek, tracing small circles with his thumb. She swallows past the lump that's arisen in her throat. "I know. I just… things have changed. Circumstances are different now. Life is different now. Roland is older, Henry will be leaving for school in a few years, we're financially secure. I can see a specialist, get treatment, and we can at least try."

"You've been working more recently," Robin observes. "I assume that will change if we decide to go ahead with this."

Regina smiles, looking down. "I thought that, maybe, I could build up a bit of a nest egg so I could take more time off work when - if - it happened. A lighter workload will lead to less stress - which my doctors would love - and the firm is very good about maternity leave."

Robin chuckles. "Considering you lobbied hard to make it so."

She inclines her head, smiling not at all modestly. "Not thinking about us at all, at the time, though now I am very glad I did."

Robin is quiet for a moment. She looks up at him, seeing his brow furrow a little here and there as he calculates and plans and builds this potential new future in his head. Finally, he sighs, and then he breaks into a grin. "All right. There's nothing wrong with trying. But at the first sign that something is amiss, or the doctors say it's unsafe for you, we're abandoning the plan. I couldn't bear to lose you, not when we spent so long trying to find each other."

She reaches up and covers his hand with hers. Their fingers lock together, and he leans forward to kiss her. "It's a deal," she whispers, tapping her forehead against his.

Robin leans back and Regina lets him go. He picks up his pen again and starts to read, but after a moment, he starts to laugh. Regina tilts her head. "What?"

He coughs a few times to calm down and shakes his head. "Nothing, it's just. The moment Mary Margaret said she'd take Roland for us, because she wanted to practice having two children around the house, I knew something like this might happen."

Regina's mouth drops open in mock-outrage. "Just because Mr. and Mrs. Perfect are trying to get pregnant doesn't mean it's infected me!"

"And their horse."

"Our horses aren't pregnant."

He grins wider. "No, but you were planning on it next year. And who knows? With the way Miss Swan and Mr. Jones are carrying on like they think no one notices, something might come of that too."

Regina grabs her pillow and whaps Robin on the head. He yelps about his glasses, laughing the whole time as she thumps it over his head twice more for good measure, and then she falls onto her back, covering her face in her hands. "I have not caught baby fever!" she protests.

There's a noise like he's swiping his hand across the bedspread, and then the slap of paper against wood, and then his weight has settled comfortably over her body. She peeks through her fingers as his hand slides up her thigh, slipping under her chemise. "Don't be like that, my love," he murmurs, and she shivers from the way his fingers dance along her skin.

"How should I be, then?" she asks, her hands falling away from her face.

"Well first," he says, shifting a little off of her and sliding the chemise further up, "you should be naked." She lifts herself up so he can remove it. "And then," he murmurs, leaning so their lips brush together teasingly, leaving her holding her breath for fear of breaking the moment, "you should be willing to practice with me."

She's very willing indeed.