N/A: So I was really hesitant to post this because of it's content but you know, if people want to read it then they can. I hope I haven't offended anyone with this (?) and I'm sorry if I have...

Tw: Miscarriage.

There's that moment of ignorance when you first wake up. Almost a moment of memory loss. All thoughts pushed aside as you snuggle down deeper into the covers, trying to catch onto the last dregs of sleep before it slips away.

But then it hits you. You walk into it. Into this wall of pain. And it hurts.

Just a constant ache in your chest as you realize this is something you have to live with from now on. You have to work out a way to let your life carry on living despite all the pain and loss you feel. You have to keep living.

But Regina can't.

She's stayed in bed since she came home from the hospital. Let Robin deal with the boys and the baby, let him cook their dinner, take them to school, help them with their homework, wake up with the baby in the mornings and through the night, feed her…

It's not fair, Regina knows, not fair on him that he has to do all this despite being in pain himself. Not fair on the children, on Henry who's old enough to know what's going on, on Roland who doesn't, who is most likely confused, (she wonders what Robin's told him. What he's said for why "Gina" is lying in bed all day) and it's not fair on Fallon (the baby may be completely oblivious to the entire situation, but she must sense something's up)

Or at least that's how Regina feels. The child seems more distress these days, much more fussier (but then how would she know? She's asleep through most of the day- times when Fallon is awake) But she's not through the night. In the night, she lies awake, watches Robin sleep beside her, wonders how he's coping with their situation, it was his baby too after all.

But then his other child- the one he had with her sister, she thinks bitterly (she shouldn't. It's not his fault, he didn't know. It's Zelena's fault. Zelena and her vile, deceptive ways) - has woken up, fuzzing away in her cot as she tries to get comfortable...to no avail it seems then she's crying. Soft groans at first, but then it's getting louder, groans turning into small wails, and Regina should get up, force herself out of bed and see to the child's needs.

But she can't.

It hurts and aches too much. To listen to this baby- another child that isn't really hers- cry and know that her baby will never get that chance, and the thought leaves her rooted to the bed. Leaves her unable to get up and sort the baby out.

But the baby carries on crying, maybe she knows Regina's awake, maybe she wants her. Regina was always the one to wake up with her at night, do her a bottle and feed her...It makes her feel guilty when she thinks about it. She's selfish. Pathetic and selfish. Many women have gone through miscarriages, multiple, and yet they're still able to get up and deal with the children they have (get up in general if they don't have any) so why can't she?

But Robin's moving beside her, Fallon's cries finally waking him up and Regina shuts her eyes, tries to breathe lighter least Robin finds her awake, the whole thing making that already formed guilt twist and spread in her stomach.

She listens to the sound of his feet padding towards the cot. Fallon calms down when she notices him, probably stretching her arms out for a carry like she did to Regina. Hears his whispered sentence of, Come on. Let's go make you a bottle. And finally the sound of him leaving the room and walking down the stairs.

She reopens her eyes then, rolls onto her back and stares at the ceiling, listening to the faint noise of the kettle boiling and thinks of how long the process takes, how much time the baby is left to temporarily starve. Breast feeding is easier. Easier, quicker, not to mention healthier. And Regina has some, her body not entirely aware that there is no baby growing inside her anymore but her body still produces milk, leaving her breasts sore, and swollen, and aching- sometimes painfully- with nothing, no baby, to relieve the pressure. Just another painful reminder of things lost.

Yet, while it may be painful, both emotionally and physically at times, it's a connection. The last link to the baby that once grew inside her, the last thing that says she really did carry a being, regardless of the potion she drank a lifetime ago, regardless of everything, she was still somehow able to carry this child. For a short time at least. So this milk inside her is her last physical reminder that she managed to do the impossible, and she can't give that up, not even for Robin's baby.

Just another reason why she's selfish.

"Regina?"

The sound of Robin's voice brings her out of the memory.

She tips her head up to find him standing in the door way, and if circumstances were different, she would have laughed at the sight of him there in those stupid reindeer slippers that Henry and Roland bought him last year, the ones he refused to wear. She wonders why he's wearing them now.

"You're awake." he says. She doesn't miss the surprised tone in his voice and it has her wondering how many times he's called her name in the mornings and she didn't answer. Or chose to ignore it. It makes her feel guilty all over again.

"Roland was asking for you. He wants you to make the pancakes again." Robin tells her and tears begin to fall from Regina's eyes. Of course Roland would want her to make the pancakes- she makes them every year they have a Christmas break- a little tradition she first started with Henry- but the thought of doing it now…

It's not fair. She's had this conversation with herself over and over again. It's not fair that they have to miss out on all the fun things they used to do, all the traditions they'd come to love and enjoy- they couldn't do because she was weak and pathetic and hurting.

She sits up, wiping away her tears. She hates letting him see her cry, letting him see her in such a weak state (crying isn't a weakness, Regina; it's a strength, she hears him say)

But he sees her tears anyway, pushes himself from the door and sits beside her on the bed. He reaches over to grasp her hand from their entwined position on her lap and the comfort has the tears unleashing themselves again, rolling silently down her cheeks.

"I can't, Robin. Not right now. Not when all this is happening…"

Robin nods, and she thinks he's going to leave. Half of her wants him to, then she could roll over and sleep yet another day away. But that other half wants him to stay,to comfort her through all of this. They haven't been distant with each other. Or maybe they have. This unhealthy excessive sleeping Regina's found herself in has put a wedge between the two of them, left them dealing with their pains separately.

It was simple really. When they arrived home from the hospital, Robin had wanted to talk about it, get on the same grieving page as it was, but all Regina wanted to do was retreat to her bedroom, to her dreams and sleep the rest of her life away.

"I know it hurts, Regina. I may not have carried her like you did, but she was still my daughter, I held her."

And he had. Regina pushed this baby out. This tiny, yet fully formed, looking alien out of her and Robin held it. He'd asked her, too, asked if she'd even look at it which Regina shook her head off, tears falling even then. She turned away from everyone. Out of disgust. Out of embarrassment. She was pathetic. Weak and pathetic for many reasons. She couldn't even carry a baby.

"I just want things to go back to how they were." she says quietly, voice dry, that lump making her throat feel thick.

"And it will, Regina. But only if you let it."

He moves off the bed then, letting go of their hands and Regina laces it with the other, nail instantly digging at the skin.

"And a good start would be to get out of this bed."

She looks down then, shame making its way through her body as she bites her lip.

He's right, of course he is. She needs to start moving on with her life and that doesn't mean she won't forget the baby she carried, the mother she'll never get to be…

But she is a mother. A mother to three beautiful children, all that need her right now. She's no use up here, walloping in her own pity. She should be down there, enjoying the first day of Christmas break with the family she's lucky to have.

And that's what seals it. What makes her come to her senses and push the bedding back. A smile spreads across Robin's face as he helps her stand up, her legs a little shaky after three days of not using them.

He kisses her forehead, a whisper of there you go before he takes hold of her hand again and leads her downstairs.

Regina joins her family, doesn't cook the pancakes, she isn't ready for that yet, goes for a more elaborate breakfast, one that Roland seems happy with all the same.

It's strange how much she notices things more. The colours of Fallon's laughter, the light in Roland's eyes when he smiles, and Henry's smile in general, the way he comes alive when he sees them coming down the stairs.

And Regina's thankful for it all. Thankful that she has three (two, when Fallon stays at Zelena's or Henry's at Emma's) amazing babies she can come home to most nights. Thankful for the family she thought she'd never have when she had taken that potion. But she'd never forget the baby that tried to grow.