Here is the promised follow-up to Dropping the Ball. I hope you enjoy it. :)

And Happy Valentine's Day! :D


He's watching her again.

He has been for days. More so than normal, a bit too close for comfort.

"Have I grown antlers?"

He blinks in surprise, his brow furrowing as he attempts to decipher exactly what she means.

"Not that I've noticed," he replies, moving in close, settling his hand on her hips just after they skim her waist. He's been doing that a lot, lately, touching her stomach. "Why do you ask?"

"You're staring," she returns. "A lot."

"Am I not allowed to stare at my beautiful wife?"

He's stalling, and he's terrible at stalling.

"Not when you're looking at me like I might turn myself into a dragon at any moment."

"Well, there is a bit of steam coming out of your ears," he quips, his voice rich and full-bodied. "It's rather cute, actually."

"And you're teasing me," she observes incredulously. "Aren't you the least bit concerned about how I'll react?"

His chuckle warms her insides like hot buttered rum.

"I married a woman who can produce fireballs at will," he returns with a shrug of his shoulders. "I think I can survive some dragon flame and brimstone."

Her mouth betrays her, lips tugging upwards in a reluctant grin in spite of her determination to remain peeved.

"Being cocky can get you in trouble," she warns, her inner purr notching up a gear or two as his fingers slide back over her rear end.

"It may have already," he rebuts, his lips finding hers, silencing her brilliant retort before it gets off her tongue. "But you like it when I'm cocky. Admit it."

She rubs against him as his mouth opens in time with hers, her insides tingling like mad as his palms kneed her ass in all the right places. One hand maneuvers its way to her breast, his thumb tracing lazy circles that make her nipples stand to attention on contact.

"You realize its mid-afternoon," she breathes, pressing into his growing erection as his skin begins to heat.

"You realize I don't care," he returns into her neck. "The boys are gone for the night, and Hope is at Mary Margaret and David's playing with Neal until after supper. Plenty of time."

His fingers are on the move again, crossing the expanse of her chest, tracing her arm, moving down her abdomen, flittering just over her naval…then staying there.

He's centered on her stomach again. She pushes him back.

"What are you doing?"

His face is flushes, his eyes blinking back at her with more questions than answers.

"I should think it was fairly obvious," he answers. "Why did you stop me?"

Her hand rakes through her hair as she tries to steady her breathing.

"My stomach," she accuses, laying her hand where his had just been. "Why the hell do you keep touching my stomach? You've been doing it for days now."

His eyes stray down, his expression giving away his guilt as easily as if he'd verbally confessed.

"You're acting like you did when I was pregnant," she continues, her head shaking until the truth of the matter is staring her in the face with the subtlety of a Mack truck barreling straight ahead. "Wait—do you think I'm pregnant?"

He steps back into her space, gazing into her as he does all too often.

"Are you?"

Her mouth drops open, her eyes narrowing in confusion as she tries to find the right response. It hits her like a ton of bricks, that he suspects, that he's this observant, that he is always seeing more than she realizes she's showing despite her best efforts to rein things in.

"Do you want me to be?"

His head tilts back as he draws in a breath, his hand rubbing his scalp, his lips pressed in tight.

"I don't know."

Shit. What is she supposed to do with that?

"You don't…"

"I don't know, Regina," he cuts in, obviously torn in several directions at once. "I'd love to have another baby with you—there's no question about that. I love our children more than my own life, and having Hope—God, she's a bloody miracle. I loved how your body felt when she was inside you, all rounded and ripe and glorious. And watching you cradle her, watching you nurse our baby girl, it was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. But…"

He stops abruptly, staring down at her, cupping her shoulders in his hands, pulling her a breath closer.

"But…?" she prompts, her soul teetering on the edge of a cliff.

"But we're older," he states, looking down at his boots. "Both of us. And having Hope was hard on you. I worried, the entire time you were in labor, when they finally took you in for a C-section, when I was sitting in the waiting room scared out of my mind…"

His forehead is on hers now, his breath gently painting her skin.

"I can't risk you," he confesses. "I can't. You're too much to me, you're in my soul, you're, you're…"

He's breathing heavily, his chest moving in and out with force, his face tight with emotion.

"You're my life."

His hands cup her face, and she lays hers atop his, leaning into him, feeling how much he loves her, astonished by the force of it as she always is, no matter the years they've been together.

"I'm not," she whispers, feeling him shudder against her as he draws back an inch. "Pregnant, that is."

His swallow is so loud she can hear it, and she spies disappointment as well as relief as she rests her cheek in his palm.

"Why did you think that I was?"

Her throat is dry—drier than it should be.

"I found a test," he admits, his gaze somewhere just past her shoulder. "I was looking for toothpaste, but I found…"

"An open pregnancy test," she completes, filling in the blanks. "I missed a cycle, so I needed to make sure. That happens sometimes, but still…"

He's looking at her again, nudging her chin up to afford him a better view.

"Are you disappointed?" he questions.

Her shoulders drop a few notches.

"Maybe," she confesses, looking back into his eyes. "A little…yes."

He holds her then, tight enough into his chest so that she feels his every heartbeat.

"I love you," he breathes.

"I love you, too," she echoes as her thumb crests over his lower lip, her pulse three steps ahead of her body. "Robin..."

She pauses, the right words dangling just beyond her reach.

"Hmmm?" he prods as his fingers wind into her hair.

"I want another baby."

There. She's said it. And he's staring at her completely dumbstruck, as if he's just been slammed by a memory curse.

"Regina—"

"Hear me out," she insists, raising a hand to ward off any protests. "I know it could be risky to me. I went to see my doctor a few weeks ago, actually, to see if it would be ok if we…gave it another go."

"And?" he nudges.

"And," she sighs. "She doesn't think it's a good idea."

He shakes his head.

"Then we shouldn't consider it," he states. "Not if it puts you at risk."

"Let me finish," she cuts in, laying her palms on his chest. "Please."

He stops and breathes, the worry etched in his features making her love him all the more.

"I'd like us to consider adopting."

His jaw falls open, his eyes as round as she's ever seen them.

"Really?" he breathes. "How long…when did you…?"

"I've been thinking about it for a year now," she admits, his double-take alerting her to the full measure of his surprise.

"Why didn't you say anything?" he questions. His hand strokes his beard before taking hers and pulling it to his chest. "Before today?"

"I don't know," she shrugs. "It's a big decision—I know, believe me. But…"

"But?" he prompts, cupping her face again, making her legs feel no steadier than jello.

"I love being a mom."

His broad smile rips her open in all the right ways.

"You're an amazing mother," he whispers with a kiss to her temple. "To all of our children."

"I've made more than my share of mistakes," she counters. "I know this. But we both love all of our children equally, even though only one of them is biologically ours. And as miraculous as holding Hope was after she was born, it was no more beautiful than when I first held Henry."

He's nodding now, squeezing her fingers just so.

"We both know we that biology doesn't matter in this family," she continues. "That any child we bring into our home will be as much a part of us as Hope and Henry and Roland."

"But you're not content with just the three?" he asks, still obviously trying to digest all she's just tossed on his plate.

"No," she sighs. "I mean, yes, I am. Content, that is." She falters, collecting both of his hands in hers, toying with his fingers. "It's just that children make me better."

His brow creases immediately.

"What do you mean?"

"I've caused so much destruction in my life," she expounds, her voice dropping a few notches. "I've done things I'll never be able to erase. But when I'm raising my children, I feel like I'm doing something good, something that makes me a better person, something that really matters."

"Regina," he begins. "You don't need to keep trying to redeem yourself. You've done that, many times over, and you're the best woman I know. Our children are lucky to have you as their mother, luckier than any children on the planet, as far as I'm concerned."

She kisses the tip of his nose.

"And I love you for that," she whispers, her insides tense and full. "I love our children. But there's room in my heart for another baby, for one who…who needs us."

He's watching her, saying nothing but hearing so much.

"What would have happened if Zelena had been taken in by parents who loved her? Think about it."

This takes him by surprise, but he pulls her closer, clearly considering her words.

"And Emma," she sighs, her eyes unable to hold his any longer. "She was raised in homes because of me—because of my curse. I took her family from her…"

"And she has them now," Robin interjects. "She has her parents, Henry, Killian and little Liam."

He stops, breathing in a deep breath of sudden understanding. He'd watched her hold the infant last week at Granny's, had seen how cradling the newborn had affected her.

"But I can't give that time back," she voices unsteadily. "To Emma, or to David or Mary Margaret."

"They don't expect you to," he returns. "And they've forgiven you for your past, just as you've forgiven them."

"Like I said, I know I can't change what I've done," she manages, swallowing down the stickiness in her throat. "But I can give another child their best chance. We can—you and I and our kids. We can give them a home and a family who loves them."

She's trembling, and he rubs her back, the expression in his eyes almost too much for her to take in.

"You constantly amaze me," he breathes, drawing her into his body. "Do you know that?"

Her eyes are filling far too fast, and tears fall as she blinks, his fingers brushing the moisture to the side.

"That's because you're easily impressed," she retorts, making him laugh as he hugs her all the closer.

"No," he assures her. "Just the opposite, as you well know."

They stand there, wrapped up in each other, the weight of his palm on the back of her head the most comforting thing she's ever known.

"Alright."

It's whispered into her hair, but she feels it all over, as if pixie dust has been unleased across her skin.

"Alright?" she echoes, her lips twitching.

"Let's do this," he smiles, laughing at the squeal of joy that escapes her. "Let's add one more to this madcap family of ours."

Her arms fly around his neck as his chuckle warms her ribs, and he lifts her off the ground, making her nearly cackle.

"You're sure?" she questions, laughing again as he nods and bites that blasted lower lip of his.

"Thank you," she manages through tears and a smile, touching streaks of silver in his beard that make him all the sexier. "It's just so much more than I ever thought I'd have."

He tosses her a look, one she's seen many times but still gets to her all over.

"That's what happy endings are all about, isn't it?" he grins as he sweeps her off her feet once more, carrying her towards the sofa that sparked the rich tapestry that is now her life.