She jumps, the lingering warmth of sleep clinging to her body as she attempts to still her racing heart. Her breath comes in snatches, and she blinks repeatedly, trying to figure out exactly what jolted her awake.

"Roland?"

Dark orbs stare back at her, and she reaches for her glasses, trying to focus without waking the man snoring softly beside her. She hears a sniffle, registering a wobbly chin and tear stained cheeks that propel her brain into gear.

"What's the matter, baby?"

A muted sob is her answer, prompting her to swing her legs over the side of the bed and gather the boy into her body. She wraps her arms around him and stands to pick him up, feeling his pajama bottoms sopping wet against her skin.

Oh.

Stealthy steps carry them both into the hallway where she manages to nudge the door closed behind them. She can't tell which is wetter-his face or his pj's, so she kisses his forehead, damped by sweat and smudged tears.

"Roland-did you wet the bed?"

Her whisper goes unacknowledged for a second or two before he's nodding, hanging his head and dropping it against her chest with a thud.

"I'm sorry, Gina. I won't do it again. Don't tell Daddy."

Her heart wrenches at his obvious distress, prompting her to kiss his pillow-matted hair.

"It's alright, sweetheart. You didn't do anything wrong."

She moves to the boys' bathroom, clicking the door closed behind them. He's blubbering now, actually puffing out a sob just as she sets him down and turns on the light.

"I'm too big to wet the bed. Daddy will be upset."

She grabs some Kleenex, kneels down to his level and wipes puffy, red cheeks.

"Blow," she instructs, holding the tissue over his nose. He does as she tells him, tears continuing to stream down his face as she tosses the Kleenex into the trash can. "Your daddy will not be upset with you, Roland. I can promise you that. These things happen."

"Only to babies," he protests, the words tumbling off his protruding bottom lip.

"No," she insists, tipping his chin in her direction. "Not just to babies. It can happen to children of all ages. Especially…" She sighs, cupping his damp cheek and rubbing her thumb just under his eye. "Especially after experiencing a scare like you did this afternoon."

Her own heart thuds as images of Robin being swept away by that fury leave her trembling and cotton-mouthed. She inhales, steadying palms now clammier than they'd been just seconds earlier as Roland shudders. He doesn't speak, just continues to cry as he tries to snatch air in bits and pieces through his mouth.

"But Daddy calls me his little man," Roland protests. "He'll know I'm not one if he finds out I had an accident."

"Shhh." She tugs his Spiderman top over his head, waiting for him to raise his arms before pulling it all the way off. "That's not true, Roland. And after we get you all cleaned up, you'll be as good as new."

"I stink," he utters, his nose wrinkling in disgust.

"You won't after we give you a bath," she returns, standing and turning on the water. They let it run a moment before she adds his favorite berry-scented bubbles to the mix, watching as the quivering of his chin abates somewhat. "You'll smell like a strawberry shortcake."

"But my pajamas won't."

"That's what washing machines are for, Roland," she assures him as she retrieves a clean towel and washcloth from the bathroom closet. "I'll wash these first thing in the morning, and nobody will ever know the difference."

His face drops to his feet.

"I'll know. And so will you."

He pauses as she touches her forehead down to his, hating the fact that such a fearsome image is now impressed into his mind. He's been through so much at such a young age, more than any child should have to go through, and most of it brought about because of his father's relationship with her.

How many people will have to suffer because of her, she wonders again? When will it stop, this never-ending cyclone of destruction set in motion by her mother before she was even born?

"We'll take care of this," she whispers, watching as his eyes scrunch in disbelief. "We'll do it together."

He nods then-once, twice before sticking out his hand to confirm their agreement. She follows suit, and they shake hands as the bath continues to fill, relieved to see his facial muscles relax somewhat.

"Just don't tell Daddy or Henry, Gina. Please."

She sits on her knees, taking the boy's hands within her own, remembering the urgency with which she once begged another child to keep her secret safe. The situations couldn't be more different-this she knows- but a piece of his heart is at stake, a piece he's offering to her, and it's a piece she'll guard with everything she has. She knows all too well the sting of feeling betrayed.

"I won't say a word," she promises, smiling as small arms wrap snugly around her neck. "But you don't need to be afraid of your daddy or of Henry. They both understand that you've been through a lot today. And Henry did the same thing a few times when he was about your age."

That gets his attention, prompting those big eyes of his to widen even further.

"He did?"

"Yes, he did," she confirms. "And I'd wager that your father did, too." Her throat thickens as words she never thought she'd utter push their way out of her mouth. "I did, too, once, when I was a little girl. After my favorite dog died."

"You had a dog?"

She smiles at that, knowing how badly this little curly-headed charmer wants a puppy.

"Not really," she admits. "There was a stray who used to hang around our stables. I started sneaking food out to him, and he became my best friend." She doesn't add that the white shepherd been her only companion-that she hadn't been allowed to play with the gardener's children or any of the children from the nearby village for that matter, nor does she tell him that it had been her mother who had killed the animal, that she'd been forced to watch in horror as Cora ended the dog's life with the flick of her wrist, or that she'd been whipped her until her legs and backside stung once they'd gotten back to the house and again the following morning.

She especially doesn't tell him that she'd called the white dog Snow.

"I cried for two days after he died," Regina continues before turning off the tap. "And the first night…"

"You had an accident?"

She nods, kneeling again in front of the boy.

"I had an accident."

Roland breathes through his mouth before helping Regina pull off his soaked bottoms and underwear.

"I dreamed Daddy disappeared and nobody could find him."

His curls course through her fingers before she pulls the child into her body, wrapping him up in much the same manner she'd held his father just hours earlier.

"That's not going to happen, Roland. I won't let it."

"Cause of your magic? You'll save Daddy like you saved me?"

She cannot dwell on how close she came to losing Robin today, how he'd skimmed the edge of death, how she would have failed had it not been for Snow, for David, for Arthur and Leroy, of all people. Roland need never know that her magic wouldn't have been enough to save his daddy. God knows the child already carries the weight of two worlds on his small shoulders-the last thing he needs is to fear that Robin might be snatched from right under their noses again simply because Regina is not powerful enough to protect them from all of the threats that loom in Storybrooke and beyond.

She swallows her uncertainty, biting it back in all its bitterness, allowing nothing but conviction to carry through her words to her would-be son.

"Yes, sweetheart," she assures him. "I'll protect both of you with my life."

He hugs her again, clearly satisfied with her answer before stepping into the tub and sinking slowly into the bubbles. His grin is infectious, and as minutes tick by, she lets herself hope that the bath will do the trick. A flick of her wrist could have had him dry and clean within seconds, but there is something about a bubble bath that soothes the senses and relaxes fears, a magic warm water possesses that purple smoke lacks.

"You can't stay in there all night, you know."

He smiles back at her before trying to rub his eyes. She cuts him off with a towel, not wanting soap to get in his eyes, no matter how adamantly the plastic bottle assures them that it will not cause eye irritation. The last thing she needs at this hour is for his eyes to burn and keep them both awake even longer.

"I know," Roland utters. "I'll get all pruney if I do."

She opens the towel, beckoning him to stand and fall into it which he does. A game is made of drying him off, tickling under armpits and a sensitive belly while he giggles and half-heartedly protests. Clean undies and pj's are donned, hair is combed, fogged glasses are wiped clear, and she steps back to admire their handiwork, sniffing just loud enough for him to hear.

"Strawberry shortcake," she proclaims, prompting Roland to look around for his soiled clothes. "They're already in the dirty clothes hamper," she clarifies. "Along with your sheets."

"You magiced them, didn't you?"

"I did," she confesses without the slightest twinge of guilt. He stares back at her with a sort of reverence, the same expression that filled his eyes many times over in the Enchanted Forest. "I also magiced clean sheets to your bed so you can hop right in and go back to sleep."

His gaze falls then, and he bites his lower lip nervously.

"I don't want to go back to bed, Gina."

His open vulnerability does her in, his fear of having another nightmare, of wetting the bed again playing out so obviously across stricken brown eyes.

"Would you rather sleep in our bed?" she asks, melting at the smile of relief that releases those dimples. "Just for tonight?"

"Just for tonight," he echoes, nodding furiously. "'Cause I'm not a baby."

His words smack of Henry's at this age, and she can't help but hug him again, wrapping herself up in the feel of life and warm skin.

"No you're not," she agrees, taking his hand as they shut off the light and exit the bathroom. "You're my brave young knight."

He pads beside her down the hallway and back into her bedroom, giggling under his breath at his father's loud snore. She holds up the comforter as he crawls into the middle of the bed, snuggling into sheets and pillows with a contented smile on his face. His body gravitates into hers once she settles herself, and she gathers him into her side, awash with a peace that smells of strawberries and soap and wiggles somewhat even when it's trying to be still.

"Thanks for doing it," he whispers, his curls tickling just under her nose and nearly making her sneeze.

"For doing what?" she breathes, her fingers instinctively moving into his hair. This maneuver put Henry to sleep more nights than she can count, but she's never been certain just who the gesture soothed more-her son or her.

"What mommies do," Roland whispers. "You're really good at it."

The words stroke her senses everywhere at once, and she holds the boy closer, kissing curls still slightly damp as small arms secure themselves around her waist. They lie like this as minutes tick by, as his breathing begins to steady itself and his grip gradually slackens, making her think he's finally drifted off again until one final command tickles her skin.

"Remember-don't tell Daddy. You promised."

She smiles up at the ceiling before closing her own eyes and succumbing to a prolonged yawn.

"I wouldn't dream of it," she assures him as he sighs into her chest, the world and its troubles melting away for both of them into a few blessed hours of peace.