Fix It Week Day 2: The baby situation

I took the prompt of Roland not adjusting well to his sister and jumped of into all sorts of angsty things.

Unpopular opinion: I actually like Peanut, just not the way they handled it.

"I don't like you," Roland whispers as he walks quickly past the bassinet in the living room, grabbing a pillow from the couch and quickly walking back with another hushed "I don't want you here."

Henry is slouched on the end of the couch with his face hidden in a comic and an earbud in one ear, enjoying a Saturday with absolutely nothing to do but catch up on some Marvel and keep an eye on Roland to make sure he doesn't use the 'good pillows' to make his fort-as if his mother had bad pillows.

"I wish you would go away," Roland grumbles a little louder this time as he waits by the couch for Henry to lift his legs and free the pillow beneath. "I wish you never ever came," he tells his sister plainly as she squeaks and stretches out her chubby arms.

"That's not very nice, you know," Henry lifts his legs but doesn't look away from his book.

"I don't care. I mean it. I hate her." Roland looks around instantly for his parents, listens for a reprimand, but they're in the kitchen and Henry really doesn't seem to mind. He knows he shouldn't have said that though. Hate is a very serious word. Maybe he doesn't hate her, but he really doesn't like her.

"She hasn't really done anything yet," Henry peeks over his book to see their newest family member lying contentedly. "She doesn't even cry all that much. Not like Neal; he cries ALL the time."

"She makes Gina cry," Roland mumbles, taking his last pillow and adding it to the roof of his fortress before crawling in. His brother watches him for a moment, then looks back to make sure Robin and Regina are still occupied with dinner before he lays on the floor, wiggles in head and shoulders and starts poking at Roland's slumped shoulders.

"What did you say that?" Henry asks, waiting patiently for Roland to wiggle himself around without knocking down walls. He's usually pretty attuned to his mother's moods, but this time he hadn't noticed a thing. She's seemed happy; happier than he's seen her in a good long while.

"Gina is sad because she's here. I heard her crying when I was sneaking toys out of her room. She said 'What am I going to do with you?' She doesn't want her here either so she should just go live somewhere else."

Roland isn't quiet, he doesn't realize that the walls he created to hide his secrets are only fabric and feathers. Henry's sure at least one of their parents heard that. He doesn't know what to say. How do you explain to a 5 year old the tangled mess that is their family tree? "She's our sister, Ro, she can't just go away. She belongs with us."

"We was fine before she got here," the younger boy explains and his brother tries not to laugh at the simplicity of the explanation.

"You know, Roland, for a long time it was just mom and me. And we were fine too. But then you and your dad came along and we're better than fine. We still love each other, but we love you guys too. Our family got bigger. And now Ella's here and we got a little bigger, but that just means we can be better than better than fine." He can tell Roland is considering it, can practically see the gears working behind his big brown eyes.

"She still made Gina sad."

Right. That. He doesn't know what that's all about or if Roland even saw what he says he saw. It's something he'll talk to her about. Maybe. Maybe Robin. But what Roland needs to know right now is that "Sometimes grown ups cry. Especially girls," he whispers loudly, tickling the younger boys ribs. "I bet mom was just really tired because Ella likes to be awake all night. I know she would be really sad if she were gone."

That seems to do it, Roland will put up with just about anything (including a red-headed little sister he doesn't want) to keep his majesty from being sad. "I guess she can stay. But I still don't think I like her."

"You'll change your mind someday," Henry reaches up, musses his curls and then scoops him out of the pillows. "Come on little brother, if you want to make a proper fort you have to use the cushions in the den." He dangles a squealing Roland upside down from his shoulder, grabs a couple of the larger pillows and heads toward the back of the house.

Robin stands in the doorway to the kitchen, arms folded across his chest, giving Henry a silent nod and a mouthed "Thank you," as the pair walk by.

Henry only winks, shrugs, but levels Robin with a pointed look that clearly says 'fix it' before he disappears into the den with Roland, shutting the door behind them.

"You've raised an incredible young man," Robin says as Regina's arms wrap around him from behind. He takes her hands in his, holds them tight against his chest as he feels her rest her head between his shoulder blades. "Is that true?" he asks when she finally pulls away.

"I didn't know he was in the room," she confesses quietly even though they are completely alone. "He's as sneaky as his father."

"Regina, why didn't you wake me if you were upset?" He walks her back into the kitchen where they sit at the island. It's barely a moment passed before she's wiping at tears that fall relentlessly. Not now, she scolds herself over and over, I can't do this now.

Robin hops off the stool and pulls her in, tucking her head under his chin and rocking them back and forth. "What's going on, love. Talk to me," his voice is low, breath warm against her ear.

"It's nothing," she tries to pull herself together, but her voice is thick with tears that wet his shoulder.

"It's obviously something. You can tell me. I know you didn't ask for any of this, but-"

Whatever else he had intended to say was abruptly cut off by her, "No, I didn't." She regrets it as soon as the words are out, as soon as she sees the flash of confusion in his eyes, of pain there and remorse. She regrets it, but it's out now and she might as well keep going. "You never asked me. And I know you never signed up for any of this either, that what she did to you, how she deceived you to hurt me...I know it's partially my fault." He opens his mouth to interrupt her because he will not have her taking the blame for her sister's cruelty, but she stops him with a hand to his cheek. "Please let me say this," she begs and he nods silently for her to continue. "When I found you in New York there was this instant hope that we could just come home, that you and Roland would just come back and everything would be the way it was. But she was pregnant and I had to accept that there was going to be this child that I could never share with you, but I knew we had time to talk, time to plan and everything could be okay. Then she came so early and she's perfect and she has your eyes and her hair and I barely got a second to think about what this little girl was going to be to me before Zelena went and got herself killed and now I have a daughter that's going to grow up to look like my sister who wanted to destroy me so badly that she used the people I love to do it, but she gave us this precious baby that I LOVE and that I want to protect and I don't know what I'm saying or what I want you to say. I'm just tired of hurting and hoping. I'm tired of being afraid that she'll hate me, that one day she'll look at me and know that I'm not her real mother, that I'm responsible for her death and…"

Robin can't listen to anymore. She was breaking, shattering before him in their kitchen. How had his son noticed and he hadn't? How had he never realized that all the times she was fine she was anything but. He's turned her upside down and he fears he wasn't holding her tightly enough to keep her from falling. "Stop. Please, Regina, stop. YOU are her mother. It's what I wanted before this whole fiasco started: a family with you; a house full of children to raise and love with you. It's what Zelena wanted in the end. She sacrificed herself so her daughter could have a life of safety and of love-love that she knew you would give her. You are not responsible for your sister's death. You can tell her that the woman that gave birth to her made a lot of really horrible choices and hurt a lot of people, but she did right by her daughter. She gave her to the one person she knew would love her for whoever she turns out to be, who will understand her magic, her temper, her father's obsessive overprotectiveness." He gets a laugh out of her at that. It's tear soaked and tired, but it's a laugh nonetheless. "I'm so sorry." He kisses her forehead, wipes the remaining wetness from her cheeks before tipping her face up to kiss her lips.

Her arms wrap around him again and she pulls him close, resting her head against his chest, letting his hands coast up and down her back, in and out of her hair. "I love you," she tells him and is answered instantly by his And I you. It settles something in her, lets her melt just that much more into his embrace. "I'm tired and I don't want to cook dinner." As if on cue, Ella wails from the other room. There's no preamble with this one; she wants what she wants when she wants it. (She is a Mills woman after all.) Regina tucks her face back into Robin's neck, but this time she's laughing, shoulders shaking under his palms.

"Bottle or pizza?" he asks, reluctantly stepping away from her embrace.

"I've got her," Regina's already got the milk warming before Robin can remember what drawer the pizza menu is in.

"Are we okay?" he asks as he watches her pick up their daughter, settling her easily and slipping the bottle into her searching mouth.

"Better than fine," Regina settles into the armchair as Robin orders their dinner. She lets her eyes close to the sounds of Ella eagerly eating in her arms, of the boys laughing in the other room, of Robin cleaning up what they had started cooking in the kitchen. "Better than better than fine."