It takes her a minute to ease back into the rocking chair by the window, but as soon as she does, she knows it'll be a long while before she gets up again.

For a moment, she just sits there, rocking gently with her eyes closed, ignoring the newly cut-and-sewn stack of flannels sitting on the little table next to the chair. The window is open, and a light breeze that smells faintly of apples from the nearby orchard is coming in, and aside from the wind, everything is quiet and still. A little smile works its way onto her lips as shifts her hips, finding a comfortable position-and as she draws in a breath, her hand falls over the curve of her very-pregnant stomach, and she's glad that the baby has also decided to take a rest.

For days she's been growing increasingly restless, and though she knows that's normal for this stage of pregnancy, it's made Robin extra vigilant.

They've been working on the nursery-something Robin has repeatedly reminded her someone else could do, and something she's repeatedly insisted was something she wanted to do-and it was coming together nicely. The Hunting Lodge had never had a nursery. Robin's father was far too old for one when his father decided to make it his main residence, and the only other child born in that time was Mrs. Potter's son, Christopher-or Chip as everyone called him-and his room had been upstairs in the servants' quarters.

Of course, it was because of Chip's presence in the house that there was anything baby-related at all. In the attic they'd found his crib and the rocker were kept and a little pitcher and basin adorned with hand-painted little ducks, and with a little dusting and refurbishing here-and-there, they were good as new and ready to use.

They'd picked the room across from the boys' room for the baby, just down the hall from their own, and Regina picked out a green and white paisley wallpaper for the walls. Ruby was making new bedding for the crib in various shades of green, yellow, and white fabrics-all of which she'd spent an embarrassing amount of time choosing-and Mrs. Potter had just hung new, bright yellow curtains on the window that morning.

For the most part, Henry had been her helper, eager to do whatever was needed to prepare the baby's room, while Robin hovered and reminded her that they had a staff to do these sorts of things. She didn't mind it, for the most part, and though his worrying could be a bit tiresome, she knew it came from a good place-and she knew his worries stretched beyond her.

Marian's pregnancy was something that weighed heavily on him before she got pregnant, and though this baby was planned, she's fairly certain he was unprepared with how he'd feel as she progressed through the pregnancy. She wasn't even sure if he was entirely conscious of it, but every time something happened-from the first bouts of morning sickness, to the baby's first kick, to the first time she'd felt a little more tired than usual, he couldn't help but compare her experiences to Marian's or to project Marian's onto her.

He didn't talk about it much, but she could see it in his eyes and feel it in his touch-and she could only imagine what it would be like to be in his position-a helpless bystander-just watching as the life drained from someone he loved. Of course, Marian was sick before her pregnancy with Roland, but the pregnancy took years away from her, everyday draining her a little more and a little more, until all that was left was child she'd bore.

Her own experiences with pregnancy were much different, of course, but Robin didn't know that, and how she was feeling and what she'd come to expect as normal was hard for her to convey. With Henry, she hadn't had time to rest. It hadn't been afforded to her, but she'd also been a bit younger, and aside from a few new aches and pains and a bit of discomfort, until that last month, she hadn't felt all that different-and the same was true of this pregnancy, though if anyone saw her now, they'd hardly believe it.

"Mama," Roland's voice calls, in a loud whisper, "Are you sleeping?"

"No," she murmurs, grinning as one eye opens and she turns her head to look at him. "I'm just resting."

"Oh," he says, shifting awkward as he peeks around the frame of the door. "Are you resting because you don't feel good?"

"I'm just taking a break," she tells him, opening her other eye and smiling softly. "I feel fine."

He nods and fidgets with his fingers. "How much longer til the baby comes?"

"About two months."

"Oh," he sighs. "That's a long time."

"It'll go faster than any of us thinks."

Nodding, he chews at his lip. "I… I don't want you to have the baby."

"No?" she asks, sitting up a little. "You don't want a little brother or sister?"

Again, Roland shifts nervously. "No," he admits in a little voice. "I want a mama."

Her chest tightens. They've talked about this before-but no matter how many times they did, seeing that fear in his eyes and hearing it in his voice broke her heart. With Roland, it was similar to how it was with Robin-it didn't matter how many times she tried to reassure him, he still worried, and at five-years old, he couldn't quite understand that gaining a baby brother or sister didn't mean he'd inevitably lose a mother. To him, it was a trade-at best, a gamble-and it wasn't worth the risk.

"Oh, sweetheart," she says, holding out her hand to him. "Come here."

Roland wastes no time coming into the room and climbing into the rocking chair with her, and when he does, he cuddles up to her, nuzzling his face against her shoulder. Pressing a few quick kisses to his hair, her arm wraps around him and she rubs his back, her heart breaking as his fingers clutch the fabric of her dress so hard that his knuckles turn white.

"It's not fair," he says in a shaky little voice, an indication that he's on the verge of tears. "I just got you."

"I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart."

"But you don't know that." Her eyes press shut and she draws in a breath, but before she can think of something soothing to say, he lifts his head. "Do you?"

She's not quite sure what to say.

Of course, there's a small chance that something could happen. There were always those stories of difficult births and unforeseen complications, but that wasn't something she could explain to a six-and-a-half year old-and she had to be careful about not implying that this was somehow a choice she could make because if it were choice then it'd have been Marian's choice to leave him.

"You really miss her, huh?"

Roland shrugs, looking away shyly. "No."

"It's alright if you do."

"I can't miss her," he says, sniffling a bit as he reaches for one of the buttons on her dress, his little finger tracing it. "I didn't know her."

"That doesn't mean you can't still miss her," Regina says softly, reaching out and pushing her fingers through his curly hair. "You can still wish you'd gotten to know her."

Roland hesitates, focussing on the button. "I… I don't think she'd want to know me."

"That's crazy. Of course she'd want to know you."

"No," Roland says. "I don't think so."

"And why not?" Regina asks, her voice piquing defensively at the notion that anyone-especially Marian-wouldn't want to know him. "You're pretty stellar, you know that?" He shrugs, still focused on the button. "I mean, you're sweet and you're funny, and you're so smart, and handsome and-"

"I'm the reason she died," he tells her in a voice that's barely audible, his jaw trembling as he looks up. "I heard you and Papa talking about it once."

"Roland, that's not-" She stops, shaking her head as she pulls him to her chest, holding him tightly as she rubs her hand over his back. "It's not your fault," she tells him, holding him a bit tighter. "It's… it's no one's fault."

"But she died," he says, pulling back as tears brim in his eyes. "She died because of me."

"No-"

"She did," he says in a small, barely audible voice. "I heard papa say it."

"That's… that's not what he meant," she says gently. "What happened with you mother was… awful," she tells him. "But it was complicated and it most certainly was not your fault."

"But Papa said-"

"No," she cuts in, shaking her head. "He didn't mean it like that."

Roland's face crumples. He's not listening-and if he is, he's not hearing it. "And you could die because of that baby." His jaw starts to tremble and tears spill over his eyes, and all she can do pull him close to her, rocking him gently as she assures him that everything will work out as it's supposed to, that she'd never willingly leave him and that she loves him-but no matter what she says, it doesn't seem to soothe him. "I don't want to lose you, too," he tells her, pulling back and batting his hands over his eyes. "It wouldn't be fair."

"You're right," she nods, forcing a smile as her chest tightens. "That wouldn't be fair."

He sniffs. "Why do you have to have a baby, anyway?"

A little grin edges onto her lips. "Because your papa and I think you'd make such a fantastic big brother."

"No," Roland says, shaking his head as though this were something that could be taken into account to change the situation. "I don't think so."

"Well, I do."

Again, he sniffs. "But I don't want to be big brother. I like being the little brother. I'm better at that."

"Well, you'll still be the little brother," she explains. "You'll still be Henry's little brother." Pausing, her eyes narrow as Roland's lips tighten, clearly not liking that explanation. "But it'll be different than it is with Henry and you."

"Why?" he asks, his brow furrowing slightly. "Why does it have to be different?"

"Well, you're in a special situation."

Roland shakes his head. "I don't want to be in a special situation. I just want my normal one. I like the way it is now, with me and Henry and Papa and you."

"I like that, too," she admits. "But this special situation is going to be so much better."

"Why?"

"Because you get to be a little brother and a big brother. You get the best of both." She grins, watching as Roland considers it. "It's like getting two desserts."

That seems to catch his attention a bit, and he looks up at her, grinning softly though his tears. Leaning in, she kisses his forehead and rubs her finger over his cheeks, brushing away his tears. A little grin edges onto her lips as she kisses his cheek and as a faint hint of a smile tugs up at the corner of his mouth. She giggles softly as she leans in to kiss the other cheek. Again, that faint smile starts to tug at his lips. Her hands find his sides and her lips pepper his face with kisses, and it isn't long before before he's laughing out and squirming, practically screaming as she tickles and kisses him-and then suddenly, they both stop.

Her hand falls to her stomach as the baby kicks-and Roland's eyes widen as he feels it. She takes his hand and places it over her stomach so he can feel. "The baby wants to play, too," she tells him, watching as his hand trembles over the spot where she holds it-and when the baby kicks another time-this time a bit harder- she flinches.

"Is it hurting you?" he asks, his voice tentative and his eyes wide. "Is-" His voice halts as his eyes grow wider and flood with tears, and Regina's brow furrows with confusion. "Is that blood!?"

She looks down at herself, following his gaze to a red spot on her dress-and she can't help but laugh.

"No," she tells him, taking his hand and turning it over so that his palm is faced upward. "I think that's strawberry jam from your sticky hands."

Roland blinks, looking almost stunned-and she watches as relief washes over him, likely remembering the scones and jam Mrs. Beakley had made to go with tea. Somehow, though his relief is heartbreaking and she knows that it'll be short-lived-so she presses a kiss to his palm and tugs him back to her, wrapping her arms around him. He's too big and she's too pregnant for her to cradle him, but she tries it anyway, rocking him in her arms and giving him the love and attention that he's craving-the love and attention he's so afraid to lose.