I was originally going to post this separately but it hadn't turned out the way i wanted it to, meaning it's crappy. but i just hate, hate, hate with a passion how badly the show is dealing with all of these crappy sl. anyway, since we've been told that they have talked somehow (i must be asleep when this happened), i just had to get it out somehow. i don't think this fic makes much sense. but yeah.
without further ado, enjoy!
PS. unbeta-ed for a lifetime. ignore them mistakes.
He's always had the uncanny ability to predict what she might feel about things, at any given day. He knows her, feels her, is in sync with her and everything that she feels. He does so, so much, that he tries to be more cautious around her, about the baby—the innocent life caught up in this mess of tangled lies, and hatred and spite. The one innocent life that he sometimes wishes has never been created, if only to spare them all of this pain.
He doesn't blame her, can't quite help but feel sympathy for her whenever the baby (one that he wishes was hers and his, and not born out of circumstances as this one, but fates has worked in devious ways, and now they are stuck in the choices he's made, stuck in the repercussions of every lie and every revenge set to motion) is mentioned. He can't quite help but catch that glimmering pain in her deep brown eyes whenever the subject comes up.
Not that it does often, really. She seems to avoid any conversations about it, apart from the one they've had about her not anymore wanting to stand in the way of her own happiness, and sometimes, in the dark of the night as he holds her tired body in his arms after a long day of chasing after endless dead-ends to help Emma out of the darkness (mostly because she feels guilty), she makes brief mentions of how they are going to have adjust with a newborn, where they should let her sleep. They talk about it, yes, but not enough, not nearly enough.
And not about the things that matter.
He still hasn't talked to her about what she feels about it, hasn't told her what he feels about it. He tells himself it's for her, because he doesn't want to hurt her further, but mostly because he's scared of what she'd say. Oh he is a coward, alright, and he knows it. He is afraid of hurting her once more with his callousness, knowing that this—what he's done, what he has fallen into is hurting her enough at the moment. So he keeps mum about everything that is related to the baby, or her villainous sister.
He hasn't talked to her about Roland, and what they are going to tell the tyke who has taken into clinging to Regina most days. Regina is a good sport, rolls with it most days, and lets Roland cajole her into one more book, even after the three they've already gone through. She gives him extra cuddle time whenever she can, and the boy eats it up like a ham because they come far and few in between now that Regina is busy. He hears them, at night, they talk about everything—those big growling animals he's seen from that movie that Henry showed him, the one with the big, sharp teeth and the claws, and has scales—Dinosaurs, she'd tell him—and all of Roland's dreams and adventures, but they never talk of what matters, not of his little sister coming, and how and where it came about. He knows she doesn't say anything because she doesn't think it's her place, and he knows he doesn't say anything because he doesn't know what to say.
He hasn't talked to her about his feelings, of how lowly now he thinks of himself, of how betrayed and deceived he feels, and how violated. They don't talk about that.
But there are just so many ways and so many times that they could avoid it, and honestly, he doesn't think they could go about not talking about it anymore. He could hide his enthusiasm and love for the innocent life created out of spite and deceit, but he can't hide the simple fact that it is there, no matter how fucked up their situation is.
He's always planned to talk to her about it.
He's just never thought she'd be the one to bring it up first.
"I know it's her ultrasound today," she tells him as she steps into the bedroom they share. He had been reluctant at first, to live in her house, her son is there, and they have so many creases in their relationship they needed to straighten out before that step, but she had put her foot down, saying that if he doesn't want to do it for himself, then he should at least do it for Roland (she's expressed her concern for his safety and had only glared at him when he'd insisted that the Locksley men are men of the forest, had been for all their lives and are in no grave danger)—and he'd given in. It took weeks, however, for him to officially move in to her bedroom, because he'd wanted her to adjust to them being there at first. He had sensed her reluctance, as well, and he understood. "Robin?"
Her voice breaks his reverie and makes him look up at her. He could read her well, or so he hopes, and he could read the pain in her eyes—which is why he'd never talked about it with her, in the first place. He nods.
"Yes, she did," he confirms, patting that space beside him on bed. He is resting his back against the headboard, the boys having gone to sleep hours ago, and she'd shooed him out of the library, so he had tried to get out of her way by readying and settling himself in bed.
She shakes her head and opts to remain standing at the foot of the bed. "You didn't tell me?" she asks, but it's an accusation, he could hear it, and he feels his heart break, for the millionth time since Marian, or fake Marian, has returned.
"I didn't think you'd want to know," he says, the words slipping from his mouth before he could filter them. It's the truth, he doesn't think she'd wanted to, really, knowing it's painful for her. The gasp that escapes her lips is enough to make him want to bury himself alive. "I'm sorry. I only meant to say that I know how hard it is for you—and you're already so stressed, I hadn't want to burden you even more."
Her fists are clenched at her sides, and she bites down on her trembling lips as she looks away. "It's not a burden," she whispers quietly.
He hates this…hates that she doesn't want to open up to him and just tell him (even if he doesn't want to hear it, he supposes that she needs to get it out, and who better hear it than him?).
"Isn't it?" he asks, and damn, there's his mouth again.
She looks at him sharply, head whipping in his direction so fast that it makes her neck pop loudly. Her eyes widen and she looks like she's physically restraining herself. God, he wishes she'd hit him, if it would make her feel better.
She doesn't speak though, and somehow, that only makes everything worse.
"I know you're hurting," he says softly, not wanting this to turn into a fight after all (because he is just a man, and he is selfish, wants her, wants her for himself and is afraid of pushing her too much, too far that she might snap and leave his sorry ass behind). "I know nothing is easy for you right now, it isn't for me, and I created this mess—,"
She cuts him off. "No, she manipulated you," she says in a soft whisper, reminding him once more of the deceit and the ache in his chest that he'd felt when he'd been with who he thought was his wife—he felt like being ripped in half, he feels that now too. "She used your honor against you."
There's no point in denying that.
"I should have never given up on you, though," he says, and it's true. "I should have tried harder to hold on."
She finally takes a seat on the bed, at his foot, the mattress dipping just slightly as she settles down. "What's done is done," she says in a final tone, but still sounding defeated, like there is nothing left to do.
There isn't any way to change it, certainly, but there's always the future—that, they can change.
He reaches out a hand to her and she takes it, crawling on the bed until she's in his arms, settled between his legs, back to his chest. He could feel the tension in her shoulder and he leans down to kiss her shoulder blades.
"Tell me what you're thinking love," he begs. But she remains quiet, not speaking until the silence stretches and stretches and minutes go by with that heaviness in the air. He continues quietly, "I'm angry. I'm angry at your sister, for using Marian for her revenge, for using my son and doing all of this elaborate scheme she's devised and set in motion to hurt us, to hurt you."
It seems she won't be speaking first.
"Robin, I'm—," she tries to say but he shushes her with a kiss and his palm pressing against her abdomen lightly.
"It's not your fault," he tells her sincerely. "None of this is. It's mine, and Zelena's. It's Zelena's because she's doing this out of spite, out of hate, out of something that your mother had done, and not you. But it's also mine for not stopping to think when I had my suspicions…she was different, the woman I thought was Marian hadn't felt like she is Marian, but I ignored all the signs because I thought I lost you and I had to make it work. I was stupid, saying I choose you one second then turning my back on you the moment it mattered."
"You had Roland," she tells him understandingly. "You had a son to think about."
"Even so," he insists. "You should hate me, not accept me and take me back. I hurt you, you shouldn't give me a chance. I should just set you free and stop hurting you this way. You deserve better."
She shakes her head and pulls away to face him. He misses her warmth and feels empty without her in his arms.
"Don't you dare," she hisses at him, using her index finger to point at him with trembling fingers. "Don't you dare tell me that I deserve better and that you should just let me go." She seems to be so angry now that she actually climbs the bed and starts pacing the room. She'd wear out the masonry in no time, for sure. She looks at him with wild eyes. "I have lived for more than just three decades trying to decimate the woman I thought had ruined my happiness. I did that—chased after her in the enchanted forest, killing anyone and everyone who stood in my way, and I casted a curse because I thought it would end her happy ending and bring me mine. I religiously believed that revenge was my happy ending, that if I see her suffer, I could finally be happy. But it still felt wrong, I felt empty. Then Henry came along. When I first held my son, I thought this is it, I'm going to finally be happy, and I was, even if for a while I made some mistakes, but my son changed me, he brought light into my life that helped me see where I was wrong and helped set me right. He loved me enough to make me believe that I could do it."
He watches her in awe at this point, never ceasing to be amazed at her, amazed that despite everything that she went through, she still had so much room for love.
"But you, Robin," she says in a whisper as tears fell into her eyes. "You gave me my smile back, gave me back a piece of myself that I was so convinced I buried along with Daniel. You and Henry, you both believed in me and my capacity for change. I can't have you saying that I deserve better when I spent a lifetime not realizing that I was looking for you."
"But Regina—," he tries once more, only to be shut up by her glare.
"No," she says forcefully. "I'm not saying that everything is perfect, and I'm fine. You're right I'm not. I'm mad. So mad at this unfair card I've been dealt with. I'm so mad, furious, at my sister for what she did to you and what she did to us. I'm so mad for having my happy ending being stolen again and again away from me. I'm mad at myself for loving you, but I'm also mad at myself for being mad about that because you are one of the best things that ever happened to me. I'm mad at you, for continuously thinking that you aren't good enough for me, when it's me, it's my fault that you're even in this position."
She breathes.
"And I'm mad that you've just told me that you want to let me go, when I've been trying so hard to keep holding on."
He stands now too, and takes her in his arms, his heart breaking and the pieces leaking through his eyes. He holds her, holds her tight.
"I'm sorry," he says.
"I'm sorry too," she whispers. She seems thoughtful for a while before she speaks and in turn manages to break his heart all over again. "She's right, I'll never have with you what she has with you now."
He shakes his head, remembering her tell him of her condition, of how she can never bear children after she's taken a potion just to spite, thinking it'd hurt her mother, when it only served to hurt her more. She's never been bothered too much about it, she says, but he knows how painful it is for her now.
"It doesn't matter," he assures her, and truly it doesn't. "It doesn't make you any less of a mother or a woman. It's not your ability to bear my children that defines you. You are Regina Mills, and no matter how many cracks and faults you find in yourself, you are beautiful and perfect to me."
She looks up at him then, eyes watering and he moves to cup her cheeks.
"She'll always be the child's mother," Regina comments then and he wants to say, no, Zelena isn't, she is. But it won't do any good, would it? It's too soon. And it's a conversation for another day.
"I don't want her to be," he confesses, though he suspects that she already knows.
She nods. She knows. "We also have to tell Roland," she tells him and his heart swells with love for her even more. "He needs to understand this, and we have to explain it to him the best we can."
She's a mother, through and through.
"We can do this," he assures her, smiling sadly as he continues, "Together."
She nods.
"Together," she repeats.
Fin (12/6/15)
A/n: yeah, that happened. let me know what you think! :)
