She was a Queen, and she had to be helped into her trousers — by Snow White, no less — because despite how degrading it was to have to be so vulnerable in front of a former enemy (regardless of the progress they'd made to counter that), it was even more so to be helped by a stranger, who only knew her as powerful and mighty, who had no knowledge of the foundation of pain and brokenness that might was built upon.
The ache in the muscles of her belly had not dulled. It felt like she had been sucker punched straight to the gut, the fibers of her muscles broken apart and throbbing. Like she had done about four hundred too many crunches at the gym. Like someone had torn out her hollow, empty, rotten womb and replaced it with a new one, holding a fourteen week old fetus.
She was a Queen, and she held her head high as she stepped out of the small hospital room and into the waiting area where her family — chosen and otherwise — waited anxiously. Their eyes begged for answers, and Robin crossed the space quickly to get to her side, his arm wrapping around her waist instinctively — and he only meant to comfort her, but she stiffened and pulled away from his touch, and while he stepped back, respecting her space, the look in his eyes was that of a wounded deer.
"Let's go home." And her words were spoken to Henry, but were meant for Robin, too. She didn't care that she was disappointing the masses with her lack of answers, of explanation. She owed them nothing. And to be frank, she hadn't quite processed any of it herself yet.
She was a Queen, and she had to be helped into the passenger's side of her own car, four hands holding her steady, two sets of worried eyes glued to her frame. Her boys — her men. Henry stepped back to allow Robin to bear her weight, while he remained pinned against the open car door, watching helplessly — and knowing that this was his doing.
Robin was silent as he brushed away a tear from the top of Regina's cheekbone, before leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her head. He could sense her need for strength now — or at least the mask of it. Because inside, she was clearly breaking.
The drive home was silent. Not even the quiet popping static of the radio could drown out the deafening emptiness in the car. Regina hated it. She wished she could bring herself to speak, to offer reassurance to her son, to allow Robin into the deeply hidden softness of her soul, to share her fears and pain and — but not here. Not now. Not when she could barely keep from whimpering every time the tire hit uneven pavement.
Fill the potholes. She thought to herself, mentally taking note of her next Mayoral command.
She was a Queen, and she was "capable of getting out of the car herself," she chided with annoyance in her tone. And they let her try. They stood back and diverted their eyes and let her struggle, her arms shaking as she clung to the open car door, biting down hard on her lip and willing her body to cooperate — but they only let her struggle for a moment.
Robin's arms were around her back and under her shoulders, and he was lifting her gently to her feet, letting his strength be hers as she found her footing.
"Thank you," she said softly, still not ready to admit she had needed help in the first place.
Henry pushed the door open, leading the way into the house, followed by Robin and Regina, side by side, her hand wrapped around his forearm. The three stood for a moment, eyes on the ground, pausing to take in the scene. Tiny droplets of blood pickered the white tile, a trail leading up the steps — and Regina lifted her hand to brush the hair off of her forehead, fingertips grazing against the scratchy gauze. The three stood and stared. And then dispersed as if on cue.
"I'll clean up," Henry offered, and he was already making his way to the kitchen closed, retrieving the mop and a can of aerosol cleaner for the carpeted steps.
Regina's gaze moved to Robin's face, studying him for a moment, as if daring him to try and pick her up and carry her up the steps. She would have none of it. Because she was a Queen, not a willowy damsel in distress.
It took entirely too long to get up the steps, Regina leaning heavily against the bannister with one arm, her other loosely tethered to Robin, who had his hand at her back.
The door to her bedroom was still open, and the path of destruction she'd left was still evident. The bedside lamp was turned over, the shade hanging loosely off the side. Sheets and blankets were draped on the ground, spilling off of the bed.
With his help, she got herself positioned somewhat comfortably in the center of the bed, pillows stacked high, propping her up, and blankets tucking her in tight. Robin sat on the edge of the bed, wringing his hands — and once upon a time, there had been a ring there on his left for him to fiddle with — but that was a lifetime ago.
He let out a sigh and turned his head to look into the dark eyes of the woman he loved, his brow going wrinkly — like a puppy, Regina thought, and she hated that she thought it.
There was not an easy way around this. And she owed him the truth. But just a few weeks earlier, she had spilled her soul and her secrets to him — she couldn't ever have children — and yet, here they were. And though it should have been a happy thing — maybe could be — Regina was sure that there was more to it, and there would be, because this was magic. And magic always came with a price.
And more time than she would care to admit, the ones she loved were the ones who paid it.
Her lips parted and she breathed in softly — she wanted to speak, but what was there to say? With Snow, she had blurted it out because with Snow, she didn't have to tread lightly. The time for treading lightly had passed somewhere between drawing up the WANTED posters and force feeding her that poisoned apple. What she wouldn't give right now for a sleeping curse.
The subject of what had happened was able to be avoided a few hours more, after Regina quickly succumbed to exhaustion (mental, emotional and physical). At least while she was sleeping she didn't have to feel the muscles in her abdomen clench and ache. When she woke again, though, it was an immediate reminder that she hadn't dreamed it all up.
She got up slowly, clutching her middle as she stood — never having realized you use your abdominal muscles so much just to stand. Upright and on her feet, she was struck by a wave of nausea — again — but she paused only for a moment, then swallowed deeply, keeping sickness at bay. Tugging her robe around her a little more tightly, and tying it off with the sash around her waist, Regina let out a slow exhale and slowly walked the length of the room, pushing the door open.
She braced herself carefully against the bannister as she descended the stairs, and she could hear the quiet clinking of ceramic coming from the kitchen. Unsure who she would find — and it could be anyone at this point, because Snow would feel she had been let in to Regina's inner sanctum (and she had, hadn't she? Because what else could she be after holding Regina's upper body against her own as she held her trousers out for her to step into?) and there was Charming and Henry and Robin, and Emma, too. She was playing roulette in her mind, wondering where the needle would land as she rounded the corner into the kitchen.
Robin. She was relieved.
"Where's Henry?" she asked, her voice low and groggy, and she touched her throat gently, rubbing over her the lump in her throat because it startled her a little at how exhausted she sounded out loud.
"School," Robin replied, having turned suddenly at the sound of her voice. He had been too lost in his thoughts to hear her approaching, and while startled, he restrained himself, resisting the urge to go to her side immediately, closing the space between them.
Because there was space between them now.
Regina looked confused, and narrowed her eyes, peering past where Robin stood and looking out of the window. Daylight. She supposed that made sense. She had taken her tumble in the late afternoon, was admitted early in the evening, discharged brought home late that night — and clearly she had slept several hours since then because the blinking green numbers over the stove told her it was nearly noon.
Realizing the time and quickly adjusting to it, Regina nodded and pursed her lips together, her gaze going back to Robin.
He was scared. She could see that much. She wondered, briefly, if all his hopes that she would be vulnerable with him were being taken back now — because maybe this was too much. Maybe a broken Queen wasn't actually what he wanted, and he would pull back and—
"How are you feeling," he asked, interrupting her train of dark thoughts.
Regina nodded, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm alright."
"Regina."
The way he said her name made her melt a little. It always did — like every time she was with him, he would melt away her icy outer layers a little at a time.
"We need to talk," she admitted, and she cursed herself because she could feel the sting of tears fighting to escape her chocolate eyes.
He nodded, and set down the empty mug he'd been holding all this time. Breakfast and coffee would wait.
On the couch, Regina sat with her legs tucked up beneath her, her back pressed against the arm — and Robin was in the middle, a large gap of space between them he wished she would allow him to fill.
They'd been sitting in silence for far too long, and the ticking of the clock was a constant reminder that despite her desire to never speak of this, their time alone in the house was coming to an end. Henry would be home soon. And even with her extreme stubbornness, she couldn't actually sit there in silence for another thirty weeks.
Regina licked her lips and took in a deep breath. Rip the bandaid as Emma would say.
"I'm pregnant," she finally spat out — quickly, and without emotion. Because if she allowed herself to feel what she was speaking, she would be reduced to a sloppy, sobbing mess.
Robin just stared. His eyes were on her face, but he was losing resolve, and he couldn't stop himself from letting them fall, just barely catching a glimpse of her middle, hidden well beneath her robe when —
"Zelena lost her baby. And…I'm…"
"Pregnant," Robin finished her thought, his heart pulling in so many directions. His thoughts darted from Zelena to Regina to the babies — baby? — to the Vault, to New York, to the Enchanted Forest. Suddenly his head — and the room — were spinning and he leaned forward where he sat, suddenly finding himself pushing up and to his feet. But there was nowhere to go. And he didn't want to go anywhere, not really.
"Pregnant," he said again, turning to look at Regina. And she was suddenly so small, and her eyes pleading, and he understood the silence now. Because this was complicated and confusing where it should have been just joy — and he knew by the look in her eyes that this was magic, too.
But he couldn't help the smile that was tugging at the corner of his lips, and he was letting out a breathy laugh as he sat — this time closer — at her side, his hand coming to rest on her knee, traveling up to her thigh.
"You're pregnant. And…Zelena….isn't," he said with long pauses, trying to process too many things at once.
"So this is…" he began, his hand moving again to press against her middle, pulling back slightly when he felt Regina recoil, her face flashing with pain.
"This is…" he said again, but he didn't finish his thought. Because he didn't want to say it. He didn't want to hurt her — but this was Zelena's baby, he thought — until it wasn't.
"Robin, I.." Regina began, feeling compelled to explain that she hadn't done this. But there was no accusation when she looked into his eyes. Completely the opposite. There was something of relief behind confusion — because this meant that her sister was no longer a hurdle they had to jump to be together. There was nothing tethering Robin to Zelena anymore.
"I know."
He did. He did know. He knew that despite his instinct to celebrate this would-be victory, it was always more complicated than that. Particularly because Zelena was still being held in the bowels of the hospital, in her padded cell, devoid of magic. She was still a problem. Even when she wasn't.
"But," he said, reaching to take her hand, holding it in both of his own, his eyes locked on hers. "In this moment. Right now. All I want to do is focus on you," he confessed with a smile. "On us."
Her eyes lowered to stare at his lips, trying - and failing - to keep from leaning in. Because there was comfort there, and she had missed it. She leaned forward with her whole body, letting his hand move to her waist, the other finding the back of her head with ease. Their lips locked and when they parted, she was breathless, dipping her head low until his nose brushed against her forehead.
His hand was still at her belly, and Regina lowered hers to meet it. She bit her lip gently, her eyes fixed on where they were joined. Maybe there could be some happiness for her in this. She smiled sadly — because she never imagined she would have this. And she tried to banish the thoughts that this could all be gone again, happiness ripped from her once again, at any moment.