Hook was the Dark One, too, and the town wasted weeks going back and forth while the Dark Lovers took turns stealing each others memories, snatching dreamcatchers and otherwise causing chaos in the name of revenge — or the greater good — depending who you asked. At a point, Emma and Henry had the chance to smooth things over, joining forces once again, united under 'Operation: Cobra Part Two'.
Regina was glad for the distraction.
Twenty weeks and her bouts of morning sickness were showing no sign of lessening. If anything, she found herself being more cautious, taking her time in leaving her house in the morning, making sure her stomach had fully settled before making her appearance in the office at Town Hall.
Robin and Roland had moved in — "To help look after you," he insisted, as if an excuse were even necessary — and Regina had protested the need for any such thing, but in all honesty, was eager to share some normalcy in this relationship.
She was beginning to show now, and the scarves were failing in their intended purposes. Though, thanks to a single remark — in passing, even — to Leroy, the entire town now knew. There was really no sense in hiding anything.
Sitting at the table in the breakfast room, Regina was focused. Papers were neatly piled around her, and she scrawled out notes on a yellow pad, her palm pressed against the corner of the page.
She was dressed fully, and completely put together, even in her own home. The only sign of comfort were the black heels tipped on their side beneath the chair, stockinged feet playing mindlessly over the leather insoles.
"What are you working on?" Robin asked — and when Regina looked up, she was at first startled, but her features softened into a smile when she recognized by his posture that he had been standing there for a while, staring.
Licking her lips, she took in a breath and looked back down at the work in front of her, letting out an exhale and shaking her head.
"Half of this is approving and filing permits for the town," she explained, digging her foot around until she found her shoe's correct orientation, slipping one foot in, and then the other.
"The other half is a protection spell — for Emma. In case she needs it," Regina offered, lifting herself up from the chair to stand.
Her stark black, perfectly tailored blazer was inglorious contrast to the bright red dress she wore, its silhouette tailored exquisitely to hug every curve of her — one in particular was more noticeable as of late.
"You're beautiful," Robin remarked, still leaned against the doorway, arms and ankles crossed, his eyes moving over every inch of her.
She had already stepped away from the table as his words fell over her, and she blushed, the clicking of her heels quieting as she slowed her steps.
Robin crossed the space between them, his hands sliding from the sides of her waist, around her back, pulling her in to press against himself. With one arm wrapped lovingly at her back, the other was traveling still, his palm splaying open as it came to meet flush with her belly.
Regina looked down and let out a breath, her hand moving to grab hold of his wrist — because her instinct was to stop him, because she still battled the feelings that she didn't deserve this — his affection or this child. But she didn't stop him. She just held her hand against his arm and let him touch her.
Without requiring any sign from her in particular, Robin leaned in and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, resting his chin there as he tucked her in closer still — because he knew her thoughts as well as he knew his own. She was fighting inside, always fighting. And now, he was sure, she was fighting thoughts of unworthiness, of doubt and sadness. And he was determined to fight alongside her — and for her — and win.
Lying on her back, Regina was staring blankly at the ceiling tiles of the hospital room, one arm draped above her head, the other held tightly in Robin's as they waited. She was in her own trousers, but bare above the waist, a paper hospital gown doing little to keep the goosebumps at bay.
She felt vulnerable. More so now than perhaps ever. Because this vulnerability wasn't just about her. There was a baby, a human life she was responsible for. And the responsibility was multi-layered and crushing. She was a vessel, she thought to herself more often than she cared to admit. A vessel that was carrying something precious — a child — that didn't quite belong to her. But it did. And it didn't.
Regina's eyes stung, and she blinked it away, crinkling her nose to rid herself of the tingling that always signaled she was about to lose a battle with her tears. She felt Robin's hand tighten in her own, and she turned to look at him, finding reassurance in his eyes, his smile.
She could see he was about to ask her — to prod, to understand her better — what she was thinking. But the rapid knock on the door saved her from having to divulge, and she breathed out and forced a smile.
"Okay," Whale practically sang, clapping his hands together once, then rubbing them quickly — and he looked like a hungry wolf when he did it.
"Let's get a look at Baby Mills, shall we?" he asked with an inappropriate amount of gusto.
"Hood." Regina corrected him quietly. "Baby Hood."
Multilayered. Complicated.
"Right," Whale agreed, but his disinterest was evident. He was already snapping his gloves on and flipping the switch up on the monitor, rolling it even closer to the bedside. Grabbing his wheeled stool with practiced ease, he plopped down and grabbed a squirt bottle of gel from the cart in a showy display of machismo.
Regina glared at him, thinking he was more suited for the back of a bar than a hospital.
The gel was cold against her bare belly and Regina flinched, her muscles tensing. Lying on her back, the curve of her was far less pronounced, though Regina noted that her navel was beginning to look less like a hole and more like a shallow divot.
The sonogram wand pressed in firmly against her flesh, and Regina turned to the monitor, her heart stilling in her chest. Her thumb was absentmindedly running back and forth over the back of Robin's palm, and she was only half aware that his opposite hand had come to rest over her shoulder.
Silence.
Regina breathed in and held it.
"I haven't felt it move yet," she admitted softly, her skin growing cold.
She was waiting for it. Waiting for Whale to say there was no heartbeat, or that there was nothing at all. Her chest grew tight and her eyes filled to the brim with tears, feeling Whale move the wand up and down and side to side.
But then he pulled it back, wiped it clean on the hanging towel slung over the handle of the cart, and he was diving in again — this time starting lower. He was quiet. And the room was still.
Silence.
Robin's hand began to trail down her arm from her shoulder, and she knew he was offering extra support — and she hated it. She didn't want comfort now. She wanted to disappear. To melt into the hospital bed with its scratchy sheets and rustling tissue paper and squeaking plastic — and cease to exist.
She let out an exhale, gripping the pillow behind her head, clinging to anything tangible, making sure this was reality and not a nightmare — but her nightmares were often reality.
Silence.
And then —
The whirring sound came over the speaker and shattered every fear in Regina's heart. She gasped for breath and let it out again in a shaky sob, her hand twitching in Robin's because she was certain this would have been the end of it all — her glimmer of happiness, gone.
"There we go," Whale announced happily, holding the wand steady over the sweet spot, just to the side of her hip bone. "Lookin' good, Baby Hood."
Regina didn't even care that his rhyme was idiotic — right now, she loved it. And she laughed and closed her eyes tightly, thanking anyone who cared to hear her thoughts, her tears rolling heavy down her cheeks.
"Good, strong heartbeat," the doctor promised, reaching forward with his free hand to joyfully slap a button, freezing the image for them to take home.
"It's okay? It's safe?" Regina asked, choking quietly on her own words, her mouth dry.
"Perfectly good looking baby girl," he promised, wincing at his own admission.
"Sorry," he grimaced, one eye open and pained, the other slammed shut as though he were waiting for a punch to the face. "Hope you wanted to know the gender…"
When no punch came, Whale nodded and peeled off his gloves. "Go ahead and get dressed. We'll get you these snapshots on your way out. Don't need to see you again for another month unless you need something," he smiled on his way out the door, already whistling some obnoxious tune, his mind on his next patient.
Regina was silent, staring at the now black screen of the monitor. A girl.
When she had rid herself of her blurry vision, the last tear now dripping off of her jaw, she turned to look at him. And he was crying, too.
"A girl," he breathed out, and the joy was evident in his eyes. "Regina, a girl…"
The way he said her name, the way he kept repeating 'a girl', over and over — it made her feel like she had done something right. There was something to be happy about. And it was her happiness. Her joy. She wasn't watching through a window while Snow and Charming beamed over their latest triumph — always on the outside, looking in.
She was in. This was hers.
"A girl."