TW: rape, violence and miscarriage. Not too graphic, but the story is rated M because of this.

03:04. The red numbers stood out in the darkness, reminding her of the time ticking away. She was lying in bed trying to sleep, but sleep wouldn't come easy that night. The room was too cold, the duvet too thick, her back too cranky, the silk pyjamas too clingy. A headache was starting to creep up from her tense shoulders, and her nose was stuffy. She got out of bed and put on a pair of slippers before she silently went down to the kitchen. Anything to keep her reeling mind away from going back to default mode. Whenever she didn't do anything, or was planning even the simplest task, the scene in her vault kept playing on repeat, never leaving her alone.

Was she reading too much into it? Or too little? She needed sleep, she was desperate for it. But for the time being, she was making a fabulous dish of herbal tea (apparently good for sleeping, according to the label) and a tin of cod roe unceremoniously sliced and put in the micro oven for heating.

And she was back to default again.

"What do you know that I don't? What happened to Robin?"
With a flick of his wrist, Gold freed her from the shackles and put her phone and the note with the number in her hand.

"Ask him yourself. Call."
She glared at him and made the call. The phone rang for a few seconds before someone picked up.

"Robin?"
She spoke before the other person had a chance to reply. If only she didn't have a spectator! Her voice was light and anticipating, she couldn't help it. Surely this sign of weakness would be used against her sooner or later. Probably sooner, the way things were at the moment. This whole Robin thing was never meant to be smooth sailing. She would never be allowed to go unpunished for her happiness.

"No, it's not Robin"

"Marian?"

"Not exactly..."
Whatever did she mean? The voice was clearly Marian. What kind of trick was this?

"Hello, sis!"
She felt like somebody had tossed a bucket of ice water over her head, or a packet of mockingly rotting eggs. Desperation was taking hold of her, she was losing all grounding, and the world started to shrink at the edges.

"No. No, it can't be!"
She had to sit down, there and then, right on the chest, where she woke up not ten minutes before. The first "no" was almost a whisper, but her voice regained its strength by the second one. She was utterly confused.

"Oh, but it is."

She was mocking her! That wretched witch of a sister! To think that she had really wanted that creature to be a part of her highly dysfunctional family. She had actually glimpsed a ray of hope for a moment.

"Zelena. But how? I saw you die."
Her composure was back, and she needed the information. Damned witch!

"You thought you saw me die."

"Where's Robin? This is his phone, what have you done with him?"
Her voice was still demanding, although it wavered. She was desperately close to crying, and deadly afraid.

"I haven't done anything, except love and honour him, in sickness and in health, to have and to hold and all that other wifely nonsense."
She drawled it out, thoroughly enjoying tormenting her little sister. Loving the images she was painting. Regina could hear the smugness, and wanted to slap that stupid grin off her face, but her imagination was all too vivid. For nine weeks Robin had lived with Zelena pretending to be his long dead wife, and he had bought her scam. Lived with her, loved her, held her. And all that other wifely nonsense...

She mentally shook herself, tried to get herself together, her demanding tone still present, yet she stuttered.

"I…I don't understand!"

"Well, you don't have to. All you need to know is while your precious Robin thinks it's his wide eyed wife cooking dinner for him every night, it's actually me."
She felt her face drop, her insides a churning mess, and she heard a chuckle and a pling.

"Oh, I've gotta run sis. He'll be home soon, and...I've got a meatloaf in the oven!"
She was too happy not to be looking at herself in the mirror. The stabbing pain of the words was enough to know what she might look like. Her imagination went haywire, the innuendo not lost on her.

"No..." she half whispered, followed by a firmer "No!"

"Oh, you sound like you need a moment. Take it! I'm sure we'll see each other again very soon. Ta-ta!"
Zelena hung up. She was sitting stiff as a board, just staring at Rumplestiltskin. Slowly she lowered her hand with the phone from her ear and pointed at him.

"You knew!"
Her voice was low and threatening.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a pling from her own micro oven, and she whipped out a fork as she passed the drawer before sitting down by the table. The combination of food and tea was peculiar, yet satisfying. She savoured the meal and hummed absentmindedly on a tune she only remembered three bars of. The drowsiness was creeping back upon her, and she gathered the remnants of her night-time snack and put the cup, plate and fork in the dishwasher. She crushed the tin and threw it in the bin. And that got her mind buzzing again. Damnit.

What did Zelena mean by meatloaf in the oven? It couldn't have been a euphemism, could it? Surely, she must have been mocking her. Or she could actually have been making meatloaf for dinner. But if they had been loving, holding, all that wifely stuff for nine weeks... Wifely stuff she should have been the one doing these past weeks...

She craved his touch more than anything, and felt completely and utterly alone in a way she didn't know was possible. Her time being with him was brief, but the feeling of it all was so right that the separation was all the more painful. It was torture when Marian… No, Zelena… she corrected herself, had returned with miss Swan and the pirate, but the second parting, actually sending him away when he openly chose her, that was like a part of her died.

She very much felt like crying. Could he really have gotten over her that quickly? Was it really that easy? She was not wired like that at all. Of course she couldn't count on everybody being like her. That was part of the reason nothing good ever lasted in her little bubble. And yet, she couldn't really believe it. To think that Zelena wouldn't bend the truth to suit her was close to ludicrous, but the problem was to distinguish the truth between all the lies.

She went back upstairs and got out of her pyjamas. It was too hot anyway, and she desperately needed skin contact. The softness of her cotton bed sheets was nothing like the contact she craved, but yet more soothing than the silk. She sighed and buried herself in the fluffy duvet and pillows, and drifted off to sleep.

She opened her eyes with a pang, and bolted upright. The room was candle lit, and she could make out a couple of people standing by the opposite wall. Based on the noises she suspected she was the spectator of a heavy making-out session, and she felt a bit uncomfortable watching. In her own experience, those sloppy kisses and moans only lead one way; to the bed. And there was only one bed in the room, namely the king sized bed she was sitting in. She moved over as the couple crashed down on the bed.

"Move over, sis! I'm due to do my wifely duty!"

Zelena fell backwards as her legs hit the edge of the bed, landing spread-eagled, while Robin was kissing every part of her neck and going south. His hands were all over her, and he hastily, but with great care, unbuttoned her shirt and continued his ministrations.
She felt her blood curdle and her throat constricting. Why would he do this to her? And with her sitting right beside? He didn't notice her at all!

When he had completely rid Zelena of her clothes, she noticed the shape of her. This was the woman who taunted her about her dresses being too big, and that she had to take them in at the hips? Her hips were wide. Way too wide. And her boobs were threatening to break free. When did she get so busty? She could actually see the web of blue veins on them. And the stomach, not flat, not slightly curved, but an obvious rounded baby belly of around halfway gone.

Zelena caught her staring. "I said I had a meatloaf in the oven, didn't I? Oh, and it's time for your wifely duties as well" she said, with a nod in the direction of the door as her giggle transformed into a lengthy moan. Robin's head was perfectly situated between her thighs. "Isn't it fun? Sisterly bonding in bed with our husbands!"

Regina was feeling more and more nauseated, as well as petrified. Out of the shadows she could see the old king walking up to her, and there was no way of escaping. She didn't know how or when it happened, but she was stark naked, sitting next to the cavorting couple that was her sister and her soul mate. There was nothing to cover her, and she was desperately looking for something to shield her from the oncoming horror. She needed to get out of here now! She tried everything. Poofing, running, anything, but she had lost the ability to do anything but closing her eyes tight.

Pleasepleaseplease let this be a nightmare and let me wake up! She was unable to utter a single noise, and she kicked and let out a silent scream as someone yanked her feet so that she was on her back. Those all too familiar hands stroking her sides, the beard on her face and neck, her breasts and stomach, she yelped soundlessly as he bit down on a sore nipple, and she desperately tried to get away, but her hands and feet were tied. From the other part of the bed, she could hear those sounds of excruciating pleasure, and her own situation was all the grimmer because of the contrast.

She was the one who should be caressed by Robin, his hands skimming her sides, mouth kissing her stomach with the tenderness and loving he was showing her sister.

She had almost forgotten how painful the act was with no lubrication but his disgusting spit, and she tried her best to relax. Think happy thoughts. Horses, butterflies, smiles and baby feet! But it didn't work. It hardly ever did. She was and always would be hopelessly unable to free her mind from her body. And then somebody put on a soundtrack. Oh God! He moved in rhythm with the music. She knew this tune; Tritsch-Tratch-Polka. How many times hadn't she danced to this in the kitchen while baking? The absurdity of the scene wasn't wasted on her, but she couldn't focus on anything but the physical and psychological pain. She felt like she was exploding from the built-up tension in her chest, and with every thrust he made, she was bleeding more and more, everything getting sticky, friction burning her insides. How could he get any satisfaction from this? She was sure that it must be uncomfortable for him as well, but he never seemed to care.

As he reached his climax, he grunted and finally rolled off her. For a brief moment she thought it was over, and breathed out. That was when she felt the blow to her stomach. Repeatedly and with increasing force he delivered punch after punch, Strauss still mockingly playing in the background. Voices of Spring this time. His beating took the form of a macabre ballet, and he just leered at her.

"That should get the bastard out of you!"

With that he left, and she got her voice back, screaming on the top of her lungs, clutching her midsection. Screaming bloody murder as she felt the gush of blood out of her and staining the sheets. She was going to lose another one! She couldn't take it. It was too much!

She shot up, leapt out of bed and ran to the bathroom, no time for dressing or anything. Just in time she lurched over the toilet retching violently while tears ran hot down her face, her body tightening up for another round of regurgitating. God, God, God! Please! She was terrified, and loud sobs mixed with the coughing and spluttering. She registered the noise of running feet and Henry softly calling "Mom? What's wrong?"

What was wrong? Apart from having emptied herself in the most ghastly way, shivering like a Chihuahua in Vermont in January, clutching the toilet in nothing but her panties and sobbing like a wreck, absolutely everything!

She couldn't get out a coherent answer, so he grabbed her fluffy robe and draped around her shaking shoulders before sitting down beside her and pulled her in for a hug. She got the shivering under control, and then her voice returned. "Thank you Henry. It was getting a bit cold." She got up and poured herself a glass of water, rinsing first, then taking tentative sips. She most definitely did not trust her ability to keep it down, but she was desperately thirsty.

"Go back to bed. I'll be fine. I just need a moment to get myself together."

He eyed her suspiciously but said nothing.

"Please?"

He left her in the bathroom and closed the door. She carefully locked it, and went back to the toilet. She felt her insides churn as she sat down for a pee. It felt just like a pee, nothing out of the ordinary, and no stains. Still just a bad dream, then. She leaned forward and cried softly. The shivering continued, and her legs were jumping uncontrollably until she put them firmly on the ground and not just touching the floor with her toes. Her heart was no longer threatening to jump out of her chest or mouth or both. Bodily functions returning to normal. Good. At least something positive to hold on to.

She should be used to bad dreams by now, but it had been such a long time since these particular vile nightmares plagued her. Henry and Robin had effectively put her previous marriage in the backseat of her mind. Unfortunately, everything was so much stronger these days; emotions, smells, thoughts, dreams, aches…

The toilet seat was sticking to her thighs, and she could feel her toes going a bit numb. Time to get up and to bed again. The shivers had subsided and she was feeling more or less normal again. Come to think of it, she wasn't really experiencing any particular nausea, just a very violent urge to throw up.

Not that that is very much better, she thought to herself. Yes, it was comfortable to feel alright most of the time, but highly impractical to get hardly any warning before all hell broke loose.

She washed her face and filled the glass with water before going back to her bedroom. The night had taken its toll on her, and she was bone tired. Hopefully she would go back to sleep without any more trouble. She could afford to have a late morning, as there were no work or appointments before noon.

She groaned as she saw Henry laying comfortable under her duvet, patting the space beside him beckoning her to lay down.

"Didn't I send you to bed?" she asked a bit exasperated.

"You never specified which bed," he smiled. "And we need to talk."

She wondered why all of a sudden he had taken the role of the parent, and was not very happy about it. "Yes, we do." Suddenly remembering she was still only in a robe and knickers, she went to get out a pair of plaid flannel pants and a singlet and put on before returning to the bed.

How was she going to tell him? And how much? She was terrified of anything going wrong, and would really much rather deal with it on her own, as she had done the previous times, but if it turned out all right, she would rather tell sooner than later.

Henry squinted at her, and said with a cheeky grin "He knocked you up, didn't he?"

She was dumbstruck and her cheeks were suddenly on fire "Henry! Language!"

He had the decency to look a bit ashamed, but pushed on, prodding a finger to her stomach. "Sorry. But you are pregnant, right?"

Her throat was getting uncomfortable tight again, and her eyes leaked. "Yes," she croaked. "Yes I am."

"Thought so. At least for the last few days."
He leaned into her and started stroking her belly carefully, and she tipped her head back, looking to the ceiling willing the tears back.

"It's going to be strange sharing you," he said "but I'm really looking forward to it!"

She stroked his hair, wondering how to explain all her worries without going into too much detail.

"We'll have to see if I carry to term first. It's more than a possibility that I miscarry within the next month or two. That's how it's been before."

"You've been pregnant before?" he asked.

"Three times, and all terminated before five months. The last time I actually thought it would turn out fine, but suddenly the movements stopped, and it was no more." She wiped away the silent tears and continued. "But I've got a feeling this time will be different. Maybe it's just a feeling, but I refuse to think negatively about it. I will make this a part of my happy ending."

Henry scuttled closer to her and whispered "I love you Mom!"

"Love you too, my little prince" she said as she kissed his hair. "Do you want to sleep here for the rest of the night?" He nodded and yawned.

She put her arms around him and hummed a lullaby while she thought about what to do the next day. She had chosen to save Robin and Roland, and in turn help Gold to turn Emma dark. However, she was still determined to double-cross the blasted imp. It would probably be dangerous, but she didn't really have a choice. She desperately clung to the hope that it would turn out okay. She couldn't afford to lose this time around too. Too much was at stake.

Tomorrow.

But right now, she would sleep, with both her children close and out of harm, sisters, ex-husbands and crazy mentors be damned.