So this is basically OQ speculation wrapped up in drabble form. I do hope you all enjoy it! Obviously, I don't own Ouat or any of its characters, but I so enjoy having them over to play. :)

"You do know that you're pregnant, Regina?"

She stares hard back at Whale, scratching her arm's itchy response to this blasted hospital gown Snow somehow convinced her to put on against her better judgment. He's watching her too closely, she thinks, and she fights back the urge to incinerate the man on the spot.

"I do," she admits, her eyes dropping to her hands, noticing how they are tugging mindlessly on the course blanket lying on top of her lap. She stills them deliberately, composes her features and gazes back at him hard. "I assume that's why I fainted."

Whale purses his lips, rocking back and forth on his heels as his eyes narrow. He's enjoying this too much, she thinks—seeing her in a somewhat vulnerable position—even if he obviously fears what The Evil Queen having a biological child could mean.

"Yes," he nods, dramatizing the moment far more than necessary. "That and the fact that you're not eating enough and sleeping even less." He then raises a hand defensively as she opens her mouth to protest. "Henry told me. He's been worried about you, it would seem."

Henry. Henry has been worried. About her.

Her lungs deflate, her shoulders dropping as her head falls back on the hard pillow.

"I'm fine," she protests, one hand moving to her abdomen protectively, praying wordlessly that she is—that her child is—this child whose existence became known to her only days ago. This child conceived in a moment of unguarded passion with a man whose love both healed and shattered her heart. "I just can't seem to keep anything down these days."

Her stomach lurches as if on cue, and she grabs the glass of water on the table, taking a sip as she presses down the urge to vomit.

"You're healthy," he corrects. "And your baby seems to be healthy. But to say that you're fine would be taking it too far under your current circumstances." He swallows, breathing out through his nose. "You're six weeks pregnant, and the baby's father…"

"My child's father is none of your concern," she cuts in, her mouth thinning into an impenetrable line.

"I think the entire population of Storybrooke will have no doubt who the baby's father is," he retorts, all too satisfied with himself. "And Leroy will be sure to inform those too stupid to figure it out for themselves. But the fact remains that you need to rest, Regina. Rest and eat. I'd like to keep you here overnight to make certain—"

"That's not necessary," she argues, sliding her legs off the side of the bed in an attempt to stand. "I can do both of those much better from home without you and your band of misfit toys hovering over me."

He sighs audibly, stepping directly into her path, making it nearly impossible for her to stand up gracefully.

"That may be so," Whale stated, his voice carrying more than a slight edge. "But there are some tests I'd like to run—"

"There is no way in hell that you are going to run any tests on me or my baby," she bites, her face now hot. "Now if you'll stand aside…"

"You've borne another child, Regina."

His statement stills her in her tracks, her lungs as devoid of air as surely as if she had been punched in the gut.

"What did you say?" she manages, her limbs feeling heavy and numb. "I've never had a baby—I've never even been pregnant before. God, for most of my adult life, I've believed that I was incapable of it."

The admission is still bitter, still carries weight even though her womb now cradles physical evidence to the contrary.

"Your body states otherwise," Whale interjects, and she knows he's not lying even as her mind cannot interpret fast enough to keep up. Her hands begin to shake, her chest hollowing until her breath feels cold, and she closes her eyes, trying to summon forth an image, a memory, even a fragment of something lost to her.

"This can't be," she whispers, more to herself than to him, her hands cupping the child now growing in her womb, half-terrified of probing into a past that has nearly crippled her on more than one occasion. "I would remember a baby—my baby."

But she of all people understands the power of a memory curse, and she suddenly feels very young, very frightened and terribly, terribly exposed. Doubt wraps around her with the vice of an unseen specter, its grip both suffocating and frigid.

"Oh, God," she breathes, staring into nothing, her mind reeling down one rabbit hole after another, chasing after figments moving far too fast for her to capture. She's going to be sick, there's no way to stop it now, and she clutches her hand to her mouth, breathing in and out through her nose, shutting her eyes to a world spinning out of control. Robin, her heart pounds, Robin, her mind echoes, and she shakes her head to silence the persistent chorus making her skin feel too tight for her own body.

A pan is placed on her lap, and she wretches into it, her eyes tearing helplessly in the process. A cool cloth is laid on her neck, and she takes it from him, not wanting his hands anywhere on her body, craving the touch and assurance of one now lost to her forever.

She reaches again for the water with trembling hands, sipping it slowly, rinsing the taste of bile from her mouth before taking another drink to calm her throat. Whale removes the pan from her hands and disposes of her vomit before leaving it by the door and returning to her bedside.

"This can't be," she repeats, not believing her own declaration as she wipes her cheeks. "It's not right."

"No," he states flatly. "Having your memories stolen from you is never right."

She feels the reproof in his words, her skin prickling in an automated denial that no longer protects her. She takes another sip of her water before her body forces her to recline back onto the thin mattress and sterile sheets.

"You may not remember it," he continues. "You may have no idea who fathered the baby or what happened to him, but this fact remains." Whale pauses, pressing his lips together once more before lowering his voice. "You have given birth before, Regina," he insists, and his words pulse into her nervous system, travelling through both marrow and bone straight to her core. "This is not your first pregnancy."