A/N: This is my first foray into anything that is not Rumbelle, Red Cricket, or Frankenwolf. For obsessedandproud, my tumblr OUAT secret valentine, I wrote this story!
I hope you all like it and enjoy!
Regina was not unfamiliar with love.
She had loved so much once: Daniel, her father, even her mother – they had all owned separate pieces of her heart. She might have even grown to love Snow White, had she not violated the trust that Regina put in her. But, no love could ever compare to this one.
This was a love that should have restored her, and filled her with warmth.
But, watching Henry walk off of the bus, Regina knew something was amiss – and that filled her with anger. Her boy, though not terribly social, was usually smiling as he bounced off of the bus toward his mother. The idea of school was still very new to him, only having entered kindergarten in the fall, but he was bright and excelling, so what should he be upset about?
He shuffled toward her, tiny hands wrapped around the straps of his backpack, and his brown eyes turned downward. Regina crouched, as ladylike as she could in her pencil skirt, and brushed some of the soft, brown hair from his forehead. "What's wrong?" she asked, trying to contain whatever anger at the bus driver or teacher or aide or whoever it was that allowed someone to upset Henry, in order to appear calm and concerned for him.
He shrugged in response, and Regina sighed. He could be so uncommunicative at times. "Henry," she stated more firmly as she pushed herself up and went to take his hand, "what's the matter?"
The little boy reluctantly bit his lip, "Today is Valentime's Day," he stated, almost matter-of-factly, which caused Regina's perfectly sculpted eyebrows to pull inward as she walked her son toward the car. She had to be back at Town Hall soon.
"That's true," she agreed, knowing that it was February 14th in this world, and that meant a silly holiday tradition revolving around love and happiness – all of the things she sought to secure only for herself in this world, and Henry as well, of course. It was a wonder anyone else in this town, however, celebrated: they certainly had no reason to. "What about it?" Regina asked, curiously following up.
Henry dragged his feet a little slower, and even though she could not see his face (his features were almost perpetually downcast), she could hear him grinding his teeth. Something was upsetting her son, and that would not do. "We made cards in class."
Regina beamed. She loved when her son was creative. She had decorated their refrigerator with all of his drawings and projects at school, as well as his any work he brought home – A+ or not. She wanted to show him how proud she was, how much she actually did love him. Dr. Hopper had said it might help, and Regina was, after all, doing everything she could in any way she could. "That's lovely, Henry," she gushed, syrupy sweetness coloring her words, "I can't wait to see."
When he didn't look up at her smiling, proud of himself, Regina felt her stomach contract a little bit. What was wrong? He was usually very eager about his creative pursuit. "You love to draw," she soothed, reaching across herself with her free hand to fix his hair – it never seemed to fall in quite the right way.
"I know," he admitted, albeit reluctantly, and clutched tighter onto her hand as they approached the crosswalk. It was in moments like that where Regina felt a little piece of the place that was so empty fill just a little bit extra. Henry needed her, and that feeling – knowing she was needed so thoroughly for something so simple as crossing the street, it was enough for just a second, to feel an emptiness fill, even just a little bit.
"Then what's wrong?" she asked again, trying not to be too pushy – Dr. Hopper always said that made him retreat more. It frustrated her, considering she wanted her son to trust her with anything. He was merely five years old, how on Earth could he have things he couldn't trust her with?
She knew the pain of betrayal; she would never do that to her son. Though, she supposed she could never tell Dr. Hopper of such a thing, and much less little Henry, who did not need the world's weight on his shoulders. No child should have to carry that burden.
Henry heaved a sigh; his whole body seemed wracked with anxiety. "Is it bad to not have a dad?" he asked, so innocently that Regina couldn't determine whether she was furious at the world for upsetting her child, or heartbroken he felt that way.
"Was someone being cruel to you?" she asked, leaning down to open the backseat door for him. Henry shrugged off his backpack, avoiding her gaze. How could that old bat Shoemaker allow something like this to happen in her classroom. Regina made a mental note to give her a piece of her mind and a punishment fitting the crime. A hoard of locusts came to mind, but she would have to settle on typical city government action, perhaps a sanction on her yard…
As a thousand completely appropriate and rational things ran through her head, Henry broke her out of her thoughts by crawling into the car and fidgeting with the belt and belt buckle. "I didn't get to make two," he kicked his feet back and forth, sheepishly rubbing the cuff of his pant leg with the scraped up front of his sneaker. "And other kids were asking why."
He rarely met her eyes, something Regina had constantly asked Dr. Hopper about – perhaps he was autistic, she had argued once, and then read everything she could find on the subject. Dr. Hopper hadn't agreed, saying such a diagnosis was premature and severe. But, Regina could feel something wasn't right with her boy. And here, as he looked straight into her eyes, she felt her heart stop beating. He wanted answers.
She never really expected to have to answer questions about this sort of thing. She was his mother, father, grandmother, uncles, aunts, and cousins all in one. Henry didn't need anyone else, so why was he now asking for that?
A sick part of her brain twisted into thoughts of a life she might have had once upon a time. She could have been a wife, she might not have been well off, but she had never really needed anything extra. Daniel would have taken care of them, being in the stables could be enough. She would have done her best to stretch everything they had and take into account for the unexpected. Regina could have been a good wife.
And she was a good mother. She imagined a little brown haired boy with brown eyes, just like Henry – perhaps the same child in another world, bounding after his father and learning how to ride from both of them. They would have been so happy – they could have been – except for Snow White. She had ruined it, and now Regina was raising what could have been her and Daniel's son (sometimes, when she looked at him, she could even see him – though, she imagined more than anything, that was wishful) alone.
Getting into the front seat of the car, Regina sighed, buckling herself (she needed to set a good example), and turned the key as she looked through the review mirror at her son. "There's nothing wrong with not having a father, Henry," she assured him, trying to be as soft as possible.
Henry played with the strap of his seatbelt. "Did you have a dad?"
The question burned a hole straight through her. "I did," she tried not to sound too crisp, but she couldn't help it. "But he passed away, before you were born."
That was true, at least partially. If Henry Sr. hadn't given his life, than her son wouldn't even be part of hers. So, in many ways, she could at least justify it. And, on the bright side, Henry seemed placated to some degree, at least a little as he thoughtfully glanced out the window at the passing street.
Regina kept her eyes on the road, like a good driver, but every so often stole a look back at her thoughtful son. He was so smart, and so sensitive. She hoped that he would hang on to those things; she wanted to shelter him from the world, if she could, just to preserve his precious innocence. "I'm excited to see your drawings," she made sure to add, so that the car ride wouldn't be full of the heavy atmosphere that surrounded inquiries like this.
She'd read about adoptive children feeling lost and confused, particularly related to parentage and how their family was different, but Regina had two things against her: a single parent home and with an adoptive son. It was complicated. But that didn't mean there wasn't love, not at all.
"I wish I had a dad," she heard come from the back seat in a voice so soft, and so gentle. Regina did not cry, that was true, but she felt, in that instant like she might. Taking a deep breath through her nose, she pulled her car into her reserved space and parked, getting out like she did every day and going to the back to let Henry out.
But, instead of taking his hand and walking, like she normally did, Regina rather indecorously (for her) climbed into the back seat with him. For some reason, it felt strange to be so close, but she was able to put her hand on his, and give him a gentle squeeze. "You have something better though," Regina smiled.
Henry looked at her so quizzically that she could have laughed. The way his eyebrows shot up and his mouth parted just a little bit – he had no idea. Leaning in, she pressed a kiss to his forehead, lipstick rubbing a red mark on his temple, before she leaned back. He reached up to rub the spot with his oversized sleeve, "What's better than a dad?"
She squeezed his hand again, "Henry – you have two mothers."
He wrinkled his nose, "No I don't."
Regina nodded, understanding his confusion, but also feeling quite proud that she managed to stump her son. "Of course you do," she continued. The subject of adoption had always been one in the house, advised to make her son's transition easier and the normalcy of it something understood from infancy, "You have a mother who helped make you," she poked him in the chest, and Henry let out of a puff of air, almost a giggle, "and you have me, who had you in her heart."
Henry was silent for a moment. His eyebrows were furrowed in thought, lips pursed as though he was mulling over the thought. She knew it would take some digesting, but he finally nodded, slowly at first, and then with more assurance that he had his thoughts together. "Can we go inside now?" he asked.
Regina must have betrayed her own surprise in her expression because Henry continued quickly, "I want to make my second Valentine," he explained, "For the mom that gave me to you."
It was so sweet, almost like an acceptance of his situation and what it meant for them, that Regina was even going to entertain the idea. After all, it wouldn't hurt him to make some peace with it, maybe it would even put all of these questions of multiple parents to rest. "That's a wonderful idea, Henry," she agreed, moving to shimmy out of the seat. Before she actually got out, she looked at her son, so hopeful, and added, "I'll help you."