Emma slipped out of the diner, out onto the dark street, straining to see if she could find a trace of where Regina might have gone. The party had been loud, and too hot, and had felt forced.. it was as if everyone was so determined to have things back the way they were before, that no one would acknowledge what had just become of all of them. No one except Regina.
All through the merriment, Emma would glance at Regina, sometimes catching her eye. They would share a forced smile, or a roll of the eyes, as if to say, " They don't know better. They mean well. They love you and they need to let you know that."
But make no mistake. This was about the need for Snow to feel a part of what just happened – that she had some role to play.. some small but crucial part in the story that, had she not been there, might have turned out differently. And this was about Hook needing to feel viable. He needed Emma (and everyone) to know that his love for her was strong, and real and made a difference as events had progressed. That, had it not been for his true love for Emma, well, things may have turned out quite differently.
And on and on they went. One after another, trying to make a retroactive place for themselves in the story that had just played out before them. Every one of them unable to accept that the fates had in mind, for this arc, a two-step. Emma. Regina. And back again. It was their story. Their war. Their burden to bear. Whether alone or together was still up to them.
Every one of the citizens of Storybrooke was in deep denial or deeper pain over this fact. Except one. Henry. He was their son. And the author. He was accustomed to being the supporting player – the one who needed rescuing, the one they would fight over, the one who would swoop down with a found artifact and save the day. But never the main guy. And that was alright with him. It gave him a chance to do the thing he did best: observe. And it's why he was chosen. He was born to be the author who would tell the story well.
He naturally interpreted everyone in Storybrooke as their best selves: he knew Charming had the biggest heart of them all and lacked the discernment to be anything but truly heroic. He saw Rumple for what he was: a sad, old, scared man who has made so many bad decisions that he could not make a good one. He had lost all perspective long ago. He just knew he wanted to be a person who could love another person. What that felt like, though, he had forgotten.
Regina and Emma, especially, Henry saw as clearly as adoration would allow. Regina was his mother. Her smile, her laugh, her clothes, her smell. That was home. No matter how long he would live, being around Regina made him feel small, and loved and precious. Nothing could ever change that. And Emma, well, Emma was kind of magic. The found mother that was everything he would dream of – beautiful, kind, cool. Like a supermodel big sister who could also kick ass. He was proud Emma was his mother, and he knew Regina was proud of him.
And that's why when Snow looked around and asked where Emma was, and when Granny headed to the door to go after Emma, that's why Henry told them both that it was okay. Emma just needs some air, he said. Though he knew better. He knew Emma needed just one thing: Regina.
While Emma and Regina were looking at each other, Henry, as always, was watching. He had been for years of course. He could tell that they had both come back different. He watched them stand a little closer to each other, for safety, for comfort. For familiarity. He felt their love for him as strong as ever, but he knew that this moment wasn't about that. He knew that they just needed a little time. A moment. A pause to look at each other and say, "Yes, that just happened. Yes, I saw it too. Yes, we are still here."
So when Emma started down Main Street, with a catch in her throat and tears prickling at the corners of her eyes, Henry made sure they let her go.