Let There Be Light
Henry sighed to himself as he closed his bedroom door behind him and moved to sit on his bed. They were arguing again, no doubt about him. It seemed that was all his adoptive and birth mother did these days.
With a sigh, he grabbed a comic and kicked off his sneakers, preparing to give the two half an hour - it usually lasted no longer, unless it was going to be one of those nights where the shouting escalated into smashing objects - before he ventured downstairs again (to make sure that there were no dead bodies, mainly).
Just as he was about to reach the middle pages of his comic, a distinct 'ping' shocked him into glancing up just in time to witness the last energetic boost of light his bedroom lamp emitted before his entire room was plunged into darkness. It was late, the sun had already disappeared beyond the horizon, and so Henry had only the dim light from his window to guide him to peer past his curtains. It appeared the entire street, if not further, had suffered a power cut, and with only the moonlight to shine weekly through the cloud cover, Henry could barely make out a thing in his room.
Familiarity led him to a chest of drawers, where he bent and counted down the handles until he came to the appropriate one and pulled it open, rifling through the objects there in search of a flashlight. Said torch was years old, a Darth Vader figure which shone a light out of his mouth once the head was dislocated out of place, but the batteries still worked. In all fairness, the batteries had only recently been renewed.
Henry would have been quite happy to scurry back to his bed and finish his comic, knowing the power cut most likely wouldn't last long and he was only going to be sleeping, anyway, but a sudden bang from downstairs sent him cause for concern. He wondered if his mom - or, moms- had managed to find some candles.
Quickly falling into the mind frame of the superheroes from his comic books - with only a bit of ninja mixed in - Henry shone his torch towards his floor as he manoeuvred his way towards his bedroom door, and then out onto the landing. Suddenly thankful that his mom had a 'no-clutter-on-the-stairs' rule, he descended them with ease until he found himself downstairs, the only light present being the flashlight in his hands. It appeared his moms hadn't yet made it to the candles.
"Mom?" he called out, not caring which one responded to the name, but no reply came.
Frowning, Henry stalked his way towards the door that led into his mom's office, his spine tingling with a shiver. Everything suddenly seemed a lot more ominous, and he couldn't help but wonder if the mayoral manor had somehow been transformed into the Evil Queen's castle. Nothing would surprise him.
As he followed the familiar route, however, careful to keep quiet lest any monsters - which he absolutely no longer believed in - should hear him and decide to pay him an unexpected visit, Henry heard muffled voices within his mother's office. The sense of relief upon being able to distinguish their voices from the otherwise silent house carried him towards the door, where he stopped only when a low groan assaulted his ears.
With a feeling of unease, Henry instinctively shifted his torch light so that it was not trained on the door, almost afraid of being caught outside. Surely, they weren't…? He may have been ten years old and completely submerged within his fairytales, but Henry Mills was not ignorant to the activities two consenting adults could get up to beneath the cloak of darkness.
With his stomach churning, Henry willed his feet to carry him back upstairs, but fear held him in place. He did not miss the slight wince that seemed to come from his birth mother, followed by a breathy curse.
"Do you want me to stop?" He heard his mom ask, the mocking not completely lifted from her tone.
"No, no, don't stop." Emma almost sounded desperate, and Henry very much wanted to die on the spot.
With a disturbed frown in place, he tried to sneak backwards, his legs feeling like jelly, but he could not help but hear the, "Ow! …actually, that's okay…" coming from Emma.
Somehow managing to hold in a cry of disgust at the sounds of Emma's slight whimpering, Henry backed up into the kitchen table, thankful he had yet to alert them of his presence.
"Is that okay?" he heard asked, to which Emma 'mhm'-ed back.
"Yeah, just there," Emma sighed, "right…there…ow! Be gentle!"
"I'm trying, if you'd just stay still…"
And that's when the fruit bowl clattered to the floor, sending apples flying around the kitchen, no doubt bruising. Henry stopped breathing as he cut off his flashlight, hoping beyond hope that they would just ignore the noise and allow him to run up to his room, where he could remain for the rest of his life, most likely rocking in a corner and eating the paper from the walls.
Silence reigned before Henry heard shuffling inside the office. Before he had a chance to flee, the door was being pulled open. No light was emitted, and Henry thought he might just be able to get away with sneaking back upstairs, still.
"Henry?" Regina asked, peering out into the darkness. She hoped it was her son that had made the racket. "Henry, are you there?"
Letting out a sigh, Henry submitted to defeat and pulled back Darth Vader's head until the bright light pierced the darkened room. He saw the form in the office doorway sag with relief, and soon a hand was in his as he was pulled into the office, surprised at how able he was to keep down his longing to protest.
"Are you okay?" Regina asked, using the light from his torch to guide them towards where Emma was sitting sideways on the sofa, a leg hung over the arm. Henry nodded, not sure if they were able to see the movement, and his mother told him, "The power will probably come back on soon." She guessed he was spooked by the sudden darkness and eased him onto the sofa, making sure he did not sit on Emma's leg.
"Hey, kid," Emma sighed, vaguely aware of Regina rooting around a draw by her desk. She hoped she had candles, but for now Henry's flashlight would suffice.
"What happened?" Henry asked slowly, trying to keep his voice vague lest they discover he had heard their… shenanigans.
"I don't know," Regina answered him from across the room, "but you'll be fine to go back up to bed, for bed."
Henry frowned a little and could not help but glance around at his moms, seeing that they were both fully clothed. The room appeared to be in order, apart from a knocked over miniature trash can, the paper from within which was spilling out onto the floor.
"What… were you doing?" he asked finally, hoping to god that, if he was correct in his assumptions, they would lie to him and lie good.
"Ms. Swan," Regina's tone was almost accusatory, as if she had expected nothing more from Emma, "tripped over and twisted her ankle."
She stopped and, with a slightly triumphant hum, sparked a match, bringing the flame down to the candles she had managed to retrieve from her a desk drawer. She was nothing if not prepared.
Carrying a couple of candles over to sit on the coffee table, Regina hovered above them and crossed her arms, dissatisfied with the way Emma was taking up the little space she would have been able to squeeze into with her leg.
"It sounded like you were torturing her," Henry muttered, unable to meet her gaze.
Regina let out a slight laugh, the sound not entirely pleasant, and told him, "I was helping her, dear. If Ms. Swan cannot stand, how is she to drive home?"
Henry's frown loosened a little. That sounded logical. "So, you weren't…?" he almost choked on his words, so quick was he to stop. He wished he could only suck the words back into his mouth and swallow them down before anyone took any notice of them, so much louder they had sounded in the dark.
Emma turned to him with a slight frown. "Weren't…?" she asked, but Henry merely shook his head dismissively, and she let it drop.
"How long do you think it'll be out for?" he asked, finally able to settle as he leant back against the sofa, careful not to put pressure on what he guessed was Emma's injured ankle.
Regina finally moved to sit in an armchair, her face in shadows as the candles struggled to fill the room with their dim glow. "I'm not sure," she answered, hoping it wouldn't be all night.
She had work to do, and as much as she'd love to use the excuse of a power cut to stall it, she'd only end up sitting in her car with her laptop charger in the cigarette lighter, tapping away furiously in the freezing cold.
After a while, she turned to face Henry. He looked tired, though it was past his usual bedtime. "Are you okay to go back to bed?" she asked, not missing the fluttering of his eyes as he attempted to wake himself up, but his efforts were futile against the grasp exhaustion had on him.
"Sure," he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.
Regina stood to take him upstairs, remembering her own fear of the dark in her childhood. Of course, it had been nothing compared to the fear she held for her mother, but Henry wasn't exactly in the same position… well. If nothing else, she wanted to make sure he made his way to bed without falling down the stairs and breaking his neck.
They had fallen out of the bedtime routine from his early childhood quickly, but Regina pressed a kiss to his forehead regardless of that knowledge, most likely spurred on by his already closed eyes.
Once she had left the room, Henry rolled over onto his side and allowed his heart one last irrational minute of heavy beating as he thought back to what had just happened. Or what he had initially assumed had just happened. A small smirk toyed with his lips as he thought about his moms being anything less than cold towards each other, the joke running away with his hazy mind as he imagined them all to be part of a perfect family, calling each other 'sweetie' and making doe eyes as they fed each other pie.
The more he thought about it, however, Henry wondered what it might be like if they were together. The idea was ludicrous, most likely only tolerated because his mind was so tired, but it had Henry's eyes shooting open as he stared out into the darkness. He imagined what it would be like without the fighting - or, he guessed, only the occasional fighting - and without the feeling of being passed back and forth between the two, and could not explain the longing that suddenly filled his chest.
His brow furrowed softly as he wondered if it would be possible. Surely, if they spent more than a few hours in the same room, one of them wouldn't make it back out alive, and Henry wasn't sure he'd like to guess who the victory would go to. But, just if…
He carried the thoughts with them through to his subconscious, where his dreams made tangible structures out of his ethereal musings. That night, he'd dream of castles and knights in shining armour, and wicked Queen's stealing pure hearts. Only, this time, the heart was not stolen – but won, with a kiss.
"Is he okay?" Emma asked, still on the sofa. The candles continued to burn, their flickering flames casting dancing shadows around the room, and she had to admit she was not entirely uncomfortable in her position, even despite her injured ankle.
"Yes, he's fine," Regina answered, moving to take a seat beside Emma. She lifted the other woman's leg and carefully took its place, replacing it gently over her lap, but the contact ripped a wince from Emma's lips. "Still sore?" she asked, her hands automatically running up and down over Emma's leg, as though to soothe the pain by proxy.
"Mhm," Emma muttered, "I'm not going to be able to drive home."
Regina smiled softly, not at all bothered with the turn of events, and practically purred, "Well, in that case, I'd better help you up to bed, Ms. Swan. If you're lucky, I'll even kiss it better."
Smirking, Emma leaned up to press a kiss to Regina's lips. The kiss had her almost completely forgetting the pain radiating from her ankle, and she pulled back with twinkling eyes that the candles weren't entirely responsible for.
"I think I should twist my ankle more often," she grinned as Regina moved to stand and, in turn, helped her to her feet.
With the majority of her weight pivoting on her good leg and Regina, Emma clambered her way upstairs, allowing herself to be lead the manor's master bedroom. They were silent in undressing and climbing beneath the duvet, all thoughts of the work she had to complete lost from Regina's somewhat distracted mind.
Hovering over Emma, Regina held herself up on her elbows and pressed a kiss to her mouth, the smooth lips there parting appreciatively for her tongue. When she pulled back, she couldn't help but notice the slightly far-off look clouding Emma's expression.
"What's wrong?" she whispered, a hand brought up to caress Emma's flushed cheek.
"Do you think he'll ever be okay with us?"
Regina did not have to ask who she meant. She had often found herself thinking the same, wondering whether or not Henry would be so willing to accept that Good had suddenly tumbled into bed with Evil, or so she was sure he was going to see it.
"I think so," she replied softly, caught in Emma's stare. "He'll come around to the idea," she told her, and then added, "eventually."
Emma smiled softly and nodded, accepting the words of reassurance as she pulled Regina down for another kiss.
There was always that undercurrent of anxiety between them – the fear of being caught as prevalent as the premature fear of rejection. Tonight, it lingered around the shadowy edges of the room, keeping clear of the bed as limbs and hair and soft, muffled sighs rolled out from beneath the sheets.
Though, afterwards, they slept sounder than usual, as though the dreams from the little boy in the room down the hall had leaked in through the gap beneath the door, settling their racing heartbeats with the subconscious reassurance of acceptance.