Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or anything associated with the show OUAT. I wish I did though. It would be a very different story right now.
A/N: This is my first multi-chapter story. I hope you like it. The chapter titles and story title will all have something in common. I will write a custom one shot for the first person to PM me with the connection. Please leave a review and let me know if you like this story.
"Henry! You are too high. I am proud of you for being able to climb my tree without disturbing the apples but I am worried that you will fall. Please come down."
"But Mom! Don't you want me to pick some of these for you? I can even reach this one way out here."
"No, Henry. It's too dangerous. I will get the step ladder to reach those highest ones. Now, come down."
"Oh, Mom. I'm not a baby anymore. I'm not gonna fall! I'm safe up he..."
"Henry! Henry! Oh my god! Henry!"
~ ( SQ ) ~
"Henry! Son, wake up. Are you ok? Wake up. You're having another bad dream," Emma gently shook Henry awake.
"What? What's going on? Am... am I dreaming? Mom?" Henry awoke confused, rubbing his eyes with the backs of his hands.
"Yeah, Kid. You were having a bad dream and woke me up. Do you remember what it was about?"
"No," Henry lied, looking away and hoping his mother couldn't see him well enough in the dark to know. She always seemed to know when people were lying. Her super power. "I don't remember."
"Well, it isn't important I suppose," Emma said skeptically. Why would Henry lie? "Think you can go back to sleep? You've got to be up early tomorrow for that museum trip. Don't want to be late."
"I'm ok. Sorry I woke you up, Mom."
"It's ok. But if you need me, just call me. You've been having these bad dreams a lot lately. I'm starting to get worried," Emma whispered as she smoothed the covers out over her son. His bad dream came with quite a bit of thrashing about tonight.
"Don't worry, Mom. It's probably just too much homework making my brain crazy. Maybe I should stop doing it," Henry grinned sleepily.
"Ha! Nice try, Kid. It's more likely too many video games. Do you want to stop those?"
"Nope. All good here. No more nightmares for me."
"That's what I thought. Good night, Henry. I love you."
"Good night, Ma. I love you too."
"Ma? What's that about? Too old for Mommy and now too old for Mom?"
"Huh? No. I don't know why I said that. Must be sleepy. Good night... Mom," Henry emphasized Mom that time. Why did I call her Ma?
Emma quietly shut the door to Henry's room and padded back down the hall to her own bed. This wasn't the first or even the third time she had made a late night trip to Henry's room this week, called there by his restlessness and nightmares. In fact, for the last several weeks this was becoming a regular thing.
Since they had arrived in their new apartment and new life in New York, it seemed like things had felt just a bit off. Sure, they were both happy, the apartment was nice, school and work going ok... but there was just something not quite right about it. Emma wasn't sure just what it was but there was an overall feeling like something was missing.
She hadn't mentioned this feeling to Henry. He was adjusting very well to the new school and making friends. Emma saw no need in worrying him. But now, the last few weeks with the nightmares-maybe he felt it too.
No. You are not going to discuss this with the kid.
Emma snuggled down into her bed and waited for sleep to take her. As her eyes drifted closed, a thought danced at the edge of her mind. A book. Something about Henry and a book...
~ ( SQ ) ~
"How was the museum, Kid?"
"It was so awesome, Ma! The dinosaur exhibit was my favorite part. I mean, I know I'm too old to think dinosaurs are cool but these really were." Henry flashed a big grin at Emma as she hung her coat in the closet near the apartment door. She tried not to notice that he had called her "Ma" again.
"Henry. You are not too old for dinosaurs. Just stop growing up already!" Emma ruffled his hair as she walked into the kitchen. He seemed to have grown a foot over night. She could see him so clearly as a boy, toddling around their apartment in Boston, just learning to walk. Now, here is was, nearly as tall as her in her bare-feet, worrying about being too old for dinosaurs. "I'm glad it was fun. I want to hear all about it. Why don't you get started on your homework and I'm gonna see about dinner. What do you feel like tonight?"
"Lasagna," Henry said without missing a beat.
"Lasagna? Again? I just made that two nights ago. I was thinking about something a little simpler tonight. Maybe even ordering some Chinese take-out." Emma frowned at the prospect of preparing another pan of lasagna. It was something of a specialty for her and Henry loved it, especially that little extra kick the pepper flakes added, but she'd had a long day and wasn't in the mood.
"Ok. Chinese is good I guess. But lasagna would be better," Henry wiggled his eyebrows at her as he dashed toward the little den off the kitchen. "I don't have any homework tonight though because museum, Ma. I'll just be in here, playing video games," he called as he crashed on the sofa.
Emma shook her head at him with a grin. The sounds of his game already filling the air. He seem especially interested in this new game. He was a knight battling all manner of fairytale monsters on a quest to save the kingdom. She felt better about that game than many of the war games he usually played.
Once dinner was ordered and Emma had changed from her suit and heels, she sat on the couch beside her son with a brown paper package in her hands. She made no move to give it to Henry, only crinkling the paper some and waiting for his curiosity to get the better of him. It took less than a minute.
"What you got?" Henry turned toward his mother with interest, pausing his game.
"Nothing you'd be interested in," Emma averted her eyes and, with her feigned disinterest, reeled Henry in. His body continued to grow, his voice to deepen, but the childlike curiosity in his eyes was something she was happy to see he hadn't lost just yet.
"Mhmm. What is it, Mom? Tell me. Show me," Henry laid aside the game controller, fully involved in his mother's game now.
"It's nothing really. Just something I picked up for you. But, you probably don't want it. It's silly. In fact, I'll just put it away and..."
"No way! Let me see." Henry scrambled to get the package from her hand before she could stand. They both laughed as an impromptu game of keep-away ensued.
The game ended with a knock on the door. "Dinner is served," Emma said with a smile, handing Henry the package and jogging to the door.
Henry tore back the paper to reveal a book. The hard cover featured a nighttime scene of the sky-moon and stars-with the silhouette of a boy at the bottom, stretching up as if to touch them. No title was listed on the front or spine, so Henry opened to the front page. He loved books but hadn't read a new one lately. Too much excitement with the move and new friends and video games.
"Hey Mom?" Henry called walking into the kitchen. "Thanks for the book, but it's blank."
"Yes, I know it's blank, Kid. It's a dream journal." Emma had placed the take-out containers on the table and was reaching up for plates. Even take out was eaten at the table. Separates us from the animals.
"A dream journal. For what? Like my goals and stuff?"
"No, for writing down the things you have been dreaming. I had read someplace that when you have bad dreams or vivid ones it can be helpful to write them down. It sorta helps clear the clutter in your mind so you can go back to sleep." Emma poured herself a glass of wine and Henry a glass of milk. He hated it when she served milk with dinner but soda wasn't suitable for drinking every day. Or at least something in the back of her mind said it wasn't.
Henry thought a moment as he sat down at his place at the table. "But I don't remember my nightmares. Like I told you last night, I don't know what I keep dreaming."
"Come on, Kid. My super power works at night too, ya know. I always know when you are lying. It's ok if you don't want to tell me about them. I just think it might help to jot them down when they are fresh. Just try it and if you don't like it, you can use the journal for something else. Deal?"
"Ok. I guess I can try. Deal." Henry, to his credit, looked a little embarrassed to have been caught lying to his mother. "I'm sorry for lying. I just don't really want to talk about the dreams, you know?"
"No worries, Kid. Eat your dinner and then I'm gonna take that knight of yours to school with my magic!"
"Yeah right. Like your Level 5 Wizard is any match for my white knight. Good luck... you'll need it."
~ ( SQ ) ~
"Henry! You are too high. I am proud of you for being able to climb my tree without disturbing the apples but I am worried that you will fall. Please come down."
"But Mom! Don't you want me to pick some of these for you? I can even reach this one way out here."
"No, Henry. It's too dangerous. I will get the step ladder to reach those highest ones. Now, come down."
"Aww Mom. I'm not a baby anymore. I'm not gonna fall! I'm safe up he..."
"Henry! Henry! Oh my god! Henry!"
Henry sat upright in his bed. His heart was hammering in his chest. It was the same dream from last night. Henry glanced to his left and on the nightstand was the journal his mother had given him. Clicking on his lamp, Henry began writing down everything he could remember about the dream.
It was more like a memory really. A memory with very subtle differences. When he was seven years old, he and Emma had been playing in the park near their Boston apartment and he had just mastered the art of tree climbing. But that particular day he had climbed to high and fallen, breaking his arm. He'd nearly given his mom a heart attack.
The dream was the same, only he wasn't in a park, he was in the yard of a big white house and the tree was an apple tree hanging full of red apples. He couldn't see his mom, but he could hear a voice calling to him, saying all the things he remembered from that day. There was something different about the voice though. Deeper, richer, different but familiar and definitely not his mother's.
"Henry? Is everything ok?" Emma stood in the door to his bedroom, her blonde hair wildly mussed, evidence of the deep sleep he'd pulled her from.
"Yep. I'm ok. Just writing my dream down like you said. I think it's going to help. I'm sorry I woke you again."
"It's ok. You're my son. I've changed every diaper, soothed every fever... I'm your mother. Waking up in the middle of the night sorta comes with the territory. But if you're sure you're ok, I'm going back to bed. I love you, Henry."
"I love you too, Mom. Definitely go back to bed. Your hair is crazy." Henry grinned after Emma's retreating form.
"Very funny, Kid. Good night."
~ ( SQ ) ~
Over the next two weeks, Henry noticed there was a change in his dreams. While they were still waking him up nearly every night, they weren't really bad dreams or nightmares. What made him bolt awake wasn't the dream's content but the fact that each dream was more like a memory with little differences like he had noticed the first night he used the dream journal.
Emma had all but stopped coming to his room when he awoke, unless he was making more noise than usual in his sleep. Henry had convinced her that he was fine, that the dreams weren't bad and that the journal was helping. His mom had finally relented and stopped popping her head in each night.
Henry sat in his bed, satisfied that Emma wasn't coming to check on him, reading over his previous entries to the journal. It was still dark outside but it was Saturday so he could have a nap later if he needed it. He skimmed over the previous dreams, cataloguing the memories, making notes on the next blank page in the journal of the differences from his waking memories and the dreams.
Henry noticed that many of the dreams featured memories from his early life.
There was one of his kindergarten class play. He had been the ugly duckling in the play and his costume had been itchy. He remembered being terrified upon seeing so many people in the audience and had faltered on his first line. Emma had helped him practice the lines and he had them memorized, but the lights and the people made his mind go blank. Then he had seen her, sitting on the front row, her face beaming with pride and he had smiled at her. Everything would be ok. Mom was there.
In his dream, the play was the same, his costume just as itchy, but the auditorium seemed different somehow. And when he had looked out for his mom to reassure him with her warm smile and pride filled eyes, they had been different. Instead of the green eyes he knew so well, chocolate brown eyes filled his mind. But his reaction had been the same. He smiled and everything was ok. Mom was there.
A more recent dream featured Christmas morning when he was nine years old. He had gotten a new bicycle and was so excited he could hardly wait to ride it. His mom had sat, curled in the corner of the couch, sipping a mug of coffee and wrapped in her navy blue robe watching him play with his new toys in the living room of their Boston apartment. He had lost one of his elbow pads among all the discarded wrapping paper under the small tree, decked in his handmade ornaments and the inexpensive ones they had purchased that very year just for this tree. She had laughed at his begging, finally giving in and promising that after lunch they would go out and he could ride his new bike for a while despite the cold December weather.
In the dream, the bike was the same, the toys scattered under the tree the same, but everything else was different. The tree was larger and alongside his handmade ornaments hung more expensive ones. The living room was large, the carpet over the hardwood floors soft and elegant. He noticed that outside the window, instead of an alley and another tall apartment building was a wide yard, bordered by a tall row of evergreen hedges topped with snow. Beyond that was an iron gate and an empty residential street. And sitting across the room, curled into the corner of the cream colored sofa, sipping coffee from her mug and wrapped in a gray silk robe was his mother... a dark woman, black hair, chocolate brown eyes smiling as he played, laughing at his begging, promising that after lunch they would go out for a bit to try out his new bike.
It seemed all the memory dreams the last few days had featured this woman more and more. He didn't know her. At least, he didn't recognize her as anyone he had ever met before. But in the dreams he never felt disturbed or concerned that she was his mother. He just knew she was. He called her mom and she called him son. Henry wondered if perhaps he had seen this lady someplace, on the street or in a cafe, and his mind had inserted her into his memories somehow. She wasn't anything like his mother in appearance, yet her responses to him, her affection toward him, everything about her in the dreams fit with his memories of his blonde haired, green eyed mother. It was confusing but it hadn't given him pause for concern.
Until tonight.
Tonight Henry's dream had been about a most ordinary occasion and it hadn't felt at all like a memory, as the other dreams had. He had no recollection of the event and yet, there it was, vivid and real just as the memory dreams had been. The other dreams hadn't made him want to talk to his mom about them. In fact, the "other mother" in them had caused him to keep the book hidden. However strange or misplaced it may be, he had a twinge of guilt at the idea of dreaming of this woman in place of his mom.
But the dream tonight had been different. In the dream, his dark mother was busy in the kitchen, adjusting the oven temp and cutting into a resting pan of lasagna, a glass of red wine on the pristine white counter. She was dressed impeccably in dark slacks and a crisp white blouse and the faint sound of jazz played in the background. She called to him to set the table and he found himself in a large open dining room setting three places. At two were wine and water glasses and at his place an already poured glass of milk. His dark mother had transferred the dish of lasagna to the table and Henry carried a large bowl of salad to situate beside it when there was a knock at the door.
"Well, that is a first," his dark mother's rich, deep voice had said with a smirk. "I can't believe she is actually on time."
There was a ding in the kitchen. An apple cobbler in the oven was ready to come out. His dark mother headed in to take care of it, calling over her shoulder as she disappeared into the kitchen, "Would you go let her in, dear? It appears we may have our family dinner on time for once."
Henry had scrambled down the three steps from the elevated dining room to the small foyer and pulled open the door. Standing there on the porch in red leather and jeans, a flurry of blonde curls falling around her smiling face was his mom. "Hey Kid. Am I too early? I don't want to shock your mom too bad by being punctual for once."
"Hey Ma. No, not too early, but Mom did mention this was a first," Henry said with a wink.
"And indeed it is a first, Miss Swan. I hope it won't be the last. Punctuality is a hallmark of good manners, you know," Henry's dark mother teased from the top step.
"Yeah, yeah. Good manners weren't that important in foster care, Madam Mayor," Emma teased back, no trace of malice in her voice.
A lilting laugh filled the room as a wide smiled spread across the face of Henry's dark mother. "I suppose not. Now, let's not waste your timely arrival standing in the foyer. The lasagna is getting cold."
"Lasagna?! My favorite! If you cooked that every week for these dinners I'd probably never be late again," Emma chuckled as they took their seats around the table.
"One would think you would come on time simply because I keep inviting you, Emma," the dark mother purred as she poured wine into Emma's glass.
Emma winked at Henry sitting across from her and mocked his dark mother's tone, "one would think after knowing me this long, you'd have learned better by now, Regina."
At this Henry had sat straight up in bed, eyes wide, heart racing. Finally the voice, the eyes, the smiling face had a name.
Regina.
But who was she? Was she real? Henry didn't know yet. But as the first streaks of morning light filtered into his bedroom and he laid aside his dream journal and turned off the bedside lamp, Henry Swan determined he was going to find out.