A/N - Wow! Already 49 follows! I think that's the fastest any of my stories has gotten that much attention! Thanks, dearies! Since so many people seemed to like the first chapter, here's the second! I have a ton of time to write now that my CC classes are over, which I'll spend on these two stories; however, how soon I update will be another issue. I've really been working on improving my proof reading skills before I upload something. I've changed a little in this fic- some characters have different connections to others, but I hope you're ok with that. There is a lot going on in this one, and still more to come! Thanks for the enthusiasm, folks! Enjoy!
Fridays were usually relatively low-key at the paper. It wasn't calm, by any means, but the frantic aura lessened as the week came to a close and the weekend took its place. Phones rang off the hook, faxes were being sent in a dozen a second, voices shouted across the room and over one another, and the clacking of keyboard keys all contributed to the buzz of the workplace. This was a calm day at the office.
Regina was thankful for her job; as the editor, she got her own room. The best part of it all: it had a door. She was free to shut out the wild zoo of the fifth floor and concentrate on the items on her own check list. The small enclosure came with a cherry wood desk with four drawers and silver handles— two on each side— a plush, black, leather chair on six wheels, and an enviable view of the Manhattan city skyline. With a window that stretched from one wall to the other and the shades pulled back, Regina could spend hours marveling at the picture-perfect scene. From way up high, she felt like a queen on a throne, looking down at a kingdom of life-addicted, fast-moving souls. Thousands of people crowded the streets and shoved past one another, seemingly unaware of the audience they had in other buildings. Always on the go, they never even slowed down to eat.
Other than multicolored folders stacked neatly on her desk and a cup for pens and pencils, Regina had several pictures of Henry. The three frames were arranged in a nearly straight line: in a the middle was a photograph of Henry's first birthday with a shiny, bronze frame. A toddler with chubby, rosy red cheeks and pink lips, Emma had stuck a birthday hat on his nearly bald head; the string squished his baby fat and gave him an extra chin. He sat on Regina's lap with white icing smeared over his face and on his green jumper, in a state of total bliss. What had previously been a dinosaur-themed dessert was now just a heap of frosting.
On the left sat a picture of Henry's first day at school; he clasped the straps of his blue backpack with only one pouch and wore an eager smile, his two front teeth missing. Henry had insisted in grown his hair out for his first day, which Regina reluctantly agreed to. It looked as if he had a mop on his head in the shape of a bowl, barely leaving room for his green eyes to shine. The school uniform of a navy polo and khaki pants had been complimented by Henry's choice of heart-stopping orange socks. Regina had tried to convince him to wear plain white, but he was firm. Henry won that round.
And, on the right, turned inward slightly, was a picture of Regina, Henry, and Emma from a Chuck E. Cheese photo booth; the kind that snaps the image and then sketches it out as if it were a hand drawn portrait. It was relatively recent, too. Less than a year ago. It was a rare occasion that Regina took Henry to those germ-ridden play centers, but for some reason she couldn't fully recall, she'd relented. She wasn't sure who was more excited, Emma or Henry. He had just a handful of tokens left and begged his mom and Emma to join him in front of the camera. Emma was game, but it took Regina a little longer to come around. Henry placed himself in-between the women, both of whom were taller than him… for now. With a fresh haircut, his side-sweeping bangs hugged his forehead. All three of them were smiling, honestly and truly. "Two friends and a kid," Emma had titled it. Henry would only learn the true meaning later.
Some days, when her minions were all running around in circles, Regina just sat back and closed her eyes. She drowned out the muffled gurgling of the rushed journalists without any music, just her own willpower, and she thought. She never slept like some people might; she believed it was an abuse of power. Regina let her mind wander off. More often than not, Henry was all that she imagined: his happiness, the years of him needing a mom that were left, his ascent into adulthood. She thought of how he treated everyone with kindness, no matter who they were or what they'd done in their past. She thought of the way he always had a story to tell, whether it was real or something he'd come up with on his own— always the creative one.
Just as she began contemplating Henry's relationship with Emma, Regina was shaken out of her daydream by a sharp knocking on the door. Belle, Regina's secretary and a candidate as a potential editor for the literary pages, was frowning through the glass window. A petite woman with a heavy Australian accent and bold red curls, she stuck her head in and gently called to her boss. "Regina?"
Spinning in her chair, the brunette fluffed her hair absentmindedly. "Yes?"
"It's Henry's school," Belle said after biting down on her lower lip. "The headmistress's office called."
Quicker than a flash of lightning, and quieter than a mouse, Regina snatched up her purse and was gone before anyone even noticed. The headmistress had only ever called once before. Regina had a sinking feeling she knew what this was about and one thing was definite: Emma wasn't going to handle well.
Because Emma failed to snag her target, she didn't get rewarded the full price. She was fairly certain that the entire agency had been informed of her rare misfortune, but once was enough to lose confidence in their most sought after employee. The moment she stepped into the concrete building, squished between a pizza parlor and a nail salon, it was as though Emma was consciously walking through a ring of fire.
Ruby, a fellow bondswoman, was rifling through the mailboxes, searching for her parcels. There weren't many of them at that particular agency, nine or ten. Due to unexplained reasons, the company had lost three of their main powerhouses. As a result, Emma and Ruby had to step up their game, which was difficult being the only two women there. The office was oozing with misogyny and bravado, all of it a dank haze. It was like high school all over again.
Emma plopped her messenger bag on the counter and got on her tiptoes to reach her box. She was convinced that her boss had assigned her the slot on purpose. Hiding under sunglasses and her honey-colored twists, Emma kept her head low. Ruby struggled not to laugh at her friend's getup, especially when the woman was trying so hard to retrieve her mail. "Here, lemme," she said once she'd stopped taking pleasure in Emma's efforts. With ease and one arm movement, Red pulled out a pile of envelopes and handed them to the blonde.
"Thanks," her coworker sighed, already pawing through the junk. "So, how bad is it?"
"Emma Swan!" a gruff man called from the end of the hall.
Emma cringed as if she'd just heard nails on a chalkboard and exchanged a knowing look with Ruby. "If I'm not out in 10 minutes, save yourself," she warned. She stuffed her papers in her backpack, slung it over one shoulder, and carefully walked down the tarnished gray carpet. In her years working with the company, the matting had never once been replaced. Chinese food, sodas of all flavors and consistencies, ramen noodles, and hamburger juices had been spilled onto the floor. It was just something everyone had gotten used to.
His office was the second on the right and the door was already open. The man's name was printed on his door in bronze lettering: Mr. Gold. No one really knew his first name, as he requested to be addressed by his last. A man in his mid fifties, Mr. Gold was just a hair shorter than Emma. He had a salt and pepper mane that touched his shoulders, a shiny bronze cap amongst his crooked teeth, and interesting inflections. Some would guess he was Scottish, others not so much. Mr. Gold walked with a limp; an old war injury, he'd said. He was a rather mysterious man, rough around the edges, but at least he wasn't an axe murderer.
Mr. Gold was waiting behind his desk, his fingers drumming his chin. He gestured for Emma to take the plastic chair across from him, which she did without saying anything. She'd seen the faces of coworkers who had gotten "The Talk," and she and Ruby had always made fun of them. Now, she was one of those coworkers, and nothing seemed funny right now.
Twisting the head of his cane, Mr. Gold narrowed his eyes at his representative as if he were still deciding her punishment. "I hear you had quite the night, dearie," he started. Emma got goosebumps the way he said "dearie," as if he knew her well enough to do so. "Before I give you my verdict, why don't you try explaining to me just what happened exactly."
With her knee bouncing up and down, Emma wrung her hands in her lap and told herself not to show any signs of her nervousness. "It sounds like you've already made up your mind. I doubt anything I've got will change it."
"Try," the boss challenged. The way he spoke with his hands was enough to creep out Frankenstein.
"He got away," Emma said simply. "He dipped out of the restaurant and dove into Times Square. It was impossible to find him." Mr. Gold couldn't have looked any more unimpressed or unamused. If anything, he looked as if he were about to fall asleep. "But," Emma remembered, "I did grab this." She dug into her canvas bag, retrieved the man's wallet, and showed it off like a prize she'd won in poker. "At least we know which house he probably lives in. I could always go on a stakeout or something."
"That won't be necessary, though I applaud your enthusiasm," Mr. Gold responded slowly. "Emma, you know I don't enjoy this sort of thing, especially to you, but rules are rules. I'm sorry, dearie, but—"
Emma's phone suddenly cried out and cut off her boss. It took forever for her to find it and right as she was about to ignore whoever it was, she read the caller ID. "Uh, sorry, could you hold that thought for a sec?" Emma turned her head, "Gina? What? You've got to be kidding me. Fine, I'll be right there." She pressed the red button and stood up abruptly; Gold seemed insulted. "I'm sorry, it's my— my friend's kid. He's in trouble. Look, I got it: desk job for a week. No problem." She flew out of the stiff furniture and launched herself into the corridor.
"Where do you think you're going?" Mr. Gold wondered as he pushed himself onto his feet.
"I gotta go. Like I said, they need some help. But I'll right back, I swear. Please?" Emma put her hands together and pleaded with the stone figure; she even stuck her bottom lip out. When Mr. Gold's shoulders relaxed and he waved her off, she ran out of the door, shouting, "Thanks! I owe you one!"
Henry waited in his room with the door closed and locked, his knees hugged to his chest, and his back against the wall. His recently made up bed now had wrinkles in the sheets from when he jumped onto the mattress just moments before. It had been an unusually painful day for the teenager; actually, it was only half a day. After Regina talked with Ms. Ghorm, she'd decided to take him home for the remainder of the afternoon. He didn't object in the slightest, but then again, he was too embarrassed to say anything. Headmistress Ghorm had been the one to find him by the drinking fountain with a paper towel over his nose. The boys' bathrooms were all individual, and at the precise moment, they were all taken. He had nowhere else to go.
Regina had only looked at Henry for a millisecond before making the impulsive choice to excuse him from his classes. Out of everyone in their small family, she was the most adamant about his studies; she always reminded him that homework came before video games and that books were more educational than the television. She made sure that he never missed a day of school unless it was absolutely, positively necessary. This was one of those rare times.
When they stepped foot into their flat, and Henry rushed to his room, Regina called Emma and let her know what had happened. In an effort to protect both Henry and Emma's pride, she'd waited until she'd talked to Ms. Ghorm before contacting the blonde. She knew how Emma could be; she knew her friend would have demanded the complete roster for the school and would have scoured the halls and classes. But Emma wasn't Henry's mother; Regina was, and it was up to her where to go from here.
In the twenty minutes it took for Emma to get there, Regina tried knocking on her son's door several times. She pressed her ear and palms against the solid, wooden wall and spoke cautiously. "Henry, dear, you're not in trouble. I know you didn't do anything wrong." All that she got in return was the loudest silence she had ever endured. She wished, more than anything, that she could make the problem go away with a flick of her wrist— that there was some magical solution. But, she knew this wasn't a scraped knee on a four year-old: she couldn't kiss the booboo to make it better. Henry was a young adult now and felt things on a level Regina seemed to have forgotten. Raging hormones and the constant judgement from his peers all swirled together into a cocktail called adolescence, for which their was no antidote.
The doorbell chimed through the soundless apartment several dozen times before Regina pushed the button, and it took just seconds for Emma to appear at the door. "Where is he?" she asked as soon as she saw the brunette, welcoming herself into the home.
"Emma, wait," Regina warned. She grabbed her friend's elbow as the blonde readied herself to barrel down the hall. Her green eyes were crazed with a yearning for answers, for revenge. Regina had only ever seen that look twice in their entire friendship and she didn't particularly enjoy reliving it. "Relax," she commanded gently, her hands out as if she were surrendering. "Remember, he's just mortified as any other kid his age would be. Don't make it any worse." As though she hadn't heard anything Regina just said, Emma took a few heavy steps, but the mother caught her one more time with a tighter grip. "I mean it, Emma. This isn't like when we were younger; this is Henry, not us."
Knowing all too well what Regina was alluding to, Emma snatched snatched her arm out of the businesswoman's hold, strutted down the aisle way, and planted herself firmly in front of Henry's shutoff room. She mimicked Regina's actions and listened for a moment before tapping on the door. "Kid?"
Henry's ears perked up at Emma's voice, like an excited puppy. However, that excitement rapidly dwindled when he realized that she knew. Regina had already told her. That's why Emma was here so early. "Go away!" he shouted, though his words were muffled by the sleeves of his school-mandated blazer. The clapping of Regina's heels against their hardwood floors signaled Henry that both women were outside, waiting with their own worried expressions; he could already see his mother's creased forehead and furrowed brow, the way she folded her hands in front of her and crossed her left leg over her right. And, he knew that Emma had one knee bent slightly and was grinding her teeth the way Regina nagged her about. Their heavy breathing permeated through the crack under his door and climbed through his room until it reached his ears. The suspense was killing all of them.
Finally, when he knew that neither of them were actually going to leave, Henry clambered off of his bed, smoothed his jacket, and walked towards the gateway to his overbearing mom and wild "aunt." As soon as he peeked through, Emma knocked it down the rest of the way using all of her weight. "Holy shit!" she cried when she saw the blue and purple bruising on the bridge of Henry's nose. The blood had all been cleaned up, but the swelling was not as easy to hide. Emma reached for Henry's injury, but he turned his head before she could touch him.
In this particular moment, Regina excused Emma's choice of words, as she shared the sentiments. "Henry, dear," the brunette began calmly, "why don't you tell us what happened, hm? Give us your side of the story."
The young man flopped on his mattress and juggled his football, the only way he could manage his jitters. Emma couldn't stop staring at his injury, and Henry's level of self-consciousness had hit a new high. If there was a rock he could crawl under or a cave he could retreat to, he would've done it in an instant. "It's nothing," he mumbled.
"Like hell it is! Who did that to you?!" Emma demanded. With every syllable, she grew louder and louder; her features went rigid, and her pupils shrunk into tiny, black pins. Believe it or not, this was Emma being calm.
Ignoring the woman's histrionics, Regina took a seat beside her son. As a mother, she wanted to put her arm around his shoulders and pull him for a hug. But, as someone who'd been in a similar situation in the past, she knew it would only make things worse. "We know you didn't do anything wrong, dear. We'd just like to know how you got hurt, and then maybe we could talk to Ms. Ghorm and—"
"No!" Henry shouted as he dropped the ball. Immediately, he regretted his hasty response, as he knew this only increased their concern. Tapping his foot against the ground, Henry ran his hands up and down his thighs, drying the cold sweat off of his paws. "It- it was an accident," he tried to cover up. "I- I tripped on my way to class."
Emma folded her arms and squinted intensely at the boy. "That's not gonna fly. You know I can tell when people are lying."
"And you know that I don't tolerate lying in this household," Regina added authoritatively, her octave dropping several notes. When she noticed her son tense up at her severe tone, Regina mentally berated herself for intimidating him. Sometimes, she got so caught up in things, she couldn't realize it until it was too late. Carefully pulling his bangs of his eyes, she tilted his chin upwards until they were looking right at each other. "Henry, I promise that I will make sure this doesn't happen again, all right? No one at school will have to know that I said anything to the headmistress."
Finally understanding that it was what everyone else would say that bothered the boy, Emma let got of her own anger and sat on the other side of Henry. "You're not a snitch if you tell us, Kid. Reporting and tattling are two different things, you got it?"
Cornered by Regina and Emma, Henry had no choice but to tell them the truth. He was surrounded by the only family he had, and he'd never let himself forget if he didn't 'fess up. He'd been taught to always be honest, even if it was hard. Because, as the magnet on their refrigerator said, "The right thing isn't always the easy one."
Inhaling in preparation, Henry got up and started pacing in front of the women like a grown man before a meeting with a fortune five hundred company. He shrugged of his blazer and untucked his shirt; he ran his fingers through his thick, brown shag as if he were getting ready to recite a speech and Regina and Emma were the audience. "His name's Alexander Booth," he revealed reluctantly. "He's a year older than me… he usually just— just knocks my books down, but uh, today… it was an accident… he didn't know I was standing there…"
"Go on," Regina encouraged.
Rolling up his sleeves, Henry prayed his mother would keep good on her oath. "He shoved another kid into the lockers and, um, he knocked him into mine… the door was open and it— it hit my nose… I swear, I didn't do anything." As if he'd just been cleared of any and all criminal charges, Henry let out a long, tired sigh and leaned against his wall.
"I'm sorry, dear, did you say Alexander Booth?" Regina inquired skeptically. Henry nodded passively, still reeling from his confession. "August Booth's son? I knew that name was familiar!" she exclaimed. At Emma and Henry's shared confusion, Regina clarified with exuberant gestures. "August Booth is our top political correspondent at the paper. He's mentioned a child several times, I just never knew he went to the same school. Booth wreaks of arrogance and unsolicited snide comments."
"So, you're like, his boss then, right?" Emma wondered eagerly. "You could mess with him?"
Before Regina could confirm or deny the blonde's wishful thinking, Henry cut in quickly. "No! Don't! You'll make it worse!" he huffed. "If Alex finds out I told—"
"Don't worry, dear," Regina soothed. She pat the empty seat Henry was previously in and waited until he calmed down again. "Mr. Booth and I will just have a little chat about work. Your situation will not be mentioned, I assure you."
Henry lifted his hand, "Pinky promise?"
Curling her smallest finger around his, Regina agreed sincerely. "Pink promise. Now, you can choose what you'd like to do from here. You can either return to class and finish out the day, or—"
"Or you can come to work with me," Emma offered casually. "You know, if your mom says it's ok."
Lighting up like a Christmas tree, Henry buzzed in his spot. "Can I? Please?"
Right on 127th street, there was a quaint little place called Granny's Diner. It was run by a woman named Mrs. Lucas, Ruby's grandmother. Yellow painted walls were covered in pictures of the owner and her granddaughter, and the shellacked wooden tables glinted under the sunlight from the windows. Emma and her parents met there every Monday and Friday, the beginning and the end of the week, and they always ordered the same things. Creatures of habit, they all were.
Mary Margaret and David Nolan were cuddled together in a tattered, navy, leather booth as they waited for Emma and Henry to arrive. She texted them ahead of time and gave them a heads up, as well as an abridged version of what happened. They were used to their daughter coming late to family functions. It'd become just another part of life for them. Emma was 16 years-old when they adopted her, a journey the 30-something couple had thought long and hard about embarking on. Their biological child had died as an infant, a tragedy they never let slip from their hearts. She'd been born several months premature, and as a result, had a multitude of health complications. She just hadn't been strong enough to overcome the obstacles ahead of her.
After waiting a few years, the Nolans felt ready to try again. This time, though, they went a different route. From the moment they saw Emma, they knew she was going to be a part of their family. She had Mary Margaret's chin and David's ears, the perfect combination. When the three of them met, Emma was all but receptive to the idea of becoming a unit. She had explicitly informed them that she didn't need parents, nor did she want them. She was "old enough" to watch out for herself, no matter what the law said. However, after she moved in with the couple and she'd allowed herself to trust them, Emma found that they had been exactly the kind of parents she'd always dreamt of. She was no longer an orphan; she was someone's daughter.
Now, nearly 15 years later, the family couldn't have been any closer. Their bond had only strengthened through the decade and a half, and none of them would trade their experiences for the world. They'd gone through things no one else could ever truly understand. No one would have ever guessed that they hadn't alway been together.
When the small bell over the door rang and Emma and Henry walked in, Mary Margaret and David lit up and waved at the duo. It wasn't often that they got to see the pre-teen, for obvious reasons. Every now and then Emma gave them status reports on the kid, filling them in on his school progress and his road to maturity. She'd show them pictures of Henry and gush about him like any other proud parent would. And, as much as they loved to see Emma so enthusiastic, they knew it wasn't enough.
"Hi Mrs. Nolan and Mr. Nolan," Henry piped with a shy smile. The ends of his red and gray scarf dangled by his knees as he strode down the small aisle, all the while praying no one would bring up the elephant in the room. He'd gotten enough stares on the sidewalk, he didn't need anymore.
"Hey kiddo," David greeted back, slightly pained at the formal titles. He felt his wife clutch his knee at the sight of Henry's puffy nose, but she said nothing.
"You two look cozy," Emma commented wryly. Henry slid into the bench, then the blonde. They fit together like two peas in a pod; not too much extra room, not too squished. Henry gave Emma a menu, though she didn't need it, and they both opened it at the same time. They even turned the page in unison. It was something Emma was conscious of and proud of, but at the same time, brought her the slightest bit of sorrow. Henry still didn't know that they shared more than just in-time mannerisms.
David kissed the top of Mary Margaret's head, which made Emma blush, and chuckled heartily. "It's cold out, I was just warming up." He'd been letting his sandy-brown hair to grow out just enough to comb to the side and his budding beard accompanied it nicely. At 50 years-old, he still had yet to show signs of gray hair, bags under his eyes, or a beer gut. David was giving the rest of the guys in his squad a run for their money.
Mary Margaret, on the other hand, was embracing her stripes. They lay embedded in her black, pixie-cut; the subtle layers weren't gray, per se, but more silver. The two tones blended together in harmony and made a lot of women in her book-club jealous. Her fare skin and blood-red lips, combined with her dimples and graceful laugh lines, all created the ultimate motherly look. "Always the charmer, your father," she chided with a light giggle. "How are you, Henry?"
"Ouch. Gonna skip over your own kid?" Emma teased.
"We saw you earlier, Emma. It's nothing personal," Mary Margaret winked. "It's been more than a few days since Henry's graced us with his company. So, young man, how goes it?"
Flushing at the implied compliment, Henry put away his list of meals and did his best to lay his feet shoes on the dirty floor. Just another half of an inch, and he'd reach it without any problems. "Um, it goes well?" he guessed, hoping he answered correctly.
Giggling quietly, the older woman went on. Steering clear of mentioning Regina's mother, Mary Margaret cheered, "That's wonderful! I heard you've been doing great in algebra. That's quite impressive."
"I couldn't even do algebra in high school," David remarked truthfully.
His cheeks now the color of a ripe tomato, Henry turned to Emma for support. He was never one to do well with praise. He felt as if he didn't deserve it; as if it were all just to make him feel better. He wanted to be acknowledged for a real feat, like inventing the next iPhone or something— not solving an algebraic equation.
"So," Emma took her cue, "Dad, how're things at the station?" Turning the focus to them always took the pressure off her, and she was sure it would do with same for Henry.
Not allowing David to respond, Mary Margaret spoke for him. "I'm still waiting for the day that he retires," she complained wistfully.
"I don't know why; I've still got another 10 years before they make me leave," the police chief said as he sipped his pitch-black coffee. "And I haven't gotten hit since '01."
"Yes, but that one 'hit' landed you in the hospital for a month, or don't you remember?" his wife countered promptly.
"Mary Margaret," David griped. "That was 10 years ago."
"But you still have that scar— it doesn't care how long ago it was."
"I told you, the chances of that happening again—"
"Anyway…" Emma cleared her throat, suddenly regretting bringing Henry along on a dysfunctional family lunch. He didn't seem to mind, though. He sat comfortably against the cushioned backing and observed the married couple innocently. Living in a one-parent household, this was something he wasn't accustomed to, yet something he didn't mind. To him, it was a bit entertaining. It was like watching a TV sitcom, but better. Emma had just over 30 minutes before she had to get back to work, which wasn't nearly enough time to sit through the couple bickering. "Guys? Hello?" she waved in front of them. "There's a kid present."
Completely unpracticed in censoring their mild squabbles, David and Snow lowered their voices into hushed tones and looked down like sad puppies. It'd been a while since they'd been around such young ears, and while they hadn't used any profanity or crude innuendos, they were rather ashamed of the way they'd spent today's visit with Henry. It wasn't the impression they wanted to leave on their only grandson.
Just then, a perky waitress landed before them, her high ponytail bouncing behind her. In a powder blue uniform and white apron, the name tag read Ella. Enchanting blue eyes and shiny golden hair with brown roots, the woman sported a growing bump beneath her smock. "Are you all ready to order?" she asked energetically, a notepad and pencil ready.
Emma glanced at her parents and then at Henry, who was still blissfully going with the flow. David and Mary Margaret were trying to hide behind their napkins, which was a sign that food would be a welcome distraction. Her awareness of how soon she had to get back before Gold took away her desk duties as well, mixed with her anxiety over whether Regina had talked to August Booth yet, resulted in Emma blurting out her reply. "YES!"
