Regina ran across the street as fast as her legs would carry her, frantically pushing open the door to the bed and breakfast and using the banister to propel herself up the stairs to their loft. She fumbled with the key, missing the lock the first two times because her hands were shaking so badly, and breathing out a sigh of relief when she heard the key click into the mechanism the third time, unlocking the door.
The space was modest and somewhat sparsely furnished (Henry's room, of course, reflected his personality; overflowing with books and posters bearing famous literary quotes), with most of Regina's personal belongings stuffed unceremoniously into various cardboard boxes and shoeboxes, collecting dust either in the small storage closet next to the front door, or crammed under their bed; her bed, she reminded herself firmly. There was no them anymore. Daniel was dead.
Yet, she held onto the king-sized bed; an act of frivolous nostalgia. It was far too large for just Regina. Her slight frame barely took up one edge, leaving a wide expanse of empty space. Her practical side argued that it would be far more reasonable to buy herself a smaller bed and sell the king-sized, or donate it to charity. Whenever she thought about it, though, she recoiled in horror at the idea of parting from the marriage bed she had shared with her husband. Sentimentality won out, and so the enormous bed took up half of her bedroom space.
Right now, she found the emptiness inviting, the silence which occupied it her most desired companion. In her loft, there were no undesired visitors, no intruders from her past, no one forcing her to think about unpleasant things that were over and done. She was all alone.
Comforted by that fact, she flopped onto her bed, a soft whoosh of air rushing out of the comforter. The mattress hit her back much harder than she had anticipated, and she was rudely reminded that, despite the events that had transpired this evening, she was no longer twenty.
She lay spread-eagled on the bed, staring up at the wooden slats in the ceiling, chest rising and falling with her shallow breaths. The tears flowed freely down her face, pooling around her ears before they trailed down the side of her neck, salty and cold. Regina willed them to carry off her anguish, letting it ebb away with the rivulets of tears. Still, her heart was heavy and the mattress around her grew damp and uncomfortable.
Slowly, she raised herself, bracing her upper body on her elbows. One hand impatiently wiped away the tears, ashamed of how liberally she had shed them. This was not how an adult woman should behave, wasting a perfectly good evening crying over her ex. But she wasn't crying over her ex. She growled in frustration at how elusive her feelings were being. She was…well, sad didn't even begin to describe it. She was…regretful and melancholy and annoyed with herself for letting all of this get to her as much as it did.
She rolled back her sleeve, exposing her forearm, with its smooth creamy skin and bluish-green veins running along its length. Her fingertip followed the most prominent vein from the top of her wrist until it could no longer be distinguished, with a tickling sensation that felt more like a prickle by the time she had lifted her hand away. Mindlessly, she traced intricate swirls along the same stretch of skin with her nail, barely pressing down, watching the faint white scratches fade away before her eyes, gone so soon, unlike Robin's tattoo.
Another sob escaped her as she wondered what it would have been like if she hadn't chickened out that day. If she had followed Robin into the tattoo parlor and gotten a tattoo with him. Of course, hers wouldn't be nearly as garish as his. She imagined delicate lines, crisp edges, and a billowing mane, with the lion reared up and ready to fight for its honor. She stared intently at her wrist, trying to visualize the image, to no avail.
Would her life have been any different if she'd gone through with it? Aside from the obvious difference of having a tattoo, would the rest of it have turned out any differently? Would she have stayed with Robin, gotten married, perhaps had children together? Moved to a nice suburb with a good school district, watched their children playing in the backyard?
Or would their breakup have been inevitable either way, and instead she would have been left with a permanent reminder of yet another failure?
A knock sounded on the door. "Mom? Are you home?"
Regina sniffled, removing the vestiges of her emotional outpour and clearing the phlegm that had lodged in her throat before answering, "In the bathroom!"
And of course, then she had to go to the bathroom, to inspect her appearance. Red rimmed her eyes, a telltale indicator that she'd been crying, and spidery black lines trailed down from her lash line, the mascara she'd worn this morning decidedly not as waterproof as advertised. She contemplated trying to hide the mess with concealer, and was halfway to reaching for her makeup bag before she realized that that was a ridiculous idea, that Henry would know either way, and that she was taking entirely too long in the bathroom and he was getting suspicious. She rubbed at her cheeks, smudging the mascara until it had faded to a dingy gray, and then dabbed at it with a washcloth.
"Are you okay in there?" He hollered through the door. His voice sounded closer. Regina supposed he must have let himself in while she was in the bathroom. Taking one last second to breathe deeply and compose herself, Regina unlocked the bathroom door and walked to the bed where Henry was sitting.
Immediately, he took in her disheveled appearance and deduced shrewdly, "You've been crying."
She didn't even try to deny it, shrugging and pulling her lips back into a sad smile. Remnants of her tears glistened in her eyes as she rested her hand on his shoulder. Henry pursed his lips in thought.
"Is it because I yelled at you in the bed and breakfast earlier? Because I'm sorry, Mom, I really am."
Regina had to laugh at his naivete; his innocence to how cruel the world could be. She hoped he could preserve his black-and-white view of morality a little longer before life clutched it in his hand and crushed it. "No, Henry. But I'm glad you realize that it wasn't okay." Attempting to be stern would do no good in her current state, so she allowed herself to be soft, her face slack and aching vaguely from her cry. She paused to deliberate, deciding to lecture instead of scold.
"I'm your mother. You can't disobey me like that. It's one thing that you yelled at me. That, in and of itself, would have been bad enough. But Henry, allowing strangers to check into the bed and breakfast? You don't know these people. They could be anybody. What if they wanted to hurt you? You've never seen them before in your life. What you did today could have been very dangerous for you. And that's why you upset me. Not because you talked back to me." Regina got carried away, almost believing her own speech at one point. She knew full well that none of the three would harm Henry. At least, based on what she remembered of them, they didn't strike her as the type.
But Henry didn't know that. His impulsiveness would get him into trouble one of these days if he didn't learn to think before he acted. As his mother, it was her job to protect him from himself.
And then there was the real reason she was upset, which was that she didn't particularly want to see those three people in her town. Yeah. Henry didn't need to know about that.
Regina sighed, running her fingers through her hair, which had given up on staying in its hair tie ages ago, the elastic hanging limply by her shoulder. "Next time, promise me that you'll check with me before you let anyone stay, okay?"
Henry perked up. "Next time? You mean you'll let me keep running the bed and breakfast?"
Regina chuckled softly at his disbelief. She hadn't realized he'd take this quite so seriously. "Yes, Henry. You're a responsible young man, and I believe that you're fully capable of handling this. But no more rash decisions. Understood?"
He nodded eagerly, pulling her in for a hug. Regina nestled in the crook of his arm, her head resting on his chest. She could hear his heartbeat through his shirt. Sometimes she forgot that he wasn't a child anymore. In her mind, Henry was perpetually a bright-eyed and precocious kid, reading books filled with words that he had to look up in the dictionary because Regina didn't know their definitions, which meant that Daniel had to pull it down off the top shelf because Regina couldn't reach.
But life had continued marching on, and Henry was as much a child as Daniel was still alive. Her little prince had become a young man.
He eased his arm out from around her, and Regina looked up, confused. She sat straight up, facing him.
"Now tell me why you were crying," he said, and Regina had to choke back the sob that arose at his words. She should have known that her perceptive son couldn't be distracted for long.
"It's nothing," she dismissed, a sniffle betraying the truth. "Just…thinking about the past."
"You mean Dad?"
Regina shrugged, fixing her eyes on the front door, because that was easier than trying to maintain eye contact when tears were welling up again. If she didn't blink, they wouldn't fall.
"I miss him too, Mom," he admitted quietly. "It's okay."
And that's when the dam broke and the tears came spilling out, because even though she wasn't specifically upset about Daniel's death, it colored everything in her life, and it hurt so much to know that he was gone and had left a hole in her heart and life. Knowing that she would never see his smile again or hear his voice or feel his arms around her…she felt she could have died herself the first couple months. She beat herself up for daring to think about her past lovers when he was her husband, he was the man with whom she'd raised a child, he was her true love. It felt like she was dishonoring his memory.
Regina twisted a strand of hair around her finger. "I loved your father more than anyone except you," she whispered, and if Henry had to strain to hear her, she didn't care, because her voice was failing her right now, and it was all she could do to speak at all. But she had to tell him. He had to know.
"I know, Mom," Henry said, folding his hands in his lap. "I remember."
Regina looked at him, lips quirking into a wan smile. "We were such a close family," she continued, not wanting him to feel neglected. "Not having him around anymore is…difficult."
Henry nodded silently, losing himself in thought and chewing on his bottom lip. She wondered what he was thinking about, but decided against asking. Some things were private.
"This time of year is always hard," she spoke aloud, mostly to herself.
"Yeah," he replied quietly. "It is."
Regina hated the fall. Hated it with its ever-present clouds and low fog blanketing everything and the brightly colored leaves taunting her, reminding her that there was a whole world where there was happiness and even joy instead of the dull stupor that she felt constantly. Stupid leaves. Stupid clouds. Stupid fog.
She sighed, wiping her palms on her pants, letting the rough denim scrape against her skin. It wasn't Henry's fault that the three decided to show up in Storybrooke. Nor was it his fault that Robin had unnerved her. It wasn't fair to take it out on him. She mustered up a genuine smile.
"I'll be okay, Henry. I'm just a little sad tonight."
He accepted her answer at face value, not asking for further explanation. Regina was grateful for his compliance, as he was known to be quite persistent when he wanted to be.
"Can I do anything to help you feel better?"
The sound that left Regina's mouth was somewhere between a sob and a laugh. Henry really was a remarkable boy. She glanced at the clock on her nightstand and was startled to realize how late it was getting.
"Did you get all your homework done?"
Henry shifted on the bed. "Yeah…" he said, his voice a little too high. Regina could tell he was lying.
"Henry…"
"Okay, I got most of it done. But all I have left is this worksheet with biology definitions, and I can do it in homeroom."
Regina arched an eyebrow at his attempt to bargain with her. "Excuse me?"
"Oh come on, it's not like it's a big deal. It's like fifteen terms."
"So then you should have no trouble finishing them tonight."
"But, Mom…" Henry groaned.
"Your options are to do it tonight, or go to bed now and wake up early tomorrow so you can finish it before you go to school. You're not going to be scrambling to complete your assignments in homeroom when I know you had enough time to get them done." Her ultimatum came out more harshly than she had intended, but she knew her son. If she left it up to him, the worksheet would never get done.
"Everyone else does homework in homeroom," Henry whined, dragging his backpack to his side.
"Everyone else's parents can worry about them. You're my son, and you will do your homework properly."
"But-"
"You asked if you could do anything to help me feel better. I'd feel a lot better if I knew that you wouldn't be handing in an assignment that was poorly done because you rushed to do it in twenty minutes," Regina said, making it clear that her mind was made up and that there was nothing Henry could do to dissuade her.
Henry let out a longsuffering sigh as he unzipped his backpack and pulled out the offending worksheet, along with his biology textbook, slamming it open demonstratively on the table. He did not work in silence, the scratches of pen on paper mingled with a running commentary about how biology was "sooo boring" and "who even cares about photosynthesis anyway" and "plants are too complicated for something without a brain" muttered under his breath.
She watched him work, the litany of complaints petering out as he reached the bottom of the sheet of paper. Finally, he set his pen down with a flourish and proclaimed, "Done".
"Thank you for being responsible." Regina walked over and kissed the top of his head. "I know you don't like your biology class, but you have to keep all your grades up if you want to go to a good school."
"I know…" Henry rolled his eyes, closing the textbook with the worksheet still inside it. Regina wanted to point out that it would get crumpled, but she let it go. So what if one assignment wasn't perfectly crisp? It's not like it would change what was on the paper.
"But Mom, biology is so dumb. I mean, who cares about how plants make their energy? I'm not gonna be a farmer or something. Does it really matter?"
This was one of the moments when Regina wished that Daniel was still alive, because he had loved all living things and would have done a much better job explaining the importance of understanding them to their son. She gave it her best shot anyway.
"Well…" Regina began uncertainly. "Apples come from trees, right? And trees use photosynthesis. So if there was no photosynthesis, there would be no apples, and I wouldn't be able to make the apple turnovers you love so much." It wasn't her finest parenting moment, but she figured it would have to do, under the circumstances.
Henry gasped in shock at the prospect of a world without apple turnovers.
"And understanding how it works means that if you ever have plants, you'd know how to care for them better. Put them in better soil, make sure they get enough sunlight, so they can grow to reach their full potential."
"Ohh…just like I have to put up with useless classes like bio so I can reach my full potential?"
"Yeah, exactly." Regina hadn't been going for a metaphor, but she'd take it. Whatever it took to motivate Henry not to give up on classes he deemed irrelevant to his goals.
"Thanks, Mom!" He smiled brightly, kissing her on the cheek. He yawned. "I should probably go to bed."
"We both should." Regina mirrored his yawn.
"Love you." Henry gave her a quick hug before heading off to shower.
"Love you too!" She called after him, changing into her pajamas. Soon, she had brushed her teeth and, after reminding Henry for the fifth time that he had school tomorrow and his lights should be out because whatever book he had started (he was such an avid reader) could wait until the weekend, she climbed into bed.
Regina figured she should set a good example for her son and turned off her own reading lamp. This had proven to be a mistake, because now she didn't even have the novel that Henry had lent her, raving about how it was "sooo good, Mom, you're gonna love it!" to distract her from her thoughts.
She stared up at the ceiling, wondering for the first time in forever what it would be like to share her bed with someone, to have her loneliness abate instead of devouring her. Her last conscious thought before sleep pulled her under was a shame laden apology to Daniel and insistent reassurance that she still loved him.
. . . . . . . . . .
The shrill blare of the alarm came far too early for Regina's liking, piercing the air. She groaned, opening her bleary eyes just enough to turn off the alarm function on her phone. A faint beam of light filtered through the curtain, signaling that the sun had begun its arduous ascent from behind the horizon.
If the sun can get up every single day, so can I, she thought, pulling herself up to sit with her back against the wall. Sleep still crusted over her eyes, and she was grateful for the dim lighting as she adjusted to full consciousness.
She peered over to Henry's room, and was relieved to see him tucked under his blanket, messy hair across his pillow. Soon, she'd have to wake him so he could get ready for school, but Henry was not a morning person. She'd let him sleep in as late as she could without making him late.
Her morning routine passed in a blur. She hadn't slept well again. She'd had her usual nightmare about Daniel's death, but for some reason, her mother was there, and she towered over them, cackling wickedly as she clenched his disembodied heart, squeezing it tightly, so tightly that it began to crumble, falling to the ground in a powder, and then his lifeless body hit the floor. Regina tossed and turned, begging the nightmare to end, tangling her sheets around herself until she felt she would suffocate.
Where the image had come from, she had no idea. Cora had been nowhere near Daniel when he died, living comfortably far away in Greenwich. Just the thought of Mother being involved in any capacity was frankly disturbing. She closed her eyes, calling forth memories of sunny trails and the steady clip-clop of hooves on packed dirt as they rode, her hands clasped around Daniel's waist. Her heartrate slowed to normal, the water splattering on the floor of her shower as she remembered where she was and hastily shut it off, so she wouldn't use up all the hot water.
Yes, he was dead. But Cora played no part in it. She didn't even know. Why had she invented such a grotesque scenario? It's not like his death hadn't been bad enough without implicating that…witch.
What was with her this morning? This wasn't like her. Regina shook her head, figuring she must still be rattled from the previous day. Coffee would help. She dumped a scoop of grounds into the filter and poured some water into the percolator, going to wake Henry while she waited for the water to boil because she knew that it would take a while.
As predicted, it did not go without protest, with the usual mumbled request for "five more minutes", and Regina countering that she'd given him five more minutes ten minutes ago and if he didn't get out of bed now, he'd be late to school and she wouldn't write him a note this time. He slumped out of bed, raging quietly all the while, dragging his feet to the bathroom. In certain respects, he was still a child, and the thought comforted Regina.
When he exited the bathroom, she was sitting at the table, sipping coffee from a mug with a crimson toddler-sized handprint splattered across one side, which she had received for Mother's Day years ago. Henry had presented it to her proudly with a toothy grin and an "I made it myself, Mama", as Daniel watched. He had been so pleased with himself, gripping the mug carefully in his small hands so it wouldn't break. The words "I love you" had been painted above the fingers, no doubt by Daniel. But it was the first present Henry had made for her, the first one he'd been able to make, and Regina cherished the tangible reminder of both her son and husband.
"Morning," he said grumpily, grabbing an empty mug from the cabinet above the counter and dropping into the chair next to hers. Regina noted that he'd managed to get ready more quickly than usual.
"Good morning, Henry," she replied softly, stifling a yawn. "Did you sleep well?"
He grunted in response, rubbing circles around his eyes. "Not enough."
It would have been enough if he had just turned off his light when she told him the first time, she reasoned, but she didn't mention this. Instead, she offered a sympathetic smile. "I'm sorry, Henry. But you can sleep in more tomorrow."
He scowled in displeasure. "That won't help today," he sulked, struggling to fight the drowsiness threatening to overtake him at their table. His eyes lit up as they fell on her mug. "But that might."
Regina snorted incredulously. "Oh no. You are not having coffee. If you'd turned out your light when I told you to, you would have slept enough."
"Mom, I'm seventeen," he reminded her. "Ruby lets me drink it whenever I want."
Her eyebrows shot to her hairline. "Oh, does she really?" She questioned, making a mental note to check with Ruby whether this was true. "Well I'm your mother and I say no. The way I brew my coffee will have you jittering all the way until lunch."
"But Mooom, I'm almost an adult! Come on, pleease," he wheedled, giving her puppy eyes.
Regina watched the display with faint amusement. Maybe she'd give in just this once. "Fine," she relented, motioning for his mug and splashing some coffee into it. "Go easy, it's strong."
"Thanks, Mom!" He took a big gulp, wrinkling his face. "Ugh, it's so bitter!"
"There's creamer and sugar on the counter," she said, suppressing a yawn. He went to doctor up his coffee. It struck her as strange that they were sitting at the table, drinking coffee together. Her chest panged with yet another reminder that he was no longer a little boy
"So, can we have coffee together every morning?" He asked eagerly, stirring in sugar with a spoon.
"Henry, I'd rather you don't start the habit. It's not healthy…" Regina trailed off, observing his reaction. She hated to see him disappointed.
"Definitely not every morning," she asserted. "But every once in a while, sure."
"Sounds fair." Henry nodded, continuing to drink the coffee. Regina guessed that the flavor had been much improved by the generous quantity of creamer and sugar he had heaped into the mug.
"Ruby doesn't actually give me coffee all the time," he confessed, eyes lowered on his mug.
"I figured," Regina said. "I give you credit for trying, though."
She glanced down at her phone, jumping when she realized that they were almost late.
"Come on, Henry, we need to go." Regina hurried him through their door, his backpack swinging wildly from one shoulder, and zipped her jacket as she descended the stairs. "You can grab a bagel from the diner and eat it on your way to school."
They crossed the street together, opening the diner door to the cheerful jingle of the bell. The place was still empty, Ruby not due to arrive for another few minutes. Regina turned over the sign hanging on the door from "Closed" to "Open" and inhaled deeply, ready for a new day.
Author's Note: Henry's homework situation is kind of an inside joke because I was a biology major and personally love the field. Please note that the summary has been change to reflect the endgame, as the majority of reviewers made it their continued readership conditional upon this information. This is the last chapter I have written so far, and therefore the last regular update. I've gotten mixed reviews, and am beginning to question whether this story is something that the OUAT fandom wants to read, so if you'd like me to continue writing and posting this, please let me know. Thanks to everyone who's followed, favorited and reviewed. I hope to be back soon.