Sitting on a freshly-painted, green park bench, Emma blended in with every other civilian around. She may not have been as innocent as them, but conspicuous she was not. Families on bikes and couples on roller blades rode by as people with pets ambled up and down the sidewalk. The blossoming trees blocked the blue sky from view, but the brilliant green foliage more than made up for that. There were patches of yellow, orange, pink and red flowers sprouting from the rejuvenated earth, planted there by the city to look more welcoming. There was a man in a beige uniform watering the thirsty organisms, nodding to himself as if he were having a conversation with the flower.
All around Emma, cheerful birds sang to one another across the branches. What they could possibly be so happy about, she had no idea. She was feeling just the opposite. As if to add further insult to injury, just two benches down from Emma, an older gentleman scattered seeds for the pigeons at his feet. It was all too clear by his bright beaming at the birds just how much pleasure he took in doing so. Emma was quite possibly the only one not smiling.
28 minutes after ending the call, a man in a black peacoat cleared his throat as he took the empty spot at the end of the bench; the wood creaked under the duress, as if crying at the sudden disturbance. The gap between he and Emma spanned at least three feet, and yet, it was still too close for comfort. He sat his cane across his lap as his graying hair blew backwards, his golden tooth sparkling ever-so-slightly. Smoothing his purple tie, Mr. Gold squinted across the small road at an open space filled with giggling children.
"I believe you have something for me," Mr. Gold murmured. Emma had been watching the older gentlemen to her left so intently, the way he seemed so in-tune to the pigeons' movements. He didn't overfeed them, but he wasn't stingy either. It was as if he and the pigeons were communicating somehow— as though they were just another group of friends casually socializing. "Swan," Mr. Gold grunted.
Snapping out of her daze, Emma glanced over at her employer and concentrated on keeping her voice calm and even. The slightest fluctuation in pitch, the slightest abrupt movement, could ruin everything. "I need to ask you some stuff… might make the search quicker," she said.
His nose crinkling in confusion, Mr. Gold was careful not to react too severely. "Am I to understand that you haven't made any progress?"
"You didn't really give me a lot to go on," Emma countered swiftly. It was a daring retort, but her arsenal was rather lacking. "Are you gonna help or not?"
The little boy and little girl that occupied the berth under the trees chased after one another with handfuls of damp dirt. His short, blonde hair bounced as he pranced around in a circle and her long, auburn curls flew like a cape. Their laughter traveled across the sidewalk and rammed into Mr. Gold like a bulldozer. Ever since reaching out for help— something he'd hated, absolutely hated to do— it was as though the life he could have had was taunting him wherever he went. "What do you need to know?"
Having jumped over one hurdle, Emma braced herself for the next round. With Gold, one could never be too sure. Taking out the paper and pen she'd snagged from the hospital, she laid the recycled flyer on her knees and prepared to scribble as fast as possible. "Ok," she said more to herself, "any health problems in the family? Anything that I could trace through, maybe, hospital records or something?"
Emma held her breath in anticipation, afraid she'd already gone too far. After all, it wasn't the usual kind of question she'd ask, not when searching for a target. She waited as Mr. Gold twisted the long rod, the metal handle secured in his grip. His lips parting somewhat, Mr. Gold shook his head. "No, nothing," he said. The mere suggestion of checking hospital records sent a shiver down his spine as he was forced to imagine the worst fate possible for his son.
Resisting the urge to spin in a circle, Emma pushed further and pushed harder. She lowered her voice an octave, like she'd heard Regina do several times before, and furrowed her brow as she deliberated. "You sure? No diseases or disorders. Nothing… genetic?"
"Correct," Gold replied. He cringed as the paper in Emma's grasp crinkled and crumpled. To say that he was disappointed would be an understatement. He'd been hoping for at least some small piece of news, no matter how minuscule it may have seemed. After all these years, something small was better than nothing at all. "Is there anything else you need?" he asked, a hint of bitterness lined his words.
Going over her illegible print, Emma shook her head. She came. She heard. She found she was looking for. She'd done her duty. "This is good," she said. Emma started to get up and leave, when thin fingers curled around her wrists. Her knees locked up and she froze in her spot, having been thrust into a world she'd been absent from for several days. The fear she'd once-felt infiltrated her system as she bit down on her tongue.
Gold tightened his grasp on the woman's arm and tugged her closer to him, though not so rough that people would notice. He maintained his stiff upper lip and, until Emma finally and reluctantly turned to face him, held on for dear life. In some ways, he was just as good at Emma at reading people, especially when they were hiding something. He could see it in their eyes; he could see the trepidation in one's posture. What he saw in Emma, however, was more than that. He saw more than she realized was visible. Letting go of his woman-for-hire, Gold adjusted his jacket nonchalantly. "You're holding back, dearie," he observed. Emma's jaw twitched, as if she were about to speak. But, when nothing happened, when Gold noticed how frightened she really was, he left her with a mere warning. Standing directly across from Emma, locked eyes with her. "You're a smart girl, Swan, so I'm simply going to remind you that we have a deal. I've kept my side. I'd hate to see see what might happen if you don't keep yours."
Still shaken, but too stubborn to acknowledge her triggered episode (it was a topic for another day), Emma returned to the hospital with a back of goodies for the kid. However, as soon as she arrived, she was sent into a wave of panic when she couldn't find Henry. Before she had the chance to pull a Shirley MacLaine at the nurse's station, Penny passed by and lead the frazzled blonde to their new, temporary residence; Henry'd been moved into his own room.
In the midst of an "Avatar: The Last Airbender" marathon, still hooked up to various monitors and machines, Henry laid on his bed with an iPad propped up on the mobile table. While Emma was gone, Regina managed to have a few things from their apartment delivered to their dwelling. The way the brunette got people to do her bidding always amazed Emma.
Nursing his fifth juice-box in the last hour, Henry lit up at his aunt's reappearance. Emma kicked off her shoes and tossed her jacket onto the empty chair; she clambered onto the mattress like an uncoordinated toddler, her plastic sack dangled in her hand. "Shove over," she commanded gently, poking him in his sides and making him squeal accidentally. On the nights she made it to their apartment on time, watching cartoons was one of their favorite activities. As she dumped the treats onto the bed, which she realized would have to be eaten later given Henry's current restrictions, she motioned to the rectangular screen. "What'd I miss?" She rattled the square carton on the wheely-table and drank the last bit of Henry's juice; a loud slurping echoed through their small enclosure.
As if he'd been holding it in all day, the boy dove into a very detailed explanation of the last several episodes, gesturing animatedly and getting his wires tangled in the process. "Aang and Zuko fought again, but this time because Zuko was teaching Aang how to fire-bend. Aang was mad because he didn't want to be angry to control fire, not like Zuko. But, it was so cool! Then they all went to the Fire Kingdom and Aang started to fight with the Fire Lord. You remember, he's Zuko's dad. But the real big fight is about to happen. I think Aang is gonna win!" Henry finished without so much as a hint of being out of breath.
In the middle of his synopsis, Regina slid the doors aside and stepped over the metal ramp. Although she was in the same clothes as the day before, and though she had dark circles under her eyes, she was still as regal and radiant as ever. Her thick hair was tucked behind her ears and her dark heels reflected the light from the ceiling. "Well, I see you're determined for Henry to have cavities at his next dentist appointment. I'm assuming you'll pay for the fillings?"
There was a brief moment of silent agreement between the ladies; Regina raised one eyebrow questioningly and Emma knew exactly what she meant. "I don't think that's gonna be a problem," she replied. She turned her head a centimeter to the right and observed as Regina exhaled slowly. Message sent. Message received.
As the last episode played through the speakers, Regina sat the foot of Henry's bed and gathered all of the candy. "We'll just save this for later, shall we?" There was no way in hell she was going to allow Henry to eat all of that junk.
From a distance, Emma spotted Dr. Whale approaching their room, two more interns trailing behind her; all of them were dressed in blue. Instead of joining them behind the glass, Dr. Whale waved at Emma to get her attention. In turn, Emma gestured to Regina. "Henry, we'll be right back," said the brunette. "We'll be right out there," she pointed to the desk across from them. Henry made "hm" noise, too engrossed in his show to give a proper response. He was glued.
"Were you able learn anything new?" Dr. Whale asked Emma tactfully, mindful of the complicated nature of this case. She got the sense that the less she knew, the better it was for all of them. There was a strange air of mystery that surrounded Emma and Regina, one that even a world-renowned physician couldn't properly diagnose. Dr. Whale just decided to travel the safety route.
Bent over, zipping up her boots, Emma spoke to the floor. "He's clear," she grunted. When she rose to her normal height, she peered over at the nervous students behind Whale. "Nothing on his father's side," she rephrased.
Dr. Whale made several notes in Henry's chart and circled them in red pen. She even highlighted it in yellow. "That's great to know. Thank you very much for being so quick. I'm sure it wasn't easy."
"Yeah, well," Emma scoffed.
Wringing her hands together, Regina frowned at her son and then at the professionals she was trusting him with. "Does this mean we can get started with… everything? Henry can get the medication he needs?"
Intern One and Intern Two waited for their teacher to answer the question. They may have been the newbies, but they'd read enough to know that cancer wasn't that easy to fix. It hadn't occurred to Dr. Whale just how much needed to be clarified, how much information Emma and Regina still needed to obtain. "Would you be comfortable with them checking Henry's vitals?" she asked the women, providing them with an opportunity to converse privately. Emma and Regina shrugged and Dr. Whale commanded with her pupils one finger pointing to the boy. When it was just the three of them, tread very cautiously. "There are still a few steps we need to take before beginning treatment. We know that Henry has cancer, but we also need to find out where it is— what exactly it's attacking. As soon as we can locate the source, we can target those specific cells."
Wincing at the word "cancer" being applied to Henry, Regina's forehead pinched together and she glared at Whale. "What are you saying? He— he has have more needles jabbed into him? More blood tests?"
Genuinely pained by their lack of understanding, as well as guilty for not being as direct as she should have been, Dr. Whale tried to make it as clear as she could. "I'm afraid there's more to it than that. Ms. Mills, Ms. Swan, how much so you know about radiation treatment?"
"What's that— like chemo or something?" Emma asked gruffly.
"Not exactly. It's less vicious, less strenuous on the body. At least, for many it is." Laying the metal clipboard on the counter behind her, Dr. Whale sprinted to a file cabinet and back with a packet for the women. "Radiation and chemotherapy are both used to treat cancer. However, radiation is not a drug; it's not administered intravenously. It's just what it sounds like: high-volume radiation aimed at killing the cancerous cells." She'd gone over this many times before with many parents. But, for some odd reason, this was harder than usual. Perhaps it was the unusual circumstances that drove this family. Whatever it was, Dr. Whale found herself struggling not to cross the line of professional and personal.
Turning away from Dr. Whale, Regina stood with her back to the red-head. She was starting to wish she hadn't asked at all. Nothing about what had just been described sat well with her; in fact, it killed her to think that was their only option. Henry was a child, for God's sake. It didn't sound humane.
"Uh, look, Doc, can we talk about this later?" Emma mumbled, her arms folded over her chest. She kicked the heel of one boot into the toe of another, barely keeping her balance.
Taking in distraught reactions, Dr. Whale gave Emma the most sympathetic expression she could manage. "Of course. But, I have to tell you, there isn't a lot of time to waste. My team and I are ready whenever you are. I promise you, we are going to do everything we can to help you and Henry beat this, all right? If you'd let us, we'd like to run those extra tests today."
"Gina?"
Regina was fading, and she was fading fast. She heard Emma say her name, and just like it used to, it was the only thing keeping her from losing it completely. It was the only thing keeping her sane. She looked out at Henry, his total obliviousness to his surroundings. Like all of the people she watched from her thrown at the paper, he was was in his own world— one that would soon shatter. "Do what you must," she whispered. "But, before you and your 'team' scare that boy in there…" she swallowed hard and bit her bottom lip, "let Emma and I talk to him first."
After Henry had been cleared to eat solid food, Emma ordered them a New York pizza to share in the room. It may not have been the most practical thing to eat at a hospital, but no one seemed to judge their decision. If anything, the other parents on the ward noted it as a sign of grief: spoiling the child. Even Regina didn't object to the choice in meal. Like Emma, she was running out of fight.
As the two adults listened patiently to Henry's retelling of the "Avatar: The Last Airbender" finale, they both fretted over how to break such terrible news. Here he was, enthusiastic and so full of energy. He was doing so much better than he had been the day before. He was laughing and smiling. He was just getting back to his old self.
Henry wasn't so young that he wouldn't understand, but he also wasn't quite old enough to grasp the magnitude of the situation. He was somewhere in-between: he was still fragile in some ways. Then again, in others, he was one of the bravest humans Emma and Regina knew— much braver than they had been at his age. But, there was bravery and then there was maturity.
"And then, Aang went into Avatar mode and won! He won against the Fire Lord!" Henry concluded before biting into his third slice of pizza. "Isn't that cool?" he asked through mouthfuls.
"Very cool," Regina said absentmindedly. She'd hardly touched her slice. She was too nervous. She and Emma both sat at the end of the bed, holding their pizza, but never touching it. They sat there cursing whatever Gods or forces were out there punishing them for their wrongdoings in the past. They sat there and prayed that this was all just a dream. They sat there, terrified that if they stood up, they'd walk away without telling Henry. Emma and Regina just sat there and drowned in their pool of dread.
Feeling somewhat lightheaded, Regina blinked several times and ground her teeth together as she wiped her fingers on a napkin. Her heart was racing faster and louder than it had ever done before. Nothing in her 31 years of living could have ever prepared her for this. All those awful foster homes and all of those disgusting foster parents were no match for the task she was burdened with now. Unlike those people she'd been put with, she actually loved her child. She loved him so much, she wanted it to be her instead.
It was as if a razor blade were slicing her throat; she could barely open her mouth. Regina pushed stray strands of hair out of Henry's eyes and grazed his cheek until she cradled his round chin with her index finger and her thumb. Henry still had a fair amount of baby fat in his cheeks and Regina had already grieving the day that he would outgrow it. The bruise on his nose was getting lighter every day, though it was still a bit distracting, and his green eyes seemed to hold all the world's wisdom in them. There was an earnestness to his features, not just because of his youthful compassion.
"Henry," Regina began, "Emma and I… well, there's something that we need to discuss. It's rather important."
"Am I in trouble?" Henry wondered without missing a beat. He pushed aside the last few bites of his food and sat up straighter, looking from Emma to Regina, to Emma and back to Regina. There was a tension between them, the kind people only have when they're mad about something or really upset. They didn't seem mad, exactly, but Henry couldn't quite name it.
"No, you're not in trouble," the blonde promised. Scooting closer to Henry, Emma wanted to badly to hold him. She wanted to make up for the hours after his birth when she couldn't even look at him. She wanted him to know, even if he didn't truly know, how much she cared about him and how much she loved him. "Henry," she said, "you—"
"No," Henry interrupted fiercely. "I- I don't like that. You- you only say my first name when it's something bad. I'm 'Kid.' I'm always 'Kid.'"
It was as if someone had just taken a bat and swung it at at her back. Emma sucked in a breath and fought against the stinging behind her eyes. Henry was right. She rarely used his first name, and when she did, it wasn't good. "Kid," she said, "it's… you…" She couldn't do it. She physically could not tell him. It was as though someone were stepping on her throat every time she tried to say it. She looked at Henry and all she could see was the newborn that Regina had held in her arms that day— the newborn Emma'd rejected and refused to hold. He looked just as helpless now as he did then.
"Henry, you're going to have to stay here for a little while longer," said Regina, her sentence clipped and stiff. She stroked Henry's jaw tenderly, her own soft skin made him shudder.
"Am I gonna be here during my birthday?" Henry wanted to know.
Regina nodded. "It's a possibility."
As he let the sad news digest, Henry tapped Emma's knee impatiently. He didn't understand why she was being so quiet. She was never quiet. "Why can't I go home?" He didn't like the way Emma and Regina had ambushed him. They only really spent time together at night, and even then, it was never this creepy. Even when he'd reported Alexander Booth to them, he wasn't this alarmed. Emma looked like she was going to cry. Henry had seen her shed a tear once before, but he couldn't remember why. The butterflies he felt every morning when he went to school, not knowing if Alexander would bully him or not, flitted around the pit of Henry's stomach as he waited for Emma to say something. "Mom?" he begged Regina when Emma failed him.
Sniffling softly, Regina tried to smile at Henry, but she didn't convince him. He watched the tears roll down her face and wanted to hug her to make her feel better, the way she hugged him when he was sad. But something told him a hug wouldn't help right now. "Henry, my sweetheart," Regina murmured, "do you remember the talk we had about your grandmother? You asked me why she was looked so thin and I told you she was sick." With every additional word she uttered, another part of Regina's heart broke away.
"She had cancer," Henry recalled. It didn't take long for him to put the pieces together. He may have been 10 years-old, but he was a bright 10-year-old; he wasn't in the advanced class for nothing. The butterflies in Henry's stomach vanished, as if removed by magic. Her fidgeted with the hem of his blanket and stared down at his lap. With both of the women now struggling to remain composed, Henry said, "I'm sick too… aren't I?"
A/N - I hope you enjoyed that update, folks! Just to let you know, I don't plan on this being dragged out as slowly as "Here's Looking at You, Dear." I promise, this won't be that tedious (I'm still annoyed with myself about that). Things are going to pick up in the upcoming chapters. Also, I'm not going to just let MM and David become ghosts. There will more of them coming up. Like I've mentioned in various other stories, I am not a doctor. I try to make things seem as realistic as possible (with the exception of magic babies). Thanks for the reviews! I really and truly appreciate them! Oh, and one last thing. I just wanna apologize for the time-lapse between updates. Every time I want to write a new chapter, I remember that I have homework to get done, as well as two other stories that have been begging for my attention. But, I'm halfway through the semester, so that's a plus! Anyway, I'll be back later! Stay tuned...