A/N - Sorry this is so late! Christmas got in the way. But I'm back now and I hope you all had a happy holiday. Once again, I'm going to have to ask you to bear with me and trust that I have a very specific plan I'm following and you will get your happy ending in the end. Arrows being pulled back and all that. I love you all, and as always, thank you so much for reading and having patience with me!

28. Hard Decisions

It was snowing again when Emma woke up.

Her room in the hospital was on the second floor, but the deep-set window next to the bed gave a pretty perfect view of the car park – ugly black gravel and parking meters and not much else. It was a relentless, grey, sleet-like snow today, drifting down over the parking lot and melting as it touched the concrete. Beyond the glass, slushy ice piled up on the sill. Above the empty cars and scattered hospital buildings, the wide winter sky was turning the colour of bile.

She sighed.

Time seemed to stop in the hospital, despite whatever the clock on the wall said. Emma had been in there for five days, but it might as well have been five months. Her sleeping pattern was messed up, she was tired and she was bored out of her mind. There was nothing for her to do but watch infomercials on the shitty hospital TV... And think.

The latter was definitely worse.

For the past six months she'd been evolving: constantly changing and unfolding like a caterpillar in a chrysalis. It was a shitty metaphor but it was the best she could come up with, submerged in the timeless grey bubble of the hospital. Anyway, what Emma had eventually figured out was that she hadn't quite come out yet.

Sure, she'd grown. She'd grown a hell of a lot. But she wasn't... She didn't really know how to put it in words, but she wasn't whole. Not all the time, not on her own. Not yet.

And she was on her own a lot in that hospital.

Her family came and went, August's shifts were better than the rest, Ruby stopped by with flowers and a card at some point, but mostly Emma was pretty alone with her thoughts.

It reminded her of how she'd been before Regina had barged into her life. Just sitting, all day, every day, stewing in self-pity, cutting out every single person who tried to do her right. The monotonous emptiness of the days in the hospital were the same as they were back then: except they were also the complete opposite. Now she was firmly in her chrysalis. Now she and her parents were... Getting somewhere. And of course, now there was Regina.

Regina.

Regina, who had left early the morning after she'd been rushed in, to see Henry and make sure he got to school alright. Regina, who came back an hour later with a lasagne and a pile of audiobooks. She left again in the evening to put Henry to bed, but came back again for the night shift despite Emma's protests. Apparently her friend Kathryn was babysitting. Still...

Emma couldn't help but feel awful about the whole thing. Ever since that first day, hearing her talking to Henry so softly and sadly in the middle of the night... The bottom line was, somewhere out there, that kid had needed his mom and his mom wasn't there. And for what?

God, she didn't know. Maybe it was dumb. But the whole time she was lying there, doing nothing, Cora's voice kept floating back to her, echoing all these doubts she didn't even know she still had. What's best for her right now is to be with her son. Look after him. Healing from the last ten years. I fail to see how you fit into the picture.

Regina doesn't. Emma had told her, back at the lake house, when she had had to be the strong one for once. But maybe that was the problem. Regina was to good and too selfless to realise, but Emma could finally see. See what, she wasn't sure yet. All she knew was that it fucking hurt.

Whatever, Emma thought, staring out at the dull grey snow without seeing any of it. Being alone with her thoughts was definitely the worst part.

-0-

Regina pulled up at her usual car park spot in the hospital ten minutes later than usual on the fifth day.

She sighed as she pulled out her phone and checked the time. She said she'd be in on time for lunch – Emma hated the dry, undercooked meals the hospital cooked so she'd taken to bringing in an extra portion of whatever she'd made Henry the night before. Well. It can't be helped. Kathryn had an emergency with her dog and couldn't check in til ten minutes ago.

Kathryn had been watching Henry almost every day this week. Though she was grateful, Regina couldn't help but feel bad about using her friend like this, no matter how much Kathryn assured her it was no trouble. Still, it meant she could be with Emma when she needed her.

Regina tucked her phone back into her bag and killed the engine, opening the door and stepping out onto the gravel parking lot. Outside, the air was thin and wintry, full of the wet grey snow that had fallen for hours this morning. The heels of her boots crunched in the black ice.

Huffing a breath of pale mist, she closed the car door and locked up behind her, shivering slightly inside her trench coat. Winter in Storybrooke, it seemed, was a dragging affair. Regina pulled her coat tighter and hurried down through the revolving doors into the hospital reception, where she was hit by the sharp antiseptic smell of medication and cleaning fluid. Her nose wrinkled.

She nodded briefly when the receptionist said hello before starting the familiar trek up to Emma's ward – by the third day, navigating the fluorescent white maze of hospital corridors and stairwells had become little more than muscle memory.

Upstairs, she exchanged an awkward glance with the ward receptionist, who'd been letting her in and out without question since Mary Margaret had defended her that first night, and made her way down the corridor to Emma's room. Her heels clicked rhytmically against the polished floor. Regina hefted her bag onto her shoulder and pushed through the doorway – inside, the curtains were thrown back, flooding the clinical little room with bright winter light.

"Morning," Regina called, lifting her bag up onto the chair and flipping her windblown hair out of her face.

Emma glanced up at her, green eyes shadowed and tired looking. She was sitting upright under the tight white sheets, adjustable bed at it's highest level. "Hey." Her voice was rough and heavy, too. Regina hoped she was sleeping alright – she knew the machines by the bed were distracting. Maybe should could catch one of the nurses and speak to them about it.

"You doing okay today?" Regina asked, studying the blonde as she stripped off her coat.

"Yeah, I guess." Emma allowed, brows slightly furrowed. She looked distracted. "Just wish I could get out of here, you know? All this hospital stuff's kinda driving me crazy."

"I know," Regina sympathized, leaning over to brush back stray blonde hair and give her a quick greeting kiss on the forehead – lips were strictly off limits unless she wanted to being in the next ward on, according to Doctor Whale. "I know, dear, but it won't be much longer now."

"Yeah," Emma half shook her head, casting a glance out the window and wincing in the glaring sunlight. The hospital bed was in upright position, so she was sitting, blonde hair caught in the neck of her shirt. There was clearly something else on her mind as she studied Regina – lips pinched into a thin line, brow furrowed, green eyes tinged with an oddly new kind of sadness, and when she spoke her voice was strangely heavy. It had been for days. Regina had been putting it down to staying in the hospital so long but now... She wasn't so sure.

Emma lifted her head, finally meeting Regina's eyes. "Distract me. News?"

"You've got two new cards." Regina informed her, glad of the distraction herself. She fished the first – a generic get well soon – out of her bag and set it neatly on the bedside table. "This one's from Kathryn. And this," Regina said, rifling through the her handbag until she finally came up with the card she was after. She bit back a smile - she was counting on this one to cheer the blonde up a little. "Is from Henry."

Emma stared up suddenly at the mention of Regina's son, green eyes wide. That put a soft smile on Regina's face – she held out the card so Emma could see, taking a seat softly on the side of the hospital bed beside her. The bedframe creaked as she eased herself back beside Emma.

"See," Regina watched as the blonde's eyes tracked over the scruffy drawing, face softening. "It's the three of us. There's you, and me, and Henry."

Emma's green eyes were wide and shining, lips slightly parted. Regina could see the muscles of her throat bob and contract as she swallowed. Clearly, the homemade card was as touching to her as it had been to Regina when her son had presented it proudly to her the night before.

It was done on a piece of folded card pilfered from the brunette's stationary drawer: a crammed get well soon Emma! was written in squashed up handwriting across the top, over a careful drawing of a figure in a chair with a mass of yellow curls, beside one with shorter dark hair, clearly meant to be Regina. Henry was in the middle. All three wore big curvy smiles.

Emma felt something buried deep inside her chest just break.

It was written clearly all over her face, whatever it was. Her face was downcast, green eyes wide and glistening, never leaving the childish card for a second. The light from the window played over her pale skin and found flecks of gold in her blonde hair.

"Emma?" Regina's soft voice pulled her from her thoughts. "Are you okay, what's wrong?"

"Fine," Emma breathed in, glancing up at the ceiling for a second to try and hold back any more tears and spare them both the awkwardness. "I just..." She summoned the courage to meet her eyes. "Tell him thanks, okay?"

"Tell him yourself," Regina rebuked, with an uncertain smile. She couldn't help but feel confused. The energy between them, buzzing all around Emma, was just ever so slightly different today. It was throwing her off. "I'm sure he'll be happy to pay a visit if you're in any longer."

Truth be told, he was dying to see Emma. Every day since she'd been in hospital he'd been desperate to know what was going on, and Regina had tried to explain as best she could – she'd been doing a lot of Googling. He was so worried that first night he'd woken up at two am after a nightmare. Thankfully Kathryn had the sense to call her and she talked him through it.

"Sure," Emma said, nodding unconvincingly. Her voice was very soft and heavy. "But just for now, okay? Just for now tell him... I'm gonna treasure this forever."

Regina nodded, brows knitting together slightly. "Emma..."

"Good morning Miss Swan," Both women turned their heads towards the door, which Doctor Whale was closing behind him. Regina tried to restrain a disappointed sigh. That man had a habit of turning up at the worst possible moment. Whale paused, taking her in for a second. "Regina."

"Morning," Emma muttered, still not entirely herself.

Whale nodded, ignoring the way Regina blanked his arrival. There was a dark stain on one side of his white coat, and he held a grey card file under his arm, half-filled with documents. He looked between the two of them, fake smile plastered on. "How are we feeling today?"

"Okay, I guess," Emma allowed, looking up at him with a distracted, sunlit face. "The pressure in my chest's mostly gone."

"Excellent," Whale flashed another dazzlingly processed smile. "And you'll be pleased to know your temperature levelled out last night, so that's pretty much back to normal."

Emma didn't appear to be listening too intently. "Great."

"So when do you think she'll be able to go home?" Regina asked, standing up again with a creak of the bedframe. She brushed down her trousers, turning on her heels to face the doctor down. Questioning the hospital staff like this did make her feel better, in a strange way – more in control. Or it usually did, when she wasn't so... Preoccupied. She shot a glance at Emma. "Soon?"

"Soon enough." Whale nodded. "We'll try and get in a suction cleaning before then. And we think it's best to go at least another night. Things like this don't tend to go quietly, so to speak. Not in people with the level of Emma's condition."

"Great." Emma muttered again, tongue darting out to wet her lips. She kept glancing around, gaze landing everywhere but Regina's eyes.

"So you can't give us a date?" Regina demanded, folding her arms tight over her chest. God, there must be something good for her to hear

"Two to three more days, I'd say, so long as nothing drastic happens." Whale estimated, too casually for Regina's liking. "But while you're here, maybe we could discuss options for long-term prevention? It's important after a scare like this to make sure nothing happens again." He paused. "Or maybe we should wait for the mayor –"

"She'll be in soon, and my dad." Emma put in listlessly.

"Well give me a shout and I'll put my head in then." Whale said. He took a pause to shoot a long, thoughtful look toward Emma, brows furrowed. "I think it would be good to discuss things with them."

"What things?" Regina demanded, shifting on her feet and looking up to face the doctor squarely in the eye. Since the first night, she'd felt a lot better about the whole thing – as better as possible, she supposed. Mary Margaret had helped, and so had the long days sitting on the end of the hospital bed beside Emma's feet, reading aloud to her or just talking. The sense of utter helplessness and loss she'd felt then had faded somewhat, but it was still there, running like white noise in the back of her mind. She stared at Whale. "I think it's only fair I know what's going on."

"I was just going to ask if she'd ever considered installing a ventilator at home." Whale explained. "If something like this were to occur again it would be helpful, certainly. And especially in winter it might provide a good daily help. Just on the off chance –"

"So now I can't even breathe on my own?"

Regina turned around sharply at the sound of Emma's harsh voice, wishing there was something she could do. Emma was sitting up staring at them, jaw tight, green eyes turned skyward. Clearly, she was itching to say something or do something herself or move – Regina could recognise her tells easily now. The sunlight cascaded in from the window and over her pale face, glowing off her profile and turning her hair to gold.

"Emma," Regina bit her lip, turning back to Whale with the pain in her chest growing. "Whale, could you give us a minute?"

"Of course," The doctor nodded, glancing between them before ducking out the door and closing it tight behind him.

The moment the doorknob clicked Regina spun hopelessly back towards Emma, fingertips resting on the plastic bed rail. She wished there was something she could do - already, just looking at the resignation and pain written across the hard lines of her girlfriend's face was sending her drifting again, back into that godawful feeling of helplessness. Regina swallowed hard around the sudden lump in her throat, lifting a hand to brush back a stray strand of dark hair.

"Emma, seriously." She breathed in, brown eyes seeking Emma's green. "What's going on?"

Emma didn't miss a beat. "Nothing."

"Emma," Regina sighed, shaking her head and taking a moment to collect herself before meeting her eyes again. She breathed in and tried to work the staticky discomfort and the frustration and the damned uselessness down from her throat into the pit of her stomach, where she could at least get it into a knot and work around it.

That done, temporarily at least, Regina made herself lift her gaze back to Emma's - it hit her like a blow to the chest.

Emma was looking at her in a detached sort of way, green eyes wide and shining. She looked almost... tearful, Regina realised, hand instinctively going to her stomach. She recognised that look, she realised, quite suddenly. The tight clench of her jaw, the defensiveness buzzing around her skin, the look in her eyes.

It was the same look she'd had that first month of Regina's employment when she'd talked about hating pity and why she stayed away from people. It was same look she'd had when she shouted at her after their moment with the leftover apple pie. The same look she'd had after her panic attack at the resturant, when she asked Regina to help her touch her.

Oh god.

"Talk to me." Regina said, moving closer to the hospital bed. Her voice sounded softer than she expected.

Don't do this again.

"Nothing to say, 'Gina." Emma repeated, bright plastic smile appearing on her lips. If Regina didn't know her better than she knew herself, it might have fooled her. The blonde raised an eyebrow and tilted her head, giving her a look. "Really." She swallowed - her voice was strained. "I'm fine."

Despite the weight inside her chest, and the wariness crawling over her skin like a film, Regina forced herself to push it back. Mary Margaret and David would be here soon, and it wasn't the time. After all, Emma always opened up to her in the end. It just took space, security and her own time.

She would, Regina told herself. She always did.

-0-

The minute the heavy door clicked shut behind Regina, Emma's heart collapsed into a sigh her shoulders couldn't quite manage.

The hours before Regina had to get back for Henry seemed to drag on like never before today. It was weird - usually, whatever time she spent with the brunette flew by in an instant, and she was still left wanting more. But since her... Whatever it was, it just made her feel... Guilty.

From the moment she'd walked through the door, it had been building in Emma like a sickness, all this thick, heavy guilt, weighing on her heart and settling in her stomach. It buzzed through her head the whole time Regina had been talking with her and Doctor Whale, and after he'd gone and Regina had sat with her and... She just couldn't stop thinking how wrong it felt, how wrong everything felt since hearing her with Henry that first night.

Emma released a long breath, looking out the frost-edged window. Winter wind wound through the trees outside, making branches rattle. The smell of her perfume still lingered in the air.

She loved Regina, she did. She loved her so much that sometimes she thought she could physically feel it, not just in the muscle and nerve endings that still worked like they should, but everywhere, inside and out. She loved her so much sometimes she thought it didn't even matter she couldn't move or feel the way everybody else did, because she could feel Regina and that was more than enough. That was special, perfect, and entirely hers. That was better.

But if there was one thing Emma knew for sure by now, it was that love wasn't always easy. In fact, she thought, it was more often the opposite.

She just wished there was something she could do. Some way she could give Regina and Henry the time and space they needed together and somehow still have them both in her life. But if things like this - this hard hospital mattress underneath her, propping her up; these fluorescent lights glaring down on her; the medication pumping through her veins; the machine hooked up next to her in case she started suffocating on nothing - were going to keep happening, that just wasn't an option. There was a reason spending time with her used to be Regina's job. Now it wasn't... Emma was excess. Taking up more than her fair share.

Emma sighed, turning to look at the handmade card perched on the plastic table by her bedside. Beside it, the vase of little white flowers Ruby and Dorothy had brought her were starting to die, dropping shrivelled petals over the hospital floor. She imagined Henry sprawled out over his space rug on his bedroom floor, concentrating hard on getting it just right, felt-tip all over his skinny fingers, and couldn't help the lump in her throat. I'm gonna miss that kid.

God I'm a mess.

She couldn't have said how long it was until she was pulled from her thoughts by the sudden click of the doorknob, the creek of it opening. Emma breathed in sharply and blinked a couple of times, forcing herself back into the world outside her head.

"Hi, Emma," Mary Margaret breathed, bustling through the door with a coffee cup and today's newspaper under her arm. She looked tired, and her dark hair was sticking up at the back.

"Hi," Emma watched her come in, setting the coffee down on the bed tray and folding up yesterday's paper. The door swung shut behind her, creaking slightly. She peered behind her mom, brows drawing into a slight frown. "Where's dad?"

"He had to go to the station, there was some hoo-ha with that shoplifting case –" Her mom shook her head distractedly, thin eyebrows furrowed. "I don't know, but he said to tell you he'd be here as soon as he could."

"It's fine," Emma tried to tell her, for the millionth time, as Mary Margaret settled into the blue armchair beside the bed, taking off the pastel-blue pea coat David had bought her for their anniversary last year. Emma lifted a brow, trying to catch her eye. "You know, you guys don't have to come in here all the time. Doctors said I'd be out in a couple of days, tops."

Mary Margaret's head shot up at that – her green eyes were wide and shining with winter light, almost wounded. "We're you're parents Emma," She said, folding the newspaper and setting it aside. She glanced down at her lap and her hands for a second before meeting her daughters eyes. "It's not a matter of have to it's a matter of need to. We want to, Emma."

Emma didn't really know what to say to that.

An awkward silence settled over the both of them. The two of them had rarely been left alone together since... Everything. Not like this, not with nothing to talk about. It was fine when David was around but without him there was just nothing to say. What could she say?

What could she say when she knew it was Mary Margaret who always wanted a kid. It was Mary Margaret who'd been the driving force in the whole adoption process. Mary Margaret who'd tried uncertainly for two years to get Emma comfortable calling her mom, Mary Margaret who bought her shoes and taught her algebra, Mary Margaret who spent all night Googling LGBT alliance websites when she found out Emma was gay because she wanted to know how to be supportive 'properly'.

Mary Margaret, who'd fallen to the ground when she found out about the accident. Who had spiralled into depression, and doubt, and god knows what else after. Who she'd pushed away. Ignored. Lashed out at. God.

What did you say, after all that? What could you possibly say?

Emma ducked her head awkwardly against the cushions, shooting a glance out the window as if the trees and the empty grey sky might somehow help her.

"I'm sorry," Emma said, without thinking.

Mary Margaret looked up from the ground, green eyes wide and searching in her pale face. "Sorry?" She seemed lost. "For what?"

"For fucking everything up."

And suddenly, she was breathing in and when she breathed out it all just came rushing out with the breath into the open air like so much dust spilling from an old cupboard or an avalanche – some immense force of nature she couldn't stop if she tried. It was like there was too much remorse inside of her, too much sorry for one person to hold. The new was pushing out the old.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you, and pushing you away and making you think or feel like you weren't good enough or you'd done something wrong when all you've done is do the best you could," Emma swallowed hard, fighting back tears for the second time in three hours. Jesus Christ. "Sorry I was an asshole."

Mary Margaret was staring at her in shock, big eyes glistening in the winter sun. When she spoke, her voice was small and futile. "Emma..."

"No, Mom!" Emma protested, shaking her head as much as she could. "Don't you dare try and defend me in all this because I was an asshole. I was a massive, awful, inexcusable asshole." She paused, swallowed, breathed in. "You know why?" She couldn't even stop long enough to let the older woman answer - it all kept coming, blood from a wound. "I was an asshole because it hurt me to look at you and see you in pain. And it hurt because I know it was all because of me. And none of that was anybody's fault but if I had just told you that, and smiled, and let you do shit for me without tearing you apart maybe we wouldn't be sitting here with nothing to say now."

Emma exhaled, breath coming short and shallow like she'd just run a marathon. For her, she practically had. She swallowed, slumping back against the cushions of her bed, exhaling. Despite the tears burning behind her eyes, she felt suddenly somehow lighter, more weightless, as if all the crap she'd kept bottled up inside of her for so long had turned to helium and now she was nothing but empty skin.

For a long time, the sterile white hospital room fell into stillness. Not quiet - the machine was still beeping, the shoes in the corridor were still squeaking, the lights were still buzzing, the clock was still ticking, the computer down the hall was still tapping, the trees were still rattling against the window. But stillness. A charged, open sort of stillness as Emma's honesty hung in the air between them, floated down and settled over them like dust.

And then, softly and surely, Mary Margaret started to speak.

"So you handled everything wrong." Mary Margaret said. Her voice was tremulous and thick with emotion, but light and certain. "So did I. It takes two people to miscommunicate."

Emma looked up across the room at her and nodded. Mary Margaret was sitting upright in the blue vinyl chair, hands buried in the folds of the coat in her lap, tears shining in her eyes. She heard her breath in. "I can't tell you how much it means to me... You opening up like that, like this – and I think you should know that I'm sorry too. More sorry than you could ever know." She paused, breathing in again and closing her eyes a moment. When they opened, they were right on Emma. "I love you. So much."

"I love you too." Emma said, eyes downcast for a second. Her voice was small and hoarse, unfamiliar in her own ears.

"Maybe now... We can try and move forward." Mary Margaret asked hopefully. She took a long pause. "Maybe we can be okay, again."

"I'd like that." Emma managed, small smile appearing on her lips despite the lump in her throat.

"And for the record, Emma," Mary Margaret breathed, green eyes full of tears. "There's not nothing to say." She leaned suddenly forward in the bedside chair and reached out, taking Emma's limp hand between her own and squeezing tight. "There's everything."

"Yeah," Emma spoke softly around the lump in her throat. I still have something. "I guess there is. And Mom?" Emma tried, breath catching in her throat a little as she tried to find the right words. Mary Margaret turned back to her, eyes wide and expectant. Emma swallowed. "Thanks, I guess. For... putting up with me."

"Emma," Mary Margaret gave her a look, eyebrows raised.

"No," Emma pushed on. "The truth is I've been an asshole to you. Like I said, after the accident I shut you out and pushed you away more than anyone, just because it was too hard for me to see your pain and let you see mine. A lot of moms wouldn't have dealt with that as gracefully as you. You're strong. That's probably the most selfish thing I could have done and..." Emma stopped short, cogs finally all clicking into place. She breathed in and nodded. "I think I'm done being selfish."

And that was it.

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, and her eyes landed on the card Henry made her, she knew. That drawing, that was how she knew she'd done the right thing. She meant what she'd said. She would treasure it forever, because it would be a reminder of a time she'd done the right thing, even when it damn near broke what was left of her heart to go through with it. She couldn't do to Regina what she did to Mary Margaret. She wouldn't.

Regina came back to the hospital and stayed again that night, no matter how much Emma tried to convince them both she didn't need her - it was nice though, in a way, nicer than the overwhelming, drowning guilt that had tainted their morning together. Talking with her mom had been cathartic, and now she knew what she was going to do, well...

Emma woke up several times in the night – she could never sleep in hospital beds. Not without anaesthetic, anyway. The last time, when she blearily opened her eyes, it took a few blinks for them to adjust to the darkness. Dim grey moonlight washed through the curtains, striking the metallic edges of the machines around the bed and the curling wires. One of them was still beeping, a little blue light flashing on and off, on and off, on and off, but it was the nearest thing to silence Storybrooke's only hospital seemed to get. She could faintly see Regina curled up in the chair by the bed under a thin hospital blanket. Her knees were tucked up to her chest, boots sitting empty at the foot of the chair.

Emma exhaled slowly into her scratchy pillow. In the darkness, she could just make out the way her hair had fallen in her face as she slept, the way it had in the cabin after their first night together, when everything was warm and magic. Now the hospital bed was cold, and inside of her, the part that knew she had to do the right thing was colder still. She could hear Regina breathing, so gently, in and out. She tried to regulate her own breaths so they'd go in time.

The decision was made. She'd talk to her about it... But not til morning. She looked so beautiful asleep, and after all, they'd always given themselves the night.