"She heard you!"

Snow barely shrugged, her eyes still glued to the enchanted mirror. The view from a decorative mirror in Emma's hallway just barely caught the back of her head, where she was curled up on the couch. It was one of four mirrors in Emma's apartment that Regina could access -- the two in the bathrooms, which she stayed away from, the one that she was currently viewing through, and one in Emma's bedroom. A vanity. Something that Emma probably never would have gotten for herself back in Storybrooke.

But then again, this Emma was different from the one they'd known.

But it was still her.

"So?" Snow mumbled, pulling Regina back out of her thoughts. "She found the pictures. Maybe she's starting to remember," she mused, voice airy and wistful.

" So , our goal is to make her remember us, not make her think she's crazy!" Even as the words left her mouth a flash of guilt surged in her chest, reminding her that she'd spoken to Emma on more than one occasion now. Denying that to Snow on pretenses that she herself had ignored was only cruel. But then again, she reasoned with herself, Snow hadn't been speaking to Emma directly. She frowned, shifting her focus. "My magic is more powerful than that. It'll take a potion to reverse it, not just some old photos in your childhood jewelry box."

Snow finally looked away from the mirror. She met Regina's gaze, her eyes sparking. "Well, we already have that piece of the puzzle. We're getting closer."

Regina folded her arms over her chest. "None of that matters if we can't get to her." She swallowed. "When I go through…it's not physically. I couldn't touch anything."

That got the other woman's attention. "You went through already? You didn't tell me!"

"Just for a few seconds. I just wanted to try."

Snow caught Regina's hand in her own. "And?"

Regina sighed, her heart fluttering in her chest. "And...she recognized me. From the photos, I assume," She added when Snow squeezed her hand tighter. "I thought for a moment…but she doesn't remember."

Snow's gaze dropped from her own, but after a moment she gave Regina's hand another squeeze and smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Well then, we'll just have to keep trying. Have you visited Henry yet?"

At that Regina pulled her hand from Snow's, avoiding her eyes. "No."

"Why not?"

She swallowed back the lump that was quickly forming in her throat. "Because," She began with a shaking breath, "With Emma it...hurts." She risked a quick glance at the other woman, who was studying her with an unreadable expression on her face. "But I can handle it. With Henry…" She shook her head. "I couldn't handle seeing him like that. Not knowing who I am."

The sympathy on Snow's face at that was unbearable, syrupy sweet in that impossibly sincere way she had, and Regina turned away. She swallowed hard when she felt the other woman's hand settle over her own.

"Regina, I understand," Snow began, voice dropped to a whisper. "I want to see Emma...but I don't know if I could handle that either," she admitted. "I don't think I'll be coming through with you."

Regina wanted to point out that she'd already told the other woman no -- too much risk to push anyone besides herself through the portal -- but that would mean both ruining the moment and admitting that she cared about Snow's wellbeing, something she tried to keep to a minimum. Instead she only nodded, eyes coming to rest on the mirror. Emma was off the couch now, leaning on the counter. Regina let out an involuntary sigh as she studied the image. Her eyes were beginning to sting and she turned away, determined to to cry in front of Snow.

Snow gave her hand a squeeze and reluctantly, Regina turned back to the other woman. She was studying her with a small, knowing smile on her lips.

"You should go through again. Talk to her. You said she recognized you, so use that to your advantage." She paused, searching Regina's gaze for something. Whatever it was, she must have found it, because she nodded. "You've found a soft spot between our worlds, so use it. Where is it, anyway?"

"A coffee shop near her apartment."

Snow snorted at that. "Well, I'm sure you'll find her there sooner than later. Get on it, Your Majesty." With that she gave the hand she'd been holding a quick pat and pushed herself up off the couch, wandering back to where the others were gathered and leaving Regina alone with her thoughts.

Emma spent the rest of the day on that couch, curled under her blanket and trying to push the thoughts of these strange new characters out of her head while the tv droned in the background. When Henry came home, she occupied herself with questions about his day and cooking dinner. She called another early night, and now she was curled beneath her covers, the jewelry box hanging open beside her on the sheets. She ran her fingers over the beading on the top -- real jewels, she was now convinced, though she had no idea why. The photos were scattered around her.

The one of Regina and Henry and the wine was laid closest to her.

It drew her in for so many reasons. Regina herself, with the magnetic smile and the crinkle of her nose as she laughed. Her deep brown eyes and contrasting makeup; the shape of her lips accented by red lipstick. The way her cheeks flushed with the heat of the wine.

But then, there was Henry. He seemed so...comfortable.

He'd always been a hugger, so the other woman's hand on his arm didn't surprise Emma, but there was something in his eyes that said there was nowhere else he'd rather be.

And it bothered Emma that she didn't know why.

She was certain that she'd never met any of the people in the photos. She was absolutely certain she'd never had a fling with a beautiful brunette who wore heels and tailored pantsuits. She'd remember that.

The voices didn't return that evening -- not something that Emma ever thought she'd be worried about -- and despite the fact that hearing them was worrying, she felt a loss at their absence. Yes, they were terrifying, but her voice, Regina's voice, was also exhilarating.

Emma pulled the covers over her head without turning out the lights. She closed her eyes, finding herself trying to recall the feeling of soft lips on the back of her neck, of I love you whispered in her ear. She faded to sleep trying to recreate the memory from the brief echo she'd experienced the night before, but it wasn't quite the same. An echo of an echo. Though she was sure she had never had it in the first place, she found herself aching for the real thing. Just before she drifted off, she heard a faint whisper from the other side of the bed once more.

I miss you too.

"Henry, we're having a mother son day. I called you out from school." Emma leaned on the frame of her son's door, one hand on the knob as she cracked it. His alarm was blaring from within, and she heard him groan. He'd been a morning person as a child, she recalled, but that had all changed with puberty. When he was six, he'd wake her at five a.m. every morning just to ask cartoons, and he'd...she paused. The memory faltered for a moment, and she shook her head to clear it. He'd sit at the foot of her bed, watching them until she managed to drag herself awake. That was it. Right? "Can you turn that off?"

His only reply was another groan, but the beeping ceased, and Emma took it as confirmation enough that he'd heard her. "Sleep in. I'll wake you up in a few hours," she called before clicking the door closed again. She shuffled back into her own bedroom, peering at the rumpled sheets. She'd slept with the lights on, surrounded by the strange pictures. It was a miracle that she hadn't rolled over on any and bent them during the night. Sighing, she moved to clear them off. She'd tossed and turned again all night.

Regina -- or whoever she was -- apparently only deemed it fit to speak to her when she was drifting to sleep. It was simultaneously comforting and incredibly irritating. The moment she heard the voice she was awoken, and when she did manage to get back to sleep it was fitful, waking her every hour before she entered yet another strange dream filled with magic of all things. Regina featured prominently in them, reading from an ancient leatherbound book and telling her not to touch anything. At one point, she was pretty sure she saw a fairy.

Emma shook her head to clear it. She was going to spend a nice day with Henry. She was going to buy him a frappucino, and then they were going to go for a walk, and maybe spend some time at the park. She was not going to think of Regina, or spend too much time dwelling on the fact that she now thought of people she'd never met as being as real as herself or Henry or Laura from work, despite the fact that she only had a name for one of them so far. And she was definitely not going to think about the fact that she'd called out of work for two days in a row so that she could piece together impossible theories. Theories like maybe she and Henry had met all those people on their road trip through Maine. Maybe she just didn't remember. Maybe she really did have the flu, and it was all making her delusional. Maybe the photos were part of some elaborate prank her son was playing on her. Maybe he'd hypnotized her and hidden memories were finally coming to the surface. He did, after all, have that phase where he was obsessed with magic tricks. Maybe she'd been kidnapped by aliens. Maybe she was just crazy.

Or maybe there really was a piece of herself missing. Maybe, when she went to sleep at night feeling in her core that there should be more somehow -- that she had, at one point, had so much, and lost it -- was there for a reason. It had been there long before the voices. Long before the photographs.

"Morning, mom. How is it that I'm dressed before you?"

She spun around to find her son, fully dressed and ready for the day, opening up the pantry in search of breakfast. She glanced at the clock and saw that it had been nearly a half hour since she'd woken him up, and she'd spent most of it ruminating on her...condition.

Maybe she really was just going crazy.

But she laughs, for Henry's sake. "I'm getting dressed and then we're getting coffee. I need coffee. I'm getting coffee," She corrects herself as Henry perks up, giving his best impression of the excited ten year old he'd once been, heart brimming with hope as he showed Emma his castle --

She paused in the doorway. Castle?

"You can have a frappucino," She conceded, as if she hadn't planned on buying him one already, and he accepts it. "Food first," She added, and he waved the box of cereal he'd selected in the air before Emma turned towards her bedroom.

Coffee. Coffee would help.

The shop was just as crowded as she'd expected for eight in the morning on a Wednesday. This was the same coffee shop she'd been to with Laura the other day, and part of her was hoping for another weird occurrence. She was taking a big risk coming here when she'd called off for the day and she knew this place was frequented by her coworkers, and there were certainly other coffee shops she could have taken Henry to, but she felt compelled to come back. She'd sent Henry to stand in line and order for them while she scoped out a seat for them. She'd found one tucked into the far corner and collapsed into it, keeping a hawk's eye on her son as he fiddled with his cell phone. Probably texting some girl, she mused, anger at the thought nothing more than performative. Her kid was growing up.

Her own hands reached for her phone and before she knew it, she'd pulled up a picture of the jewelry box that she'd taken. She still wasn't sure why she'd taken the picture -- to prove that it was real, tangible, maybe. Maybe so she could show it to someone else, maybe Laura, just to confirm that she wasn't imagining that too. As she studied the embroidery for the millionth time that same unexplainable nostalgia washed over her, and she frowned at the screen before locking it. The image faded and she was left with nothing but her own reflection, brow furrowed in frustration.

"It was your mother's."

Emma's breath caught in her throat at the sound of the voice. It was her voice -- her voice, Regina's -- and she hadn't imagined it this time. It sounded so real. "I don't have a mother," she said as she turned, more out of habit at this point than anything, but there was nothing behind the words. None of the usual emotion. Instead the words wavered, the usual guarded pain replaced by anticipation and fear and excitement all at once.

And there she was, looking just as beautiful as she had in the photos. As she had several days before, in this same coffee shop.

Her hair was different this time, left in loose curls that were pulled back to the nape of her neck, and her makeup was softer this time. She was dressed plainly in comparison to the photos, in form fitting jeans and a dark blue blouse that was casual but still nice.

"...Regina?" Emma breathed, and the other woman's face split into a grin. The small scar on her upper lip caught the light with the movement. That was more than enough confirmation that that was in fact her name -- though Emma hadn't really needed it. She'd felt it in her core the first time she'd heard it, whispered by a still unfamiliar voice, one that lingered in her mind in an entirely different way than Regina's. Emma found herself drinking in every feature of Regina's face, studying features that hadn't quite come through in the photographs. The sharpness of her cheekbones, the mole dotting the skin next to her lips.

And her eyes. God, those eyes.

They were trained on Emma, dark and brimming with emotions that she couldn't begin to guess at, and when Emma met her gaze, tears threatened to run. Regina gave a soft, embarrassed smile before blinking them away.

"I told myself I wouldn't do that," She said by way of apology, not that one was necessary, and cleared her throat. Emma's own chest was tightening. "The jewelry box, I mean, of course. It was your mother's. She thought it would be a good way to maintain a connection." She shook her head. "I told her you wouldn't recognize it, but even I have to admit it's pretty eye-catching. It wasn't a bad idea."

"Who are you?" She had a million questions pressing at her lips, but that was the only one she could manage. She regretted it the moment the words were out, shocked at how much it hurt her when the other woman's face fell. Her heart clenched at the way Regina's upper lip wobbled as the smile, however sad it had been, dropped. How the soft crinkles around her eyes smoothed out as her whole expression shifted.

"You don't remember me, then." It was a statement, not a question, and Emma didn't reply. Regina shifted, fiddling with her hands like she didn't know what to do with them. Eventually she clasped them in front of herself. "But you remember my name."

"I...heard somebody say it." Emma's brow furrowed. "I remember your voice. I've been remembering...other things," She offered, and the blush that crept up Regina's face was satisfying. "So who are you?"

"That's a complicated question to answer. We were...friends. Something like that."

Emma cocked her head to the side, a quiet yet distinct I love you echoing in her memory. "Something like that, huh?" She repeated, and the blush on Regina's face intensified. She waited, but the brunette didn't say anything more. "So you're here, again. And I'm talking to you. So can you tell me where the photos came from? Because I have to say, they've been freaking me out."

She waited expectantly and it was only when the other woman didn't reply that she realized her eyes were no longer trained on Emma. Instead they were locked at something across the room. The pink had disappeared from Regina's face and now she looked pale, and Emma caught a glimpse of dark circles under her wide brown eyes, though they were only visible for a second. Her jaw had fallen open just a bit and her hands were no longer clasped. Instead she'd brought her arms up to her chest as if to protect herself, one hand clasped around the locket hanging from her neck and the other wrapped over her stomach.

Henry.

A knot rose in Emma's throat as she realized what captured Regina's gaze. Henry was hovering by the pickup counter now, and as they watched he tucked his phone back in his pocket and crossed his arms. He looked older than he actually was.

"He's grown," Regina breathed, voice cracking. "He's so tall now."

"How do you know my son?" Emma asked, whipping around in her seat to face Regina once more. There was no trace of that smile, no more of that warmth in her deep brown eyes.

She only shook her head, grasping tighter at her necklace. "I'm sorry. I thought I could do this...I...he should be in school. I didn't think he'd be here." Regina squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, the vein in her forehead making an appearance as her hands began to shake. When she opened them again she met Emma's gaze. "I'm sorry," was all she said, and then she disappeared in a puff of purple smoke.

Emma was left staring at the empty space where Regina had been, hardly believing her eyes.

"Who was that?"

Henry's voice startled her out of her thoughts and she jumped, deja vu washing over her.

Practically disappeared, Laura's voice echoed in her mind. You must have scared her off.

Well, that explains that.

Sort of.

"Hey, you okay, mom?" Henry set down her coffee in front of her and she nodded. "Good. Who was that? She looked like the lady from that picture you showed me yesterday." His brow furrowed in a manner that was remarkably like her own, but when he looked at her the expressive wrinkling of his eyes mirrored Regina's more. Emma felt her heart jump into her throat. "She looked...familiar, but I can't put my finger on it."

Emma swallowed. "She was...just somebody who I was talking to. That's all."

Henry eyed her in that way he had when he knew he was being lied to, but he didn't push the issue. Instead he opted to push the straw into his frappucino and slurp, shrugging. "Okay."

Sighing, she took a much too large sip of her much too hot coffee. "Alright, kid. Mother son day. What do you want to do first?" She sat back as he started listing suggestions. This was going to be a good day. As her son spoke, she felt the coil in her unwinding and she began to relax at the thought of some quality time spent with him.

Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that somehow, for some reason, Regina should be there with them.