Just wanted to say thanks a lot again guys! I appreciate everything!

Harder, faster, longer. Back when Emma was still in the service, she'd muttered these words to herself over and over again. It was a cadence, something that could be remembered, and something that could get her through most of her hardest days. Worker harder, work faster, work longer, go, go, go. The fact that she was now chanting it to herself as she got ready for the morning ahead of her was only a further tribute to the fact that whatever had happened was getting to her head. And she needed to get rid of it as soon as possible.

After breakfast, maybe.

She'd picked up her keys and prayed that her little bug would start, that it wouldn't stall and she'd be stuck at home for however long it took for the little thing to figure out what it was doing. Luckily, it gave a short kick before it burst into life, and she sighed in relief before pulling out of the driveway. The rising sun was a nice contrast to the darkened forest, and the fact that every ray seemed to reach out and, at the very least, attempt to embrace everything in the light was always something that gave Emma a small piece of mind.

She'd attempted to make some scrambled eggs, but in the end had simply settled for some muffins, nothing fancy, nothing home made, and two cups of coffee. She supposed, on the off chance that the kid was up and understanding of what was going on, she should probably have grabbed something for him. But she doubted that would happen. She'd seen a lot of kids bounce back fast, but not within a day. Not when they were like that.

A blackened, hardened skin. Dead cells on top of each other, building, scarring, hoping to repair. Usually causing more harm in the attempt than what would have happened otherwise. Black lungs from inhaled smoke. Curled up and no longer doing their job. Oh, how many times she had seen that picture, the picture of why one should always have an ample supply of O2 and why a firefighter should never go in unarmed.

The civilian that had not a chance because they didn't have any protective measures. The things that they don't tell you in those stop, drop and roll seminars. It usually isn't the fire that kills you. It's the smoke. The things that kids don't understand. Breathing suddenly becoming more difficult, every breath seeming more necessary than the next, but always more impossible. The way your heartbeat speeds up in an attempt to get oxygen through your body. The adrenaline.

The fear.

They don't teach kids those things because oh, how could you teach a child what they don't know? And why on earth would you expose a kid to something they may never experience? What's the chance that a fire will strike and an adult won't be able to help you? Don't play with matches, kids. Stay close to an adult, kids. And if that adult freezes? Well. You're just in deep shit then, aren't you?

The firefighters will save you until they can't, until it's too late. The Paramedics will work you until they can't, until it's too late. A fire engulfs everything and there's only so much you can do. A heart stops or lungs cease to work and there's only so much you can do.

(When a heartbeat stops, Swan, it's usually for a reason. There's only so much we can do.)

Sometimes there's nothing. Sometimes all you can do is whisper to the family that it's too late and tell them to say goodbye. Sometimes they'll yell and scream and sometimes they'll cry, and sometimes, well, you won't know what to do. So you'll stand there and take it and hope for the best, hope that they'll heal when you finally leave, hope that they understand and don't try to sue you from grief. Hope that they understand that really, you did what you could.

Henry hadn't been like that. He was well within saving limits. He was in shock, there was no denying that, and no doubt his skin was full of dead cells and his lungs wouldn't be the same. The parts of his hair that had burned would grow back. There were bigger problems to worry about. Maybe he'd have COPD later in life. Maybe he'd get an infection and he wouldn't be able to fight it, or maybe he'd fight it and maybe he'd win. Maybe he would go into shock again and his system would shut down. Maybe he'd be just fine.

So many maybes. So few solid things in this world.

Pulling into the hospital parking lot, Emma thought about these things, and there was the nagging thought in the back of her mind. She didn't want to get into this. She didn't want to get involved. She didn't know what was going to happen to this kid, and if anything happened to this kid, she didn't know what would become of his mother. She might be just fine, or she might not be. She'd seen plenty dig themselves into holes over things like this.

Why on earth was Emma getting involved? She could easily skirt away, no harm done. She wasn't entangled yet. She had put a single string to attach to these people's lives, and if she snipped it clean than maybe there would be no notice.

But then, she found, she couldn't just leave. She couldn't just snip it. It was a weird feeling, for someone that had been breaking ties for most of her life, but she found that the harder she thought about pulling away and making a break before a tie was even started, the harder she felt the pull to go back.

Perhaps it was fate. Perhaps it was her conscious.

Sighing, she grabbed the tray and the coffees and started in, not even bothering to ask what room as she counted the doors and went into the same room as last night. She tried to be as silent as possible as she set down the tray.

Mills had fallen asleep sometimes throughout the night, her head close to little Henry's, her hand lingering towards his. She imagined that it, much like his chest, was blackened, and the thought made her sick. At least he was well wrapped. And at least, it seemed, he hadn't fidgeted alone last night.

Emma had done a good job of remaining silent, right up until the moment that she sat down. The chair screeched loudly when she sat, and just as soon as she had cursed herself Regina was awake, her eyes alert and aware, the look that Emma had gotten used to among firefighters. Waking up wasn't a struggle for many. It was a shot, loud and clear. Wakening, for many among her, was like a shot of adrenaline to the heart.

"Miss Swan," Regina stated, nodding in her direction. "I didn't expect to see you around so…Early."

Emma shrugged. "I have to work tonight. And I figured you'd want something to eat."

Glancing over her shoulder far too easily for this time of the morning, Regina raised a brow in the direction of the muffins.

"You're telling me you brought breakfast?"

"And coffee," Emma added awkwardly, wishing suddenly that she was standing up so she could hide her hands. "I figured you probably hadn't left his room."

"Hmmm."

"I mean, you don't have to eat it if you don't want to. It won't hurt my feelings any. It's just packaged muffins, anyways. Didn't take that long to make."

"You made muffins?" Regina asked, turning her attention back to Emma. "For a stop into a hospital?"

"They're good," Emma defended, and for a moment she thought she saw a hint of a smile on Regina's face. It disappeared as quickly as it had come.

"Well…Thank you, I suppose. And any coffee from home would have to beat what they have here."

"Yeah. That's what I figured."

They sat in silence for many ticking seconds later, the sound of a heart monitor and oxygen running the only break. Emma swore she could hear her own heart beat louder in her ears than what the monitor was telling her about Henry, and she was certain that wasn't a good thing.

"How is he?" Emma broke the silence, not sure exactly how else to proceed. She'd spent a fair amount of time in and around hospitals, much more time than she'd ever be likely to admit, but the talking to family thing had never been her forte. She'd always left that to someone else.

Asking about Henry's condition could easily be deadly waters. Especially when she could probably figure out a lot of it on her own. BP was normal for a kid his age, but that didn't mean a whole lot. Kids have a tendency to stay level and normal for a long time. Compensation, it's called. Kids do it a lot better than adults. One glance at the nozzle on the O2 tank showed her that he was running on 10 liters, which wasn't abnormal.

Still, there were things she couldn't figure out just by looking at him.

"He's recovering. I imagine he'll be going through much more in the next couple of weeks. They want to keep him sedated to keep agitation down." The frown on her face told her that Regina didn't like it one bit.

"That's a good thing though, right? So he doesn't stress himself out?"

Regina nodded, but stayed silent for another painfully long time. Emma could almost see the gears turning in Regina's eyes, and she seemed to be struggling with what to say next.

"He's never still."

That told Emma much more than she'd thought she would hear from Regina Mills. She knew how many nights she'd spent watching over younger kids while she was overseas, she knew how many nights she'd watched over new firefighters in New York. It wasn't the same. Of course it wasn't. A new coworker was not the same as a kid.

Still. In a way, she could understand. A sudden change meant bad things, and Mills had to know that. How horrible it must be, to look on and see a change in your child that you thought you'd never see, especially like this. How horrible to see a kid that moved and tossed in his sleep suddenly frozen, like a messed up version of Sleeping Beauty that could not be woken up by true lovers kiss.

How awful to not be able to do a damned thing about it.

"Tell me about him," she said without thinking about it. It was the first thing that had come through her mind, and without a filter she suddenly found that she thought that it might help.

"Excuse me?"

"Tell me about him. Like. What's his favorite sport? Or favorite movie? Just the trivial stuff."

"Why?" She could see suspicion leaking into Regina's eyes, and Emma kicked herself. To push into the lives of a place where she didn't belong must seem rather rude.

"I just…I figured it might make me understand him a little more. I don't know him at all."

While the suspicion was still there, she did slowly nod, taking her sweet time before reaching for the coffee on the counter.

"What do you want to know?"

"How old is he?"

"He's twelve." Short, sweet. To the point. Emma wondered if all of the conversation would be like this.

"Sport. What does he like to play?"

"Honestly, not much. He has a basketball hoop that he uses occasionally. But he's much more into reading."

"Favorite book?"

"I couldn't tell you anymore. He used to be very into comics. Lately, he's been more interested in retelling of old fairy tales, though god knows why."

"Like what? Wicked Witch of the West?"

"Like…Yes, I suppose. Something like that."

"Best class is English, then?"

"In fact, yes. Though he's a very good student. He excels in a great many things."

"Sounds like you have a lot to be proud of, then."

Regina hummed softly and touched his shoulder gently, as though she wanted to ease some sort of pain he wasn't showing.

"I suppose I do."