As always, thanks a lot! If any of you have any questions, comments, etc. don't hesitate to ask! I honestly love any feedback or clarifying anything.
As a lot of you guys know, I put a lot of my personal background into these stories. So just for reference-Any mentions of NY Fire/EMS mainly comes from a Medic partner I have here. He was a fresh EMT when 9/11 occurred, and suffers from a lot of the same problems that Regina has health wise. Most of the standing orders/medication/etc. I reference in here comes directly from our local protocol. (Not gonna lie, some of our protocol is a bit jacked and out of standard, so it's not necessarily what you're going to find in most big cities.) Most mentions of Emma's soldiering days come from my family experience. I come from a long line of Marines, my cousins side comes from a long line of Soldiers, and a short list comes from Airmen.
Basically, just wanted to give you guys a brief overview of where I'm coming from, why some things are written the way they are, etc. No excuses, of course.
As always, enjoy the story!
I'd never ask you cuz deep down I'm certain I know what you'd say…
Emma hadn't been totally wrong.
Once upon a time, long ago, this place had been a place of worship. Perhaps not as much of a place of worship as the flat in New York had been. But every once in a while, when Daniel would come home exhausted, this had been their one true home, this had been their place of religious worship. Of each other, of their own safety.
Years ago.
It wasn't that place anymore, of course. She had changed almost everything, altered it. The bed was not their bed, the pictures on the wall no longer their framework, their proof of existence, their proof of love. No. This place was not what it had been. And despite the hesitation, despite her telling Emma to go, it had had little to do with the fact that this place had once been hers and Daniels. It was no longer that place, after all. It had been to long. This was simply the ruins of that place.
She regretted telling Emma to go after she heard the door shut, so softly, as though she didn't want to disturb. There was no taking it back, of course, no way of calling and telling her to come, that she could stay. And Regina wasn't so sure that she wanted that.
She just hadn't wanted Emma to misunderstand.
The warmth in her chest was hard to fight off, and eventually she gave up in trying, just letting it settle there. Letting it rest. Te warmth was rarely there anymore, only ever present when she saw Henry. And even that was a different kind of warmth. Regina wasn't sure how to identify this.
She knew she didn't want it. But she also knew that she didn't want it to go away.
It was a hard line to balance on.
She pushed herself up, forcing herself to get dressed while trying not to think about why they had both woken up fairly unclothed. She could kid herself all she wanted. Even if what Emma had thought had happened hadn't, it didn't really matter in the end. Because there was still some lingering intimacy in the way they had woken up, in the fact that the two of them hadn't been unwilling, even with the effects of the drink on their system.
This is nothing…
Oh, but it was. Of course it was. Every movement she'd made, she'd made to make Emma's eyes slide over her body. Every moment that Emma moved was something, it was something beautiful, and she couldn't resist that much. They were both moving for each other, and neither could deny it. Neither could deny that it had worked, that both of them had somehow managed to keep the others attention on themselves.
Where was the lie in that night?
The drive to the hospital was uneventful, though she found that she had turned the stereo up higher, trying to drown out the thoughts in her heads. Just don't think about it, and it didn't happen. Just don't let it bother you.
Parked car, into hospital. Not meeting the eyes of any of the staff, because lord knows that they'd see something, whether it be joy or confusion, and it would be different than the hardened gaze that they had all become so accustomed to. She turned into Henry's room and saw Whale talking to him. The boy looked so enthused, so overjoyed, and all other thoughts melted from her mind.
"What's going on?" she asked, forcing herself to look calmer. Henry looked over at her, basically bouncing at this point.
"I can go home today, Mom!"
She glanced at Whale, who gave a small smile in her direction. If he had discussed this with her first, she would have brought up all the potential problems. But then, it wasn't as if she hadn't known it was coming, and it wasn't as if she couldn't be overjoyed with the idea that her boy was well enough to leave this god forsaken place.
"Is that so? Well, he must have heard about my plan to give away all of your gaming devices before you came back and thwarted it, didn't he?"
Henry made a face.
"You wouldn't do that."
No, she wouldn't. It didn't matter how much she despised most of the games he insisted on playing, it didn't matter that she had mostly cast the blame on Kathryn whenever he asked her why she got them for him. She couldn't crush those things, those stories in their own right. She didn't have the power, and she most certainly didn't have the heart.
"Mills. Can I talk to you outside?"
She nodded curtly and turned around, going far outside of the doorway and hoping that Henry wouldn't hear what they had to discuss. It wouldn't matter, she supposed. He had the hearing of a hawk.
"I know you probably wish I would have discussed this with you, first, and if you have any lasting concerns than we can certainly go over them. But I see no reason to keep him here. He's more than stable. And I know you're worried, but there really is no need to be. He'll be fine."
"His lungs?"
"Are fine, Mills. I know you're worried that we graced over it, but we didn't. We paid attention. He might have some slight irritation, but that's about it. There are no lasting effects."
So much sympathy. It was irritating.
"He has no signs of scarring. He might have a small bit of trouble breathing with excretion, but you know that that's to be expected. The scarring on his skin is healing fine. He's healthy in the most literal sense."
"And you're sure he's ready today?"
"I wouldn't have said a word to him about it if I wasn't."
Whale, with whom she'd spent so many irritating hours with when she'd first come here. Their medical direction, the one with whom she'd argued with over what they were allowed to do. Who knew her own medical history like it was a textbook. She trusted Whale, perhaps more so than she thought she should.
"Alright," she gave in. "Alright, fine."
"You're more than welcome to come back if anything worries you, but I assure you-"
"I said fine, Whale. I…I trust your judgment."
He nodded.
"I'll grab the paperwork."
"I'll…I'll help Henry get ready."
Walking into this room always made her uneasy. Henry had been in the hospital a total of one time before today, a broken arm, and it had been nothing like this. There had never been the crushing fear in her chest that she would lose her little boy. Her little boy, whose voice would soon be changing. Her little boy, who would soon be growing, whose joints would start cracking. Her little boy, who would soon be looking at her coddling as embarrassing.
She wondered if Daniel would handle this better. If he would understand this change a little better. If he would smile at her and tell her that it was alright, that boys grow up, that it was normal.
He was already half out of his bed when she came in, and with a simple holding up of her hand, a stop sign, he paused as though he had been caught in the act of doing something bad.
"Slow, Henry. Take it slow."
"I've been slow for the past month, Mom."
Oh, and there it was. How easily he would have obeyed only a year ago. It wasn't so much rebellion as it was the subtle hint of annoyance in his voice. He wanted to go, and he wanted to go now. She couldn't say she blamed him.
She took a few steps towards him before sitting down next to him. He sighed, obviously annoyed. He was playing the wrong cards, and he knew it, but he was toeing a line and he was going to get away with it. She could easily take him home and make him stay in bed, and he was well aware. She could probably play some cards to make him stay. But she wouldn't.
"Don't sigh at me. You know you have to take it easy."
Preaching to the chore. He gave her the look, You should talk, but gave a small, short nod.
"Henry. I almost lost you."
He didn't want to have this talk, not anymore than any teenage boy did. He didn't want to hear her talk to him about serious stuff that pertained to him. He could give her as many lectures as he wanted on her, he could look after her, but he was getting to the point that he didn't want to be looked after, either.
"But you didn't. Estoy bien, Mom. I'm fine."
He knew her ticks far better than she liked. She'd tried to teach him Spanish at a young age, his grandfathers tongue, and though he'd learned very little, he'd learned what it did to her. How it seemed to calm her instantly, how it seemed to bring her peace. When he had gotten in trouble he'd used it to his advantage, and he'd gotten away with a far bit more than she'd like to admit. He understood that it meant something to her, though she was glad he didn't understand why.
Her mothers brutality was something she never wanted him to understand, to touch. There was a reason he didn't know his grandmother besides the brief interactions they'd had whenever he'd seen his grandfather. He'd known his grandfather had been fluent in the language, he knew he'd been named after the man. What he didn't know was the soft spoken words of the man to Regina when she'd been young. He hadn't known the cowardly man who wouldn't stick up for his daughter, but who would come into her bedroom and tell her stories in his native tongue, who would sooth her with those words.
"I can't lose you, Henry."
He was all she had.
"You didn't. You won't. Dad left, but I won't."
A promise he couldn't keep forever. Who knew what he would chose to do with his life? Once upon a time, he'd spoken of joining the Army like his father, being a hero. Now, she couldn't imagine it. For all the ways that he had reminded her of him, he wasn't like his father. He was too gentle, too passive. Daniel had fight in him. He'd been determined, he'd been a leader. He'd wanted to charge into every situation. Henry wasn't like that. And Henry had other choices.
But that didn't mean that he'd choose one of them. She couldn't stop him from making any choice. Including one that could result in him being gone before her.
"You know I only want what's best for you. I just want you to be okay."
"I know. I'll be slower, Mom. Okay?"
That wasn't what this was about anymore, it was about a hundred things more deep than that, but she wasn't going to argue it.
"But Mom? You have to be slow, too."
A reminder. For what the night had been, for what joy she'd had, the morning had been anything but. A reminder that she, too, could be gone at any moment. Yesterday had simply proven it.
"I know. I will."
Henry gave her a disbelieving look but none the less let himself be helped. He was still slow, painfully so, but he moved alright. When a nurse came in with a wheelchair, however, he flat out refused.
"No way."
"Henry…"
"No. Way. I'm walking."
She gave him an amused look and rolled her eyes, childish in her own way before gesturing the nurse to go with a wave of her hand. Surprisingly, she left.
"Remember what we said about taking it slow?"
"I can walk slow."
And oh, did he ever. By the time they were in the car, he seemed to have lost most of his energy. The drive home was uneventful, quiet. Not unlike any other drive home from the hospital since he'd been there. She kept the radio off, listening for every inhale, every exhale. Making sure he was alright.
Air goes in and out. Blood goes round and round. Any deviation is a problem.
He was alright. He was good. Sleeping, exhausted, maybe in a bit of pain. But alright.
She thanked god for this. When she parked the car in front of the house and woke him up, telling him to go to bed, there was no argument.
Good.