She could hear his steady breathing, the turning of page after page. Still, she lay still in the bed, attempting to act as though she were asleep. She didn't want to ruin this moment, a moment of peace between her and her son. It had been such a long time since he had joined her on her bed, such a long time since he had taken the time to just…Be with her. And she wanted this moment to last, even though it hurt to think about all the time that they couldn't be like this. She didn't know if he knew she was awake, counting the precious moments they shared together, but it didn't really matter. Either way, he was too engulfed in the book to make any movement towards leaving.

As the moments ticked by, she slowly stretched out and made her awareness to the world known, reaching for his floppy hair to move it out of his eyes. "Henry," she cooed softly, as though he were a little baby again. For a moment he seemed relaxed, before his almost teenage nature took over and he flinched away. And then he softened again, looking at her almost apologetically before flashing a smile.

"Hey Mom." It had hurt for him to flinch away, but that word melted her heart so much that she almost forgot that there was anything else in the world, anything or anyone other than Henry. There was no sickness, there was no Emma, there was no town. It was her and her boy, just as it always had been. Any fear she held in her heart about Emma's place in his life melted away with it.

"Don't you have school today, sweetheart?" she asked softly, turning to look at the clock. And for a moment her heart skipped a beat. It was 9:30. Fuck. "We've got to get you to school, Henry. Why didn't you ride the bus?" she asked, frantically hurrying to sit up, to get ready, to look presentable to drop him off. She didn't have time to look and see the shock on his face at her frantic nature, before he shook his head as though to clear his thoughts and shot up with her, laying a hand on her shoulder.

"It's Saturday, Mom."

Fuck. Right. Immediately she slowed, her breathing rapid and shallow. Dots began to appear in her vision and she quickly sat down. Air in and out. Blood 'round and 'round. Any deviation is a problem. She wasn't about to make a deviation.

"Mom?" Henry asked, worry evident.

"I'm fine, Henry," she wheezed. "I just had…a…a moment…" There was a cough, but at least her breathing was slowing, at least the dots had disappeared from her vision. Henry hated that cough. It made him nervous. He slowly made his way to sit next to her, and placed a hand on her back, breathing slowly as though that would help her concentrate. His little hands. She could remember when they were much smaller, when they grasped for her fingers. They were still so small. He was still so small. And it would only be a little while longer until he wasn't small anymore.

"Breathe, Mom," he whispered, begged, and she complied as best as she could. "In. Out." She focused on his instructions. But it wasn't a panic attack, it wasn't something that could be coached. She knew that. Her lungs weren't working like they should. It would only be a matter of time before focusing, before coaching didn't work anymore. It would only be so long before the CPAP was on her in an emergency room. She hated it. She hated it so, so much.

If she had known she'd have this little boy in her life, she never would have become an EMT. She never would have followed Daniel. But without him, this little boy wouldn't be hers, would he?

"Should I call Emma?" he asked hesitantly. She took in a deep breath and shook her head rapidly. "Are you sure?"

"I'm…Sure Henry. Just…It'll pass."

She could feel him clench his hand. Oh, that spunk. She wondered where he had gotten that from.

"I'm going to lay down for a second, Henry. Will you…Will you help me?" She hated to ask for help from her son. He shouldn't have to do this. He should be outside playing normal kid games, but instead he was stuck in this stuffy house with her. And oh, how grateful Regina was that her loyal little boy stayed by her side, and oh how saddened she was that this was the case. She'd wanted the perfect life for this boy. She'd wanted everything for him.

She looked up into his eyes and saw, not for the first time, the slight scarring on his face. They had moved quickly and tried to reduce it, but still, it was there. Where the flames had licked him, luckily not ruined him. He nodded.

"What do you need me to do?"

"Help me move up. No…No pulling, now. Just…Make sure I don't fall on my face." Now that would be embarrassing. Between the two of them, the best they could do was a slow crawl to the pillows, with his hand on her back and across her abdomen for bracing. When she finally reached the pillow, she let out a sigh of relief and again focused on her breathing. The worry hadn't faded from Henry.

"Mom…" he trailed off, and she looked up.

"What is it?" she asked, still working to catch her breath, still trying to comfort her son. Doing both was difficult, and she felt her eyes fluttering shut from the exhaustion of it all.

He hesitated. "Never mind."

Normally, she would have challenged him. 'Don't waste words,' she would say, 'they're precious.' But this time she couldn't find the breathe to bring the words to life. "Help me with that wretched machine, will you?" she sputtered out, perhaps a bit too demandingly. "Please," she added, and he nodded and quickly scrambled to find the mask and figure out how to turn it on. Finally, it wheezed to life, and he helped her put it upon her face. He mouthed something, whispered it perhaps, and she tried to utter a 'What?', but found it too hard. Her eyes were shutting tight and as much as she fought to keep them open, she couldn't.

"I'll love you forever," he said, loudly this time, and hoped she'd reply. But there was no reply. She was asleep now. Henry scrambled for his phone, which was sitting next to him but felt so far away at the moment, not taking his eyes off of his mother.

"I'm sorry," he said, louder this time, hoping to awaken her. He very rarely disobeyed a direct order, and hoped that awakening her, having her ask what he was sorry for would change the trajectory of where this was going. But no. He felt for a pulse, like he had been taught to, and he felt it bounding, at least. Perhaps a bit too fast, but he didn't really know.

He looked through his contacts and again said, "I'm sorry," this time at its loudest, hoping she would hear. But whether it was the machine or the deepness of her sleep, she didn't respond. He found Emma. He pressed call.

"Henry?" he heard on the other end of the line.

"Emma, we really need you here…" he muttered, and then louder, "We really, really need you here right now."

"I'm on my way, kid."

And that was why he loved Emma. Because she listened to him. Because she didn't put things off. If he said something she listened. Not like other adults, not like some of the men he'd seen.

"It might be nothing," he said quickly, hoping this was the case.

"Hey, if you need me, I'm there. Alright?"

Henry hesitated.

"We need you here, Emma…Please hurry?"

"Like I said. On my way."