A/N: Thanks for the kind words. Just one more chapter to go home and this wee crackfest will wrap up.
Warnings: Some language, some comic mischief and a cranky ass Queen. Also, some SQ sweetness. Yeah.
She wakes up at just after seven in the morning feeling even worse than she had felt the previous night (and considering how badly she's been feeling over the last few days, that's saying something considerable), but it's not the aching of her muscles or the sickly queasiness in her belly that initially unsettles the former queen.
It's the furry blue butt in her face.
Which promptly makes a once unimaginably evil woman who had brought down countless kingdoms and felled more than a few unbeatable enemies scream like she's a big-breasted zero-brained teenager in a bad horror film.
Not that Regina has seen many of those, but the ones that she has seen were all pretty awful, and the girls always screeched like moronic twits instead of running away from the guy with the massive gut-ripping blade, and well, right now she rather imagines that she sounds just like that.
Which makes the owner of the furry blue butt shriek as well. Interestingly enough, she notes in the back of her fogged up brain, he's screaming like a hysterical teen, too (complete with paws over his face to express his absolute "terror"). Not that that actually stops either of them from doing it.
They're both still doing it – looking so ridiculous that she should actually be a terribly embarrassed, and she's pretty sure that she will be eventually – when the door to her bedroom gets flung wide open and a still half-asleep but suddenly scared out of his mind Henry comes rushing inside to see what all of the screaming is about. "Mom?" he calls out. "Are you okay? Are you hurt? Is everything all right?" He's practically babbling out his words.
It's Henry's presence which makes Regina get ahold of herself, but it's Stitch – her little unwanted houseguest who had cuddled himself up to her the night before and had then apparently flung himself around in his sleep so that his butt had been where his head was supposed to have been – who is the first one to say anything, "She yelled at me," he states, and then jabs his paw at her accusingly. She gets the impression that he's pouting a bit, too.
"He was upside down on my pillow," Regina explains grouchily to her deeply confused looking son, before scowling and then glaring at Stitch.
"Sound asleep," Stitch protests, looking right at Henry. "Being good!"
"With your butt in my face," she snaps back.
"Oh, boy," Henry mutters, his tone the one that someone uses when they're dealing with a lunatic. "All right. " He runs his hands through his dark hair. "Mom, why don't I get Stitch something to eat, and you take a shower and-"
"And what?" she demands, her bleary eyes wide like she can't quite believe that her son is actually taking the little furball's side on this.
Doesn't Henry understand how unacceptable this whole situation is?
Once upon a time, Regina had been a Queen and after she had risen to power, the privilege of sharing her bed had been granted to very few souls. Once she had become the Mayor, that list had slimmed down to Graham for personal needs, and Henry for when he needed comfort from his mother.
She hasn't shared her bed with anyone for anything in almost two years.
Until she'd let Stitch fall asleep next to her out of the kindness of her heart.
Or the delusion of her sick mind.
And he'd repaid her with his hairy butt in her face.
Okay, so it sounds a bit silly, she admits to herself. But then again, so is the fact that Stitch is now standing on her pristine white pillows with his paws on his hips looking at her like she's somehow the big bad guy in all of this.
She is going to murder Emma for this. Sure, she's made a vow to Emma and to Henry and to everyone else that she'll only use magic to help the town out and not for personal gain and sure, she mostly likes Emma these days (sometimes even more than likes), but honestly, wouldn't teaching Emma a lesson about her sense of humor be good for everyone?
"Get off that," Regina hisses, and then she yanks the pillow out from under him, which causes him to fall back to the mattress with a thump. He glares up at her, and then bares his teeth in a way that's likely supposed to appear threatening, but his ears are flopping around, and she's so very sick and tired and it all just makes her laugh like she's going just a wee bit insane. So she does. For almost two minutes straight. Until she starts coughing.
And Henry gives a worried look like he thinks that she's lost it completely and says, "Come on, Stitch. I think my mom needs a few minutes alone to...yeah, we should go."
"What's that supposed to mean?" she asks as she wipes her hand past her mouth to get rid of stray moisture there, and straightens herself up, ignoring the slight ache in her chest (too much coughing over the last few days, she thinks).
"You just…well, you look like…we're going to go make breakfast. I'll bring you up some orange juice in a few minutes, okay?" He offers her what's probably supposed to be a comforting smile, but it's so forced that all it does is make her slump her shoulders because her kid thinks she's crazy.
And she hasn't even taken one of the cold pills yet this morning.
Not that whatever the hell she has is actually a cold, she decides. It's like some kind of never-ending hell plague that's trying to kill her. Maybe it's the revenge of Gold's death curse from the well. Or maybe it's some disease that one of Snow's wretched little birds had brought to town.
Either way, there simply aren't drugs good enough – or strong enough - to make an awful little morning like this one any better.
"Fine," she sighs. "But don't let him play with the burners."
"I won't," Henry promises her. Then he looks at Stitch. "No burners."
Stitch sticks out his tongue.
"Stitch."
"Stitch can cook," he protests. "Make Regina good breakfast so she feels better." He nods his head quickly, and it makes his ears flops every which way. Which also makes Regina more than a little bit dizzy just watching.
"You can help," Henry assures him.
"Don't burn down my kitchen," Regina pleads, her hand sliding up to touch her sweat slicked forehead. She really needs to get them out of the room.
"We won't," Henry assures her. "Come on, Stitch."
Stitch gives her a look, and then jumps off the bed and takes Henry's hand as her son leads him from the bedroom, shutting the door behind them.
Almost reluctantly, she looks over at the mirror, and sees her reflection staring back at her. She looks pale, blotchy, her eyes are rimmed with red and her nose is running like a faucet. She thinks about how weird her life has gotten over the last couple of years, and how it's not even all that strange anymore that while she's filthy sick, she finds herself housing a cartoon character from another world. It's par for the course, and she wonders if that's why she's objecting to it so much. Because strange is her everyday.
Or maybe it's because Emma is probably at home stuffing her fool mouth full of doughnuts while Regina is sitting on her bed wanting to throw up.
Also, now there's blue fur on the sheets, which means that they need to be changed and washed before Regina can even think about sleeping on them again. Which is awful because her body desperately craves sleep right now.
Oh, there isn't revenge deep or dark enough for this, but she'll find one.
She smiles her most wicked smile.
One full of power, victory and menace.
One that an Evil Queen would be proud of.
And then she jumps up and rushes to the bathroom.
He's surprising stealthy for a little creature that has a bad habit of using his tongue to clean unmentionable parts of his anatomy. This is a fact that Regina discovers while she's rocking her feverish body back and forth next to the just used toilet. It's as she's tilting backwards that she finds Stitch standing in the doorway of her en suite bathroom – wearing one of her best cooking aprons around his waist - looking at her with big worried eyes.
"Regina sick," he says, sounding sad about it. She sees that he's holding a mostly empty glass of juice in his paw. There are signs that he's just recently taken a few drinks from it himself, orange moisture drops on his face.
"I am," she grunts, and then leans back against the wall for a moment to rest her weary almost completely drained body before her tired brain clicks over and she realizes that if Stitch is back here in the bathroom with her, then Henry might be nearby, and he can't be allowed to see her like this.
Because even if he wants to, she needs him to think of her as strong.
"Stitch," she asks, her voice low and hoarse. "Where's Henry?"
"Making breakfast," he replies as he places the glass down next to her, and then, without warning, he leaps up on the sink and uses the extra height that he's gained to get to the towels on the rack above the toilet. He pulls it down, wets it underneath the sink and then brings it to her. "Regina feel better," he says, offering her the damp towel with a large hopeful smile.
She tilts her head. "You are the strangest little…"
She doesn't even know what to call him anymore so instead of finishing her sentence, she sighs and takes the towel and dabs it against her sweaty face.
"Thank you," Regina says gently, trying to show him her gratitude for his kindness. It's weird how much she actually wants to show Stitch it because he's not any kind of person and he won't be staying around for long anyway so what do his feelings really matter in the grand scheme of things?
But then he beams at her and he seems so very happy about helping her and doing something good and right, and well, that's just enough for her.
"Go on," she chuckles. "I'm sure you're hungry and I'm…I'm fine."
He nods his head enthusiastically and then scrambles away.
She watches him go until her stomach painfully revolts once more.
And then she's back to cursing Emma.
Which isn't fair because Emma isn't the reason she's sick, and Stitch – aside from the butt in the face issue and the broken chandelier and the paw prints everywhere – has actually turned out to be something of an amusement, but still, someone should have to pay for the Evil Queen having the super flu.
Someone will, she vows.
As soon as she can manage to stand up again.
"How is she doing?" Emma asks as she pulls on her jacket. It's going to be an overall warm day – especially for Storybrooke – but it's still early enough to be crisp outside. This is going to be a busy one: she has to keep an eye on all of Stitch's cousins, ensure that nothing else came through with them, and continue helping David to pressure Jefferson to open the portal again so that they can send all of their mischievous little creatures back home.
Jefferson is being a little bitch about it all, though. He apparently thinks he has himself a good bargaining position and is making the kind of demands that a lunatic is apt to make. Emma finds that she's actually considering Regina's drugged up suggestion about breaking a few of his fingers.
Just considering, of course.
Because actually breaking his fingers would be so very wrong.
Oh, and on top of all of that, she also has to deal with a super cranky and sick Madam Mayor who apparently has spent most of the morning hiding away from the world in her bathroom. Because apparently if a Queen is ill in secret and no one is around to hear or see it, it didn't actually happen.
Regina's logic never fails to give Emma a migraine. Or three.
"She's still in there," Henry replies. "The door's locked now."
"Yikes."
"You're sure she's okay?"
"I think she just caught herself some funky nasty hybrid version of the flu," Emma tells him. "And to be honest, kid, your mom probably had it coming."
"Because she was the Evil Queen?" he asks, wrinkling his brow. Stitch is sitting next to him, leaning in so that he, too, can hear the conversation.
Which is actually a whole lot better than where he has been sitting which is next to the bathroom door, his paws scratching against it. Suffice it to say, Stitch isn't all that thrilled with Regina locking herself away from him.
Henry's starting to think that maybe when this is all over and Stitch is back in his version of Hawaii, maybe he should try to talk Regina into a puppy. Sure, it won't talk or jump on chandeliers (hopefully), but he thinks maybe his mom might benefit from having some kind of animal so utterly devoted.
"No, it has nothing to do with that," Emma replies. "It has everything to do with the fact that for almost thirty years, your mom had time frozen which probably means that she didn't even have so much a morning sniffle."
"But I did," he reminds her. "So why didn't she catch what I had?"
"Well, I think it's because the curse kept everyone trapped in some kind of walking stasis, but you were completely ordinary in that regard. You aged and got sick like a normal kid would have, which allowed you to build up all of the typical antibodies and such, but she didn't have that chance. Which means that the diseases of this world are fairly new to her immune system. And everyone else's for that matter. I've been hearing reports of nasty bugs like this, and here's the thing, kid, everyone has survived it eventually."
"So you're absolutely sure that she is going to be okay?" he asks again.
She chuckles. "I'm certain of it. And to prove it, I'll even come over to try to help you get her out of the bathroom and back into bed," Emma offers.
He sighs in relief. "Thanks."
"No problem. In the meanwhile, how's Stitch doing?"
"He really likes her. Even after the butt in the face issue from this morning."
"Tell me you took a picture."
"I was worried they were killing each other so no, I forgot the camera," he replies, using that tone that he takes on when he thinks she's being dumb.
It reminds her a lot of Regina, actually.
"Damn," Emma sighs. "Eh, I'm sure he'll do something else that I can use to annoy her with. He's kind of a walking disaster zone, isn't he?"
"He's listening, and I don't think he likes you saying that."
"Hi, Stitch," Emma grins.
Stich growls in response, and then reaches for the phone as if he means to grab it and break it in half. Or maybe eat it. It's hard to tell with him.
"He's not really your biggest fan, but he is hers," Henry states as he pushes Stitch away from him. "I think he's even a little bit protective over her."
"Figures that a furry lunatic from one dimension would fall in love with a sarcastic bullheaded one from another world," Emma notes dryly.
"Love is a funny thing."
"Shut up, kid," Emma replies.
"I'm just saying –"
"I know exactly what you're saying, and I'll say the same thing that keep saying to you: stop matchmaking and stop parent-trapping for the two of us. We both know what you're up to and it's not going to work. I mean just because your mom and I are getting along these days, and we're even kind of something like friends doesn't mean anything more than that, okay?"
"You brought her soup last night," he states. "And I know you sent Gram over earlier in the afternoon to check in on her even if Gram won't admit it."
"Mary Margaret promised Stitch ice cream."
"She didn't promise mom soup. And you brought over more last night.
Emma grunts. "I also stuck her with Stitch. Who terrorized your house."
"Yeah, maybe, but you trusted her. You trust her to take care of him."
"You're making way too much of this. Which I need you to stop doing."
"I have no idea what you're talking about. I gotta go, Emma."
"Kid –"
"Bye, Emma," Stitch says suddenly.
And then the line goes dead.
She sighs loudly, zips up her jacket and then steps outside.
Stitch is watching his own movie when Emma gets to the house, and she thinks for a moment that she's going to have to call Archie because the little blue guy looks about as depressed as she's ever seen anything ever look.
"Stitch?" she says as she approaches him.
"Miss Lilo," he tells her before freezing the DVD and then moving to touch the animated version of his constant companion who is on the TV screen.
"We're working on it," she promises, her voice gentle and understanding because even if this is so unbelievably surreal, she kind of understands feeling like you just want to get home to the family that you've created and become a part of. She kneels down next to him. "Very soon, I promise."
"Promise?" he repeats.
"Cross my heart," she says, making the motion. "Where's Henry?"
"Upstairs with Regina." He pouts again.
"That's probably where I should be, too."
He jumps up, his eyes suddenly wide. "I go with you."
"That's maybe not the best idea."
"Stitch help. Stitch doesn't like Regina unhappy. Regina good to Stitch."
Emma's not sure that she completely buys that, but then again, perhaps there's an understanding between the two once evil…creatures? Whatever it is, Stitch clearly has an affinity for Regina, and well, that can only be good.
"Okay," Emma replies and then she leans in towards him and lowers her voice so that's conspiratorial in nature, "Just between us, Stitch, our Queen is pretty high maintenance. Even more so when she's sick like she is. We need to progress very carefully here. You understand what I'm saying?"
He salutes her - with absolutely sincerity - and she grins back at him.
She doesn't know about Regina, but she thinks that she's really going to miss this little dude – not his crazy cousins, though, because they are nuts - once he's finally back on his way home to his own family.
Henry is sitting next to the bathroom door when Emma and Stitch enter the bedroom. He has a red DS in his hands, and he's focused on the screen, but he looks up when he sees them, clear relief splashing across his nearly teenage features. "About time," he says to Emma. "She won't come out."
"Does she sound upset?"
"Hard to say," he replies with frown. "Every time that we try to have a conversation, she starts throwing up again. There can't be anything left."
"Yeah, probably not," Emma agrees. "Okay, do me a favor, kid. Go grab some ginger ale or something bubbly from downstairs. Crackers, too, if you have them. She may not be able to stomach any food, but we need to at least get some liquids into her before she completely dehydrates herself."
"Got it," Henry says, standing up and stretching out. His eyes go to Stitch who is staring intently at the door. "She's okay," he promises the creature.
Stitch doesn't reply.
"Go," Emma urges. "By the time you get back, we'll have your mom chilling in bed, and then all that will be left is to listen to her bitching at us."
"Language, Miss Swan," Regina moans through the closed door.
"See?" Emma smirks.
Henry chuckles, and then turns and heads out of the room.
"Okay, now comes the hard part," Emma mutters to herself. She puts her hand on the door just to check it, but of course it's locked. There's probably a key somewhere around, but she's not ready to go looking for it just yet.
Which means she needs to talk Regina out of there.
She wonders if she – or Regina – has the patience for that.
Well, she supposes with a sigh, perhaps it's time to really test out this new understanding almost kind of like friends relationship they have these days.
"Hey, Regina," she says as she leans her body against the door. Stitch, of course, mirrors her posture exactly. "How are you doing in there?"
"I feel absolutely great, Miss Swan," comes the rumbled reply. "Just great."
"Right. So, here's the thing, okay? Your kid – our kid – he's pretty damned worried about you right now because you've been in there all morning."
"I'm so very glad that you can both read a wristwatch."
"Yeah, learned that in the first grade. Or something like that." She frowns when she sees Stitch looking down at his own wrist like he should have one on it. "Which doesn't change the fact that you really should be in bed right now and not on the floor of your bathroom. So if you'll just open the –"
"No. No, I won't."
"Really? That's what you're going with? Being a petulant toddler?"
"Yes."
Emma's eyebrow lifts and she nods her head. "Well, all right."
"Does that mean that you'll –" she cuts off in mid sentence and there's the sound of what has to be dry heaving, and then a loud pained whimper.
"No, sorry, Regina, it doesn't mean I'm leaving," Emma replies gently. "And if you are too much of a stubborn ass to let me in so I can help you, then I guess I'll have to make a mess of your house looking for another way in."
Regina's only answer is another pathetic whimper.
"Have it your way," Emma says as she turns to Stitch. "You stay in here with her. I'm going to go look above the doors for the other bathrooms. There has to be a key around here somewhere. Keep…talking to her, all right?"
Stitch nods his head, and then leads back towards the door, paws once again against it. "Regina," he warbles. "Stitch wants to come in."
The former queen groans in response."
"Stitch coming in," he tells her, nodding his head emphatically.
"No, you're not."
"Yes, I am."
"No, you're not."
"I am. I am. I am."
Emma rolls her eyes, and steps out of the bedroom because she thinks it's probably in everyone's best interests if she doesn't hear this fight.
Unfortunately, she's just outside of the room when she hears a crash and a scream, and she almost stumbles over herself as she reverses course.
"Regina, are you…oh my God." She just barely stops herself from an involuntary – and sure to get her killed by Regina – laugh as she pulls up short, her eyes wide as she stares at Stitch who is standing just outside of the bathroom. With the door – freshly ripped off its hinges - in his paws.
"I am," Stitch beams, holding the door over his head. "Coming in."
Well shit, he really is freakishly strong, isn't he?
"Okay, Stitch," Emma says, her hands out in a placating motion. "Why don't we put the door down now? Regina, are you doing all right in there?"
"Tell me I'm delusional and I'm not seeing what I think I'm seeing."
"He did rip your bathroom door off, yes. Sorry about that."
"I'm going to kill you," Regina hisses before wincing as her stomach flips again. "When I'm myself again, I'm going to break every magical promise I've ever made, and I'm going to turn you into every animal in the forest."
"Every single one?" she asks weakly.
"And then I'll declare hunting season on."
"Well that's just mean. Stitch, put the door down."
"Gently," Regina whispers but it's too late because Stitch just drops the door and it's far too big for the space they're in which means it crashes into the dresser and the bed, and well suddenly everything down is up in the air.
A mirror shatters, clothing goes flying everywhere and a bottle of what is probably five hundred dollar perfume spills onto the once clean carpet.
But Stitch is oblivious to all of this because he's rushing into the bathroom, and jumping on the counter to get a wet rag for Regina. "All better," he warbles, his eyes so very big. "Just like before. Stitch make Regina okay."
"Emma?" Henry says as he enters. "What the – oh. Oh no."
"I know, kid. I am so dead."
"On the upside, you won't have to worry about me parent-trapping you."
"You really are your mother's son," Emma groans. She moves into the bathroom, stepping over splintered wood, and kneels down next to Regina.
"This is somehow your fault," Regina mumbles as her head hits the tile.
"Your illness or your door?"
"Both," Regina sighs, accepting Emma's arms around her waist.
"Yeah, well, for now how about we focus on getting you into bed, and back to sleep, and then you can blame me for Stitch and your flu bug later."
"Stitch do naughty?" he says suddenly.
Regina rolls her head and looks at him. "You tore my door off."
He pouts. "You wouldn't come out."
"So you ripped my door off at the hinges?"
He nods his head, looking like he'd just done the best thing ever for her.
"What the hell kind of logic is that?"
"Stitch logic."
Emma laughs. "Yeah, Regina, go ahead and dispute that."
"This is all just a dream," Regina replies, suddenly looking very tired.
"Okay," Emma nods. "Then if it's all just a dream, you won't mind too much me picking you up and carrying you back to bed, right?"
"Well, you have been trying to do that for awhile now, haven't you?"
Emma doesn't miss the way that both Henry and Stitch cock their heads at her like they think that something interesting has just happened. Jerks.
"You're right," Emma drawls. "You are completely delusional right now."
"Oh, so I still have a bathroom door."
Emma glances over at the one on the floor. "Technically, you do."
"Good," Regina mumbles as she sags down towards the ground, all the strength bleeding out of her. "Then by all means, Sheriff, take me to bed."
"Not a word," Emma says to Henry. Then, to Stitch, "From either of you."
"Nothing from me," Henry assures her.
"Nothing from Stitch," he echoes.
"You're both full of shit. Henry, some help, please?"
"Right." He rushes around to the opposite side of Regina, and then, on a three count, helps his blonde mother to lift up his brunette one, who is now almost completely out cold at this point, up. She's a total dead weight, but between the two of them, they're able to carry her over towards the bed.
Thankfully, Stitch took the opportunity to sweep all the debris from the door hitting the bed onto the floor so that Regina has a clean place to lie.
Of course, that means that the room is even more of a mess now.
Oh, but Stitch is standing on the pillows looking so proud of himself.
So Emma just sighs and she and Henry gently lay Regina down on the mattress. "Okay," she says to Stitch as she pulls a blanket up and over Regina's shaking frame. "We need to clean up a bit so that means you're on guard duty. If Regina needs anything or anyone, it's your job to tell us."
"Stitch will protect Regina."
"We know you will. But try to keep your butt out of her face."
He bares his teeth at her. And then huffs and settles down next to Regina's body, eventually lifting her arm so that he can curl up beneath it.
Emma thinks it just might be the cutest damned thing that she's ever seen.
"Kid?"
"Here," he sighs, handing her his camera phone. "I had no part of this."
"Chickenshit."
"Language, Miss Swan," he says with a chuckle, lifting his eyebrow in a perfect imitation of his typically intimidating and haughty mother.
She centers the shot – getting a dozing Regina and a watchful Stitch in it - snaps the picture and then grins back at him. "Chickenshit," she repeats.
"Maybe so," Henry agrees. "But at least I'll actually live long enough to get to see Stitch get home. If mom sees that pic, I'm not sure that you will."
"Oh ye of little faith," Emma snorts. "Your mom loves me."
"Does she?" Henry asks. "Is there something going on that I don't know about? Do I even need to parent-trap you guys? Are you doing it for me?"
"Oh shut up."
"You keep saying that," he shoots back at her, using the worst accent that she's ever heard. "But I do not think it means what you think it means." He tilts his head, then, looking back at Stitch with a small frown on his pale lips. "If Stitch exists, do you think Inigo Montoya does as well?"
"God, I really hope not," Emma laughs. "Come on, you're on broom duty. I need to call someone to help me get this door back on the bathroom before your mom wakes up and realizes that it wasn't actually a dream. In which case the picture we just took won't actually matter; we will all be dead."
She doesn't miss the way that Stitch crawls even closer to Regina. Whether it's because he has some strange protective thing towards her or because he's thinking that if he were right next to her, she wouldn't possibly hurt him, Emma doesn't know, but yeah, she just has to take one more pic.
Because if she's going to end up dead, anyway, why not have a bit of fun at Regina's expense first? Even Evil Queens have a sense of humor, right?
Oh, but Emma better than anyone else knows differently.
She nods her head at Stitch, and he flops his ears at her.
She thinks of the life she'd had before Storybrooke.
One that hadn't involved an Evil Queen and a furry test tube experiment.
Oh, there are some days she misses the quiet.
But then she looks over at Henry and sees the way that he's smiling at his mother, and even though she's as sick as she has ever been, he's happy because even in the strangeness of all of this, there's a kind of domestic normalcy that makes him feel like this is exactly where he wants to be.
He's happy, and beneath the vicious virus that Regina has, so is she.
And that's enough for Emma.
Marco comes by about an hour later, and after commenting about how Stitch's cousins are continuing to cause mischief everywhere – apparently one of them stole off with all of Archie's clothing while he'd been in the shower which means he's huddled inside of his apartment right now wearing borrowed clothing from Dr. Whale – he rather happily agrees to assist with putting the bathroom door back on. That is until he actually sees it, and tells mother and son (all the while trying to pretend that he's not in the Queen's bedroom, and he's not seeing her sound asleep on the bed and he's not being growled at by Stitch) that they need a new door completely.
Thankfully, he's more than willing to take care of that for them.
One trip to and from the hardware store, and then he's back in the bedroom with his tools looking awkward because now he has to get loud, and the very last thing in the world he wants is for Regina to find him here.
She's not as frightening as she had once been, and the word around is that she's not using her magic for anything but official town business, but still, she's the Queen and she scares the shit out of him. That and the gentlemen in him simply chafes at the inappropriateness of intruding on her privacy.
The solution, then, is to move Regina downstairs and onto the couch in her office. It's large and comfortable, and both Henry and Emma know that Regina naps on it frequently. It's the whole actually moving her part that's troublesome because no one really wants to try to explain all of this to her.
Luckily for the four of them, Regina is as out cold as she can be, and though she stirs a few times as Emma gently carries her down the stairs (she politely ignores Marco insisting over and over again – as the carpenter blushes and very clearly doesn't want to actually do it – that she shouldn't have to strain herself like this, and that he can certainly lift up the Queen for her), she doesn't awaken, and Emma is able to gently lay her down on the couch and then cover up her still slightly trembling frame with a heavy blanket.
And Stitch, too, of course because the moment she's down, Stitch is back under her arm, the blanket now settled over the both of them.
"Is she doing okay?" Emma asks him.
He nods his head solemnly.
"Who does she remind you of?" Emma queries. She thinks about the movie for a moment, and though it's certainly not a clean fit, she wonders if maybe Stitch is seeing Lilo's older sister in Regina. If he at all sees Lilo in Henry (and that's not really a one hundred percent match, either, but there are enough similarities between Henry and Lilo that it's plausible), then she supposes that it makes some kind of weird sense that he would continue comparing.
"Home," he says softly, his eyes undeniably sad.
"Yeah. I'm going to go work on that now," she assures him. "We're close."
He nods his head and then settles it lightly on Regina's belly, looking sad. Then, though she's absolutely unaware of it, Regina's hand lifts and settles across the back of his neck, her long fingers burrowing into his furry mane.
It's an even better picture than the one from upstairs, but this is one that Emma doesn't dare take. She just smiles and burns it to her own memory.
It's much later that night when Emma is finally able to return to the house. She'd spent most of the day out and about trying to keep tabs on Stitch's cousins all the while also keeping up to date on the Jefferson situation.
Which is, thankfully, finally improving because apparently Regina had been right, and the only real way to deal with a lunatic hatter is to throw down a few threats. David had finally snapped, and suggested what he could do – it had involved something to do with broken kneecaps and a baseball bat -instead of giving into Jefferson's ridiculous demands, and immediately the portal hopper had surrendered and assured them that he'd work on it.
Weird dude.
Seriously.
But at least she can return to Stitch and tell him with all honesty that they are extremely close now to getting him and his cousins back home.
Which is what she means to do when she steps into the mansion and heads towards Regina's office. But two steps inside, she stops because she sees that Regina has moved into the Living Room with Henry and Stitch.
They're sitting – all three of them – together on the couch. Regina's reclined against a stack of thick pillows. Her legs are thrown over Henry's and covered up by a blanket, and Stitch is slung across the top both of them, his head on his paws as he watches the television. It's the most absurd thing that Emma has ever seen, but it's also wonderfully domestic and lovely.
"Hey," she says softly, unable to stop the smile forming on her lips.
"Hey," Regina says as she looks up. Her eyes are still rimmed red, and she looks like she could pass out at any moment, but she does seem at least a little bit better. Perhaps it's the rest she'd gotten or maybe it's whatever is currently going on here. Whatever it is, Emma more than approves of it.
"Sorry to interrupt, but…are you watching Lady and the Tramp?"
"We are. Stitch wanted to watch some movies. But not his own. It was making him homesick." She scratches Stitch's ear when she says this.
"Ah. Right. Well, I have more soup for you and some news for Stitch. We're close. Jefferson is going to try to open the portal up tomorrow at noon."
"You hear that?" Regina says softly to the furry creature atop her. "You could be going home tomorrow. I bet you're more than ready for that."
He nods his head enthusiastically. "Yeah."
She smiles, and if Emma didn't know better, she'd almost think that Regina looks a little bit sad. But then the expression is gone, and Regina is looking back up at Emma with impatience in her eyes. "Well, where's the soup?"
Emma holds the bag carrying the Styrofoam cartons up. "I'll go get spoons."
"Will you be staying for dinner, then?"
"Depends. Are you going to kill me tonight?"
"Did I hallucinate my bathroom door getting ripped off?"
Emma just smiles weakly.
"It's fixed now," Henry states. "Emma took care of it."
"Do I even want to know how?"
"No," Emma, Henry and Stitch all say at once.
"Wonderful. Yes, Sheriff, you can stay. No, I won't kill you tonight." She thinks for a moment, and then smiles in an almost predatory way. "But you do have to do something for me. A show of…good faith as it were."
"You mean besides bringing you soup?"
"Yes." Regina grins again. "After dinner, you have to rub my feet. I find it quite soothing, and well after the day I've had, I could use soothing."
Emma laughs. "I have to rub your feet? Seriously?"
"Seriously," Stitch nods.
"Who asked you?"
"You asked Stitch."
"I did not."
"Did, too."
"Careful," Regina chuckles. "He seems to always win these battles."
"Right. Yeah. Fine, Your Majesty, I will rub your feet. Anything else?"
"That should do it. The spoons are in the drawer next to the dishwasher."
"I know," Emma drawls. She shoots Stitch a narrowed eye glare, and then departs towards the kitchen, shaking her head at the insanity of it all.
"Rub your feet?" Henry asks.
Regina just shrugs her shoulders and smiles. "I'm sick," she reminds him.
"Just promise me," he says softly, "When you feel better and like yourself again, promise me you won't pretend that none of this happened, okay?"
"I'm not sure I know what you mean."
"I just want you to be happy," Henry replies.
"Me, too," Stitch chimes in.
"Yes, well, both of you can relax, because I'm fine. I've felt better, but I've also felt a lot worse than I do right now." She touches her chest. "Right here, where it matters most, I am happy, Henry. I promise you that I am."
"Spoons," Emma says as she re-enters with four of them and two cartons and a smaller bowl of wonton soup. She hands one of the cartons to Regina, gives the bowl to Stitch, and then sits down on the couch next to Henry and nudges him over so that he's in the middle between his two mothers. She then dutifully pulls Regina's feet up onto her lap. "Shall we eat, then?"
"Eat," Stitch acknowledges, and then shoves his face into the soup.
"I think that was a yes," Henry observes, wrinkling his nose.
"Dig in," Emma says. "And then after dinner, you can have your foot rub."
"Look at that, you can be trained. Good to know that someone in this house can be," She scratches Stitch behind the ear again when she says this.
Emma laughs and puts her spoon in her mouth before she can say anything stupid. But then she sees Henry looking at her. And she sees Stitch watching everything that's going down between she and Regina with keen eyes, and she wonders about the fact that she's sitting on a couch with her son and his other mother, and Regina's legs are slung across all of them, and damned if this doesn't feel so terribly right in a way that should feel so very wrong.
Even considering the fact that a cartoon character is currently muzzle deep in a bowl of wonton soup while Lady and the Tramp is playing on the TV.
So she says the only thing she can, and it's under her breath so that only Henry can hear it. "Shut up," she mumbles.
And he grins and digs into the soup.
TBC…