Emma never did go to Regina and Henry's apartment that night. The moment she closed her eyes, she was dead to the world. She crashed like computer infected by a virus: quick and without a hint of recovery. Just as she relinquished to the coma, her system relaxed and her tense muscles turned to the jelly. Her limbs as limp as noodles, she laid on her stomach with her cheek smushed against her mattress; she'd pushed aside the pillows as soon as she flopped.

While the recent night terrors took a break, Emma still wasn't flashback-free. Her dreams had slowly become movies comprised of moments from her past, all of which she'd rather keep there: in the past. Life never stopped. That was something Emma had come to learn at a very early age. Every second of every day was just a piece to a larger whole, a drop of paint on an empty canvas. She never knew what would happen, just like the vast majority of the other people on the planet. Sure, when she was younger, she could guess when she'd get hit and who would do it, but for the most part, life had been one big mystery to her. It wasn't until she became an adult that the more cryptic messages came into focus.

The night that Mr. Gold revealed the identity of his son, Emma's conscious took her back to the night that It happened— the night the world she'd fought so hard to build was destroyed. Ready or not, the ghosts of 11 years ago grabbed a hold of her and sucked her through a spiraling portal.

"Hm mm," she whimpered, the beginnings of violent thrashing took control of her body.


They'd been driving home from a friend's house: Wendy. She and Neal had gone to high school together, an experience that produced many embarrassing stories on his behalf. Emma had spent the entire night hanging on Wendy's every word— her prim and proper grammar reminded the blonde much of her best friend, one she hadn't seen in nearly a year. Whenever Wendy uttered a word Emma didn't recognize, she thought of Regina and her ever-growing vocabulary.

It was both a night of celebration and a night of mourning: celebrating the impending life Emma was carrying, and mourning the end of an era she and Neal had battled through. No more parties or road trips for the hell of it. In just a few short weeks, their evenings would be filled with a crying infant, bottle feedings, and diaper changes. Life as they knew it would never be the same.

Neal had been the one behind the wheel, both hands clutching the leather until his knuckles turned as white as snow. The CD player was running the disk Emma had gotten him that Christmas, only one particular song on replay…

"Yeah, you got speed-freak jive. Can't you hear me knockin' on your window? Can't you hear me knockin' on your door?"

She was strapped in the passenger seat, Neal's moss-green overcoat around her shoulders. He was content in his sports coat, not that he needed much else. Emma had the heat on full blast. In her opinion, a monsoon was equivalent to freezing temperatures. Although it was at least 60 degrees outside, she felt the need put on the hot air. The faster the windshield wipers flew, the hotter it got.

Neal and Emma had just had another one of their occasional tiffs on the ride back to the city. However, with each day that neared to their baby's birth, those "occasional tiffs" had become somewhat of a regular occurrence. He tried not to take it too personally; he knew she had her fair share of worries. Between fretting over whether or not the kid would be born healthy and whether or not Emma would be a good mother, their nights were often filled with disagreements.

This night, however, was different. Their argument hadn't been centered on the baby's well-being, nor was it about Emma's mothering abilities. In fact, it was about something completely random: the position of the baby's crib in the nursery. Emma had decided she wanted it next to the window, as opposed to the wall beneath the mural Neal had painted. Not wanting to cause a stir, he simply went with the flow. But, his less-than enthusiastic response only sparked an impassioned rebuking from Emma. As a result, they hadn't said another word to each other for over 15 minutes.

About halfway through their journey, Neal came to an intersection with a stop sign. Heavy drops pounded on the roof of the vehicle, a steady beat to a deafening silence. They were the only car around for miles, let alone the only people. A vacant strip of land, there were no signs of any houses, not even a barn or shed. It was just the two of them. Or rather, three of them.

"Emma, I'm sorry," Neal said in that rugged tone of his. Reluctantly, he took released one hand and reached for Emma's, who wasn't as quick to pull away as she once had been. The warmth of her fingers sent a shock down his arm, one that reignited the passion and empathy Neal only let the blonde woman see. "Green Eyes, please?" It wasn't the most original nickname, but it was the only one Emma had ever been given that meant something.

Staring out of the foggy glass, Emma kept her lips shut tight as she went over their spat in her head. In all fairness, Neal really hadn't done anything wrong. She was the one who kept nagging him— it was the one thing she never wanted to be: a nag. Besides, he was driving, after all. It wasn't exactly an easy task during a storm. Spring had sprung with a vengeance that year. "Don't 'Green Eyes me,' man. I'm still ticked off, ya know. But that makes it really hard to stay upset," she huffed as she folded her arms over her chest. Her burgeoning stomach offered a ledge to rest on.

Cracking a smile that accentuated the laugh lines etched into his cheeks, Neal winked at the woman. "That's kind of the point."

"All I said was, I think the window will be better than waking up in a corner. That's it," Emma replied with an air of frustration.

Keeping watch on the road around them, Neal wasn't in any rush to press the gas pedal. Instead, he let go of the wheel completely and moved to rest his palm on the basketball underneath Emma's shirt. With more authenticity than the last time, Neal nodded an affirmation, something visible even in the darkest of nights. "I think the kid's gonna love it. Might not be able to tell us for a while, but hey, why not?"

"Don't just say that to make me feel better. I can smell bullshit a mile away," Emma grunted. Although Neal's touch was astoundingly comforting, something she still wasn't accustomed to, she maintained her grudge and continued to pout. "Look, I know it's stupid. It's not really something I'd ever thought I'd say, that's for damn sure. But I can't help it, ok? I don't know why…"

"Because you're about to be a mom, Emma. Makes sense that you're freaking out."

Knitting her eyebrows together, the once-lost girl scoffed. "I'm not freaking out," she denied. When she heard Neal chuckling to himself, she amended her statement. "Ok, so maybe I'm freaking out a little."

"Well don't," Neal said simply. "It's 12:30 on a Thursday night. We've got at least two more weeks. And we're almost home. Everything's gonna be cool, I promise. Wherever we put the crib, under a window, in the corner, on a boat with a goat or in a house with a mouse—"

Shutting him up by putting a finger over his mouth, Emma shook her head. "I got it. No rhyming."

Leaning in to kiss his girlfriend, Neal felt her smile against his lips. "I think there's a cup of hot cocoa waiting for you when we get back."

"With cinnamon?" Emma asked with a sideways glance.

"With cinnamon," he assured. When Emma's shoulders relaxed and she let out a long breath, Neal took it as a sign that she was ready to keep going. He turned the volume up until the song blasted through their yellow Bug and held onto Emma's hand as if it were a lifeline. With the headlights leading the way, Neal crept through the four-way stop.

The last thing Emma saw before it happened was the man she loved grinning from ear-to-ear as he prophesied the warm beverage. Through the glass covered in condensation, another set of headlights illuminated the inside of their car, only signaling them when it was too late. Neither she or Neal had heard the Ford pick-up truck honking at them and neither she or Neal had gotten a chance to say goodbye.


"NOOOO!" Emma cried as she shot through the air. As soon as she'd felt herself being ripped in half, she woke from the memory. She would have done it earlier, had she been in control. She didn't want to stay so long, to remember so much.

In a pool of her own sweat, Emma huffed and puffed in a valiant effort to steady her breathing. Her face was soaking wet with tears she hadn't even realized that she'd shed. Her entire being trembled, her bare shoulders shuddered uncontrollably. She wasn't sure which was worse: dreams of being beaten to a pulp, or dreams of being stuck in two tons of metal.

Slowly, it dawned on Emma that she would never be able to run away— not from this, not from any of it. As soon as she thought she was ok, that she could move on, there was another bump in the road. All of the trust she'd built up— trust in herself above all else— was starting to wither away. If she couldn't trust herself anymore… then who else could she?


Several hours later, Emma strode into the office with her sunglasses covering her puffy eyes and an ice-cold Starbucks latte. She didn't normally splurge on expensive coffee drinks, but this was an exception. Halfway through her trip, she'd realized that she'd forgotten her bag at the apartment. But, it was too late to turn back. She'd already slept past her alarm by half an hour.

It was hot day on April sixth, unnaturally so for that time of the year; the streets of New York produced steam from the cement like a factory's smokestacks. Every corner with a food stand neared desert temperatures, and Emma resisted the urge to stick her tongue out like a dog. Thankfully, she made it to base before she passed out from heat stroke.

"Late night?" Ruby questioned with a sly smirk as her friend sauntered through the door. Retrieving her own mail from the tiny box, the tall woman flipped through the junk and tossed the scam letters into the trash.

"You could say that," Emma grunted as she got on her tiptoes to reach her own cubby. Ruby moved to offer a hand, but the blonde brushed her away. "I got it," she growled none-too-gently. "Thanks anyway," she added when she watched the woman recoil from her like she was a monster. Between chain letters and coupon books (who sends that stuff to a work address?), there was an unaddressed white enveloped tucked in the middle. It didn't even have Emma's name on it; it was completely blank. Although she knew better, she couldn't help but peek inside at the contents. When she saw what was inside, she almost dropped it on the floor, in front of Ruby. Her ears turning pink and her cheeks puffed out like a blowfish, Emma scampered off through main floor and welcomed herself into Gold's office.

The boss-man was sitting in his chair with the windows closed, his computer turned off, twisting the head of his cane. It was almost as if he'd been expecting the woman. He wasn't in the middle of any phone calls— of making any deals. His desk was cleared off and he wore a rather cringe-worthy expression: a mix of contentment and pride. It gave Emma goosebumps. "Can I help you, dearie?" he asked innocently.

Waving the package in the air, Emma slammed it on the table with enough force to draw a surprised reaction from Gold. "What's this?" she demanded.

Eyeing her for a moment before opening the envelope, he took one look and tossed it back to her. "It appears to be money."

"From who?"

Smiling wide enough for his capped tooth to show, something that hardly ever constituted a "good sign," the accentuated individual waved a wrist casually. "Oh, I could only guess."

Closing the door and locking it, Emma walked behind the desk and resisted the urge to grab him by the tie and yank it. They were nose-to-nose when she finally composed her thoughts. "You came to me a for a job. I accepted. That's it. I didn't ask for any perks."

"Am I to understand that your refusing payment for a service?" Gold wondered. It wasn't as if it were a rule written somewhere that Emma needed to accept a raise, but he would've assumed she'd welcome extra cash. Especially when she'd been wearing the same jacket every day since she started there.

A part of her wanted to spill her drink on his shirt, but it wouldn't have done any good. Gold was wearing black, as always. Emma had to make do with what she had, which wasn't much. "Let's just say this one's on me," she said quietly.

"I thought we had a deal."

Perhaps it was her guilty conscience, or perhaps it was her tendency to speak without thinking. Whatever the reason was, Emma narrowly missed World War III when she said, "We still do. I'm just saving you unnecessary loss." Shit. She'd given away too much already. She didn't have a plan just yet, but she sure as hell wasn't going come clean now. Like she told Regina, she had about seven days— six now— to figure something out. And she was going to use up every second of those six days to formulate a strategy. Rising to her full height, she looked down upon the confused businessman. "Now, I'm gonna get back to work and I really don't want any more surprises, if you catch my drift." Just like that, Emma spun around, unlocked the door, and left Gold to ponder her response. Whether or not he'd catch on was soon to be seen. She just hoped "soon" wasn't within the next few hours.


Henry had woken up that morning with a runny nose and a sore throat, not to mention a fever of 103.4. It took one kiss on the forehead for Regina to read his exact temperature. It was a mom thing. As a result of her son's ailment, she called into the school, spoke to Mrs. Ghorm, and got Henry excused from his classes. She also had to call into her own office; this time, when she told Belle, she added, "for real" at the end. Although an improper way of speaking, the brunette had to convince Belle that this was no act. At her own request, Regina asked that Belle fill-in for her, if she felt up to it. The aspiring columnist, of course, jumped at the chance.

With her team in the very capable hands of her secretary and the rest of the day's tasks taken care of, Regina tucked Henry in on the couch, allowed him to watch a show of his own choosing— permitting it was rated PG— and cooked up a bowl of chicken noodle soup. However, a sick meal wasn't complete without a serving of hot chocolate, topped with whipped cream and sprinkled with cinnamon. As much as she hated seeing her baby ill, Regina realized that soon, Henry would be taking care of himself; he was a pre-teen now, he was growing more independent every day. Eventually, he wouldn't need his mother fussing over him. Or rather, he wouldn't want it.

While the sounds of cartoon characters laughing rang through the living room, Regina sent a quick text to Emma with a brief synopsis of the current situation. She tried to downplay it as much as possible, so as not to alarm the blonde. God knew she'd already been through the ringer in the last 48 hours, there was no need to add to her load. But, being the stubborn woman that she was, Emma responded almost immediately with "Be there in 15." She could argue all she wanted, Regina knew she'd be fighting a losing battle.

Balancing the tray with the soup, the hot cocoa, and a serving of applesauce for desert, Regina beside Henry on the sofa. He put the television on mute, using the good manners she'd taught him, and sat up to serve himself. "Danks, Bob."

"You're welcome," said Regina, her voice full with pity at his temporary speech impediment. "Go on, eat up. You need your strength if we're going to have company."

"Huh?" Henry asked as he blew on the spoon in an effort to cool off the broth.

Crossing one leg over the other, Regina passed him a napkin to dry his chin. "Emma will be here shortly, no doubt with a plethora of unhealthy snacks."

Slurping loudly, Henry reveled in the taste of his mother's home-cooked meal. As much as he loved New York pizza, nothing beat Regina's creations. Whether it was a simple chicken noodle soup or a lasagna, his favorite, it always warmed his heart; he never told anyone, of course. He didn't want to sound like a walking advertisement for his mom's culinary skills. "I bissed her last dight," he muttered.

"Yes, well, she must've been hard at work," Regina fibbed.

"Catching bad guyths," Henry added.

"Possibly, though I highly— I'm sorry, what did you say?"

Chewing on a tender chunk of chicken, Henry swallowed slowly. "Ubb, nothing." He filled his mouth with a dozen noodles, which went along nicely with his foot.

Brushing aside that damp strands of hair that covered the kid's eyes, Regina squinted at him the way she usually did when she wanted answers. "Henry," she said warningly, "do you know what Emma does for a living?"

"Doe," he said unconvincingly. "Babey… yeah," he conceded. "Ruby told me."

"Who?"

Licking his dry lips, Henry sighed tiredly. "Ruby. Thee workth wit Emba." Up until a few days ago, Emma and Regina never actually told Henry what the blonde did professionally. They'd both agreed he didn't need to know and they always skirted around the topic. When Henry asked, they said she worked with law enforcement and left it at that. But, when he never saw a badge, he got the sense that they were lying. In the few minutes he'd been alone with Ruby while Emma was in the bathroom, she told him the truth.

Before Regina could curse the strange woman who was interacting with her son, the doorbell rang. She needn't have pressed the speaker, only the button that would result in Emma racing up the steps in three… two… one. "Gina?"

"You stay put," Regina instructed the boy firmly. "Just a moment!" she called to her friend. Taking her time in opening the door, mostly out of revenge for Emma's co-worker, Regina even lingered on the handle before finally letting Emma inside. "Well, you got here in 11: a new world record," she mused.

"I was in the neighborhood," Emma panted. She slid past the person blocking her way and shook off her coat; she tossed it on one of the kitchen chairs, half hiding the brown paper bag behind her back. She rushed in so quickly, Regina didn't have time to grill her on how she was holding up, not that Emma would tell the truth anyway. "Kid?"

"In here," Henry answered pathetically. Even those two words sounded like they hurt.

As if she were just put in child-mode, Emma jogged up to the couch and jumped over the back; she stuck the landing. One look at Henry and her heart ached for him. Still in his pajamas, his nose the was same color as Regina's lipstick, his shirt had sweat stains, and he sounded like a smoker. "Lemme guess: mono?" Emma teased. The bag crinkled loudly as she revealed the items one by one. "Ok, whaddo we got here… Rocky road ice cream, banana flavored popsicles, cheddar popcorn, orange juice, and," she ripped away the bag for added effect, "'Fantastic Four.'" She gave Henry the DVD box to enjoy; even if he'd seen a film, he still loved reading the descriptions. Had he been any other kid, Emma would've labeled him as a nerd. "Gina, you wanna grab some spoons? Oh, and can you put this in the freezer?" she asked as she waved the box of popsicles in the air.

"Anything else, Your Highness?" Regina griped as she snatched the cardboard container. Secretly, she was glad to see Emma smiling, even if it was just for Henry.

"Can't think of anything. What about you, Kid? You got anything?" Henry shook his head, engrossed in the twenty line summary. "We're good. Thanks Gina!"

Unable to contain her amusement, Regina chuckled at how much Emma eased up around Henry. Whenever the two were together, they acted more like best mates than people with 20 years between them. Emma was neither an adult nor a child, she was just… Emma. And Henry, he brightened like the sun when his aunt came to visit. Next to his mother, she was the only person he really cared about.

When Regina returned with the utensils, she took the empty chair beside the couch. "Henry, finish your soup before you have ice cream," she said. As he reluctantly cleaned his bowl, Henry's mother directed her next question to the Emma. "Where did you find a movie so quickly?"

With a slight shrug, the interviewee said, "I know a guy." It had to have been one of the most mysterious answers Emma had ever given.

"Done!" Henry piped as he showed the women his empty dish. "Dow can I have ithe cream?"

"Yes, now you can have ice cream," Regina relented.

Eagerly, Henry opened the carton and stabbed the near-frozen treat; Emma did the same thing. "Won't you get thick doo?" he said.

"Eh, what's a day off now and then?" The way she'd been carrying on lately, though, anyone would've guess Emma took off from work fairly often. In actuality, the past couple of weeks had produced several anomalies for her. She rarely ever took a sick day, even if she could hardly stand upright. For years, her work was the only thing that kept her going.

While Henry gleefully shoveled in the ice-cream, Emma popped in the movie and returned her seat beside him, silently grateful to Regina for letting her sit there. Something told her she'd taken the woman's spot, but the brunette had been a good sport about it. "I hope this isn't too violent," Regina prompted, nodding to the monitor.

"Gina, we saw this together. All three of us. When it came out."

Watching the screen carefully, nothing looked familiar. "You must be mistaken, dear. I don't recall this film at all."

"Thee's right, Bob," Henry mused, having paused his binge due to a brain freeze. "We thaw it in the theater."

Giving it another go, Regina shook her head again. "No, I'm sorry. I don't think so."

Rolling their eyes at the same time in the same direction, Emma and Henry shared a laugh. "Just watch, Gina. Watch and enjoy." With that, she leaned back against the pillows and watched, not the movie, but Henry. Emma loved to watch him. He found so much joy in such little things, it amazed her. She tried not to stare for long periods of time, but she couldn't help herself; it was something she and Regina had in common: they both held such admiration for the boy and his appreciation of life. Even when kids at school picked on him, he never let that bring him down. He was strong, that much was obvious. In that moment, Emma and Regina marveled at Henry's unwavering and unconscious spirit. That too was a mom thing.


A/N - Hey folks! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. As I mentioned in "Here's Looking at You, Dear," I've started my first full semester at Uni, which means I have to ration my time again. However, while I know that school comes first, I'll do my best to update these as regularly as I can. I'll be back ASAP!