At the end of the first week, Henry turned 11 years-old. He, Regina, and Emma celebrated with a cake, party hats, presents, and a Marvel movies marathon. Emma had rented all of the most recent films, stuck them in her handy-dandy-laptop, and pressed play. The three of them watched together; Regina and Henry shared his bed, while Emma utilized the cheap rolling stool Dr. Whale often used. While Henry displayed a fake smile and said more than his usual five words, his despair was as apparent as the sun in the sky. Emma and Regina did everything in their power to make his birthday as spectacular as they could, but alas, they could only do so much in a hospital.
For three weeks, Henry maintained a stoic nature as he continued his radiation treatments. In and out he went on a gurney, his hair tucked under a blue net. It wasn't a mandatory accessory for the procedure, but Henry had developed a nervous habit of playing with his growing locks. It'd been a solid three months since his last cut and his bangs nearly covered his eyes.
And, for three weeks, Regina and Emma traded-off days that they went into work. Regina took Mondays and Wednesdays, while Emma took Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays (she spent it "looking" for Mr. Gold's son). They both spent Friday with Henry. Neither one of them had divulged any of details their absences to their co-workers— not even when Mr. Gold grilled Emma about the case— except for Belle and Ruby. Henry's room soon started to overflow with flowers and balloons from the concerned women, as well as Mary Margaret and David, who still hadn't gotten to see the boy.
All three of them were just trying to keep from sinking under the constant tide; they managed to tread water without any complaints, though their arms and legs began to weaken. They'd settled into daily rituals and yet, even with that continuity, their lives had never been more chaotic. The only thing they could do was to keep doing what they had been for the past 23 days: grin and bear it.
"Gina?" a soft whisper questioned. "Regina?" Emma tapped the brunette's shoulder ever-so-gently in an attempt to guide her out of her long slumber. Regina had been asleep for almost nine hours: a new record. She'd been staying up nights with Henry, who'd been unable to sleep. More often than not, he tossed and turned through his exhaustion, only to get tangled in the tubes and wires sticking out from his body. This Thursday, he managed to drift off into unconsciousness, only to wake himself up convulsing from a nightmare. Nine hours was more than what Regina had planned on.
Stretching her back and unfolding her legs from under her, Regina squinted her already-closed eyes and wrinkled her nose like a bunny rabbit. A blurred form appeared before her and the scent of French-roast coffee filled her every pore, luring her out of her dreamworld. "'mma?" she said through slurred speech.
"Here. I brought you this," said the blonde. Still keeping her voice low, she offered the warm beverage to her friend. Emma had consumed hers on the way back to the room.
Sitting up straight in the padded chair with hard, plastic arms, Regina brushed aside the loose strands of hair that had come untucked from behind her ears. As inconspicuously as possibly, she flicked away the sand from her eyes and cleared her throat only once, so as not to stir Henry. "Thank you," she said as she accepted the token. The heat from the cup spread through her fingers and traveled to her chest; one could say it warmed her heart.
Emma leaned against the wall and slid down until she landed on the white-tiled floor, her legs out in front of her. Still in her red, leather jacket, she nodded to the comatose child. "How's he doing?" She'd only been gone for an hour, but as she'd learned quite some time ago, a lot can happen in 60 minutes.
Regina peered over at the unconscious boy and watched as his shoulders rose and fell. "I don't know," she said honestly. "He stays up until morning hours, and sleeps most of the day away."
"I wouldn't worry too much. It's like you said: he's just growing is all," Emma pointed out. She refused to veer off in the direction Regina had begun to steer them in. She was perfectly happy with attributing Henry's exhaustion to puberty.
Henry, who laid with the thin blankets just above his bellybutton, a freshly-folded gown continued to serve as his clothing. The day previous, he'd undergone his 19th radiation session. Every day, Monday through Friday, he sat beneath the wide-arching machine. It hadn't been particularly painful, though the anxiety of it all had drained Henry of a fair amount of energy.
"You and I both know growing bones isn't the problem," Regina said solemnly.
Grinding her teeth together in a circular motion, Emma stood her ground. She wasn't going to allow herself to be sucked in. "Mom and Dad say 'hi.'"
"Maybe we should encourage Henry to make more friends here," the brunette mused, mostly to herself. "Maybe if he could find someone to talk to, someone who could understand…"
Bending her knees and propping her wrists on top, Emma stared at her droopy hands. She traced the lines that spanned from her fingers to her palms, criss-crossed and diagonal. They were hard-fought-for creases that chronicled a life she had yet to relay to Henry, one she had wanted to share with him when he was old enough. She had so many stories she'd planned on telling him, as well as many she didn't want him to ever find out about. The etchings in her skin were more than lines: they were battle scars. "They said to tell Henry they were thinking about him," she added, though she knew it was useless. Even she didn't buy the fake assurance in her voice.
"I want to tell him, Emma," Regina exhaled after an agonizing four minutes of silence. Her body tensed up as if she'd just heard a gunshot; she was suddenly too afraid to move. "I want to tell him before he… before it's—"
"Don't," Emma said forcefully.
"I know what we planned," Regina quipped. "I- I know what I said. But that was 10— that was 11 years ago. Obviously, I hadn't expected something like this to happen."
Peering up at the woman beside her, Emma craned her neck to get a better view of Regina's face. It wasn't what was being said that baffled her: it was who was saying it. She had to see her friend's mouth move in order for it to click. "You're so full of shit."
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me," Emma countered swiftly. "Weren't you the one reminding me of the 'arrangement?' 'I'm his mother' you said, 'You're his aunt.'"
"Emma, please—"
"No way!" Peeling herself off of the wall and rising to her feet, Emma grabbed Regina by the elbow and dragged her out into the hallway. She all but slammed the door shut. Emma stared at Regina wide-eyed, her arms folded over her chest. "It's been less than a month and you're already giving up?" she interrogated. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"
Regina looked everywhere but at Emma because she knew the blonde was right. She'd be a fool to have even an ounce of hope. At least, that's what Regina thought. She'd been through too much in her life to think for a second that she could have a happy ending. Whenever something good came her way, whenever she saw a silver lining, something always happened. One way or another, her happily-ever-after was always taken from her. Why should this be any different?
"You don't understand," Regina began in a hallow tone. "This isn't one of those comic books that Henry's always reading; no one's coming to save the day. You may be naive enough to wait for a savior, but I'm not holding my breath." Turning to face the child alone in his bed, Regina nodded to her son slowly. "And neither is Henry."
"Jesus Christ, Regina, are you listening to yourself? You were the one who told me act like an adult. You told me Henry was depending on us. Was that just bullshit?"
"You don't know what you're talking about," Regina said threateningly.
A thick vein in Emma's neck protruded as she raised her voice louder and louder. "Oh no? How can you just stop trying? After everything we've been through?"
"But that's exactly why! You- you act like we're still in the system: as if we're just going to age out of this and poof, our problems will be over! Nothing is waiting for us on the other side, Emma! There's no magic, no one to take us away from all the bad stuff. The sooner you realize that, the better it will be for everyone." With one last, tired glance at her son, she took off in a sprint; down the long hallway, past the other families who've been there for months— even years— and straight for the exit.
Emma watched helplessly as her best friend fled in tears; she listened to Regina's whimpers as the brunette made her great escape. Unable to contain her rage, she kicked the plastic cover on the wall and spat a bone-chilling, "Fuck!" She could feel the drops of spit that flew from her mouth onto her chin, but never bothered to wipe them away. She would've gone after Regina, just like she used to, if only she didn't have Henry to look after.
"Mom?" a muffled voice called out. Emma paused her anxious movements just long enough to catch Henry's cries. "Mom?" he tried again.
Pulling herself together just enough to not appear upset, Emma slid the door open and stepped into the unnaturally warm room. "Hey, Kid. It's me— it's Emma," she soothed as she pulled up a chair.
As soon as she saw him, though, she didn't feel like sitting. Curled into the fetal position, Henry's features contorted as he bit down in pain. "It hurts," he panted. Both hands were clamped over his chest as he moved his knees closer to the rest of his body.
"What hurts? Your chest?"
Henry tried to nod, but everything inside of him felt as if it were about to explode. When he attempted to look up at his aunt, he let out an agonizing "Ahhhhh" and formed into an even tighter ball. "Mom," he let out in a whisper barely audible to himself. That was the last thing he said before everything around him went dark.
In the weeks after her mother's death, Regina had often wondered which one had been luckier: her or Emma. For years, Emma served as her bodyguard, her protector. The spirited blonde had taken more hits for Regina than Regina could ever repay her for. If she were counting scars, Emma's body would be a work of art, while she herself had very few. And, of the two of them, Regina had been the first to find permanent home. Emma's time came years later, but she'd found parents who loved her and treated her as if she shared the same blood. Regina, on the other hand, lived in a prison. The woman who demanded to be called "mother" was anything but. Cora Mills was a cruel person, one who didn't know the first thing about love. But, she gave Regina a roof over her head, paid for the best education money could buy, made sure she always had clothes and food— she gave Regina everything she needed, but nothing Regina actually wanted. Never once was Cora ever affectionate with her daughter. She never even said "I love you." Of course, she never struck Regina either, but the young woman had come to learn that words could hurt just as much, if not more.
When she died, Cora's will revealed that she had left everything to Regina. And, upon hearing her mother's last request, the newspaper editor relinquished control of the estate and all of her mother's assets; everything was to be auctioned off. Regina didn't want anything else from that witch. She'd been given enough.
Even with a college degree and a stable career, an apartment of her own and a son to come home to, Regina sometimes believed Emma to be more fortunate. She felt guilty for even thinking it, considering the circumstances of their lives, but she couldn't help it. Emma's parents were breathing and well, and they were the most loving people Regina had ever met. She knew Emma didn't talk about her problems very easily, but if she wanted to, she at least had the option. Regina had no one. Henry was too young to try and console his mother and she had very few friends. For the most part, Regina kept everything bottled up.
She wasn't usually one to blow up. She'd built a tolerance, of sorts. Her threshold for anger was rather high compared to most folks. But lately, Regina was barely holding on by a thread. Each time she watched another needle poke her son, each time he was carted off into the unknown, only to return with red marks over his body, Regina found herself on the verge of a breakdown. She tried to keep it together; she tried to hold it in for Henry's sake. He was being so brave, her little prince. But it never got any easier. If anything, it only got more difficult as the days went on.
Emma's chastisement for not being more optimistic was the straw that broke the camel's back. Since his initial diagnosis, Henry's mothers had never spoken directly about his illness. They hadn't taken the time to talk about how they really felt about the whole thing, since they were too busy taking care of their son. As soon as Emma threw their past in her face, Regina broke free of the chains that her bound her. It was as though she could suddenly spit fire; everything she'd been thinking and feeling came spewing forth and hit Emma square in the chest.
She didn't plan her destination. She didn't even plan on stopping. But Regina's legs could only carry her so far. The cool end-of-April breeze blew past her, gently kissing the sweat on her forehead. Dozens of cars honked, hordes of pigeons cooed at one another, and children skipped merrily past Regina on the sidewalk. Healthy children with smiles brighter than stars giggled and chased after one another, followed closely by their parents. Regina couldn't help but remember when Henry still loved to play outside, before technology intervened. He used to beg and plead with her to go to the park and she would take him just as soon as she finished her work for the day; he loved climbing the jungle gym.
Regina found and conquered an empty patch of grass. It was dry enough that it didn't soak through her slacks, though still cold enough to send a shiver down her spine. Her legs stretched out before her, she held herself up with the palms of her hands, her head tilted back. She opened her body up to the sun that smiled above her. Like Superman, it served as an energy source for Regina. It was as though she were slowly regaining her sanity beneath the enormous ball of gas. With her eyes shut, she concentrated on drowning out the noise around her until the only thing she could hear was Henry's laughter. She focused all of her remaining might into bringing forth memories of when Henry giggled and grinned so wide she could see all 26 of his teeth. It had become a rather challenging task in the preceding few weeks, calling upon times of such jubilation. If anyone were to meet Henry now, they'd never guess how wicked his sense of humor really was.
It seemed as though the longer that Regina lingered on the more joyous moments with her son, the more they began to fade away. And the more they started to fade, the less Regina actually began to feel. It was as if she were becoming numb to everything else.
Regina stepped off the elevator and started in the direction of Henry's room. However, halfway there, she ceased her trek in mid-stride. The bed was made with army precision and the monitors that Henry had previously been hooked up to were gone. Their belongings were nowhere in sight and the whiteboard that had the name of the nurses on duty had been wiped clean. There was no sign of her family.
Without losing what was left of her temper, Regina approached the nurse's station and addressed a man in green scrubs in her editor's voice. "Excuse me, would you mind telling me just where the hell my son is?"
Glancing up from his chart, the black-haired man said, "Huh?"
"That's my son's room, but clearly, he isn't there. I'm asking you where he's been moved," Regina rephrased through gritted teeth.
Rolling from one side of the enclosure to the other on a burgundy chair, the seemingly incompetent fellow flipped through various folders until he found the one he wanted. "Henry Mills? Says here he's in intensive care on the fourth floor."
As if someone had just driven a knife through her stomach, Regina sucked in a breath. She backed away from the counter with a hand over her abdomen and slammed her knuckles into the button with the up-arrow. When the elevator didn't come soon enough, she busted through the door to the stairwell and took the steps by threes, ignoring the burning in her thighs.
The fourth floor was even more chaotic than the third. Beeping and flashing lights flooded the halls as men and women in multicolored uniforms jogged up and down the corridor. Pained moans and disoriented cries echoed through the entire ward as Regina frightfully searched for Henry and Emma.
It was the last door on the right. Emma was standing in the doorway, as if she'd been expecting Regina. Her eyes were pink and puffy, her hair disheveled and sticking out of the ponytail she hurriedly tied it in. When she saw Regina, she released the breath she'd been holding for the last hour and a half.
With every step that she took towards Emma, Regina let go of the argument they'd had earlier that day. It was as if it hadn't even happened. Neither of the women were holding any grudges and both of them were worried sick about Henry. They could see it in each other's eyes; they could feel it emanating from each other's bodies. It dripped from every pore and coursed through every vein. Emma and Regina were scared shitless.
Of all the scenarios that she had concocted in her three-minute journey from floor-to-floor, none of them were as harrowing as the reality Regina had just entered. Her heart shot into her throat when she found her son unconscious, a plastic tube taped over his mouth. His chest rose and fell in a rhythm only a robot could achieve. His arms rested at his sides with his palms face-down on the blanket; he barely took up half of the mattress.
Regina grabbed Henry's hand, fell to her knees at his bedside, and buried her face in his side. A circular stain began to spread as her tears bled through his shirt. She'd been gone for less than two hours. He was fine when she'd left. He was asleep. He wasn't relying on a machine to breathe for him. Henry had been ok. How could everything have possibly gotten any worse?
