A/N: Thanks so much for all the positive feedback! I'm really glad to see you're enjoying this :] As a warning, I apologize if any of these chapters seem jumpy. It was never my intention to make this a drawn out fic, so it's more like a series of snapshots instead of being super plot driven. Just wanted to clarify.
Also, I'm a bit confused about the setup of Mary Margaret's apartment. I'm just gonna say its a two-bedroom place for the sake of this story. Thanks again for reading :]
There is a crib assembled in the living room.
There is a crib assembled in the living room, because Emma is currently occupying the only spare room in the apartment.
She glares at it, almost menacingly, as she spoons her cereal into her mouth.
"Cereal for dinner?" Henry's voice startles her as he enters the apartment, kicking off his tennis shoes as he joins Emma at the table, his hair a bit mussed from the wind. Mary Margaret and David are out to dinner and a show tonight, and Emma finds she's a bit glad for the unexpected company.
"Hi to you, too, kid," she mutters, taking another bite. It's tasteless against the bile that's settled in her mouth. "You want a bowl?"
"No, thanks. My mom made a roast for dinner," he informs her, innocently, though the words only make Emma's stomach churn all the more, reminding her of her uselessness.
"Yeah, 'course she did," Emma huffs. She brings the bowl to her lips, draining the excess milk, staring at the crib once again. "Hey, wanna help me with something?" she offers as soon as she lowers the bowl from her lips.
"Sure!" Henry's face lights up, despite knowing nothing of the task. "What do you need me to do?"
Her stomach eases, reminded that his adoration still remains.
XXX
"So…where are you going to sleep?" Henry cocks his head, looking at the mattress propped up against the wall of the spare bedroom, the bed frame disassembled in the corner. In the center of the room, Emma repositions the crib.
"Granny's maybe," she shrugs. "Til I can find my own place, you know? It's about time I did that," she sighs, wiping her sweaty palms on her jeans.
Henry frowns. "You can stay with me and my mom if you want to…we have lots of spare rooms," he immediately offers, stepping closer to Emma, titling his chin to smile up at her.
"Kid, I don't really think that's the best idea," she bites in a lip. "But thanks for the offer."
"You know, my mom's not so bad…at least not as bad as she used to be," Henry speaks softly, almost looking sheepish as he says the words.
"Yeah, I know." And she does know. She knows well that Regina is on the path of redemption, though this truth leaves a bitter knot gnawing at Emma's stomach. Regina is changing, but Emma can't seem to embrace it like everyone else.
She bites back a further remark, placing her hand on this small of his back as she leads him from the room. "It's getting late. Let me give you a ride home."
He nods, knowing not to push the topic any further. Once Henry is delivered back to the mayor's manor, she drives to the station, unable to bear the thought of returning home.
XXX
She awakes to the sound of her phone buzzing loudly, a hazy beam of light bleeding through the small window. Stiffly, she removes her legs from her desk, her back aching from the uncomfortable position she assumed for the night. She had contemplated taking refuge on the mattress in the single jail cell, but she had held on to the small amount of pride she still harbored.
"What?" she answers her phone, not even bothering to check the caller ID. She rubs her temples in attempt to nurse her splitting headache.
"Emma? Where the hell have you been?" Mary Margaret's voice is familiar, though the use of the minor profanity is not. "We've been worried sick."
"Went into the station late last night to work on some stuff. Fell asleep here by mistake," she lies, sinking back into the worn leather chair.
Mary Margaret sighs, waiting a moment before she answers. "Emma, we saw what you did to your room. You know we're not kicking you out, right?" It hurts to listen to the sincerity in her voice.
"Yeah, I know," Emma lets out a weary breath. "But I've been meaning to get a place of my own anyway, and now's turning out to be an ideal time."
Mary Margaret sighs as well. She can picture her face, her brow knotted in concern. It makes Emma's stomach hurt. She hates what she's doing to them. "At least stay here until you find a place. There's no use having an empty room, especially before the baby is born."
Emma nods against the phone, saying the words Mary Margaret wants to hear, even though she knows she is lying through her teeth.
XXX
She'd stay at Granny's, but she doesn't have the money. And she doesn't have the humility to take Granny's sympathy, certain that the kindly woman would offer her a room free of charge.
She hates herself, as she walks up the familiar walkway with her duffle bag slung over her shoulder. It's her only option, really. She could lie to Mary Margaret and keep living in her office, but it's a small town, and not much of anything seems to stay hidden around here. Mary Margaret and David's home (not hers, never hers) suffocates her every moment she spends there, the wooden crib taunting her, Mary Margaret's belly swelling with life, reminding her that she will soon be replaced.
If Regina is really the woman she claims she has become, now will be the time she proves it.
She reaches for the doorbell, listening to it shatter against the silence.
XXX
"We have three spare rooms upstairs," Regina reminds her, as Emma snuggles up into the throw pillow of the deep leather couch.
"I'm fine here," she mutters, her breath coming out in a small huff.
"Well, if you insist. I'm headed to bed," Regina shrugs, flicking off the parlor lamp, the darkness engulfing Emma as she listens to the click of Regina's shoes fade.
Once the noise is no longer audible, she lets of a breath, pressing her nose into the smooth surface of the pillow, inhaling the rich scent. Regina has been agreeable, but not overly welcoming, which is more than Emma would have wagered. Perhaps her kindness does extend beyond her promise to Henry; perhaps her heart is blossoming from the clenched knot she used to harbor in her chest.
She closes her eyes, listening to the click of the grandfather clock keeping time in the silence. She lets her heart match it's beat, on the brink of slumber, when a hushed noise rouses her. She sits up, becoming attentive, frowning when she recognizes it as crying.
Henry.
She flies form the couch, making a beeline for the steps, determined to beat Regina there, intent on being his knight in shining armor. But as she ascends the steps, her heart sinks with a thud.
The gentle sound of content breathing is the only noise seeping from behind Henry's cracked door.
The sharp, gasping tears come from Regina's.