Regina was released the next morning, with the condition that she remained under the care of Henry and Emma, much to her own displeasure. Henry had spent the night at Regina's bedside, while Emma had prepared their house accordingly. She knew Regina— even this incarnation of the woman; she knew space was the best thing she could give her.
Emma assumed Regina would want to sleep alone, made up the guest room for herself. Threw a pile of clothes onto the bed, enough for a couple of weeks at most. Rearranged their room to best fit Regina's needs, hoped it would suffice for the time being… however long that meant.
Emma hadn't gotten much sleep that night. Alone in their bed, without the comfort of Regina's warmth, the Savior tossed and turned in the darkness. Every time she began to drift off, she saw Cora pushing Regina over the line— watched Regina crumpled to the ground over and over again. She checked her phone obsessively, desperate to hear good news. Henry had promised to text her updates, but there were few to report. Regina hadn't remembered anything.
When Emma arrived that morning, she found Regina sitting in a wheelchair and Henry standing behind, ready to steer. Regina was wearing the same clothes she'd been brought to the hospital in. Her hair was a bit flatter. All traces of her makeup had disappeared. The softness in her eyes that Emma had come to appreciate had vanished.
"The car's out front," Emma informed Henry as she tossed him the keys to the Mercedes. "I'll meet you down there." Regina didn't say anything to Emma, hardly even acknowledged her presence.
Emma watched as Henry rolled Regina down the hall, her teenaged son towering over most of the nurses. It was only when they'd turned the corner that she meandered through the ward until she found Whale at a station.
"Emma," the doctor greeted. "I hear you're taking Regina home." The sheriff nodded stiffly. "Try and remember what I said yesterday: take it slow. It's best not to overwhelm her with too much information. Her memories will return in their own time. Keeping her calm is the best thing for her and the baby."
Emma sighed and tried not to roll her eyes. "Right. So, until then, we just… treat her like we did in 2013? Act like we're not a family? Pretend that she's not pregnant?"
Whale pressed his lips in a tight line, empathy etched in his features. "I wish I could tell you there was a 'right way' to work through this. All I can say to take—"
"Take it slow,'" Emma echoed. "Yeah. Right. Thanks Doc."
The house was cold and empty when they walked in. Henry supporting Regina as she shuffled into the foyer. There were more pictures than she remembered, frames hanging on adjacent walls and propped up on the fireplace. Pictures of the happy family they'd supposedly become. She saw herself smiling, being held by Emma, laughing effortlessly. But she felt nothing. To Regina, it was all a narrative of another life, one she had no connection to.
"Are you hungry?" Emma asked as she closed the door behind them. "I could make us some breakfast."
"It's 11 o'clock," Regina said dryly.
The memory of just two days ago flashed in Emma's mind, Regina's tone of slight disapproval at her eating habits. Maybe some things hadn't changed. "OK, then, lunch?" Regina was about to refuse, but a fearsome growl vibrated through her body and gave it away. "I'll take that as a 'yes,'" Emma chuckled. Turning towards the kitchen, Emma nodded to their son. "Henry, why don't you take your mom upstairs—"
"No need," Regina replied in a clipped fashion. "I can find my own way to my room." Emma and Henry watched as Regina reached for the rail and carried herself up the spiral staircase, both of them dying to offer assistance, but smart enough to let Regina do it on her own.
Regina recognized most of the second floor; the carpet was the same, none of the furniture had been replaced. There were more photos, though. More snapshots of a life that was foreign to Regina. She did her best to ignore the pictures, scrambled to her room, shut the door behind her.
Her back pressed against the wood, Regina slowly inspected her quarters. The bed had been made in a sloppy fashion, Emma's work no doubt. A folded set of pajamas sat on top of blanket, along with a towel set. Regina scoffed. The nerve of Emma, treating her like a guest in her own house— as if Regina hadn't meticulously designated a place for everything.
Putting one foot in front of another, Regina took inventory of the space. Her vanity sat just where it always had. Various makeup kits were sprawled across desk, as if someone had been in a rush. Again, Regina assumed it had been Emma. But upon closer inspection, she noticed they were all of the brands she had always used. She wouldn't have been so careless, though. Wouldn't have left the house without making sure they were put away correctly. Would she?
Unlike the rest of the room, the bathroom was immaculately clean, no doubt her own doing. It was slightly different than she remembered, though. A small, purple rug matched the curtains. Charcoal, marble served as the bathroom counters. Two toothbrushes, a yellow one and a purple one, sat together in a porcelain holder. There was a petite, shell-shaped cup with earrings in it. Two brands of shampoo sat in adjacent corners of the shower, her own and a blue bottle she didn't recognize.
As Regina examined the rest of the room, she parsed through the closets and the dresser. Her own clothes took up more than half of the space. Where Emma's clothes had previously been, was now a gap, an emptiness Regina suddenly felt somewhat guilty about. She could smell her own perfume, but she could also smell the faint traces of spice. Traces of Emma. Evidence that this was no longer only Regina's room, but theirs.
Sitting on the bed, Regina closed her eyes. Six years. She lost six years of her life, five of which had apparently been spent with Emma. Emma Swan. The Savior. The daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming. Sure, they'd been on civil terms before, but this was a whole new level.
Lost in her train of thought, her brow furrowed as she struggled to wrap her mind around the whole ordeal, she never heard the footsteps approaching.
A gentle tap on the door snatched Regina out of her daze, one hand instinctively falling towards her stomach. "Yes?" She called out stiffly.
The door opened a crack and Emma's head popped through, her blonde curls dangling loosely. "Food's ready."
Pressing her lips together, Regina scoffed. "You cooked? I didn't realize you possessed any culinary skills."
With a sad smile, Emma shrugged. "You've been teaching me. You even trust me to make your lasagna now." There was a brief pause before Regina's hands flew over her mouth as she rushed into the bathroom. Emma followed closely behind her, stood in the doorway and averted her gaze out of respect, offering a washcloth. "Ok. So, maybe something else for lunch?"
Regina let out a heavy sigh as she accepted the gesture ruefully, her eyes a bit watery. "What the hell was that?"
"That would be morning sickness," Emma informed, her hands shoved into her pockets almost guiltily. "Don't worry, it's actually been better the last couple of days."
"And just how much more of this should I expect to endure?" Regina asked.
"Well, you're just over four months gone. So…" Emma did the math in her head. "16-18 more weeks." She tried to offer a friendly smile, tried to lighten the mood. But Regina merely glared at her. "Saltines usually help. And some cider."
Without batting an eye, Emma conjured the remedies and held them out to a stunned Regina. "Your magic…" the brunette hummed.
Blushing somewhat, Emma said, "Oh. Right. I've got a little more control over it now."
"A 'little?'"
Emma just shrugged again in that modest way of hers. "Like I said: you've been teaching me."
Grudgingly, Regina reached for the crackers and cider. Sure enough, three crackers and half a glass later, Regina felt her stomach settling. "Thank you," she murmured once she was sure she could keep it all down.
"Anytime." Emma tried not to stare, did her best to keep her distance— physically and emotionally. "Look, whenever you're ready, we'll be downstairs. I'll try and whip up something that won't make you sick."
Regina rolled her eyes. "Good luck with that."
Their day was a rather quiet one, spent indoors, hardly a word spoken between Regina and Emma. Henry had been slowly informing Regina of their routines, careful not to give too much away. Regina wasn't really listening though. She was too distracted by the mature young man her son had turned into. The deepness of his voice, the chiseled jaw, his broadening shoulders. When she looked into his eyes, she could see a hint of the boy he'd once been.
Meanwhile, Emma was busy keeping tabs on the town, her phone in her hand as she awaited word from David. Cora still hadn't been sighted, though half of Storybrooke was on alert. Wherever she was hiding, she was doing a damn good job of it. Emma cursed herself for not being better at locator spells, though she suspected Cora would have some extra-strength cloaking magic.
Around three o'clock, however, Emma's phone rang. It was David. When she heard the news, she wasted no time in grabbing her coat and keys. "I have to go," she told Henry and Regina hurriedly as she rushed towards the door. "Emergency at work. Call me if you need anything!"
"Does she always tear through the house like a tornado?" Regina asked Henry as she joined him on the couch. She'd meant it as somewhat of a joke, but there was a cautiousness in Henry's eyes she couldn't help but notice. In an effort to change the subject, Regina gestured to the notepad in his lap. "You've started writing?"
A sly smirk crossed Henry's lips as he looked over at his mother. "You could say that."
Passing the paper over to Regina, Henry watched as she read the passage. "I see your creativity hasn't dwindled."
Henry let out a gentle chuckle. "I mean, I am the Author." At Regina's puzzled expression, Henry took a deep breath. "Ok, I know we're not supposed to tell you too much, but… the Book, the one with everyone's stories. There's dozens of them. All written by different Authors. A few years ago, I found out that I'm the next one." The way Henry spoke, it was as if it were the most normal thing in the world. There was a confidence in his voice, a sense of pride Regina had never heard before.
"Well," Regina sighed. "It appears I've missed even more than I previously thought. I suppose next, you'll tell me there's a new Dark One." Henry licked his lips nervously and shifted in his seat. "There's a new Dark One? Is Rumple—"
"He's alive," Henry said quickly. "He's still the Dark One. But, um…"
"Henry," his mother urged sternly. Regina sat up as straight as she could, with the help of a sofa pillow lodged between her lower back and the couch.
Fidgeting with the spine of the notebook, Henry gave into Regina's impatient glare. "Emma sorta became the Dark One… temporarily." He watched as Regina's eyes widened, heard the spike in her heart rate. "It's all good though! It didn't last long. And you guys won, like you always do. So…" Henry reorganized the fire in Regina's eyes, the way her nostrils flared in fury. He could see the gears turning in her mind, knew that she was teetering very close to the edge of impulsivity. "What's the last thing you remember?" He wondered timidly. "I know you told Ma already, but maybe there's something we missed? Something that could help us figure out why so much time was erased?"
Regina was doubtful, but she heard the optimism in her son's voice. Slowly, she let her anger at Emma wither away as she parsed through the muddled images that flashed before her. "The last thing I remember," she started with a sigh, "is sending you and Emma over the town line."
"Pan's curse."
Regina nodded solemnly. "The next thing I know, I'm waking up in a hospital bed six years later, apparently pregnant," she gestured to her midsection, "and by Emma Swan, none the less."
Henry tried not to cringe at the way Regina said Emma's name, tried to ignore the bite in her words. "I know it's probably hard to believe, but you and Ma really are happy together," he offered.
"So happy we've decided to expand, I see," Regina grumbled.
"You are though," Henry urged. "Ma's been going crazy the last few weeks. She can't wait to start on the nursery. You two already picked out some colors." All Regina could do was shake her head. This life was anything but what she'd imagined hers would be.
Emma didn't tell Henry and Regina where exactly she was going. Didn't want to alarm them or get their hopes up. A lead was never a certain thing. Answers weren't a guarantee. But, when she got to the station and found David waiting for her, Cora locked behind bars, a mixture of relief and rage washed over her.
Her blood started boiling the very moment she laid eyes on Cora, her hands balled into fists. She made a bee-line for the woman, ready to rip her apart, until David blocked her path.
"Dad—"
"Emma, wait. Listen." David put his hands on her shoulders in an effort to focus her. "Cora turned herself in."
"I don't care if she ripped her own heart out, I'm gonna kill her." Emma tried to push against her father, but he was stronger, sturdier.
"That's the problem," David said plainly. "She doesn't have her heart."
Emma shot a fierce glare at Cora. "Bullshit."
"It's true," Cora said from the cell, fingers curled around the metal grate. "See for yourself."
As if conferring with David, Emma stared up at him. When he stepped aside, Emma started towards Cora. She'd only done this a handful of times before, did everything her power to avoid having to unless it were absolutely necessary. This was absolutely necessary.
Rolling up her sleeve, Emma took another step and held her hand out in front of Cora's chest. Without warning, the Savior thrust her arm forward, only to find an empty cavity. Emma retracted her hand slowly, ignored Cora's sharp gasp, and planted herself firmly before the former Queen.
"Ok," Emma grunted. "Talk."