Hey guys! Thanks again for great reviews! All you guys on twitter were awesome...super warm and respectful. yay trending #SQlovesyou! *hugs all around*
Here's chapter 27 :)
Emma laughed at her son, and pointed to the hot chocolate bits that were smeared on his face. She handed him a napkin. "Yeah, you are definitely my son," she said, knowing she likely had a cocoa mustache herself.
"At least I have the manners to wipe mine," he said in a snarky little voice.
"And that," she added, pointing in reference to his attitude, "is what makes you Regina's son too."
She reluctantly took another napkin for herself and wiped her face. "So do you and your mom have any other tree-getting traditions that we should check off the list?"
"Nope," he said, shaking his head and bringing his cup back to his lips. "Other than decorating—which we said we'd do when she gets home tomorrow—nothing else."
Emma nodded and twirled a spoon in her mug. Henry cleared his throat.
"I was thinking," he said, "you and me—we don't have any traditions, do we?"
Emma thought for a moment. "No, kid," she answered, "I guess we don't."
"Maybe—we should start one?"
Emma was surprised. She felt her heart flood with warmth. "Yeah—totally. What do you think we should do?"
"Hmm," Henry said, "well, I've never made gingerbread cookies. You wanna try that?"
"Sounds good to me," Emma answered as she took their empty mugs to the sink for rinsing. "You know where we can find a recipe around here?"
"Just use Mom's laptop," he said. "It's in the study."
In Boston, Regina was partaking in another tradition of sorts. She found that the burning sensation of a hard drink after an appointment often took the edge away from the ruminating thoughts of whatever diagnosis her doctor had made this time. Though, as she sat on the barstool, she knew she'd much rather be chopping down a tree and drinking hot chocolate.
The bartender stood plainly, cleaning off empty glasses with a towel. The hotel bar was relatively empty, considering it was late afternoon on a snowy day. The brunette caught his attention when she raised a hand.
"Can I get a Bourbon?" she asked. "Neat, please."
He nodded, flinging the towel over his broad shoulder, and took a glass down, along with the bottle. He brought both over and poured in front of her. "Sure thing, Ma'am."
He stayed and watched Regina down the contents of the glass quickly. He had seen her before—not often, maybe once every few weeks or so. She usually ordered one drink, sipped it slowly, and tipped well. But when she asked for another, he knew something was different.
The bartender tipped the bottle of Bourbon again for Regina. When she took it in her hand, she watched him study her movements.
"What?" she asked, catching him off guard.
"Nothing," he said turning back to his glasses. "It's just—well—you look like you could use a dose of delight, that's all."
She smiled at the familiar phrase and tipped her glass. "I think that's what I'm doing, dear."
He laughed. "No, I meant—," he said as he leaned his hands on the bar, "some good comfort—you know, a good movie, your favorite food, a warm blanket—whatever it is that could cheer you up."
She nodded. "Ironically," she said as she sipped her drink, "I knew what you meant."
Regina Mills never got sick—that was the mantra she lived by in the winter. She had a town to run and a son to care for. As a single mother with a demanding career, she didn't have time to get sick. Whenever she felt the dull ache in the back of her throat, or the twinge of congestion, she simply took some vitamins and drank herbal tea. But back during the October when she was dating Emma, despite her best efforts, her face was pale, her stomach felt queasy and her night stand was covered in tissues.
"I'm going to work," she groaned out as she tried to get out of bed.
Emma laughed, almost spilling the hot mug of tea she'd brought upstairs. "While your persistence is absolutely adorable," she said, "it will get you nowhere. Now lie back down."
"You're being ridiculous, Emma," Regina said, grabbing another tissue. "I have meetings."
"I'll have your secretary reschedule them," Emma insisted. "Get your sick, stubborn ass back into this bed."
"You can't make me—"
Emma raised her eyebrow. "You wanna bet?" She moved in front of Regina, who was busy trying to sit up properly. Emma extended her finger and gently pressed it to Regina's chest. It didn't take much at all—just a mere poke—and Regina flopped back down, unable to fight against the simple touch.
"You can't be serious," Regina mumbled out in a sick voice as Emma tucked her back in. "I have a town to run. Just because you, Ms. Swan, spend your days playing games and eating bear claws doesn't mean we all have that luxury. I actually have to—"
"Hey now," Emma interrupted her, and handed her the tea, "as much as I know you love insulting me, I'd really like you to rest your throat now."
Regina glared at her angrily, but eventually took the tea. Emma smiled and brushed back the hair from her face.
"Good girl," she said. "What you really need is a dose of delight."
"A dose of delight?" Regina asked as she drank her tea.
"Yes," Emma repeated, "a dose of delight."
"Miss Swan," Regina said sternly, "if this is one of your deranged attempts to get me to smoke from that pipe of yours again—"
Emma laughed. "No, nothing like that, baby," she said. "I just mean you need some TLC—I can cook you something and we can watch a movie."
"Cook for me?" Regina muttered after blowing her nose. "Are you trying to make me sicker by adding food poisoning into the mix?"
Emma chuckled and rolled her eyes. "I kinda like the sick version of you," she let out, "reminds me of when you used to hate me and we had all that pent up tension—"
Regina threw the balled up tissue at Emma's head. "Who says that I don't still hate you?"
"Whatever, snot-face," Emma teased back. "Finish your tea, take a hot shower and then meet me downstairs."
After a hot shower, Regina felt a little less congested. She slowly climbed down the stairs, trying to sniff as she went, hoping she wouldn't smell smoke from a burning kitchen. When she entered the room, she saw Emma serving whatever she'd whipped up into a bowl.
"Go set yourself up on the couch," Emma said, as she gestured toward the living room.
Unable to see what she would be eating, Regina settled down, a bit nervous about her girlfriend's cooking.
Emma came in, carrying a tray full of more hot tea, come crackers, and a bowl full of the blonde's mysterious creation. Once she'd brought it down to eye level, Regina cautiously looked over the contents.
"What is it?" she asked.
Emma smiled proudly. "I call it 'feel-good-pasta'," she said, handing Regina a fork.
The brunette gently lifted an eyebrow. It looked decent enough—nothing out of sorts. She put her nose to it, trying to detect any foul orders. But given her blocked sinuses, she couldn't make anything out. She slowly picked at it.
"Just try it," Emma groaned.
And so, she did. Regina took a small bite of the pasta. As quickly as her taste buds registered its identity, her eyebrow shifted back down and the corners of her mouth turned upward in satisfaction. Regina took another bite. And another. Until she finished the bowl. Emma grinned in delight to see her girlfriend had taken to the dish.
"You love it, don't you?" Emma asked with a knowing, self-satisfied smile.
Regina smirked as she put the bowl down. "So you can boil water," she answered, hiding the level of her happiness. "Big deal."
Emma simply kissed her forehead. "There's more if you want it."
Regina turned to her slowly. Without a word, she simply nodded. Emma took the bowl and was happy to refill it with more 'feel-good-pasta'.
Regina smiled warmly, finishing the last drop of her drink. She watched the gently snow slow down as it fell. She didn't notice that the bartender had been watching her while she had drifted into the nostalgic memory.
"Wherever it is that you just went, Ma'am," he said in reference to her hazy daydream. She turned back to him. "That's where I think you need to go."
She looked down at her glass. The grin on her face couldn't be erased. "You know, I think you're right," she said. She took out a few bills from her wallet and placed them down. "I need to be home."
Emma swiveled in Regina's desk chair as she waited for the laptop to start up. She tapped her fingers on the mahogany desk a bit, looking up at the etching of the winter song bird that hung above the fireplace. Her thoughts were immediately drawn back to the screen when it prompted her.
"Henry?!" she called out, "Is your mom's password still the same?"
"Yep," he answered. "Either as is or replace the 'I's with '1's!"
She quickly typed out 'idiotcharmings', just as she had many times before. She smiled when the computer continued to load the desktop program.
"It worked!" she shouted back to Henry. Once the laptop had finished booting itself up, she opened up the web browser, ready to cue up Google and find a recipe. But as the browser opened, she found it was refreshing to Regina's last session.
There were several tabs open. At first glance, it didn't surprise Emma. As organized as the brunette appeared to be, the blonde new the nature of her racing thoughts—her mind was constantly working overtime. She was just going to open up a new tab, but something caught her eye. The tab next to the blank one she'd clicked on read 'lymph node radiation treatment'.
It seemed out of place. Emma quickly scanned the other tabs. There was one for the Storybrooke Mirror, one open for world news, another for Maine state legislature concerning forestry—all things reasonable to see on Regina's browsing history. But the final one—what reason would a mayor have to be researching a treatment for swollen lymph nodes?—at least that was what it appeared to be, from what Emma could gather as she read through the page.
She froze for a moment. She didn't even want to digest what she had just read. She slowly brought the mouse over to the top left corner of the program and hovered it over the history tab. Emma was tempted to click on the 'show all previous history'. But just as she registered the blue highlight on the words, she clicked away and shut down the program, along with the laptop.
Emma walked out into the kitchen where Henry was taking out the cookie sheets. "Henry," Emma she softly, clearing her throat a bit, "does your mom have any cookbooks?"
"Yeah," he said, pointing to a small bookshelf on the side, "but I thought you were looking up a recipe on the internet."
"Connection's not working," she muttered out quickly.
"I can fix that!" he said quickly. "Did you—"
"HENRY!" she shouted out before she could control herself. She paused when she saw him take a step back. "I just want to use a book, okay?"
"Okay," he said softly.
She was shaking a bit. She patted him on the back as he pulled down a book on cookies. "I'm just gonna head outside for a sec," she said as she grabbed her leather jacket. "How about you find a good recipe, and when I come inside, we'll start baking, sound good?"
Before the boy had a chance to answer, she kissed him on the head and walked toward the door.
As soon as she got her cigarette lit, Emma pulled out her phone and dialed Neal. She didn't know why she was panicking at the moment, but she knew he could calm her down.
"Emma, what's up?"
She took a deep breath. "Neal, I don't know. I'm kinda freaking out here."
"What's going on? Everything okay with Henry? Did something happen with Regina?"
She exhaled a stream of smoke from her cigarette. "No, nothing like that," she said. "I was about to bake cookies with Henry. I went on Regina's computer to get a recipe and her previous session just popped up and—". She paused.
"And what, Em? You found porn?" he laughed. "Lemme guess, Regina has a thing for—"
"No! Nothing like that!" she yelled. She took another drag. "She had a tab open on lymph node radiation treatment…"
The phone went silent on both ends for a moment. Emma kept smoking, hoping it would calm her nerves. She finally managed to utter the question on her mind.
"You don't think Regina—is—sick, do you?"
"No," he said. His response was so quick and affirming. "No," he said again, "Em, I know how you get—you're just freaking out. It was probably just research. Hell, Henry probably had a homework assignment for health class."
"You think?" Emma asked, a bit calmed by his unabashed certainty.
"Yeah," Neal answered. "In fact, he called me two weeks ago, mentioning something about a project on the circulatory system—lymph nodes are totally a part of that."
Emma couldn't honestly remember enough of anything she'd learned about anatomy to know if he was correct. But there was something about the way she spoke that put her at ease. "Yeah, you're probably right," she sighed and pitched her cigarette.
"I am right," he said. "Now go on and bake some cookies. Save some for me, yeah?"
Emma laughed. "Have you met your kid? And me?"
"Good point. We'll just have to make some when you get back. Talk to you later, Em."
She hung up the phone, feeling calm and relaxed. There was no need to panic. She was just overreacting.
She came back inside and into the kitchen to see Henry was busy, buzzing around in the cabinets, pulling down ingredients. He turned to her and pointed to the open page in the book.
Emma eyed the picture of the gingerbread men. "I see you found a good one?"
"Yep," he said. "Can you read how much brown sugar we need?"
She ran her finger over the page. "One cup," she said.
Henry pulled down the mostly empty bag. He turned and frowned. "I think we need some more."
Emma laughed. "No problem, kid," she said, "go grab your jacket and we'll get some."
As they walked the short distance downtown, Emma's anxiety crept in again. Maybe Neal was just really good at calming her down, but not excellent at being correct. When they passed the clock tower, she decided to do some digging.
"Hey Henry…?" she began.
"Yeah?"
She gulped. "Your dad mentioned something about you having a project a few weeks ago…for health class?"
He didn't say anything at first. She began to sweat. Finally, after racking his brain, he answered. "Oh yeah," Henry said, "research on the circulatory system."
Phew, that settles it—Emma thought.
"Yeah, we were assigned specific organs and glands," he explained. "We had to figure out what they do, how they can be hurt by a given disease, and what treatment helps them get better."
"Ah, okay," Emma said as she cooled off.
"Why'd you wanna know?"
"Oh," she said, not having thought of the answer. "I just…well…I wanted to make sure you did it, that's all."
He laughed. "Ma, do you really think Mom would let me get away with that?" he asked. "She even helped me do the research."
Even more of a confirmation. See, Swan?—nothing to worry about.
"Well, I'm glad to hear it Henry."
Out in the light snow, Regina cleared off the dusting of white that had fallen on her car. She had taken the bartender's advice. After finishing her drink, she took some time to pack her things, allowing the mild buzz to wear off. She knew she didn't want to stay away from the people she loved any longer.
As she drove though, she tried to think about the words that needed to come out. She tried everything out loud, wanting to hear the words herself.
"Emma, there's something I need to tell you," she started as she drove. "You know all these out of town appointments I've been going to? Well, they've been trying to figure out what's wrong and well, I'm not really sure, but—ugh!" she groaned. "No."
She took the onramp to the highway and began again. "Emma, I know I should have told you earlier," she began, but the truth got the best of her. "—but you were being a selfish, immature idiot, and couldn't seem to keep your hands away from a juvenile harlot—God, no!"
Regina drove a few more miles. "Emma Swan, you mean the world to me. I only hope—". She froze, realizing what she was about to say. It had nothing to do with her being sick, but rather, her hoping to spend the rest of her life with the blonde by her side. But as she went by the underpass, she couldn't help but wonder—how long would that be?
Yes—Olivia said not to worry—'this isn't a death sentence'. But how long would it be until they found the cause of her ailments? How long would it be before she sat her down, apologizing, telling her they tried everything they could? How long would it be before she was preparing her own funeral instead of a wedding—a wedding, might she add, that only existed in her head? What if marriage wasn't what Emma wanted? Hell, they weren't even dating yet. Emma still had a girlfriend.
There was no way she could drag the blonde into this.
After going to the store to get the brown sugar, Henry and Emma walked back through the downtown area to get back to the white mansion. Emma stopped dead in her tracks when they were outside the diner. Her jaw dropped when she saw the driver of a little beat up Honda civic make eyes with her. The car quickly pulled a u-turn and parked across the street.
"Hey," Henry said, pointing to the vehicle, "isn't that Kate's car?"
Emma gulped as they watched the raven haired girl step out of the car. She smiled and waved as she crossed the street.
"Yep," Emma said in-between waves, "it sure is."
Kate leaned in for a big hug with Emma, who responded with her hands up, not fully engaged in the embrace. "Hey, babe," she greeted her girlfriend.
"Hey—uh, what are you doing here?" Emma said, trying her best to conceal the anxiety in her throat.
"I told you, remember?" When she saw Emma's complete confusion, she shook her head. "I told you I had a gig in Portland. When I suggested that I meet you here after, you said, 'sure—uh huh'."
"Was that my laid back 'sure—uh huh' or my I'm-not-listening-to-a-word-you're-saying 'sure—uh huh'?"
Kate playfully slapped Emma. "Does it really matter?" she asked. "I'm here now and looking forward to seeing everyone!"
Emma cleared her throat. "Um, actually it—"
"No!" The sound from Henry's mouth completely surprised Emma, but no more than his kick to her shin did, getting her to stop talking. "No, Kate," he said, "it doesn't matter at all. Why don't you go inside and get a booth while Ma finishes yelling at me for…not doing my homework."
"What?!" Emma asked, but Henry quickly stepped on her foot. "Ouch—oh, yeah," she added. "Lots of scolding to do here. You go ahead, baby, okay?"
Kate raised an eyebrow at both of them. "You two are weird," she said. "You want hot chocolate?"
"Yes!" they both squealed out nervously. They watched as the punky girl shook her head and walked into the diner. Once the bell from the door had stopped ringing, Emma turned back to her son.
"What the hell was all of that, kid?!" Emma asked.
"Oh, I'm sorry," he began with a tone that was entirely Regina's, "so you wanted her to suspect that you're with my mom and planning on breaking up with her—before you can actually do it the proper way?"
"Well, no, but—," Emma answered. "What about your mom? I can't very well have Kate in Storybrooke…not after what's changed between us."
"My mom won't be back until tomorrow," Henry answered. "By then, you're going to break up with Kate—so I can see—and have her out of Storybrooke."
"Henry," Emma said, "you're not going to watch me break up with Kate!"
He folded his arms. "You've had long enough. Ma, this is my way of ensuring that Mom doesn't get hurt."
Emma bent down to his level. "Henry," she said, resting her arms on his shoulders, "I will break up with Kate. I promise."
"Okay," he finally said. "Let's go drink more hot chocolate. Should be fun to watch you handle this one."
She rolled her eyes at him and opened the door for them to enter.
Neither had seen the black Mercedes park, just a moment after the young girl had entered the diner. But Regina saw them—just the two of them—her little family. She smiled at the thought of them getting hot chocolate after bringing home the tree. A very Emma touch to the tradition. As she walked across the street, she flushed her anxieties away—sending them to the back of her head for the moment. For now, she just wanted to spend the rest of this day with the things she loved the most.