Surprise! Chapter 2 on the same day hehe. Enjoy!
The home is... surprisingly nice.
Regina's heard so many horror stories of the foster system, she's been preparing herself to find something akin to a haunted building like the orphanages in old horror films. But this place is cozy, full of life and charm, with so many handmade Christmas decorations, it looks like Santa himself threw up in the living room.
Izzie is by her side, explaining how things work here, how this home is one of the rare jewels she always loves to work with. Kids greet her with excitement as soon as they see her, taking the candy she offers them happily, and giving her hugs and hand-drawn pictures. Most of them, Regina notices, depict the blonde with fairy wings and a short, green dress.
"They call me Tinkerbell," she clarifies, pointing to the big bun atop her head as she explains, "because of the hair. And because green is my favorite color."
Regina laughs, tells her that makes perfect sense, and they are then welcomed into the building by one of the women in charge.
She's taken straight through the rooms that house the bigger kids, right to the east wing of the old building, where the babies and their caretakers dwell. There are nerves floating up like butterflies in her belly, anticipation growing the closer she gets to the room, and every mini stop Izzie makes to greet someone has Regina reaching into the pits of her barely attainable self-control, so as not to scream at them to let them through already.
Finally, a set of wooden double doors opens before her, and inside, she sees cribs. Most of them are empty, only six or seven babies of various ages babbling and giggling.
"They've all been adopted already, their parents should be dropping by this week to take them home," Izzie informs her, and Regina smiles, nods, and tries like hell to tramp down those nerves as they escalate.
There's an area to the side, a little removed from the rest, where two people are already standing. The woman is younger than Regina by five or six years, with pixie-cut dark hair and blue eyes. She's holding a squirming little bundle in her arms, cooing at it while her husband, a handsome man with sandy hair and a kind smile, looks happily at them both, his hand gentle as it cradles the baby's head.
"Wait here," Izzie tells Regina, who stops in her tracks and stares at the couple, at her caseworker walking towards them, at the baby she takes from their embrace and brings to Regina.
"Let's go inside," she says, jerking her head in the direction the door ahead of them. They walk through it, and all the while, Regina is in a haze, trying her hardest to pay attention to what the other woman is saying.
"They were supposed to be gone an hour ago. I guess they lost track of time," she excuses, "That's Mary Margaret and David, they're looking into adopting him, as well."
"Oh," is all Regina can say. She wasn't aware she'd have to compete for her child, and she'd be throwing some snappy comment at the knowledge, were she not so distracted by the baby now whining in Izzie's arms.
The woman notices, looks down at the baby with a smile, and then up at her. "Ready?"
Regina doesn't register the action, but she must be nodding, because next thing she knows, the child is being placed in her waiting arms, and Izzie's voice is soft as she says, "Regina, meet Neal."
Her teary eyes drop down to the swaddled form nestling into her chest, and her breath catches.
He's beautiful.
Soft, light brown baby hairs cover his head, his cute little button nose burying itself in his blanket as he fidgets slightly, pudgy cheeks reddening when he screws up his face, little blue eyes scrunching up in a huffy expression that makes her chuckle.
He's perfect.
And he is not her son.
Tears build, spill over without her notice, because as adorable as he is, as much as she enjoys the warmth and clean baby smell of that tiny little body pressed against her chest, she doesn't feel it. Doesn't feel it. That Aha moment she'd been expecting to experience upon meeting him doesn't happen, and her heart breaks all over again.
Maybe it's just the nerves, she tells herself. Maybe it's just that she's been building up this moment for so long now that it falls a bit short to what she imagined, but deep down, she knows that's a lie. The image of the young woman holding him earlier jumps into her head, the perfect picture of love and family as they'd looked down at him. She remembers the woman's face. She'd felt it. This is her son. Not Regina's. Never Regina's.
"Are you okay?" Izzie asks, offering to take the baby back when Regina starts looking around frantically.
"I just... need some air," she says, making sure Neal is safe in Izzie's grasp before darting out of the room.
Her competition is still there. Waiting just outside on a bench, and look at her with fear in their eyes. As if begging her not to take their child away.
"He's yours," she says with a teary smile, and then she runs.
A lot of panting and crying later, she finds herself on a park bench outside, in the front yard of the building, hands rubbing over her thighs as she shivers and cries some more.
It wasn't right. It didn't click the way she'd seen it click with that couple. That baby is not her son, he's not—
"Are you okay?"
It's a child's voice, low and worried, coming from her right.
She turns to find a boy there, with shaggy brown hair, pale skin dotted with freckles, and a kindness in his light brown eyes that shakes her.
"I'm fine," she assures him, because somewhere in her mind, that pesky sense of propriety decides to pop up and chastise her for scaring the poor kid. "Just a little light-headed."
"Do you want a thin mint?" he offers, handing her the box of Girl Scout Cookies she's just realizing he's holding. Regina takes one, but doesn't bite it, intrigued by the little boy.
"They're my favorites. My brother always brings me some. Do you have a brother?"
"Um, kind of," she says, because she knows her biological father has a son and a daughter. She's never met them, but they're related. That counts, right?
The boy seems unfazed by her strange answer, only chews on his cookie and urges her to do the same.
"Good?" he asks, and the way he looks at her, with such interest and anticipation, lets her know this is a very important question.
"Delicious," Regina says, biting into the cookie, adding, "They're my favorites, too."
The boy high-fives her, and it makes her laugh, makes her feel lighter, better.
"I always hide them under my pillow. Mrs. Lucas says we should always share what we have, but I don't like sharing my thin mints. I run out too fast when I share them."
She giggles. She is thirty-four, a respected interior designer in the upper Manhattan scene, she shouldn't be giggling like a schoolgirl. And yet here she is, doing just that, like she's no older than him.
It's... freeing. Fun.
She nods as she says, "I can understand that," and takes another bite out of the precious gift this child has given her. It's just a cookie, but she can tell it's a big deal to him, and for him to consider her deserving of such a treat... well, it makes her feel good. Like she's done something commendable and is receiving the best kind of praise.
"Is that what you're asking Santa for this Christmas? Boxes and boxes of thin mints?" she asks, and it makes him laugh, has him shaking his head and shifting closer to her on the bench.
"Nah. But I always ask for a family and never get it, so yeah, maybe I'll ask for cookies this year. That should be easier for Santa to bring, right?"
He says it so casually, so simply, and it tugs at her heart in ways nothing else ever has.
"You know what?" she says, "I think soon, you'll have more family than you know what to do with."
He grins at her, and something inside her lights up at the knowledge that she's put that smile there.
"I'm Henry, by the way. Henry Swan," he says, offering his chocolaty, sticky hand to her.
Regina takes it without hesitation, succeeding in not wincing as bits of cookie lodge themselves between her fingers.
"Regina Mills," she replies, marveling at the warm, tingly feeling erupting in the pit of her stomach.
"You're here to adopt Neal, aren't you?" he asks then, and before she can answer, he's rambling away, chewing on his cookie as he goes. "The babies always get adopted, all moms and dads want babies, so they get adopted all the time and we don't 'cause we're older. But s'okay, 'cause Neal's so little, I'm glad he'll have a house and a room and parents, and now he doesn't have to live in foster homes all the time like me, and that's really good."
"Please don't speak with your mouth full, Henry," she says kindly, stopping his speech before more tears take over. When he gives her a heartfelt Sorry, she tells him it's alright, and clarifies, "And I'm not adopting Neal."
"Oh," he utters, swallows his most recent bite, and then frowns a bit. "That's too bad. You look like a really good mom."
Regina takes a minute, one long, deep breath to calm herself before she answers with a teary, "Thank you, sweetheart."
He smiles, offers her another cookie, and they eat in companionable silence.
He breaks their reprieve to ask her what other cookies she tends to favor, and then they chat about everything. Their favorite colors, movies, places, things they've done or want to do. She tells him about her apple turnovers, and how making them is her favorite part of Christmas. Tells him about her job, her life, her childhood (the good parts anyway, like the horse ranch she used to go to for riding lessons, and the smell of Johanna's freshly baked cookies when she'd get home from school...).
He mentions a bit of his own history, about how he's been here since he was seven years old, tells her of the things he's lived through over the years, good and bad. The houses he'd lived in before coming here, the people he's met, and there's this astounding maturity to him, mixed still with the innocence of his short years, that has Regina loving every second of their conversation, has her wanting to know more. Wanting to be in his life for longer than these few minutes given to her by chance.
When she started all this, adopting an older child wasn't part of the plan. She'd wanted a baby, still does, doesn't she? But...
"Henry," she asks, "would it be okay for me to visit you this weekend?"
"Visit me?" he asks, meeting her gaze with a curious stare.
"Yes, visit. I'd... I'd like you to be my friend, if you're okay with it."
"Oh. Sure! I like having friends," he says happily, a giant smile forming on his face when he says, "If you come Saturday, you can meet my brother!"
Oh. Right.
"Ye— Yeah, sure. Your brother."
Something inside her deflates at the thought. Maybe the brother is trying to get him out. Maybe he's some long-lost sibling from one of his parents' previous relationships and has come to take this sweet boy away from the agony of living without a family.
He's probably off limits. Which means entertaining the notion of adopting him will only make her miserable.
She shouldn't think like that. Should be glad that at least Henry won't be alone for much longer. She can just do this. Can just be his friend, spend some time with him until he leaves.
All throughout her little breakdown, the boy is talking away, telling her some story about his brother, and she's only able to catch the last few bits.
"...So he said if I beat him he'll take me for ice cream after lunch. Do you like ice cream? You should come with us! I'm totally gonna win."
"Ice cream in winter?" she interjects, raising a quizzical eyebrow at him.
"There is never a bad time for ice cream," he says solemnly. "Roland thinks so, too."
"Your brother?"
"No, Roland is his son."
Regina's eyes widen just a bit. "You have a nephew?"
Henry laughs, rushes to explain, "No. Robin's not, like, my real brother, he's my big brother. You know, those people who come here to see us and hang out?"
Oh. Oooh.
"Oh," she says out loud, unable to hide her relief.
"Yeah, I thought it was dumb at first, but Robin's really cool, and Roland comes with him sometimes and we play. Roland's way younger than me, and sometimes he gets a little sad that he doesn't have a mom, but other than that he's fun, and he likes chunky monkey ice cream, same as me."
Regina tries, she really does. Tries to tramp down the ray of hope blooming in her chest. But she can't, her smile grows, her heart feeling lighter than it has all day.
"I'd love to have ice cream with you, Henry."
Saturday, everything goes wrong.
Her alarm doesn't go off, meaning she wakes up a full hour after she was supposed to, and by the time she reaches Grand Central, she's missed the express train. The next one leaves in 35 minutes, but there's a local one just about to depart, so she boards that one instead, eager to start her journey. The local train would probably take just as long getting her there as waiting for the express would have, but this way at least she feels like she's doing something to get there. Henry's waiting.
That is... if he hasn't already given up.
Not for the first time this morning, Regina curses her pesky alarm.
When she finally arrives, though, she realizes she needn't have worried.
Henry is fully entertained, out in the front yard of the large house with a soccer ball, kicking it around and laughing with another boy, who is about half his height but no less enthusiastic as he scores a goal on Henry's side of their little "field" and whoops triumphantly.
There's someone else there. A man. He's about her age, it seems, and clad in far too little clothing for the current chill. A T-shirt, white and V-necked and snug, with a blue Permanent Visitors' ID pinned to it. Dark jeans, with only a pine-green hoodie to keep him warm as he high-fives the little boy and tells Henry he still has time to catch up.
"Ready, men?" he calls out in a British accent that makes something tingle inside her. Henry is all furrowed brow and practiced stance, eyes zeroing in on the ball and kicking it away from the toddler's path, much to his dismay.
Henry evens the score with a goal that has a little lick of pride bubbling up in her chest (pride she has no right feeling, not really, not yet), and that golden, warm thing she'd felt when she'd met him stirs in her heart, reminds her of why she's here in the first place.
"Way to go, champ," she calls out, and Henry's head turns so quickly his floppy hair whips against his face.
"Regina!" he calls, instantly abandoning his game and running to her, brightening and shattering her world all at once with the excitement in his voice.
And then he hugs her. Smacks right into her and throws his arms around her waist, cheek pressed into her belly as he holds her so tight she feels tears spring to her eyes, unprepared for the casual show of fondness.
She returns the gesture, though. Slowly and hesitantly, but she does. Cradles his head against her with one hand while the other loops over his back and presses there, holding him close for a moment, basking in being given his affection so freely.
"I didn't think you'd come," he confesses when he pulls away, and Regina has to look up at the sky and blink back those tears before she crouches down at eye level with him.
"I promised you I would, didn't I?"
"Well, yeah," Henry admits, "but it's already after lunch, I thought..."
He trails off, and Regina picks that moment to apologize and explain herself, cursing that stupid alarm once again.
"I woke up late and missed the express train, had to take a local."
"Oh," he says simply, looking a little humiliated for thinking she'd abandoned him. And it's only logical that he would think that, she reasons, because who knows how many times this poor boy has been abandoned in the near ten years he's been in and out of here.
Tipping his chin up, she puts on her friendliest smile, and promises him, "I don't back out on my promises, Henry. Even when my alarm is a little wacky sometimes."
He laughs at that, then again when she winks and tells him, "You're on my team now, buddy, get used to it."
He drags her back to the yard, excitedly telling her about his game, and Regina notices his adult companion is suddenly quiet, the younger boy nowhere to be seen. The man is staring at them —at her, really— as Henry happily makes his way over to where he'd left the soccer ball.
"Robin, this is Regina, she's my new friend!" he announces, "Regina, this is my brother Robin."
His hand is outstretched and offered to her before Henry's even done talking, and Regina smirks, shakes it, and lets go before the heat of his stare sets her ablaze.
"Why, hello there, new friend Regina," the man offers, "I heard you might be joining us."
Good god, that accent. It makes her knees tremble, has her biting her lower lip and looking down at her boots.
"Hi," she mutters, and she can feel how big her smile is, but can't seem to be able to reduce it, enchanted as she is by them both.
"You forgot to mention how beautiful she was, Henry," Robin remarks, and Regina blushes, flirts back with a Stop that is half-hearted, and an added teasing of Are you this smooth on the field?
"That I am, milady," he tells her, and she laughs at the nickname, but doesn't protest it, let's it stoke that giddy little flame his flattery has ignited, and looks down at the boy still standing close to her.
Henry is beaming up at her, politely offers her a seat on the nearby bench while they finish their game.
"It's just one more goal, I won't take long," he tells her, "Robin sucks at this."
Robin claps something back, but smiles at Henry throughout it, good-natured and easy.
And then he turns that smile her way, his eyes smoldering as they focus on her lips...
It's been a while since a man has looked at her like that, but it feels... nice. A little confidence booster on an otherwise very dry dating life. The heat of his appreciative gaze doesn't lower from her face, doesn't venture into anything inappropriate, but it's there, making things fizzle and shake the cold walls around her soul as she sits and watches them.
"Robin!" Henry's loud exclamation snaps them both back to reality, and it's only then that Regina realizes he's called out his big brother's name a good five times before shouting it. They'd been too caught up in staring at each other to notice.
She watches him go, watches him pass the ball around with Henry while they rib each other playfully, and it occurs to her she's seldom had this good a view.