Chapter Twenty Two

Footsteps echoed through the tunnel. In their entire existence those walls had only seen light once before; when a small boy with a flashlight had scurried through them several months before, looking for a tiny shred of hope. Now, another beam of light crept across them. Small pebbles clattered down from the ceiling with every heavy footstep.

It was pitch dark between those stone walls, but August's blue eyes were sharp. He was used to the darkness. He liked it.

He raised those eyes and scanned them across the roof of the tunnel. The bright beam of light from his flashlight left a trail for him to follow and, as he did so, he didn't blink. Not once. He kept his eyes fixed firmly on the flat rock, on the darkest corners, on the cracks that ran down each sharp jut of stone. He kept looking, slowly and calmly. But, after fifteen minutes, his teeth began to grind together.

Nothing. Nothing at all.

He couldn't understand it – he was convinced that he would see something down here.

The sight of Regina's tree rotting; slowly weakening and breaking down, had made his stomach drop that morning. He had walked past City Hall, not even looking up, but had somehow sensed it. Sensed the walls around the town beginning to crumble. Sensing…

…sensing magic trying to leak back in.

He looked back up at the roof of the mine, sighing. Nothing. There was nothing.

You need to be more patient, he told himself, walking back towards the mouth of the tunnel. He held his flashlight out before him as he moved, even though his eyes had long since become accustomed to the darkness.

He rubbed a hand over them, groaning. In that moment, the bright beam of light glistened off of something that was buried deep into the wall. Something that, if August had been looking, would have looked a lot like a diamond.

But August wasn't looking.

He sighed to himself. Then he pulled his hand away from his eyes and kept moving towards the exit without turning back.

'Hey,' Henry said, looking up the moment that August walked into the diner. On his face was the same enormous grin that seemed to have become a regular feature over the last few weeks.

'Hey buddy,' August replied, sitting down in the booth opposite him. 'How's it going?'

'Great,' Henry breathed, leaning forwards against the edge of the table. 'Everything's great.'

'I can see that. You do look kind of… giddy.'

'Emma's been round for dinner four times in the last week,' Henry said, still grinning. 'It's amazing. My mom is laughing all the time now and Emma's finally putting on weight again and everyone's just… happy. It's great. Everything is really, really good.'

'I'm glad to hear that, buddy,' August said, smiling at him. He leaned back, stretching his left arm out over the back of the booth. 'I really am. It's about time that you had a reason to smile this much.'

He noticed then that Henry had the same slightly crooked bottom teeth that Emma did. He felt something tugging inside of his chest.

'It's funny, isn't it?' Henry said, relaxing back in his chair.

August frowned. 'What is?'

'This,' Henry said, gesturing around him. 'How things are now. How different everything suddenly is.'

'In a good way?'

'Of course,' Henry said. 'When we said that they should be friends, I didn't realise just how… right it would be.'

August watched him as he spoke; at his eyes that were flashing excitedly with every word. He watched as the small boy shook his head, almost with disbelief, at what he heard himself saying.

But then he said the sentence that made the clocks stop ticking.

'I never even thought how much Emma would start to trust her.'

In that moment it was as if something hard and metallic had hit August around the back of his head. He suddenly inhaled, narrowing his eyes.

Henry noticed this at once and blinked. 'What?'

August quickly tried to smile. 'Nothing,' he said. But his fingers were twitching against the leather of the booth and the lines around his eyes had deepened. 'I'm fine.'

'You're lying,' Henry said quietly.

'How can you tell?' August said. 'My nose isn't growing.'

'Funny,' Henry grumbled. 'August. You've gone weird. What is it?'

And August opened his mouth to lie, as he so often did. He prepared himself to laugh and deny it. To treat Henry like the ten year old that he was, rather than like the surprisingly grown up young man that he so often surprised them all with.

He went to do all of that – and then he stopped. Henry watched as he took a deep breath, like he was preparing himself for a battle.

'It's just…' he said slowly, his piercing eyes now looking down at the table. 'Something that I've been thinking about. Something that I've been trying really hard not to think about.'

Henry hesitated. Somehow, he knew what was coming next.

'Your mom…' August continued, sighing. 'Emma does trust her. She really trusts her. And that's great, and exciting, and a huge thing for both of them. But, Henry… it also causes us a few problems.'

Henry's whole body had gone cold, but the back of his neck was prickling with sweat.

When he finally replied, his voice was low. 'Because she trusts her more than anyone,' he said quietly. 'And when she finds out the truth… it'll hurt her even more.'

Something jarred inside of August. 'You've thought about it too?'

The boy nodded. '…I don't know why we never saw it as a problem. Before we started all of this.'

August sighed, rolling his head back against the leather cushion of the booth. 'I don't know, kid. I really don't. We were just… we were so caught up in the curse; so caught up in thinking that all we needed to do was to get Emma to believe in it.'

'But instead… we made her believe in my mom.' Henry said sadly.

'We did,' August said. 'And it's going to kill her.'

He wasn't exaggerating, and they both knew it.

When Moe had attacked Emma, he had ripped something from her: that sharpness that had always helped her to blaze a path through whatever she faced was suddenly blunt, and she was duller now. Softer. She flinched at loud noises and she had clung onto Regina because she had been led to truly believe that she was the only person in the world who wouldn't hurt her.

She would find out the truth. They both knew it. And when she did, she might not ever be able to grow those sharp edges back again.

August sighed. It wouldn't be his fault, but it would certainly be his doing. And he wasn't sure that he could cope with watching her shatter all over again.

'This is a problem, kid.'

'I know,' Henry replied with a sigh that ruffled his hair away from his forehead. 'I mean… the curse has to break. I know that. But… it just feels like by fixing what my mom did, we'll also be wrecking a whole lot more. She's finally happy, August. They both are. I don't want to be the person who ruins that.'

'She kind of ruined it for herself, buddy,' August said in a low voice. 'But I get you. And, if I'm honest… I'm not sure how either of them would recover from something like this. I'm not sure that either of them could.'

Henry frowned down at the table.

'Especially if Emma finds out about it all just because the curse breaks,' he muttered to himself. 'I mean, rather than being told about it.'

There was a pause. August gazed across the table at the boy who wasn't looking back at him: his hazel eyes were narrowed and fixed on the full cup of hot chocolate that was resting between his hands, her forehead furrowed deep in thought.

He cleared his throat. 'You… you think that Regina would do that? Tell her?'

'No,' Henry said flatly. 'But I wish that she would. Emma trusts her now – she might listen to her. She might understand it if it came from her.'

August felt himself nodding. He knew without hesitation that if Regina were to tell Emma the truth – if she were the one to tell her about who she really was… that would be the best chance that any of them had of getting her to believe it. Of getting her to understand it.

But he also knew with just as much certainty that that was never going to happen.

He sighed, leaning back once more.

Because Regina was afraid: August knew that, simply by watching the way that she looked at Emma. She was scared of what she was feeling, of what it really meant. Of what she would lose if Emma ever, ever found out the truth about her tainted, shameful self.

As Henry sipped at his drink, August felt that same tug of sadness inside his chest. There was a curse, and it needed breaking. It was Emma's destiny to do so.

But apparently it was also her destiny to get broken herself along the way.

August couldn't help but grind his teeth together, wondering why the world was always so intent on doing that to her.

'I could have sworn that you told me that you wanted to keep these dinners to a minimum,' Regina said. She was stood at the sink, arms submerged up to the elbow in the soapy water, with a smirk on her face.

Emma swatted at her with the dish towel that was in her hand.

'You could always stop letting me into the house if you have such a problem with it.'

'I never said that I had a problem,' Regina said, handing her a plate. 'I was just casually noting that you're a rather large hypocrite.'

'I can't help it if you make better food than Mary Margaret!'

'Surely that can't be difficult?'

'…she makes good breakfast. But for some reason her cooking skills kind of deteriorate over the course of the day.'

'That's probably because in the afternoon she's distracted thinking about running off to see that adulterous man whore of hers.'

'Regina.'

'What? It's probably true. Besides,' she said, looking over at where Emma was doing no drying up whatsoever. 'I can almost see her point.'

Emma nearly staggered backwards into the counter. 'You think about David?!'

'No, dear,' Regina said calmly, letting the water run down the drain. 'But I certainly get distracted through the day thinking about you.'

Emma's cheeks flushed.

'Regina,' she said. 'Henry might hear you.'

'It's fine. He's doing his homework.'

'Oh, right. Because we both know that that kid always does what he's told.'

Smirking at how Emma had somehow ended up pressed into the corner of the two worktops, Regina took a step towards her. She watched as Emma's eyes darkened.

'Like mother, like son,' Regina murmured, dragging her eyes down to the hollow of Emma's throat. Emma found that she didn't actually want to know which of them she was referring to.

She forced out a sigh, reaching up to nudge Regina's shoulder.

'You know that we can't do this here,' she said softly.

'Can't we?' Regina mused.

'No,' Emma said. 'Henry's in the next room, Regina. And I don't know if you're aware of this or not, but he's a kind of perceptive little shit.'

'True,' Regina murmured. 'But we can be quiet.'

'Regina.'

'Okay, maybe one of us can,' she said, her eyes flashing. Emma immediately glared and crossed her arms across her chest. 'Oh, what? It was a joke.'

'You should know by now, Madame Mayor, that your jokes are not funny.'

Regina let out a bark of laughter, finally taking a step back and giving Emma room to breath.

'My jokes are hilarious,' she said in a voice that thrummed with her teasing. 'It's just another of the many things that you cannot resist about me.'

As Emma forced herself not to laugh, shaking her head to herself, she didn't notice the kitchen door slowly creaking open. A pair of narrow, hazel eyes peered into the room.

'You need to stop saying things like that,' Emma said, reaching out with the dish towel and batting it against Regina's hip. 'Your head's big enough already. Soon it'll be so full of hot air that you'll start to float away.'

'I have plenty to be smug about, Miss Swan,' Regina said coolly, snatching the towel out of her hand and shaking her head as Emma giggled. 'It wouldn't hurt for you to appreciate me for all of my many redeeming qualities every once in a while.'

Eventually Emma stopped laughing, but a tiny smile still played about her lips.

'You know that I do.'

And Regina smiled in response.

'Yes,' she said, folding the towel neatly and hanging it up on its hook. 'I suppose that I do.'

Henry watched for just a moment as they looked at one another. He frowned: both of his mothers were only barely smiling; their lips curved upwards by just half a millimetre. And yet there was a gleam in each of their eyes, a warmth in their pink cheeks, that made them look as if they were beaming. They looked… radiant. Happy.

Like a prince in a forest when he realises that his ring is leading him exactly where he wants to be.

Henry slowly eased the door shut again, his forehead creasing.

That's not right, he told himself, padding back across the hallway until he was back in his previous position on the living room floor. They're friends. That's all. They're not… Snow and Charming. They don't like each other that much.

But then he heard the peals of laughter that rang from the kitchen as Emma once again took control of the dish towel and slapped it across Regina's hip. He saw the shine in both of their eyes as they came back into the room to join him.

He smiled up at both of them, his heart clenching in his chest.

This isn't how I planned it.

He swallowed down the taste of acid, trying not to look as Emma and Regina sat down on the sofa, side by side. But it was too late: he could feel it. He could see the way that they were looking at one another without ever glancing up.

He didn't understand – not really. He didn't understand why they were smiling like that. He didn't understand why they kept glancing at one another.

...except that he knew exactly why. He had read enough fairy stories to know what that look meant. He had seen the way that Mary Margaret watched David as he walked by with Kathryn, and he knew what love looked like when it leaked from someone's eyes.

But he didn't want to understand. Because this was already hard enough: this was already going to break them sooner or later. This made it worse. And this couldn't possibly get any worse.

'At what point in history,' Henry said, his shoulder pressing against Emma's arm, 'was that a good look?'

'It was the eighties, Henry,' Emma said, nudging him. 'You really think that you're going to look back at this cute little ensemble of yours in twenty years from now and still think that you look like hot shit? Think again, kid. It's going to be a train wreck.'

Henry sniggered, pointing down at the crumpled photograph that showed Emma wearing a pair of stonewashed denim overalls and scuffed white sneakers.

'Nothing can compare to this,' he laughed, prising the photo out of her fingers so that he could peer at it more closely.

Regina watched as Emma winced, forcing herself not to reach out and snatch it straight back.

'Well,' Regina said after a moment, waiting for the colour to return to Emma's cheeks. 'I didn't realise that I'd raised a sassy fashionista for a son. Tell me, Henry; do you have any opinions on the fall line just yet?'

'Mom. You're not funny.'

'Told you,' Emma muttered, forcing a smile. Her shoulders had relaxed slightly, and Regina let herself breathe.

'And I've told you,' she replied, smiling sweetly. 'I am hilarious.'

Emma and Henry's eyes met and simultaneously rolled. Regina felt that usual, inescapable twinge of solitude – the unignorable feeling that, even now, the pair of them would be better off without her.

But then Henry turned to face her. She was perched on the edge of the couch, away from the pair of them, while they were both sat cross-legged on the floor with Emma's still-empty photo album resting before them. He smiled at her.

'Are you going to come and help?'

She opened her mouth to reply. To say yes, and to join them on the soft carpet. But then she saw as Emma slowly turned to look up at where her son was kneeling beside her, her green eyes anxious but still somehow bright as she watched the smile that had spread across his face.

Suddenly the lonely squeezing in Regina's stomach subsided. She smiled back at him.

'I think Emma's got all the help she needs, Henry,' she said quietly. 'You two carry on. I'll be right here if you need me.'

Emma flashed her a worried look, expecting to see her sulking in the corner of the couch. Instead she found Regina looking calmly back at her, her face warm. She nodded to her to go on.

As Emma turned back to the album, Henry settling back down beside her, Regina watched them beginning to sort through the photos. Henry asked a lot of questions, she noticed: about how old she was, about where she was living. About what that foster home in particular was like. Regina also noticed that Emma didn't have a lot of answers and, when she did, they were quiet and strained. But they were there, at least. They were slowly trickling through.

Regina watched them working together for the next half hour. The photos were put into some sort of order – one that Henry laughed hysterically at because he seemed to entirely gauge it based on just how straggly Emma's hair was – until finally, painfully, Emma let him hand her the glue. She took a deep breath, laid out the first page flat, and stuck the photograph down.

It was the first photograph that she had of herself: a a cut-out from a newspaper three days after she had been found at the side of the road.

Regina bit down on her bottom lip, watching as Emma's shaking hands smoothed the thin paper down into the book. When the tips of her fingers reached the corners, she let out the breath that she had been holding and gently tapped the page: she had done it. There it was.

That tiny, timid gesture reminded Regina so strongly of her son's own innocent little quirks that she nearly choked.

She realised then, in a burst of something that felt like a fire, how she felt when she thought about Henry: warm. Heavy. Big and small all at once; like she was so full of love for him that her body might be crushed under the weight of it.

And then she looked at Emma, and she realised that the weight in her chest never lessened. In fact, it almost seemed to grow. Her ribs started to hurt with holding it in.

Both Henry and Emma heard her gasp and looked up just in time to see her pressing her hand over her heart.

'Mom?' Henry said, frowning. 'Are you okay?'

Regina's gaze flicked over to meet Emma's for a moment. She was watching her with narrowed eyes, not saying a word.

Regina swallowed, waiting for the burning in her chest to subside.

'I'm fine, dear,' she said, smiling. Because she was – she really was.

But she was also terrified, creaking under the weight of just how much her heart had grown over the last few months. It was like carrying a basket of apples that never stopped overflowing.

'You sure?' Emma said in a low voice, her eyes taking in the flush of Regina's cheeks.

Regina nodded, pulling her hand away from her chest.

'I'm sure,' she said, still smiling. 'I'm just fine.'

'At least if nothing else,' Regina said, returning to the living room half an hour later, 'Henry goes to sleep much quicker when you're here. You tire him out, apparently.'

'I have that effect on a lot of people,' Emma said, her eyes down on the open photo album. She and Henry had together managed to fill four pages before Regina had ushered him off to bed. She had returned expecting to see her still working on the page that they hadn't quite finished yet: but, just like she had been on nights before, Emma was simply staring down at it. Her shoulders were slumped again.

Perching herself on the very edge of the couch, Regina frowned.

'Emma…?'

'What is this about, Regina?' Emma asked. Her words came quickly and sharply, surprising them both.

'Excuse me?'

'This,' Emma said, nudging the album with the back of her knuckle. 'Why did you give me this?'

Regina's mouth opened for a moment, and then closed again. She swallowed. 'I've already told you. I—'

'No,' Emma interrupted, her voice flat. 'None of this "I want to help you accept your childhood" crap. It's bullshit. I don't buy it. There's something else here – you're trying to teach me something. What is it?'

Regina blinked. 'You really need to ask that?'

'Regina. Seriously,' she sighed again, rolling her eyes. 'It doesn't make any difference to you – I'm here. Okay? I'm yours. You've got me. You don't have to do stuff like this if it's just because you want me to stay.'

Regina's face clouded over. 'What...? That's not why I'm doing this, Emma. Why would you think that?'

'Because it's the only thing that makes a bit of sense.'

'Well. It doesn't actually make any sense. So that is not it.'

'Then tell me,' Emma said, leaning forwards with her elbows resting on her knees. 'Tell me why you're doing it.'

'Emma—'

'Now.'

Regina sucked in a breath through her teeth, narrowing her eyes. She watched Emma's face for a moment longer, taking in the petulant scowl that had long since been dragging her features downwards.

Eventually she leaned forwards, releasing her lower lip from between her teeth.

'Because you survived, Emma,' she said simply. 'You survived what he did. But you never let yourself see that: you only see yourself as someone who lost.'

'I don't—'

'No,' Regina interrupted, reaching out and tucking a stray strand of blonde behind Emma's ear. Her hand lingered for a moment beside the deep, grey scar that ran down her temple. 'Stop it – stop belittling yourself. You don't ever seem to realise what you've done and it drives me crazy. That's why I'm doing this. All I want is for you to see what I see – you're a survivor. You're a hero. You're exactly the kind of saviour that Henry sees, but you still seem to be completely terrified of the thought of it.'

Emma swallowed, feeling the coolness of Regina's hand pressing against the side of her face. She never blinked as she gazed up at her.

'Regina,' she said sadly. 'You're… you're wrong. I'm no saviour. I'm not even a survivor. I'm a mess. I'm broken and… you're the only thing that holds me up. Sitting me down with a bunch of photos isn't going to miraculously stick all the pieces back together again, you know.'

There was a pause. Then Regina sighed, leaning forwards to bury a kiss on top of Emma's matted curls.

'I know,' she muttered into her hair, closing her eyes. 'I do know that. That's not what I'm trying to do.'

'Then what—?'

'You are my hero,' she said calmly. She felt Emma's body tense up beneath her. 'And the fact that you can't even see it… I can't have that. I won't allow it. Because you are a survivor, and you are a hero. You just only let yourself see the cracks.'

'The cracks don't go away,' Emma mumbled, breathing in the slightly smoky smell of Regina's shirt.

'I know that,' she replied. 'They probably never will. They're there and they always will be. But… they're battle scars, Emma. They're something to be proud of. You go through so much, you fight so hard, and you deserve to have something to show for it. These photos – they're your story. They're what you've managed to beat.'

Emma swallowed. 'Regina…'

'I just want you to see that,' she muttered, squeezing her eyes closed. 'That's all. I want you to see the fighter that I see. Because maybe, if you can start to appreciate what you have survived… maybe you'll finally stop thinking of yourself as someone who's been broken, and you'll see yourself as someone who's been fixed.'

A/N: I struggled a bit with this chapter (hence the two and a half week delay...) so I really apologise if it's not my best work! I hope that some of you liked it all the same. Anyway - onwards!