Chapter Twenty-Nine

Regina's face was a worrying shade of grey as she stared down into her coffee cup.

Henry watched her from the other side of the breakfast bar, his spoon dangling loosely from between his fingers. He had eaten half of his cereal before he had looked up properly – realising just how sick his mother looked, he had stopped eating altogether.

He had known that she would be anxious that morning. He also knew that she would be tired: he had stayed with her all night long, and he had heard her crying into the early hours of the morning; smothering her face with the edge of her pillow in a futile attempt to not wake her son up.

And so he also knew that she would still be painfully, inconsolably sad. But what he hadn't quite anticipated, however, was just how broken she would look.

He swallowed his mouthful of soggy cereal and looked across at her.

'So, were you always evil?' he asked. Regina dragged her eyes up from her cooling coffee, flinching. When she realised that there was only genuine interest in his voice, no malice, she let her stomach unclench.

'No, Henry,' she sighed. 'I wasn't always evil.'

'Oh,' Henry said, looking back down at his cereal. It was mushy and half-drowned in milk. 'The book doesn't say how that happened, you know.'

'I know,' she said, forcing herself to sit upright. 'I've looked through it. The book doesn't tell you a lot of things.'

Henry nodded. 'Will you tell me?'

He watched as his mother flinched.

Looking back down at the mug that was clamped between her hands, she cleared her throat. 'It's… it's not a very nice story, Henry. It was a very dark time and a lot of bad things happened – some of them happened to me, but a lot of them happened because of me.'

Henry considered this, his forehead scrunched up into ridges. He ran his eyes over his mother's frame – at her slightly slumped posture; at her make up-less face and the silvery robe that she was wearing because she hadn't quite managed to force herself to get in the shower yet.

'But you changed,' he said after a moment. 'Bad things happened, and you turned evil. You were hurting. And now you're not hurting anymore, and so you're not evil anymore.'

Regina raised an eyebrow. 'Do you think that it's that simple?'

She could have cried at just how sceptical she felt. But the sight of her son nodding with such absolute certainty in response somehow made the feeling ebb away again.

'I do,' he said, finally dropping his spoon back into the bowl. 'Mom. You fell in love with Emma – she's the Saviour. The product of true love. She is good, and if you love her then you can't be evil. There's just… there's no way.'

'But she loves me too,' Regina replied bitterly, trying not to shudder at just how foreign it felt to actually be discussing the fact out loud. 'So maybe she's not good anymore. Maybe loving me has turned her evil instead.'

Henry reached out and slapped her across the back of her hand. She snatched it back from the table, pressing it against her chest.

'Ow!'

'Stop that,' he said flatly, folding his arms across the table. 'You've told me, okay? It's done – I know. And I'm going to help. But I can't do that if you're too busy moping around feeling sorry for yourself.'

Regina narrowed her eyes at him, torn between being angry at him and wanting to laugh because he looked so much like Emma in that moment.

'She's a bad influence on you,' she muttered under her breath. Henry grinned.

'And she's a bad influence on you too,' he said cheerily. 'Do you even remember the other week when you left the house without having your shirt pressed?'

Regina glared at him. 'I did not.'

'You did so,' he shot back. 'You ironed it yourself in five minutes. It looked different.'

'I ran out of time,' Regina said, her voice shrill with defensiveness. She took another sip of her coffee even though it was now past lukewarm. 'I'm very busy you know, Henry.'

'Oh, I know,' Henry said, grinning at her. 'It's funny – you think that just because I'm ten, I wouldn't notice these things. But I do. I notice all of them.'

Regina narrowed her eyes. '...you're saying that you really noticed that my shirts were slightly more creased?'

Henry didn't blink. 'Yep.'

But Regina was watching him carefully, and she saw the slight flicker of his smile as he spoke. She sighed.

'No,' she said quietly, finally releasing her coffee cup and folding her arms across the table. 'You wouldn't notice that – you noticed the chocolate cereal. You noticed the fact that Emma was here every evening. You noticed that I was happier and you noticed that Emma was the one who was making me so – you did not notice that I didn't have time to send out for my laundry.'

Henry's grin faltered ever so slightly. 'I did so.'

Immediately, Regina raised an eyebrow.

'I don't think so, young man,' she said in a low voice. 'Who told you?'

'Who told me what?' Henry bristled. 'I noticed you and Emma all by myself.'

'I don't dispute that,' Regina said calmly. 'But the shirt – you don't notice if your own shirts aren't ironed. Nothing on this earth would make you pay attention to mine.'

'Mom—'

'Tell me,' she said flatly, raising one eyebrow. 'Now.'

It was odd how, even with her hair tangled and her pyjamas still on, Regina could look quite so intimidating. Henry scowled at her; at her proud posture and her sharply observant eyes, and he groaned. Bunching his fists up in his lap, he dragged his gaze back down to the table and muttered as quietly under his breath as he could manage.

'…August.'

Regina blinked. It took a moment before this one word fully managed to permeate its way through her skull and into her brain.

And then, 'August?!'

'He's nice, Mom,' Henry said, wincing at her the sudden shriek of her voice.

'He's three times your age,' she hissed, her mouth hanging open. 'Why is he still hanging around you, and why is he discussing my laundry with you?!'

Henry pouted, his eyes still on the table that sat between them.

'He's my friend.'

'He's an interfering little parasite,' Regina snapped. 'He's worse than Gold. What was he trying to do to you? Has he been trying to split us up this whole time? Was he trying to turn you against us?'

His mother sounded nearly hysterical, and Henry suddenly looked up with a panicked frown etched across his forehead. He swallowed, reaching out to squeeze his fingers around his mother's hand.

'No,' he said, simply and firmly. 'No. He… he wasn't doing that at all.'

'Henry,' Regina shook her head. 'You can't be so trusting all of the time. So willing to believe that everyone is—'

'He's from your world, Mom,' Henry interrupted. Regina's mouth, previously hanging open with unfathomable disdain, snapped shut.

'…excuse me?'

'August,' Henry repeated, his voice only getting quieter. 'He's from the Enchanted Forest.'

Regina blinked. Her mouth was suddenly dry.

'That's a lie.'

'It's not,' Henry said simply. 'I've seen his leg.'

'His… leg?'

'It's wooden,' Henry said. 'And it wasn't before Emma arrived in Storybrooke.'

Regina sucked in a breath, taking in this bizarre piece of information with her eyes skittering across her son's face

After a moment, something hard and sharp hit her in the chest. Henry watched as she slumped forwards.

'He's… Geppetto's son?'

Henry half-smiled. 'He's Pinocchio.'

'But…' Regina stammered, shaking her head. 'He… how…?'

'He escaped through the same tree as Emma,' Henry said quietly. 'Through the same wardrobe that she went through.'

Regina flinched: she remembered that day, so very vividly. She remembered the dark metallic tang of victory tinged with the taste of something bitter – something that worried her. Something that had worried her for twenty eight years, until suddenly mass of blonde curls and wide, confused green eyes had appeared on her doorstep.

It was funny how that worry had disappeared, up until now. How the thought of Emma had only filled her with warmth and relief, until now.

'…does Emma know that?'

'No,' Henry said firmly. 'She still wouldn't believe him. She thinks he's crazy.'

Regina sighed. 'She would. She's as dense as the tree that he was made from.'

Henry laughed. 'I thought you were supposed to love her?'

'I do,' Regina sighed, rolling her eyes. 'I love her very much. But she's still an idiot. Surely even you can see that.'

Henry grinned, choosing not to answer the question.

They smiled at one another for a moment, enjoying a moment that was completely uncharged and completely without agenda for the first time in months. Possibly years. For the first time since long before Henry had hopped onto a bus to Boston he was looking at his mother with an easy smile; one that told her that he loved her and he believed in her, even though he still wasn't quite sure of her. And she just looked back at him – it was a look that said absolutely everything, all at once.

When Henry finally spoke again his voice was surprisingly timid.

'You have to tell her, you know.'

For some reason hearing those words, no matter how true she knew that they were, made her heart shatter. Her face crumbled, and that simple, delighted smile that her son had so easily made her wear slipped from her lips.

Her hands curled into fists on the flat surface before her and she sighed.

'Yes,' she said so quietly that it was nearly a whisper. 'I know that.'

Her whole body was hurting just from the mere thought of doing so – the single thought of telling Emma the truth was enough to make her muscles ache and her eyes water. She could imagine Emma's face all too clearly, and it pained her: it made her body feel like the flinty skeleton of a shipwreck, lying alone on the floor of the ocean with the weight of the water crushing down upon her.

But the thought of the other option… of not telling her… it was somehow worse. It came with the image of Emma's half-smile collapsing downwards with disappointment; her eyes dimming as she watched Regina pulling away from her. It came with the bitter taste of knowing that Emma loved her, but she didn't love her.

Her waterlogged flinty skeleton was suddenly split in two, and she realised then that Emma didn't really true love either of them: not the mayor who was angry and damaged but so willing to let someone near her. Definitely not the queen who was angry and damaged and not willing to let anyone close to her ever again.

Regina groaned, throwing her head into her hands.

'It's so impossible.'

She didn't know why she was saying it, and she didn't know what she was expecting Henry to say that would make her feel better. But she said it anyway, and she waited for her ten year old son to respond. She hated herself for leaning on him, but she already knew that she was in no way strong enough to do anything else.

When he finally responded, it didn't help.

'If you told her,' he asked slowly, almost nervously, '…would it break the curse?'

Regina scrunched her eyes more tightly shut beneath her fingers and swallowed.

'I don't know,' she said honestly. 'Because I don't know if anything can break this curse.'

'All curses can be broken,' Henry said, mimicking the words that he had read so many times before in his book. 'And true love is the most powerful magic of all.'

This sentence hurt most of all.

'I know that, Henry,' Regina said quietly, looking back up at him. Her voice cracked, and she pretended not to notice. 'But, what Emma and I have… it's not… It isn't true love.'

Henry's eyes immediately widened in outrage. 'But—'

'No, Henry,' Regina gently interrupted. 'I'm sorry. But it isn't. And that's not because I don't love Emma – because I do. Very much. It's just… it's not the 'love' part that's the problem.'

Henry's face collapsed into a frown for a moment before he finally understood what she meant. Then it seemed to crumble completely.

'Until she knows who you actually are,' he said slowly, knotting his fingers together around the curve of his cereal bowl, '…it can't ever be true love.'

Regina offered him a smile that was so sad it made the whole room go cold.

'Exactly,' she said quietly. 'She thinks that she loves me, Henry – but she doesn't. Not really.'

'Does that…?' Henry started, knowing before he even finished his sentence that he was asking a question that was pathetically optimistic even by his own standards. 'Does that really matter?'

Regina only exhaled, her smile faltering.

'I'm lying to her, Henry,' she said softly. 'Every day of my life. And that kind of love is not strong enough to break any curse. Believe me.'

With his mind flashing back to Mary Margaret and David, who still loved another woman and still thought that he could get away with not telling her, Henry finally allowed himself to understand.

'Oh,' he sighed.

Regina's frown matched his own. 'Exactly.'

'But telling Emma,' he persisted, scrunching up his nose. 'If she knew the truth – it could break the curse?'

Regina looked back at him sadly.

'Oh, Henry,' she sighed. 'Do you really think that she would still love me after I told her?'

Henry faltered.

'She's Emma,' he said after a moment, his voice quiet. 'She might surprise you.'

Although Regina felt like a small part of the huge weight that she had been carrying around with her had been lifted, she quickly realised that she was creeping about beneath its still-looming shadow. As she sat at her desk in the mayor's office, she kept glancing up to check that it wasn't about to drop down on her.

The thought of Henry's face, freely smiling at her before he had left for school, gently nudged her through the first half of the day. It reminded her that, when that weight did inevitably crush her, he would at least be there to piece her back together again.

But lunch time arrived, and the horrible presence that hung above her soon became too much for the mere thought of her ten year old son to be able to hold up. Regina's fingers were twitching, and she knew that she needed someone else. Just for a minute. Just… before it was too late.

The look that flashed across Emma's face when she glanced up to see Regina stood in the doorway to her office, clutching two takeout cups from Granny's like she had done so regularly only a few weeks before, was a watercolour mix of relief and happiness and something that looked like suspicion. Then, as Regina smiled, it faded into worry. Emma scanned her eyes over the greyness of Regina's cheeks and the dark circles that were still pooled under her eyes, and she sighed.

'Have you taken over from me as the person who never sleeps?'

Regina took another step into the room. 'I didn't realise that you had stopped doing that.'

'I haven't,' Emma said, shrugging. Her eyes followed Regina as she moved towards the desk, extending one of the coffee cups towards her. 'But company is always nice.'

She took the cup from Regina's hand and let their fingers brush together for a moment. It was Regina who pulled away first, taking a step back as she went to sit in her usual chair.

'So,' she said as she crossed her legs over, sipping from her own cup. 'How are you?'

Emma narrowed her eyes. 'I saw you last night.'

'Only barely,' Regina said. 'I feel like… I feel like we haven't spoken properly in a long time.'

When Emma raised an eyebrow, Regina sighed.

'And I realise that that is my fault,' she added, trying not to roll her eyes. 'I just… I wanted to check how you are.'

'I'm fine,' Emma said, ignoring Regina's pointed look at this same old expression. 'But you're not.'

'Me?' Regina asked, her eyebrows shooting upwards. 'I'm perfectly fine.'

'Of course you are,' Emma said dryly. 'I can see how fine you are from the way that your hands have been shaking ever since you walked in the door.'

Cursing them, Regina clenched her fingers around her coffee cup until they almost went still. Her knee was still nervously bouncing up and down beneath it, however. She cleared her throat and forced herself to smile.

'I'm fine.'

Emma sighed.

'You know, I've said that enough times myself,' she said quietly, 'to know when it's a lie.'

When Regina didn't respond, Emma groaned and fell backwards in her chair.

'Regina… what's happening to you?'

'Nothing's happening to me,' Regina snapped, dragging her nails over the faint cardboard ridges of her cup. 'I'm not allowed to have a bad week?'

'A bad month, you mean,' Emma threw back at her, shaking her head. 'Of course you are. You know I don't care about stuff like that: Jesus, Regina – apart from me and our prepubescent son you're the most temperamental person I've ever met. I'm kind of used to you going into a mood and only perking up again when I put my hand up your skirt.'

Regina nearly choked. 'Emma—'

'But this isn't just a mood,' Emma calmly continued. 'This is something really bothering you. Something that you're choosing not to tell me about. Which means… which has to mean… that it's got something to do with me.'

When Regina didn't answer – only stared at her, gnawing at her bottom lip, with absolute terror scratching at her eyes – Emma sighed.

'Did it…' Emma started, nervously wetting her lips before she was able to finish her sentence. '…did it freak you out that badly?'

Regina blinked. 'What?'

'The book,' Emma said quietly. 'The photo album.'

Realisation dawned on Regina like the heavy weight that was following her around had suddenly dropped on her, and she inhaled sharply.

'No,' she said, leaning forwards. 'No, of course not. It… it's not that.'

Emma narrowed her eyes.

'Is that because it… it didn't bother you? Or because you haven't looked at it yet?'

Regina's silence was all that was needed for her to understand. She dropped her coffee back to the desk and pursed her lips.

'I see.'

'It's not because I deliberately avoided it,' Regina quickly stammered, even though she knew that it was far too late. 'I just… Last night was busy, Emma – there was a lot going on and I didn't have time and Henry was—'

'No. It's fine. I get it,' Emma interrupted. 'You have other things to do. You're the mayor and you're important and you're a mom and I'm… well, me. I have all the time in the world.'

Regina almost growled with frustration. 'Emma…'

'It's fine, Regina,' Emma said, tapping her fingers against the desk. She was trying to smile, to take away some of the bite of her words, and Regina could see it – but it wasn't working. She looked pale and bitter and hurt. 'Really.'

'It's not,' Regina said. A sudden throbbing sound was filling her ears. 'It's not fine. Look. Emma… There's something… something that I need to talk to—'

Her words were cut off by a sudden, frantic ringing from the room behind her. Emma glanced over Regina's shoulder and groaned – the non-emergency phone was screaming at her, its red light flashing like a tornado was on its way and it was trying to warn her.

Regina watched as Emma's eyes slowly looked back at her again.

She knew that Emma never normally answered that phone – she knew it. She remembered all of the times that they had been sat in that very office together, just talking, and when it had started to ring Emma had grabbed the nearest heavy object and thrown it, just to shut it up.

Her aim had been too perfect for that to be a one-time thing: she never answered the phone. And yet now she got up from the behind the desk with a sigh and dragged her body out into the next room, not looking back as she left Regina behind.

'Sheriff Swan speaking.'

Regina had turned to watch her leave, but now she swivelled back around in her chair and scowled down at the desk.

I can't tell her if she won't listen to me.

She knew that she was being ridiculous – this wasn't Emma's fault. None of it. Emma hadn't made her act like a crazy person, and Emma hadn't stopped her from taking ten damn minutes to look through the photo album that she had poured her time and her nerves and the last few months of her life into. But Regina was tired, and she realised then that she had come so close to saying it – so very, terrifyingly close to telling Emma the truth. The words had been crawling off of her tongue.

And then the phone had rung and she had lost her nerve and she knew then that she may never get it back again. And the absolute ridiculousness of that situation was making her ridiculous herself.

A flash of light on the surface of the sheriff's messy desk suddenly caught her attention. She leaned forwards, seeing the lit-up screen of Emma's phone, and frowned.

New message from: August

She turned her head to one side, glimpsing Emma out of the corner of her eye: her back was turned, and she was leaned against the edge of the spare desk.

'…yes, I understand that,' she was saying. Regina could hear even from her distance that her teeth were gritted together. 'But the problem is, I don't actually rescue cats from trees. That's not in my job description.'

Reaching out her hand, Regina snatched up the phone and brought it down into her lap. The cell had a passcode, but Emma trusted her. She had already told her what it was.

She held her breath as she opened the text.

Granny's is probably going to go out of business soon without you there every morning. Stop by tomorrow and help to boost the local economy?

She groaned to herself.

The same bitter taste that always filled her mouth whenever she thought of August once again started to swell on her tongue, and she gritted her teeth. Her thumb hovered over the 'delete' button for several seconds without her quite daring to press down on it.

But then she remembered. A flash of golden wood shot somehow shot into her mind, and she stopped.

It pained her, but she left the button alone. Instead she hit 'reply'.

Okay, she typed, listening to the sounds of Emma hurriedly trying to wrap up a phone call that she severely regretted answering from behind her. I'll see you there.

The text had sent and Regina was lounged back in her chair, casually sipping at her latte, long before Emma had managed to slam the phone down, returning to her office with her green eyes worriedly piercing the back of Regina's head.

A/N: swanqueenmagicswanqueenmagicswanqueenmagicswanqueenmagicswanqueenmagicswanqueenmagicswanqueenmagicswanqueenmagic aafdhshfhghgghh