A/N: We've actually reached chapter 50. I'm a little overwhelmed myself at how long the story is already. In fact, I finished it yesterday and you can look forward to a total of not quite 80 chapters.
Thank you for your feedbacks and always feel free to let me know now and then how you like the story. Enjoy today's chapter!
Chapter 50
"When I'm out of here, I'll never eat jello again," Emma predicted gloomily as Henry shoved spoonful after spoonful of the sweet, wobbly mass into her mouth.
Grinning, Henry scraped the last bits out of the pot, waited patiently until his mother had swallowed the previous portion, and then let the spoon disappear into her mouth once again. "Maybe they have it in cinnamon flavor," he said with a shoulder shrug, returning the empty pot to the tray.
"Yeah, maybe," Emma said quietly and closed her eyes. It took her a few moments to catch her breath. Eating stressed her out, and having her son feed her like a toddler wasn't doing her psyche much good. She felt that she was getting better, but the pneumonia had weakened her so much that even the simplest things had become impossible obstacles to overcome, and her recovery was so slow that it drove her almost insane. When her condition had stabilized, she had been moved to normal ward after three more days in ICU, where at least she no longer made the devices beep with every wrong move, but her days were otherwise just as monotonous.
"Mom said you might be discharged at the end of the week," Henry finally ventured hesitantly.
Emma nodded and turned her eyes to her son, who sat on the edge of the bed, eyeing her hopefully. "Can't wait," she murmured, sighing.
"Aren't you looking forward to it?"
"I just..." she began, shaking her head as her eyes wandered to the IV stand by her bed, where several bottles and bags hung. "As long as I'm in the hospital, I can tell myself it's only here that I feel so crappy. Once I get home, it's different. Then it will feel like I'll never get better. I can't even eat by myself," she whispered chokingly, feeling a tear roll down her cheek. She had sworn to herself not to cry in front of Henry and she couldn't even manage to do that anymore.
"Mom and I are there to help you, aren't we," Henry reminded her, handing her a tissue.
"Yes, and that's part of the problem," Emma nodded, wiping her face once briefly before her hand holding the tissue fell back to the bed weakly.
Henry fell silent and lowered his eyes. It was only the second time he had visited her during this hospital stay, and he could clearly tell that she was already better that day than she had been during his first visit. However, he also knew that these were only tiny steps and that her condition, though stabilizing, remained poor. Clear indications included the errands Regina had run. David had helped her install grab handles next to the toilet and in the shower, and Emma's bed now contained an electrically adjustable slatted frame and a special mattress to prevent pressure marks on her skin. Like in the hospital, a raising aid now hung above her headboard at home as well to help her sit up in bed. Henry wasn't sure how much Regina had let Emma in on all this; what was certain, in any case, was that it would depress her immensely. "Ma?" he finally said quietly.
Waiting, Emma eyed her son.
"I can understand that this is terrible for you. But I'll still be glad when you're back with us," he stated honestly. "Just think how many movies we can watch together and Mom can absolutely not object," he smirked.
Smiling wryly, Emma reached for Henry's hand and squeezed it, "What would I do without you?"
"Being pretty bored, I guess." Still grinning, he stood up and bent down to his school backpack, from which he pulled a sheet of paper, which he held out to Emma. "I almost forgot. It's from our class. Pretty embarrassing, I know, but at least I wanted to give it to you," he said.
It wasn't until Henry held the paper out to her that Emma realized it was a card. In thick letters, 'Get well soon' was written on the front, surrounded by flowers and balloons. With hands shaking with exertion, she took it from Henry and flipped it open. Henry's classmates and his teacher had all signed it and some of them had written words of encouragement. A thick lump formed in her throat with emotion and before she could cry again, she handed the card back to Henry. "Tell them thank you from me."
"I will," he nodded and set it on her nightstand. "Emma? It's Mom's birthday in a few days..." he then started slowly.
"I know," she said, visibly sad. "Unfortunately, I don't think a fancy dinner is going to happen this year."
"That's probably not going to be very high on her secret wish list at the moment," he indicated. "I was wondering if you'd mind if I cooked for all of us."
"Why would I?" she asked in wonder. "It's a very nice idea, isn't it?"
"Well... it's kind of unimaginative. She'd deserve so much more."
"Tell me about it," Emma muttered, turning her face away from him. "If I think of something better, I'll let you know. You know what would be a real gift? A day with Zelena. Maybe the two of them could do something together. I want her to relax. She can't do that if I'm in her way."
"Ma... you're not in her way," Henry pointed out quietly.
Sadly, Emma smiled at him. "Yes, I am. As long as I'm around, her birthday won't be restful."
"She certainly won't want to hear that, though. Who wants to celebrate their birthday without the person they love?"
Emma fell silent and didn't look up again until the door opened and in walked Nurse Marc, who was working the late shift. "Dinner was terrific," Emma grinned wryly in his direction.
"Well, I put extra effort into cooking it," the caregiver replied wryly, winking at Henry, "Hey, buddy."
"Hi Marc. Is it true that my Ma gets to go home soon?", Henry now wanted to know from him.
"Phew, you can ask questions. I'm not a doctor, Henry, you'd better ask them," he replied, reaching for the tray with the empty pudding pot and a half-drunk feeding cup of tea. "How's things, are you getting tired of lying around?" he then turned to Emma again.
The latter shrugged her shoulders. "The alternative isn't any better."
"Our winter garden is quite nice," Marc pointed out, sliding the tray into the cart outside the door before returning to the room. "What do you say?"
"Don't bother," Emma muttered monotonously and without looking at him.
"Since that's not a no, I'll just take it as a yes," the male nurse replied, disconnecting her from the IVs and flipping back Emma's bedspread before she could protest further.
Emma didn't have the energy to argue with him, but actually she also lacked the strength to get out of bed. At least she was already wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, so thankfully there was no need to change. As she wrapped her arm around the nurse's neck, he lifted her into the wheelchair more than she helped herself. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes for a while and struggled to keep as upright a posture as possible in front of Henry, although she would have preferred to immediately slump down and crawl back into her bed.
"I do know where you'll be. If anything is wrong, send for me or contact an on-site nurse directly, okay?", Marc instructed Emma and Henry before leaving the two alone.
Henry nodded and eagerly grabbed a fleece blanket that Regina had brought with her, placed it over Emma's knees and fastened it at the sides. Lastly, he handed her one of her beanies.
"I don't know what's this in aid of" Emma said wearily as she slowly pulled the beanie over her head.
"It's pretty drafty in the corridors sometimes," Henry explained.
"No, I don't mean the cap and the blanket. I mean all of this. Why don't you just leave me in bed?" she wanted to know, sighing.
"Because it's the only way to get your circulation going a little. Even I know that, and no doctor is talking to me," Henry said, leaning down to give her a hug.
"And what would that be good for?" she grumbled, just continuing to stare stoically straight ahead.
"For better flow of blood, for example. Oh, Emma, come on now. If Marc says the winter garden isn't bad, we can at least take a quick look at it, right?", Henry tried to change her mind.
"Marc must know," she muttered more to herself and wrapped her arms around her upper body.
"Are you cold?" Henry immediately wanted to know.
Shaking her head, Emma dropped her hands in her lap. "No, I'm fine," she affirmed before he could wrap her in another blanket. She wasn't cold, but by wrapping her arms around herself, she felt like she could shield herself from the outside world. "Let's just get this over with," she asked then, putting on a mask.
Henry grasped the wheelchair's handles, slowly maneuvering her through the hospital's corridors. "So, we could just ask Mom how she wants to celebrate her birthday," he finally picked up the topic they had had earlier. "It's not a surprise then, but Mom's not one for surprises anyway."
"Yeah, it's probably better," Emma nodded unenthusiastically, closing her eyes. The previous year, she had taken Regina out to an expensive restaurant outside Storybrooke and then sat in the car with her, drinking champagne and watching shooting stars. This year, she would ruin her day with her very existence.
"We don't have to tell her anything. Just an idea," Henry stated slowly, who didn't know how to interpret her obviously indifferent answers. "I could talk to Zelena too, if you prefer, and she can..."
"Henry!" Grasping the wheels of the wheelchair, she brought it to a halt with a jerk and turned to face her son, who had stumbled at the sudden stop and was now looking at her in confusion. "Just do what you want, okay? I can't help you with that!" she yelled at him much more forcefully than had been her intention. Turning away from him again, she lowered her head into her palm and took a deep breath.
Henry stood behind her for a while as lost and helpless as if she had struck him. "I didn't mean to push you, I'm sorry," he whispered after a while, rounding the wheelchair so he could look at her. "Emma? Do you want to go back to bed?" Carefully, he touched her shoulder.
"I never wanted to get out of bed in the first place, as you may remember," she snapped back, letting her breath escape in a gasp before looking up at him. The pain in his eyes that she faced finally made her think clearly again. "Henry... Please forgive me." Her voice broke as she reached out a hand to him and he flinched.
"I'll take you back to your room," he said tonelessly without elaborating on the previous situation. On the one hand, he didn't want to do any more damage, and on the other hand, he didn't know how many more rejections he would endure that day. The fact that Emma's anger was not directed at him could not comfort him at the moment.
"No, let's move on. I'm really sorry, Henry. Please. I don't know what's gotten into me," Emma begged, her eyes blurred with tears as she reached for his hand again and this time, he let her. "That is, if you want to stay at all. I can understand if you'd rather go home."
For a while Henry stared at the floor before finally squeezing her hand briefly, stepping behind her again and pushing her the last bit to the winter garden.
Emma breathed an inward sigh of relief, then looked around the spacious room, where several small tables with chairs were arranged. All sorts of green plants were lined up along the glass walls, looking out of place against the wintry scenery. In one corner sat an elderly lady knitting a scarf, while on the opposite wall a young man read a book. The room was filled with the gentle murmur of conversations taking place between patients and visitors at the tables. "Marc wasn't exaggerating. Pretty cozy," Emma noted, letting her gaze wander around the room. Some people eyed her curiously, while others hadn't even noticed the newcomers. "Should we go over there in the corner?" she then suggested.
Henry said nothing, but simply started moving in the direction she indicated. Arriving at the table, he moved one of the chairs against the wall so that there was room for the wheelchair with Emma. He then slid next to her and concentrated on his fingers, which he tied in a knot on the tabletop.
"I want your mom to have a memorable birthday and it kills me that I have absolutely nothing to contribute. Sometimes I just forget that it's not your fault either," she said in a whisper as she ran her hand over her eyes.
Henry frowned and looked up at her. "But that's why I'm talking to you. I want to include you."
"And I'm so grateful to you for that. It's just... everything is too much for me right now. It's not your fault, that's just the way it is. There's nothing that's not exhausting me. I can't get up when I feel like it. You've been feeding me because I don't have the strength to lift my arm for so long. Breathing is hard for me and you can't imagine how exhausting it is to sit all the time. It's so exhausting and it hurts. I need all the strength I have for these things and then when you expect me to have any ideas or make any decisions, that's the final straw." She took a deep breath, placing a hand on her aching chest. "This isn't meant to be an apology for the way I've treated you, because it's unforgivable. I just want to ask you to give me time with this kind of thing in the future and not put me in front of decisions when I'm already at my limit."
"So why didn't you just say something sooner?", Henry guiltily wanted to know, looking at her with concern.
Gently, Emma reached for his hands and placed hers over his as she returned his gaze. "Because I want to be there for you. I want to listen to your ideas and hear the excitement in your voice when you tell me things. I want that so badly that it makes me forget that I'm sick and too weak to do it. And then it's too late because at that moment my breaking point is already exceeded and then I get angry and you get to feel it. I hate myself. You can't imagine how much I hate myself." She looked away from him and stared at the fireplace, which was set into one wall and pretty sure was just decoration.
"But I do understand. I mean, it's normal that you're not as fit as you usually are. You just need to talk to me," Henry said quietly. "I don't want you to hate yourself. I don't do it."
Emma sighed and forced herself to smile wryly. "It's sweet of you to say that. But I haven't liked myself for a long time," she countered honestly, raising her eyes over Henry's shoulder in surprise as the door opened again and a familiar face entered the room. "Loraine?!"
"Hello Emma," the older woman greeted immediately, coming over to the table where the two of them sat. "Hello Henry."
"Hi," the teen smiled and slid aside so she could better reach one of the chairs next to Emma.
"What are you doing here?", Emma wanted to know puzzled, as she took a seat and set down her purse.
Loraine waved it off. "I just needed a prescription and Heart is busy at the moment, so I thought I'd wait here in the meantime. The real question is what's wrong with you. You look horrible," she stated after giving Emma a quick once-over.
Sighing, Emma's lips twisted into a wry smile. "I guess that pretty much sums it up."
Since that was all Emma said, Loraine turned her gaze to Henry in wonder. "Was I supposed to make sense of that?"
Henry shook his head briefly and eyed his mother, who was clearly trying to put on a good face when in reality she was running out of energy. "She had pneumonia," he thus said curtly.
"Damn, I'm sorry about that, Emma. Why didn't you say anything?"
"Regina was more concerned with whether or not to put me on a ventilator. I'm sure she just forgot to let you know," Emma said wearily, wrapping her arms around herself.
"Of course, that's understandable," Loraine nodded and stood up again. "I don't want to bother you any further. I hope you feel better soon, Emma. Give Regina my regards, will you?" she asked, hugging Emma gently in farewell. She would actually have plenty of time to talk to them both, but it was easy to see that Emma couldn't sit much longer and she didn't want the young woman to have to voice it.
"We'll do that," Henry nodded. "See you then!"
Emma just nodded with a strained smile and swallowed hard when they were alone again. She was so dizzy and her headache was increasing by the minute, but she wasn't going to ask Henry to take her back to her hospital room. Not after the way she had snapped at him and hurt him.
"We can go back if you want to," he said at that moment, though. "You're not well, let's not wait for it to get worse."
Emma took shaky breaths in and out, feeling like she never got enough air anyway; the mask didn't make it any better. "I think you're right," she managed to get out evenly before wiping her hand weakly across her sweaty forehead.
That was all it took to make Henry stand up and grasp the wheelchair's handles. He briefly considered getting a nurse or a doctor, but that would also take more time, so he decided he would rather take Emma back to the ward the direct way. There was no one at the nurses' station when they passed it, so Henry opened Emma's door and pushed her to her bed.
Emma's circulation was in the basement by now so that her hands were already shaking, but she forced herself to look up at Henry as he locked the brakes on the wheelchair. "You can go find Marc. I'm fine."
"You're not," Henry objected, stopping indecisively in front of her. "Ma... I can do this and you know it. Just let me lay you down. Please."
Struggling with herself, Emma grabbed her head again, then shook it slowly. "This is wrong."
"No, it isn't. I could always count on you when I had a problem. And now you can count on me." He could have gone into more detail, but it was not hard to see that there was no time. "Emma, please."
Emma's mouth went dry and her vision blurred, and she knew she would lose consciousness within moments if she continued to resist lying down, so with all her willpower she forced her head to nod. How much worse could it get when she had already let her son feed her?
When Henry saw this, he wasted no further time and carefully lifted his mother into his arms, putting her in her bed just a moment later.
Emma felt him move her body from one place to another, but could no longer move or say anything. As soon as she was lying down, her field of vision cleared somewhat again as the blood rushed back into her head, driving away the faintness. When Henry also slid a pillow under her legs and pulled the mask from her face, putting the nasal cannula providing oxygen back on her instead, things abruptly got even better. "Thanks, kid," she whispered through numb lips.
"I should get someone," Henry just replied concerned.
"No, stay here," Emma pleaded with a heavy tongue, forcing herself to open her eyes and look at him. "I'm feeling much better, I don't need anything else," she assured him.
Indecisive, Henry shifted from one foot to the other and finally took a stiff seat on the edge of the bed. His mother had closed her eyes again, but her breathing was a little calmer, so he too relaxed more and more, finally stroking her gently over the head on which she still wore her beanie.
"I love you, Henry," Emma whispered after a while, without opening her eyes.
Henry, who had thought she had long since fallen asleep then reached for her hand and squeezed it. "I love you too."
