April

The afternoon sun felt warm against Emma's back as she knelt in the soft soil of Regina's garden. Her hands were dirty, and there was a smudge of dirt on her cheek she hadn't bothered to wipe away. The earth was damp and cool under her fingers, and for the first time in a long time, she didn't feel weighed down by her own body. Sure, her arms and legs still felt weaker than they used to be, but they didn't tremble with every movement. That was progress.

"Are you trying to kill those tulips, or is this your idea of helping them thrive?" Regina's familiar voice cut through the quiet, smooth and laced with amusement.

Emma didn't even look up. "If you don't like my method, feel free to take over. I'm sure your fancy mayor hands will do a much better job."

There was the sound of Regina stepping closer, her heels crunching softly against the gravel path. "My 'fancy mayor hands' are more than capable," she replied dryly. "But I believe it's you who insisted on taking over the garden, Miss Swan."

Emma snorted, pulling a stubborn weed free with more force than was strictly necessary. "You call it 'taking over.' I call it therapy."

"Ah, so murder of innocent plant life is your coping mechanism. Noted."

Emma finally glanced up, squinting against the sunlight to catch the faint smirk on Regina's lips. "I'll have you know, I've been very careful with your precious tulips."

Regina arched an eyebrow, gesturing toward a nearby patch where the stems leaned precariously to one side. "That one appears to be fighting for its life."

Emma followed her gaze, huffing out a soft laugh. "That's not my fault. It's just... stubborn."

"Clearly, it takes after you."

Emma tossed a small clump of weeds in Regina's direction, missing by a mile. "You're a riot, you know that?"

Regina's smirk softened into something closer to genuine amusement. She stepped closer and crouched beside Emma, her perfectly tailored pants brushing against the garden's edge without a hint of hesitation. Reaching out, she brushed a smudge of dirt from Emma's cheek with the pad of her thumb, the touch brief but lingering enough to send a flicker of something Emma didn't quite want to name racing up her spine.

"There," Regina said lightly, as if the touch meant nothing. "Now you look slightly less like you've been rolling in the dirt."

Emma blinked, caught off guard by the intimacy of the moment, before she quickly turned back to her work. "Yeah, well, you're lucky I didn't drag you into it. Would've been worth it to see you covered in mud."

Regina straightened with a soft laugh, brushing her hands off as she rose. "If you ever attempt such a thing, I'll make you replant the entire garden by hand."

"Deal," Emma shot back, grinning despite herself.

As Regina retreated back toward the porch, Emma let her hands still in the soil for a moment. The faint echo of Regina's thumb against her cheek lingered, and Emma found herself smiling faintly at the thought. Maybe this garden wasn't so bad after all.

The spring festival was louder than Emma had expected.

Brightly colored stalls lined the square, the air buzzing with the hum of conversation and laughter. Emma stood near the entrance, her hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket as her eyes scanned the crowd. She felt exposed, even though no one was looking at her. Or, at least, they weren't staring openly.

Regina's voice broke through her thoughts. "You're fidgeting."

Emma glanced at her sharply. "I'm not fidgeting."

Regina arched an eyebrow, giving her a look that clearly said otherwise. "You look like you're about to bolt."

Emma huffed out a breath, her fingers tightening in her pockets. "I'm just... not used to this. People. Crowds. I feel like everyone's waiting to see if I'm gonna keel over or something."

"They're not," Regina said firmly. "And if they are, I suggest we give them something more interesting to look at."

Emma raised an eyebrow. "Like what? You juggling flaming batons?"

Regina's lips curved faintly. "Tempting, but no. I was thinking you could participate in one of the games."

"What, like a ring toss?" Emma said, her tone skeptical. "I'm pretty sure my glory days at county fairs are behind me."

Before Regina could reply, Henry appeared out of nowhere, his grin wide and mischievous. "Mom, you have to do the beanbag toss with me. Granny's running the booth, and she said the winner gets a free pie."

Emma glanced between her son and the booth, where Granny was indeed waving them over. "Pie, huh?" she said, tilting her head. "I might be able to manage that."

"Excellent." Henry grabbed her hand and started pulling her toward the booth before she could change her mind.

Regina followed at a more leisurely pace, her expression somewhere between amusement and mild exasperation. "I assume you'll be sharing this pie if you win?"

Emma smirked over her shoulder. "Depends who does the winning."

As it turned out, Emma was slightly better at beanbag tossing than she remembered. She sank three out of five bags, beating Henry's two, but not without some playful accusations of cheating on both sides.

"That bag was totally over the line," Henry said, pointing accusingly at her last throw.

"Oh, please," Emma shot back, grinning. "You're just mad because your aim is terrible."

Granny handed Emma the pie with a knowing smirk. "I'll expect you two to share that," she said, shaking her head fondly.

As they walked back toward the center of the square, the pie cradled carefully in Emma's arms, she caught Regina watching her. There was something soft in her expression, almost unguarded, and it made Emma's chest tighten in a way she didn't entirely understand.

"What?" she asked, trying to sound casual.

Regina shook her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Nothing. Just nice to see you enjoying yourself."

Emma's cheeks flushed faintly, and she looked away, focusing on the crowd instead. "Yeah, well... I guess it's not so bad."

Regina's smile lingered, and as they walked back toward the edge of the festival, Emma felt something shift. It wasn't big or dramatic, but it was there—a quiet, tentative step toward something that felt a lot like happiness.

May

The warm breeze brushed through the open windows of the mansion, carrying with it the scent of blooming lilacs from the garden. Emma stood in the kitchen, her hands gripping the edge of the counter as she stared down at the mixing bowl in front of her. The recipe Regina had left beside it was simple—scones, something even a novice couldn't mess up. Or so she'd claimed.

Emma frowned at the mixture of flour and butter in front of her. It didn't look right. At all. It was supposed to resemble breadcrumbs, according to the notes, but hers was just... lumpy.

"You look like you're trying to solve a complex equation," Regina's voice came from the doorway, smooth and teasing.

Emma startled, her hands jerking slightly as she turned to face her. "I wasn't expecting you back so soon," she said, feeling inexplicably caught. "Aren't you supposed to be 'mayoring' or something?"

Regina stepped further into the kitchen, one perfectly arched brow raised. "I finished early. Clearly, it was the right decision." Her gaze dropped to the mixing bowl, and her lips twitched with amusement. "What, exactly, are you attempting to do?"

Emma crossed her arms, glaring at the bowl as if it had personally offended her. "I was trying to make scones. You said it was easy."

"For most people, it is," Regina replied lightly, stepping closer. "Let me see."

Emma reluctantly moved aside, watching as Regina inspected the mixture. The other woman rolled up her sleeves—an unexpectedly casual gesture that made Emma's stomach do a weird little flip—and reached for the wooden spoon.

"First mistake," Regina said, pointing at the bowl with the spoon. "You're overmixing the butter. You need a lighter touch."

Emma huffed, leaning against the counter. "A 'lighter touch,' huh? You make it sound so easy."

Regina smirked, not looking up. "It is. Watch."

Emma tried not to stare as Regina worked, her movements precise and efficient. There was something almost mesmerizing about the way she blended the ingredients, her hands quick but graceful. Emma shook her head, dragging her thoughts back to the task at hand.

"Show-off," Emma muttered under her breath.

Regina glanced up, her smirk widening. "What was that?"

"Nothing," Emma said innocently, grabbing a stray dish towel to distract herself. "Just admiring your... technique."

Regina's eyes narrowed slightly, but there was a glint of amusement there. "You're terrible at lying, you know."

"Yeah, well, I'm also terrible at scones. Guess it's not my day."

Regina let out a soft laugh, setting the spoon down as she turned to face Emma fully. "You're not terrible," she said, her tone unusually gentle. "You just need practice."

Emma shrugged, trying to brush off the warmth creeping into her chest. "Guess I'll leave the baking to you for now."

"Probably for the best," Regina replied smoothly, though her expression softened. She picked up the bowl and turned back to the counter, her focus shifting back to the task. "But if you're serious about learning, I could teach you."

Emma blinked, caught off guard by the offer. "You? Teach me?"

Regina didn't look up, but the faintest smile tugged at her lips. "Don't sound so shocked. It might even be... fun."

"Fun," Emma echoed, her voice laced with skepticism.

Regina glanced at her then, her expression somewhere between a challenge and an invitation. "Are you afraid you'll enjoy it?"

Emma rolled her eyes, but her grin betrayed her. "Fine," she said, leaning closer. "But if I set the kitchen on fire, you're the one explaining it to Henry."

Regina's laughter filled the room, light and genuine, and for a moment, the kitchen felt a little less like a battleground and a little more like home.

Not every day was light and easy, though. Some mornings, Emma woke up feeling like her body was dragging through molasses, the exhaustion so deep it felt like her limbs were weighted. On one particularly bad day, she had started up the stairs toward her room, only to stumble halfway up.

Regina had been right there—because, of course, she always was—her hand steady on Emma's arm as she caught her before she could fall.

"Damn it," Emma muttered, her voice sharp with frustration. "I'm fine."

"You're not," Regina said firmly, though there was no judgment in her tone. "And it's okay not to be."

Emma clenched her jaw, her grip tightening on the banister as she forced herself to straighten. "I hate this," she admitted through gritted teeth. "I hate feeling like this."

Regina's gaze softened, her hand still resting lightly on Emma's arm. "You're allowed to hate it," she said quietly. "But that doesn't mean you're failing."

Emma let out a shaky breath, the anger giving way to something closer to defeat. "I just... I thought I was past this. I thought I was doing better."

"You are doing better," Regina said gently, stepping closer so they were nearly eye level. "But healing isn't a straight line. You know that."

Emma met her gaze, and for a moment, the weight of her own frustration felt a little lighter. She nodded faintly, her fingers loosening on the banister. "Yeah," she said quietly. "I know."

Regina didn't move immediately, her hand lingering on Emma's arm like a quiet reassurance. When she finally stepped back, her voice was calm but firm. "Come on. Let's get you upstairs."

Emma let herself lean on Regina just enough to steady her, and though the moment passed quickly, the warmth of Regina's touch stayed with her long after she reached her room.

The month ended with one of Storybrooke's classic spring rainstorms, the kind that lasted for hours and turned the streets into rivers. Emma stood by the window, watching the downpour with a faint smile. She'd always loved the rain—it was grounding in a way she couldn't quite explain.

Regina appeared beside her, a steaming mug of coffee in hand. She offered it wordlessly, her expression unreadable but calm.

"Thanks," Emma said, her fingers brushing against Regina's briefly as she took the mug.

They stood there in companionable silence for a while, the sound of the rain filling the space between them. Eventually, Emma glanced sideways, her smile soft but genuine. "You know," she said, her tone lighter, "you're not as scary as I thought you were when we first met."

Regina's lips curved faintly. "Don't let that fool you. I'm still terrifying when I need to be."

Emma laughed, the sound low and warm. "Sure you are."

Regina tilted her head, studying her for a moment before replying. "You're not as reckless as I thought you were."

"Really?" Emma raised an eyebrow. "That's the compliment you're going with?"

Regina's smile widened just slightly. "Take it or leave it, Miss Swan."

Emma shook her head, but her grin didn't fade. "I'll take it."

As the rain continued to fall outside, Emma felt something shift again. It wasn't big or dramatic—it rarely was—but it was there. Another small step forward, another moment of connection in a sea of quiet progress. And this time, it didn't feel so scary.

June

The morning Emma's feeding tube was scheduled to be removed was bright and cloudless, the sunlight streaming through the windows like it was trying to chase away the lingering shadows of the past few months. Emma sat on the edge of her bed, her legs crossed, fingers tapping restlessly against her thigh. She wasn't nervous—at least, that's what she kept telling herself. But the steady drumming of her fingers betrayed her.

Regina stood by the door, watching her silently. She hadn't said much that morning, but her presence had been steady, like always. It was one of the things Emma had come to rely on—Regina's ability to be there without needing to fill the space with unnecessary words.

"You're going to wear a hole in your leg," Regina said finally, her tone dry but not unkind.

Emma stopped tapping, her hand falling to her side. "Just... ready for this to be over," she admitted.

Regina tilted her head slightly, studying her. "It's a big step," she said, her voice softer now. "But you've done the work, Emma. You're ready."

Emma exhaled, the tension in her shoulders loosening slightly at Regina's words. "Yeah," she said quietly. "I am."

The procedure itself was quick and straightforward—quicker than Emma had expected, at least. By the time she left the clinic, her hand resting against the spot where the tube had once been, she felt strangely unmoored, like she'd shed a piece of herself she'd carried for too long. A reminder of how far she'd come, and how far she still had to go.

Regina was waiting for her outside, leaning against the car with her arms crossed. The moment she saw Emma step out of the building, she straightened, her eyes scanning her carefully.

"All done?" she asked.

Emma nodded, her smile small but real. "All done."

Regina opened the car door for her, her hand briefly brushing against Emma's back as she guided her inside. The touch was light—almost casual—but it lingered in Emma's mind all the way back to the mansion.

That evening, they sat together on the back patio, the sky streaked with shades of orange and pink as the sun dipped below the horizon. Regina had poured them both glasses of iced tea—Emma resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the beverage of choice—but the moment was peaceful enough that she didn't mind.

"You look lighter," Regina said after a while, her voice breaking the comfortable silence.

Emma raised an eyebrow, glancing at her. "Lighter?"

Regina nodded, her gaze steady. "Like a weight's been lifted."

Emma let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "Yeah, well, it's hard to feel light when you're attached to a tube."

Regina's lips twitched into a faint smile, but her expression remained thoughtful. "It's not just the tube," she said quietly. "You've been carrying a lot for a long time. It's okay to let some of it go."

Emma's chest tightened at the words, her fingers curling around the edge of her glass. She looked out at the garden, her throat working as she tried to find the right response. "I'm trying," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I know," Regina said, her tone gentle but firm. "And you're doing better than you think."

Emma turned her head, meeting Regina's gaze. For a moment, the air between them felt heavier—charged with something unspoken. But then Regina's lips curved into a small, reassuring smile, and the moment passed.

"Besides," Regina added, her voice taking on a lighter note, "now you don't have an excuse to avoid dinner invitations."

Emma snorted, her grin breaking through the tension. "Careful, Mills. That almost sounded like an attempt to get me to socialize."

Regina raised her glass, her smirk widening. "I wouldn't dream of it."

The weeks that followed brought more changes—small ones, but they felt monumental to Emma. For the first time in months, she didn't have to carry around the awkward weight of the feeding tube, and while her appetite still wasn't perfect, she found herself looking forward to meals in a way she hadn't before. She still relied on Regina's quiet encouragement more than she wanted to admit, but the sense of shame that had once accompanied her struggles was fading.

One evening, after another successful session with her therapist, Emma found herself standing in front of the mirror in her room. She was wearing a tank top and pajama pants, her hair slightly damp from the shower. For the first time in what felt like forever, she didn't flinch at her reflection.

Her arms still looked thinner than she wanted them to be, and the faint soreness where the feeding tube had been was a subtle reminder of how much further she had to go. But there was color in her cheeks again, and a strength in her posture that hadn't been there a few months ago. She was starting to look like herself again—not just physically, but in the way she carried herself.

A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts, and she turned to see Regina standing in the doorway, her expression unreadable.

"Everything okay?" Regina asked.

Emma nodded, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Yeah," she said. "Just... looking."

Regina stepped into the room, her gaze flicking briefly to the mirror before settling on Emma. "And?"

Emma hesitated, her throat tightening. "I'm... getting there," she said finally.

Regina's lips curved into the faintest smile, her eyes soft. "Yes, you are."

Toward the end of the month, Regina hosted a small dinner for a few members of the town council at the mansion. Emma had initially balked at the idea of attending—"I'm not exactly council material," she'd said—but Regina had insisted.

"You're part of this town," Regina had told her. "And you're part of my life. That's enough."

The evening was nerve-wracking at first—Emma felt awkward in the dress Regina had coaxed her into wearing, and the polite small talk made her want to crawl out of her skin. But as the night went on, she found herself relaxing. Regina stayed close, steering the conversation when needed and stepping in whenever she noticed Emma faltering.

By the time the last guest left, Emma was leaning against the kitchen counter, a tired but genuine smile on her face. "That wasn't so bad," she admitted.

Regina handed her a glass of water, her own expression softer than usual. "You handled yourself well," she said. "I knew you would."

Emma took the glass, her fingers brushing against Regina's. "You always do."

Regina's gaze lingered on her for a moment, something unspoken passing between them. But then she stepped back, her usual composure slipping into place. "Get some rest," she said, her tone lighter. "You've earned it."

Emma watched her leave, her chest feeling both lighter and heavier at the same time. It wasn't until she was lying in bed later that night, staring at the ceiling, that she realized she hadn't thought about the feeding tube once that day.