A/N: Sorry, completely forgot about this in all the Christmas chaos! Back at it :)

January

The last two weeks of January unfolded slowly, marked by careful steps forward and occasional missteps that left Emma frustrated. Progress was there, but it was stubborn, coming in fits and starts rather than smooth strides. She no longer felt tethered to the couch or the bed, though her strength hadn't returned fully. Most days were spent in the mansion, easing into a routine of short walks through the house, resting when necessary, and sometimes watching TV with Regina in the evenings—though Regina always insisted it was just "background noise" for her book.

One morning, Emma wandered into the kitchen, her socks shuffling softly against the hardwood floors. A note was waiting for her on the counter, perched neatly beside a grapefruit and a small glass of orange juice.

Try to eat the grapefruit first. It's full of vitamin C.

Emma huffed softly, shaking her head as she pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. The note was pure Regina—direct and practical, but oddly comforting in its no-nonsense tone. It made Emma feel looked after, but not pitied, which was a balance only Regina seemed capable of striking.

She had just started poking at the grapefruit with the spoon when Regina appeared in the doorway, dressed impeccably as always, though her hair was softer, loose around her shoulders.

"Good," Regina said without preamble, glancing at the half-eaten grapefruit. "You're listening for once."

Emma smirked, a teasing spark flickering behind her tired eyes. "Thought I'd humor you. Don't get used to it."

Regina's lips quirked upward, though she didn't rise to the bait. Instead, she crossed the room and set a cup of tea on the table. "You're pushing yourself harder than you realize," she said, her voice even. "You walked to the kitchen this morning instead of calling for me. That's progress."

Emma scoffed lightly, but the pride in Regina's tone made something warm stir in her chest. "Baby steps," she muttered, focusing on the grapefruit to avoid looking directly at Regina.

"That's how you get anywhere worthwhile," Regina replied smoothly, taking a seat across from her. "Small steps add up."

Emma's hand stilled over the fruit, her fingers tightening faintly on the spoon. "It's just... I don't know if I'll ever feel like myself again," she admitted quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Regina's expression softened, and for a moment, she didn't respond. Instead, she reached across the table, her fingers brushing lightly over Emma's wrist—a simple gesture, but one that carried weight. "You will," she said firmly, her tone leaving no room for doubt. "And when you do, you'll be even stronger than you were before."

Emma met her gaze for a long moment, something unspoken passing between them. Slowly, she nodded. "One step at a time, right?"

"Exactly," Regina replied, her voice gentler now, though the faintest trace of a smirk tugged at her lips. "And if you try to skip steps, you'll hear about it from me."

Emma let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "Noted."

The mornings became their own rhythm. While Regina often left for short meetings in town—making sure Storybrooke didn't fall apart without her—she never left without checking in first, setting out breakfast, or sending Emma an encouraging text. Emma hadn't realized how much those little things mattered until she started to rely on them. And when Regina returned in the afternoons, she brought an air of reassurance with her that made the silence of the mansion feel less heavy.

But the evenings were Emma's favorite. Regina would curl up in the armchair by the fire with a glass of wine, a book open on her lap, while Emma settled onto the couch, wrapped in the soft throw blanket that had become her constant companion. Sometimes, they talked—light, easy conversation about nothing in particular. Other times, they simply sat in companionable silence, the sound of crackling flames filling the space between them.

It wasn't much, but for the first time in weeks, Emma felt like she was settling into something close to normal. Or at least, something she could imagine being normal, someday.

February

By February, Emma no longer felt like a guest in Regina's mansion. The feeding tube was still a frustrating reality, but she had begun to move around with more confidence, walking steadily for short distances without needing Regina's hovering presence. Regina, for her part, had slowly returned to her mayoral duties, leaving the house for a few hours each day. At first, Emma had dreaded those stretches of solitude. But gradually, she found ways to fill the quiet— reading, doing her physical therapy exercises, even braving the backyard on warmer afternoons.

Still, the progress came with its share of setbacks. There were nights when Emma would stare at herself in the mirror for too long, her mind spiralling into memories of how much stronger she used to be. And there were moments, when Regina wasn't there, that the silence felt suffocating again. But Emma didn't call her. She refused to. Regina already did too much.

When Regina was home, the dynamic was lighter—almost easy. They'd fallen into a rhythm, and Emma found herself smiling more often than she had in months, even laughing occasionally.

One rainy Saturday, the clouds heavy and relentless against the windows, Regina appeared in the living room holding a worn box that Emma recognized instantly.

"No," Emma groaned, eyeing the Monopoly board as Regina set it on the coffee table. "Not Monopoly. You're way too competitive for this."

Regina arched an elegant brow, her lips twitching into the faintest smirk. "Afraid you'll lose, Miss Swan?"

Emma scoffed, pulling herself upright on the couch and crossing her arms. "Lose? Please. Monopoly is just capitalism in disguise. I'm practically built for this game."

Regina's smirk widened. "If that's true, you're about to meet your match." She began unpacking the pieces with meticulous precision, placing the tiny silver dog in front of Emma without needing to ask. "I'll go easy on you, of course."

"Sure you will," Emma muttered, but there was a flicker of excitement in her eyes as she reached for the dice. "Let's see how 'easy' you are when I bankrupt you with Boardwalk."

The first half-hour was filled with light jabs and thinly veiled threats. Emma groaned dramatically every time Regina managed to buy a high-value property, while Regina feigned outrage when Emma landed on Free Parking twice in a row. But it wasn't until Emma managed to buy both Boardwalk and Park Place in one swoop that the tension shifted—just slightly.

"You're entirely too smug," Regina remarked, eyeing Emma from across the table as she handed over a fistful of pastel-coloured bills. "It's not becoming."

Emma leaned back against the couch, folding her arms behind her head in an exaggerated pose of victory. "You're just mad because you're losing."

"I'm not losing," Regina said smoothly, leaning forward to roll the dice. "I'm strategically biding my time."

Emma snorted. "Strategically biding your time on Baltic Avenue? Yeah, good luck with that."

Regina's gaze snapped up, her dark eyes narrowing playfully. "Mock all you like, Miss Swan. That hotel you're so proud of on Boardwalk won't help you when you land on my railroad empire."

Emma's grin widened. "You think you scare me? I've got a 'Get Out of Jail Free' card with your name on it."

"Charming," Regina deadpanned, though her lips quirked into something suspiciously close to a smile.

The game dragged on, as Monopoly often did, but neither of them seemed in a rush to finish. Emma hadn't realized how long it had been since she'd let herself simply enjoy someone's company—since she'd let herself forget, even briefly, how fragile her body still felt. And though Regina was every bit as competitive as Emma had predicted, her laughter came easily, her sharp wit dancing across the space between them like a lifeline.

At one point, Emma leaned forward to move her piece—her fingers brushing lightly against Regina's as they both reached for the dice at the same time. The touch was brief, fleeting, but it lingered in the air between them.

"Cheating, are we?" Regina murmured; her voice low enough to send a faint shiver down Emma's spine.

"Who, me?" Emma replied innocently, though her cheeks flushed slightly as she quickly withdrew her hand. "I'm as honest as they come."

Regina's eyes sparkled with something Emma couldn't quite name. "We'll see about that."

By the time the game ended, with Regina claiming victory thanks to an unexpected monopoly on the railroads, Emma's cheeks were sore from smiling so much.

"You let me win," Regina accused lightly as she began packing up the pieces.

Emma grinned, leaning back against the couch with a mockingly casual shrug. "Maybe I did. Or maybe you're just better at capitalism than me."

Regina paused, glancing at Emma over the edge of the game board. For a moment, her expression softened, her eyes lingering on Emma's face. "Either way," she said quietly, "it's nice to see you smiling again."

Emma's grin faltered, but only slightly. Her chest tightened, the weight of Regina's words settling somewhere deep. "Yeah," she said softly. "It's nice to feel like smiling again."

Outside of moments like these, February saw Emma slowly gaining more independence. She no longer flinched at her reflection in the mirror, though the feeding tube remained a frustrating reminder of how far she still had to go. Short walks around town with Regina became part of her routine, her steps more confident with each passing week. The whispers in Storybrooke didn't bother her as much as she thought they would.

Henry visited often, sometimes bringing school assignments to work on at the mansion while Emma rested. His presence was a welcome distraction, filling the house with laughter that seemed to put both Emma and Regina at ease.

But there were quieter moments, too—moments when Regina would leave for work, and Emma would sit in the living room alone, the fire crackling softly in the background. She didn't resent Regina's absence—not really. She knew the world outside the mansion couldn't stop spinning just because her own had paused. Still, when the silence settled around her, she sometimes caught herself counting the hours until Regina returned.

It wasn't dependency, Emma told herself. It was just... comfort. Safety. And maybe something more that she wasn't quite ready to admit.

March

By March, the snow that had blanketed Storybrooke all winter had started to melt, revealing the soggy, brown earth beneath. The air was still cold, but the promise of spring lingered faintly in the breeze, like a distant whisper. For Emma, that promise felt like something she could almost grasp—almost, but not quite.

Her feeding tube was still in, though she had started eating small meals under careful guidance from her doctors. The progress felt slow—painfully so at times—but it was progress nonetheless. She could walk around the mansion without a second thought now, even venturing out to the garden on sunny afternoons. Regina didn't hover as much anymore, trusting Emma to know her own limits, though she still kept a watchful eye.

One early afternoon, Regina returned from a morning at Town Hall to find Emma perched on the porch swing, a thick blanket draped over her lap. Her cheeks were flushed pink from the crisp air, her hands clutching a steaming mug of coffee that Regina immediately identified as her own, judging by the gold-etched initials on the side.

"That's my favorite mug," Regina observed, stepping outside and closing the door softly behind her.

Emma smirked, not even pretending to feel guilty. "You leave it in plain sight. What am I supposed to do?"

Regina rolled her eyes, but the corners of her lips quirked upward. "How very charming of you to steal from your host."

Emma took a deliberate sip of coffee, her smirk widening. "I'm resourceful. You should know that by now."

Regina huffed, but her amusement was evident. She sat down beside Emma on the swing, the chain creaking faintly under the added weight. For a moment, they simply sat in companionable silence, the swing swaying gently as the wind tousled their hair.

"It's good to see you out here," Regina said after a while, her tone soft but genuine. "You've been cooped up inside too much lately."

Emma shrugged, her gaze drifting to the trees at the edge of the yard. "I needed some fresh air," she admitted. "And... I guess it feels good to do something normal for once."

Regina glanced at her out of the corner of her eye, her expression unreadable. "You've come a long way, you know."

Emma snorted softly, shaking her head. "I don't feel like I have. I'm still stuck with this stupid tube, still get tired walking up the stairs, still feel like..." She trailed off, her jaw tightening as she stared down at her mug.

"Like what?" Regina pressed gently.

Emma hesitated, her throat working as she swallowed the lump rising there. "Like I'm not me anymore," she admitted quietly. "Like I lost something, and I don't know how to get it back."

Regina's chest tightened at the raw honesty in Emma's voice. She reached out instinctively, her hand brushing lightly against Emma's where it rested on the blanket. "You haven't lost yourself, Emma," she said firmly. "You're still you. Maybe... maybe you're finding new parts of yourself instead."

Emma blinked, her gaze flicking to Regina's face. "You're really good at this pep-talk thing, you know that?"

Regina chuckled, a low, warm sound that seemed to melt some of the tension between them. "Don't get used to it," she teased lightly, though her eyes softened as she met Emma's gaze. "But thank you."

Emma smiled faintly, her fingers tightening briefly around the mug. "Thank you," she murmured back.

But recovery wasn't without its challenges. Two weeks later, Emma had a setback that reminded her how fragile progress could feel.

It happened one morning when Regina had left for an early Town Hall meeting. Emma, determined to prove to herself that she could handle breakfast without Regina's hovering, decided to make scrambled eggs. It was a simple task—something she had done a thousand times before—but as she stood at the stove, the heat radiating against her face, the smell of the eggs suddenly made her stomach churn. She gripped the edge of the counter, her breath coming in shallow gasps as a wave of nausea swept over her.

"Not now," she muttered under her breath, her hands trembling as she turned off the burner. "Come on, Emma. You've got this."

But she didn't. Her vision swam, her legs wobbling unsteadily beneath her. She barely made it to the sink before the nausea won, her body heaving in protest.

When it was over, Emma slumped against the counter, her chest heaving as tears pricked the corners of her eyes. She hated this—hated how her body still betrayed her, how even the simplest things felt like mountains she couldn't climb. She felt weak, and the thought of Regina walking in and seeing her like this made her stomach twist even more.

So she cleaned up as best as she could, forcing herself to straighten up before collapsing onto the couch in the living room. She pulled the blanket over her shoulders, curling into herself as she tried to shake off the humiliation.

Regina found her there when she returned home an hour later. One look at Emma's pale face and red-rimmed eyes told her everything she needed to know.

"Emma," she said softly, crossing the room to sit beside her. "What happened?"

Emma shook her head, her jaw clenched tightly. "Nothing," she muttered. "I just... I got tired."

Regina's brow furrowed, but she didn't press. Instead, she reached for Emma's hand, her touch light but steady. "You don't have to do this alone," she said quietly.

Emma exhaled shakily, her resolve cracking under the weight of Regina's kindness. "I just wanted to make eggs," she admitted in a small voice. "I thought I could handle it."

Regina's chest ached at the vulnerability in Emma's words. "It's okay," she said softly. "It's okay to struggle, Emma. That doesn't mean you're not making progress."

Emma didn't respond, but when Regina reached up to brush a stray tear from her cheek, she didn't pull away.

Not every day was a struggle, though. A few days after the egg incident, Henry arrived for the weekend, bounding into the mansion with a backpack slung over one shoulder and an unmistakable glint of mischief in his eyes. He was practically vibrating with energy as he pulled a deck of cards from his bag and plopped himself onto the couch beside Emma, who was already settled with a blanket across her lap.

"Mom, you're going down," he declared, shuffling the deck with exaggerated flair, the cards flying between his hands like he'd been practicing for weeks.

Emma arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Big talk for a kid who once thought Go Fish was a strategic game," she shot back, her tone dry but playful.

Henry gasped, clutching the deck to his chest with mock offense. "First of all, I was six. Second of all, you're just scared because you know I'm going to destroy you."

Emma smirked, leaning back into the couch as she pulled the blanket tighter around her. "Bold of you to assume you can beat me, kid. I've been hustling pool halls and card tables since before you could walk."

Henry narrowed his eyes, leaning forward as though challenging her. "Is that a threat?"

Emma shrugged, an exaggerated casualness in her posture. "It's a promise."

They were barely two rounds into the game—Henry had insisted on a mix of blackjack and some convoluted house rules he claimed to have invented—when Regina entered the living room. She stopped just inside the doorway, her eyebrows lifting at the sight of them.

"And what exactly is going on here?" she asked, her voice tinged with amusement as she crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe.

"Card shark over here," Henry said, jerking a thumb toward Emma, "is trying to cheat her way to victory."

Emma scoffed, clutching her hand of cards dramatically to her chest. "Excuse me? I don't cheat. I'm just better than you."

"Right," Henry drawled, drawing out the word with a suspicious look. "And I suppose that means you didn't just conveniently swap out your cards while I was getting snacks?"

Emma gasped, feigning outrage. "I would never."

Regina chuckled softly, the sound warm and light as she moved to the armchair near the couch. "Henry, if you're accusing her of cheating, I hate to say it, but you're probably already losing."

"Hey!" Henry protested, though he couldn't quite hide the grin tugging at his lips.

Emma grinned triumphantly, leaning forward to tap the stack of cards on the coffee table. "Listen to Regina, kid. She's got great instincts."

Regina arched an eyebrow, her expression cool and sharp. "A rare compliment. Should I frame it?"

Henry groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Okay, this is weird. Are you two gonna banter all night, or can we actually finish this game?"

Regina didn't bother hiding her smirk as she perched herself on the arm of the couch, her gaze flicking between them. "Oh, please, don't let me interrupt. Watching Emma lose is far too entertaining."

Emma shot her a mock glare, but the mischievous sparkle in her eyes gave her away. "Careful, Your Majesty, or I'll teach Henry all my tricks."

Henry snorted. "Like what? How to cheat worse than you already do?"

"I don't cheat!" Emma exclaimed, her voice rising with mock indignation.

Regina simply shook her head, muttering something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like, "Children," though the slight quirk of her lips betrayed her amusement.

The game descended into chaos soon after. Henry accused Emma of cheating again—"That's the second Ace of Spades I've seen tonight!"—to which Emma dramatically proclaimed her innocence. In retaliation, Emma accused Henry of stacking the deck before they even started playing, though her argument grew increasingly absurd as she claimed he'd done so by "harnessing the powers of sorcery."

"You've been spending too much time with Regina," Henry said flatly, pointing a finger at her.

Emma laughed, shaking her head. "Nah, your mom's too uptight to cheat. Me, on the other hand? I've got street smarts."

"More like cheat smarts," Henry muttered, earning an overly dramatic gasp from Emma.

By the time the game ended—and Emma did, in fact, lose spectacularly—they were all laughing so hard that tears pricked the corners of their eyes. Emma's sides ached, her stomach sore from the kind of laughter she hadn't felt in what seemed like forever. It wasn't just the humour—it was the lightness of it all. For once, her body didn't feel like a prison, her mind wasn't weighed down by the constant ache of recovery.

As they cleaned up the cards, Henry stretched and glanced at the time. "I think I'm gonna head upstairs," he said, suppressing a yawn. "You guys are exhausting."

"Good night, kid," Emma said, reaching over to tousle his hair.

"Mom," Henry whined, ducking out of reach, but his grin betrayed him. He paused by Regina on his way out, giving her a quick hug before heading upstairs. "Night, Mom," he added.

Regina's gaze lingered after him for a moment, her expression soft. When she turned back to Emma, she found the blonde watching her, a faint, curious smile on her face.

"What?" Regina asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Nothing," Emma said lightly, though her smile didn't waver. "You're just... good at this."

Regina tilted her head slightly, a question in her eyes.

"Being his mom," Emma clarified, her voice softer now. "He's lucky to have you."

Regina's lips parted, her expression caught somewhere between surprise and something warmer, something deeper. She didn't reply immediately, but the look she gave Emma was enough to make the blonde shift slightly under her blanket, a flicker of heat brushing the back of her neck.

Regina cleared her throat after a moment, standing and smoothing the hem of her blouse. "You're tired," she said briskly, though her tone had lost some of its usual sharpness. "You should get some rest."

Emma smirked faintly but didn't argue. She watched as Regina stepped toward the kitchen, pausing to hand her a glass of water on the way. "Here," Regina said. "Stay hydrated."

Emma accepted it without a word, her fingers brushing against Regina's briefly as she took it. The contact was fleeting, but it lingered in the air between them like an unspoken promise.

"Goodnight, Emma," Regina said softly before turning and walking away.

Emma leaned back against the couch, sipping the water slowly as her gaze drifted to the cards still scattered on the coffee table. For the first time in a long time, the house felt less like a place she was recovering in and more like a place she belonged.

March ended with more good days than bad. Emma had started accompanying Regina to town on brief errands, her steps steadier and her head held a little higher with each outing. The whispers in Storybrooke still existed, the sidelong glances and murmurs trailing behind her as they walked down Main Street, but they didn't cut as deep anymore. She wasn't sure if that was because she was finally growing thicker skin—or because she had someone walking beside her who never flinched under the weight of small-town judgment.

One afternoon, on the way out of the bakery, Emma caught someone staring—a look that lingered just a second too long. She froze for half a heartbeat, the insecurity rearing its head as quickly as it always did. But before she could shrink back, she felt Regina's hand graze her elbow lightly. When Emma turned her head, she found Regina watching her with a calm, unwavering gaze. No words were spoken, but the quiet reassurance in that single look was enough to steady her.

Emma took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and kept walking.

Later that evening, as they sat by the fire with matching mugs of cocoa—Regina insisted on hot cocoa despite Emma's protests that it was "a little too wholesome for her reputation"—Emma caught herself smiling. Not a forced smile, not one meant to appease or convince anyone else. Just... a smile. For herself.

She still had a long way to go. Her body was still fragile, her strength slow to return. There were still moments when her frustration boiled over, when the urge to give in whispered louder than she wanted to admit. But the weight of it all didn't feel quite so suffocating anymore.

Because she wasn't carrying it alone.