It isn't until a few minutes after Ruby and Belle's departure from the hospital that Emma chooses to address the stubborn scowl that has been sitting on Regina's face for at least an hour. Emma sighs, crossing the waiting room that they seem to live in now, towards the brunette staring at the drearily painted walls.

"What is it, Regina?" Emma prods, stopping a couple feet in front of her, her hands in tight balls in her leather jacket's pockets. It's safe to assume that Regina's sour expression has nothing to do with Henry, and everything to do with his visitors, but Emma is desperate for conversation after the deafening quietness of the past couple of days.

Days filled with the same metronomic beeping of the monitors near Henry's bed, with no signs of any changes happening inside of him.

Emma's left the building a couple times, once for real food, and once for at least one good night's rest, and her parents and Neal had left as well. Regina, however, has stubbornly set her base here at the hospital, never leaving Henrys side, except to eat, sleep a few hours each night, and whenever someone else wants to visit him. Emma wants to chastise her, wants to tell her to sleep more, to eat more, to live, but she doesn't have it in her because she understands. Understands because Henry has been Emma's life for the past six years and only him; her mind laden with thousands of fake memories of raising him from the time his large green eyes saw the light of life.

But most of the memories won't real--Regina had done it; Regina had done nearly everything to make him the person that he is--and Emma can only imagine how Regina feels right now.

The thoughts enter and leave Emma's mind in a second or two, and that's only as long as it takes for Regina to shift her eyes to the other woman and raise an eyebrow.

"Excuse me?"

"That frown has been on your face since the moment those two had arrived." Emma tells her, crossing her arms, a small smile curling her lips.

"I don't like everyone coming in to see him--he's not--" Regina swallows thickly, thinking about how so many people visiting her son is making this nightmare far more real. "He's not an exhibit," her voice is so broken after that statement that it can barely be heard, but if Emma's wrinkled forehead says a thing, she'd heard it.

Emma lets the silence ring for a few moments before she puts out an unsure hand, clasping it lightly over Regina's shoulder. She feels the surprised flinch, but doesn't pull away. "Regina," she begins, breath hitching as she thinks over the comparison Regina had made. "Of course he isn't; they know he's not," She assures the worried brunette, fixing her eyes on Regina's face, waiting for brown irises to meet her green ones.

It takes a several long moments, but they finally meet eyes, and suddenly they're zeroed in on each other. Emma doesn't hear anything but their simultaneous breathing, doesn't see anything but mascara-clumped curled eyelashes above chocolate-brown large irises.

Regina doesn't reply, and Emma swallows a few times before deeming it appropriate to continue.

"They just wanted to come in and visit him for a chance to--"

It's this comment that makes Regina flinch away, breaking the eye contact and stepping backwards. "Don't say it," she commands, her voice low and rough.

Emma shakes her head, palms out. "Don't....?"

"Don't say that they wanted a chance to say....goodbye." It's then that the former queen resumes the eye contact; willingly showing Emma the tears hindering her vision.

"Regina--" Emma shakes her head slowly, heart in agony at the implication. "That wasn't what I was about to say. I just meant...I don't know. A chance to show their support?"

Regina looks away once more and her shoulders drop in an act of submission that is so unfamiliar to the blonde that it scares her. "Of course."

"Henry, he'll...." Emma starts, feeling as though she needs to step up to the task of believing for both of them. Her eyes drift to his hospital room around the corner, thinking about how much he needs them right now, but also how much better he'd do this job of believing. She'd never really imagined how hard it would be--how burdening for the soul--and figures she's got to hand it to him for holding that title. She glances back at Regina, forcing something like a smile onto her face. "...he'll wake up. He has to."

Regina swallows with difficulty, head shaking slightly before closing her eyes. "And what if he doesn't, Emma? What then?"

"Then we'll cross that bridge if we come to it."

"You make it sound so damned simple." Regina scoffs, turning away to look at an unimpressive painting on a far wall.

"It's not. God, Regina, nothing about this is simple or easy, but Henry deserves hope. And he's our kid--he's strong as hell, he's the son of the Evil Queen and the Savior, for God's sake."

Regina turns back towards her, fresh tears glistening in her already glassy eyes. "What would I do without you--your optimism," she corrects quickly, but the sentiment is there.

Emma grins cheekily then, stuffing her hands in her back jeans pockets. "Honestly? You'd probably be six feet under."

That works--the first smile in two days breaks through on her face--albeit hesitant--but it's there. "Shut up."

"You feeling some god-awful, stale, hospital coffee? I can go grab us both a cup." Emma offers then, and they share a mutual chuckle, and though there's so much hanging over their heads, it's an easy moment.

"I won't say no to that." Regina tells her, waits until Emma's a few steps away before calling after her. "I'm just going to check up on Henry."

Emma stops, turning around to give her an understanding look. "Got it."

"Thanks," she's whispering then, and it's barely more than a mouthing of the word. Emma doesn't hear it.

The quiet opening and closing of the door, the dragging of the chair near the bed, the collecting of his limp hand is all too familiar now. She's grown so accustomed to the beeping of the monitors that she doesn't hear it anymore. The one thing that stays fresh and untiring at all times is staring at his perfect, slowly healing face, and drinking in each of his changes. She prepares to do the same thing now, trailing a finger of her free hand across the scratchiness of his cheek.

She sits there hardly five minutes, though it feels like an eternity to her, before it happens.

The monitors she'd blocked out days ago startlingly begin beeping loudly and erratically. In horror, she watches the electrocardiogram machine show the quickening sporadic up and down lines of his heartbeat.

She allows only two full seconds of alarm before she shoots up from her chair, screaming for Dr. Whale. It's stupid; she has no idea if her voice carries more than a couple feet outside the door, but she's rooted to the spot. Both of her hands grasp his hand, and the sheer, unbridled panic comes when his arms begin to randomly fail at his sides, making it difficult for her to hold on.

"Henry? HENRY?!" Regina calls out, standing over him, watching in terror. "WHALE!!"

His limbs jerk, his back arches, the sounds of the equipment are deafening.

And then the chaos stops.

And Regina doesn't even want to think about what that means.

All she can hear is the blood rush in her ears, can barely see through the thick shield of unshed tears blocking her eyes.

And then Henry opens his eyes.

Regina doesn't think she's seeing correctly at first; she blinks eight times and focuses on his face. And there he is, eyelids open, allowing her to stare into his beautiful, vivid green irises. "Henry?" Regina asks, uncertain; and then her heart drops because he doesn't make a single sign he's heard her.

"Henry?!" she tries again, louder this time.

His eyes remain fixed on nothing at all, glazed over and unresponsive.

It's this that finally terrifies Regina enough to drop his hand and flee the room.

She returns not a full minute later, Dr. Whale and Emma hot on her heels. "He opened his eyes," Regina repeats for the fifth time, breath hitching and tears rolling off her cheeks and splashing onto the floor.

Dr. Whale pushes his way into the room first, rather unceremoniously butting in between Henry's two mothers. He leans over the hospital bed, fishing in his lab coat pocket for his pen flashlight. He places one hand on the railing to steady himself, switches on the bright light, moving it back and forth in front of his eyes, watching his pupils.

"What's wrong with him?" Regina whispers, not daring to look over at Emma.

"Well, he's responding to light, which is a good sign." Whale pockets the flashlight and turns to face him. "Flailing limbs, staring off into space, unresponsiveness--" he counts off on his fingers before stuffing his hands into his dress pants pockets. "--all normal for waking up from a coma. Give him time," he advises before turning around and fiddling with the monitors, writing updates on his clipboard.

They hear a hoarse grunt first.

It's Henry, finally blinking sluggishly, fingers moving slowly as he attempts to raise his arm with an IV still attached. Regina makes it over to the bed first, despite Whale's halfhearted protests, and grasps his twitching hand in her own once more.

More grunting, muddled, slurred sounds rolling off of his tongue. It's incoherent, it doesn't sound anything like his voice, it's horrifying, but it's Henry, and he's alive.

"Yes, Baby? What--what is it?" Regina encourages him, barely getting the words out between her sobs.

"Regina," Whale warns softly. She ignores him.

She looks up slightly, sees Emma standing over him on the opposite side of the bed. Their eyes lock, and there's pulsing emotion behind both of the looks, but then they're both turning their gazes back to Henry.

Henry, who's still mumbling nonsense noises and beginning to move more frantically now, hands pulling at wires connecting him to the machines. Whale barks at them to stop him, and both women grasp one of their son's hands, squeezing.

"Henry, squeeze my hand," Emma's instructing first, and Whale's nodding in approval. She waits and waits and then she feels the slightest pressure of his fingers tightening around her palm. "Yes--! Good job," she whispers, tears dripping onto the rumpled bedsheets.

"Following instructions is a great sign," Dr. Whale tells them, moving to the other side of the bed. "Keep him calm," he instructs, before beginning to switch out his IV.

Henry begins to whimper slightly, brow furrowed, eyes closing. Regina tightens her hands around his, whispering sweet nothings to him and haltingly humming out a slow tune that doesn't belong to a single song. Emma releases one of her hands and begins rubbing it up and down his arm. And then Whale's done and he's moving to the far side of the small room to give them space.

And then, his eyes open once more. He blinks, again and again, slowly quickening the pace. Then, with clear green eyes, and begins to glance around the room, deep confusion showing on the planes of his face. 

Regina tries to shove down the premature hope and joy that blossoms in her chest while watching him; noting that he seems awake, really awake this time. She doesn't dare to speak, only watches without breathing.

His eyes sweep around the room a few more times before finally settling on her, and she feels as though she could break under his stare. His mouth opens, more uncertain mumbling sounds falling out before she finally catches, "R'gina..?"

And then she grins, a pure ray of sunshine glowing from within her as she nods enthusiastically, tears of joy welling up in her eyes. She ducks her head down, kissing each of his knuckles. "Yes, yes, it's me, my little--"

His brow furrows further, shaking his head sluggishly. "Where--" he begins, and it's hard to understand him, but she encourages him by nodding, smiling, and squeezing his hand. And then the next slurring words out of his mouth crushes her.

"Where's my....mom?"

Her face falls, eyes widening, and she slowly places his hand back down on the mattress. "She--" she begins, but then Emma on the other side of the bed is prodding him gently.

The next few moments are a blur; she can hear Emma in the near distance telling her son that "it's okay," and "I'm right here, right here," and then an uncertain, "Mama?" And a increasingly panicky, "Where'm I? Where am I?" And she's standing up from her chair and numbly moving away from the bed.

She stumbles over to the door, hears Emma say, "Regina," right before she steps out, and then she's walking quickly down the hall and out of the hospital.

It's drizzling outside, and the Maine weather is even cooler and windier than normal, and she welcomes the cool, misty air on her warm cheeks. And it's then, only then, that the former Evil Queen breaks down completely.

---

She doesn't return to the hospital until an hour or two after sunrise the next morning. She pulls her coat tighter around her narrowing frame, gathers all the strength she has, and walks into the building. She makes it three steps in before Emma stalks towards her from the waiting room where she'd been pacing.

"Regina! Where the hell have you been?! I've been worried, you weren't answering my calls--" Emma nearly throws the words up onto the brunette, red bloodshot eyes telling that she'd likely not slept a minute the previous night.

"I--" Regina begins, anxiety showing clearly in her face as her hand settles lightly over her stomach. "Henry doesn't need me right now. He needs his--his mother,"

Emma sighs quietly, anger visibly melting away. "God, Regina, you're his mother."

"He doesn't know that."

"He will," Emma says imploringly. "Isn't his--shouldn't his potion be ready by now?"

Regina ducks her head, digging in her inside pocket before producing the small vial. "It is," she whispers, running her long thumbnail across one side of the smooth glass.

"Why don't you give it to--Regina, what's wrong?" Emma doesn't finish her sentence before grabbing Regina's free trembling hand. She knows the brunette far too well, knows by the look in her face that she's thinking things that she shouldn't.

"He's just woken up--I don't want to confuse him--I don't want to make him worse than he--" she can't continue then, tears that never seem to stop welling up in her eyes. "And he doesn't need me right now--he needs you, Emma."

Emma moves her free hand to cup the brunette's jaw, not thinking about what the gesture means or conveys. She only stares deeply into the other woman's eyes, imploring her, desperately trying to convince Regina of what she knows is right. "Snap out of it." She tells her, and her soft tone contrasts her words. "God, snap out of it, Regina; Henry needs you. He needs you now more than he ever has in his life," she tells her, absently rubbing her thumb across her cheek.

Then, "I don't want to hurt him." She's confiding in Emma, whispering the loaded words and her chest racks with emotion.

"I know. I know," Emma says, removing her hand, and thinks, screw it all. She moves a step closer, and finally collects Regina into her arms. She feels the other woman go rigid under her, but she relaxes and slowly puts trembling arms around Emma's frame. Emma lays her head on Regina's shoulder, rubbing comforting hands across her back.

They remain there for the better half of a minute, in complete silence. No words are said, no halfhearted promises that can't be kept. Emma doesn't release Regina until she feels the brunette stop shaking.

Then Emma's stepping backwards, and she maintains a stubborn kind of eye contact, despite the subtle heat in her cheeks. "Let's go talk to Whale."

---

Regina steps into the small familiar room, balancing the lunch tray in one hand and closing the door behind her with the other. She glances over to the bed, seeing Henry, eyes closed while sprawled in the bed in a far more comfortable-looking position than he had been in his coma. She almost smiles at the sight, but the nervous twinge in her gut wipes it off her face before it has the chance to turn her lips up at the corners.

She tries to calm herself, thinking of everything Dr. Whale had said: "His speech, responsiveness, and vitals have all improved slowly since he woke up, but his periods of consciousness are short and unpredictable. He may be extremely confused every time he wakes up for days. If you catch him in a good state of consciousness, and it's clear he feels perfectly calm and at ease, he should be able to receive the potion." When Regina had looked at him in despair at the first half of his news, he'd put a hand out, hurriedly assuring her this is a normal recovery process for comatose patients.

She breathes in through her nose and out through her mouth, settling her free hand anxiously over her belly once again before approaching the bed. She sets the lunch on the swivel tray attached to his bed, uncovering the yellow plastic shielding his bowl of repulsive hospital chicken noodle soup. She shifts the glass of water around on the tray three times before she deems it just right, and steps back, squinting at the glass in the light. Only moments before she entered the room she'd stirred the memory potion into his water, and there's a slight purple twinge to it, but Regina tries to tell herself that one wouldn't see it unless they were specifically looking for it.

She'd been instructed to wait for him to wake naturally, so she pulls up a chair and watches him sleep. Almost instantly, she's reminded of watching over him as a slumbering infant, and her heart clutches at the memory: She studies the rhythmic rising and falling of his tiny, round stomach, curls a finger around one of his soft chubby cheeks. She hums out an old Spanish song her father had used to sing her to sleep, and though it's impossible, she swears she can see the corners of his mouth curl in a smile.

She finds herself humming the same tune, and fights the urge to stop when she notices. She shakes her head, instead humming a little louder, even adding in a few shaking words, and caresses the skin stretched thin across his cheekbone.

It's then that he shifts under her finger, and slowly blinks open his eyes. His pupils shrink slightly in the light of his hospital room, and he begins to mumble drowsily.

Regina collects his large hand into hers, squeezing gently. "Hello, Henry," she greets, trying to sound casual as he slowly comes to.

He blinks several more times, gradually turning his head towards the source of noise. He sees Regina there, smiles. "Hi...R'gina," he tells her, heavily slurring his syllables.

"I brought you lunch," Regina gestures unnecessarily to the lunch tray in front of him.

"Where--" Henry begins, voice low and gravelly, drawing each syllable out carefully. He squints, trying to think of the next words.

"Emma is trying to get some sleep--I think she stayed up all night last night. I'm trying to tell her not to run herself to the ground," Regina explains as lightly as she can manage, answering his unasked question.

Henry only smiles absently at her, seeming to accept her explanation. He reaches for the glass of water.

In a moment of panic, Regina reaches forward and snatches the glass away before his fingers come in contact with it. He looks at her in confusion, and Regina tries to give him a reassuring smile.

"Have a couple bites of your soup, first," she instructs, watching as he sluggishly moves his arm up towards the spoon. It's such a simple task, but it's obviously a difficult one for him in his state, and her heart aches for him.

She holds the glass close to her chest, wondering how long he'll eat the soup before he needs the water. Oh, no, she's not having anything close to second thoughts; she's not trying to avoid her son remembering who he is--who she is--at all. She just wants him to be more awake, more coherent before she turns his entire world as he knows it upside down.

She wants him to be ready, wants---

And then her stalling ends as he pulls a face at his soup and sets the spoon down, turning towards her and stretching out his hand for the beverage.

She laughs then, and it's entirely fake, but he's too drugged up to notice. "That bad, huh? Here, sorry."

Regina tries not to notice the way his hand shakes as he reaches for the glass. She tries not to see the way his fingers slip on the condensation and how his wrist shakes under the weight of the cup. She only smiles weakly at him, waiting what feels like an eternity to her for him to raise the glass to his lips. The seconds drag on in the scarce moments before his entire life changes.

Then he's tilting his head back and the spiked water is soaking his dry tongue.

His eyes drift closed for a moment before his eyelids snap wide open, showing his crazed green irises, unseeing. Regina bites down the urge to call out for him, to make sure he's alright, that he's okay. Because she knows--She's seen this look before; it's far too familiar.

A thousand memories of a past life, one long forgotten.

A thousand stories that a moment ago had only been just that.

A family.

AN: The next chapter will, of course, be a continuation of this scene.

I got many mixed answers to my question last chapter--short chapters or long chapters? I tried to meet somewhere in the middle, so hopefully this caters to everyone.

If you enjoyed, leave a vote, and I can't wait to read your comments!