Still he sobbed, limp as his mother removed his shirt and applied more Vicks to his back. "Emma!"

"Henry," Regina flustered, pressing her forehead to his in a quiet desperation. "Baby, Emma isn't here. You have to wake up."

That only made him cry more, his wailing echoing the otherwise empty house. No matter what she did, Regina couldn't get him to wake as he sobbed.

"Henry," she pleaded, getting up quickly to retrieve a fresh shirt. "Henry, that's enough."

She sat back down, but Henry was still sitting up in his bed, more awake now than he had been minutes ago.

"Moo-oommy!" He begged, coughing and choking on his own hoarse cry.

She shrugged his shirt over his head and pressed his head to her chest. "I know, sweetheart. You'll feel better when you rest."

The beginning bars of their favourite Spanish lullaby were barely out of her mouth before Henry pushed away from her fiercely. "No!I want Emma!" He repeated, louder this time as he sobbed Emma's name over and and over and over again.

Regina shook her head frustrated, tears prickling at her eyes as she spoke in a low warn. "She's not here, Henry. That's enough."

"Emmaaaa!" Henry wailed so loud Regina choked.

"She's not here, Henry! She's dead!" Regina's eyes widened in horror and she pressed her hands to her mouth, shooting up off the bed trying to get away from herself.

Henry silenced, his heavy breathing and hiccuping the only sound in the room. He stared at his mother like she was a monster, and Regina wanted nothing more than to bury herself in a dark hole and never come out. His lip trembled. Her eyes watered. He clutched his blanket to his chest, and just before the sob rang out again, Regina dropped to him, clutching him tightly, and this time he didn't push away.

"I'm sorry," she whispered into his hair, rubbing his back and clutching his head to her, keeping him as close as she possibly could. "I'mso sorry, Henry. I'm sorry."

That had been her catalyst, the straw that broke the camel's back that led her to the therapist's office on a Thursday afternoon when Henry had been well enough to return to school, and Regina just couldn't take it anymore.

"Regina," Archie smiled when he opened the door. He didn't wait to usher her inside, Pongo getting up from his bed in the corner to greet her happily. "What brings you by?" He closed the door and settled into his chair, watching as Regina kept her attention on Pongo, petting his head and scratching behind his ears, before shifting uncomfortably around the room.

She surveyed the books on his shelf, noting impressively that though she doubt they were ever used for more than decoration, the shelves were impeccably dust-free. Pongo barked, and Regina looked to see that he was sitting on the couch and huffed for her to do the same. Following the orders of a canine, Regina sat, her hand already atop his head as he nestled it in her lap.

Archie continued to wait patiently, and Regina nearly envied the trait. Her thumb nail had suffered greatly as her own patience thinned, specifically waiting for letters from a certain blonde. She sighed and glanced shyly up at the doctor. "I yelled at Henry two days ago."

"What about?" He asked calmly.

She played with the circle necklace, pressing it to her lips as she fixated on the carpet of his office. "I told him Emma was dead."

If Archie was surprised, he didn't show it. He simply leaned forward in his seat and set aside his notepad. "Is she?"

Regina shut her eyes, pressing her forehead onto her fingers as her arm was propped on top of the rest. "A year ago I found out she was missing. What do you think, Doctor?"

"I think you would have been notified if her body bad turned up, alive or not."

"Maybe there is none," she said morbidly, finally meeting Archie's eyes.

"I won't promise you she's alive, Regina. What I can do is help you get through it."

"How?" Regina scoffed with a wave of her hand, her voice thick with strained emotion. "With your books and the five steps of mourning? It's been a year, Dr. Hopper. A year. It hasn't gotten any easier. I keep waiting for the day where I wake up and don't care anymore, but I can't. Everything reminds me of her. I see a yellow car on the street, and I wish it was hers. I drive by Mr. French's shop, and I remember how she went through so much trouble just to send me a rose. I pass by my guest room, and she's in there doing squats. I can't get her out of my head no matter how hard I try, no matter how hard I push it out." She didn't realize tears were tracking her cheeks until she sniffled, pressing the back of her hand to the tip of her nose. "Henry was sick and he wanted her, and all I could remember was when he wasn't even two yet and sick and I wrote to Emma telling her about it and she calmed me down and talked me through it. She's always supposed to answer my letters, no matter how late she replies, she always got back to them. She promised me she would be safe and now—"

Regina choked back a sob and took the proffered Kleenex from Archie's outstretched hand, wiping at her eyes effectively rubbing off her mascara and eyeliner.

"I want to hope," Regina admitted quietly, hiding her shudder behind a well-timed sniffle. "I want to believe that she's out there, that she's safe and someone is taking care of her, but I have to be realistic." She shook her head as if talking herself out of her own thoughts. "I stopped believed in miracles a long time ago. I can't keep putting myself through this, but—"

"You don't want to forget," Archie provided when she couldn't. When she nodded into her tissue, Archie gently placed a hand on her knee. "Forgetting and letting go are not mutually exclusive."

"I don't know if I can."

"Maybe not now, but in time, you will." He sat back in his chair and grabbed his notepad, ripping off the front page and handing the pad and pen to Regina. "You mentioned that simply writing to Emma when Henry was sick helped ease your discomfort. Perhaps we can start with that."

Chapter 22

Chapter Notes

Disclaimer in Chapter One.

AN: YAY for double updates! Quick movements in time in this and the next chapter.

The pen and paper lay on her desk untouched as it had been for the last fifteen minutes. She couldn't even jot down the date because she knew once she got past that, she'd actually have to continue on with Dr. Hopper's request to continue penning letters to the soldier who wouldn't be opening them. This was even worse than when Henry made that map. Her eyes unconsciously drifted toward her drawer where she kept it, and felt the grip on her heart strengthen. It was one thing to encourage her son's naive hope, but she was a grown woman, goddammit. She didn't need to write to an imaginary woman to sort out her feelings.

Cold dread swept over her at the thought.

No, Emma wasn't imaginary. She was very, very real. She was warm, and strong, and soft, and safe. Hopefully. Though that wasn't what she told Henry a few days ago.

Her eyes slid shut as Henry's horrified gaze penetrated her being. Some days all she could think of was the terrified eyes of her son, looking up at her betrayed. Without conscious thought, she picked up the pen and placed the tip to the paper, the date smoothly etching into its fibres.

December 15 2006

Emma,

I—

She dropped the pen before she could even finish the thought, profusely shaking her head and darting from her seat. She couldn't do this. It was crazy to write to a de—her breathing picked up until she was gasping for air. Air. She needed air. She leant over her fireplace mantle and inhaled deep breaths, her throat constricting with every intake.

It was just a letter. A few words on a paper she had spent years doing. Her eyes burned with tears she refused to release, so she pressed the back of her palm to her closed lids as her breath shuddered filling her lungs.

She didn't have to be okay, Regina reminded herself, though the voice in her head sounded unusually like Dr. Hopper's. Not today. She didn't have to say goodbye today.


A few days later, Regina tried again, getting past the greeting with relative ease if she didn't think too much of the fact that she could see the woman in question in her mind's eye, sitting in front of her, possibly smirking as Regina failed to find the right words. It's just me, Regina, Emma would say. I don't bite. No doubt followed by a saucy wink.

Her pen continued, moving down a line as she wrote.

December 18 2006

Dear Emma,

I haven't written those two words in so long, and I feel as if I don't know where to begin. I don't even know why I'm doing this. Dr. Hopper has informed me that it'll help, but I don't understand how. It's just words on a paper, talking to myself. I can hear your voice in my head, and it's part teasing and amusement, and I miss you.

Regina


Christmas came and went with the standard struggle of getting Henry to sleep. The warning that Santa wouldn't visit if he wasn't promptly in bed didn't work quite as well on the five-year old as it had previous years.

"He doesn't always bring you what you want," was his only response as he begrudgingly trudged up the stairs, his light up reindeer slippers glowing with every stomp.

She wanted to scold him for his behaviour, but he was right. The fabled old man couldn't work miracles. Christmas Day was pleasant nonetheless with Auntie Kat dropping off gingerbread for Henry and a rum cake for Regina. The only reason the brunette knew Kathryn was heading out of town for the holidays leaving David to fend for himself was for the suitcase she could spot in the front seat of the sedan. She felt she should ask, but how could she when she spent the better part of the year evading her friend's invitations.

Regina watched as the calendar days dwindled, feeling her mood shift before her mind could even register the fact. Henry was asleep in his bed the evening of the 28th when Regina sat in her kitchen, losing herself in a rum cake that was more alcohol than pastry. She was never one to eat her weight in feelings, but there had been a time or two when she'd drown her sorrows in alcohol, and the rum cake was her best bet. When every piece was eaten, she moved on to the real thing, grabbing the closest bottle her fingers found — Absolut leftover from months ago — and strategically evading her office and living room and kitchen and any room where Emma left her mark.

Out of options she dropped to the foot of her stairs, downing more than a shot from the tumbler she managed to grab as her body doubled over on her knees, her shoulders shaking and her breath coming out in hard, erratic gasps.

This was real. This wasn't just some never ending nightmare she was living. It wasn't some cruel prank or alternate reality.

I'll be back before you know it.

Fucking liar, Regina hissed to herself as angry tears came to her eyes. It's been a god forsaken year!

Her make-up ran down her cheeks when she lifted her head up and poured herself a healthy dose. And then another. And another. And soon she was taking a swig from the bottle and leaving the bottle barely capped at the foot of her stairs.

Merry Christmas to me, she toasted herself bitterly as she stood.

"Yes it is," she slurred aloud as she took determined yet haphazard steps to her side table. "And what a wonderful new year!"

The drawer in her table wouldn't budge, but her depth perception wasn't much to bank on at that point. She finally got it open and grabbed at the pens and scrap paper hidden there before moving to lean her back against the wall and missing entirely. She fell to the floor, her ass hitting the hardwood with a thud, and the momentary shock was enough to dim the pain to her backside and lower back. Her suppressed laugh echoed in the foyer, snickering and wheezing in place of boisterous laughter. She needed another drink, but who the put the bottle so goddamn far away?

Rolling her eyes at fool's incompetency, she brought her knees up and used her thighs as a board against the paper and started to write furiously.

"To the woman who stole my heart," Regina voiced out loud. "Go to hell."

She underlined the words twice, the pen ripping through the page and ink marking her silk pyjama bottoms, but continued on, a snarl forming on her lips with every word.