"He's an adult and very capable of making his own decisions."

"So was—" she stopped herself and focused on a piece of loose string stemming the stitching of the cushions. The doctor really needed new furniture.

"Regina." She looked up at his soft voice and frowned. "You've made progress, but at the same time, there's a part of you that's holding yourself back from ever fully healing."

"I'm doing everything you tell me," she sighed exasperated.

"And I'm proud of you." He leaned forward in his chair to place a palm on her knee before lowering his voice as if his words were some hidden secret. "You can say her name."

Her eyes flashed and she sat back, her breathing increasing just a second faster than average. "I do."

"Do you?" He asked. "With Henry or August? The few letters you've shared with me, I know you have no problem thinking it. In the seven months you've been coming here, you've only said her name twice. How come?"

"I can say her name." With a deep breath and heavy concentration, she spoke. "Emma." She tilted her head in minor victory.

"How was that?"

"Forced," she answered through gritted teeth.

"In more than one way?" He asked knowingly.

At Regina's pointed glare, he moved on.

"How about your friends?" Archie questioned. "Kathryn, Ruby, Tina—has your relationship with them improved since that day you admitted Emma's disappearance?"

"We speak." When Archie was silent, Regina subconsciously tugged on her necklace, her thumb circling the pendant. "I don't understand why I need to expand my social circle right away when I'm perfectly content with my life right now."

"Your social circle is your support system," he explained, though Regina internally rolled her eyes. How many times had the doctor told her that? "From my standpoint, the only thing that has changed in your life is Mr. Booth's presence, and I'm not saying that's bad. Not at all. You've still mentioned that it's difficult for you to enjoy time out with your friends, that you worry whenever Henry is out of your sight, can barely talk to him whenever he brings Emma up, and now you're scared August is going to leave you. What do you think that tells you?"

"Trust and abandonment problems?" she guessed with haughty distaste. "Unless of course you're referring to parental problems and hints of OCD."

"The former, most definitely, though we can re-visit the latter," he chuckled hoping to ease the scowl on Regina's face then cleared his throat when it only worsened. "But I think the superficial problem is that while you're happier in your home with August, you need to remember that he's not Emma."

"I know he's not," she nearly growled. "I am very much aware of the fact that although he may act as childish as his sister, he is not her. Is it a crime that I find a person whom I can stand to be around for more than a few hours at a time and be disappointed if they go?"

"Of course not," he said softly. "But the same thing is happening to you as it did when you lost your parents."

She inhaled sharply and held his stare.

"So yes, we will be dealing with your parental problems, but right now, you're closing in on yourself, keeping everyone at bay. However, this time, you have Henry and August in there with you." She let out a low breath from her nose as he continued. "I ask again, have you been talking to Henry about her?"

She lowered her voice. "He asks about her all the time."

"But do you bring Emma up?" At Regina's silence he continued. "It's easier, especially with someone linked as closely to Emma as August is, to lose yourself in a familiar distraction. One never really wants to give in to grief."

She shut her eyes. "Must you call it that?"

He looked surprise. "Is there another word you find more appropriate?"

"Just—not that."

Archie nodded and made a note in his book.

She shut her eyes and leaned back against the couch. "This is taking too long."

"There's no deadline for you to meet," he reminded her. "There's no contract or requirements. It takes time."

Time, she laughed bitterly to herself. It was always about that, wasn't it? The wrong time, the right time,making the time right, waiting for time to pass yet wanting it to slow down. She sat up with a tired sigh, flipping her bangs out of her eyes. "What else can I do?"


Regina hated when other people were right, but as soon as Dr. Hopper explained to her how deflecting was in the same family as denial, she braced herself one afternoon when August had taken Henry to the park and opened her closet to pull out the hidden bag of Emma's belongings.

She kneeled by the floor, and with shaky hands, pulled the string of the bag and released the pictures it held. Her fingers skimmed over the glossy print of the photograph. It was creased at the edges and folded in corners from overuse. Her and Emma sitting in her living room as the blonde held the camera above them to snap the shot after Regina noticed they hadn't had a picture together.

Let's fix that.

Regina's heart clenched as she sat back on her knees and brought the picture closer to her. She shuddered. The last time she had seen Emma, the blonde was sitting in front of a camera, greeting Henry happy birthday and saying so much with her eyes that her mouth wasn't allowed to voice.

Twenty-seven months ago.

The tears that sprang to her eyes couldn't be controlled as she pressed her free hand to her mouth to reign in her gasps at the reality of the situation. Twenty-seven months and she was gaining the courage to look upon Emma's face only now. Guilt plagued her being as a tear landed right on Emma's smile. She nearly forgot the way green eyes crinkled at the corners whenever she was laughing or happy. The fact that they were nearly always like that whenever they were together made her heart ache.

Why did she wait so long to look at her? To see Emma. How awful was she that she was mad and angry and hurt that Emma hadn't come home, but she couldn't even bear to look at a picture of her? She choked on the sob that made its way up her throat.

She wasn't over it. She wasn't letting go. She was holding on tightly with a visceral grip, and she was happy to burden herself with the pain if it meant she'd have Emma, in any way she could.

But she couldn't live like that. Not again. Her parents' deaths had left her cold, and Emma's, well she was either living in a delusion or denial and neither worked out in her favour.

Catching her breath, she turned the photo over to see Emma's handwriting. The blue ink smudged at places on the back, but the date and the note were still legible: May 2004 Me and Regina #1.

One? Regina questioned the number on the back and held her breath when she realized the significance. They never got to take a second picture together. Or a third. Or a fourth. Or fill that scrapbook Regina was planning on giving to her as a gift that was now stashed in the closet with the rest of her things that too closely resembled Emma. The only evidence of their relationship was a wrinkled photograph taken over three years ago. Her chest started to heave and she clutched at it with an open palm. Three years? This was three years old?

Her breathy shudder filled the quiet room as she dropped the picture and moved to the next one. Her, Henry, and Emma at his third birthday party. The Queen, the Prince, and the Knight hanging tightly off one another in their foil armour and paper hats.

Anxiety overwhelmed her, and Regina forcibly shoved the pictures back into the bag, picking herself up off the floor and holding herself around the middle. She was still alone. August and Henry were still out of the house leaving Regina with nothing but the ghost of the blonde soldier.

Habit led her to her study where she contemplated her liquor cabinet before bypassing it entirely and pulled out a piece of stationary, jotting down the words that always calmed her fluttering heart.

Dear Emma. . .

Chapter 23

Chapter Notes

Disclaimer in Chapter One

Chapter 22 was updated as well, so be sure to read that before this one!

Regina, no matter how difficult it was at first, continued to make a habit out of breaking out Emma's belongings. More often than not she would write to Emma afterwards, recalling memories they shared together. She never poured them all out at once, partially because she could never get past that first picture or that first letter or let go of the worn red leather gripped between her fingers, but also because she just couldn't do it. Whatever notion she had in her mind that having everything Emma possessed out in the open would finalize the young woman's disappearance cut a hole in her heart.

Archie was impressed by the initiative she took. Most times she even brought along a picture with her to their session where Archie got her to remember the happier times. A month later, she even confronted August about her outburst, apologizing and even volunteering to help him find a suitable location to live. The man had put a halt on his moving process, but their talk had brought some clarity to the situation. By September when he cautiously approached her about a loft above Marco's wood shop, she was able to nod and offer to see the place with him. He and Figaro were officially moved out two weeks later, and Regina was okay with that.

Her mood fluctuated most times. Some nights she would wake up in a cold sweat thinking she heard the late night ringing of a phone or feel the promising warmth of another body, momentarily forgetting there was no one willing to call her at this hour or that Emma hadn't shared her bed in years. Some days she was able to entertain a phone call from any of her friends, and though Kathryn persisted on inviting her out, the nerves of being made vulnerable made itself known and she would declined.

But there was the odd night, sometimes random but this particular night held such significance, where Regina would run to the bag in her closet and grab a handful of letters Emma had written to her or watch the video message she had sent for hours on end.

This night, however, was an average Wednesday night for anyone else in Storybrooke. Sheriff Graham was out patrolling the streets in his cruiser during the overnight shift. Mrs. Ginger's cat was out pawing through the neighbour's bushes. Henry was sound asleep in his bed, his Sheriff Woody costume he refused to take off in preparation for Halloween used as pyjamas.

And Regina, on this quiet October night, was sitting in the dark of her living room. For the first time in two years, possibly even longer given how much the soldier travelled, every item that Emma possessed with her was strewn about the coffee table. Pictures were scattered in a makeshift mosaic. The video tape August had sent to Emma lay on the throw pillow beside her. Letters from both women littered the couch and table. Henry's drawings were displayed in a stack so high they were precariously teetering off the edge. The scrapbook lay open next to Regina's untouched glass of wine, empty pages that were meant to be filled staring blankly up at the ceiling.

The only light in the room came from Regina's laptop nestled across her stomach as she lay back against the arm of the couch, revelling in her young lover's voice.

"I love you all. And I think about you guys all the time. Take care of each other."

She hit the play button again as Emma grinned at the camera.

"Hey! Happy birthday, Henry. I'm sorry I couldn't be there, but I bet your mom made it super awesome."

Her eyes shut slowly, imagining Emma to be right next to her, the warmth from the laptop heating her belly and Emma's voice over the speaker whispering in her ear as if the blonde was nestled on top of her.

"I really miss you guys. You, and Uncle August, and your mom. Regina."

She'd never grow tired of hearing her name slip from Emma's lips, either hollering for her from a different room of the house or simply saying her name just to get her to look. Regina. Regina.

The video ended, and the brunette let her eyes open to stare at the fuzzy image of the blonde soldier permanently still on screen. The time on her computer told her Emma's birthday had come and gone, but Regina stayed lying there in the darkness. It was Emma's 24th today, well, yesterday. She was so young. Regina never failed to bring that up simply because she couldn't believe it herself. She continuously forgot because Emma had matured so much for her age. Insight and experience would do that to her.