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Dust particles swirled in the morning light shining through the office's open windows. A soft autumn breeze, unseasonably warm, drifted in, bringing with it the promise of a beautiful day.
Emma stepped in, having stopped to observe the other woman sitting behind her desk, focused on some task or another on her laptop.
"Busy?" Emma said, by way of greeting.
Regina looked up, pushing her reading glasses to the tip of her nose to observe Emma over the rim. "Good morning, Sheriff," she said. "What can I do for you?"
Sauntering in, Emma pulled out a chair and sat in it. "What are you up to?"
Regina gave her a long, hard look. "Are you here to waste my time?"
Emma shrugged in response. When Storybrooke wasn't in crisis, there really wasn't much for her to do. "I actually wanted to…" she stopped, scrunching her nose. She and Regina were friends. Had become friends, with some difficulty, in the years between Emma's arrival and today. Still…Emma interlinked her fingers and leaned back against the chair. Feigning nonchalance. "We're having a little get together for dinner, at Granny's."
Taking her glasses off, Regina leaned back. Her features a mask that gave nothing away.
"I wanted to ask if you…you know, wanted to come."
Regina blinked, and for a moment the mask fell. Surprise parted her lips. "Oh," she said.
So, she did remember what today was.
"Are you…are you sure?"
"Regina," Emma laughed. "Yes, I'm sure."
"I…thank you."
Emma rose, zipping her jacket up. It may have been a particularly warm autumn, but it was still October in Maine. "I'll see you there, then." She headed to the door.
"Emma."
She turned back, stopping on the doorway, eyebrows raised.
"Happy birthday." Regina smiled, and there was a warmth in it that broke Emma's heart. Vulnerability shone in her dark eyes, a sadness that Emma didn't think she could begin to understand.
"Thanks," Emma said, pulling her shoulders in.
"Thirty, huh?"
Emma grinned. "Yep. The big three O."
Tears had gathered in Regina's eyes. She blinked them back, but Emma noticed. She gave her another tight smile— what else could she do? — and headed back to the station.
Henry clambered into the passenger seat of the bug, throwing his backpack unceremoniously onto the backseat.
"Happy birthday, ma!" He threw his arms around Emma, over the center console.
"Thanks, kid." She rubbed his hair, pulling him just a little closer. Today, of all days, she was ever more grateful for him.
"We're having a party, right?"
Emma grinned as the little car roared to life. Pulling out of the school parking lot, she turned to her son. "Party's a big word. It's just dinner."
"Sure it is," Henry laughed. "Grandma won't have anything special planned. For sure. Don't even worry about it."
Oh. Shit. Emma had forgotten her mother's zealous pursuit of happy memories with her. And her thirtieth birthday? Snow would without a doubt try and make it into some special occasion. Emma couldn't exactly blame her, considering thirty years ago, on the date, she'd had to give her up minutes after having given birth to her.
Yet…Emma breathed out. Three years earlier, she'd have never —in a million years!— thought her birthday could be such a contentious date. She'd never even imagined anyone would remember it.
As she drove, the cemetery gates flashed past. A black Mercedes parked on the corner. Emma made a split second decision, pulling in next to it.
She got out of the car, ignoring Henry's confused look, only turning to make sure he was following her down the pavement.
"Where are we going?"
Emma stopped at the little stand next to the gates. Buckets of flowers in every color led the way to the counter, behind which an old, stooped woman sat.
"Pick something," she told her son.
"Who for?" He glanced up at her, no longer smiling, but somber. He was a quick kid, and Emma often wondered who he got it from. Certainly not from her.
"Your grandpa," she said.
Henry chose a mixed bouquet. Red, white and yellow flowers—chrysanthemums, Emma thought— and baby's breath.
The cemetery was empty as they walked down the stone path. Despite the road running next to it, it was always quiet, here, except for the sounds of leaves rustling in the breeze, and birds chittering up high in the branches.
Henry Mills' mausoleum' door was ajar. Emma pressed her lips together, only a little proud of herself for having known she'd be here.
Her son glanced up at her, holding the bouquet close to his chest. His wide, hazel eyes looking for permission, or support. Emma smiled at him and gently pushed him up the steps to the mausoleum. They'd been here a thousand times, now. Always to Regina's lair, deep under the grave.
She followed Henry into the quiet room. It was several degrees colder, in here. And dark. The only light came through the partially open door and a small window high up on the wall.
"Emma?" Regina's voice came from a dark corner. Emma was only able to see her when her eyes adjusted to the low light. She wore black, not that it was unusual for her.
"Hey, mom," Henry said, going to her.
"What are you—" Regina stopped as her son hugged her, her arms wrapping around him.
"We thought we might come…pay our respects," Emma said.
Over their son's head, Regina's eyes met Emma's. They were rimmed with red, like she'd been crying hard, and shone even in the darkness.
"You didn't—"
"We brought flowers," Henry interrupted. He set the bouquet onto the stone coffin.
They stood in silence, Regina's hands on her son's shoulders, Emma next to them. The colorful flowers rested on the coffin, soft petals bending against the hard stone.
"You really didn't have to," Regina murmured. In the darkness, her eyes met Emma's.
"We wanted to," Emma said. She reached out, resting her hand on Regina's shoulder. She felt her breathing hitch, like she was trying not to cry. "We can go," Emma murmured. "If you want to be alone."
Regina didn't speak, she shook her head instead. Then pressed her lips to Henry's hair. "No," she said, voice trembling with emotion.
"You're crying, mom," Henry observed softly.
"Yes," Regina wiped at her cheeks, sniffling, trying to pull herself together. "I'm sorry."
"You don't have to be sorry," he said. "You're allowed to cry."
She laughed at this, the sound mingling with a sob. "He would've really liked you," she said. "You're just like him."
Henry smiled, only barely shorter than her now.
"Could you wait outside for a moment?" Regina asked him. "We'll be right there."
Emma's heart jumped in her chest, wondering if she'd done something wrong. If she'd upset her somehow.
"Emma," Regina began when the door closed behind Henry. "I…I don't know what to say." Her eyes searched Emma's face. "Thank you."
"You don't need to thank me, Regina," Emma said, relieved. "I just didn't want you to be alone."
A soft scoff, and Regina was shaking her head. "How can you be so…" she sighed. "So good?"
"What are you talking about?"
Regina looked away, hugging herself close. "Emma, I destroyed your life, that night. I…" A hitched breath. "I killed my father and destined you to growing up alone. I—"
"If it weren't for what you did, we wouldn't have Henry." Emma stepped closer, until the scent of Regina's skin invaded her senses, almost overwhelming. The need to reach out and touch her burned at her fingertips. But she didn't. "I wouldn't have you."
Holding her breath, Emma pulled her over, until she was in her arms, and wrapped them around her small frame. Regina let her, head falling to her shoulder and resting there.
"I'm sorry, Emma," she murmured. "It's your birthday, you shouldn't be here with me—"
"Stop, Regina," Emma sighed, pressing her lips absentmindedly to her hair. "I want to be here. I…I won't pretend to understand what you're feeling, but I wanted to be here."
More than anywhere else, Emma wanted to be there. It didn't matter what Regina had done. That she'd put her father in his grave, that she'd cursed Emma to a lonely childhood. None of it mattered, not anymore. It couldn't take away from the feeling in Emma's chest.
She ran her hands through dark hair, gently pushing Regina's head back until she was looking up at her.
"You don't have to come tonight, If you don't want to."
"Emma," a soft laugh in the semi-dark. "When I killed my father…" she paused to breathe. "It left a hole in my heart. In my soul. One I never thought I'd be able to fill. And then you gave me Henry." Another pregnant pause, perhaps wondering if she'd phrased it wrong. Emma thought not. It made her think of a family. Their family. "And he meant—he means— everything to me. But…" Dark eyes glanced up at Emma. "It was still there, that feeling of emptiness. Not completely, not always, but it was there. And then you came along."
Emma searched her face, her heartbeat picking up in her chest. "Regina…I…" words were failing her. Here, in the dark tomb, all those feelings she'd been bottling up were threatening to spill out into the world. At the sight of dark, misted eyes. Vulnerable eyes.
"I came here to grieve my father," Regina went on, gaze still boring into Emma's. "Alone, just like I was when I killed him. Just like I've always been. And then you came. Despite everything I've done to you."
"None of it matters," Emma said. Hesitantly, she pressed her lips to Regina's forehead, feeling the warmth of her skin.
Then, Regina let her head fall back, and Emma was no longer kissing her forehead, but her lips. Soft and gentle, Regina's fingers tightened around her shoulder. Emma's heart threatened to stop, and her stomach revolted, a million butterflies exploding in it.
Two years earlier, she'd been alone. Celebrating her birthday by making a wish. A wish for a family, for somewhere she belonged.
Maybe wishes were granted, after all.
"Moms?" Henry's voice came through the door, along with a flood of sunlight, revealing exactly what they were doing. "Oh," he said. "Sorry."
Regina stepped away, her cheeks tinging pink. "You should go," she said. "I'm sure you have a lot to do for tonight."
Emma blinked. "Yeah, of course. Yeah." She turned away, towards their son, who stood with his hand on the door handle, looking distinctly embarrassed. "We should go."
"Emma?" Regina called, when they were outside. She stepped out onto the steps. "I'll see you both tonight."
Warmth spread through Emma's chest, and she smiled, wider than she had in a long time.