She wasn't surprised by his phone call, unsettling as it had been: she had felt him develop a subtle kind of trust in her when she destroyed her love to save Henry. She knew he was too intimately aware of what loss was to not understand her desperation when she screamed at him to save Daniel: he had understood her, just enough to trust her now with his sleeping grandson, laying completely vulnerable in his daughter's bed.

She was unsurprised by his phone call. She was prepared to move mountains to help her son, and she was in the car in under a minute, starting the engine before they ended their hurried conversation.

She was prepared to lay her life down for Henry.

She was not prepared to spend the early hours of dawn sitting in her hated stepdaughter's apartment, watching her son sleep in the bed that she had taken his other mother on time after time when Mary Margaret was out for the evening (her affair with David had proven... useful).

She was not prepared to have time to actually look around the place, full to the brink of nausea with images of birds and flowers, so much of Snow White - including her innocent arrogance - having inadvertently stayed with Mary Margaret through the curse.

Ms. Swan - she couldn't even bring herself to think of her as - E - no - her first name was too... painful, too real, too human. Too close. Ms. Swan hadn't bothered to change much of the decor, leaving most of Mary Margaret's things in order, but Regina could see where bits of Emma's life remained scattered across the open room.

Her baby blanket. The blonde tried so hard to not appear sentimental, but as Regina cautiously lifted the infant's garment to her face to try and catch of whiff of the woman who had refused to let her die, she realized that they both struggled and failed in that regard. And in so many others.

Her blue leather jacket. Tossed carelessly in the corner. Regina could not lift that to her face. Too many memories of yanking it off the blonde. Too many memories of leaving it on while she fucked her hard and fast, leaving lipstick on her face and bite marks on her breasts. Tears and saliva on her cunt.

A book. A ragged copy of The Catcher in the Rye, poking out from underneath the bed. Surely Mary Margaret would not be so careless with her books. This must be - hers. Sure enough, as she opened the yellowing pages silently to the sound of Henry's so far calm breathing, a faint smile crossed Regina's lips as her eyes feasted on the younger woman's untidy scrawl, her name written on the dog-eared pages, tears and fierce underlines marking Holden's description of saving the children in danger of falling off a cliff. Almost idly, Regina wondered at what age Emma had made those marks, had shed those tears.

A red thong sticking clumsily out of the top drawer. This time Regina allowed herself a fuller smile, momentarily allowing herself to slip into the memory of first seeing her adversary-lover in that pair of underwear, shameless and wide-eyed in the face of Regina's bald-faced threats for her to leave town. She terrified her. Henry loved her; she loved what Henry loved. This reckless woman with no roots longer than two years and a keychain was not to be allowed in, not to be permitted closeness. It was too dangerous.

Her smile had faded. Her heart ached. But, she registered numbly, at least that meant she felt something.

As Henry's breathing quickened and she turned her attention more fully to him, Daniel's voice, unbidden and unexplained, cast shadows into her eyes and a shudder in her heart, whispered in the depths of her body, "Then love again." Ms. Swan - Emma - was inventive, adaptive, clever. Brave. She would be safe, would return, would... save her (again). Her only priority now could be Henry. Was Henry.

She shook her head and woke her son, all thoughts of her own experiences in this very bed - and living room, and kitchen counter, and bathroom floor - were slammed unceremoniously from her mind. Her son - their son? - woke and her heart lurched at seeing the fear in his young eyes.

She wasn't surprised by the phone call. But she was extremely grateful.