A/N: This is something I've been kicking around for a while, unsure how it would turn out. The more I add to it, the more I realize that sometimes, less is better. This is a very simplistic/best-case scenario type of story when it comes to adoption. I have no intention of causing offense or insult to anyone.

Emma hasn't been home in almost three days, hasn't slept in her own bed or held the woman she loves close to her. Hospital food and power naps in on-call rooms are all she's been living off of, her day frequently interrupted by the pager on her hip beeping mercilessly. Her messy curls tied back in the same loose ponytail and her navy scrubs wrinkled from 20 minutes' rest, she curses herself for only leaving her backup pair in the dryer, wants nothing more than to burn the ones she's been wearing for the last 72 hours. Needless to say, the head of general surgery is beyond ready to go home.

She almost makes it too, passes through the sliding doors and revels in the cold October breeze, the first breath of fresh air she's had free of the stench of disinfectant and bodily fluids. She has her phone in her hand and a message ready to be sent off when an ambulance pulls up to the emergency room, lights flashing and siren blaring.

Two EMT's pour out of the truck pushing a small body on a gurney and Emma can see blood trailing behind the wheels on the cement.

"Whaddu we got?" David Nolan wants to know as he meets the paramedics at the doors.

"10 year-old boy. Fractured wrist, three-inch head lac, swollen right ankle and a suspected break in the left leg." The word "break" is all she hears before Emma's adrenaline kicked in.

Spinning on her heels, Emma finds herself walking straight back into the emergency room. "Are you his mother?" Emma asks the redheaded woman trailing behind the team, her eyes wide with worry.

"Ca- case worker," the woman stammers.

"OK," Emma says in an almost calming tone, "What's his name?"

The woman finally looks to Emma and manages to offer a weak, "Henry."

With a fierce nod, Emma runs and joins the swarm of doctors in nurses in room two. Laid on his back with a brace around his neck, his arms strapped to his sides, Henry watches in a panic as nearly a dozen adults hover above him. Dried drops of blood coat the side of his face as they trickle from his cut, dark and sticky.

He blinks quickly when Dr. Nolan flashes a light in his eyes. "Pupils are responsive," Nolan relays. "Can you squeeze my hand?" When small fingers wrap around David's, he nods approvingly. "Somebody page neuro, just to be safe. And get peds in here too." As bags of extra blood are hung on metal stands, Emma's fellow attending calls out, "On my count— one, two, three!" His normally gentle voice is heavy with authority as plastic board beneath the boy's body slide out from under him and Dr. Nolan and the nurses transfer him to a bed.

Tossing on a set of gloves, Emma pushes her way through the crowd until she's at the boy's side. "Henry, can you hear me?" Henry tilts his chin, the most he's able to move with his neck still encased in plastic. "I know you're scared but you're going to be OK. We've got you, Kid. You're safe here." Emma pats his arm gently before sliding down to inspect his injuries. Without a beat of hesitation, she cuts open his jeans to find that his right ankle was, in fact, swollen and purple. "Minor sprain in the right," she half-shouts over the bustling room. It's only when she gets to his other leg that she has to catch her breath. "Protruding femur in the left," Emma rattled off. It's nothing she hasn't seen before, not even the worst. But she can't remember the last time she's seen a kid in such bad shape.

The door bursts open as a woman in matching navy scrubs and a white coat rushes through, dark brown hair just barely grazing her shoulders as she steadies herself. One look at the young patient and Dr. Mills is shoving her way through, her stethoscope in hand. "Henry," she says in a soothing voice. "My name is Regina. I hear you took quite the fall today. I'm just going to take a quick look at your head, all right?" Using her pinky, the neurosurgeon tenderly examines the gash on Henry's forehead. It didn't appear to be too deep, but just enough to need immediate attention. "Henry, I'm going to have to stitch this up. We're going to give you some medicine so it doesn't hurt so much, but you might still feel a tingle."

Before Regina could even reach for the tray of sutures, Henry's eyes roll backwards and his limp form tenses as he begins to shake violently. "He's seizing!" Nolan shouts as he attempts to hold Henry still. "Where the hell is pediatrics?!"

"Watch his leg!" Emma grunts as a nurse reaches to help. She knows they can't do anything but wait for it to pass, yet can't help but become frustrated at the brief helplessness of it all.

It isn't long before Henry's eyes flutter open and his body slows its convulsing. Regina holds a hand on top of Henry's head and leans down. "Everything's all right," she tells him. "You're going to be all right."

When Henry's eyes close once again, the room fades to black as the morphine settles in his system and allows him to doze off.

They need a consent form before they can operate. They try to explain this to the case worker, try to tell her how serious Henry's injuries are; a broken leg and a fractured skull, which mostly likely caused the seizure. But the case worker still seems to be in shock. She keeps repeating what happened to the doctors, as if it'll suddenly make more sense, as if it would help her understand. Henry was playing in the treehouse at the group home. And then he fell. That's what she'd been told, at least.

After getting the clearance they need, Regina and Emma are wheeling Henry into an operating room. Dr. Blanchard finally makes it down from pediatrics and offers to take Emma's place, but as both she and Regina point out, Emma was more familiar with Henry's injuries, and as Dr. Blanchard was the only peds attending on-call, it just made more sense for Emma to be the one in the room. They don't spend too long discussing the particulars, not for lack of trying on Dr. Blanchard's part.

"I haven't seen you in a while," Dr. Mills offers when they're both getting read to scrub in, her hair tied beneath a violet cap. "I was beginning to think you were avoiding me," she half-jokes.

Emma rolls her eyes with a playful smile. "Don't flatter yourself. The ER's been a mess. And David's only just getting back into the swing of things," she adds somewhat quietly, as if she's guilty for even mentioning it. She knows David's had a rough year, hasn't been the same since coming back from his first tour, knows he's still readjusting to civilian life.

As she slides the silver ring off of her left finger and pins it to her scrubs before running her hands under water, Regina nods to the cap hiding Emma's unruly curls. "Is that new?"

"Mhm," the blonde hums, her playful smile slowly transforming into a loving smirk. "Birthday present. My wife says I have an obsession."

Shaking her head at the Lyon-printed cap, the brunette sighs. "And yet she seems to be encouraging it."

"What can I say? She loves me," the blonde replies.

Emma and Regina continue to wash up in silence, though Regina watches Emma out of the corner of her eye. She sees Emma look up and out through the glass every few seconds, feels Emma's heart pounding two feet away.

When they step into their gowns and reach into their gloves, only their eyes visible behind their masks, they take their respective positions and glance around the room. Emma sits at the end of the table where Henry's left leg waits to be repaired, while Regina stands at the top, a light shining on the shaved part of Henry's head.

"Is everything all right, Dr. Swan?" Regina asks cooly when she notices Emma's gone still.

Emma turns to Regina and nods curtly, "Everything's fine."

Regina knows not to push the woman, has learned from experience that Emma may not always be able to separate her feelings from a patient, but always gets the job done.

"Right," Regina sighs. "In that case, is everyone ready?" When there are no objections, when she and Emma exchange a silent nod, Regina turns to the man next to her. "Scalpel."

They finish the surgery without a single complication. Henry is taken to recovery where he wakes up several hours later, his head bandaged and his leg in a cast. His vision is blurry and his head feels heavy, but there's a lightness to his body. Emma is there when he wakes up, standing at the edge of his bed, typing notes into his chart. She was planning to leave once he'd been moved to the ward, but she can't bring herself to disappear without knowing that he was stable.

She can't hide her smile when she sees his green eyes staring back at her. "Hey, Kid," she greets, careful not to speak too loudly. "Welcome back." Henry tries to say something but his throat is dry and scratchy. Emma is at his side in no time, holding a straw up to his lips. "It's gonna hurt for a few minutes," she informs him. "Try to stay still for now." Emma sits beside him on his bed, careful not to jostle the boy. "Can you tell me your name?" She wants to hear him say it for himself.

"H-Henry," the boy croaks.

"It's nice to meet you Henry. I'm Emma. How old are you?"

"10."

Emma nods encouragingly. "Do you know where you are?"

Henry scans the room for a moment, looks over at the monitors he's connected to, takes in the sharp scent of bleach. "The hospital." He doesn't sound surprised or scared.

"Yeah. You got hurt pretty badly, but we got you all patched up and you'll be all better in a few weeks." Emma can see the gears in Henry's mind starting to work, watches as he scrunches his face as if he wants to ask a question but is hesitant. "We're going to have keep you here for a little while," she continues. "Just while you start to heal."

When Henry nods, Emma notes the way his shoulders relax, hears the slight sigh that escapes his fragile body. Before she can ask any more questions though, the door to his room opens and his case worker walks in, clutching Henry's file to her chest.

"Hi Henry," she greets calmly. "How are you feeling?"

Henry tries to shrug but winces when a pain shoots through his neck. "Tired," he mumbles. "She said I can stay here," he says somewhat hopefully.

Emma stands up and shoves her hands in her coat pockets, locks eyes with the smaller woman who seems as if she wants to object. "Henry's injuries were pretty bad. We want to keep an eye on him for a while." She hasn't actually cleared this with Dr. Mills, nor the chief, but something in her is determined. She can't shake the feeling that if they release Henry, he'll only end up right back in their emergency room.

"I- I'll have to speak with the leader of the group home," the woman began. Emma felt Henry tense up beside her, took stock of the spike in his heart rate.

"What did you say your name was again?" Emma cut in none-too-gently. Her tone is clipped as she speaks.

"Aurora."

"Aurora," Emma repeated. "A broken leg alone involves months of physical therapy, but add that on top of brain surgery… what I'm saying is, Henry isn't going anywhere."

Her lips pressed in a tight line, Aurora swallows nervously. She can already sense that she's lost. She lost the moment she stepped foot into the hospital— the moment the ambulance had been called.

"Everything alright in here?" A voice asks from behind Aurora.

Emma glances over the redhead's shoulder and forces a reassuring smile. "Even better now that Henry's awake," she says as she steps aside to reveal their patient.

"My, that is good news isn't it?" Regina gracefully swerves around Emma and Aurora and checks over Henry's vitals. "Hi, Henry. Do you remember me?" Henry nods meekly. Rubbing alcohol gel through her hands, Regina peers over at Aurora. "If you don't mind, I'll need to examine his incision. Perhaps you could wait for us in the lobby." Aurora says nothing as she scampers away, frightened and embarrassed.

Emma stands opposite of Regina. "I was just telling Henry that he's gonna have to stay here while he heals. The good news is that means endless TV. The bad news is the hospital food isn't exactly… good." She winks at Henry, who smiles back shyly.

Regina raises a curious brow as she peeks under the bandage. "Don't listen to Dr. Swan. I hear the cafeteria has some rather delicious jello."

Emma snorts and shakes her head. "How would you know. All you ever eat is salad and lasagna." She Regina share a silent look, briefly taking in the lightness of the moment.

"Right," the brunette says as she removes her gloves. "Everything looks good, Henry. I'm going to tell a nurse to come in and check on you in about an hour. If you feel any pain, any at all, just let us know and we'll see what we can do, mhm?"

As they prepare to leave, Emma offers Henry a friendly wink and promises him Henry she'll be back to see him in the morning. She closes the door behind them and joins Regina a the nurses station, who waits until they're out of view from Henry before striking up conversation.

"So, what was that all about?"

"What was what all about?"

Regina narrows her eyes at the woman, tries not to say something sarcastic, her usual go-to response when she's losing patience. "With Aurora," she clarifies calmly.

Ignoring the fact that Regina already knew the case worker's name, Emma shrugs innocently, tapping the end of a pen against the counter. "Oh, that? That was nothing. Just filling her in on how Henry's surgery went."

"Is that all?" Regina presses.

Unable to look at Regina, Emma replies, "Yeah." But she can feel the heat of Regina's stare, knows she can only stand her ground for so long.

Regina says nothing. Simply keeps her gaze on Emma, places her hands in the pockets of her lab coat, lets the intermittent sound of beeping monitors and rusted meal carts play out. "Would you follow me? There's something I'd like to show you."

Emma does so without arguing, keeps a close distance behind Regina; far enough to remain professional, close enough to feel a sense of comfort. They travel down the long hallways, beneath the fluorescent lights, past the lobby where Aurora is sitting with her hands on her lap. Regina doesn't stop until they round the fourth corner and holds open a door, gesturing for Emma to go first.

The lights are off and the room is empty. Regina locks the door behind them, doesn't bother to the turn the lights on, follows the sound of Emma's uneven breathing. When her eyes adjust to the darkness, Regina walks up to Emma, takes her hands, and stands in front of her, their noses less than an inch apart.

"I've missed you," Regina whispers as she rests her forehead against Emma's, allowing the pretense to fade away. "I haven't seen you since Wednesday."

"I know," Emma sighs. "I'm sorry. I was on my way home earlier, I swear. I was even texting you that I was leaving. But then Henry came and—"

"And you had to work," Regina says matter-of-factly. "I understand." She offers Emma a weak smile, puts every ounce of sympathy she has into it. "How are you? And before you say you're 'fine,' remember who you're talking to. I'm not one of your interns, clinging to every word you say; I'm your wife."

Emma's head falls slightly and she breaks contact with Regina. She recovers quickly though and pulls Regina into a hug. She's not quite ready to talk about it, doesn't know what to say just yet, isn't able to untangle the thoughts and memories that have flooded her mind ever since she heard the words "caseworker."

When they pull away, Regina holds Emma close, knows that this is as far as Emma can go for now. "When you're ready to talk, I'll be here."

"I know," Emma exhales. "I love you."

Regina beams at the woman who stole her heart five years ago. "I love you too. Now go home," she says firmly. "Get some sleep." She feels Emma pulling away, turning towards the door. But she gives Emma's hand a gentle tug before she leaves. "Remember, Emma. You made it out. You're here." Emma simply nods silently before disappearing back into the sea of blue scrubs, off to the attending's lounge where she will change into her street clothes and finally return to their home.

It's 11 o'clock night when Emma's pager wakes up her. Buried beneath the covers, tangled in the sheets, she jerks awake and shoots an arm out towards her nightstand. One eye open, she squints at the number on the screen, lets out a tired groan when she sees it's Dr. Blanchard calling her. Emma checks the time, and for a moment, considers going back to bed. But something in the back mind urges her to get dressed.

When she gets tot he hospital, it's as if she never left. Different faces but the same thing: worried parents in the waiting room, nurses running through the halls with extra supplies, interns following their attending in packs. Dressed in jeans and a sweater, Emma squeezes past orderlies and techs, pushes her way to the staircase, and jogs up to recovery.

She is less than thrilled to find Dr. Blanchard waiting for her, Regina standing just behind her with her arms folded over her chest. The pediatric surgeon is rarely seen without a smile, which only makes Emma even more concerned when she sees the pixie-haired woman wearing a frown.

"Why didn't you tell me he was as foster child?"

"Hello to you too, Mary Margaret," Emma says as she suppresses a yawn.

Shaking her head, Blanchard holds up her hands and waves them as if to stop Emma from continuing. "Emma," she huffs, "I'm serious. You know there's a protocol with children in the foster system."

"The caseworker signed off on everything," Emma replies defensively.

"That's not the point. We have to contact the agency and call in the hospital social worker. And, based off of Henry's injuries and account of what happened, we have to call in a child psychologist."

Her brow pinching, Emma blinks in confusion. "What do you mean? Henry told you what happened?"

Regina steps forward and takes the liberty of answering before Dr. Blanchard, not to mention joy in cutting the woman off. "About an hour ago. Henry woke up. I asked if he remembered what happened and he said another kid pushed him off of the treehouse." Her voice softening, Regina continues. "And then, I was going through his medical records. This is his is third visit in four months. The other times he had a concussion, stitches on his chin, and a broken rib."

Emma runs an anxious hand through her hair, curses herself for not examining for any other scars, digging deeper into his medical history. "Ok," she starts. "So, what do we do now?"

"It's not up to us," Mary Margaret informs.

"We can't just send him back," Emma counters. "Look, I bought us some time with the caseworker, told her he'd have to stay here while he heals. But that gives us two weeks at the most."

"That's why we need to bring in the social worker and counselor."

Emma stares at Mary Margaret venomously, pushing the aside the anger that's slowly overtaking her body. Regina intervenes then, once she senses that Emma's temper is getting hard to control. "We'll take care of this in the morning," she says decisively. When Mary Margaret opens her mouth to object, Regina interjects, "What Henry needs tonight is rest. Everything else can wait."

With a defeated huff, Dr. Blanchard marches away and leaves Emma and Regina alone. "She's right, you know," Regina finally hums. "We don't have much say over what happens, where he goes." Emma clenches her jaw and looks away, can feel her eyes begin to sting, swallows the lump that's formed in her throat. "Did you get any sleep?" Emma gives a half-hearted nod. "You should go back home. There's not much you can do now."

Emma shakes her head and scans the area around them. "I'm already here, I might as well stay. See if David needs any help. Text me when Henry wakes up again?"

Regina doesn't fight her wife, but merely tilts her chin. "Sure."

Emma spends the rest of the night and into the early morning keeping busy in the emergency room. No matter how hard she tries, she can't stop thinking about Henry, can't get his face out of her mind. She sees him when she stitches up a 50 year-old man who cut his hand at a construction site; she sees him when she takes a 12 year-old girl up to radiology for a suspected hear murmur; and she sees him in the six month-old baby whose parents were convinced he had whooping cough.

She knows Regina's asked David to keep an eye on her, does her best to show that she's OK. She smiles when he cracks a joke, keeps her head down when his wife visits from pediatrics with a coffee for him, does her job just as she always does.

She'd be lying if she said she isn't relieved when Regina finally pages her around six in the morning. That relief is quickly squashed, though, when she arrives to Henry's room and Dr. Jones is inspecting the stitches on his forehead.

"Is there a reason you didn't call for plastics?" The bearded doctor asks over his shoulder.

"For a simple head lac?" Emma shoots back. "Something a first year could handle?"

Dr. Jones looks up and his expression softens exponentially when he sees that it's Emma insulting him. "Hello there, love. Am I to assume this is your fine handiwork?"

"That would be me, actually," Regina says, puffing out her chest slightly. "And please, do refrain from calling any women around here 'love,' most of all my wife." It's a mutual agreement that the two women generally try to keep their private life private, out of the operating room and away from patients. But every once in a while, it's unavoidable, especially where Dr. Jones is involved.

Henry's eyebrows raise momentarily as he looks from Emma to Regina. He never would have guessed they were married to each other. Though he supposes it makes sense; their teasing the previous night seemed like something a married couple would do.

The gleam in Jones's eye falters when Regina's positions herself between him and Emma, literally and figuratively. "Right, well, next time, consider giving us a ring," he says with an over-friendly wink.

Henry watches as Dr. Jones leaves, can't help but shudder when the man is out of sight. "Sorry about that, Kid," Emma says. "He's what we doctors call an incurable asshole."

"Emma," Regina rebukes quickly. But she too is laughing when Henry snickers to himself. "How did you sleep, Henry?"

"Ok."

"And the pain?"

"Not too bad," Henry supplies. "Are you two really married?" He asks before he can help himself. He knows better than to ask such a personal question, but there's a strange sense of comfort the two women bring.

"Hard to believe, isn't it?" Emma prompts. "Dr. Mills here really lucked out."

Regina tosses her head back and snorts. "Please. Without me, you'd be living in a pig sty. She never washes the dishes," she informs Henry in a teasing tone. "And between the two us, I'm the one you'd much rather have cooking dinner."

"Twice!" Emma exclaims. "I burnt the chicken twice and she hasn't trusted me in the kitchen since."

Henry is grinning from ear to ear, the first time he's truly smiled since early spring. He doesn't remember what had made him laugh then, can't remember who had made him laugh. He's learned there no real use in remembering names, that over time, faces become nothing but a blur. All he knows is that he's missed this. He's missed not being afraid to breathe.

"That's cool. Your kids are lucky," Henry says with a twinge of sadness.

When Dr. Blanchard appears with a man in glasses trailing behind her, Henry stiffens and curls back into the shell he's had to build. "Hi Henry," she greets in a perky manner, completely obvious to his standoffish manner. "I'm Dr. Blanchard, but you can call me Mary Margaret. I work to help make kids feel better. This," she gestures to the sweater-vested fellow, "is Dr. Archie Hopper. He's hoping he can talk to you for a few minutes?"

"OK," Henry says.

"Great!" Blanchard claps excitedly. "Dr. Mills, Dr. Swan, perhaps we should leave them to it."

Emma glowers at Blanchard, but decides to spare Henry the theatrics and begins to walk away. She stops though when she realizes Henry's hand has somehow slipped into hers. "Can you stay here?"

"Of course," Emma promises without confirming with Mary Margaret. Out of the corner of her eye, she see's one side of Regina's mouth twitch in mild satisfaction. "I'll be right here," Emma tells Henry and takes the chair next to him.

Emma listens to Henry's story with a heavy heart. More than once, she wants to cry for the boy, for the innocence that was stolen from him, for the life of love he never got to experience. She wants to hug him and tell him that he'll never have to go back to that place, to promise him that she will keep him safe. But she knows she's can't do that; promises aren't allowed in this profession, not really. And she knows how vulnerable Henry is, how frightened he must be.

Dr. Hopper leaves after an hour, several pieces of paper covered in scribbled notes of Henry's narration. He doesn't have a last name. Or rather, if he does, he doesn't know what it is. He was two weeks old when he was taken into the system. Five homes in eight years, not counting the group home he's returned to on multiple occasions, the same one where more of his injuries have occurred. He's never been in one place for more than six months. He's "too creative," his imagination is "too wild."

When Emma listens to Henry recount the incident, she feels her ears turn red and her fists tighten in her lap. She knows it's illogical, but she blames the 13 year-old boy who pushed Henry; she knows what it's like to feel like you have to fend for yourself, but can't stifle the fury that grips her lungs as Henry trails off in a quiet voice.

She stays a moment longer, waits for Henry to fall back asleep before slipping out into the hall. Regina is waiting for her at the nurse's station, been there the whole time. She's had her nose buried in notes for the past hour, but Emma knows she's only half-invested, knows she's stayed there for Emma.

"Hey," Emma murmurs tentatively, rocking her heels.

Regina looks up as if she hadn't been expecting to see the blonde. "Hey." Tilting her head to one side, Regina folds her arms over her chest, reads Emma's expression, senses Emma's imminent retreat. "I'll be home at four," she says, hopeful that her wife would be able to take the hint. To Regina's relief, Emma nods in understanding and turns to leave.

Dinner is quiet that evening. Takeout from Emma's favorite pizza spot around the corner; ham and pineapple on her half, plain cheese on Regina's. For the first time in days, Emma and Regina are home at the same time, uninterrupted by their pagers or cellphones. They keep waiting to be called away, Emma almost hopes she'll be paged, dreads the inevitable shift in conversation where Regina silently waits for her to talk to her.

The rest of the night is just as quiet. Emma wanders out the apartment aimlessly, keeps searing for ways to distract herself, to keep Regina from worrying about her. They've been together almost half of her life and she knows Regina can read her like an open book.

When they get ready for bed, when Emma lays next to Regina and lets out a heavy sigh, she reaches for Regina's hand. The light is still on and Emma fixates on the shadows that dance around the ceiling. Even without saying anything to each other, this is part of their routine she'd been missing, sharing in the warmth of her wife's body.

One leg sticking out from beneath the covers, unable to find just the right template to fall asleeo, Emma licks her lips and closes her eyes. "Regina?"

"Mhm?" Regina hums.

Emma opens her eyes but keeps her attention glued to the ceiling. "What d'you think'll happen to Henry?"

Regina blinks slowly and thinks about the question. It's not exactly what she's was expecting, though she figures no matter what Emma was going to say, it would be connected somehow.

"I don't know," Regina replies. "The hospital social worker met with him this afternoon."

"Graham?"

Regina nods to herself. "I left before they finished. He'll probably meet with Archie, then with Aurora. And they'll decide what's best for Henry."

"Without ever asking him, I bet." Rolling onto her side, Regina props herself up on her hand, her elbow digging into her pillow. She gazes at Emma's silhouette, listens as Emma takes a deep breath, gives Emma's hand a gentle squeeze. Emma senses Regina's concern, wishes she could ignore the expectancy in Regina's eyes. "It's not fair," she finally says.

"No," Regina agrees softly. "It's not."

"He's just a kid. He doesn't deserve this."

"No one does. But Emma, this isn't just about Henry, is it?" Regina prompts. "He's not the first patient you've treated who's in the system." It's murky waters she's treading, Regina knows it; understands that Emma doesn't like to go go back, that she prefers to keep everything in the past. It's something she's known about Emma since they first met; the way she keeps everything bottle dup so tightly, she eventually explodes. But Regina hates when Emma does that to herself, hates how Emma doesn't recognize that her feelings are valid, that Regina wants to know what she's feeling.

Emma stays still and silent, her heart racing as she tries to remain in the moment. She tries not to get lost in the memories of her childhood, of the kids she grew up with, the adults who never bothered to learn her name, all the times she ran away only to be dragged back by a woman who couldn't understand.

She rolls onto her side stares over at Regina, scoots closer to the woman, waits until she can feel Regina's heart beating against her own chest. Emma smirks slightly as she thinks back to earlier that day. "Did you see his face when he asked if we were really married?"

Regina chuckles. "I did."

"He completely forgot about everything else," Emma muses. She waits a moment before continuing. "He thought we had kids."

"Yes, well, children do have a tendency to say exactly what's on their mind."

"You didn't correct him," Emma points out.

"If I recall, neither did you," Regina counters, but there's no malice or irritation in her voice. "Besides, I hardly think it would have been appropriate to explain the intricacies of in vitro fertilization to a 10 year-old whom we'd just met."

Emma snorts. "True. Can you imagine all the questions?" They share in amused laughter, lightness suddenly taking over. "He's right, though," Emma says when she composes herself again. "Our kids are gonna be lucky as shit."

Curling into Emma's side, Regina can't help but shake her head. "You always did have a way with words."

After a week of bedrest, a week without any complications or seizures, Henry is finally allowed to explore the hospital. Granted, he's confined to a wheelchair for his journey, but Henry isn't complaining. He's just happy to get out of that room, to hear more than the ringing of machines and beeping of his heart monitor. He's never liked being trapped in one place for too long.

Emma takes him on a tour of the ward in her free time, enjoys seeing his eyes widen in wonder. She even takes him down to the cafeteria, lets him eat, not one, but two jello cups. She makes him promise her he won't get too hyper, and even though she doesn't believe him, she finds herself surrendering to his green eyes rather easily.

When his lips are sufficiently green, she takes him back to his room, much to his own disappointment. She checks the incisions on his leg, makes sure the stitches are holding. She tells him he's healing like a rock star, that he'll have scar but that it'll fade over time. He asks to see it, promises her he won't be grossed out. He nearly gags when he sees the dark line that trails along the front of his thigh.

Emma stays when Archie visits again, the second time since the initial meeting. The more she hears about Henry's life, the more she feels the need to protect him. When Henry talks, there is no sadness or bitterness, but rather a sense of resignation; as though he's made peace with the hand that he's dealt. He recites his story as though he's said it hundreds of times before, because he has. Archie isn't the first therapist to reach out to him. Emma knows the feeling all too well.

Emma excuses herself when she can no longer control her anger, tells Henry she has to check in on some other patients, but assures she'll visit again.

It happens at the end of the first week, Friday morning when Emma walks into Henry's room with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and two cups of jello.

"Thanks, Mom," he says without thinking, apologizing quickly as his cheeks turn pink. He flinches as though he's preparing for some sort of punishment, for Emma to yell or call him stupid.

Emma falters for a nanosecond but shakes it off. "No worries, Kid," she says with a friendly smile before leaving to lead her interns on their rounds, her heart skipping a beat briefly.

She wants to tell Regina. She wants to tell her wife what it felt like to be called "mom," even if by accident. But more than that, she wants to tell Regina what it felt like for Henry to call her "mom." She doesn't though. She keeps it to herself. For a little while, at least.

They talk about him every once in a while and Regina can't ignore the way Emma lights up when she says his name, the hitch in her voice when she talks about Henry slowly coming out his shell, the laughter he emits when he isn't thinking. Regina listens to Emma gush about the boy, takes in the pride Emma exudes. She understands why Emma hasn't logged as many hours in surgery, knows where Emma's been spending most of her time, wants to not be jealous of a 10 year-old getting to see her wife more than she does.

Henry spends Halloween in his room. Emma offers to push him around the floor and steal some candy from the nurses' stations, says he can wear a spare set of scrubs and go as a doctor. Henry politely declines and says he's tired, hiding the fact that he is afraid to see anyone else in costume. He's never been fond of Halloween, especially as it brings out the worst in the kids at the group home; they love to terrorize Henry, to hide under his bed or behind doors, grabbing his ankle or jumping out at him.

Henry's asleep when Emma drops off a handful of assorted candies.

They're called into a meeting the following Monday morning. They shuffle into the board room and gather around the mahogany table. Emma sits closest to the window, closest to the view of the Seattle skyline. She thinks of when she was a child and was relegated to her room, the nights she spent staring out at the city, wondering when she'd be free enough to enjoy it.

Regina takes the chair beside Emma. One leg crossed over the other, she sits with her back straight against her seat, flicks away a speck of fuzz from her gray button-down. She wants to reach for Emma, but resists the urge just as Archie, Aurora, and Dr. Blanchard file in wordlessly. Three against two.

"I've gotten to know Henry quite a bit over the last week," Archie begins, his hands folded on top of his notepad.

"In two hours, you mean?" Emma questions brazenly. She feels a hand rest on her knee and exhales slowly.

Archie isn't bothered by Emma's comment, nods as if to agree with her. "There's still a lot we don't know about him," he amends. "A lot he's still holding onto." Aurora stiffens in her chair, her lips pursed together as she avoids Emma's glare. "One thing I think we can all agree on is that Henry can not return to his previous living situation."

Graham walks in just then, his shirt wrinkled and half-tucked into the waist of his jeans. He slides into the chair next to Regina and opens his binder in a rush, taking his cue from Archie.

"I, uh— I've spoken with Ms. Rose," he gestures to Aurora, "as well as the agency that Henry's registered under, and we've been working to find a more suitable arrangement for Henry."

"But first," Archie pipes, "Dr. Mills, Dr. Swan, can you fill us in on Henry's recovery process, any further care you foresee him needing."

Regina nods diplomatically and leans forward, rests her hands on the table. "As you all know, when Henry was brought in, he had a minor fracture to the base of his skull. From what he's told us, I assume that's where he landed when he fell, and it resulted in the seizer he experienced upon his arrival. Fortunately, I was able to repair the damage and Henry is recovering quite well."

Everyone turns to Emma and folds her arms over her chest. "The kid had a sprained ankle and a broken femur. It was sticking out of his leg when he got here. I reset it and closed him up," she says bluntly.

"And further courses of treatment?" Archie prompts.

"I'll need to see Henry every few weeks for post-operative examinations. The seizures should be under control. However, I'd rather not take any chances. Especially with a minor," says Regina.

"He's gonna need physical therapy," Emma grunts. "That can take months. His ankle's good, but it's gonna be a while until his leg is back to normal— as long as nothing else happens to him."

Aurora cringes somewhat under the sharp glare Emma's shooting at her. "I know you don't like me," she offers before she can shrink any further. "That's OK. My job isn't to be liked. My job is to keep Henry safe to the best of my ability." When Emma merely snorts, Aurora continues as though nothing happened. "If I could find the perfect home for Henry, he'd have been there already. But the fact of the matter is, the perfect home doesn't exist. The fact is, more families adopt newborns than pre-teens, no matter how well-behaved or well-mannered they may be. I've done everything I can to find the best possible house for Henry."

Emma tries not to roll her eyes. She knows all of this already; hell, she's lived it. And as much as she knows that this isn't Aurora's fault, all she sees whens she looks at Aurora is the woman who was meant to protect her, but did exactly the opposite.

In an effort to ease the tension in the room, Archie clears his throat and says, "We all want what's best for Henry. What we need to do now is figure out what that is."

"Has anyone bothered to ask Henry what he wants?" Emma demands. "Where he wants to go? Who he wants to live with?" A guilty silence fills the room as the adults allow Emma's question to settle. "He may be a kid, but he's not stupid. I can promise you, Henry's been through more in his 10 years than most of us have in 30. If we're going to try and 'help' him, we're gonna do it right; we're going to let Henry tell us what he wants."

Two days later, Emma and Henry are sitting in front of the main entrance to the hospital, watching as cars pull up and drive off every few minutes. They haven't spoken much about the incident a few days ago. Henry's kind of hoping Emma's forgotten about it.

Emma has an ice-cream cone in one hand and a coffee in the other, while Henry happily slurps on the chocolate milkshake she bought him. A woman with balloons walks past them, offers a friendly nod as a teenager and his father walk in the opposite direction, their eyes red with grief.

Sitting in a bathrobe two sizes too big, Henry takes in the change of the seasons, orange leaves rustling in the wind. He squints up at the gray clouds above them, wonders when the next rain will be. Emma's brought an extra blanket in case he gets too cold, though she suspects he's too immersed in the scenery to feel anything.

"I have to go back soon, don't I?" Henry asks suddenly.

Emma follows his gaze and sees a couple getting into their car with a newborn. She can almost feel the envy that stirs in the boy; she's been there. When Henry turns to look at her, she meets his eyes and sighs. "You know, I was a foster kid too."

Henry raises his brow and tilts his head to side curiously. "You were?"

"Yep," Emma nods. "Almost 12 years. Got bounced around from one house to another, got beat up way more times than I can count, and never had a bed to myself."

Fidgeting with the lid of his cup, Henry asks, "What happened?"

Emma leans back against the hard metal bench and crosses one leg over the other, lets her hair fly in the breeze. "I got adopted," she says simply. "But it didn't work out. I left home when I was 18."

"Were they mean?"

"No," Emma replies, almost guiltily. "She was really nice, a single lady with two other kids. Probably the nicest person I'd ever been placed with. But she just… didn't get it. She couldn't have."

"If you left," Henry starts, "how did you get to be a doctor?"

Smiling fondly, Emma can't help but chuckle. "I sucked at science in high school. Like, really sucked. I almost flunked my second year. But I met someone in class when I was junior, someone who helped it all make sense. I worked my ass off until graduation, studying and balancing two jobs. I used the money I made and applied to all the colleges I could afford to." She peers over at Henry, who's looking at her as if she's the most interesting person in the world. "It wasn't easy, but I made it through school and even got into med school. Came out fourth in my class."

His face twists as he lets the information settle. "What happened to the person who helped you? The one from your science class?"

Emma smirks. "We're still close," she tells him. "Actually, you met her."

She waits and gives Henry a moment to put the pieces together. When his eyes light up, she knows he's got it. "Dr. Mills?"

Nodding, Emma says, "Yep. Dr. Mills." She watches as Henry's excitement continues to build, wonders if she's been able to instill the slightest bit of hope in the boy. "Henry," she begins. "Do you want to go back to that house?" She already knows the answer, but wants to let Henry say it for himself. He waits a beat before he shakes his head, almost ashamed to confess such a thing. "If you could choose anywhere, where would you want to go?"

Looking down at the Styrofoam cup in his lap, Henry chews on his bottom lip. He knows what he wants, but he doesn't know how to describe it. He's imagined it so many times before, has wished on so many shooting stars. He's met them in his dreams, has dreamt about them for as long as he can remember. But, their faces were always obscured. He knows magic isn't real. Because if it was, he'd already have it; hot chocolate with cinnamon every Christmas and fresh apple cider on Halloween. Someone to tuck him in at night and kiss his forehead before he falls asleep, only after reading with him.

Finally, with a defeated shrug, Henry looks up at Emma and pushes away those thoughts; impossible dreams. He tells here where he wants to go in the only way he can. "Home."

"I talked to Henry," Emma says as they're getting ready for bed that evening. "I told him about… well."

Regina nods slowly, nonchalantly. The idea has crossed her mind more than once, and she's wondered when Emma would share that part of her life with the boy. As she helps Emma remove the extra pillows from their bed, pulls back her corner of blankets and sits on the mattress, she takes note of the blonde's uncharacteristically timid manner. "I imagine that helped him quite a bit," she replies cooly.

Emma considers this briefly as she joins her wife beneath the warm covers, tying her hair back for the night. "Me too," she says. It's not clear whether she's agreeing with Regina, or admitting to the fact that she feels better as well. Perhaps it's a combination of both. "There's something I want to ask you," she says before she loses her nerve. "It's about Henry."

Pushing herself into a sitting position, Regina rotates to face Emma. "Alright." When Emma rests her chin on her knees and wraps her arms around her legs, Regina knows exactly what Emma is going to say. She lets out a heavy sigh. "Oh. I see."

Emma nods silently. "I just… I can't stop thinking about him. I'm… I'm sorry." She's afraid she's disappointed Regina somehow, no matter how many times Regina tells her otherwise. It's something she's been working on for years, something she knows she'll always been working on.

"You have nothing to apologize for," Regina assures. She doesn't realize she's frowning until she sees the concern in Emma's face. She softens her gaze on the woman and shakes her head firmly. "It's a lot to take in," she says. "I mean, I suppose I'm not exactly surprised. You've been… different since he arrived, quieter. Lost in your own thoughts." She places a hand over Emma's and scoots an inch closer. "I'm not saying 'no,'" she begins. "I just— I need to think about it, if that's alright. The timing—"

"The timing sucks," Emma finishes gently. "I know. I'm sorry," she repeats.

Cupping the side of Emma's face, Regina says, "Never apologize for having a big heart. I love how much you care. I just need a bit of time to catch up to you."

Emma's shoulders relax as she lets Regina's voice wrap around her like a calming melody. "Even though I was joking the other day, I was so wrong: I'm the one who lucked out."

The corners of Regina's eyes crinkle ever-so-slightly as she gives Emma a small smile. "I know," she says matter-of-factly before letting her lips graze against Emma's.

When Emma wakes up the next morning, eight o'clock and the sun slowly rising, Regina is laying beside her and staring up at the ceiling with her hands folded over her chest. She glances over at Emma every few minutes, replays their conversation over and over again. She thinks about all of the conversations she and Emma have had about parenting, about the kinds of mothers they both wanted to e. She revisits her own childhood, how much she'd wished she had a mother who listened to her, who made her home-cooked meals, who didn't tell her how love was weakness.

She remembers when she turned seven and her mother was so busy with work that she forgot to wish her a happy birthday. And then when she came home from her first day of high school and wanted to tell her mother all about it, but the house was empty. And then graduation, when Regina walked across the stage and smiled proudly at her mother, but was met with a simple nod of recognition, and later that night, a lecture on how she could have been valedictorian if she'd tried harder.

Streams of sunlight shine through their curtains and land on Regina, softly illuminating her face. When Emma asks how long Regina's been up, Regina lies and says, "Only a few minutes." She turns onto her side and faces Emma, searches the woman's features for a moment and suddenly sees a new future, one that only differs slightly from the one they had originally planned. "Alright," Regina offers that one word with a confidence that takes her by surprise. That's all it takes.

They find themselves in the same board later that morning, Emma in her only pair of slacks and a green button-down under her white lab coat. This time, Emma is too nervous to sit still. Pacing in front of the window, she ignores Regina's requests to take a seat, rubs her temples as she walks back and forth by the table. She's waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Regina to change her mind; half expects that they'll both walk out before the meeting starts.

The door opens promptly at 10 and Archie, Graham, and Aurora stride in, a trio ready for concert. Neither Emma nor Regina call Dr. Blanchard, as she doesn't have any more or less input than the other two surgeons.

Emma finally sits down beside her wife, leans forward and rests her arms on the table. One leg bouncing anxiously, she exchanges a silent look with Regina, who merely nods in encouragement, before explaining their proposal. She and Regina had spent hours outlining and strategizing, meticulously planning out every aspect of such a decision. And, though there were still many details yet to be negotiated, Emma and Regina were in agreement.

When Emma finishes, slightly out of breath, Archie asks, "Have you spoken to Henry about this?"

"No," Emma says swiftly. "I know what it's like for someone to get your hopes up but not follow through."

"I'll have to contact the agency and confirm with them that something like this is allowed," Aurora says. "Of course, if he is to be released into your care, I'll also need to get some information from the both of you. You'll need to have certification to foster, as well as several home-visits—"

"I know," the blonde cuts in.

"When will you have any news?" Regina asks evenly in an effort to keep the tone amenable.

With a firm nod, Aurora promises, "I'll call as soon as we're finished."

They pass the hours in their respective departments, Regina successfully clipping two aneurysms and Emma resetting a broken arm, preforming an emergency appendectomy, and removing a arrow from the shoulder of a 32 year-old man on his first hunting trip. Emma is too wired to remain still, bounces from one patient to another, powers through the hunger that rips through her stomach. Regina texts her throughout the day and asks if she's heard anything; she replies immediately, tells her she's still waiting.

Emma visits Henry once in the afternoon, but says nothing about the morning meeting. She doesn't stay for very long either. She cleans the wound and changes his dressings. He tells her he thinks he can walk on his right foot, shows her that the bruising has completely vanished. When she touches his ankle gently and he winces, she simply shakes her head. She tells him he'll need another few days of rest before he can attempt to put any weight on it. Emma leaves, but promises she'll be back later with jello.

They are in the cafeteria together, both giving a half-hearted attempt to eat dinner, when they're called back upstairs to the board room. And when they arrive, adrenaline coursing through their veins, it's only Aurora waiting for them. A manilla folder with Henry's first name sits in the middle of the tale, 10 years of a life stuffed inside; 10 years of an existence that has never known true, unconditional love. Aurora is standing behind a chair with her cellphone in hand, a leather binder tucked under her other arm.

When Emma folds her arms over her chest, silently prompting Aurora, the redhead offers a kind smile. She tells them that based on their credentials and their lack of any criminal records, they've been approved for temporary guardianship of Henry while the rest of the paperwork is filed.

Emma almost cries right there and then. Disbelief washes over her as she struggles to find the right words. "When can we tell him?"

"I think right now is as good a time as ever," Aurora says. This is the most civil they've been to one another since meeting, and for the first time, Emma feels a wave of gratitude towards Aurora.

Together, Emma and Regina travel to Henry's room, the path as familiar to Emma as the road to their house. They hold hands through the hospital, tethered to one another, their hearts racing in time. They brush off the various stares at their rare public display of affection, ignore the looks of interns who aren't fast enough at wiping the surprise from their faces. The rest of the world is a blur to them.

A nurse is just removing the bandage on Henry's forehead when Emma and Regina appear, no longer holding hands.

"You're back!" Henry exclaims brightly, sitting up straighter in his bed. He says this every time he sees Emma.

"Told you I would be," Emma counters with a wink. "Sort of forgot the jello though. Sorry, Kid."

"That's OK," the boy dismisses easily, turning off the TV in the corner of his room.

"How are you feeling today, Henry?" Regina asks him. "Any pain or discomfort?" Henry shakes his head, takes a moment to appreciate the lack of pain as he does so. "That's good," Regina tells him with a friendly smile.

They each take a side and stand next to Henry. "So, listen," Emma begins. "We just had a meeting with Aurora."

Henry's face falls slightly as he chews on his bottom lip. "Do I have to leave now?"

"Not yet," Emma tells him.

When Henry simply frowns at Emma, Regina sits on the edge of the bed. "In a few days, if you're still doing well, we will sign off on all the papers and you'll be released," she explains. "And, when you are, you'll be coming to live with Emma and I for a little while."

They watch as Henry attempts to put his thoughts into words, and the confusion that flashes in his eyes is quickly replaced by shock. "You mean, I get to go home with you?"

Emma beams at Henry and nods. "If you want to, yeah."

Without warning, Henry is wrapping his arms around Emma's midsection and burying his face in her shirt, only to do the same with Regina. Both of the women fight tears as Henry looks up at the both of them, the corners of his mouth stretching from ear to ear.

Emma spends her first, full day off in six weeks tearing around their two bedroom apartment, cleaning every corner and empty space as if her life depended on it. She's arranged with David to trade shifts, thanks him profusely over the phone. It's not long before she's elbow deep in dishes, dishes she's already cleaned once. Sweeping under their couch, dusting the top of the refrigerator. Scrubbing the bathtub and spraying the mirrors with windex.

It's been three days since they told Henry he would be coming home with them, and less than 24 hours since Aurora told them their first home visit would be that Sunday morning at noon. Emma doesn't remember social workers making visits on the weekend, but instead of contesting it, she simple thanks Aurora for the warning.

Their paperwork is still being processed, but under the circumstances, they are inarguably the most suitable individuals to look after Henry.

She and Regina know the living arrangement will need to be revisited soon, that they'll eventually need a bigger place. They talk about starting their search after Henry moves in, as they want his input. When they talk about Henry, it's as though he's always been a part of their family.

They spend every free moment between patients and surgeries discussing Henry's room. Emma suggests painting it, but Regina quickly reminds her about the conditions of their lease. Regina searches the internet for neutral designs, decorations that offer a sense of hospitality while also encouraging the youthful nature and imagination they hope to help Henry nurture.

It's 11 o'clock when Emma hears the jingling of keys. She's just finished cleaning all of the windows, tossing the towel in the laundry hamper. She waits with bated breath as the door opens and Regina walks in, her black trench coat tied around her waist. Regina tosses Emma look and props the door open, disappears for a moment, only to return with Henry supported by crutches.

Henry takes two stilted steps forward before he stops in his tracks, looking up from the brim of his baseball hat, lost for words; scraggly brown hair pokes out through the small holes. He's never seen such a big home, such a clean living room, such a beautiful kitchen. The apartment smells of lavender and the air doesn't sting when he breathes it in. He revels in the quiet atmosphere, the absence of profanity being shot at him, the ability to move without having to swerve to avoid a fist.

"Would you like to see your room?" Emma asks Henry after a few moments. She remembers what it was like the first time she'd been lead to her own room, the pride in having something just to herself.

As excited as he is, Henry nods solemnly. With Regina at his side, he follows Emma down the wide corridor, marvels at the hardwood floors. It takes a few minutes to catch up to Emma, not because of the crutches, but because every picture on the wall and every painting in a frame pulls sparks his ever-growing curiosity.

When he finally reaches Emma and enters the first room to the left, Henry's mouth falls open as he lays eyes on the space. The previously empty white walls have been decorated with glow in the dark constellations and posters of X-Men, Henry's favorite comic book series. The bed is pushed up against the wall, dressed with sheets and a navy comforter, right beneath a window with a view of the skyline,. A stuffed animal rests atop the pillows, a spotted Dalmatian Emma bought in the hospital gift shop.

Henry hobbles forward and scans the room, turns in a stilted circle to the best, back towards Emma and Regina. "This is all mine?" He asks incredulously.

Regina gives him a reassuring smile and gestures to the drawer adjacent his bed. "We also bought a few clothes for you, but we weren't sure what you like, so we'll have to go shopping when you feel up to going out."

At Henry's sheepish look, Emma takes a step towards him. "It's OK," she says as she puts a hand on his shoulder. "I know it feels weird, but you do deserve this."

Henry nods slowly, lets Emma's words settle in his mind. "Dr. Mil— Regina," he corrects himself, "says a social worker is coming today?"

"Yeah, in about an hour. But it's just a home visit," Emma assures him quickly. "You know how those go. They wanna see that this is a safe place for you."

Sitting on top of the bed made just for him, nearly lost in how soft the mattress is, Henry rests his crutches against the wall. He picks up the small dog and lets it sit on his lap, petting its head absentmindedly.

"Would you like some time to yourself?" Regina asks. Henry doesn't say anything, but rather looks down at the toy pooch and squirms in his seat. "We'll be right down the hall," she assures him. Regina takes Emma's hand and they leave together, closing the door behind them. They land on the couch together and sigh in unison, Regina laying her legs across Emma's lap. "So far, so good, I'd say."

Emma hums in agreement. "How're you doing?"

Regina runs a hand through her hair as she considers this. "Good. It's going to be a bit of an adjustment, but, I… I have a good feeling about this." Peering over at Emma, she looks at her curiously, noting the wrinkles in her forehead. "You're worried about the home visit," she surmises.

"I'm just not a fan of caseworkers," Emma mutters. "I know they're not all bad, but… they just make me nervous. Which is stupid because I'm an adult now and—"

"Emma," Regina cuts in firmly, "you know and I both know none of that is stupid. They know by now about your time in the system. No one blames you for how much it hurt you. You can't blame yourself for that."

"I know," Emma whispers.

"Do you?" Regina counters quickly. "Because if not, I will gladly spend the rest our lives working to convince you of that. Because it's true."

Unable to avoid Regina's gaze much longer, Emma turns to her and offers a gracious smile. "How the hell did I end up with someone so amazing?" Rubbing Regina's legs, Emma looks to her wife and waits before asking, "How're you doing with everything else?"

"You mean…?" Regina trails off as Emma nods. "I'm fine, dear. Just a bit tired."

"We're gonna have to tell Henry," Emma says, more so to herself than Regina.

"Not yet," the brunette says. "He needs time to settle in."

They both go quiet when they hear a door open. The clacking of crutches and uneven steps that echo through the hall grow louder as Henry draws nearer. He makes to the living room, shuffles past the couch and plants himself in front of Emma and Regina. His cheeks are pink from the effort and Emma quickly scrambles to her feet, guides him to the couch.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," he begins shyly as he readjusts himself on the sofa.

Emma crouches in front of him, pats his right knee. "No worries, Kid. Everything OK?"

With both Emma and Regina looking at him, Henry feels as though he's walked in on something important. "I was just wondering, um, if I could make something to eat?" He stammers.

"You hungry?" Emma surmises.

Henry nods. "A little, but I can wait if you're busy," he says, reaching for his crutches.

Regina is quicker than Henry, though. Quick, but mindful. She remembers how fast movements used to scare Emma, how they still do every once in a while. "We will never too busy to feed you," Regina tells him earnestly. "Now, you sit with Emma. I'll see what I can whip up."

Glancing at Emma, as if to ask for her permission, Henry waits for her to nod before leaning back against the cushion.

"The first time she offered to cook for me, I thought she was joking," Emma confides when Regina starts rifling through the cupboards. "No one had ever even asked what I wanted to eat, let alone made me a hot meal." They sit in silence for a moment. Emma lets Henry take stock of his new surroundings, watch as he looks back at the door several times, making note of the exit. "Hey, you know, we can get you a key made soon," she says off-handedly. "There's a park just down the block. When you're back on your feet, we can take you there sometime. Or you can go by yourself."

Henry looks up at Emma with wide eyes. "I'm allowed to leave on my own?"

"As long as you tell us where you're going first," Emma replies semi-sternly. "You're kind of young for your own phone, but we'll talk about a good way for all of us to keep each other updated."

Regina returns a few minutes later with two grilled cheese sandwiches, one for Emma and one for Henry. "Would you like some cider? It's not exactly homemade, but it's almost as good as mine," she winks.

"Regina makes the best cider," Emma brags.

Still in shock, Henry can't help but stutter. "Y- you make apple cider?"

"Mhm, every year. I'm just getting a bit if a late start on it this fall."

Henry practically swallows his sandwich, politely shakes his head when Regina offers to make him another one. Emma and Regina ask how his pain is, if he feels like he needs to take anything. He says he's fine, but his drowsy eyes tell another story. With Emma's help, Henry is lead back to his room where he falls asleep with the Dalmatian hugged to his chest.

The caseworker, August, arrives during Henry's nap. Messy brown hair and in deep need of a shave, the man shakes their hands firmly before getting to work. They give him a tour of the apartment, show take him into every room, fill him in on the details of their lease, how long they've been there. He asks if they plan on moving or staying in the area, and Emma and Regina inform him that they'd like to stay in Seattle but find a nice home to settle down in. Emma starts to wonder if this is more of a court hearing than a simple home visit.

When August brings up Emma's history in the system, Regina excuses herself and lets Emma say her piece; she's heard it all so many times before, and it's harder every time. She checks in on Henry, peeks through his door, smiles as he snores lightly.

Emma relives the more mild of her experiences, explains that she understands Henry in a way other foster parents probably can't. August wants to know if she and Regina have any plans to foster more kids, and Emma simply says, "We haven't decided." He wonders if Emma is ready for any behavioral problems Henry might have, and Emma is quick to dismiss the concern, saying, "Henry couldn't hurt a fly."

The whole visit takes about 45 minutes. August gathers his messenger bag and offers his card, tells Emma and Regina it was nice to meet them, and they him. He asks that they not repeat this, but they are "definitely the best family Henry has been placed with thus far."

No shit, Emma thinks. But she nods genially and thanks August, lets out a loud exhale as she closes the door behind him.

"How's the kid?" Is the first question Emma asks when they're alone again.

"Out like a light," Regina chuckles.

"I'm kinda glad he slept through that," Emma confesses. "I wasn't sure how he'd handle it." Stepping forward slowly, she wraps her arms around Regina's waist. "Whaddu we get some rest too. I gotta feeling it's gonna be a long night."

When Henry wakes up, he's in a pool of his own sweat. For a moment, he forgets where he is. He knows it's not the hospital, but he doesn't recognize the room around him. The neon stickers on the wall or the softness of the bed. He's still trying to catch his breath when hears a knock on the door.

"Come in," he answers in a small voice.

A stream of light breaks through and Henry squints to see who it is. "Henry?"

The sound of Regina's husky tone is what makes it all click for him. "Dr. Mil— Regina?"

The shuffling of footsteps and the scent of lavender slowly filling the room begin to calm his nerves. Regina kneels beside him and reaches for his forehead. He cringes instinctively, but relaxes when he sees her looking down at him, sees the concern in her eyes. She's dressed differently than before; her fancy shirt and black pants have been replaced by a pair of jeans and a blue t-shirt.

"Did you have a bad dream?" Regina asks him. That's what it was, Henry realizes. A bad dream. That's why he's sweating, why he couldn't catch his breath. He nods reluctantly, somewhat embarrassed that this is how his first day in a new home was going. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Tentatively, Henry asks, "Is Emma here?"

Instead of the anger or insult he's expecting to hear, Regina replies in a rather sympathetic tone. "She had to go to the hospital for a little while, but she should be back soon. We can try calling her if you'd like."

But Henry shakes his head quickly, doesn't want to be any more trouble than he thinks he's already been. "No," he murmurs. "I'm OK."

Regina listens as Henry's breathing steadies. "Would you like to come into the living room with me? We could watch a movie until Emma comes home."

Henry considers his options. The dread of returning to the nightmare he knows would be waiting for him if he went back to sleep ultimately outweighs the guilt he would feel for taking up Regina's time.

Offering her arm to help steady him, Regina helps Henry back to the couch. "The home visit!" Henry exclaims suddenly when he looks out the window and sees that the sun has just begin to set over the city. "I missed it!"

Regina senses Henry's panic and sits beside him. "That's perfectly alright. August was here only for a little bit. He spent most of the time talking to Emma and I, making sure we're going to be a good fit for you."

"I'm sorry I missed it," Henry mumbles, lowering his chin to his chest.

"I promise, you didn't miss anything, Henry. He knows how important it is for you to rest," Regina swears, rubbing small circles on his back in a soothing rhythm. "Here," she says, passing her phone to Henry. "Why don't you text Emma while I get us some popcorn for our movie, hm? Let her know we'll be here when she gets back."

Henry holds the device in his hands, amazed that Regina trusts him with something so valuable. He's never had anyone give him anything to hold onto, never even got to carry spare change in his pockets. He doesn't know how to work the phone and Regina helps him locate Emma's contact information, shows him how to type on the keypad. She reads the text before he sends it, chooses to gloss over the many spelling errors and grammar mistakes, tells him to go ahead and press the blue arrow.

Emma walks through the door two hours later, tossing her keys onto the kitchen table. She finds Regina and Henry together on the couch, watching some animated film she vaguely remembers seeing trailers for. Her heart swells at the sight of the two, Henry leaning into Regina's side, the two of them sharing a blanket. Henry's leg sticks out stiffly, takes up the rest of the space on the sofa. He moves to sit up straighter, makes room for Emma, but she tells him she's fine with sitting in a chair, promises him that he's not in the way.

When the movie ends, Henry keeps close to Regina instead of pulling away the way she was expecting.

"Everything alright at work?"

Emma nods to her wife. "All good. One of the attendings had a family emergency and David needed an extra set of hands for a last-minute hernia repair. An intern could've done it."

Regina laughs softly. "Careful. You keep saying that and one of your interns might start to believe it," she teases.

"What's that?" Henry pipes up, just as Emma sticks her tongue out at Regina.

"What's what? An intern?" Emma asks.

But Henry shakes his head. "A hernia repair."

Regina quirks a brow and turns to Emma expectantly, unable to hide her amusement. "That's a really good question, Henry," she says. "Emma, care to explain?"

"Uh," the blonde splutters, "well, a hernia is a… it's when your stomach hurts really, really bad and has to be fixed through surgery."

"My stomach's hurt before, really, really bad," Henry says almost worriedly.

"When you have a hernia, part of the stomach is sticking out where is shouldn't be," Emma rattles on.

"Oh. How do you fix the stomach?" Henry asks.

Emma blinks rapidly as she tries to find the best way to explain such an intricate procedure in terms a child can understand. "We fix it by putting it back in the right place and the person feels better."

"Can you die from it?"

Regina turns to Henry, no longer amused.

"If it doesn't get treated," Emma says solemnly. "But the guy who came in is gonna be just fine. I patched him up, just like I patched up your leg."

Henry frowns slightly and Emma wonders if he's deciding whether or not to ask more questions. Thankfully, Henry seems to be satisfied with the answer and simply turns back to the blank television. It's then that Henry remembers the library they passed between the apartment and the hospital, thinks that he wants to get a card, wants to read more about the different types of surgeries there are. Maybe one day, repair a hernia or fix a broken leg, or even help someone with a fractured skull, so he can make someone else feel better, the way Emma and Regina do.

That night, they put Henry to bed together. They offer to leave the lights on in the hallway in case he needs them, but Henry says he'll be alright. They agree to leave the doors open though.

Regina tucks the blankets under him, makes sure he's securely wrapped in his bed, passes his new companion to Emma, who places it next to the boy. "Goodnight Henry," Regina says as she gives his hand a gentle squeeze.

Regina leaves Emma and Henry alone, closes the door just a crack behind her. Henry pulls the blankets up to his chin and squirms until he's comfortable; as comfortable as he can be with his leg still encased in plaster.

"We're just across the hall if you need anything. Just give us a shout and we'll be here in a flash, OK?"

Henry nods shyly. "Emma? Can you— I mean, would you… would you tell me a story before you leave?"

"Sure, yeah. What do you wanna hear?"

Holding his dog closer to his side, Henry thinks for a moment before deciding on, "Can you tell me the story about how you and Regina met?" Henry has always imagined what it would be like to hear a tale of true love, has always imagined it to be greater than what the fairytales make it out to be— more powerful.

Emma smiles fondly as she thinks back to that day in chemistry when a confident brunette walked through the door and took the empty seat next to Emma. She tells Henry about how, after failing the second test of the semester, Regina took pity on her and offered to tutor her. How after a few sessions, Emma's grades went from failing to a B's and A's. How they didn't begin dating until the week before graduation, ended up going to the same college, broke up three times before making it out with their degrees. She laughs as she reminisces about the proposal, her unfortunate luck when Regina found the ring in Emma's jacket one winter morning.

Henry's eyelids grow heavy as Emma tells him about their summer wedding three years ago, about their five-year engagement. By the time she recounts their move to Seattle, Henry is fast asleep. And this time, as he snores softly, Emma places a tender kiss on his forehead before turning the lights off.

Days pass and turn into weeks, and the weeks into a month. The season continues to change, leaves turn from orange to brown and scatter across the streets. The temperature drops two degrees every day, and when they buy Henry winter gear, a black peacoat and a red and gray scarf, it takes several days to convince him to wear them.

The shaved patch on his head has grown out in the month since his surgery, the rest of his hair following suit, his bangs hanging over his eyes. Emma suggest he get a trim, but Henry refuses with a firm shake of his head. He doesn't explain why he's so against it, but Emma doesn't need him to. She even tells him as much.

When Regina informs Emma about Henry's nightmare the first day, Emma takes Henry to the park where they sit side-by-side on a bench, much like the time at the hospital. She tells him that, even now, she still has bad dreams; she says it's always Regina who reminds her that she's safe, that even though Regina never went through it, she makes Emma feel better.

Henry's nightmares continue, but they eventually become less frequent. He evens tells Regina about one of them. He's helping her in the kitchen when he brings it up, relays the details of his dream. He explains to her why he doesn't want a haircut, that one of the kids at the group home threw a pair of scissors at him once. Regina holds back the tears as she nods and lets him speak, realizes it's far more frightening to know it's not just a dream, but a memory.

By the end of the first month, they've fallen into a routine of sorts. Emma and Regina's schedules have changed dramatically. They log less hours in the operating room, are never at work at the same time, one of them always at the apartment to help Henry grow accustomed to his new environment.

The topic of school comes up several times. Henry has missed the first two months of fifth grade, and when they have a tutor meet with him, they see just how far he's fallen behind. By the middle of November, after their papers have been fully processed, they've enrolled him in a fourth grade class. The principle assures them that most of the teachers have experience with students in the foster system, are trained in working with children who may not have as much academic support.

The first few days are rough. Henry is still on crutches and he's scared that he doesn't know anyone, is convince they'll tease him once they find out his a foster child. Emma and Regina take turns picking him up from school, waiting for him outside with the other parents. When he sees them, he hugs them tight, fights the tears that threaten to fall as they hug him back. But after the first week, Henry starts sharing what he's learning, tells Emma and Regina all about his day at the dinner table, shows them how he's learned the times table up to four. Regina has to remind him more than once not to speak with his mouth full, though she can't help but admire the exuberance Henry emits.

They go to the hospital together when Henry gets his cast taken off. Emma has to be reminded that she can't work on family, and when David says that word, a warm feeling washes over her. She nods as David explains to Henry how careful he needs to be, but isn't paying attention. Not really. She's still stuck on that word. "Family." Regina has been her family for years, but something is different now. The word doesn't frighten her the way it used to.

August visits once more at the end of November and Henry is awake this time. He takes the liberty of showing August how "cool" his room is, takes pride in the comic book collection he's started since moving in with Emma and Regina, introduces him to Pongo, his stuffed dog. Henry's comfort is blatantly obvious to August, and he can see just how much Emma and Regina have helped Henry.

When August asks if Henry wouldn't mind waiting in his room for a bit, so he can talk to Emma and Regina, Henry peers over at the women anxiously before disappearing down the hall. Emma holds up a hand and waits until she hears his door close before nodding to August.

"I know it hasn't been very long, but have you two given any consideration to adopting Henry?" August asks, clicking his pen and holding it over his notepad.

"We have, yes," Regina says.

"Have you talked to him about it?"

"Not yet," Emma replies. "We both know it's still really early. We don't want to make any promises."

August nods in understanding, and Emma can't help but become distracted by the man's ever-growing beard. "Well," he starts as he flips through Henry's file, "you're right, it's pretty early. But, given his history with fostering, his lack of blood relatives, and the fact that you are the first couple to express any interest in—"

"He's not a car," Emma cuts in roughly. "You don't 'express interest' in something like this."

"You're right. I'm sorry. That was… a poor choice of words. Let me rephrase that: because you are the only couple who has considered adopting Henry, there's a chance that could happen sooner than you'd think."

Shifting in her seat, Emma's lips part, but no sound comes out. "What exactly does that mean?" Regina asks on behalf of both of them.

"It means," August starts, "that if you are serious about making Henry a legal part of your family, the process could take less than six months."

"We have to tell him." Regina's tone is definitive, determined. Patting her face dry after washing it for the night, leans against the doorway to their bathroom, watches as Emma throws her dirty clothes onto the floor. "We can't keep it quiet for much longer. Things like this can't stay hidden."

Emma runs a hand through her messy curls, squeezes past Regina, grabs her toothbrush. "We gotta be careful how we say it."

Regina lets out a heavy sigh. "He's only just begun to treat this place like home. What if this changes that? It's not bad news, but—"

"But he might see it that way," Emma finishes after rinsing thoroughly.

They move to sit on the bed together, neither of them bothering to pull the blankets back or take off the extra pillows. "Henry wants to go to the Burke museum this weekend," Regina offers. "They've got an exhibit on the history of medicine. We can make a day out of it, go into the city, have dinner."

Nodding, Emma adds, "We'll tell him then."

By the end of the week, Henry comes home with an B+ on his spelling test and a B- on his math homework. He sticks out his chest with pride as he waves them in the air, slightly out of breath after running up the stairs to show Emma. Putting the papers up on their refrigerator, Emma and Regina ask how he wants to celebrate; they end up at the museum that Friday evening, a day earlier than originally planned.

They make it an hour before the museum closes. Henry races from station to station, reads the descriptions out loud to Emma and Regina, the two of them encouraging him as he works his way through the harder words. As it turns out, there's a fair amount that Emma and Regina learn as they stroll through the exhibit. Neither of them knew the first heart transplant was in 1967, or that the first cochlear implant was in 1969.

Henry makes a friend at the station about surgical tools, tells the 11 year-old boy that his parents are surgeons. Emma and Regina overhear Henry call them his "moms,"and they know right then and there that they are making the right decision.

When it's time for dinner, they let Henry choose. He's still getting used to being asked what he wants, where he wants to go. They're strolling through the streets, Henry bundled up in his coat and scarf, when they pass a Mediterranean restaurant, the poster of a Gyro causing Henry to stop and stare. Emma and Regina usher him in, squeeze into a wooden and explain each item on the menu. When Emma says how much she loves chicken shawarma, Henry decides he'll get the same. But, then Regina talks about how delicious the mujadara is and Henry switches his order. They tell him he can get both, that he can take what he doesn't finish as leftovers.

Their food arrives before Emma's nerves can even begin to settle. She watches as Henry tries each dish, smiles as he sighs in satisfaction. To her surprise, Henry finishes the shawarma and goes straight for the mujadara. Regina has to remind him to breathe between bites. Since moving in with Emma and Regina, he's gained several extra pounds, having more than enough to eat for the first time in his life.

"So, Kid," Emma starts after swallowing half a glass of water. "There's something Regina and I wanna talk to you about."

Setting his sandwich down onto his plate, Henry looks up at the women. "Am I in trouble? Is it about the museum? Because I didn't meant to call you my moms, it was an accident."

"No, Henry, you're not in trouble," Regina promises. "Though, it does have to do with that second piece." Pushing her plate forward, she folds her arms over the table and inclines forward just a bit, as if she has a secret she wants to share. "Henry, do you like living with us?" Henry nods fervently and Regina smiles back at him. "Are you happy with us?" Henry nods again, with even more force, if that's even possible.

Regina gazes over at Emma, cueing her. "I know you've been tossed around a lot," she begins softly. "And I know how much it sucks never to feel like you belong." Wrapping an arm around Regina, Emma keeps her eyes locked with Henry's. "What would you say about making this official?"

Henry's mouth falls open. "You- you want to adopt me? Really?"

Emma's heart aches for Henry at the disbelief in his voice. "Yeah. We really, really do."

Looking to Regina for double confirmation, the brunette's smile grows wider as she beams at Henry. "We want to be your moms." She senses his apprehension, watches as he simply blinks slowly. "Henry, is this something that you want? Because you have every right to say 'no.' We wouldn't be mad."

An electric pulse shocks Henry back to life, as if kickstarting his system. His heart picks up its pace and his small body begins to vibrate energetically. "You're actually going to be my moms. I'm- I'm gonna have a family?" he says, more to himself than the women, but Emma and Regina still nod. "When?"

"As soon as possible. August said it could take just a few months," the blonde informs. "But… you can call us whatever you want. You don't have to wait to use the 'm word.'"

In Henry's eyes, Emma sees a flicker of hope, a flame she's been afraid has long been extinguished, one she knows she would die to protect. "There's one more thing, Kid. Have you noticed anything different about Regina?"

Frowning somewhat, Henry observes the woman, as if he's trying to spot something that just isn't there. He goes over the last few days in his head, replays their routine in an effort to capture any outliers. "She takes more naps," he finally says. "And her hair looks shinier."

The women smirk at the certainty in Henry's voice. "Anything else?" Emma asks.

Henry puckers his lips and remembers, "She threw up after dinner the other day. But I thought that's just because she doesn't like when you cook."

Regina tosses her head back and barks with laughter, while Emma simply rolls her eyes. "Yeah, well, we can't all be five-start chefs," she grumbles as Regina wipes the tears from the corners of her eyes.

Suddenly frowning, Henry looks at Regina with worry. "Are you sick? Is that why you've been sleeping more? And throwing up?"

"Oh, no, dear, I'm fine," Regina reassures. "Perfectly healthy. Healthier than I've ever been, actually." Reaching out across the table, she cups his chin and says, "Pretty soon, you're going to have more family than you'll know what to do with."

Puzzled at Regina's riddle, Henry's head tilts to the side. "I don't get it."

Taking comfort in Emma's embrace, Regina takes a deep breath. "Well, in about six months, you're going to be a big brother."

"Regina's pregnant," Emma reveals somewhat anxiously.

They think that's they've overwhelmed Henry, that something in him has snapped, his ability to process information. The boy sits pencil-straight, his back pressed against the hardwood seat, his feet barely touching the floor beneath him.

"Henry?" Regina probes.

"You're having a baby?" Henry says. "And you still want to adopt me? Even though I'm not your real—"

"Hey," Emma interjects firmly, though her gaze is gentle. "I know exactly what you're gonna say, but don't even think about it. Papers or no, you're ours. Since the day you walked through the door. Do you hear me?" Henry chews on his bottom lip before offering a timid nod. "Good."

After a moment, a brief pause, Henry's raises his head and looks up at Emma and Regina again. This time, his eyes are sparkling. For the first time since sitting down, Henry smiles at the women. "Moms? I love you."

A/N: Thanks for reading! There will be an epilogue soon, though be prepared for a time jump!