Disclaimer: Characters/ONCE aren't mine.

Regina sits on the edge of the bed and puts her earrings in. Little pearl studs that I remember getting her a couple years back. She poufs her hair up a bit and stands. She steps into her black heels that had been tossed somewhere last night. I watch her from where I lay in the bed. The blankets are tucked around my legs and the pillows behind me are flat, but I prop my head up using the bed's backboard.

She puts on her coat and wraps her scarf carefully around her neck as she walks to the door. Glancing back she looks as though she's about to say something, but she doesn't. She never does.

I'd given her plenty opportunities. Plenty of opportunities to say something. Anything. But she never speaks. From the first time, when she slammed her lips hotly against mine about a month after when she broke off the engagement, until now, a year later. Not a single word. She tries not to make any noise at all while we "revisit", but it is impossible for Regina to be quiet.

It happens about once a month. I try to get her to speak, to answer my questions. So many questions that I think about every day. Why did we even break up? A simple I can't do this anymore isn't good enough.

"Enlighten me," I would plead, "what happened?" But I was done with no explanations, so I packed up and left.

Henry visits my Boston apartment every chance he gets a break from college. My little man had grown up.

She walks out the door. Good riddance.

MYEVILREGAL MYEVILREGAL MYEVILREGAL

"She asked about you."

I look up from my plate and across the dinner table to where Henry sits. This was something new. I raise an eyebrow.

"The other day, we were eating dinner and she asked about you."

My ears perk up though I try not to act too interested, "Hmph."

"She asked how you were doing."

Like she wouldn't know; she had just visited me, what, a week ago? Maybe if she wouldn't be so stubborn and talk, she would actually know.

"What did you say?"

"I told her that you were fine."

I nod and push my corn around my plate. That ends our conversation.

Henry looks up at me, "Thanks for dinner, Mom."

I smile, "Sure thing, kid."

He stands up and gets his coat from the back of his chair. I frown.

"Aren't you staying?"

He shakes his head and looks at me sheepishly, "I- uh, promised Mom I'd go see her before I go back."

"It's okay, I had some stuff to do anyways.." I try not to look disappointed.

"Mom," he breathes. He walks around to the table and hugs me. He rests his head atop mine. He's so tall. I miss my little boy.

"Maybe I could see you some next weekend?"

I smile and nod at him, "That sounds great."

I squeeze him close and murmur, "Don't forget to call."

He sighs, "Mom, you're turning into…" he trails off.

I step back and raise my brow, "What was that?"

He laughs and hugs me again, "Well, you're turning into Mom."

I half-heartedly smile at him and then look to the floor.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything…"

I smile at him, "It's fine."

He looks at his watch, "Whoa! I didn't realize what time it is; I gotta go!"

I smile at him as he walks to the door.

"I love you, Mom."

"I love you too, kid."

As I walk to my room, I still can't comprehend that Regina asked about me. So, she still does wonder about me? I still wonder about her. I haven't ever asked Henry about her though. Well, maybe that's a lie. There was this one time, okay, two times. Three at most. But I never thought of the fact that she might wonder about me.

I shake off my jeans and change into a more comfortable shirt. I know dreams of Regina will plague me tonight. And tomorrow. Dreams of Regina would plague me forever. Her scent. Her voice. Her eyes. I slip into bed and let exhaustion settle in.

Work hadn't been too bad today; Lenny had given me an easy case. Some old geezer who

didn't pay a speeding ticket and didn't show up to court. It was easy money that got me a week of groceries. I toss around in my bed some, feeling the comforter envelop me. It felt nice. It'd be nicer if someone was in it with me. If she was in it with me.

MYEVILREGAL MYEVILREGAL MYEVILREGAL

I may not be the roughest. Or the toughest. But I think I am able to take some damage.

When the bullet hit me, I only screamed once. There was some cursing- that was inevitable- but I didn't moan like some weak chick. I cried, but I wasn't sobbing or anything. By the time the ambulance had got there, the perp had fled, but that moron was stupid enough to not hide his plates.

It had sounded like a normal case, some high school dropout who had skipped out on bail. I had done a ton of these before; it was no big deal. But this dude, who looked like he was on steroids, did not want to come with me. He had pulled out his little handgun and I was about to do the same when I realized I had left it in my purse. At my house. Along with my pepper spray. I knew I was screwed. At least I had enough sense to make sure his bullet went somewhere in my arm than in my head.

They were able to get it out without surgery, but it still hurt like a bitch. A couple more days in the hospital they said. It wasn't too horrible. But those damn mashed potatoes tasted like glue and the water was so sterile I'm surprised my teeth weren't bleached.

I flick past channels on the small little TV in front of me to find something decent to watch while I wait. My room is separated into two sections by a small blue curtain that I prefer to keep stretched out. My roommate is some old lady named Barbara who had to get a hip replaced or something like that. She sleeps most of the day, but when she's not, the room is filled with the sounds of the 5 O'clock News. Correction, the room is not just filled with it; it is blasted throughout the entire hospital. I'm surprised the anesthetics are able to knock people in spite of the racket.

I settle on some movie that probably never went to theaters. Something about a woman living in Manhattan I think. I look out the window at the drab bakery next to the hospital. Maybe I could get some bear claws there after I got released; I was going through a doughnut withdrawal. So what if I had only skipped them for 3 days? Don't judge me.

I grab a pen and the pad of paper from the little desk next to my bed and start to doodle on it. Little swirls encase a heart. I realize what I've drawn and rip it from the pad. Stupid lop-sided heart. I crumple the paper and toss it towards the bin in the corner of the room, but it glances off the side and skids across the floor. Well shit. Oh, a nurse will get it or something.

Instead I try to sketch a tree. But trees remind me of a specific tree. And a specific house. And a specific person. This one sinks into the bin no problem, but now I can't draw anything, it all reminds me of her. An apple. Heels. Eyes. A cat. Why does a cat remind me of her? I haven't a damn idea. I give up on drawing and set the pad down. I spend the next few minutes clicking the pen. Click click click. I probably fiddle with it for 5 minutes before I hear a groan from the other side of the curtain, "Lady. Some people are trying to sleep."

I stick out my tongue at the curtain and finally set down the pen. I turn my attention back to the TV and watch a commercial for some yogurt or something. A little girl runs through a wheat field while someone talks about 'staying healthy'. Eh, who needs health?

I'm tempted to start clicking my pen again, but I'm pretty sure Barbara would rip through the curtain and smack me with her cane. Now I remember why I hate hospitals; they are more boring than watching grass grow. Seriously, if someone were to offer me some grass seeds and some dirt, I would be more entertained. Maybe I had ADHD. That would explain a lot.

"Lady!" I look over towards the curtain and then look at my hands. I had subconsciously started to click my pen again. The curtain opens and I see the wrinkled face of Barbara. She strangely resembled Barbara Streisand- but with more wrinkles and lines.

"You got something on your mind or something?" Her New York accent is weaved throughout her speech.

I shrug, "Not really. I'm just tired of being in this hospital; there's nothing to do."

"Tell me about it," she re-adjusts herself so she is more comfortably facing me, "I just got a hip replacement, but I might as well be dead cause of how boring this dump is."

I chuckle in spite of myself, this lady was sort of funny- but then again I was laughing at a Progressive commercial earlier (I was desperate for some humor).

"So, why you in?" She eyes me up and down.

I pick up my remote and click off my TV before responding. I lift up my left arm slightly, "I got shot."

She raises her eyebrows, "Are you a con or something?"

I laugh and shake my head, "No, they hire me to catch 'em though. Emma Swan, bail bondswoman." I wave my hand slightly.

"Well crap. Cause if you was a convict, boy would I have a story to tell the girls at Bingo." Go figure. She continues on, "Not that I'm not used to convicts. I used to live next to one in Queens; some drug dealer I think. He and his girlfriend used to get in fights all the time in the middle of the night. I never complained though; it was better than my soaps."

I laugh again and this seems to please Barbara. Her eyes light up and she continues talking. She's quite the entertainer; you can tell she likes attention. I listen as she tells me stories of life in New York and of her best friend Lucy, who is a total gossip from what I can figure. Before I know it, a nurse comes in to give me some pain meds. It's already 5? I take my stuff and look over at Barbara who is clicking on her TV. I frown for a minute, I had been enjoying her stories, but she's already flipping to the news.

As I go to lay down, maybe to take a nap, and I realize that I don't mind the noise as much as I thought I had. It gives me something to grip onto as I think. I think about her stories of New York; it didn't sound too bad. It actually sounded appealing. Getting lost in the crowd, a new adventure everyday, plenty of convicts to catch probably. It was time for me to move soon anyways. But what was holding me back? A niggling in the back of my brain that didn't want me to go. But I already know why. Her. Damn that woman and her grip on my heart.

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