Writing Challenge: Breaking Point, Chapter Four (4/12)

Title: Breaking Point
Summary: Emma leaving town was out of the question, and that was perfectly fine with Regina. As a matter of fact, Emma absolutely must stay in Storybrooke for a long, long time. And she knew just how to accomplish that.
Spoilers: Up through 1x19, "The Return."
Characters: Mostly Emma, Regina, and Mary Margaret, with special appearances by Henry, August, Archie, David, and Dr. Whale along the way.
Rating/Warning: PG-13, mostly for language.
Disclaimer: Once Upon a Time and its characters were created by Eddie Kitsis and Adam Horowitz and are owned by ABC. I'm just playing in someone else's sandbox. Please don't sue me! You won't get much.
Author's Note: The Regina/Henry dynamic is really interesting to explore, and I'm kind of bummed that the plotting of this story didn't allow me to do more of it. I may have to do a oneshot or two to play around with it a little more. Not that I'm complaining about that, ha.

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Regina Mills allowed a satisfied smile as she hung up from her call with Dr. Whale. This little plan of hers could not have gone better. Emma Swan was not going anywhere for at least seventy-two hours. If things went the way Regina hoped they would, she’d be in that little hospital room for a whole hell of a lot longer than three measly days.

Whale had told her that Emma refused to disclose what had precipitated the fight, which made sense. Emma wouldn’t want to sound completely unhinged, after all. However, Emma not talking at all left the doctors with no way to evaluate her, which meant they were stuck in a holding pattern until she chose to give them something they could use.

Not only that but the damage to Emma’s reputation had been done. Regina could tell simply from the sympathetic looks she’d gotten from people in town when they saw the bandage on her cheek.

The front door clicked open and then slammed closed. “I’m home!” called Henry from the foyer.

“Yes, I gathered that,” Regina muttered under her breath. She rose from her seat in her home office and walked out to the foyer to greet her son. “What have I told you about slamming the door, Henry?”

“Sorry,” he said, although he didn’t sound particularly apologetic. He set his backpack on the floor and shrugged off his jacket. It was only after hanging up the jacket in the closet and turning around that he looked at his mother for the first time. He froze, his eyes widening. “What happened?”

“Come sit down,” she said, gesturing towards the dining room table. “We need to have a talk.”

Henry stood still, an uncertain expression on his face. After a long beat, he stepped forward, his gaze never leaving the bandage on his mother’s cheek. He sat down uneasily in a chair at the table and Regina took her place across from him. “Henry, did you hear anything about what happened at Granny’s this morning?”

He shook his head without hesitation, which meant he was indeed telling her the truth.

Hmm. The news had most certainly reached the school because Mary Margaret Blanchard had shown up at the hospital less than ten minutes after the school day ended. The teacher must have run interference, shielding Henry from the rumors.

How that woman continually managed to screw things up without even trying, Regina had no clue.

No matter. Now she could handle the explanation herself. “Emma attacked me this morning. She scratched me, which is why I have the bandage.”

“What did you do to her?” Henry asked without missing a beat.

“Henry!”

“She wouldn’t have done something like that to you if you hadn’t done something to her first,” the boy reasoned. “What did you do?”

“I did not do a single thing to her,” Regina replied, hardening her voice. This newfound preteen attitude of his was maddening. If only she could blame Emma for that, too, but he’d been getting mouthy even before he brought her to Storybrooke. It had been getting worse since she’d been here, though, so maybe she could blame Emma. At least partly. “She’s an unstable woman, Henry, and you are not allowed to see her anymore.”

“But--”

“End of discussion.”

“What happened to her, though? Where is she? Is she okay?”

“None of that is any of your concern.”

Henry regarded her with that expression on his face, the one where she could practically see the wheels turning in his little head. She held his gaze; even the slightest hint of waffling would give him ammunition. After a moment, he looked away and slumped against the back of the chair. “May I go start my homework now?”

“Yes.” She watched him push himself to his feet and dejectedly make his way back out to the foyer, where he’d left his backpack.

The slump of his shoulders tore at her heart, and she felt an overwhelming need to say something to make him feel better. “I was thinking of making spaghetti and meatballs for dinner tonight,” she offered. He loved spaghetti and meatballs; Regina typically found the meal too messy and she especially could not stand it when he slurped the long strands off his fork. “How does that sound to you?”

“I’m not really hungry,” he shrugged. He hooked his backpack over his shoulder and started up the stairs.

Regina narrowed her eyes after him. That could have gone better, she supposed. Then again, once he started hearing the gossip, it would put her version of events in better light. Only two people knew what had really happened, after all, and one of them was sitting in the hospital on a psych hold.

No matter what Emma said now, her credibility was shot to hell.

-----

Leaving Emma alone in that ten-by-ten hospital room was one of the hardest things Mary Margaret had ever done. She had stayed until Emma’s transfer to a room of her own upstairs was finalized, and even then she only left because she was told she had to. The room had one wide window that overlooked the parking lot and a thick, heavy door that locked from the outside and couldn’t be unlocked from the inside. Mary Margaret had warily eyed the door, but the nurse tending to Emma assured her that the doors were only locked at night. To keep the patients from wandering, she’d said.

Mary Margaret had grasped her roommate’s hand and, after confirming that Emma would be allowed visitors, told her she’d be back the following afternoon when she got out of school. Emma had nodded but hadn’t said a word.

As a matter of fact, she hadn’t said a single thing after blurting out that Regina had won. All of Mary Margaret’s attempts to get her to clarify or explain went unanswered. Perhaps the medication the hospital had put her on was making her uncommunicative, but Mary Margaret didn’t think so.

No, something had happened that morning. Something had happened between her and Regina that left Emma either too angry or too frightened to tell the truth.

That said, Mary Margaret still had no idea what Regina could possibly have done or said to send Emma into such a state. The way she was fighting against the restraints as she was coming to, the way she was insisting--ranting, really--that Henry wasn’t safe because Regina was a killer … that was not Emma. At least not the Emma she’d come to know.

And she had no explanation at all for why Emma had decided that Regina had killed Graham.

Graham. Could this all be some kind of delayed reaction to Graham’s death? In the days and weeks following his death, Emma had been sullen, sure. A lot more sullen than normal, at any rate. However, as far as Mary Margaret knew, except for the night everything happened Emma hadn’t even allowed herself to cry for him. And the only reason why Mary Margaret even knew Emma had cried at all was because when she’d met her at the hospital, Emma was shaking and the tear stains were still on her cheeks.

So could this … breakdown of Emma’s be in some way related to Graham? Some kind of culmination of weeks and months of ignored, tamped down, buried emotion?

It was possible, of course. Anything was possible. But from what she knew of Emma--and of Regina--Mary Margaret didn’t think it seemed all that likely.

When she’d told August about her conversation with Emma, he’d looked even more agitated than before. Then he’d said he needed to go think and took off for the B&B. At a loss for anything else to do, Mary Margaret had gone home as well.

A sigh escaped her lips as she set a pot of water on the stove to boil. It struck her as odd to be making a meal small enough for one again. Even on the nights when she and Emma didn’t eat together, she’d cooked enough to leave Emma a plate, but for the next three nights at least, she’d be cooking only for herself.

The realization left her a lot more depressed than she really expected. Maybe she’d just get takeout.

“Emma, Emma. Come in, Emma.”

Mary Margaret gasped, the sound startling her from her reverie. Where had that come from?

“Come in, Emma. Are you there?”

She followed the tinny voice and crackling static to the walkie-talkie Emma had left on the kitchen table. With a sad smile, she picked up the device and pressed the button to answer. “Hi, Henry.”

“Miss Blanchard?” The confusion in his voice was obvious. “Is Emma there?”

Had Regina not told him about this morning? Typical. “No, she’s not. Has your mom talked to you?”

“Yes, but she wouldn’t tell me where Emma is.”

Of course she wouldn’t, Mary Margaret thought. Thanks a lot, Regina. “She’s in the hospital. She’ll be there for the next couple of days.”

“Is she okay?” he asked, panic rising in his tone.

“She’s fine. She just needs to rest for a few days.”

His next question was soft, just barely above a whisper. It wasn’t until he got the question out that she understood why. “Can I go see her?” Regina must have forbidden him from trying to track down Emma, which was why he had dropped his voice down so low.

Mary Margaret closed her eyes and groaned inwardly. She was willing to bet dollars to doughnuts that Emma would not want Henry going to the hospital for a visit. Not while she was in restraints and medicated to the hilt. “Not right now,” she told him gently, “but I’m going to see her tomorrow after school and I’ll ask her then if she’s up for visitors, okay?”

“Okay.” He couldn’t have sounded any sadder if she told him his dog had run away. “Thanks, Miss Blanchard. I’ll see you in school tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow, Henry.”

“Over and out.”

“Over and out,” she returned and set the walkie-talkie back on the table in the exact spot where Emma had left it. That poor kid. He’d sounded so lost.

In point of fact, he’d sounded exactly how she felt right about now. Oh, Emma, she thought, what on earth is going on?