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Regina’s magic pushed through the keyhole and spilled into the Charming’s apartment, with Regina stepping in right after. She was in too much of a hurry to bother with politeness and use the key Emma had given her to check in on her magic-less parents “in case anything unusually horrible comes to Storybrooke”. Only a family as picture perfect as Snow White and her Prince would even bother conventionally locking their door in this town, anyway. In a town of dwarves and fairies, the only people evil enough to contemplate breaking and entering probably already had magic.
(“Miss Swan, surely you are aware that given my magic, in the event of some catastrophe or another, I could find my way inside your parents’ home without need for this key. Furthermore, I can hardly say that in such an event I would have time to make your parents a priority–” “Just take it, Regina. It’s a symbol, ok? It means I trust you.” And Emma had half-smiled at her, and half-rolled her eyes, and half-turned away from her, just as she so often did.)
Regina crossed the living room, seeing few if any of Emma’s possessions sitting around. She moved quickly into Emma’s room, not sparing precious seconds to wonder if she should or not. After all, what she had was a plan – not an abundance of time. Something important of Emma’s, Regina reminded herself. She wasn’t immediately sure what she needed. The Sheriff’s service weapon? Hot cocoa? Probably not emotionally significant enough.
Her job was made no easier by Emma’s apparent general lack of belongings. Regina knew the Savior was hard to pin down, but she’d lived with her family for some time now. And it still didn’t look like she had even picked out her own sheets. (The bed was undone from that morning, an informative fact Regina filed away as explanation of her son’s childhood unwillingness to pick up after himself. She tried not to dwell on why Emma hadn’t had a chance to make the bed.)
Regina noted, of course, the pictures of Henry. There were some too of Mary Margaret and David. The former Evil Queen was surprised to note one photo in particular, from the diner, with all of them, herself included, all sitting, eating and smiling at one another. Sitting directly under the frame was a yellowing newspaper clipping about a baby born in jail and given up for adoption. For the first time since blowing into the apartment, Regina paused. Why had Emma arranged them like that? There were many pictures of Henry and his grandparents and his birth mother, why include one with Regina?
She scanned over the photos in the room again and found none of any of the other Storybrooke residents, not even the always present pirate. Regina mused that perhaps he was in the room often enough to not need a photo on the dresser. With a sigh, Regina turned to leave the small room, having decided there were no leads here. Emma clearly valued her family, but a photo couldn’t truly stand as something important enough to make the wand work. It was the people in the photos that Emma loved, not the ink on the paper.
Regina caught sight of the newspaper clipping one last time and Emma’s name stood out to her, stark where the cold and objective reporter rattled off the pregnant criminal’s name.Emma Swan, 18 years old. Seeing the name written out gave Regina her answer: Emma’s baby blanket with her name sewn on, the only thing she had had with her since birth. Regina hurried back to the bed, rustling in the covers and, finding nothing yet again, tossed the duvet to the ground. She stood, hands on hips, anxious and frustrated and only mildly pleased at making a mess in Snow White’s house. Emma wouldn’t let anything happen to that blanket. Regina glanced across the loft to the Charming’s room. Everything was perfectly neat and orderly, with no sign of Emma’s blanket. The whole room looked like it belonged in a Country Home magazine. But then where would Emma keep it? If Regina couldn’t find it, she’d have to find a way to bring Emma’s yellow Bug –
Emma’s car. Of course. With a flourish of purple magic, Regina disappeared from the Charming apartment and re-appeared just outside her own home. Emma had a curious habit of driving somewhere to pick up or drop off Henry, then walking to wherever they were headed next. In a town the size of Storybrooke, there wasn’t always much need to drive in the first place, as long as the weather held out. But Emma loved her yellow Bug and drove it whenever she could half-convincingly come up with a reason. (One time, Regina remembered, Sheriff David had jokingly given his co-sheriff a ticket for leaving her beloved vehicle outside Henry’s school in a yellow zone. For a week.)
Once more, Regina’s magic made quick work of the old lock on the door, and she climbed inside, kneeling on the driver’s seat to search the car. She did not have long to search, for sitting to one side of the back bench seat was the old, woolen blanket, the patch bearing Emma’s name turned down to face the seat. Regina hastily grabbed it in the small space and pulled it to her as she climbed out of the car. She noticed many of Emma’s long, blonde hairs tangled up in the blanket. Many more than would get there simply by the fair-haired woman holding it, or even bringing it to her face to smell it (as Regina herself was unconsciously doing now). She shifted partway back into the Bug, staring again at the back seat. Had Emma used her blanket as a pillow? Did she still sleep in her car sometimes? But why? Regina was puzzled by the Savior’s apparent behavior. Didn’t she have the perfect parents? And the perfect seen-the-error-of-his-ways-thanks-to-true-love boyfriend?
Looking up and out the rear window of the car, Regina saw her own home, empty now. Had Emma slept out here, so close to the Evil Queen’s house? Regina tried to imagine it – Emma Swan, with her flowing hair everywhere, curved and hunched into a cramped space. Probably with her jeans still on. Probably even still wearing her low-heeled boots. Did she look peaceful when she slept? Regina had no idea how she could know, but something inside her, older than her own magic, told her Emma’s dreams were as troubled as her own.
But Regina didn’t have time. She didn’t have time for the tears threatening in the corners of her eyes, or the pictures in Emma’s room, or the car left outside her house. She didn’t have time for all the questions posed by Emma Swan.
After all, someone had to save the Savior. And it looked like Regina was the only one actually trying.