Chapter Text
Storybrooke
Six Months After Henry’s Adoption
Regina Mills had always believed that wanting something badly enough meant she would eventually master it. Power had worked that way. Magic had worked that way. Control had worked that way. Motherhood, it turned out, did not.
When she brought Henry home from the hospital six months ago, she had expected adjustment. Learning curves. Minor inconveniences. What she had not expected was exhaustion that felt like it lived inside her bones.
Sleep came in fragments. Food was often forgotten entirely. Her house, once immaculate, now contained bottles drying beside the sink, stains the source of which she didn’t want to think about and small cloths scattered across the furniture like surrender flags.
She had wanted this child. That had never been a question. For most of her life Regina had been surrounded by people who either feared her or manipulated her. Loyalty had always come with conditions. Love had always been something that could be weaponized or withdrawn.
Henry was supposed to be different. A child loved their mother without calculation. Without expectation. Without betrayal. That had been the idea. Reality, however, proved considerably less elegant.
Infants did not arrive with instructions. They did not care that their mother was the mayor of the town or that she had once ruled a kingdom. They cared about food, warmth, comfort, and sleep. None of which respected schedules or meetings.
Regina had assumed discipline would compensate. Structure. Routine. Order. She had built an entire town on those principles. Surely one child would not defeat her. Except Henry had never once consulted her strategy.
The first month had been manageable. The second introduced the quiet horror of sleep deprivation. By the third, Regina had begun to understand why most people relied on help. In the Enchanted Forest it would have been effortless. Royal nurseries existed for a reason. A dozen nurses and nannies bound by loyalty spells and centuries of tradition would have managed the practical realities while she fulfilled the role of mother in ways more ceremonial.
Storybrooke had none of that. No magic. No enchantments. Just people.
People who smiled politely while despising her behind their eyes. Regina could see it in the way the town watched her. They obeyed. They cooperated, but they did not trust her. Regina, in return, trusted none of them.
The idea of leaving Henry alone with someone who secretly hated her felt intolerable. Even if the Curse technically ensured obedience, paranoia had already rooted itself too deeply in her instincts. So, she made a decision. She would do it herself.
After all, countless women in both worlds had raised children alone. There was no reason she could not do the same. How difficult could it possibly be? The answer arrived at three in the morning a few months later.
Henry had been crying for nearly an hour. Not the restless whimper of a tired baby, but a sharp, relentless scream that cut straight through Regina’s nerves like broken glass.
She had already checked everything. He had been fed. He had been changed. He had been rocked, paced, carried, sung to, and gently bounced until Regina’s arms trembled from the effort. Nothing helped. The screaming continued and now Henry felt hot. That realization settled into Regina’s chest like ice.
She touched his forehead again. Too warm.
“Henry,” she murmured, trying to keep her voice steady.
He squirmed in her arms, face flushed, tiny fists clenched as if fighting something invisible. The sound he made this time was thinner. Weaker. Regina’s heart slammed hard against her ribs. She had no magic. No spells to scan for illness. No court physicians standing ready to diagnose problems before they grew dangerous.
Just a crying infant and the terrifying possibility that she did not know how to help him. Her mind raced uselessly through half-remembered pamphlets and vague advice from the adoption nurses. Babies get fevers. It happens. Monitor him.
Regina stared down at him.
“What exactly counts as worse?” she whispered.
Henry cried harder. That decided it. She grabbed the car keys from the entry table, wrapped Henry tightly in his blanket, and carried him outside. The night air was cool. Too cool. She adjusted the blanket immediately, shielding his face as she hurried to the car. Her hands shook slightly while fastening the child seat. She had never imagined something so small could generate this much fear.
“Stop crying,” she murmured softly, brushing his flushed cheek. “We’re fixing it.”
He did not stop. Headlights cut through the quiet streets of Storybrooke as Regina drove toward the hospital. For the first time since adopting him, she allowed herself to admit a terrifying truth. She might not be enough on her own.
***
The hospital at five in the morning was almost silent. Fluorescent lights hummed above empty corridors. Somewhere down the hall a machine beeped at slow, patient intervals. The smell of antiseptic hung in the air. Night shift. Which in Storybrooke meant nurses. Regina carried Henry through the doors without slowing. A nurse behind the reception desk looked up in surprise.
“Madam Mayor..?”
“I need a doctor,” Regina said.
The urgency beneath the controlled tone was unmistakable.
“Of course, we can have someone take a look...”
“Not someone,” Regina interrupted. “Kaiser.”
Henry whimpered against her shoulder. She brushed his forehead again. Still warm. Too warm. The nurse glanced at the clock.
“Well, the morning staff won’t arrive for another two hours, but one of our nurses could examine him first and...”
“No.”
The word landed hard enough to make the nurse flinch.
“Call him,” Regina repeated quietly. “Now.”
The nurses exchanged uneasy glances.
“Madam Mayor… are you certain?” another woman asked carefully. “Dr. Kaiser isn’t technically on shift yet. Mr. Gold doesn’t usually like it when his husband is called in early.”
Regina turned her head slowly. She did not raise her voice. She did not threaten. She simply looked at them. The message was clear. Gold can be frightening, but right now she was the most dangerous person in the building.
“I’ll… call him,” the first nurse said quickly.
Regina sat in one of the chairs along the wall, Henry still cradled tightly in her arms. The minutes stretched endlessly. Henry cried. Then quieted. Then cried again. Each sound tightened the knot in Regina’s chest.
“Twenty minutes,” the nurse said gently. “He’s on his way.”
Regina disliked waiting. She liked it even less when her child was involved. When the doors finally opened, she knew immediately who had entered. Yakov Nikolaevich Kaiser looked exactly like someone who had been dragged out of bed with very little warning.
His dark hair was tied back loosely, several strands escaping around his face. His glasses sat slightly crooked. A coat had been thrown over clothes clearly not meant for public appearance. He looked tired. Regina did not care.
Henry whimpered again. Kaiser took one look at them and his expression softened instantly. Not the polite professional smile he used with patients. Something warmer. Instinctive. He approached calmly.
“Everything is going to be alright, Madam Mayor,” he said gently.
His voice was low and steady. Reassuring in a way Regina had not realized she needed.
“May I?” he asked, extending his arms slightly.
Regina hesitated only a moment before handing Henry over.
There was a reason she had insisted on this particular doctor. Kaiser was not someone Regina remembered from the Enchanted Forest. No court affiliation. No noble family. No lingering political alliances that might carry resentment into the Curse. He was… unimportant. Or at least he had been. Which meant the likelihood of him harbouring some unconscious grudge against her was minimal.
The baby’s cries did not stop immediately, but they softened. Kaiser adjusted the blanket with practiced hands, cradling the infant close while murmuring something quiet in Russian. Henry’s tiny fists slowly unclenched.
“Let’s see what we have here,” Kaiser said softly.
And for the first time since the crying had begun, Regina allowed herself to breathe.
***
She watched him work. Kaiser had settled into a chair, Henry resting along his forearm while one hand supported the back of the baby’s head. His movements were calm and precise. He spoke quietly the entire time. Not to Regina. To Henry.
The soft murmur of Russian carried a soothing rhythm Regina did not understand but that clearly worked. Henry’s crying faded into small hiccupping breaths within minutes. Regina felt something twist unexpectedly in her chest.
She knew Kaiser was good with children. Storybrooke needed a paediatrician, and when she created the town, she had designed him accordingly: calm, reliable, compassionate. Knowing that in theory, however, was very different from watching it happen.
Kaiser moved with quiet confidence. He checked Henry’s temperature, listened to his breathing, gently pressed two fingers against the small curve of the baby’s stomach. When Henry grabbed a strand of his dark hair and tugged, Kaiser simply let him keep it.
“There we are,” he murmured.
When he finally looked up, reassurance rested easily in his expression.
“He has a fever,” Kaiser said. “But it isn’t dangerous.”
Regina felt some of the tension leave her shoulders.
“Then why is he crying like this?” she asked sharply.
Kaiser’s lips curved faintly.
“Because being six months old is a dramatic experience.”
The humour was mild, not mocking.
“He will be alright,” he continued. “His temperature is elevated, but his breathing is clear. No rash, no swelling. Most likely a mild infection. Possibly teething.”
To him it sounded routine. To Regina it had felt catastrophic.
“He needs rest,” Kaiser added. “Fluids, warmth, and patience.”
Henry had nearly fallen asleep, still clutching Kaiser’s hair. Regina studied the scene with a complicated mix of emotions. Relief dominated, but another thought crept in behind it. Envy. He made it look effortless. And he was a man. A man who did not have children of his own. Or perhaps he did, before the Curse. Either way, it felt unfair.
No. This isn’t my fault. I am a Queen I was supposed to have help. She thought.
In the Enchanted Forest Henry would have had attendants devoted entirely to his care. Nurses trained to soothe him. Physicians assigned to monitor his health. Here she had none of that, but she did have Kaiser. He was clearly competent. More than competent.
Perhaps she did not need an entire staff. Perhaps one reliable person would be enough. Someone calm. Discreet. Already accustomed to children. Regina studied him thoughtfully. Then she stopped. Abruptly. Kaiser was not an independent asset.
He was Gold’s husband. Which meant relying on him meant relying on Gold. Again.
Regina’s jaw tightened. She had spent years disentangling herself from Rumplestiltskin’s influence. The idea of placing herself in his debt again was deeply unpleasant. Even if it benefited Henry. No. She would manage without him.
Kaiser lifted Henry slightly, bouncing him once as the baby yawned.
“Would you like to hold him again?” he asked.
Regina stepped forward and took Henry back. The baby was calmer now. Sleepy. Still a bit too warm, but now she no longer feared that. Relief settled in her chest. Then the irritation flared.
Kaiser had been intended as a minor irritation in Gold’s life. A stubbornly compassionate man meant to test the Dark One’s patience. Humiliate him by sheer assumption of having a man in his bed. Instead, Gold had apparently fallen in love with him. Real love, not the hollow imitation the Curse usually produced.
This was infuriating. Even under the Curse the Gold managed to look… content…happy even. The last word tasted sour in her mouth. Cause it meant Regina had unintentionally locked one of the most capable people in Storybrooke behind a door she refused to open. For nothing. God damn Dark One still got what he wanted.
Regina took a deep breath, calming herself down. She would manage without Kaiser, but as Henry yawned against her shoulder, Regina could not help thinking that Yakov would have made an excellent royal nurse.