So. I stole the title of this very blatantly from the song 'Light' by Sleeping at Last. The story is placed in the 'some time later' part of the finale. And, since Wish!Henry is a fairly new character, I should say that I've seen 'Ry' as an alternate name suggested on tumblr, and decided to go with that.

I wanted this to be a fluffy, short thing, but since it's Mills family, I suppose I should've known better. :)

Now, I hope you enjoy!

It's a Saturday evening in summer, and a lazy, warm breeze enters the living room through the window. Crickets are chirping outside, and the faint smell of fresh grass lingers in the air. Regina and Ry have a blanket draped over the both of them despite the nice weather, sitting at opposite ends of the couch, their eyes flitting over neatly printed letters.

In Regina's case, it's all business, rows of numbers that have derived from the last budget meeting. Ry, on the other hand, is turning the pages of one of those intelligent, thoughtful novels of his. To all of their surprise, as many adventure books as Henry had shoved at him, he could not get Ry to take a liking to any of them.

It's quiet and comfortable as all of their Saturday evenings have been as of late. They've decided to leave the difficult conversations to other days, and have instead settled into a warm contentment. Regina and Ry both feel the need to have space for their thoughts sometimes, and that the rest of their family mocks them mercilessly for it just helps along the silent bonding time they have created for themselves.

Regina's ink-stained fingers are still clutching her elegant pen in thought, even as her mind has long drifted away from finances. She glances up from her papers and looks at Ry, the light from the lamp dipping one half of his face in shadows. Regina smiles, entirely at ease, and the words slip from her mind almost without her noticing.

"What would you do if I told you I loved you?"

It comes out casually, lightly, and before Regina can even begin to process what she'd just uttered, a faint smile is already tugging at Ry's lips. He replies without thought, not even tearing his eyes away from the book. "I love you, too."

There's a brief moment of an almost indescribably warm tickle in the air, as if the universe had shifted into its rightful axis, but it doesn't last. Ry's face falls, and he jumps, scrambling up from the couch. His lips curl, and he looks at Regina frantically, his book dropping to the floor with a dull thump.

For a moment, time stands still.

Regina's eyes dart over to him, her expression frozen, and out of an instinct that she's possessed as long as she can remember, she studies the hard lines of Ry's face. She's searching for an indication that she has destroyed everything yet again; turned another part of Ry's life into ash.

She finds it.

Her heart falls at his openly horrified look, and it tears right through Regina, her throat constricting painfully and her breath hitching. Ry stares at her wordlessly, and Regina can't breathe through the sudden change in his eyes, resentment buried deep beneath the warm brown. She whispers, "I'm sorry," and works hard to even out her voice. She closes her eyes, furious at herself for feeling too much too fast. She had made a silent vow not to mess this up, approach cautiously, not prod, not push, not demand anything that Ry might not want to give. It had taken less time than she'd dared hope to come to the place where they are now, but their relationship is still tender, and—

Her hands clench into fists under the blanket that is still draped over her thighs. "I'm sorry," she reiterates with forced calmness, for Ry's sake and her own, "I shouldn't have—"

Blood is rushing through her system fast enough to make her dizzy, and Regina remembers a promise made, a vow meant for Ry to feel safe, that she would never ask of him to lie to her. It had become their thing; they are honest even if it's painful, and that defining quality is, Ry had said, what makes confiding in her comfortable.

But now Regina had let herself be carried away by her emotions and uttered something that just begged to be repeated back to her. Loving her didn't come easily to most people, and she would never expect that from Ry. Never so soon.

He looks at her intensely, emotions in his eyes that she can't place, and says sadly, "You shouldn't have," picking up the book from the floor and climbing the stairs with steady steps.

Regina sinks back into the couch, tears brimming at her eyes. She blinks furiously, clutching her papers with trembling hands and forcing her gaze to focus on them.

'You shouldn't have.' And if the blood hadn't been pounding so loudly in her ears, maybe she would have noticed that it hadn't sounded like an accusation at all.

Perhaps more like a question.

Because Ry, too, is fighting the tears as he's curled up on his bed in Henry's old room. Wondering if Regina regrets saying those words to him. If she meant them.

Ry, too, isn't always certain how easy he is to love.

(It's Saturday a week later, and Regina and Ry have been talking only sparsely for the last seven days. Not that Regina hasn't tried; she had pulled herself together forcefully, and realized that it was her job to reach out to Ry. It shouldn't matter if he thinks himself her son or not, she is the adult in this little piece of life, she is the one at fault, and she couldn't give up on him even if she wanted to.

She will never, ever want to.

But by then, Ry had already knocked on Emma's door, small and miserable, and had spent two days with a crying baby, a stranger who clearly did not wish him there and a clueless mother who possessed neither Princess Emma's sweetness nor Regina's warmth.

Regina, whose calls Ry had kept ignoring, though it made him breathless with shame every time he did.

The days after that, he had spent with grandparents who weren't really his—he would learn to love them anyway, but that was a struggle for another day—a blonde couple consisting of a fierce archer and her lively girlfriend, his older counterpart who asked too many questions, and a redheaded witch with a disturbing preference for greens and blacks.

Saturday evening, though, he had forced himself to remember that he'd been King and he'd been desperate, and he wouldn't ever be again. He built up his courage and bid goodbye to his current caretaker, fished the keys from his bag and unlocked the door to Regina's mansion without allowing himself to start thinking.

Regina, who was curled up on the couch, official papers clutched in her hands, her glassy eyes staring at the empty spot on the couch.

Regina, who shed actual tears when he shuffled into the living room self-consciously, then quickly wiping them away, her eyes asking for silent permission to step closer. It hurt inexplicably, breathtakingly, and Ry moved quickly, crushing her in a tight embrace.

They are seated on the couch now, settled comfortably as if it was any other Saturday evening. And then Regina's fingers twitch, and there are blotches of ink on her palms because her pen is broken, but she won't ever replace it because her son Henry got if for her when he was sixteen and wanted to write her a story for her birthday. He'd ended up frustrated with a bad case of writer's block, and Regina had comforted him and researched silly writing exercises to jump-start his inspiration. They'd spent her birthday together like that. Henry had jokingly bought her the pen as a gift coupon then, and finished the story months later.

It's a tale Ry knows by heart even though she'd only told it once. His favorite of them all, because it shows the way love surrounds Regina, like it's something tangible and alive, a fire burning even in the darkest of nights. For her, love is active, fierce and passionate, instead of the quiet tranquil background music Ry remembers.

Her fingers tangle around each other in a twisting demonstration of anxiousness, and then Regina looks at him, opening her mouth and apologizing, over and over again.

And then she's just quiet and breathing and looking at him with troubled eyes, and Ry almost laughs at them both, struggling with the most innocuous words imaginable. He leaps up and hurries up the stairs, fetches his book, and all but rushes down, slumps on the couch and flips the novel open where he'd left his bookmark. Ry then looks up, breathless, and sees the stunned smile on Regina's face. He grins widely, and the smile pours over her face with such affection that he almost has to look away. She throws one last look at him, then they adjust the blanket so it covers them both.)

It's Monday afternoon, and Ry storms home happily. (Today, it is easy to call this place home; his heart has been doing it for ages anyway, and his head, well, his head could use some rest right now.) He reaches into his pocket and grabs hold of the key, fumbling to fit it into the lock. Regina is working from home this afternoon, and she'd sternly reasoned that it's because she's not technically officially doing the job she is doing—managing the loosely ruled, newly united realms—and not because she's anxious to know how his exam went.

(His exam!)

She hears the key clicking in the lock and slings the door open from the inside. Ry all but stumbles up the steps, laughing wildly, flinging himself into her arms. "I did it!" he says, and it comes out in a hoarse whisper; it feels so good to be in Regina's arms. She smiles widely—"I knew you would, Ry, I am so proud of you"—and they spin around together, breathlessly, laughing and crying a little all at once.

He'd applied for the job of Sheriff. Not a deputy; he's not going to work with Emma, or else he would have thought twice about volunteering. They're not on bad terms, not at all, but there's a small squishy baby, a husband, a lot of awkwardness, and insecurity, and remains of an old abandonment grudge that they never bother addressing. He'd been able to sort out his history with Regina simply because they'd talked and tried, over and over and over again, until one day Ry had realized that it wasn't only helping him heal, but it was making him happy, too.

Emma, on the other hand, is busy with that infant of hers, and neither of them has made an effort to get to know each other yet—so they don't.

But this isn't about her at all. It's about him getting a job; a position requested by Queen Elsa of Arendelle, or was it Queen Merida? A group of sheriffs, knights that come from all realms and protect all realms. It's supposed to be another step toward union, and Queen Regina of Storybrooke had gladly agreed.

Ry remembers how she had come home one day, late as always because she is overworking herself, and casually told him about the test one could take to apply. What had followed was hard studying; Regina had practiced maths, history, and sword fighting with him because that's the kind of thing a queen knows how to do best. And Ry has won.

He's won a job, but it feels more like a future. A place in this strange new world. The months after surrendering his crown have been tough, his life turning upside down in confusing and wonderful ways.

But I'm not afraid anymore, Ry assures himself, laughing in childish delight.

He takes a small step back, contemplating Regina in front of him. His head is still spinning a little, and she looks dizzy, her hair loose, her face relaxed, that smile still there. "I'm so proud," she insists again, her eyes shining, taking his hands and holding them tight in hers. She is radiant, and happy, and she is happy because of him. She is happy for him.

Regina is like a dream come true, emerged from something that had been a nightmare. She had been his nightmare, and now she is not, and at that moment, it just feels so right.

"Thanks," Ry answers with a broad smile, squeezing her hands and stepping closer to hug her again. "For everything, I mean. Thanks, Mom."

The most heartbreaking thing is that they don't even notice at first. Because it is right. It's every piece of the puzzle arranging itself so that the picture shifts neatly, brilliantly together. It's the universe spinning in the exact right direction at the exact right pace at the exact right time.

Then, Mo—Regina's relaxed posture changes into one of rigidness and tense angles within split seconds, like she's been preparing for something bad to happen. Like she's been bracing herself for everything to fall apart at every second of every day.

Old habits die hard, Ry thinks without quite understanding.

He stumbles back.

She looks at his face, searchingly—the same way she had that Saturday night—then something in her eyes shatters, and she takes more steps away from him, her hands in fists so tight he knows she will draw blood.

But he can't help it.

He isn't ready.

She forces her expression indifferent like she is so adept at doing, but Ry isn't so good at facial control, and he is desperate, his mind lashing out at him angrily, and he knows that anger must be reflected in his eyes. Though it isn't Regina's to receive at all. On the contrary, the tighter she clenches her jaw, puts herself together, makes her knuckles go white in order not to cry in front of him—the more she tries not to let him see how much his evident horror hurts her, the angrier he becomes for making her feel that way.

Ry is so scared. His eyes well up with tears, and he grits his teeth, climbs the staircase in a rush to get to his room, and slams the door shut behind him.

He hears Regina tentatively coming up the stairs. Knocking at his door, saying something to him in a gentle tone that he can't understand over his own rushed breathing. He hears her settle a warm hand against the doorknob. She hesitates before she seems to decide not to intrude with magic.

Ry hears her slump on the floor in front of his room, her head dropped against the door. He hears her release a shuddering, wracking sob, one of the kinds that tear people apart right through the middle. Then, it is silent, and he knows she's cast a spell, is likely still crying on the ground in the hallway, crumbling desperately because of him, and the more he thinks about how well that word fitted into his mouth after ages of abandoning it—Mom—the more the anger and self-loathing fade, making place for a quiet kind of fear.

Ry lies on his bed, shaking and terrified and longing for something he doesn't dare define, something he's had for a brief moment of joy. (He's had it for months, in fact, and it is only the acknowledging that they keep screwing up.)

Mom, he thinks, Mom, and there is no getting around the image that the word conjures.

It is a voiceless comfort, even as Regina and Ry are crying on opposite sides of a wall once again.

(It's Tuesday, and Ry leaves his room hungry and utterly cried empty; his stomach churning and his eyes bloodshot and bleary. He steps out the door tiredly, and it falls close with a smooth click.

That does nothing, though, to wake the woman curled against the wall beside his room. Regina's dark hair is tousled, her eyes shut tight, and her back slumped against the wall in what must be a deeply uncomfortable position. Ry feels his eyes well up again, and he hastily blinks the tears away before crouching down next to Regina. He takes her hand gingerly and cradles it, gulping in deep breaths, before he can bear to look at her face without sobbing like a little boy.

He wants to fix this so badly his heart aches. He isn't that boy, hasn't been him since he'd started his knight training in another world, but right now he wants to shake Regina awake and let her hold him while he's weeping.

But she looks so peaceful, even with mascara and tear streaks all over her face. Ry considers carrying her to a bed or couch, but then shyly wonders if that would be an intrusion of privacy, and settles on fetching her blankets and pillows instead. He tiptoes down the stairs, makes himself some tea and dry toast, then picks up another blanket and sits against the door to his room.

He sips at his mug and watches Regina sleep, allowing himself to relax as the clock above his head ticks away the seconds. If it's an intrusion, it's a gentle one.

Regina needs the sleep desperately, as does Ry the silent time to think. He doesn't dare wake her up, doesn't want to, either, until up to the point where Regina's slumber becomes fitful. She presses up against the wall, her eyelids fluttering restlessly, and her face contorts as she whimpers in her sleep. It's devastating to witness, and Ry almost throws his mug at the wall in frustration, but he doesn't wake her up. He doesn't even move closer; just clenches his hands to fists and observes her distress despairingly.

He doesn't move closer, because he is not, he hasn't earned the title of her—

Regina wakes eventually, brushing off Ry's concerns for the sake of apologizing to him, again.

By then, Ry has pretty words neatly laid out on his tongue, and it sounds mechanical as he explains, "It was like the day I was knighted, because this job is so important to me, so I got…"—scared— "carried away. I'm sorry, Regina, but I can't—it would feel like I'd be doing a disservice to the mother I knew, you know?" And Regina nods and nods, her face mangled into a smile, and assures him that she understands.

All the while Ry is burying his real reasons deep beneath put together words and attitude. Because he will never feel worthy. He will never live up to whom Regina really sees when she looks at him; her little prince, who is brave and kind. Her son, the real Henry, who always does the right thing when life gets hard.

Unlike Ry, the once-boy king, whose birth mother had never truly existed, and whose grandparents had always just been cheap copies. Ry, who had held a sword to Regina's throat and told her that she deserved to die alone.

Ry, who, rationally, knows that she has forgiven him and that she always will. Who is painfully aware of the fact that he has forgiven her, and that they're long past that.

He shouldn't be able to hurt her any more, and he shouldn't be terrified of something as simple as having a mom.

Regina has come to mean so much to him, and maybe that's why he keeps averting making it official. Because his life, real as it may have been, has played out in a kingdom of steady stillness, where nothing ever changed except people aging; and after his grandparents' death, only the thirst for happiness or revenge kept him from feeling numb.

Now, it's expected that love—a family's love—will remain his ultimate goal, and if he comes to accept that love, what if it fades into the background like it always has? What if it won't be enough, and he'll fall back to restless searching?

It's why Regina and Ry tentatively keep that evening's talk on the surface, and only take a close look at each other's faces when they think they don't notice.)

It's a late Friday night, which means that Ry and Henry meet up on Main Street in front of Regina's office, exchanging knowing glances as they look up at her window and see the light filtering through the curtains.

"She really should rest more," Henry grumbles under his breath, balancing three hot tea cups in his arms before he hands one to Ry. "I bet she doesn't even get paid for half of the stuff she's doing."

Ry smiles slightly in his older self's direction, the sheriff star visibly—proudly—displayed on his jacket. He hopes that he is going to grow up to be like Henry one day. He's handsome (not to flatter himself, but Ry isn't wrong), brave, kind, smart—and loved.

"I tell her that every day," Ry huffs, taking the cup and blowing on it to cool it off. "I don't think she's doing any of this for money, though."

"True," Henry sighs, pushing open the door and entering City Hall. Loud echo follows their steps as they make their way through it, their chatter light and weirdly brotherly.

Something stirs.

A shadow is hiding behind a giant marble pillar.

"Henry—" Ry begins, his words fading in the sheer enormity of the hall. They are interrupted by quick, steady footsteps, and Ry whirls around, releasing a breath when he sees who's standing before them. He could've sworn that the shadow had hidden in another direction, but he's no King anymore, just a teenage boy, and he's not exactly the aim of political schemes any longer.

"Mom!" Henry smiles widely, kissing Regina's cheek and pushing the paper cup into her hand. "Don't drink just yet," he smirks, arching a brow challengingly. "I asked Granny to add some herbs that'll make you sleepy. So, you know, you'll actually stop working for an hour or two." At Regina's doubtful face, he rolls his eyes. "I'm joking, of course. I'm serious about the resting part, though."

"I will," Regina promises kindly, if not quite sincerely, and she steps forward to hug them both at once. "Just maybe not this year quite yet, all right? I'm joking," she echoes with a smirk, and Ry laughs as they sweep out of City Hall together.

All of a sudden, Ry's honed senses tingle frantically. He wriggles out of Regina's arms and moves to draw his sword, but of course, he isn't carrying any weapons.

"All power to DunBroch!" a skinny man cries, emerging from behind the next pillar, and before neither Regina nor the Henry's can move away, he empties his pockets and withdraws a crumbly red powder. Careful not to touch it with anything but his gloves, the man throws it at Regina with an unpracticed gesture.

It doesn't take expertise, though.

The powder gathers together in a red cloud and, fast as lightning, attacks Regina's arms and torso. Ry stands frozen as she raises her arms in defense and manages to dissipate about half of the dust without it doing any harm. The rest drizzles down on her, biting her skin and burning through the fabric of her shirt. Henry beside him is paralyzed with shock; his eyes are wide, and Ry imagines that they look a lot alike in that moment.

There's a tinge of burnt flesh in the air.

Regina's eyes harden. She clenches her teeth and raises her chin, poofing the attacker away in a cloud of purple magic. Only then, when there's no one but the three of them to witness, Regina wavers and drops to the ground on her knees, marred hands drawn to her chest.

"Mom!" Ry and Henry shout at once, unfrozen, rushing to her side just in time to catch her.

Regina sags into Henry's arms, lines of pain around her eyes and mouth, and he adjusts her on his lap with practiced moves as though he's done it countless times before. And maybe he has, Ry ponders, dread weighing heavy in his stomach as he looks at the fallen Queen. Burn marks wind over the delicate flesh of her palms, blood tainting her fingertips bright red, and there are drips of it on her white blouse, indications that the same injuries cover more than they can see.

"Mom," he hears Henry whisper, and Ry joins him at Regina's side, both of them featuring the same scared expression. Regina chuckles softly, then winces, and insists, "I'm fine. Maybe… tired."

In response to that, she gets two parts exasperated and very much loving looks. "Mom," Ry scolds. He quickly turns to Henry, inquiring, "Are you carrying your… cell phone with you?"

Henry nods, shooting glances at Regina, who seems to be fighting hard to keep her eyes open. "As a matter of fact, I—" he reaches into his jeans pocket, frowning, then quickly searches his jacket. "—forgot my phone. What about you?" Henry's tone adopts a hint of urgency as he gently takes one of Regina's hands in his, murmuring nonsensical assurances intended to keep her focused. "I don't have one," Ry answers, "but I can go look if someone's outside. Do you think we could carry her?"

"Probably," Henry offers. "It might hurt her, though. You could check outside, and then maybe her office? I think she left her cell there. You know the number of the hospital?"

"Of course," Ry says, his heartbeat quickening as he considers the severity of Regina's injuries. "I'll be right back. Hold on, Mom."

He holds his promise; it can't have been more than five minutes until he's back with Henry and Regina, bringing bad news. Both the entrance door and the one leading upstairs to the office rooms are locked, the keyholes melted with what seem to be strong doses of the red powder. At least he's found a first aid kit in a cupboard next to the stairs.

Henry nods somberly, as though he'd expected hitches to occur. He quickly informs Ry that Regina had lost consciousness—'she does that a lot,' he admits with a tight voice, and though Ry feels a bit like he's missing out, he's beyond glad that Henry knows what to do—and also that he'd made a quick assessment, and is almost sure that her life isn't in danger.

Ry nods in relief, kneeling down beside Regina. Henry opens the kit, retrieving antiseptic and cotton pads, bandages and some other potion-like flasks that Ry knows nothing about. Henry unscrews them and hands them to the boy, patiently explaining how to use each item to treat Regina's injuries.

They work in silence after that, gentle and careful in their task, each pondering over how to get out of here and to a hospital, and how soon anyone will notice they're trapped. Friday night is usually a late dinner with the three of them, sometimes other family members in various combinations—Ella and Lucy, Emma with Hope, Robin and Alice, Zelena and Chad, Snow, David, and Neal, one of the Killians, Tiana, Gideon, Maleficent, even Drizella with her sister (all of them have some kind of history with Regina, and the list goes on and on, it makes Ry's head spin.)

Tonight, though, it's supposed to be just the three of them, which hopefully doesn't mean their absence won't be discovered until the morning.

The silence stretches on, almost comfortable, until Henry asks in a casual voice, "So, how are you and Regina getting along?"

Ry smiles. "Fine, I think," he says, unsure of the intent of the question. "Really good, actually."

"I noticed you called her 'Mom,'" Henry proceeds. Ry freezes, his vision blurry because he's focusing so hard on the cotton pad in his hand. An apology sits on the tip of his tongue, because Henry is her real son, right? Her only son for so many years. And he can't possibly approve—

He feels a warm hand on his shoulder and looks up into Henry's eyes. He smiles warmly, almost delightedly at him, this other version of him that he's decided to take on as his younger brother, and tells him before Ry can respond, "I'm so happy for you. You deserve it, both of you."

The words are uttered lightly, but Henry is no fool, and they're both acutely aware that they mean the world.

"I haven't dared do it before," Ry whispers, his reserve broken. "Once, it slipped… but then I told her it was a mistake."

"I know," Henry admits, inspecting the wound on Regina's wrist with a sharp intake of breath. He smiles sadly. "Mom was really scared. She constantly thinks she's doing everything wrong by you, that she's overwhelming you and keeping you away from Ma. I guess she's afraid you think Emma is your… real mom and that she's holding on too tight." He meets Ry's wide eyes. "They're both my moms, and they figured that out a long time ago, but believe it or not, that was a hard battle for all of us. I know the situation is different with you, but it's all tangled up with a really painful history, and I'm sorry."

Ry is staggered. This is new information; judging by Henry and Regina's relationship, it's hard to believe it hasn't always been this way. Of course, he's heard snippets of the story how Emma and Regina came to be co-mothers, but it's a long tale, and he knows only the basics. Regina would tell him if he pushed, he knows, because she's honest with him (and he's ashamed to think how insincere he's been with his feelings as of late), but they've had so much to talk about, and she's ever curious about his life back in the Enchanted Forest.

"I know it hurts her," he admits to Henry, quietly, and his counterpart listens with a neutral expression. "But… I don't know how to stop. I'm… I just feel confused sometimes. Lost," he adds, almost inaudibly.

Henry nods, his eyes on Regina again. Ry wonders if they're going to inspect all her wounds, blushing at the thought. He wants to help, but she's still… their mom. Henry will know, though, and that calms him.

"That's understandable," Henry answers. "It took me some time to get used to the whole former-Evil-Queen thing, too. And you… well, you grew up knowing her as the ultimate villain. Add to that the circumstances of your first encounter… it's got to be hard."

"It was," Ry says, wondering just how much Henry knows about their history. He had freed her from his dungeons, after all, but had Regina told him about the sword fight? About how Ry had almost killed her before her words had changed his mind?

Ry takes in a sharp breath, gathering all the courage he can find. "But that's not why."

"Sorry?" Henry says, momentarily distracted by the long pause and a particularly nasty-looking burn.

"The Evil Queen thing… it's not why I keep running away from calling her my mom," Ry repeats, self-conscious. Henry frowns, then looks at him curiously. Ry goes on, "I… sometimes I'm scared, too. She's lived so long before she even knew me, and… you're impossible to live up to. She loves you so much," he mumbles.

Henry's face breaks into a smile, warm and bright, and before Ry can react to it, he's already engulfed in a hug. Regina safely between the two of them, the two Henry's embrace, and when the older one pulls away, he looks at his younger version and says simply, "Mom will tell you that herself once you both stop being idiots, but she loves you, Ry."

And in that moment, spoken by one of the people Regina cares about most in this and any world, it feels like a universal truth.

It is.

(It's shortly after that Emma storms in, guns blazing. She speedily informs them that she has the night shift today, and just when she was about to go on patrol, this short bony man had appeared in the sheriff station. She'd locked him up, and after a few, not entirely non-violent inquiries—she'd panicked the moment she'd sensed Regina's magic—she had figured out that the Queen and their sons were trapped in City Hall.

Regina is placed on a stretcher, and Ry is graciously allowed to accompany her in the ambulance car while Emma and Henry follow in the yellow bug.

The paramedics assure him that her injuries are, though painful, far from life-threatening.

He holds her hand all the way to the hospital, anyway.

Regina recovers quickly; in fact, the minute she wakes up in a world full of white, she's out and about and before they can stop her, again unconscious on the hallway floor. Emma goes a round or two with her healing magic, and within a week, the Queen returns to her office.

The attacker is shipped back to his rightful kingdom, and Merida visits personally to apologize for the incident. She entrusts Regina that the Clans, previously despising her, had grown exceedingly obsessive over the past years, and wish her to take over all the realms as Queen. An alliance is formed fast, and Regina convenes meetings for the leaders of all the worlds in order to discuss if such a position would be desirable.

Ry and Henry grow closer, too; soon, Henry introduces the idea of more frequent family gatherings so Ry can get used to the sheer quantity of people they know.

And it is Henry only that Ry pays a visit to when he's upset about his own cowardice. Regina had woken the week before, her eyes slowly blinking open to the sight of Emma and her sons hovering over her. Henry had hugged her and whispered, "Mom," his relief apparent and overwhelming, and then Ry had said, "I'm so glad you're okay," and stumbled over his words, eventually adding, quiet and ashamed, "Regina."

She had blinked, and then smiled with so much love in her eyes, and Ry could have pretended that she hadn't noticed at all. But the day after, she had suggested he have dinner with Emma sometime soon, 'so you can get to know your other mom,' and neither of them had been sure if by that she meant, 'beside the first Emma' or 'beside me.'

Ry goes to Henry to tell that story, and he suspects strongly that Henry knows the other side of it, too. And is secretly slamming his head against a wall because Ry doesn't just get himself together and call the woman who's come to be his mom—his mom.

But he can't. He can't.

Can he?)

It's Sunday, and Regina is just working herself to death now. Immediately after returning home, she had been handed back the job of the mayor, having always been the most qualified to manage Storybrooke smoothly and steadily. Add to that the fact that she feels it's her duty to hold together all the thousands of new kingdoms, and it's clear just why her family is worried about her.

She loves this job, though, so all they do is not-so-subtly urge her to get some rest, and hope that the situation will balance somewhat soon enough.

It's Sunday evening, and finally, the door clicks open. Ry hurries down the stairs to greet her, pressing a kiss to her cheek and taking the enormous stacks of paperwork out of her arms, into her office. When he returns, Regina is just putting her jacket away, leaning against the wall heavily.

Ry frowns, opening his mouth to speak. She gives a tired smile and cuts him off gently. "I should work less, sleep more, I'm quite aware. Ry." She slips on her fluffy socks, padding into the kitchen. "I'm fine!" she shouts over her shoulder, half laughing, and he merely raises a brow when he follows her and sees her slumped on a kitchen chair.

"We're close to a solution," she offers, eyes already drooping close in exhaustion. "We'll need someone to unite us… I think Snow wants to help sort out everything around candidates, and an election. I'll keep out of it… there's still so much work regarding infrastructure and finances; she can do the socializing." Regina's eyes slip close, her head dropping on her arms on the table surface.

"Right," Ry mutters, rolling his eyes in a motion he absolutely did not copy from Regina and Henry. "Maybe you could go to bed for an hour or two, while I cook dinner?"

Her head shoots up, and her knee hits the table hard. "No!" Her face screws up in pain, and Ry makes an unsure step forward. Regina sighs. "I appreciate the offer, but that's not your job. Give me a minute, do your homework, all right? Dinner will be ready in half an hour." She smiles again a tired smile and waves her hand to usher him out of the room. He doesn't think to correct her, being he doesn't go to school and doesn't technically have any assignments to finish. Instead, Ry shakes his head in exasperation and heads back to his room.

There, he extracts his new phone from one of the drawers in his room and types a message to Snow. 'Hey, grandma,' he pushes the letters on the screen very slowly, rethinking and then deleting 'grandma.' He's not quite brave enough to reclaim those labels that he'd once used so easily, and he doesn't want it to seem like a manipulation. 'Hey. Regina mentioned something about you assisting in the organization of the elections. I was wondering, could you maybe bend it so the candidates can also be nominated by the people around them? I know R. wouldn't think of writing herself on that list, but she deserves it. And could it stay a secret? So she won't be trying to back out or be disappointed if the people end up not voting for her. Thanks. -Ry'

The answer comes almost immediately, the Snow icon smiling brightly at him from its place in the top left corner of the screen. 'Hi, Ry! I had the same thought!' The boy is puzzled by the flood of small yellow faces blinking at him before he decides to ignore them and move on. It's been a year, but some things you don't ever get used to. 'Didn't think about keeping it a secret though. Smart. I'll see what I can do. I'm not that good at keeping secrets,' Ry frowns at this, a detail he remembers grandma Queen Snow mentioning, but never elucidating. 'but she does deserve this. You're a good son. Love, grandma'

You're a good son. Love, grandma. For a moment, Ry just blinks, almost unaware of the tears caught in his lashes. He stares at the words, and there's a feeling settling lightly in his head. He rereads them, wondering at the emotions they evoke, and he realizes them for what they are.

Home.

There's a soft knock at the door, and Ry locks his phone and throws it on the floor, brushing a hand over his wet eyes.

Regina enters the room. Ry squints; she's holding a plate with a delicious smelling dish, soft shades flickering over her face from the light of one single candle.

"Hey," she says gently, sitting down next to Ry on the bed. "So, I know we don't normally do dessert before dinner, but—" Regina smiles, almost insecure.

"Apple pie," Ry whispers, stunned. He looks at the single candle, then at Regina's face. She smiles again, and it's almost too much. "Is this—"

"Our one-year anniversary," Regina confirms, settling down the plate on her knees before reaching for Ry's hands. "One year ago you decided… well—"

"Not to kill you," he finishes for her, his eyes shining.

"We hugged," Regina offers with a soft laugh.

"We did," Ry acknowledges, and the tears are just running freely now, spilling down his cheeks and hers. He squeezes her fingers and then gently retrieves them, instead placing the apple pie on the floor and crushing her in his embrace. She smiles, and he smiles, and they laugh, and it's teary, and somehow, it's all.

A breeze comes from the open window and the tiny candle flickers and goes out, but he doesn't even notice; doesn't need to make a wish.

Because of course, he'd known. He'd kept this date locked in the back of his mind, marking it as special silently and naturally. He shares his birthday now, but this day is his—it's theirs.

And Regina's eyes are glassy with exhaustion, but she'd stood up and baked him an apple pie, the sugary, sticky kind he'd told her he'd always loved best. And of course, she'd remembered, too. She looks at him with so much love, spilling out of her eyes, fierce and alive, and it's background music only in the way it sings and moves, the way it always surrounds him, without expectation or fear.

He hugs her tighter, and at that moment, it doesn't take him bravery or courage or confidence. All it takes is an unapologetic feeling of truth.

"I love you, Mom."

She holds him close, her little boy no matter at which point of history they'd met. "I love you, too," she says, and there's no doubt in the world. The universe spins, at the exact right pace at the exact right time, and Regina tells her son, "I love you."

(Always have.

Always will.)