Author's Note: I've been fascinated for quite a while by the question of how, if at all, Regina and Daniel could stand a chance as a couple if he had been restored to life. What with Regina's dark past and Daniel's long absence, I see many obstacles in their way... I finally started writing this in November for NaNoWriMo 2013 and it's still in progress. The timeline is post-Neverland but Peter Pan never switched bodies with Henry, and there is no New Curse. I hope this story has some feels and food for thought to offer those of you who, like me, still have a soft spot for Stable Queen after all this time.

Chapter 1

Consequences

Three bouquets of lilies. It had all started with just one. The second one came after that, shortly before the Curse. And a third one now - for the first time. It has only been a few weeks. How strange, she muses, how strange that feels. It could just as well have been yesterday, or several lifetimes ago.

The massive shape of the crypt looms dark before her. She reminds herself to watch her step on the way - the terrain is tricky as it is, not to mention the stilettos she is wearing, and the gravestones scattered everywhere do not make her job any easier either.

Regina stops at the door of the crypt with her hand on the handle, and takes a deep calming breath. It's a tradition of sorts. It didn't start out like one - it was supposed to be a one-time-only thing. But days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years, and it never became any easier. So she does it every time, every week: the flowers, and the breathing, and the reminiscing.

She pushes the door open with a creak - an unsettling sound, and more so at this early hour. Regina knows the cemetery well and the Mills family crypt better yet. There is nothing to fear, except maybe the dead - the ghosts from her past. These dead, these ghosts, however, are the reason she is here in the first place. Her heels give off a sharp, click-clacking noise that echoes in the domed crypt as she makes her way to the newest coffin.

"Hello, Mother," she says quietly. It feels wrong, somehow. "Mama," she whispers. The flowers leave a thin snaking trace in the fine layer of dust as Regina places them on top of the coffin.

"Hello, Daddy," her voice wavers slightly, and she brushes a spider-web aside before she places the second bouquet on top of the coffin that says Henry Mills, Beloved Father. Oh, the times she has stared at those words, listening to the voices in her head argue. How very hypocritical of you, one would say, considering you, and only you, are the one who killed him. I never wanted to, the other voice would retort tearfully, I loved him... Regina shakes her head, as if she were chasing off an annoying insect.

"I'm back," she says loudly, perhaps unnecessarily so, and perhaps it's to hush up the voices in her head. "I know I haven't been here in a while, but I was out of town. Out of this world, to be precise. You see, Henry was in danger, and we went to the rescue." It still astonishes her: heroes and villains, pirates and queens, the saviour and the two idiots - united for a common goal. "Everything is alright now. We are back, all of us, and Henry as well. Neverland is no more." She relishes the thought. The wretched island disappeared form the face of earth, swallowed by the ocean. Pan will never hurt her son again.

She brushes a strand of hair from her face. The coffins rest there unresponsive, cold and lifeless. Her parents, both of them gone, both - though in different ways - killed by herself.

"I didn't want this," she confesses. The matching flowers on the tombs seem somehow out of place. "You would have preferred roses, wouldn't you," she smirks in her mother's direction. Cora can no longer interfere with every aspect of her life, yet Regina resolves to bring two bouquets of lilies next week, and one of red roses. "I'll be back soon," she promises.

The third bouquet seems heavier than the previous two, though she really cannot see why it would be. She needs to get a tighter grip, a two-handed grip, before she reveals the secret staircase and descends to the belly of the chamber. It's cold here, and she feels her skin crawl. The double door looms closer and closer with each step. She could swear she can hear her own heart beating in her throat. Every time.

Every single time it's the same. Her legs threaten to give in under her, and the strangest emotions fight a ferocious battle inside her. The prospect of that door, and what lies beyond, makes her shiver with excitement as well as nerves. Her heart pines for the chamber, yet cries because it has so little to offer to dull the pain. It is a pain she always feels to some degree, but which will flare up at times and burn so hot she half expects her heart to just turn into ashes in her very chest. That pain will come when she enters the door. It always does. But so does a strange elation. She's as close to him there as she can ever be.

The door handles are cool to the touch, yet her palms are sweaty. There, her heart sighs, there, the coffin. The glass shimmers eerily in the darkness. Regina approaches it with almost religious piety. It's empty, she reminds herself. It's empty, and I'm utterly foolish. But it's all I have left now. She never talks to Daniel aloud. Not because he isn't really there physically, but because, well, it seems unnecessary - Daniel always understood her better than anyone, and they would often find they could communicate without words. And now he's gone. I wonder if he can hear me. What if he could? Wouldn't it be nice, if the dead could hear our thoughts? Daniel must know mine by heart by now. It's always the same. I miss you, her heart cries in a desperate fit.

Regina strokes the cold glass, gazes at the faded polstering. The lilies are for Daniel. Daddy would not mind what flowers she brought him as long as she came, but Daniel...Daniel and she had a special floral history, and lilies were simply the best choice for him. She smiles, almost feeling like the young girl she used to be back then, and is entirely baffled by where that emotion comes from. Daniel has that effect on her. Sometimes she returns from the cemetery almost reinvigorated, sometimes devastated. Mostly she ends up devastated by the end of the day at the latest. Yet there is no question at all of breaking the habit. I must go, she dispatches a telepathic wave. I'll be back again - as always. Goodbye, Daniel.

Why does the way out always feel like a cowardly escape? The heels hit the floor sharper and quicker than before, and the air feels chilly and hostile. It only makes matters worse, because tears are all the more prone to welling up in her eyes this way. Her foot is on the first step pf the staircase when she stops abruptly.

Something is wrong, very, very wrong. She can sense it before she even realises it, and even though her brain tries to block it out automatically, her instincts don't lie. Shivering, she turns and lets her gut lead her right towards the chamber of hearts. Her own heart beats in stampede against her ribcage, threatening to break out. The hearts! I can't hear the hearts! She turns a corner and runs the rest of the way.

The darkness is almost complete, just like the silence. No, she winces. This cannot be. The familiar glow normally emanating from each container is not there. Neither is the soft whisper of hushed heartbeats. Panting slightly, Regina conjures a ball of bright orange fire on her open palm. The flickering flames illuminate the forlorn chamber. Regina wrings a drawer open brusquely with her other hand - empty. Panic builds up in her. She proceeds to open the drawers one by one, and slams each one shut again, all with the same result. The hearts are gone.

Sunshine pierces his eyes ruthlessly, and he raises his hands to shield his face. What a warm sensation, even this thin sunlight there is. He blinks. Is this a dream, or is this reality? Where am I? What am I? He lets his arms drop again, but keeps his eyes shut for the time being. Gingerly, he presses a hand on his chest where the heart is. The rhythmical beating sends tingles down his spine. My heart. It's been so long.

After the shock of the realisation wears off, he finally dares open his eyes. He must still squint, but the outlines of his surroundings come into view now. A wall on the left, and windows, too, through which the sunlight is streaming in; a wall on the right; and is that a door over there? I'm standing in a corridor. The place looks vaguely familiar, but there's too little to go on for him to place it.

I will get there. I have time. I'm alive.

The horses neigh and whinny one over the other. Anita turns the corner, repeating the daily chores under her breath. She pays no attention to the horses' unrest; indeed she does not notice it. She discovers the source of the commotion soon enough, though, as she rounds the corner and almost bumps into a stranger standing in the middle of the corridor, squinting into the sun.

"Excuse me, sir?" she blurts out. "We aren't open yet. How did you get in?" The horses are making a mighty racket, she hears it now. "Stop it. Whoa, whoa. It's alright," she attempts what she hopes is a reassuring tone. She seems to have upset them more instead. She sighs in exasperation. Her mother would have known what to do, but she's gone now, and Anita has never learnt. Horses just aren't her thing.

Not so for the stranger. The man approaches the nearest stall holding a mighty, particularly unruly bay, and raises a hand to the animal's nostrils. A few muttered words, and the horse stops kicking at the planks, and lets the man stroke his neck. The crescendo subsides immediately.

"I don't know how you did that..." she stutters, "but I'm afraid you can't stay anyway. I will have to ask you to come back later."

"I didn't mean to intrude," the stranger replies.

His voice sounds raspy, as if he had forgotten how to use it. Now that she looks at him closer, his ornate white jacket seems out of place, too, and it's definitely seen better times considering the state it is in. Well, it's not so strange after all, considering all the oddities that have been popping up since the curse had been broken and everyone had realised they were fairytale characters, and now have at least two different personalities plus an additional one to try and reconcile the previous two.

"Can I help you?" she asks politely, wondering what to make of the man in once elegant white, now shabby greyish-brown.

"I hope so," he smiles. "I'm looking for Regina. Can you tell me where I'll find her?"

"Regina?" she frowns. "You mean - Mayor Mills?" The man's look goes blank. "The Evil Queen?" she tries anew. Surely he will know one if he doesn't know the other. He remains entirely clueless though.

"That - doesn't sound right," he mumbles, scratching his head. "Well... Are there multiple Reginas around here?"

That is definitely a funny question. "Just the one," she admits. "At least that I know of. Regina Mills."

"Mills? That will be her. Could you point me in her direction?"

"Of course. Everyone knows the way, and you can't miss 108 Mifflin Street - it's the most ostentatious lot in town."

It's only after the door of 108 Mifflin Street slams shut behind her that Regina slows her pace. Her head swims with thoughts, and has been since she'd left the crypt. If one heart were missing, that would be strange - but all of them? Regina senses danger behind the mystery. What's happening? Where are the hearts? Who could have stolen them, and why? Surely this could mean no good. Regina shouldn't care about those hearts too much; in fact, this should be a relief to her. They would only hinder her on the road to the better self she has embarked upon. Yet this sudden, inexplicable disappearance frightens her.

She crosses to the bar and pours herself a glass of apple cider she made just this morning. The rich taste of apples fills her mouth and, as ever, helps clear her head somewhat. This is no accident. Someone broke into the vault and stole the hearts. Not that I have any need of them now. True, but it's at the same time exactly this that scares her so much - what use could the thief possibly have for the hearts? One thing was certain - they were most probably up to no good. It smells of dark magic.

I need to find out.

But how? Track them down with magic? She uses no magic these days. Not since Neverland anyway - she promised Henry, and frankly, the prospect of taking a break from it was quite alluring after the ordeal of Neverland. There have been tough moments since, of course, but she's proud to say she has resisted the temptation every time. Archie's been of much help, she has to admit. But he can't help in this matter - not with missing enchanted hearts. She can only think of one person in all honesty. Her mouth curls in a disdainful frown. The prospect of talking to this person is not at all appealing.

The cider's gone, she realises after she tries to take another sip and only meets air. Regina sighs and looks up at the clock. She's running late. This unpleasant issue has cost her more time than she can presently afford to lose, and she feels angry for forgetting herself.

Wasting not another minute, she crosses to the kitchen and puts on an apron over her dress. The shoes have become second nature to her, and she's quite unaware of the heels as she begins to move swiftly between the fridge and the counter. Ingredients begin to pile as Regina checks the recipe she's planned for the day to make sure she forgets nothing. Lunch must be flawless today. It's Henry last day at Regina's for the week - he leaves for Emma's tonight.

Regina sighs: the arrangement has been hard on her. Henry seems to be quite happy with shared care, though, and she tries to give him no reason for concern, even though she misses him every minute of every day while gone. Things have been fairly smooth between Emma and her lately, much to their surprise - so much so that Regina has invited Emma and Neal over for lunch today. Can anyone blame her if she wants to outdo herself for the occasion?

As usual, time flies by while she's cooking. Soon the pots are steaming and a delicious smell fills the kitchen. I never would have thought I'd enjoy this, and look at me now. She smirks as she leans over one of the pots, fishes for a little stew, and brings the ladle to her lips. Perfect. She checks the timer on the stove to make sure there's enough time for her to change before the dessert's ready. At first she wanted to make her special apple pie in a crumb with cinnamon chips and vanilla ice cream, but luckily she realised in time that apples might not be the most fortunate choice for the occasion. She's midway down the stairs, refreshed and changed into a dark blue dress, when the timer rings. The raspberry cake sits on the counter within moments, issuing a mouth-watering smell. It has nothing on apples, but it'll do.

The doorbell rings. Regina throws one last look at the spotlessly clean kitchen and flawlessly dressed table, and giving her hair a toss, hurries to answer the door.

"Hi, Mom!" Henry says cheerfully from between his other parents as soon as the door opens.

"Hello, darling," she smiles at him. " Hello, Emma. Thanks for picking him up from school. Neal," she forces a smile, and curses herself for suddenly feeling tense. "Please come in."

"No problem. It was on the way anyway," Emma shrugs as she takes off her jacket and hangs it by the door.

"Something smells great," Neal offers, and looks around somewhat timidly.

He doesn't feel any more comfortable about this than me. Somehow that makes her feel better and worse at the same time.

"Thanks," she nods. "I do hope you're hungry."

"Starving," Emma admits.

"Like a wolf," Henry grins. "What's for lunch, Mom?"

The unusual foursome soon find themselves seated at the dining table eating away happily enough, mostly thanks to Henry's unceasing chatter. He's why they are here, after all - the one thing that binds them all together, the one who makes impossible alliances form and last and even, to some extent, work.

Regina's eyes linger on him fondly. She would have reminded him not to talk with his mouth full once, but this time she doesn't mind so much, and leaves him to talk animatedly, waving his fork around. The threat of losing him still lives on in her heart, and it's made her reconsider more aspects of her life than anyone probably suspects - including the unrelenting strictness with which she used to enforce rules. She feels she might have overdone it at hindsight. Henry's such a precious child, and surely he can get away with a thing or two now and then, without her becoming too lax. It's hard to find the middle ground, but she's trying.

"Mom? Have you been listening?"

"Oh…sorry, sweetheart," Regina says overcome with guilt. "I'm afraid my mind wandered a little. Please go on, I'm listening now."

"That's ok," he says casually, and plunges into it once again.

Regina meets Emma's gaze, and the blonde grins at her. You know our son, she seems to be saying. Regina returns a thin smile.

Our son. When did this even happen? It was in Neverland, of course. Their shared plight somehow formed a bond between them. The incessant bickering about whose son Henry was came to an end when forced to face an outside threat. My son became our son, and they didn't even realise at the time. Regina still feels a sting of bitterness sometimes - he used to be hers only, and now she suddenly has to share. Yet she must admit there is also a lot of comfort in the new alliance. Emma no longer seems like a threat. Henry still wants her, Regina, in his life, no less than he wants his birth-mother, and that makes Regina happy. It could have been worse. Her stomach turns at the memory - how he told her once he never wanted to see her again, how he preferred Emma's company to hers, and how desperate Regina was to prove her love and worthiness to him. The last thing is still true, but it's different now. She feels grateful.

Silverware clatters on empty china plates.

"This was delicious," Neal rushes to say. "A real masterpiece."

"Thanks, Regina, it was great." Emma says with much less pomp, and equally more spontaneity.

"Yeah, Mom. Thanks," Henry chimes in.

"Let me help with dessert," Neal suggests hastily.

"There's nothing to help with, dear." That last word slips out out of old habit, and she bites her tongue, yet cannot suppress a little smirk all the same. "It's all done." And she moves to the counter to cut the cake.

"You…you haven't made apples, have you?" Henry asks anxiously, suddenly worried.

Regina exhales. Thank goodness I remembered. She turns around with the cutting knife in hand.

"Raspberries," she smiles at him. "Raspberries are fine, right?"

"Sure. Raspberries are great." Emma nods approvingly.

She knows, Regina realises with a jolt of panic. She knows how hard this is for me. And she's not sure whether to feel annoyed or appreciative.

She cuts four large slices and sets a plate in front of each of them. "Ice cream?" she offers.

"Me!" Henry calls and shuffles in his chair.

"And me," Emma echoes.

"That'll be all of us," Neal adds.

Regina dishes a scoop of ice cream onto Emma's plate, and one onto Neal's. She hesitates for a moment over Henry's, though.

"Are you sure this won't be too much sugar before bed, Henry?" Is this too much? Too strict? Too lenient? Sometimes these days she just cannot tell what the right amount of parental authority is with him, and she finds this incredibly frustrating.

He gives her a slightly confused look. "I'll be alright, Mom," he says earnestly. "Just a small portion, ok?"

Regina nods. Perhaps this is alright after all. It amazes her sometimes how perceptive and smart her son is - he seems to have gauged her right once again.

She offers them coffee after dessert, and Neal accepts. He's trying to be pleasant, she thinks, he'd probably accept anything else with just the same gusto. Well, it's not a crime. In fact, I should probably appreciate him trying. Emma refuses the coffee and asks for cider instead. Henry only has soda - perhaps to put her at ease after the sugar rush of the dessert.

Henry drains his cup first and stands up.

"Guys, I'll go upstairs and pack my stuff. Be right back," he calls from halfway up the stairs.

Regina's heart sinks. Emma's looking at her, and probably sees right through the brave face she has put on. She sighs into her cup.

"You wanna pick him up at school one of the afternoons? Think of it as a payback for today." Regina surveys her. This time she thinks she's the one seeing right through Emma. They do this, of course - neither of them ever goes the entire week without spending some time with Henry.

All she says is: "I wouldn't dream of leaving a debt unpaid."

Emma smirks. "Great. Call me when you know which day. Now, if you could show me where the bathroom is?"

With Henry upstairs and Emma gone, too, Regina and Neal find themselves alone in the living room. She doesn't mind the silence much, but she can tell he's struggling for something to say. Suppressing a smirk successfully, she merely raises and eyebrow. Rumplestiltskin's son speechless in her presence would have been a delight to the Evil Queen. But is she not supposed to be working on distancing herself from the Queen? Reluctantly, she comes to Neal's rescue.

"I hear you have a new job. Is it treating you well?"

"Yes, I do," he blurts, obviously glad of the ice-breaker. "Pretty well, I would say, although the economy seems to work in strange ways here in Storybrooke. It'll take some getting used to."

"Well, good luck to you."

"Thanks."

He's not much for conversation, she thinks. Then again, perhaps no talk is better than empty talk, although of course society rarely thinks so. I used to think so, she remembers, when I was young. The court taught me otherwise: small talk is everything.

"So, what have you been up to?"

Regina looks at him curiously. What is it that he wants to hear exactly? Perhaps Neal realises the question is way too personal and informal for their level of acquaintance, and tries to improve things by adding: "Workwise?"

Well, this sure doesn't help things much.

"Well, technically I have been unemployed ever since the citizens of Storybrooke had decided I was unfit for Mayorship." Hopefully she managed to make it not sound too sarcastic.

Oops. "Of course. Sorry. Well, that leaves you with some free time, doesn't it?"

"I have rather a lot of time on my hands, yes. I'm sure I will continue to find activities to fill that time with in the future." And then some, she thinks. Take today, for instance: waking up early to another nightmare; getting Henry ready for school was the brightest part; then paying a visit to her beloved dead; and the revelation at the chamber of hearts. Those hearts…who on earth could have taken them?

"I didn't miss anything, did I?" Emma's return is a relief. Neal has just finished his coffee, so the situation was just about to turn critical with him having nothing to sip on and therefore no viable excuse for lack of conversation. Regina looks up at her thoughtfully, and before she can stop herself, the question is out: "Have there been any reports of thefts or private property violation lately?"

Emma looks baffled at the question. Neal looks genuinely interested and unforced for the first time. After a moment's consideration, Emma shakes her head.

"None that I know of. Have you heard something?"

"No, I haven't…" she hesitates, wondering how much to share. "Someone's been inside my crypt that wasn't supposed to be, that's all."

The forced dismissal doesn't fool the sheriff.

"Did they take anything? Was there vandalism? Regina, you should make a full report."

Regina sighs. "I'm sure we're glad you're taking this job seriously, but this is no big deal. I assure you I will make a full report should the situation call for it."

Emma gives her another piercing look, but Regina is unrelenting.

"Alright, Regina," she sighs. "You know where to find me."

"Of course. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll go check on Henry. He's been up there for quite some time now."

Regina rises and heads for the stairs, leaving Emma and Neal behind.

Step by step, the hearts all but dissolve in her mind, and are replaced by a single subject: Henry.

Why is it always so hard to see him go? Every week it's the same, though she's been telling herself it will get better in time. It has not. It's no easier tonight than it was the very first time. Well, perhaps just a tiny little bit. She knows she can see him anytime she wants during the week, and neither Henry nor Emma will take issue. It goes the other way round as well. It's small comfort compared to having him live with her all the time, but it's comfort nonetheless.

"Mom?" she hears him call from his room at the sound of her footsteps. "Have you seen my red scarf?"

"The one with the yellow stripes?" she asks at the door.

"Yeah," he nods and continues rummaging in his wardrobe. Regina shakes her head with a smile.

"Allow me," she makes her way to him. It takes her exactly zero seconds to locate the right drawer, and next thing he knows she's pulling out the scarf in question. "Here it is."

"Thanks, Mom, you're the best. I'll clean this mess next week, I promise." He shrugs apologetically.

She doesn't really hear the second part, though, because she's still stuck on the important words. You're the best. It makes her irrationally happy. She smiles and strokes his hair. She wants to tell him she doesn't care about the mess one bit at the moment. That's not very responsible parenting, an annoying little voice peeps up in her head. Right.

"Alright, Henry. Next week. I'll help if you want."

She crosses to his bed and surveys the pile of clothes he's about to cram into his backpack. She'd have preferred a suitcase, but Henry said it looks ridiculous - he can always come back if he needs more stuff, he said, and it's not as if he were moving out. That gave her some comfort as well, knowing most of his things are still at her place. Without ever being aware of it, she begins to fold the individual items of clothing neatly.

"Mom, I can do that," Henry protests. "I have started, see?"

Regina looks at a small pile. It's tidy enough compared to the rest, but she detects imperfections all the same - he is after all a twelve-year-old boy.

"What, isn't it right?"

Regina gives herself a mental shake. I'm turning into my mother! Cora would have her redo it a thousand times before she got it perfectly right, and Regina would be in tears by the end. I am not my mother.

"No, Henry, it's fine. I'm sorry. You can finish. Is there anything I can do?"

"You can just stay here and we'll talk."

So Regina makes a little space on the edge of the bed and sits down. She drinks in her son's appearance, as if she were trying to etch every detail deep into her mind to feast on while the real him is away. Meanwhile, Henry finishes folding the clothes and stuffs them all into the backpack.

"Done," he says with satisfaction. He looks up at her and frowns a little. "Mom." She catches his eye, realising she has wandered off again. The concern on his face tells her some of her thoughts must have shown on her face. "Don't be sad. I'll be back soon."

"I'm alright," she comes ready with the lie. A stab of guilt pinches at her. There's been enough lying to him in the past, and she would rather not do any more of it, but this is a special case - she does not want to burden him with the truth, and for what? He deserves to be happy, and if having two families sharing his life will make him so, how could she deny him that, or make him feel bad for her? "Really, Henry, I don't want you to worry about me, alright? Have a good time with Emma. I will come pick you up one of the schooldays, it's settled. We can go to the park if you want."

He's giving her that quizzical look she knows and loves so much. She can tell he's weighing her words carefully. She knows deep down he probably senses more of her discomfort than she'd like him to. He moves swiftly, and before she can react, he has flung his arms around her and mutters:

"I love you, Mom."