She's jolted awake by her phone, sitting up in bed and checking the caller I.D. It's a Private Caller and Regina debates whether or not she should answer. Something in her gut twists.

So she does.

"Hello?"

"Miss Mills?"

"Speaking," she says, tiredly, her voice raspy.

The man on the phone clears his throat before launching into why he's called at such an hour. Regina's already up and getting dressed, hurrying out the door before he even finishes talking.

Her hands grip her steering wheel so tight that her knuckles are bone-white and she tries her hardest to keep her tears at bay.

Once she goes through the hell of paying for parking, she runs as quickly as she can to the information desk.

"I'm looking for -"

"Miss Mills?"

Regina whips around and sees a doctor and a man in a suit. Her heart is stuttering in her chest and she clenches her hands into fists to try to compose herself.

"What happened?"

Her ears are buzzing by time they explain that Emma and Neal were driving home from dinner and were struck by a pickup truck. Neal had died on impact, Emma had just passed away on the way to the hospital.

"Where's Henry? Their son, was he with them?"

"No, Miss Mills," the man in the suit says, empathetically, and Regina wants to punch him. "He was being taken care of by a Belle French."

She swallows, her throat constricting. "Why am I here?"

"You were Miss Swan's emergency contact," the doctor tells her. "And you're also the person she listed to take in Henry if anything was to happen to her."

Before she can respond a voice, a British voice, behind her asks, "I'm looking for a Mister Spencer?" at the courtesy desk.

"Ah, there he is," the man, Mister Spencer, says. He walks around her. "Mister Locksley, over here, if you please."

The man walks up behind her, stands to her right. "What's happened?"

They tell him the story and Regina takes the time to catch her breath before wondering, who is this guy, and why is he here?

"Mister Locksley is Neal's emergency contact," Spencer explains. "He's also the other person listed on who would take Henry if anything were to happen."

"Wait," Regina says, growing impatient. "You mean to tell me that we're both listed? We don't even know each other."

The doctor and Spencer look at each other.

"With due respect," Spencer starts and Regina just knows she's going to have to stop herself from losing her temper, "it's not our decision. You two are listed, you two decide how to proceed. Together, one of you taking care of him, or putting him in the foster system."

"I would never put him in the system," Regina practically spits. "His mother was a foster child."

Locksley decides to pipe in. "If we both decided to take care of him, would we shuttle him back an-"

"It's up to you, and to the courts," Spencer interjects.

"Where is Henry now?" Locksley asks, and he sounds just as pissed as Regina feels.

"He's with Belle at Emma and Neal's home."

Regina and Locksley take a chance to share a look.

"We're supposed to, what, stay there?" Regina asks, not kindly.

"Well," Spencer begins, and great, Regina's probably going to lose it this time. "For the night, that would be wise. Henry's probably already asleep."

Regina nods and looks at Locksley again.

"You two go and here," Spencer gives Regina a card with a name, a number and an address. "That's where Henry's social worker is. Be there for 8 a.m. to discuss the court issue and to resolve the situation with him and you two."

And with that, he's gone, leaving Regina seething because what even was his job?

She turns to Locksley. "Do you know how to get to their house or do you need a ride?"

"I know how to get there," he says and he looks tired. "Call me Robin, by the way."

She nods. "Regina."


It's weird being inside their house, knowing they're gone. Robin and Regina are quiet as they get through the front door, seeing Belle sitting in the chair beside the lamp with a book. Her eyes are puffy so Robin's willing to guess that she got a phone call a while ago.

"Oh, you must be Robin," Belle says. "And Regina, hello."

Regina smiles at the girl and turns to look at Robin.

"Henry's asleep. He's been a bit fussy but I think that's past now." She looks between them for a moment. "I'm sorry for your loss."

Robin doesn't know how to respond, is only able to nod and look away. He hears Regina say something to Belle, sees her give her some money.

"If you need anything, Regina, you have my number. Just call me, alright?"

"Thanks, Belle," Robin says before Regina can have a chance, and he ushers her out of the house. He can't breathe, he needs to go for a walk or break something. Or drink.

He sees Regina just stand there and he doesn't know what to do, if she expects comfort or if she's in the same boat as him.

"I'll, uh, I'll take the couch in Henry's room," Robin says after a moment of awkward silence.

"I'll take the spare room, I guess," she says quietly, in a defeated sort of way. She looks tired.

Robin stuffs his hand in his pocket, doesn't know what to say or how to carry on. "Do you want to join me for a drink before bed? We could both use one."

"I'm not a drinker."

"Maybe some other time, then." And he winces, because it came off as a come-on and he hopes to God she doesn't think that's what it was.

He sees her nod and not respond, thank God.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning, Robin."

"You, too. Regina."

He watches her walk up the stairs, sees the way her steps are measured and the way her breath is hitching, and he knows she's going to cry as soon as she's behind closed doors.

So is he, can feel it in the tightening of his throat and the soreness of his chest.

He forgets the drink, counts to forty instead. He grabs the blanket from the couch and walks up the stairs slowly, quietly.

He shucks his clothes off to his boxers, pulls out the futon, and curls himself underneath. He steadies his breathing enough before he actually starts crying, although the tears remain unfallen in his eyes.

He knows he won't sleep, he knows it. But he wants to try so he can be here for Henry when the morning comes.

So he counts again, until he doesn't see anything and can't hear his thoughts.