A/N: I am so sorry for my extended absence, I will explain more at the end for those who are interested. Please enjoy and review.

Henry's head may be filled with over a decade of fake memories, but doesn't mean he can't tell when his mother scheming. He's always happy to spend time with his grandmother but the way Emma mentions it, the lack of eye contact and strange tone screams 'I'm-up-to-something'.

He resists the urge to roll his eyes at his mother's tactics, too straightforward and blunt to make a decent liar and goes along with her plans, simply because they aligned with his own. He greets his grandfather happily at the loft, looking over his quickly growing uncle.

It should be strange, too see his mother's features on an infant and to have an uncle over a decade younger and named for his father but after everything, it seems almost normal. Neal blinks up to him and gurgles, wrapping his tiny fist around David's finger. The sight brings a little pang to Henry's chest and he's glad for his mother's distraction.

"You be good today, okay?" She says, as she pulls him into a hug. Henry squirms, an empty protest as he too feels the weight of a decade of missing hugs. He sighs, thinking sadly that he doesn't have any friends here he has to act 'cool' for anyway.

His mother cradles his head, obviously picking up some of his thoughts and Henry allows himself to be soothed before he pulls away.

"Go sheriff, Mom, Grandma and I will be fine," he hopes his smiling is convincing but can tell from the worried glint in her eye that he's not fooling anyone.

She ruffles his hair one final time before pulling on her coat and waving to Mary Margaret, sending one last, 'see you later, kid,' over her shoulder before she and David are gone.

"Right," his grandmother says decisively, "How do you feel about fresh chocolate chip cookies, Henry?"

He doesn't have to fake his answering smile.

Mary Margaret doesn't broach the topic until they are seated at the table, nibbling at the gooey cookies. Henry laughs at the thought at least one of their family members has some measure of tact.

"How are you doing at school, Henry?" She asks casually.

"Fine," he replies with a mouthful of cookie, "It's better now that everyone knows who they are."

His grandmother smiles and takes a sip of her cocoa, "Not strange that your teacher is Jill from Jack and Jill?"

"No stranger than having my grandmother for a teacher, who is also Snow White."

They laugh for a moment before settling into a comfortable silence, picking up another cookie.

He wonders if he should ease into the conversation like Mary Margaret is attempting to, studying him out of the corner of her eye before he decides to take a page out of his mother's book and simply dive in.

"Do you ever get confused?" He asks haltingly, "About who you are?"

Mary Margaret puts down her cookie and focuses all her attention on him, like she used to when she was his teacher and he started to feel like someone actually cared, "What do you mean, Henry?"

"A lot of people, Grandpa, my other Mom, they have the same name. Why did you decide to go by Mary Margaret?"

Mary Margaret pauses, her brow furrowed, "I don't actually know, Henry, I suppose I was used to being Mary Margaret and, it was what your mother called me, so it kind of stuck."

"But do you wish you could change it?"

Her eyes lock onto his and Henry feels that it's almost like his mother is staring back at him.

"Is that what this is about Henry? Why you've been distant?" She asks gently.

He nods slightly before muttering, "I knew Mom brought me here for a reason."

A soft hand on his own forces his head to jerk up and he almost shrinks away from the fierce light in his grandmother's eyes, "You're here because I like to spend time with my grandson. The fact that your mother was concerned and wanted me to try and talk to you does not make that any less true."

Her hand brushes over his and he wonders again how she found the balance, how the callused hands of Snow White could ever co-exist with Mary Margaret's softness.

"It was when I went back to school, they called the roll and I was listed as 'Henry Mills'. I just don't know if that's true anymore. I know that I wasn't Henry Swan very long, that my memories weren't real," he shakes his head sadly, "I know that Henry Swan wasn't real, but he felt real. His Mom worked way too hard to support them and she still made it to every school event and came home to play games with him after a tiring day of work. He was happy."

"Henry Mills wasn't happy?"

"Henry Mills was more complicated, his life was way weirder. But I want to be both so I thought I'd just talk to my Moms about hyphenating it, you know, officially."

"So, what's the problem then?" She probes gently.

"Then I just had the thought," he clenches his free hand and suddenly finds the corner of the room very interesting, "That I don't know what I would have been named if Mom had been able to keep me."

A heavy silence fills the loft as Mary Margaret continues to rub his hand, "Henry," she says gently and his eyes drift slowly back to hers, matching in the dampness, "Why haven't you asked?"

"I don't want to hurt her," he says thickly.

Mary Margaret gives him a sad smile, "But this is hurting you, so it's hurting her anyway. I think you'll both feel better if you talk about it."

Henry sniffs and uses his free hand to wipe his eyes. His grandmother opens her mouth to speak before Neal's cries echo from the other room.

She steps away from the table and makes it halfway to Neal before she determinedly turns around and pulls Henry into a quick hug, kissing the top of his head. She moves away before he can even process it, a warm feeling pulsing through his being. She back walks into the room with Neal in her arms, Henry having time to compose himself, humming and rocking him.

"How does a walk to the park sound, Henry?"

Henry stands, feeling somehow lighter, "Sounds great, Grandma."

Henry's determination lasts until his mother walks into the loft, eyes bright and cheeks flushed from the cold.

She's so much happier here, he thinks. She was in New York, with just them and sometimes Walsh but she was often overcome by a strange melancholy that he now blames on her past attempting to break through.

The Savior can't sit quietly through a curse.

But here, it's carefree, her laugh can be childlike and open and everything she deserves. Everything she could have had for her whole life had her life been different . And he's the one who's going to bring her past up.

She picks up on his mood, as always, and he doesn't actually notice that they weren't walking home until he picks up on the sea breeze.

He stares over his castle, thankfully returned with the second curse. He's never seen his mother's ancestral home but he almost feel like he has when it's the two of them sitting in it, staring over the water.

"Okay, kid," Emma says gruffly, breaking the silence, "Let's have at it."

"Have at what?" He asks sullenly, knowing she would see through the lie.

"Whatever's been bothering you," she replies, heartbreakingly gentle, "It's not good to keep it all in. I might not be the best role model for that sentiment but I know how much it sucks."

Henry gazes over the ocean, taking in the sound of the waves crashing as he attempts to clear his vision.

"What would you have called me?" He asks in a rush, not looking away from the waves, "If you could have?"

Silence stretches between them and it takes all of Henry's courage to turn his head to look at his mother. Tears are swimming in her eyes but she's smiling, somewhat calming the rapid beats of his heart.

"Oh, Henry," she says, voice breaking, "Is this what's been upsetting you?"

Henry nods, wiping at his eyes and cuddles into her offered embrace.

His head rests in her shoulder, something he feels he's done a million times before but knows it still should be new and exciting rather than natural. He feels her take a deep breath and her voice is remarkably steady when she speaks.

"There was a book of baby names in the prison library, I'm not sure why - someone's attempt at being kind or a sick joke. But, I-uh, flicked through one day, curiosity getting the better of me. I barely got halfway through 'A' before I had to stop but one name stuck with me, it meant 'fiery one'. And you were, always kicking and letting me know you were there."

She looks down, her fiercely loving and proud eyes a contrast to her soft voice, "I would have named you Aiden."

"Aiden," Henry repeats, tasting the name on his tongue. And with that simple word, he feels a weight lift off his chest. It's a small word, but it's a gift and it's his.

They sit under the stars for some time, mother and son together. Who, against all odds, found all the pieces of themselves they thought they had lost along the way.

Henry's not sure how much legality things that happen in Storybrooke are in the rest of The Land Without Magic, but staring at the little document in his hand, proudly declaring his name to be 'Henry Aiden Swan-Mills', he's pretty sure he doesn't care.

A/N: So this has been sitting in my drafts for nearly a year now so I'm glad I could finish it. As for my absence, I had a little creative laps, then I moved countries for work, then had to get a new job, then went travelling around Europe so not much time for writing. I'm probably going to mark this series as completed for now as I don't think I have many more ideas for it but I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who stuck with me and reviewed, it's been awesome.

All the best,

Adrina Stark.