Since moving in together, he's noticed that she hasn't been sleeping well—and he's noticed that she's done everything in her power to keep it from him.

For a while, she'd been successful, hiding behind excuses of preparing early breakfasts and getting a jump start of her day's work—and of course, for a while, the myriad of creams and makeup products she used helped her maintain her facade. But lack of sleep took a toll—her temper was increasingly shorter, her answers increasingly clipped, and the dark circles under her eyes were increasingly apparent. Then, late one summer night, a thunderstorm tore through Storybrooke. Branches snapped and thunder crashed; lightning lit up the sky. It wasn't long before Henry was peeking into their bedroom, holding back his tears as Roland trailed behind him, dragging his blanket complaining about the noise—and it was then that he realized Regina's side of the bed wasn't just empty, it was cold, like she'd been gone for hours.

They found her eventually in the family room, staring out the window as pellets of rain slammed against the panes. She looked tired and dazed, lost in thought and barely cognizant of the storm. The boys didn't seem to notice that though. Instead, they climbed up onto the couch with her and their presence seemed to bring her back to life. She put on a smile and cuddled them close, wrapping them up in her blanket and spinning a story about rival gods who sparred using crashes of thunder and bolts of lightning.

He couldn't help but smile as he sat down on the couch with them, watching as the boys got caught up in Regina's story—and though that was an easy thing to do, he found it difficult to listen because all he could see was her exhaustion.

After that, he'd been more vigilant.

More and more he woke up to find her absent and whenever he asked—not to be nosy or accusatory, but simply because he was concerned—she brushed it off and offered a flimsy excuse.

And that night seemed no different.

Padding down the stairs at just past midnight, he turned toward the dim light coming from the kitchen. He could hear the soft hum of the microwave and the impatient tapping of Regina's fingers on the countertop, and he braced himself for the inevitable fight.

Taking a breath, he reminds himself to keep his voice light. "I was wondering where you were," he murmurs, grinning softly in her direction. "I woke up and you weren't there."

She turns, looking back at him blankly. "Oh, I just… got kind of hungry."

"That's not surprising. You barely ate dinner."

"I wasn't hungry then."

"I know," he murmurs, remembering the way she'd just pushed her food around on the plate, obviously distracted by something. "But at least we have plenty of leftovers. I know I'm not nearly as talented in the kitchen as you are, but I really think I outdid myself with that fried chicken."

"I packed the drumsticks and wings in the boys' lunches. They asked for them." In spite of his worry, he beams. Henry and Roland never request his leftovers. "I made up a plate to take to work tomorrow."

"Oh?"

Biting down on her lip, she looks back at him from over her shoulder. "I'm having Cake in a Cup now."

He blinks. "What?"

"I'm heating up Cake in a Cup."

"Cake in a cup—"

"Yeah, you know, those single servings of cake? You just… dump everything in a mug and—"

"And you have cake in a cup." He nods. "I'm familiar with it. I was a single man, for… a few decades." He grins, trying to make a joke of it, but as soon as the words leave his mouth, he knows they'll fall flat. "That's just… not really something I'd think you would be familiar with."

"Roland tossed it into the cart when we were shopping the other day."

"And you bought it."

She shrugs. "He wanted it."

"You don't have to indulge his every whim, you know."

At that, she looks away and instead of speaking, she slides off the edge of the counter to stand directly in front of the microwave, watching the final seconds count down—and just before the microwave's shrill beep sounds throughout the entire house, she turns it off and opens the door.

He watches as she uses a dish towel to pull the mug from the microwave. "I like indulging him," she says after a moment as she stares down at the mug full of chocolate cake. "It makes him smile." Nodding, he reaches for a spoon and hands it to her. It's not worth arguing over. "It makes him like me," she adds as she accepts the spoon. "And if cake can do that—"

"He doesn't need cake to like you much less love you."

Again, she doesn't reply. Her eyes cast down as she plunges the spoon into the cake and as soon as she tries it, she grimaces. "This is… equal parts flour and sugar."

"I, uh… I remember that." He grins empathetically. "That's why I was surprised you bought it, much less chose to eat it." Regina's eyes press closed and she sets the cup on the counter and sighs. "I could heat you up—"

"No. It's… it's fine. I should just… go to sleep."

For a moment, he just stares at her. "Or… we could stay up and talk awhile." Her eyes open, but they seem expressionless. "If you're in the mood for something sweet, there's that caramel-chocolate popcorn bark stuff—"

"Henry didn't eat it all?"

"No, I kept stealing handfuls from his bowl." He shakes his head. "That kid was going to give himself a stomach ache."

At that, she grins. "He's not great with limits and neither am I."

She stops short of saying more, but as her eyes cast down, the rest is implied.

Reaching out, he takes her hand, giving it a light squeeze. "What's going on?"

"Nothing. I'm just… tired and hungry and—"

"Then you've been tired and hungry for weeks." Her eyes shift up to meet his and for a moment, there's a sharpness in her gaze—but then, it fades. "I'm not trying to argue. I want to help, but in order to do that, I need you to let me in a little. Just tell me—"

"Aren't you tired of this?"

"Of what?" His heartbeat picks up and the longer she hesitates to respond, the faster his heart beats. "Tired of… what?"

"Always picking up the pieces, going from one crisis to the next—"

"Well considering I'm unaware of any crisis—"

Her eyes roll. "Oh, come on. Our entire relationship has been about you helping me manage crises."

He feels his brow furrowing. "I… see our relationship very differently."

"Well, you'll see it eventually," she says, pulling her hand from his. "And eventually—"

"Regina. Don't say whatever you're about to say."

She offers a short nod and her gaze falls to her lap, and again an uncomfortable silence falls between them. He wants to say something, but he doesn't know what to say—and truly, he's not sure there's anything he can say to help, because in all likelihood, she doesn't need to talk. She needs to sleep.

Taking a breath, he moves to the refrigerator to pull out the milk. As he moves toward the cabinets for a saucepan and the honey, he can feel her eyes on him—and for some reason, that makes him smile.

Neither of them say anything as he heats up the milk and stirs in the honey, and when it's thoroughly warm, he pours it into a mug and takes her by the hand, leading her into the family room. Together they settle on the couch. She cradles her mug of honeyed milk in her hands as he fans a thick blanket over them, and for a few minutes, they just sit together.

"Something's clearly bothering you," he begins, "and it's been bothering you for weeks now." Chewing at his lip, he hesitates before adding. "Maybe we need to slow down. You know, moving in together is a huge step and maybe we're not ready for—"

"What? No." Her eyes are wide and full of alarm. "I… I mean, unless… unless that's… unless that's how you feel about it."

He swallows. "Well, no. I… that's not how I feel. I just… I'm trying to understand and… you're not giving me much to work with." Again, she doesn't reply, instead taking a long sip of her milk. "Maybe now isn't the time for this."

Looking over at him, she looks like she's on the verge of tears. "I'm going to lose."

"What?"

"I'm going to lose the election in November."

His brows arch up. "What makes you say that?"

"Everything," she sighs, shrugging her shoulders in resignation. "They don't trust me. I've done too many terrible things. There's just… there's no coming back from it."

He can't say this is out of left field. Ever since the curse broke, she's been worried about her role as mayor—and ever since George announced his own candidacy, that worry has been heightened. In some ways, he understands it. For years, the people of Storybrooke lived in fear of her. They saw her go after political rivals and threats, they watched her consolidate power, and they watched her lash out in an effort to gain control. She hurt people, that was undeniable.

But she'd come a long way since then.

The curse changed her. Storybrooke changed her.

In the Enchanted Forest, there'd been so much driving her—loss and pain, the constant need to prove and defend herself, the hurt that came with never being enough. She'd let her need for revenge get in her way, she'd let it overtake her, she'd let it overshadow her reign.

But in Storybrooke, she had seemingly unlimited chances to get it right—and she did.

For all her faults, Regina Mills was a good mayor and as a result, Storybrooke was a nice place to live—after all, isn't that why so few were clamoring to go back to the Enchanted Forest?

"Um… I got an… advanced copy of the Mirror," she says, bringing his thoughts back to the present. "Sidney did this… whole edition just on me and why residents of Storybrooke should elect anyone else. The whole thing was filled with every terrible thing I've ever done, and…" She shrugs. "And the worst of it was that he didn't even need to embellish. He just… told the truth."

He feels his cheeks warming and his jaw clenching. "Do you have it? I'd, uh… I'd like to see it."

Her eyes roll. "I… might've accidentally burned it." He shouldn't, but he laughs. "But you and the rest of Storybrooke will have the chance tomorrow morning."

He watches as she takes a long sip of the milk, taking a long breath before swallowing it. Her hooded eyes seem heavier and he inches closer, stretching his arm around her shoulders. "Well, in the morning, maybe we should sit down and come up with a counterattack."

"I don't know if that'll help. What's done is done."

"You're usually not such a defeatist."

"Maybe I just know when I've lost."

His eyes narrow. "That's your exhaustion talking."

"No—"

Her head falls to his shoulder and her voice just stops, and for a brief moment, he wonders if she's dozed off. Then, she takes another silent sip of the milk.

"When was the last time you really slept?"

"I don't know."

"It's been at least a week."

"Has it?"

"Yes," he murmurs, dragging his fingers up and down her arm. "I've been keeping track."

"Oh."

"Have you, um… have you seen Dr. Hopper at all?"

"Not this week."

"Last?"

"When I dropped Henry off for his session."

"Did you talk to him?"

She lifts her head and bites down on her lip. "I said hello."

"Regina's that's not—"

"I know. It's just… it's hard and… I don't want to talk about this. I just—" Again, she stops and her head falls back to his shoulder. "The milk will help."

He nods, but he's not so sure. "What about, um… what about the prescription Dr. Hopper wrote for—"

"I don't like taking those."

Once more, he nods. He knows. They've discussed this again and again. Regina wouldn't even so much as touch the bottle of pills in the medicine cabinet. "But, love," he begins in a tentative voice, "they're to help you sleep."

"Robin, they make me feel—" Regina stops and sighs as she lifts her head to look at him, her eyes wide and teary from exhaustion. "What if something happens? What if Henry has a nightmare or—"

"I'll be here."

"But—"

"Regina, it's the middle of the night. The boys are sound asleep, and Henry hasn't had a nightmare in months." She blinks, not immediately arguing, and he takes that as a sign that she's listening. "Sure, it'll knock you out for a solid eight to twelve hours, and sure you might be a little out of it when you wake up, but you'll be rested."

"I just… don't like the way they make me feel."

"And you like feeling absolutely exhausted?"

He smirks as her eyes narrow, and he can tell that she wants to argue, but instead she sighs. "No."

"Let me go get them for you," he says. "You'll take them, we'll put on a movie—"

"And you'll stay up with me until I fall asleep?" He nods as she draws in a breath. "Okay. Fine. Go get them."

Leaning in, he presses a kiss to her forehead. He goes up to their room and finds the unopened prescription before fishing out two of the little peach colored tablets and filling a paper cup up with water. He grins as he looks at the cup adorned with Superman standing tall with his fists on his hips and cape blowing in the night wind.

"Superman's here to save the night," he announces as he rejoins her on the couch, chuckling softly as her brows arch.

"Are you… giving yourself a new nickname?"

"No," he murmurs, holding up the cup. "Just… pointing out the obvious."

Her eyes roll as she takes the Superman cup and then holds out her open hand for the pills. He drops them into her palm and watches as she tosses the tablets into her mouth and gulps down the water.

"What movie did you pick?" he asks as he takes the cup from her and sets it on the side table. "I hope it's not—" He stops as she presses play and the opening credits of Labyrinth begins to play. "Oh, fantastic. It is."

"You know I like this movie."

"I know," he sighs. "For the life of me, I can't figure out why though." He bristles as Regina turns up the volume. "His hair is stupid. It distracts me."

She shrugs and doesn't answer. Instead, she drops her head down onto his shoulder and pulls her blanket up around herself—and twenty minutes later, her breathing seems to steady. He peers down at her, watching as she sleeps. She's snoring lightly and there's a little wet patch on his shirt, and though she's obviously asleep, he doesn't move her until he's absolutely certain she won't wake up again.

Carefully, he lifts her and takes her back to bed, tucking her in and turning out all the lights—and then, instead of climbing in beside her, he heads back down the hall to Henry's room where both he and Roland are sleeping in a tent made of blankets.

"Hey, guys," he whispers loudly as he jostles Roland. "Wake up."

Henry's head lifts first. "Is it morning?"

"No."

"Then why are you waking us?" Roland asks, lifting his head as his brow furrows. "I was comfy."

"Because we're going to go on a little adventure."

At that, Henry perks up. "An adventure?"

"But it's nighttime…"

"I know, son," he says, chuckling light. "Nighttime is the best time for an adventure." He laughs as the boys exchange a look. "Get dressed and meet me downstairs in ten minutes!"

While the boys dress, he does, too, and then he makes a phone call to John, asking that he meet them at the Mirror—his only question is whether or not he'll need his crowbar to bust through the lock.

Twenty minutes later, Robin and the boys pull into the parking lot where John is already waiting, sipping beer from a growler. Robin's brow arches as he looks to John, shaking his head and sighing as John murmurs something about bringing a cup to share it.

"What are we doing?" Henry whispers as Robin crouches in front of the lock to examine it. "Is this… um… is this legal?"

"Let me tell you something, my boy," John begins, his voice a loud whisper, "Just because something's legal doesn't mean it's good, and just because something's illegal doesn't make it bad."

"So, we're breaking in for a good reason?"

Robin grins back at him and nods as he sticks his pick in the lock. "I, uh, I want to surprise your mom."

Henry grins, pleased with the answer while Roland fidgets. "Can the surprise include waffles? She always gets happy when we have waffles for breakfast."

"I don't see why not," Robin returns. "But first, we've gotta get into the—" His voice halts as he hears a light click and when he tries the door knob, the door swings open, revealing Sidney's office. He stands as John hoists up his growler as silent cheer. "Come on, boys," he murmurs, "We're practically being invited in!"

"And now that we're in…?" John asks, looking between Robin and the boys. "Your dad's kept me just as much in the dark as the two of you."

"We're looking for stories about some of the good things that have happened in Storybrooke over the years—specifically things that Regina did as mayor." He shrugs. "Shouldn't be too hard to find in the files."

John nods. "True, especially considering everything had a penchant for happening again and again and again and again and—"

"We get it," Robin says, rolling his eyes as he looks at John. "The files are upstairs. Take Roland with you."

"What can I do?"

Robin grins and takes Henry's hand, leading him over to Sidney's desk. "Write a story about your mom while I get rid of everything that's going to print in the edition that was planned."

Henry's eyes widen and a grin pulls onto his lips. "Really? I get to write a newspaper article?"

Nodding, Robin pulls out Sidney's chair. "Front page for all of Storybrooke to see!" Henry beams as he plops down into the chair and flicks on the computer. "Now, I'm going to call the printer to cancel the drivel that was supposed to be published in the morning."

"Won't he know it's not really Sidney?"

Grinning, Robin reaches into his pocket and shows Henry a little vial. "Don't tell your mom."

Henry giggles and rubs his thumb and forefinger over his lips. "My lips are sealed!"

"Good boy," Robin says as he offers Henry a wink. "Now get to writing that article. We've only got a couple of hours before this thing has to print!"

Regina's eyes flutter open as the warm sunlight shines onto the bed, and as she sits up, her head feels a little cloudy. She yawns, rolling her shoulders and turning her head from side to side as her eyes adjust. She feels like she has a hangover—a mild one, perhaps, but a hangover nonetheless.

Despite that, she doesn't feel tired. Her eyes stay open without effort and the thought of getting up and going downstairs to start breakfast doesn't seem overwhelming to her—in fact, her current ailments are nothing a hot shower won't solve. Tossing the blanket away from herself, she gets up and pads to the bathroom, her eye catching the little amber prescription bottle sitting up on the counter. As much as she hates to admit it, Robin was right. The pills helped.

She decides not to consider that anymore, not wanting to think about the torture she caused herself and whether or not that torture was deserved as a sort of pennance, and instead, she busies herself with selecting a fragrant soap and shampoo from her collection. She chooses a lavender eucalyptus one that'll likely relieve some of the pressure in her head, and as soon as she shrugs off her pajamas and steps into the steamy water, she can feel it all melting away…

She's not entirely sure how long she spent in the shower, but when she steps out and wraps herself in her robe, she can't deny that she feels better—refreshed and energized, ready as she can be to face the day.

But instead of facing the day, she finds herself facing Henry and Roland. They're sitting on the bed with a breakfast tray between them. In a burst they talk over one another as they explain they've made her favorite apple cinnamon waffles from scratch. They made bacon, too, and cut up some fresh fruit—Roland proudly announces they even made fresh orange juice.

She can't help but smile as she leans in, kissing them each on the cheek as she thanks them, and then, she turns to Robin who's standing at the foot of the bed, holding out a mug of coffee with the newspaper tucked underneath his arm.

"I have to admit… you were right."

Robin grins. "I know."

"Humble," she murmurs, her eyes rolling as she takes the mug and cups it in her hands. "Did you guys eat? There's definitely enough on that tray to share."

"We ate already," Henry tells her. "We wanted to make you breakfast in bed."

"Yeah," Roland adds. "So you could read the paper."

Biting down on her lip, she looks between them. Usually on Saturday's that's exactly what she likes to do. She sits down at the counter with breakfast and coffee and catches up on the week's news. She skims over the bits and pieces she's already heard about in one way or another, but spends hours pouring over the human interest pieces and advertisements. For as long as she can remember, this was her Saturday morning routine.

"I… don't think I'm going to read the paper today."

"I think you should," Robin says, smirking as he hands it to her. "It's all about you."

"That's what I'm afraid of," she replies through gritted teeth. "I don't really want to—"

"Look at it, Mom," Henry insists, grinning as her eyes shift to him. "It's a really good edition."

Her eyes narrow as she looks back to Robin and reluctantly reaches out to take the paper, and as soon as she unfolds it, she feels warm tears welling in her eyes as she reads the headline in big bold letters.

"What does it say?" Roland asks, tipping up his chin to catch a glimpse of the paper. "I can't see it."

"The headline is… um… it says, 'All the Reasons You Should Re-Elect Regina Mills,' and, um… apparently the Mirror endorsed me." Her eyes shift to Robin whose eyes are glittering mischievously. "Apparently someone at the Mirror worked some magic."

"That's one way of putting it," Robin says, stepping in and pressing a kiss to her cheek. "But let's consider all that later. Now, you need to eat those waffles before they get cold."

Looking down at the newspaper, Regina nods, then folds it over—she'll read it front to back later—for now, all she wants to do is cuddle up with her boys and enjoy a surprisingly calm morning.