V. Honey crisp apples

Raindrops drummed dully on the top of the car. Regina steered the Benz along the empty road leading out of the city center. This time, however, she drove past the stables. Next to her in the passenger seat Henry sat with a large Tupperware can on his knees, which he keenly guarded. After a few minutes, they reached the driveway, where a weathered wooden sign read Birch Hill Farm. She parked the car in front of the house and walked with Henry across the yard to the porch. At her knock at the front door, footsteps were heard inside and Zelena opened the door. Her bright blue eyes eyed her and the boy skeptically.

"Hi," Regina began pleasantly. "My son and I would like to welcome you and your husband to our town officially. We brought you a little something."

Henry held out the Tupperware to her. "My mom makes the very best pie! The apples are from our garden."

"That's very kind of you," Zelena replied, accepting the same in befuddlement. "We're still busy getting the house in order."

"No wonder, the farm has been empty for a long time." Regina gave her a thoughtful smile. "Henry and I don't want to disturb you either."

"Zelena, who are you talking to?" it came gruffly from somewhere behind her.

Regina arched her brows as she noticed the redhead's fingers against the wooden doorframe trembling abruptly. After a moment, she seemed to regain her control. The door was now fully opened and they faced the older man, whose smile revealed yellow teeth. He put a hand on Zelena's shoulder.

"Why don't you invite our guests in? Go on, put on some tea water."

She nodded hastily and disappeared into the hallway, whereupon Freek stepped aside to admit Regina and Henry. He led them into the homey kitchen, where they took seats at the small wooden table. Zelena set out a cup and plate for each of them. She offered them black tea, which Regina even drank with some milk this time, because this cheap mixture from the supermarket didn't really taste good. Henry, who preferred hot chocolate, put spoonful of sugar in it.

"The cake is fine," Freek noted after tasting the first bite.

"Thanks." Regina stifled a frown at the fact that he hadn't swallowed it whole. "How do you like Storybrooke so far?"

"It's a nice quiet little town, I think we'll be comfortable. Won't we, Zelena?"

"Yes, I'm sure we will," she replied curtly.

Regina nodded. "I'm glad to hear that. I hope you will make connections within the community quickly. Most people here are friendly and kind-hearted once they get used to newcomers. We don't have hurricanes either, but our winters are certainly colder than the ones at Kansas."

"It's quite wonderful when there's lots of snow at Christmas time and colored lights are shining everywhere," Henry enthused between bites of his slice of cake.

For a moment, Regina was sure she saw Zelena's eyes gleam dreamily. As long as they sat at the table, she tried to make conversation. She was a practiced talker and knew how to casually steer a conversation the way she wanted it. The couple did not make a particularly communicative impression per se. While Freek at least made some small talk with her, Zelena hardly participated and only reacted when she was addressed. The atmosphere was oppressive, no one truly seemed comfortable, which is why a certain relief was noticeable when the plates were empty.

"Clear the table while I walk our guests to the door," Freek instructed the redhead in a commanding tone that made Regina immediately discomforting.

"Thank you for the tea." She gave Zelena a genuine smile before the landlord escorted Henry and her into the hallway.

Outside, the cool autumn wind welcomed them, tugging at their hair and clothing. By now it had stopped raining, so the air smelled fresh and clean. She was about to shoo her son to the car with gentle determination when behind them the door opened again. Zelena stared at her from narrowed eyes.

"You forgot something." Unmistakably, she thrust the empty Tupperware into her hand. "How can you dare to let the sheriff snoop around our house?"

Regina arched a brow skeptically. "You're new in town, so I thought it would be appropriate for Sheriff Swan to introduce herself to you."

"My husband doesn't like strangers meddling with our affairs," she hissed gruffly. "Don't ever do that again!"

Conciliatory, Regina raised her hands. "It was just well-intentioned, to let you know who to turn to in case. I would have done the same with anyone else."

That wasn't quite the truth, but she deftly covered that up with her years of rhetorical experience as mayor. The only two people she was hardly ever able to fool were Henry and Emma. Her son knew her like no one else, and her friend was masterful at debunking lies. Zelena, however, gave her such a suspicious look that she actually considered whether she was being seen through this time.

"This is private property, leave now."

Regina was not unsettled by the gruff tone. Exquisitely polite, she held out her hand to her to say goodbyehoch. "Anyway, it was nice to meet you and your husband."

Zelena ignored the gesture. Haughtily, she turned away and slammed the door behind her. Together with Henry, Regina was already on her way to the car when she heard Freek's loud voice inside. His words were barely understandable, but it was enough to realize that he was yelling at his wife.

"Those two are strange," Henry noted as he dropped into the passenger seat. "He's so old, he could be her dad as well."

"If you love each other, age shouldn't matter." Regina kept her eyes on the driveway that led down to the road. "Your dad was also a lot older than me."

He glanced at her from the side. "I know."

Relieved that he didn't ask further, she concentrated on driving the car. Her own words seemed meaningless to her. She considered herself a pretty good judge of character, even if she didn't had Emma's almost unerring sense. There had been nothing affectionate at all in the couple's behavior with each other. No familiar looks or gestures, nothing. Perhaps they had been together too long by now, so that at some point affection had become habit. As a young girl, Regina herself had dreamed of true love, had believed in fairy tales, which were shattered by the cold reality.

Henry had been too young when his foster father died, he was barely able to remember him, and she had always found it the best to leave it at that, so he could imagine his dad the way he wanted him to be. Since Emma, his birth mother, had come into his life, he had rarely asked about him and was more interested in his biological father. An adventurous tramp naturally held great fascination for an imaginative dreamy boy like him. This was okay for Regina. When her son had learned of his adoption at the age of ten, their always very close relationship had become bumpy. He had reacted with a strong phase of defiance, for which she even had to be grateful to him in the end. After all, he had not only brought Emma into his life, but also into hers.

Henry could never know the truth about Leo's untimely death. No one was ever allowed to know. There had never been love between her husband and her, not even friendship or any form of affection at all. Leo had not been a bad man, but over the loss of his first wife, Mary Margaret's mother, he had become cold and bitter. He had not looked for a new relationship after all, but only for a decoration at his side whom he could show off at business meetings, who would take care of his spoiled daughter and perhaps bear him a son. By his side at the altar, Regina had lost her own life, her freedom and self-determination that she had always longed for. Adopting Henry had been her greatest happiness then, and it still was. She loved her boy more than anything.

"Why was she so upset about Emma coming over?" he finally asked into the oppressive silence.

"Some people prefer to keep to themselves, I guess. Your mom meant that, too." She didn't want to tell him directly, but this dismissive response reinforced her belief that Zelena and her husband had something to hide. Whatever that might be.

Finally, she steered the Benz around a corner and turned onto Mifflin Street. She had mixed feelings about the noble mansion at number 108 that she had inherited. More than once she had considered selling it and moving with Henry into a pretty little single-family home. However, it held not only memories she would rather forget, but also ones that were dear to her. It was where she raised her son since Leo and she had taken him from Boston as a three-week-old infant. It was her home.