Henry grins as he looks up at from across the table, his eyes narrowing with skepticism as he pushes his fork into the pumpkin pie she's served him for breakfast, like he knows there's a catch, but he can't quite figure out what it is—it's far too early for that and the pie in front of his far too tempting.

Regina breaks off a piece of crust from her slice of pie and dips it into a dollop of whipped cream on her plate, unable to stop herself from smiling at Henry's furrowed brow as he takes a tentative bite of his pie.

"You never let me have dessert for breakfast," Henry says slowly as he chews.

A little laugh bubbles out of her. In moments like these, Henry reminds her so much of Daniel. Everyone always tells her that he's so like her, but that's only because they never knew Daniel, they don't know that he has his father's hazel eyes and crooked grin, or that he shares his sense of humor, or his absolute hatred of early mornings.

"Well, someone's got to eat it before it goes bad, and there's no way—"

Henry's gaze is skeptical. "So, you really woke me up at seven in the morning so that I could eat pie before it goes bad?"

Regina smirks as she joins him at the table. "Well, I figured it was better than me attempting to cook you something for breakfast."

Henry looks up at her, considering it. Then, with a shrug, he nods, accepting the answer. Over the last couple of years he's likely had enough variations of burnt eggs to last him a lifetime. Regina watches as he pushes his fork into the pie and shoves a bite into his mouth, grinning to himself as he chews.

"There is something I want to talk to you about, though."

Henry looks up, his mouth full. "I knew it," he mumbles.

"A few somethings, actually."

Suddenly, she's nervous as Henry sets down his fork. All night she'd debated what exactly to tell him, constantly debating what was too much and not enough—and not just for him, but for her. There was so much that she'd kept from him—from everyone, really—and while, deep down, she believed that every lie was justified, she had a gnawing feeling at her core that Henry would disagree.

Maybe not now, but one day.

Like most children, the world was black and white, there was right and wrong, and little to no common ground between the two. Yet, the world wasn't that simple, it was colored in shades of gray.

At some point children came to realize the world's complexities, but she wasn't sure Henry was there yet.

"Are we broke?"

Regina blinks. "What?"

"A lot of people lost a lot of money," Henry says, his tone even and matter-of-fact, like there's no reason a ten-year old wouldn't know something like that. "In the crash, I mean."

"I didn't realize you followed current events so closely."

"Well, it's been on, like… every front page of every newspaper for weeks and weeks." Henry shrugs. "And I have ears. It's all Mal's been talking about since it happened, her brother, too."

"Right…"

"Mal says it didn't affect Russia as much and everyone should invest their money there instead of wherever they were putting it before, but Arthur thinks she's stupid for investing there. They got into a big fight about it." A tight little grin stretches over his lips. "He called her a communist and she called him a capitalist bast—"

"Okay—" Regina says, her voice cutting in loudly over Henry's making him giggle as he picks up his fork and takes another bite of pie. "It's complicated. Your, uh… your father did lose quite a bit."

"Is… is that why we're here?"

"No, we're here to settle the estate. I told you—"

"You didn't really tell me anything," Henry says, his brow arching as he looks pointedly at her—again, looking so much like his father.

Taking a breath, she sees an opening. "We aren't going back to England," Regina says, doing her best to keep her voice even. "After the holidays, Mal is going to go back, but we are going to stay here."

For a moment, Henry is quiet and his eyes fall to his plate, his jaw tensing as he considers what that means.

"So, I'm… I'm not going back to school."

"Well, you'll go to school just… here and not there."

"So, we are broke?"

Regina draws in a breath. "No," she says slowly—the contents of his trust fund will be a conversation for another day, when the details of it are clearer. "I got a little money from the estate and I had some of my own savings—"

"Did you invest it in the Russian markets?"

She laughs softly and shakes her head. "No, I kept it in a cookie tin in my sock drawer."

For a moment, Henry looks bewildered and she can't help but laugh—again, choosing not to tell him that, throughout her marriage, keeping her money in her possession was the only way she could ensure it stayed in her possession.

"Last summer, a lot of kids left school."

"Any of your friends?"

"Two," Henry says with a somber little nod. "They were cousins, they had the room across from mine. I helped them pack up their stuff," he tells her. "They didn't say much, just that they couldn't afford tuition anymore, so they couldn't stay. They were from Yorkshire, but they were moving into a little farm house." He shrugs. "That's all I know. I think they were kind of embarrassed, but it sounded nice."

"In an odd way, I think it's an opportunity," she tells him. "So many of us were hanging onto life that just wasn't sustainable anymore, living in a world that didn't exist anymore."

Henry nods, but she can tell that he doesn't quite understand. Then he looks up at her, their eyes meeting as he chews at his lip. "When you say that we're staying here…"

"In Storybrooke."

"But, I mean… where, um… where are we going to live?"

She's taken aback by him not just assuming they'd live in the house they're currently in, that they wouldn't just stay in the house where he was born, in the house she'd lived in since she married.

"I… don't know," she admits softly. "I haven't gotten that far."

Henry nods and exhales a breath—almost as if relieved. "Oh okay."

"I thought that… well, I thought Mary Margaret might want this house. She grew up here and—"

"I think it's haunted."

"It's just old and—"

"And a lot of the time old houses are haunted."

A little laugh bubbles out of her, despite her efforts to hold it back. "I think it's just… drafty. A lot of old houses are and—"

"And a lot of old houses are haunted, too."

A grin curls up at the corner of her mouth. "Henry—"

"I think that lady in the picture above the fireplace—"

"That's Mary Margaret's mom."

"Yeah. Her dead mom."

"Aren't you reading an old mystery—"

"It's not about ghosts."

"But still—"

"And just because I'm reading a scary book doesn't mean this house isn't haunted."

"Alright, I tell you what," Regina says, taking a breath glad that their conversation has taken a detour. "We are going to agree to disagree on whether or not this place is haunted—and today, when we go into town, we're going to pick up a newspaper and look at the ads for apartments."

Henry considers it and nods. "I think the ghost will be happier if we leave and would be much nicer to Mary Margaret… you know, considering it's her mom and all."

Regina rolls her eyes, reaching across the table to push Henry's plate at him. "Finish your pie and then go get dressed. We have some errands to run and I have an appointment at nine."

Henry cuts a piece of pie with his fork and shoves it into his mouth. "Do I have to go to this appointment?"

"No," she murmurs. "I thought, if you wanted, you could check out the library—"

"If I find something new to read before your appointment is done, can I go to the park?"

"The one behind the library?"

"Yeah."

"Sure," she says, shrugging. "Just don't—"

"Every time we pass by there's a group of boys playing baseball. They only have eight. If they had a ninth, they could play a real game…" He pauses as he takes another bite of the pie. "Well, kind of… if they had another team to play."

Her head tips to the side. "I love your confidence, but do you know how to play baseball?"

"I can learn," Henry says easily. "Besides, it'd probably be better to have someone who can sorta play versus no one at all in one of the spots."

"Alright, just… don't be too long. After my appointment, Mal is swinging by and so is Mary Margaret, and—"

"Is this an appointment or a date?"

Her brow arches as her lips part, but no words come. She wants to return to talking about ghosts.

"I heard you on the phone this morning with Mal. You're meeting Robin for coffee."

"Ah—"

"So, it is a date?"

Regina bites down on her lip. "Well, I'm not sure I'd call grabbing coffee a date, but… if it were, how would you feel about it?"

Henry shrugs absently, like he doesn't care one way or another. "He seems nice and I liked Roland, too. He's just a little kid, but he's funny." He grins as he takes another bite of the pie. "We kept pretending the gravy he was pouring on the potatoes was lava and the peas were dinosaurs trying to out run it."

A little grin creeps onto Regina's lips—she remembers watching the boys together the night before, they were sweet and seemed to get along.

"Robin's the guy who wrote to you all of the time, right?"

"Yes," Regina confirms. "We were friends before I left for England."

Henry considers it for a moment, before plucking up the remainder of his pie and shoving the crust into his mouth. "At least he can cook. Some of those recipes he sent were pretty good."

At that, Regina laughs, and a wave of relief washing over her.

The conversation went better than expected and though there was still a lot left unsaid, a lot still to hash out, the immediate things were out of the way.

"Sorry I'm late," she says, slipping into the booth across from Robin. "I didn't anticipate the newstand being so crowded this morning."

Robin grins. "You're four minutes late."

"Late is late."

Robin rolls his eyes, a soft chuckle escaping him. "Any particular reason you needed a newspaper so desperately you risked standing me up?"

Her brow cocks as she pulls off her gloves. "I was four minutes late."

"Hey, you're the one sounding the alarm on your tardiness, not me." He smirks. "But really, why the paper? The day after a holiday always makes for a slow news day."

"I'm not interested in the news," she tells him. "I'm interested in the ads."

"Ah—"

The conversation halts as the waitress stops by the table. Robin orders two coffees and a cinnamon roll for them to share.

Regina draws in a breath as the waitress leaves them. "I… am giving Mary Margaret the house."

Robin's brow arches, but he says nothing.

"I've always hated it, and in the weeks we've been back, Henry and I have only occupied three, maybe four of the rooms. We don't need all that space."

"I don't think anyone needs that amount of space."

"Besides, Henry thinks it's haunted."

A grin tugs at the corner of Robin's mouth. "Oh?"

"He thinks Eva's ghost is haunting the place"

Robin chuckles. "I sort of like the thought of someone haunting Leo."

"She wouldn't haunt him, she adored him. Or at least that's what everyone tells me." Regina shrugs. "If anything, she's haunting me for—" Regina stops. "Why are we talking about this like she's really haunting the place? It's just old and poorly insulated."

Robin's laugh rings out and it makes her smile. "You're the one who brought it up."

She rolls her eyes. "Well, the point is… I'm looking for somewhere for Henry and I to go. I'm meeting with Mary Margaret later today to talk it out, but… I just want out of there. Now that I've set it into motion, I don't want to stay."

"And Henry?"

A smirk edges onto her lips. "He can't wait to get away from the ghost."

Robin smiles, pausing as the waitress delivers their coffees and cinnamon roll. "So, did you tell Henry about giving Mary Margaret the house or…"

"I told him," she says as she places her hands on either side of the coffee cup, cradling it for a moment as she enjoys its warmth. "I also told him we won't be going back to England."

"How did he take that?"

"Better than expected, actually." Regina bites down on her lip. "And…I…told him about you."

She can tell he's holding his breath. "Oh? And what did he have to say about that?"

"Not much," she admits. "He suspected. He remembered you were the, uh, friend who wrote to me and sent me things." A grin tugs up onto her lips. "Your culinary skills—"

"Compliments of Ladies Home Journal—"

"—seem to have been what won him over."

Robin laughs. "Are you really that bad of a cook?"

"I don't think so, but my son apparently does."

Robin seems amused as he plucks up his fork and stabs it into the cinnamon roll. When he looks up at her, his blue eyes are sparkling mischievously. "I… have an idea."

"Do you?" She asks, sipping her coffee. "Please share."

"Rent is wildly expensive."

"I've noticed, but—"

"Renting is a poor investment."

"It's not really an investment, but I've got a little saved up. Besides, I'm also looking for a job and that search has a few more leads."

"But why squander your money? Even if you can afford it now, who's to say your landlord could keep it? Who's to say he wouldn't jack up your rent to astronomical levels to try and make ends meet for himself?"

Regina shifts, rubbing her fingers against the warm ceramic cup. She hadn't really thought about that—in fact, beyond yesterday afternoon and this morning, she hadn't give the logistics much thought at all. Her eyes narrow as she watches Robin across from her—he's fidgety, like he's either nervous or excited. She draws up her coffee cup and takes a long sip, his questions suddenly swirling in her head.

She hated to admit how sheltered her life had been, hated that women of her generation knew so little about how the world worked. For as long as she could remember, money was never an issue for her, it was just there, controlled by whatever man presided over her.

She'd had this romantic notion that she could get rid of the house and take whatever money she had, and just for a little while, she could be in control of her life, she could support her son and live a life that she created. Now, she wonders if that was naive.

Setting down the cup, she looks to Robin. "So, is this the part where you tell me your idea?"

Robin nods and draws in a breath, releasing it in a burst. "I have a house and you need a place to live…" His voice trails off as though she should be able to connect the dots from there.

Her shoulders tense. "You do, but, Robin…"

"It's not furnished, but it's livable and—"

"Robin, you haven't even moved in."

"So?"

"It's your house. You've been planning this for years. You and Roland have been counting down for months."

"And? It's a big house. There's more than enough space."

"Robin—"

"Move in."

"Robin, I couldn't just supplant my son and I into—"

"You and Henry are more than welcome."

"Robin—"

"I'm serious."

"I can see that you are."

"But the way you keep cutting in tells me you are about to tell me all of the reasons this is a terrible idea," he says, leaning back as a little smirk stretches across his lips. At least her trepidation amuses him.

"Well, I wouldn't go straight to terrible," she says, her own smirk forming.

"You and Henry need a place to live. I have a place to live. It's a very simple, easy, logical solution, especially in this day and age when lots of people are doubling up."

"I'm not sure doubling up is—"

"That's not what I meant. I've no desire to be your roommate."

"But in this scenario we would be, in a way." She sighs. "Robin, if it were just me and you, I'd have no qualms about it. But what about our boys?"

"What about them? They got on great yesterday."

"Sure, yesterday—"

"You think it's too soon."

Biting down on her lip, she looks down at her coffee. "I don't know," she murmurs. "I don't know anything about anything anymore."

Taking a breath, she looks up at him. She'd be lying if she said it wasn't a tempting offer, lying if she said she hadn't read his letters about the house and its progress and spent her nights dreaming about what it'd be like to live there with him and their boys, building a life and growing old together. But in addition to her own desire to make it on her own, even if just for a little while, she had Henry's feelings to consider. The past few weeks had presented endless twists and turns in their pathway, and Henry had taken each and every one of them in stride, like they were nothing at all; and she just kept wondering about and waiting for the one that he just couldn't handle.

"I just…I need some time to think about it. You're asking me to take a very big leap and I just…"

Her voice trails off as she looks up at him, smiling softly when she finds his gaze soft and shoulders relaxed. This isn't an argument, she reminds herself. It's a conversation.

"My offer doesn't have an expiration date."

"That's good to know," she tells him earnestly.

"I just want to be clear about one thing."

She holds her breath as she reaches out and breaks off a little piece of the cinnamon roll. "Alright. What is it?"

"I intend to marry you," he says plainly. "All those months I worked on that house, I wasn't just building a house for myself and Roland, it was for you and for Henry and for any other children that may come to us in the future." Pausing momentarily, he smiles in a way that makes his blue eyes sparkle and makes her stomach flutter. "I understand that our relationship has taken an odd path—"

At that, she laughs. "Odd seems like an understatement. It's been downright schizophrenic, at times."

"Yes, well… even as our relationship was living a double life and masquerading as something that it wasn't, it's managed to progress to a point where its end goal seems very clearly apparent, and after such a jagged path, I'm eager to get to that end point, even if I did promise to take things slow."

Her nose scrunches. "Please don't use the word 'end.'"

A wry little chuckle escapes him. "I don't mean it in a negative way."

"I know, but…" Her voice trails off and her eyes widen a little. "Was that a proposal?"

"No… not yet," he tells her, "I just want to make sure that we are on the same path."

Even biting down on her lip, she can't stop her smile. "We are."

"Good," she says, relaxing once again. "So, think about my offer and let me know what you decide. There's no pressure either way, just know that it's there as an alternative, if you need it."

"I appreciate that, really."

Robin glances at his wrist watch, then grimaces. "I have to go. I've got a delievery a few towns over."

"How has business been?"

"Slow, but that's no surprise." A chuckle bubbles out of him. "But I did get a nice little boost from your friend the other day."

"Oh?"

"Yes, she requested 'however many cases' of 'whatever's strongest' to get her through her stay here."

Regina laughs. "She's really struggling. She says everything here is watered down."

"It likely is. It stretches it. Most don't notice."

"Well, she knows her booze."

"John went up to get her order. He'll make sure it's the good stuff."

"Appreciated. Sober Mal is… even more intense than Drunk Mal."

Robin smirks as he tears off a piece of the cinnamon roll, then pushes the plate toward Regina. "How about we do dinner tonight—me, you, and our boys. Now that John's off to Canada, I've got plenty of leftovers that we can't eat through all by ourselves—though Roland would certainly like to try."

Regina takes a breath and nods. "Henry and I would like that. What can we do to—"

"Nothing. I've got everything," Robin says as he stands, grabbing his coat from the booth. "So, we'll see you guys around six?"

"Perfect," she says, her stomach again fluttering as he leans in and presses a soft kiss to her cheek.

She watches him go—and as he disappears toward the parking lot behind the diner, she laughs, suddenly giddy as she reaches for the cinnamon roll.

"You are so damn lucky that he's so patient."

"Mal—"

"I'm serious, Regina," Mal says, her blue eyes wide as she looks up from a one of Leo's leather-bound ledger from the year Henry was born. "What could you possibly gain from delaying moving in?"

"I don't know, I just think—"

"You've been playing this game for years, Regina. Only you think this pace is fast."

"It's not about that—"

"And don't use Henry as an excuse."

"I'm not—"

"You are, though," Mal says, looking back to the ledger. "The kid's resilient and you saw his face when we picked him up from that muddy little park, he's having the time of his life here. He likes it."

"I realize that, but—"

"But some rat-infested, over-priced apartment is going to make it even better?"

"Who said anything about it being rat-infested?"

"Those ads!"

Regina's eyes roll as she lifts the top off of another crate. "They didn't say that. None of them said that."

"Not explicitly," Mal says with a sigh. "You have to read between the lines."

"And that was between the lines?"

"Did you pay any attention to the neighborhoods you can afford on your own?"

Her shoulders stiffen. The neighborhoods she can afford are where Robin currently lives. "I think you're being snobbish."

"Maybe I am," Mal says absently. "It doesn't change the fact that you are not the sort to chase a rat with a broom."

Regina's eyes roll. "Look, I just want—"

"To prove something. I know, I know."

Regina lifts a stack of papers from the crate, silently cursing Leopold for being so damn disorganized. "You say that like it's—"

"Dumb, yes."

"You didn't let me finish."

"I didn't need to, Regina," Mal says, looking up. "Not moving in with a man you want to marry—a man who wants to marry you, no less—is dumb."

Regina's shoulders square—they've been going back and forth about this for the better part of an hour, and they were just going in circles.

"Can we just… agree to disagree on this?"

"I don't do that," Mal insists. "Not when I'm right and not when you're going to do something that's going to make you absolutely miserable."

"How do you know—"

"Because I know you. I've known you for as long as you or I can remember, and I know that you're not going to happy in some dingy little apartment that has who knows what growing behind a fresh layer of paint and struggling to buy milk and bread for you and your kid. You want to prove something to your mother or Leo or—"

"They're both dead."

"And that's what this is so fucking dumb!"

Regina sighs and returns her attention to the crate, more specifically to looking for the deed to the house. Mal was supposed to be helping, instead she was looking through the mess that was Leopold's financials.

"And Regina," Mal says, sighing as she closes the ledger and rises from Leo's desk, "It's not like there are strings attached to Robin's offer. He wants to marry you and you want to marry him. I understand not wanting to rely on a man—trust me, do I understand that—but this is different."

"I know," Regina murmurs, watching as Mal plucks the next ledger from the shelf. "I just didn't expect it."

Mal looks up, pointedly rolling her eyes. "I swear, Regina, you are one of the most infuriating people I know."

Regina smirks. "Well, at least I have that going for me."

Mal sits down at the desk and for a moment there's a silence between them as Mal delves into the next year of Leo's financial history and Regina continues hunting for the deed.

"Have you contacted your uncles yet?"

"That's on tomorrow's list of things to do."

"Mm, any ideas of how that conversation will go?"

"Given they didn't want Leo touching the money, I think it'll go alright."

"Are you going to ask why none of them ever thought to reach out to you and discuss this trust?"

"I wasn't planning on it."

"You should because it's fucking ridiculous you were left in the dark, especially after they started to think Leo might abuse his access to Henry's money."

Regina sighs as she lifts another stack of papers. "I'm sure they thought it was… beyond my capabilities."

"Assholes."

Regina smirks. "I could be wrong—"

"No. Men are assholes. That checks out."

Regina laughs, but before she can respond, she hears a loud knock followed by Mary Margaret's voice.

"Anybody home? Hello?"

Taking a breath, Regina rises and goes to the top of the steps, looking down to see Mary Margaret in the foyer. She offers her step-daughter a tight smile before inviting her up, explaining that she's been searching for the deed to the house with little luck.

"Well, it's a good thing this transfer is happening between family," Mary Margaret says as they enter Leopold's study—invited in by the sound of Mal scoffing.

"I'm sure it'll turn up," Regina says. "Mary Margaret, you remember my friend, Mal, don't you?"

Mary Margaret grimaces and shakes her head. "I'm sorry, I don't—"

"I like the haircut," Mal says, interrupting Mary Margaret. "Not quite a Bob, more like a boy's cut. Very modern and very unlike what I remember of you."

Regina bites down on her lip, stifling the urge to laugh. "Sorry, she's a bit rough around the edges—"

"And too sober," Mal adds.

Mary Margaret chuckles softly as she sits down in one of the chairs across from the desk. "Aren't we all these days?"

"I was hoping I'd find the deed and we could make it all official," Regina says, hoisting a box from the chair across from Mary Margaret and setting in onto the floor before sitting down. "But like you said, we can handle that detail later. I'll keep looking."

Mary Margaret nods, a soft smile forming over her lips. "I can't say I wasn't surprised to get your note."

"The house means more to you than it does to me. You had happy memories here."

"And you didn't."

It's not a question, but a statement.

"It's no surprise your father and I were ill suited."

"I never realized that until recently, until you left."

Regina nods. "I saw your wedding pictures. It looked beautiful."

"It was a lovely day," Mary Margaret says with a little nod. "But it seems like a lifetime ago now, doesn't it?"

"Even longer since we were planning it."

Mary Margaret laughs. "Sorry about all those ridiculous flower-viewings and cake-testing I dragged you to."

Regina shrugs—she'd hated every second of it then, but now it's hard to remember why. "It was something to do."

"So, the house is all but settled, but…" she looks around the room, waving her hand. "What about all of the stuff in it?"

"I do want some things."

"Of course."

"I figured we could… trade deals. You get the bulk. I'll take the trinkets I want, maybe some furniture."

"That's more than fair."

"What are you going to do with this place," Mal interjects, leaning forward with her elbows on the table. "I assume you and Derek live somewhere."

"David."

"Sure."

"We did buy a little house on the other side of town."

"Which 'other' side?"

"Mal, I don't see why—"

"In town," Mary Margaret says. "There are a lot of new builds in the area, we bought one. I just seemed more economical and cozy that what was available in this neighborhood."

"That was smart," Mal murmurs.

"We actually looked at your parents' old house," Mary Margaret says, turning back to Regina. "The couple who bought it from your parents—"

"From your father, actually," Regina interjects.

"Right, well… they moved on and it was just vacant."

"It needed a lot of work."

"So does this place," Mary Margret says with a light nod. "It seems like everyone nowadays is looking for more sensible things."

Regina feels Mal's gaze. "Most people."

"So, what are you going to do with it?" Regina asks, ignoring Mal's subtle little dig. "I didn't really think about what you'd do with it so much as it should've been yours all along."

"Well, David and I have actually given this quite a lot of thought. As you rightly assumed, I did except to inherit it." She takes a breath. "We, um… we thought about making it into a community center, of sorts. You know, a place where people can come to get what they need—meals, lodgings, education, really anything."

"Ohhh, the snooty neighbors around here will just hate that," Mal says, laughing out in a burst. "I love it."

"You've really grown up," Regina says. "The girl I knew wouldn't have been so thoughtful and considerate."

"I have grown up," Mary Margaret says. "And, after everything my father did, I feel like it's my responsibility to make up for it."

"It's not, but it is a kind thing to do."

"I, um… I feel like in the last year or so, who my father was has really come into focus and he's very different than the man I thought he was."

"That tends to happen to us as we grow up," Regina says. "Kids tend to wear rose-colored glasses and parents are always more complex than they allowed their kids to know."

Mary Margaret nods, hesitating for a moment. "You know, I live over by the library."

"Oh—"

"I've seen Henry over there a few times—today, actually."

Regina nods. "He seems to have made some new friends."

Mary Margaret nods. "I wanted to go over and say hello, but I don't know that he knows who I am."

"I think he'd recognize you."

"I wasn't sure," Mary Margaret says. "The last time I saw him, he had chubby cheeks and still looked liked a baby."

"I still think he does," Regina says, smiling. "But I probably always will."

"Probably," Mary Margaret says slowly. "But there's something about him, something familiar that I hadn't been able to pin-point."

Regina holds her breath, tipping her head to the side. "Oh?"

"He was running to catch a ball and he knelt down to let it fall into his glove and… it just clicked."

Regina holds her breath.

"That man who used to give me my riding lessons—he looks like him," Mary Margaret says, her voice tentative. "I can't remember his name, but there was something about Henry in that moment that made me feel like I was looking through my window into the past."

From the corner of her eye, Regina sees Mal tense.

"Daniel," Regina murmurs. "That's the name of the man who used to give you riding lessons." She clears her throat. She knows exactly the position Mary Margaret is remembering, the position Daniel used to take when he cleaned the horses hooves. "His name was Daniel Colter."

"That's right," Mary Margaret says, smiling softly. "He was drafted, right? Into the army, that's why he left us."

"Yes."

A faint little smile tugs across Mary Margaret's lips. "He was always so nice to me."

"He loved children… and animals," Regina says in a tentative voice. "He wanted to be a veterarian, but thought he'd always do riding lessons on the side."

Again, Mary Margaret smiles—and for a moment, the tension in the room feels palpable. "My father knew Henry wasn't his son," Mary Margaret admits. "But he never could figure out who his father was. He had a few suspicions and all of them made him feel quite inferior."

"My brother was among them," Mal says, her eyes fixed on Mary Margaret.

"Yes, but not knowing for sure drove him absolutely crazy and having to admit that his wife had a son by someone else, that was just too much. He rather let the secret eat him alive than admit it aloud." Then an unexpected laugh bubbles out of Mary Margaret. "Maybe that's why he left me so completely out of the will."

Regina swallows, her eyes narrowing. "What do you mean?"

"He wanted a son so badly he was willing to claim someone else's even though it killed him to do it." She shrugs in resignation. "He never loved me the way he could've loved a son."

"I'm… not one to defend your father," Regina says, her words surprising even her. "But I don't know that that's true. He doted on you."

"But at the end of the day, I wasn't a son so I wasn't worthy of an inheritance."

"Ah—"

"Henry's lucky," Mary Margaret says flatly. "You kept him away from it all, you didn't let him grow up trying to win the favor of a man who resented him."

"Your father didn't resent you—"

"He did," Mary Margaret cuts in. "You don't have to defend him. He never did anything to earn your defense."

"A'int that the truth," Mal scoffs—making both Regina and Mary Margaret smile through the tension.

"He was terrible to you and I'm sorry that I didn't see that sooner."

"He might not deserve my defense, but I don't deserve an apology—not from you. You were a kid and—" A little smile pulls onto her lips. "And I was your evil step-mother."

Mary-Margaret laughs. "I did call you that, didn't I?"

"Constantly," Regina laughs. "It's the moniker you used to introduce me to people."

Mary-Margaret grimaces. "I might remember that."

"It's ancient history."

"It is," Mary-Margaret agrees. "Thank you for letting it be."

"No need to thank me—"

"Well, I'm trying to butter you up—"

"Uh oh—"

"I just… I hope we can be friends, that's all. You're the closest thing to a parent I have, and despite knowing that Henry and I aren't blood-related, I still think of him as my little brother."

For whatever reason, Regina feels her throat tighten as tears warm in her eyes. "I… think we can work something out."

"I'm glad." Mary-Margaret takes a breath as she rises. "I have to go, Emma will be getting up from her nap soon and she'll scream like a banshee at David once she realizes he can't feed her."

"And… I'll keep searching for the deed. But regardless, I plan to turn the house over to you at the start of the new year."

"A clean break and the perfect time for a new beginning."

Regina stands, but Mary Margaret waves her off, explaining that she can let herself out—and when the front door shuts behind her, Regina turns to Mal, her eyes wide.

"What the hell just happened?"

"I don't know," Mal says, laughing softly as she leans back in Leo's chair. "But who'd ever had thought that little brat would've grown up to be so sensible."

At that, Regina laughs out, still reeling. "Must be her mother's genes."

"Maybe," Mal murmurs as she opens the ledger again. "How does it feel though?"

"What?"

"To have your secrets reveled like that?"

Regina looks up at her and smiles. "Oddly cathartic."

"He stewed over them but could never figure it out. Think of the sleepless nights he had, the anxiety he had every time he went to that silly little club of his wondering which of his peers could do what he couldn't, which of them took his wife to bed and sired a son."

"I know," Regina murmurs, smirking. "I know."

"So, if anything, our little plan worked like a charm."

Regina's eyes roll, but she smiles. "That's strangely vindicating."

"It is, isn't it?" Regina nods as Mal looks pointedly at her. "Just another thing I was right about, seems like my advice has never failed you."

"Don't start…"

"Look, I've only ever wanted what's best for you," Mal says. "Take Robin's offer—"

"I told him I'd think about it and that's what I'm doing."

"Yes, but…how do I ensure your thoughts are going in the right direction?"

Regina's eyes roll—but nonetheless, she smiles and turns her attention back to searching for the deed, her thoughts shifting to Robin's offer and wonders if he and Mal are both right, wondering if she really is just standing in her own way.

Regina smiles as Henry clatters down the stairs and into the kitchen as Robin's headlights shine through the window.

"You seem excited."

"I am. I'm hungry."

"You could've had a snack."

Henry shrugs. "I found a chess set, too." He looks up at her as he sits down at one of the chairs. "I wonder if Roland knows how to play."

"In a couple of minutes, you can ask him," Regina says. "But you know, you could've asked me to play."

Henry makes a face. "You alwyas let me win."

"How do you know that?"

"You make bad moves."

"And how do you know I'm not just bad at chess?"

"Because Mal told me you and my dad used to play all the time and you used to beat him almost every time."

Regina looks pointedly back at him, her chest tightening as she suddenly remembers playing chess with Daniel one rainy night at the stables, him gloating over a rare win. "She's rarely sober enough to remember things clearly."

Henry smirks. "Still doesn't change the fact that I always win when I play against you and knowing I'm going to win isn't as fun."

Regina's eyes roll as she hears the truck doors slam shut and her stomach flutters, then a moment later, there's a light rasp on the door. She opens it to find Roland standing in front of Robin, holding a big glass dish; a paper sack is nestled under Robin's arm.

"We're a little early—"

"That's alright," Regina says, her heart practically stopping as Robin leans in to press a kiss against her cheek. "We were just going through old boxes of things—"

"I found a chess set," Henry declares as he looks to Roland. "Do you play chess?"

Roland shakes his head. "I've played checkers, though. That's kinda the same, right?"

"Similar."

"Can you teach me?"

And just like that, the boys disappear, leaving Robin and Regina alone in the kitchen.

"Is seems they're getting on again tonight," Robin says, a little smirk tugging up at the corner of his mouth as he takes off his coat. "Though, I'll admit, when I leaned in to kiss you with Henry in the room, I felt vaguely nauseous worrying that he'd suddenly hate me."

"I told you he knows."

Robin nods. "Sure, he knows, but I think the worst thing that could happen between us is Henry disliking me."

"I doubt kissing me would lose you his approval," she says, taking the bag from him. "A bad meal might, though."

Robin laughs, hanging his coat on the hook by the door. "No pressure there."

"So, what Ladies Home Journal recipe will you be treating us to tonight?"

Robin beams. "A fan-favorite in my house—turkey pot pie."

"I don't think I've ever had… turkey in a pie."

"It's like chicken pot-pie."

Regina's brows arch. "I've… also never had that."

Robin blinks incredulously as Regina shrugs her shoulders. "Please tell me it's better than mincemeat."

"Oh, much better," Robin insists, sounding almost offended. "Much better."

For the better part of the hour, Robin and Regina make the turkey pot-pie, cutting up the slices of turkey into little pieces and mixing it together with a can of soup and some left over vegetables.

"It looks… regurgitated," Regina says, watching as Robin rolls out of the pie crust.

"Maybe, but it's tasty."

"We'll see."

"And if not, I've got a left over apple pie that—"

"My favorite."

"I know," he says, grinning. "Imagine my luck that it was the flavor leftover after yesterday."

"Somehow, that seems planned."

"Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't."

"Alright, now what?" Regina asks as Robin places the second crust over the top of the turkey mixture and slides it into the oven. "How long does that take?"

"About an hour," he tells her. "Got any of that cocoa?"

"It's the one thing I can make that Henry likes," she says, laughing softly. "Of course I do."

This time, it's Robin's turn to watch as she heats four mugs of cocoa—pouring a little whisky into two of the mugs—before they join Roland and Henry.

They settle on the couch, watching as the boys lay on their stomachs in front of the fireplace, playing chess—Henry offering advice before Roland's every move. She smiles as Robin's arm folds around her shoulders and naturally, her head falls onto his as they sip their cocoa.

"This is nice," she murmurs in just barely a whisper.

"This could be a regular thing. Every night could be like this one."

"I know."

"Is there any reason you wouldn't want it to be?"

She hesitates for a moment, taking a long sip of the cocoa. "No."

Robin doesn't say anymore, instead he just kisses the top of her head—and she can practically feel him smiling.

She nearly groans when the timer goes off, indicating that dinner is ready and it's time to leave the little cocoon she's been enjoying—but her chest warms as she and Robin follow Roland and Henry back to the kitchen, all the while Roland telling Henry about the meal they're about to have and how it's one of his favorites.

When you eat it, it almost feels like Christmas, he says.

They eat in the dining room at the unneccarily long table on china that's worth far more than it should be. Robin opens a bottle of wine from the cellar and pours them each a glass, then pours the boys' milk into the other two wine glasses. Roland giggles about how fancy it is.

Henry tells Roland about school and how a table like this one was lined with boys, how the meal was always put out in the center of the table and how they just helped themselves—and Regina's shoulders tense as Roland asks Henry if he misses his school in England, then to her surprise, Henry shakes his head.

I thought I would, he admits. But I can always write to my friends and now, I'm making new friends.

Henry tells them all about his afternoon—how he'd mustered the courage to ask the boys at the park if he could play with them and how they'd let him, how they were glad to have enough boys to play every position. Now, they just needed a batter. At that Roland perked up—offering himself for the position, offering to teach Henry to play baseball in exchange for Henry teaching him to play chess.

The turkey pot-pie is a hit, Henry has two slices—and when its time to have the applie, Regina has two slices.

"Should we help with the dishes?" Henry asks, looking to her as they finish dinner.

"No," Robin says, quick to speak before Regina. "Why don't you two go and play, we'll handle the clean up."

Roland's eyes widen. "Really? You always make me clean up."

Robin's eyes roll. "Consider this one of your Christmas presents."

Regina laughs as the boys run off and once more, Robin and Regina find themselves alone. Robin's hand slips around her waist, drawing her in as her arms link around his neck. "This was nice."

"It was," she agrees.

"They are quite a pair."

"They are," Regina says, nodding. "It's really hard to believe they met yesterday."

Robin laughs. "Maybe they were meant to be brothers."

"You're manipulating me."

"I would never."

"Yeah. Sure."

He grins slyly. "Is it working?"

"More than I should admit," she tells him.

He looks satisfied as he pulls back. "We should get to those dishes." Regina pouts as Robin pulls away, his fingers entwining with hers as he quickly stacks the plates and left over pot-pie. "Grab the wine glasses, I could use a refill."

Regina does, carding the glasses in her fingers as Robin leads her to the kitchen.

"You made the dinner," Regina says. "I'll do the clean up."

From the corner of her eye, she watches as Robin grabs the bottle of wine, topping off both glasses before drawing himself up onto the counter next to the wash basin.

"The boys aren't the only ones who make a pretty good pair," he tells her as she turns on the water. "Look at us, sharing domestic responsibilities…"

"I realize you're trying to convince me—"

"And this time I won't deny it."

Smirking, she reaches for the soap. "For what it's worth, Mal agrees with you. She thinks I'm being difficult."

"I wouldn't say difficult—"

"I've always had a tendency to make things more difficult on myself than need be," she tells him as she soaps up a dish. "I also tend not to look at the big picture. I was reminded of that today."

"By Mal?"

"And Mary-Margaret, of all people."

"Oh, that's right—how did that go?"

"Good. Easy. Quick." She grins as she looks over at him, waiting for their eyes to meet. "She knows about Henry."

"When you say about Henry—"

"About his paternity."

"Ah—and, um, how do you feel about that?"

"Surprisingly at ease. She still wants to be his sister." She takes a breath and looks back to the soapy plate, absently scrubbing at it. "It was strange talking to her today, she's not at all the way I remember her."

"Well, she's grown up now."

"She has," Regina agrees as she rinses the plate, her thoughts shifting. "Tomorrow I am also going to call my uncles in Puerto Rico to see if they'll transfer control of Henry's trust over to me."

"Do you think they will?"

"I don't know," she murmurs. "He's my child though, and I should have been in charge of it all along." Smiling, she looks at him as she sets the plate on the drying rack and reaches for another to wash. "I can't quite explain it, but talking to her just made things sort of… fall into place."

"Falling into place as in…"

"I haven't quite made a decision."

"But you're thinking about it?"

"I haven't been able to stop since this morning."

"That seems as though it'll bode well for me."

His smug little smile makes her laugh. "Perhaps."

"I'm glad that meeting with Mary-Margaret went well."

"I am, too," she admits. "Afterward, Henry and I started going through things—to see what we want to keep, to see what we'll leave for her to deal with."

"Is she moving in?"

"Not exactly," she says. "She wants to make the house useful to the community. I don't have many details, but it sounded like the sort of thing you'd be interested in."

"Oh?"

"Sort of like a community center."

"I do like that idea." He pauses, chuckling softly. "For what it's worth, your bed is far more comfortable than mine and I have sticker-shock after considering buying a new one."

Her brow arches as she looks at him. "Oh?"

"I'm just saying… Please don't leave it behind."

"Noted," she says, a soft giggle rising out of her.

They continue to talk as she washes the dishes—and most of the conversation centers around Robin listing off archaic items around the house and trying to come up with modern uses for them. She almost regrets when the last dish is washed, regretting that this easy conversation and easy mood could shift, regretting that once dinner was over and cleaned up it might mean that it was time for Robin and Roland to go.

"You haven't touched your wine," he says.

"Well, I was a little preoccupied."

"And now you're not." He picks up the glass and hands it to her, and she smiles as she accepts it. "What do you think the boys are up to?"

"A chess game, I'd imagine."

"Should we join them?"

"Not just yet," she murmurs, taking a long sip of the wine, before setting the glass on the counter.

Reaching out she tugs closer. Her hand slips over his scruffy cheek and into his hair as she draws him to her, brushing her lips over his and smiling as she closes the gap between them. His lips taste faintly of apples and wine.

The kiss is long and sweet, comfortable and without any pretense. A kiss simply for the sake of wanting him close.

"This is nice," he says as he pulls away, breathless as his hands come to rest on her hips and his forehead presses against hers.

"It was—it is."

"Mm, you know," he murmurs. "This could be a nightly—"

"Robin—"

"I'm just trying to remind you of the perks, you know, to sweeten the deal."

She laughs softly and shakes her head. "You are relentless."

"I just feel like all of the pieces are falling into place and you're—"

"Being stubborn, I know."

Taking a breath, she takes a half-step back. For her entire life, she's been a poor judge of her own decisions, letting her stubbornness and fear get the best of her, her safe path always turning out to be a self-destructive one. In the moment, she could never see that for herself; it was only in retrospect that it became clear to her.

But it was always obvious to everyone around her, and she was glad—even if a little annoyed—that the people who loved her tried their best to make her aware of it, to stop her from only bringing herself more misery.

"If I said yes to this," she begins, her voice tentative. "How would it work? Logisticslly, I mean."

Robin blinks and for a moment is caught off-guard. "Oh, well… you and Henry could move in whenever you wanted. You could move in slowly or all at once or—"

"And what about you and Roland?"

"We'd move in, too, eventually."

She nods as she considers that. "I don't want to be in your way."

"You wouldn't be," Robin's quick to say, his voice tentative as though the one wrong reply will ruin everything. "There are plenty of rooms, none have been claimed… well… outside of the master bedroom, that is" He smiles a bit sheepishly as she nods—he's excited, but doesn't quite trust it. "There are two rooms downstairs, off of the dining room, that are nearly identical—big windows and big closets, built-in bookshelf and a built-in desk, both overlook the backyard."

"And upstairs—"

"An extra bedroom," he's quick to say. "So if you didn't want to, uh, cohabitate—"

Regina laughs, shaking her head, her stomach fluttering. "I don't have a problem with that."

"Well, earlier you suggested the issue was the boys, so I thought maybe you didn't want Henry to—"

"Henry has been partially raised by a bohemian woman with zero interest in anything remotely traditional. I think he'll be fine with any arrangement we decide on, for however long we decide on it."

For a moment, there's silence—and she watches as a smile slowly creeps up across Robin's lips. "So, does this mean you'll move in?"

Regina offers a half nod and holds her breath. "I figure the money I'll save on rent could buy us a nice—"

Robin doesn't let her finish. Before she can get out the rest of her words, he's pulled her into his arms and is swinging her around the kitchen. She laughs in surprise, and he laughs too—and almost immediately, she's at ease with her decision.

They're going to be happy—finally, they'll be together and happy.