A Christmas Wish

by SpookshowBabyx

When Henry finds a charmed artefact in Gold's store, he uses it to make a wish. Unsure of just what seems to be happening as things seem disturbingly out of her control, Regina finds herself inviting an equally perplexed Emma over to spend the day with her and Henry. Rated M for smut.

A/N: Sorry this is so late! I'd started it with the plan to post it on Christmas Eve, but I've been really sick and today was the first day I could look at a screen and actually pay attention! It also kept getting longer and longer, and wasn't cooperating in the slightest, which I guess I should be used to by now... Still, I hope you like it :)

The setting is similar to my ICE CREAM story. You don't have to read that one to read this, they don't correlate at all, it's just a slightly AU setting I've used a few times now that takes place during the latter part of season 2, after New York and all of the stuff comes to light, but without any following doom lurking in the shadows that needs immediate attention.

I hope you all had a lovely Christmas/ winter break/ last week of December :)

---

Looking up slyly from the comic he's pretending to read, Henry watches as Gold steps out of his store and locks the door before retreating down the street towards Granny's. He knows the pawnbroker is heading towards the diner as he'd overheard Regina arrange the meeting earlier this morning. Something to do with a set of old books she's been unable to locate since the breaking of the Curse and Rumplestiltskin's previous interest in them. Knowing his mother, he'd guess he has twenty minutes at least before Gold comes back this way; Regina nothing if not thorough when trying to get to the bottom of something.

"It's go time."

He murmurs, repeating the statement he's heard his other mother use on several occasions, usually while knocking back coffee in preparation for something she doesn't want to do.

Like talking to mom...

Grinning, Henry pushes himself up off of the bench and makes his way towards the pawnshop, thankful that Mr Gold is punctual by nature as he can no longer feel his nose or fingers due to the cold. Slipping his hand inside the pocket of his coat, he pulls out the set of keys he'd taken from the middle drawer of Regina's desk while she'd been in the shower. Swallowing guiltily, he tries several of the more ornate options that seem to fit the style of the lock and lets out a relieved sigh when he's successful on the third try; slipping swiftly inside musty shadows of troubled memories.

"Please be here, please be here, please be here..."

He mutters under his breath, heading towards a shelf close to the counter and pulling down a small wooden box engraved with a twelve-pointed star. Beneath the catch holding it closed, a series of words have been neatly engraved, dedicating the box and its contents as a gift.

My dearest Alma, for your sweetest desires. Yours, P.

Having checked his book several times for clues, Henry had eventually asked Gold himself who the box had belonged to; his curiosity more often than not willingly sated now that the little man is aware of their familial tie. Rumple had even commented on the possibility that the trait had been passed down, and, while Henry supposes that might be so, it had been on the tip of his tongue to remind the pawnbroker that he most likely has either of his mothers to thank; Regina attentive and diligent when it comes to small details, and Emma deeply suspicious by nature. In the end, he'd kept his thoughts to himself, and Gold had advised him that the box had belonged to a young princess from a realm far from the Enchanted Forest and that he'd merely come into its possession as part of a trade.

"Not that I'd need it, mind you. I have my own magic without relying on childish enchantments."

Rumple had shrugged, nodding agreeably when Henry had asked for permission to look inside.

"Be my guest, but be careful. It's delicate."

Gold had advised, going back to organising the pile of paper stacked on his desk. Opening the box, Henry had discovered a glass ornament resembling the star carved into the lid resting on green velvet padding. Attached to the underside of the lid, he'd found a small, leather-bound book inscribed with delicate cursive he'd had to squint to make much sense of.

"It gives you magic?"

He'd asked Gold curiously after reading the tiny manual cover to cover.

"It gives the user the ability to make a wish."

The pawnbroker had corrected, and when Henry had asked what the difference might be, Rumple had looked up from his work and explained dutifully

"Magic is innate and can't be gifted to one not in its possession. A wish works more along the lines of an enchantment; the power comes from an object or from adding various ingredients together. There are generally more rules involved, and the effect is almost always temporary. Sometimes it may last for several years- centuries even, in rare cases- but in the case of that star, the limitations are illustrated in its very design. The wish granted will last twelve hours, no more, no less."

"Can anyone use it?"

Henry had asked curiously, earning himself a beady-eyed study from Gold.

"Almost. I wouldn't advise those with magic to dabble with items designed for those lacking in the art. There's a strict code when it comes to power, and enchanted objects don't always mix well with it. Magical ability far surpasses the use of cunning little tricks, but, as you have seen several times in the past, that innate source of power may be temporarily dampened by a charm or concoction."

"Even if the person with magic is strong?"

"Even if it were me."

Gold had agreed, before offering the boy a wry smirk and advising silkily

"Fortunately, the item in question was designed only to grant a good wish."

"What kind of good wish?"

"Oh, anything one could imagine, I suppose, provided the desired conclusion could be achieved within the allotted timeframe."

"Can-"

"-Put that away now, though, Henry. I'm grateful for your offer to help with the dust and the window display, but your mother will give me an earful if she finds out I'm letting you play around with enchanted merchandise.

That exchange had been three weeks ago now, and Henry's still not sure which of his mothers Gold had been referring to.

Well... What they don't know won't hurt them...

No, and, given his intentions, he's more than happy to keep his plan a secret.

---

"Good?"

Regina smirks as she watches Henry scrape his spoon around his bowl to scoop up the last traces of the tart she'd made for dessert.

"Good."

He agrees, meaning it wholeheartedly, but feeling ever so slightly sick following a large helping of steamed ham and garlic-crisp potatoes for dinner, following a families-worth of gingerbread men while over at Emma's; the blonde biting the heads off of her own cookies rather irritably as she'd reminded him for the dozenth time that Regina was being entirely unfair.

The matter of contention had been tomorrow- Christmas- and the Mayor's firm refusal to allow Emma any part in it. When questioned, her reasoning had been the numerous traditions built up over the years and her disinclination to sacrifice any of them to permit the blonde time with her son, but Henry knows full well that the real reason his mother had put her foot down and refused to budge on the matter comes down to the fact that she just doesn't like it when Emma gets her way.

"Honestly, that woman would happily make herself miserable if she thought she could bum me out in the process."

The Sheriff had confided in him grumpily last week following a rather heated exchange about the rescheduling of a meeting for the crack of dawn, and Henry had simply shrugged; too devoted to the brunette to openly admit that she might have a point, and too loyal to Emma to argue otherwise.

Tomorrow, things will be different...

He hopes so.

And, as Gold said, the star only grants good wishes. If what I'm planning to do wasn't good, it wouldn't work...

He hopes he's right on that count, too.

And, really, it's not as though his mothers even truly hate each other anymore. He's just not entirely certain if either of them has realised this fact; each of them seeming to thrive off the other's reaction to baited threats and harsh words while never considering the fact that they blatantly seek one another out for another round.

"Go wash up and get ready for bed, then we can play a game if you want."

Regina interrupts his train of thought as she points to his empty bowl.

"Can we play charades?"

"You know I hate that game, Henry."

The brunette frowns, choosing not to mention that her distaste for the pastime stems primarily from the fact that she rarely knows any of the books or movies her son acts out as they are invariably the Sheriff's influence, leaving her feeling very much in the dark. Instead, she simply mutters that she fails to see the fun in looking a fool as she wipes down the table and plays to character to dissuade further discussion.

"Fine... Twister?"

Henry counters, but he grins when the Mayor shoots him a sharp glance to show that he's joking.

"Only if you want to play by yourself."

Regina warns, and the boy chuckles as he suggests less cheekily

"Monopoly?"

"Ugh, too much like work."

The Mayor shakes her head, earning herself an affectionate snigger.

"Scrabble?"

"Fine by me."

She agrees, loading their used dinner things into the dishwasher.

"But you're not allowed to use any old-fashioned Enchanted Forest words."

Henry reminds her stubbornly.

"Agreed, so long as you don't use any ridiculous comic-book terms."

The brunette concedes, injecting a purposeful hint of disdain into her tone as though she hasn't bought him several more 'ridiculous comics' to add to his collection currently wrapped under the tree in the drawing room.

"Fine."

He sighs, before his feigned stroppiness is interrupted by a chime emanating from his pocket. Pulling out the cell phone Regina had given him for his birthday- complete with a sermon on how disapproving she was over the fact- he checks it with a grin.

"Who's that?"

The Mayor asks, rather unnecessarily, given that she knows only three numbers are saved in his phone - to be used for emergencies and for logistic purposes only- but she still rolls her eyes dutifully when Henry informs her the message is from Emma.

"I'm not changing my mind about tomorrow, Henry."

She warns, and the boy nods in acceptance of her terms and tells her he knows that before turning around and heading upstairs to change into his pyjamas.

Watching him leave with a frown, Regina experiences a brief wave of suspicion when Henry doesn't even attempt to argue, before supposing he must have grown tired of the subject once and for all.

Finally!

---

"Night, mom."

Henry calls out as he closes the door to his room; sleepy and victorious, although he has a hunch that the brunette had let him win their last round of the game.

Padding towards his bed, he perches on the covers and assumes a perfectly still posture; listening intently for the sound of footsteps downstairs. He waits for his mother to make her way into the kitchen where he knows she will pour herself a glass of wine, turn the stereo on low, and start prepping dinner for tomorrow so that the meat can simmer overnight and dessert can be baked and chilled ready for lashings of cream.

When he hears the sound of the door to the kitchen close, he climbs back down and kneels on the rug; pulling the box stolen from Gold's store out from beneath the bed, his heart hammering fast. Opening the lid and easing the instruction manual from its leather strap within, he checks for what must be the tenth time that he's prepared.

• Essence of all parties involved.

"Check."

He murmurs, pulling a ziplock bag from the drawer of his nightstand and holding it up to the light. Inside, he's collected one dark hair from his mother's brush in the bathroom, and one fair. The latter had given him cause for concern earlier today, unsure how to go about obtaining the Sheriff's hair without her noticing during their brief chat in the diner over hot chocolate, before a thought had occurred to him and he'd removed his hoody once she'd bid him farewell; the baggy garment leant to him several days prior by the blonde when they'd been out near the woods. Hunching over and inspecting the hood, he'd blushed furiously when Ruby had walked past and raised a brow at this peculiar behaviour, but his ambition had been fruitful nonetheless; extracting a long, wavy hair from the weave of the fabric and folding it carefully inside a napkin.

"Ouch."

He hisses now, yanking several hairs from his own head with a wince, before selecting one and adding it to the star-shaped vessel along with the two collected earlier.

• Writ of wanting.

"Check."

Henry nods, pushing himself up and heading over to his desk in order to follow the book's instructions. Pulling a pen and some paper from his drawer, he taps his fingers on his thigh thoughtfully before writing out his wish with his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he utilises his best handwriting.

A FAMILY CHRISTMAS.

Rummaging back inside the drawer for a pair of scissors, he cuts away the excess blank paper and carefully rolls his written wish into a tiny scroll thin enough to fit through the mouth of the vessel.

• Salt of longing.

The last step in the manual instructs. This final ingredient had stumped him originally when he'd first read it back in Gold's shop. Some covert digging for information in the form of what had likely seemed very strange questions had finally provided him with an answer; his information unwittingly provided by Regina and leading him to confirm that the last piece of the puzzle consisted of tears.

"Weird."

He muses, shaking his head at the strange customs of the past before carefully laying the glass star back inside its box and placing it on the desk.

He will add the last ingredient in the morning, making sure to make a note of the exact time when he does so.

Setting his alarm, he climbs into bed; torn between nerves and excitement until sleep finally claims him.

---

Waking up with a start at the sound of his alarm, Henry yawns and turns onto his side to spy snow falling lightly through the gap in the curtains. Pushing himself up, he pads over to the window and focuses his attention intently on the white expanse of the lawn; narrowing his eyes and staring down at the bright relief until he can feel tears prickling behind his lashes. Hurrying over to the desk, he takes the wishing star carefully from its box and holds it to his cheek, feeling ever so slightly foolish.

"Well... Fingers crossed..."

He mutters under his breath, tipping his head to one side to coax a single tear inside the vessel before screwing the lid back on. Nibbling his lip, he waits for something to happen, but everything feels much the same as always and he wrinkles his nose, checks the time - eight-fifteen - and makes his way cautiously downstairs; not sure what might await him there.

"Henry! Merry Christmas."

Regina smiles, looking up from the melon she cuts into bite-sized chunks.

"You're up late."

She raises a brow, used to the boy waking her up at the crack of dawn on Christmas, just as he will on his birthday.

"I guess I was tired."

He replies, helping himself to juice from the fridge while watching his mother raptly out of the corner of his eye.

"Did you sleep okay, mom?"

He asks, probing the mood, and he grins awkwardly when she shoots him a surprised glance, but if she finds his query out of character, she seems at peace over the fact.

"I did, thank you, dear."

She replies, plating up pancakes with a side helping of fruit salad.

"So, uh... About today..."

Henry broaches as he takes a seat at the table across from her, playing nervously with his knife.

"What about it?"

"I just... I know you said you didn't want to talk about it again, but it would be kind of nice to see Emma. I mean... We're sort of a family if you think about it, and... It might be fun?"

Swallowing a hasty gulp of juice as his mother narrows her eyes dangerously, Henry laments the fact that it would seem the charm placed on the wishing star pilfered from Gold must have worn off and he readies himself for a stern reminder that the blonde is in no way welcome in their house, be it Christmas or any other time of year.

"I... I suppose that's true."

Regina replies; her tone pleasant but her expression a bizarre blend of fury and confusion. She'd meant to warn Henry firmly to let the issue lie. Had meant to scold him for casting a sour mood over their cosy breakfast when she has made herself perfectly clear on the matter.

What on earth...

She thins her lips, spearing a grape onto her fork before clearing her throat in a bid to add some sense to the conversation.

"I suppose it would be nice to spend the day with all of us..."

Nipping the tip of her tongue in her haste to snap her mouth shut and stop the insanity falling from her lips, she eyes her son warily as he beams at her.

"Really?! Awesome!"

Henry pipes up, and Regina tries to shake her head in fierce disagreement but finds she's unable to do much more than offer him a neutral dip of her jaw.

"Will you ask her over? She might think I'm being sneaky if I do it."

Henry reasons, knowing that he's right, but also testing the boundaries of his wish as he fetches the brunette's phone from the windowsill and hands it to her.

"I..."

The Mayor frowns, meaning to place her phone irritably down on the table and put an end to this madness, but she finds herself entering her passcode and scrolling through her contacts as if on autopilot.

What is going on?! What on earth is happening that I should agree to invite that no good, surly, foul-mouthed, terribly dressed little-

"-It's ringing."

She smiles at Henry; the expression feeling as though it's all teeth.

---

"Oh, fuck."

Emma grumbles, spying the name lighting up her cell as she leans forward while taking care not to spill her drink over the couch.

"Emma!"

Mary Margaret scolds disapprovingly, and the blonde glances over at her and shrugs

"It's Regina."

"Oh... Well... Alright then."

Snow replies with a roll of her eyes before turning back around to help Charming light the selection of candles she's arranged on the counter.

"Yes?"

The Sheriff answers the phone with a sigh.

"Merry Christmas, dear."

The darker woman replies, and Emma holds the phone out warily, checking the name with a confused furrowing of her brow, before demanding what the brunette might want from her now.

"And to you."

She replies in an uncharacteristically sweet tone, causing her parents to glance over at her before they share a look and shake their heads, wondering what Emma plans to gain from playing games and winding up the Queen.

Swallowing as she's not sure where in the hell that came from, the Sheriff nibbles her lip before climbing off the sofa and making her way up to her room; a little disconcerted as she feels a momentary loss of control over her tongue.

"Thank you, Sheriff."

The Mayor replies in a syrupy voice the blonde knows better than to trust.

What the fuck is she playing at? Did she do something to me just now? Did she-

"-I hope I didn't wake you?"

Regina continues, and Emma frowns as she takes a seat heavily on her bed, trying to recall if the brunette has ever apologised for such a thing in the history of knowing her.

She hasn't. Hell, she'll often call early with the express purpose of waking you up and pissing you off.

"No, I was up."

She replies, her tone free from the scorn she'd meant to embellish it with.

"Good... That's good."

Regina muses, sounding alarmingly sincere for the Sheriff's liking.

"I guess... Can I help you?"

Emma asks, wincing as she doubts she's ever sounded so earnest, not even when talking to her mother.

"I certainly hope so, dear... It seems I was a little rash before."

Well, that's putting it lightly! Fucking thorn in my side! She-

"-It would be very nice if you might like to join Henry and I for Christmas after all today..."

Regina interrupts her inner bitching, and Emma almost drops her phone in surprise.

What did she just say?!

"Umm..."

She struggles to find her voice, wondering what in the hell the bitch is playing at and whether she should be genuinely concerned for her safety.

"What do you say, Saviour?"

The Mayor pushes for an answer, sounding curiously as though she forces the words out between gritted teeth, but otherwise perfectly- disturbingly!- pleasant.

She's setting you up. She's up to something. She's-

"-Count me in."

Emma chuckles amiably, feeling as though she's choking on glass.

"Wonderful!"

The brunette replies, telling her to come over as soon as she'd like and hanging up the phone, but not before she has the audacity to warn the Sheriff to drive safe.

Drive safe?! She wants me to drive safe?! Since when has that woman wanted anything other than for me to suffer a fatal one-man collision!?

Emma plays with a loose strand of hair uneasily, looking up to spy her reflection and noting that she looks even paler than usual.

What the actual fuck?

A good question, as, while she knows she's being a little dramatic in her assertion that Regina wants her dead these days, she'd certainly taken the brunette's hissed threat that she should mind her business and keep to herself over the holiday period as entirely serious. Viciously genuine.

"What the hell...?"

She mutters uneasily, opening her closet and pulling out fresh underwear, a clean shirt, one of her nicer sweaters, and a pair of black jeans. Eyeing the selection of clothes in her hands dubiously, she suffers a further sense of disquiet as she'd not actually planned on grabbing any of the items she currently holds, and she makes her way back down the steps and heads for the bathroom, advising her parents that she's going to shower and head out when they glance up at her curiously; supposing they look just as confused as she feels.

---

"Okay, what if this is a trap, though?... You've got to be careful."

Emma mutters, sitting in her car outside the Mayor's mansion with her hand hovering uncertainly over the key which remains in the ignition.

Would Regina really do something dangerous?

Pulling a face, she supposes she's not entirely sure. Things have seemed better between the two of them on the whole, the night with the wraith going someway towards building an uneasy truce, followed by tentative allowances and shows of trust from either side; not always willingly given or enthusiastically received, but nor has it backfired on either of them. That progress had slipped once more into uneasy territory following the revelation of the identity of Henry's father- and, more importantly in Regina's eyes, the identity of his grandfather- and Emma suspects that her only saving grace in that whole fiasco had been her open shock over the fact that even the Mayor hadn't been able to accuse her of faking. Things have been rather rocky since that unlikely discovery, but they're definitely on better terms now than they had been when she'd first come to Storybrooke. That said, Regina had made it abundantly clear when cornered several times over the last week that any newfound tolerance and lack of homicidal tendencies certainly weren't an indication that she wished to spend time together outside the scope of necessity.

Certainly not Christmas.

Especially not Christmas. She practically bit my head off when I even mentioned it...

"So... What?"

She frowns, really not sure how she feels about entering the lion's den, but the weather is turning for the worse and the bug's heating hasn't worked since the week before Halloween, and she knows she's going to have to make a move soon before she succumbs to frostbite.

"Ugh."

She hisses, getting out of the car and making her way up the stone steps to knock lightly on the front door; eyeing the expensive-looking wreath suspended below the knocker.

"Mom!"

Henry opens the door to greet her, and Emma adopts a slight frown as she'd swear he offers her a fairly scrutinising once-over before stepping aside to let her in.

"Happy Christmas."

She smiles at him dutifully, crossing her arms uncomfortably over her stomach as she looks down at his slippered feet and asking awkwardly

"So, do I take my boots off, or-"

"-I would appreciate it if you would, dear, given the weather."

Regina pads into the hallway to greet her, and the younger woman nods woodenly, opening her mouth to ask her host why she couldn't have just said so last time she'd dropped round to hand over some paperwork, rather than accusing her venomously of having been brought up to possess little in the way of manners before offering her a thin smile and twisting the knife; musing that she supposed that was hardly surprising.

"I like your wreath."

Is what comes out instead, and Emma presses her fingers to her lips roughly as though to keep any further nonconsensual comments firmly trapped.

"Thank you. I make one every year. I'm pretty pleased with how this one turned out."

Regina smiles, having meant to suggest that she doubts the blonde would know the difference between a nice wreath and one of the plastic ones one can purchase at the pharmacy for a dollar.

"It's beautiful."

Emma compliments her, continually thrown as she hadn't meant to say anything at all, but supposing that her words ring true.

Still, what the fuck is going on?!

Meaning to demand just that, she meets the Mayor's dark gaze and readies herself determinedly.

"You look nice."

What the-?!

Feeling a burst of heat flush across her cheeks at this most bizarre and unlikely remark, Emma feels her heart pounding in her chest as the brunette holds her gaze for an uncomfortably long time before looking down at her chosen attire.

"Thank you, so do you."

Regina replies, feeling her soul leave her body as she'd never thought she'd see the day when she'd have anything positive to offer the blonde with respect to her appearance.

Even if it's currently true. I like that sweater, and I've grown to accept the jeans, and what the hell is happening?!

The Mayor is certain she can hear the blood thrumming in her ears as she once more meets the younger woman's green gaze before looking hastily away; refusing- absolutely refusing- to think back on the few occasions when she's found herself torn between amused distaste for the Sheriff's fashion sense and her subsequent private opinion that the blonde's refusal to dress appealingly is rather a shame as she'd actually be fairly attractive if she tried.

"Coffee?"

She manages to choke out, desperate for an excuse to step away from the insanity being played out beyond her control.

"Sure."

Emma agrees, wondering if she should follow Regina into the kitchen to intercept any attempts to poison her mug, before Henry grabs her wrist and demands her attention.

"I'm glad you could come."

He smiles, and the blonde nods dutifully before leaning down so that she can whisper in the boy's ear.

"Me too."

She murmurs quietly, her expression pleasant when she pulls back and runs a hand through her hair, but her eyes visibly troubled.

"Good."

Henry smiles wide, feeling a pang of guilt as he recognises the glitter of unease in the blonde's eyes just as he'd noticed the confusion marring Regina's. He imagines Emma had intended to confide in him just now, and he offers her hand a gentle squeeze before beckoning that she should follow him into the living room.

I'm sorry, please don't be upset. I know it might be kind of weird, maybe even kind of spooky, but it's a good wish, mom, I promise.

Henry squares his shoulders determinedly as he takes a seat on one of the sofas by the hearth and gestures that the Sheriff should do the same.

"Wow, your tree looks amazing."

Emma muses, this time meaning entirely what she says as she drinks in the decadent display of fairy lights and glass baubles. The muted colour scheme strikes her as elegantly classy and entirely in character, but she vows not to utter another complimentary word to the woman that has worked overtime to make her life a living hell since their very first meeting. On cue, Regina walks in balancing three mugs between her hands without spilling a drop.

"Impressive."

Oh, for fuck's sake!

"Thank you."

The brunette smirks kittenishly in response to the younger woman's praise, handing her a small mug of strong espresso. The kind she never offers if Emma is forced to stop by for any reason, but that she knows the blonde would prefer to Granny's bottomless but admittedly weak coffee going off several comments she's picked up on here and there.

Not that I care.

"Thank you!"

Emma replies appreciatively as she uses her mug to warm her hands, and Regina nods curtly, hoping that will be the end of the matter.

"If you'd like, I have an old percolator in the back of the cupboard you're welcome to have as I just use the machine."

The brunette shrugs, feeling as surprised as the blonde looks in response to this unlikely offer.

"...That would be nice. I did have one a few years ago when I fancied myself much more civilised than I actually am. I used it for a week or two and then went back to using the machine. I had one like yours that could do everything well, including break down and cost a fortune to fix, but, somehow that always seemed to be my preferred method."

Emma shakes her head self-deprecatingly, taking a sip of her espresso and savouring its strength before she continues

"You would have liked it, actually. It was sleek and ominous looking. You'd have liked that whole apartment if not for the fact I was living in it... I have more time these days, and less of a hang-... headache when I wake up as my nights are pretty tame given my roommates. I'd be down for giving a percolator another shot, and not only because Mary Margaret's coffee looks and tastes like muddy water half the time."

The blonde doctors her words as she shoots a glance over at Henry who slurps at his hot chocolate with a suspiciously large grin.

"Remind me to get it out for you later, then."

Regina smiles, and while she still feels as though the expression is completely out of place given her company, she doesn't feel as out of control as she has thus far. She doesn't think Emma has ever offered her much in the way of casual conversation about her life before gatecrashing their town, and the blonde's cheeky digs at her character feel bizarrely amicable; the sort of back-handed observations a friend might make.

Between them, Henry watches the others like a hawk as his heart hammers excitedly in his chest. When they each fall silent, he speaks up in a bid to coax further pleasantries, enjoying every second of his mothers behaving in the way he knows they could behave -would behave!- if they would just quit clinging onto the tiny, measly complication of the fact that each actively served to ruin the other's life.

Still, let it go already! Everything worked out...

"Emma likes the tree, mom."

He smiles sweetly, looking from the blonde to the brunette and waiting for a response.

"Oh, thank you. I know your own is rather more colourful, but I like the simplicity of ours... Say what you will about that."

Regina sighs, readying herself for a more familiar remark made with a barely veiled intent to sting.

"It's my parent's tree, not mine, and honestly, it's started giving me a headache with the lights flashing as much as they do. I don't know enough to say whether it's in character, but I'm pretty sure it's also a very sweet but misguided attempt on their part to go all out for our first Christmas together, be that by providing merriment or seizures. Yours is simple, but otherwise, I know it's very much in character."

"Otherwise?"

"It's refined. Sophisticated... Stylish-"

Emma takes a gulp of her coffee in a bid to shut herself up as her cheeks burn scarlet.

"Did you run out of adjectives, dear?"

Regina teases, feeling rather flushed herself as it's been quite some time since someone last complimented her so openly, and while she has no idea just what in the hell is going on between them, she's also somehow positive that the younger woman hasn't lied to her since crossing the threshold.

No, she's been telling the truth, and so have I... That's what's so insane...

"Shush."

The Sheriff scolds as she places her empty cup on the coffee table, and Regina obeys, purely as she can't remember the blonde ever asking her to be quiet without telling her, irritably, to shut up.

Nibbling her lip as she waits for the Mayor to berate her for being rude, Emma accepts the darker woman's calm smile with a sense of confused relief and gestures back to the tree and the presents beneath.

"Looks like I'm not the only one in favour. Santa's been."

She jokes, before adopting a much more apprehensive expression and tagging on

"I mean, maybe he has... I don't know?"

Looking uncertainly from Regina to Henry, she rolls her eyes when the boy chuckles darkly after holding her at his mercy for just a little while longer.

"I know Santa's not real."

Henry advises, shaking his head at the very notion, and Emma narrows her eyes at him before shrugging and pointing out

"I kind of feel that's not the forgone conclusion you're both acting like it should be... I reckon I'm allowed to ask about things like that now and then given everything else that's happened!"

"Sure, you can ask, but you looked more like you were worried than curious, mom."

Henry advises, and Regina laughs lightly before taking the blonde's side; her posture suggesting that she's very much not on board with doing so, but her tone kind.

"The lore surrounding Santa Claus is certainly interesting, but the elements that suggest a touch of magic are, in this case, pure fiction. At least, that's the case to my knowledge. We celebrated Christmas when I was a girl, but it was a winter feast, and my presents came from my father's court and any wretched soul my mother demanded them from, not from a jolly old man in a red suit. The idea of a man dressed in such attire would have made my mother's skin crawl, and we simply had far too many chimneys for that part of the tale to ever be practical."

She shrugs, aware that she's threaded the latter part of her explanation with a note of arrogance, but it's a purposeful affectation- theatrical- and she smiles when Emma chuckles appreciatively; for once understanding that she's attempting to be witty rather than conceited.

Well, you do like to make it astonishingly hard for the poor woman to guess where you're coming from on that front.

Regina sighs, supposing she does often offer Emma pure disdain and little else, but for the first time wondering why, when sharing a joke that they're both a part of feels so much more pleasant than she'd ever have expected.

She's almost tolerable when she's not busy acting as though the world is against her.

The brunette muses, knowing full well that she's often guilty of doing everything in her power to make it so and offering the younger woman a bemused smile.

"I can't speak for Santa, but I came, at least."

Regina shrugs, and Emma nips the tip of her tongue, desperate to scoff at the brunette for her choice of wording. To tease her. To flash her teeth and remark silkily on what was implied.

The unseen force dominating the situation refuses her the ability to do the former. Refuses her the capability to snap or snarl; to render the Queen mortified as she might usually do in such situations when Regina's wording causes her to snicker and sneer and resolutely deny the troubling tightening of her stomach in response.

She's fairly sure she could manage the latter- that she could manage to tease- but she's all too aware of Henry's presence and so she simply offers the brunette a sly smirk that says what she cannot in present company, and nods towards the tree.

"Open up, then, kid."

---

By the time she's served them a light lunch - bagels with cream cheese and a generous helping of smoked salmon- Regina finds she's no longer constantly battling against whatever spell is at play between the three of them. She'll figure it out, of course, and there will be hell to pay for whoever's at fault - probably Emma, and my god, I'll enjoy every second of making her repent... - but for now... Well, it's just not as awful as she'd feared it would be when unwillingly dialling the Sheriff's number and inviting her over this morning.

They'd exchanged gifts - she and Henry - and she'd felt almost guilty for expecting the blonde to watch empty-handed.

Almost.

Still, when she'd muttered a tense apology for the matter when Henry had hurried upstairs to place his new spoils on his bed and dispose of the wrapping paper, Emma had simply shrugged and told her to wrap the percolator if she was that bothered. The blonde's tone had implied that she was joking, and her expression had suggested that she was being entirely honest about not being upset; something which had only served to trouble the brunette further, as Emma's response had done little to appease her sense of regret.

"It was simply a slightly awkward exchange."

She murmurs now, finishing off what she'd started last night and getting their dinner started. She sets a timer on her phone to let her know when to add what to the oven, following the neatly penned plan she'd stuck to the fridge before heading to bed. From the other room, she can hear the quiet chatter of the other two playing one of the games she'd bought Henry. She'd never heard of it before he'd given her his Christmas list a couple of weeks ago, but it seems Emma either knows how to play or is an exceptionally fast learner, which, having known her for a while now, she doesn't believe to be very likely.

She does alright... Better than most would do in her position...

Frowning as this strikes her as bordering uncomfortably on affection, she reminds herself that things are entirely out of control and that their Christmas traditions are being completely ruined and marches towards the drawing room; furiously drowning out the ridiculous part of her conscience that pipes up

Traditions like Henry disappearing to his room on his own for a few hours while you prepare far too much food for the two of you?

Barging into the room and accessing the complex collection of game pieces probably leaving scratches on her coffee table, she opens her mouth to remind Emma that she really should be getting herself home so that normality can resume.

"Did you want anything else to drink?"

She asks instead, pursing her lips as she damns whatever force is at play, much as she damns the openly sheepish look the blonde offers her from her position sat cross-legged on the floor with the throw from the back of the sofa pulled across her lap.

As if I don't have enough to do without needing to launder the bloody-

"-If you're cold, you're welcome to get a fire started. I just don't like Henry doing it."

"Thanks... And I'd like a drink."

"What would you like?"

"Uh, what are you having?"

Emma asks, supposing that if she were at home she would have pestered Mary Margaret into opening one of the bottles of liquor she'd oh so stealthily bought them all as stocking fillers, but she doubts that's what Regina has in mind, and the last thing she needs is the Mayor calling her out on-

"-I was going to pour myself a glass of wine. I know it's a little early, but it's Christmas, and I do like to indulge when I cook."

Regina shrugs, and the blonde glances down at her phone and resists the urge to argue that four-fifteen isn't early in the slightest in the current context and simply smiles.

"Wine sounds nice."

"And you?"

The brunette asks Henry; the boy peering over at the Sheriff's lit phone screen with a sense of dismay as he laments how fast the day has gone.

"Apple juice, please, mom."

Only four more hours to go... We'll have a nice dinner, and then it will all be over... They'll go back to pretending to hate each other...

His heart drops, but he supposes he's still had a better Christmas than he would have imagined before finding the mysterious box in Gold's store, and when Emma apologises for cornering one of his figures- mistaking his crestfallen expression as being related to their game- he forces himself to grin at her and remind her of a card drawn on an earlier turn that renders her bold move rather foolish.

"Were Snow and David upset that you came over here?

He asks curiously, preparing an attack with his brow furrowed in concentration as he lines up his game pieces. The thought has only just occurred to him, but, recalling all of the times Regina has professed that his presence is the only thing reacquired to make her happy at Christmas, he looks up and studies the blonde pensively.

"I think they were just confused!"

Emma laughs, before backtracking and replying more thoughtfully

"Honestly, kid, I'm confused... Your mom made it crystal clear she didn't want me around today, and then she called me out of the blue and acted as though none of that happened. That made me pretty apprehensive about taking her up on her invitation, but... I don't know. I had to."

"You had to."

Henry repeats uneasily.

"Yeah... I'm glad, though."

"You are?"

"Sure. I mean, it would have been nice to spend the holidays with my parents, with my dad, you know, awake, but... I'm a grown-up. I know that stings for them, but it can also be kind of weird for me to try and act as both the Sheriff and the baby of the house."

"The princess."

Henry muses.

"Watch it."

The blonde warns coldly, before breaking into a grin.

"Look, of all people, my parents are best placed to understand my position today. I think they were kind of concerned your mom was going to attempt apple pie 2.0 or something more seasonal, but they get that I would want to spend the day with you... They're just a little surprised I'd want to spend it with your mom, but, for the foreseeable future, I guess that's kind of a package deal... It could be worse. She's not so bad, really."

"What was that, dear?"

Regina demands as she enters the room with a glass of wine and a highball filled with apple juice.

"Remember to be careful with that glass, Henry, it's for special occasions."

She smiles as Henry dutifully accepts what he used to call his 'grown-up drink'.

"Nothing."

Emma replies swiftly, taking her glass, before, without her consent, she elaborates earnestly

"I was just saying how nice it's been to be here with you. Both of you. I enjoy spending time with you."

And, she tries to blurt out another 'both of you', excruciatingly aware of the words left hanging between them, but nothing comes out.

"I see."

Regina replies, readying herself to mock. To tease. To hurt. Readying herself to warn the younger woman that she best not get used to the outrageous leniency shown towards her today.

"It's been very pleasant having you here, dear."

Yes! About as pleasant as the plague! I-... She... I... I suppose it has sort of been nice. In a way. I...

"I best get the last bits prepped for dinner."

"Do you need any help?"

"I've managed fine every other year."

"That's not what I asked."

"... Finish your game. Then, if you feel like it, you can help take some plates and cutlery through."

"If I feel like it."

Emma chuckles.

See! Mocking! Bitch!

But...

No...

No, she's not trying to be a bitch, she's just trying to help, and oh, damn, what a headache!

"That would be appreciated."

Regina finishes, turning for the door before her sanity can escape.

"Mom never lets guests help."

Henry muses quietly, and Emma nods as she makes her move and loses her upper hand.

"I'm hardly a guest in your mom's eyes, kid. I'm a nuisance."

The blonde grins, knowing she speaks the truth.

"Yep, but you're family."

The boy shrugs, causing the Sheriff to take a hasty gulp of her wine.

"Mm. Maybe. I guess... Can I ask you something?"

Emma chokes out finally once she's battled down a coughing fit.

"Always."

Henry smiles.

"Has today been weird?"

"What do you mean?"

The boy frowns, and the Sheriff attempts to put the dozens of obscurities and fears realised since stepping inside the mansion into words. Tries to relay her confusion and doubt upon receiving Regina's call this morning. Tries to explain that she feels unnervingly lacking in control over what she's done and said today...

Nothing comes out.

Nothing negative, and so she simply repeats herself uneasily.

"Has today been weird?"

"Today's been how I wish every day would be. Not the presents or the food or the fancy glass. The rest of it."

"The rest of it?"

"You guys."

"Me and Regina?"

"Yeah. You both like each other, I know you do, it's just you never usually want to admit it. Not even to yourselves... Today's probably been the least weird day because you're not pretending to hate each other."

"... I-"

"-Actually, Emma, could I grab you? I'm ahead of schedule... Naturally."

Regina pokes her head around the door to address the blonde, and the younger woman nods as if on autopilot and pushes herself up to her feet.

"Naturally."

She smirks.

A warm smirk.

All wrong.

All right.

---

Henry watches the others eat and finish dinner.

Watches them talk and laugh.

Watches them open up and reveal small, unimportant parts of themselves; arbitrary, if not for the fact that he doubts either of them has shared the stories and anecdotes offered before.

He watches as Regina tops up the blonde's wine with the smile she usually saves for him alone; affectionate. Doting.

Watches as Emma opens a fresh bottle without being asked with a quick turn of her wrist.

"You know, when I was young- early twenties, not 'Henry' young- I met this guy that would open bottles using a sword."

"No, you didn't."

Regina counters; chuckling, not cruel.

"I did! There's a whole name for it! Sabrage! It's a thing!"

"Seems fairly unnecessary."

"Well, yeah, but it's still pretty cool."

"It's cool to waste everyone's time being a showoff?"

"...Do you really want me to answer that, Regina?... Whatever, as far as flirting goes, it wasn't the worst attempt I've received."

Emma shrugs, grinning when Henry scolds her for being disgusting. Her expression falters slightly as she catches the way the brunette studies her intently, and she raises her jaw as if to dare Regina to say more on the subject.

"Hm... As I said: unnecessary. I doubt it would take much given your standards."

"Mom!"

The boy cries, appropriating a pose as though readying to vomit, and the Mayor reminds him curtly that such behaviour is utterly inappropriate for the dinner table.

"So is you guys talking about stuff like that!"

Henry bites back, and Regina smirks, before suffering a queer sensation as the words are forced from her mouth before she can stop them

"I'm joking, of course, Miss Swan, at least the part about your standards. As for your friend's attempts to charm you being unnecessary, I stand by my word. A sword trick would hardly suffice."

"Oh?"

Emma raises a brow, waiting for the darker woman to clarify that she refers to her expectations of another being offensively poor and not her perceived worth, but Regina simply looks down at her plate; flustered to have said anything at all.

"Perhaps we should clean all this away."

The brunette suggests once she's calmed the hot flush she can feel creeping up her throat, and she looks up at the others as she leans pointedly into her chair.

"I cooked."

She points out, and, while she wouldn't ordinarily expect a guest to play any part in a role she deems part of hosting, she can't actually recall the last time she's welcomed a guest when not in possession of her servantry, and she watches pensively as Emma pushes herself up from the table and starts gathering their things without a word of argument.

Well, imagine that...

Turning to Henry, she urges him quietly

"Go and help her, dear. There's not much to do, I washed up most of the pans while I was getting everything sorted. Just make sure the dishwasher isn't too full to work, and then get Emma to help you get some bowls out of the cupboard for dessert. You know where they are?"

"Next to the pantry?"

"On the top shelf. Dessert is under the silver dome on the windowsill, and cream is in the fridge."

Regina instructs, sending the boy off to make himself useful and leave her in peace to try and get her head around the absurdity of the day.

What on earth is going on?

She repeats this same fretful query for what feels like the hundredth time, but, curiously, she's beginning to note that with each hour that passes, she's less alarmed by her favourable approach to her company, but rather the fact that she lacks control in general.

It actually has been sort of nice...

She swallows, watching as the others come back with their spoils carried between them, the blonde offering her a smile as she reclaims her seat at the table that seems disturbingly sincere.

---

"That was really good. And I didn't die or anything!"

Emma grins as she swipes her finger through the last smears of cream decorating her plate.

"Evidently not."

Regina agrees, shaking her head to express her disappointment over the fact.

"I'm glad."

She offers involuntarily, before falling hastily silent as she meets the blonde's gaze and holds her captive for a moment.

"Mom's a good cook."

Henry muses, and Emma nods, confiding amiably

"She is. You always tell me that, but I never thought I'd get a chance to see for myself. That was all really good, thank you."

She smiles at the brunette, and Regina splays her palms before turning to Henry and asking with some surprise

"You told Miss Swan I was a good cook?"

"Of course."

Henry replies, frowning as he fails to see what might be strange about this when it's simply a fact.

You speak fondly of me when the two of you chat?

Regina swallows, supposing she shouldn't find herself so shocked. After all, Henry is forever telling her just how wonderful he finds the blonde, to the point where if she didn't love him so much, she'd be tempted to throttle him.

But for Miss Swan to accept similar praise pertaining to me. To have actually listened to and retained that information...

She tries to tell herself that she smells a rat, but it's a half-hearted attempt to sour her own mood at best. She knows deep down Henry wouldn't stand for Emma speaking nastily about her any more than he appreciates her snide comments about the Sheriff. And, while it might drive her slightly mad to listen to the boy gush pleasantries about the blonde, she supposes it's not too big a stretch of the imagination to presume that he does the same about her when talking to Emma.

"Well, I'm glad you liked it."

She states finally, meaning it entirely sincerely.

"Can we play a game, mom?"

Henry asks, seemingly oblivious to the sense of tension cast over the table, and Regina shakes herself from her thoughts and nods before turning to the Sheriff.

"We generally play a game or two after dinner on Christmas. Nothing so complex as the game you two were playing, mind, more simple parlour games."

"Parlour games..."

Emma sounds out, but when the darker woman's expression becomes noticeably guarded, she offers her a grin and points out

"Given everything I've found out over the last year or so, I guess I'm pretty behind on that kind of thing!"

Oh, my dear, you're behind in most ways that count, I suspect.

Regina feels her lip twitch, but the smirk she might usually offer in the face of Emma reminding her of just how foolish she is doesn't surface, and instead, she patiently explains their options.

"We generally play a game called Who Am I? One player chooses a person, fictional or real, and answers questions about them with the aim that the other player- or players- guess who it is that they are. It's generally amusing."

"Yeah, apart from when mom chooses someone I've never even heard of."

Henry rolls his eyes, and Regina bites back in kind

"Excuse me! At least I don't always opt to play as ridiculous superheroes. Who, by the way, tend to shift abilities and appearance whenever I get close to guessing the answer..."

"They do not!"

"No? So one character lives in both a mansion and a cave, is ridiculously strong but has no actual powers, and has a child? All of those things?"

"He doesn't have a child, he knows a child, but he's not always a child, and-"

"-You see! It makes no sense. I detect a spot of cheating."

Regina shakes her head, before looking up when the blonde interrupts simply

"Batman?"

"Yes!"

Henry cries, glaring at the brunette in vindication.

"Yes, well... I don't know anything about those strange characters."

The Queen mutters in place of offering an apology, and Emma speaks up swiftly in a bid to keep the peace; aware that her casual guess has served to upset her host, and finding that rather than rubbing it in and claiming victory as she's often tempted to do on the few occasions when the opportunity presents itself, she doesn't want the Mayor to feel excluded.

"I have a game."

"Yeah?"

Henry asks curiously.

"Mhmm, it's called Two Truths and a Lie. Each person takes a turn to state three facts, usually about themselves. Two of them are true, one's a lie. The other players need to guess which is the odd one out."

"That sounds potentially dangerous."

Regina warns uncomfortably, imagining that both she and Emma might wind themselves up in hot water going head-to-head in this particular game.

"Not if we don't start admitting to murder plots and Curses, and, oh wait..."

Narrowing her eyes as the younger woman offers her a smirk, the brunette ignores the way her stomach flips in response to the playful challenge offered by that flash of sharp teeth and pushes her hair primly away from her face.

"Henry's book places me somewhat at a disadvantage in your proposed game, Miss Swan."

"Not if we keep things fun, which, I mean, was kind of what I was suggesting, Madame Mayor. Mary Margaret and I used to play this game all the time before the Curse broke... And now, but it's admittedly different."

Emma chuckles, sipping at her wine.

"Really? I wouldn't have thought Mary Margaret would have much of interest to share."

Regina muses.

"Mom..."

Henry warns, but the blonde simply grins and agrees with her.

"No, she wasn't the best at it. It was always pretty easy to discern the lie as there was no way in hell I could ever imagine her doing any of the things she'd come out with... Playing with Snow, though, that's another story. She's... Well, she was actually kind of cool."

Emma sighs.

"Mm, well, you're fairly alike, dear. You're both terrible people."

Regina confides silkily, wondering if the spell governing their interactions today might finally be wearing off, but the blonde simply laughs conspiringly - companionably- in response to her cruel dig, and she finds herself reciprocating in kind; chuckling darkly as she enjoys the sly glitter dancing in green eyes.

"Alright, the rules seem fairly simple. You can go first as it's your game, Miss Swan."

"Alright... Three facts. One; I won twenty-one grand a few years ago in Atlantic City by placing a bet on the wheel based on the item number of my favourite sandwich from my local deli. Two; I let my cell-mate tattoo a tiny portrait of a rat somewhere on my body when I was in jail. Three; I had an orange and yellow ball python called Mortimer who I entered into a pet show meant for kids and we came in second place."

"... What?"

Regina studies the Sheriff with an openly bemused expression, trying to digest the absolute insanity dumped on her, but the blonde simply stares her down expressionlessly, giving nothing away.

"Two of those things are true?"

The Mayor demands uncertainly, and she sighs when Emma offers her a curt nod.

"What happened to the python?"

Henry asks, offering the blonde a narrow-eyed study as he puts her on trial.

"I gave him to a guy that worked at the record store down the block when I moved. Mortimer got carsick easy."

"How do you know if a snake feels carsick?'

Regina frowns, rolling her eyes when Emma meets her gaze somberly and insists

"You can just tell."

"Hmm... What was the sandwich?"

"Grilled cheese, french onion and arugula."

"Mm."

"On rye."

"Where's the tattoo?"

"That's a secret."

"Why a rat?"

"Also a secret."

"Of course it is..."

The brunette sighs, shaking her head and looking over at Henry with a hitch of her shoulders.

"Any ideas?"

"What did you do with the money?"

The boy asks, sipping at his apple juice as he searches the blonde's face for a tell.

"Spent some, invested the rest."

"Invested?"

Regina asks sceptically.

"Yeah. I had a guy for that."

"Well, that I find hard to believe in itself!"

"So, is that your answer?"

Emma grins, and the Mayor cocks her head as she considers the younger woman pensively, before turning back to their son.

"What do you think?"

"I think mom tends to be pretty lucky..."

Henry muses, and Regina adopts an irritable expression as she agrees

"Well, that's true... And, while I struggle to imagine you being responsible, I don't doubt that you'd allow food to play great significance in your life... I also have no trouble believing that you'd choose something foul and strange for a pet, nor that you'd name it something ridiculous... That just leaves the tattoo."

"Final answer?"

Emma asks, and the brunette checks with Henry before nodding her head.

"The tattoo is the lie."

"Hm. I'm impressed."

The blonde grins. An expression that only widens when the Mayor demands to know if she's right.

"Well, I guess you'll never know, will you...?"

"Mom, that's not the game!"

Henry whines, and Emma laughs as she gives in and agrees

"The tattoo is the lie."

"Prove it."

The brunette smirks, before hastily shutting up when the Sheriff throws her a curious glance; suddenly aware of what she's said.

Of what was implied.

Oh, hell, why did I say that? Too much wine, and the headache of today's strange events, and-

"-That would be a very different kind of game... "

Emma warns her quietly, and the Queen swallows, thrown by the sudden darkness in green eyes, before Henry breaks the spell and asks curiously

"What kind of game?"

"Never mind, kid. It's your go."

The blonde changes the subject seamlessly, and Regina offers the boy an encouraging smile, forbidding herself from looking back at the Sheriff.

Forbidding herself to think any further on the rush of warmth flooding areas she feels it really shouldn't.

---

"That's the lie! You hate white chocolate."

Henry grins, calling his mother out boldly, and Regina raises a brow, saying nothing but turning to Emma for a second opinion.

"I'm going with the kid on this one."

The blonde shrugs, and the Mayor maintains her poker face for a moment longer before bowing her head with a sigh and conceding

"Fine, you're right... Why are you both so good at this?!"

"Because your facts are way too easy."

Emma shrugs, helping herself to more wine as she scolds

"You have to get at least kind of weird with it. Otherwise, it's just three random statements about what you do and don't like to eat."

"Well, I'm sorry I don't have any stories about pet snakes and gambling..."

Regina mutters irritably, and the blonde grins as she reminds her host jovially

"You have much more interesting stories about snakes than I do, Your Majesty, I've read some of them. You should also be dominating this game with the amount of potential you have open to you, but instead, you're making us guess inane preferences for breakfast foods."

"If you don't like how I play, perhaps we should try something else?"

The Mayor bites back waspishly, keen to comment on Emma's apparent brazen lack of remorse for her past decisions, but she's no longer surprised when she fails to add venom to her attack.

"I like how you play, mom."

Henry appeases dutifully, and the brunette offers him a thin smile; fully aware of the fact that he's simply vying for favour in a bid to avoid being told to go and change into his pyjamas.

"Alright, I'll try again. Three facts. One; I trained a crow to roost in the eaves of my handmaid's quarters in a bid to ascertain where her loyalties lay. I had little clue the poor thing suffered from a fear of birds but found myself more amused than sympathetic when this came to light, so I trained another to do the same-"

"-Okay, that's definitely true. I don't care what the other facts are."

Emma interrupts, and Regina suppresses a strange and sudden urge to grin as she finds the blonde's appreciatively cold laughter unexpectedly titillating.

Flattering.

Pleasant.

"Wait! Let her tell them!"

Henry scolds the Sheriff bossily.

"Quite, Miss Swan. Some manners, if you will."

Regina snaps, unable to fan the flames further- unable to be cruel- but she imagines this might be for the best as she feels a little too warm with the way the younger woman smirks at her.

"Two more. Let's see... Two; I ripped the skirts of a new dress my mother had commissioned only a week before by climbing out onto the roof above my bedroom, and I told her that I suspected I had a family of mice living in my closet to explain the damage rather than admit what I'd done... Three; I tricked Granny into thinking this land's wolfsbane was imbued with magical properties and that she and Miss Lucas should spend no less than an hour bathing with the stuff twice a week."

The brunette concludes, looking at the others in turn as they each try to suss her out.

"Maybe the crow was a lie?"

Henry suggests uncertainly, but Emma shakes her head as she stands by her previous claim of certainty.

"No, your mom absolutely trained multiple birds to frighten someone, and she'd do it again in a heartbeat."

"That's both accusatory and presumptive, Saviour."

"Uhuh, but what matters in the context of the game is that it's true... No?"

"... Fine."

"I'm going to go with the dress being the lie... Blaming it on a family of mice I can just about buy, but you climbing out onto your roof? No way."

"Way."

Regina corrects primly, relishing the look of open surprise Emma offers in response, but she takes care not to let it show.

"You climbed out onto your roof?"

"Your tone seems a little rich given I have no doubt you've done the same at some point."

"Well, yeah, but... Huh. So that means tricking Granny was a lie?"

"Indeed."

"... That was funny. That was a good lie."

"You wanted me to play your game."

Regina shrugs, noting that while she's well-versed in Emma studying her with an expression of surprise, generally, the emotion driving the reaction is either irritation or unhappiness. Still, she's always told herself that she thrives off of those offerings; that she enjoys watching her words and actions pull rage from the Saviour; that she relishes it when her snide comments hit the mark and land a cruel sting beautifully obvious in the younger woman's composure.

The surprise she receives now is heated somehow. Hungry. Baited.

It's also wonderfully moreish, but she knows better than to tempt potential danger with Henry watching her every move.

So what? What exactly are you planning to do?!

She looks away, refusing to take the thought any further. Terrified of happening upon an answer.

"I have to use the bathroom, and then it's Emma's go."

Henry speaks up, so far doing rather poorly in their game as the others can sense when he's lying before he even opens his mouth.

Which is hardly fair!

Not at all, but he hasn't demanded that they play something else as listening to his mother's revelations has been fascinating. Hopping down from the table and heading for the bathroom, he empties his bladder and washes up before hurrying back towards the dining room only to stop frozen in his tracks when he glances up at the clock.

Eight o'five.

"Oh no..."

He whispers, his chest tightening nervously as he knows that all hell is bound to break loose in about ten minutes. Weighing up his options, he nibbles his lip as he comes to the decision that he'd be wise to avoid the fallout and pads back to the table with a feeling as though he carries a dozen heavy bricks on his shoulders.

"I'm actually kind of tired, mom."

He addresses the brunette, catching her off guard as he is usually notoriously hard to negotiate into bed on Christmas.

"Well, it's been a busy day, dear."

She muses, just hoping that he isn't coming down with something.

He does look a little pale...

"Are you okay, Henry?"

Emma beats her to it, and she attempts to throw the blonde an irritable glower that simply comes off as companionably concerned.

"I'm fine, just beat!"

The boy forces himself to offer the others a wide grin, and they seem to accept his excuse with a shared knowing smile and bid him a fond goodnight.

Stepping from the room, Henry checks the clock before he heads upstairs.

Ten past eight.

Oh, man...

---

"Do you want me to leave you to it?"

Emma asks, imagining that Henry's disappearance spells an end to their evening so far as the Mayor is concerned.

Bet she'll be glad she can quit pretending to enjoy herself...

The blonde muses, although, she has a strange and sneaking suspicion that the Mayor stopped pretending hours ago.

She hopes so. It would suck if she were the only one to see a different side of her long-time nemesis tonight.

"Only if you wish to do so... I believe it was your go otherwise."

"Oh!... Right... Okay then. Three facts... One; I was sort of dreading coming here today, but something just told me that I had to... Two; I accidentally opened my present from Mary Margaret a month ago and had to pretend to be utterly shocked when unwrapping it this morning. Three;... I, uh... I kind of missed you when I went through the hat and had to deal with all the Enchanted Forest crap without you there adding your two cents every five minutes. I guess I sort of associate insanity and magic with, well, you, and it wasn't the same without you there threatening my mortality..."

Emma clears her throat awkwardly, meaning to tag on something snide, but instead admitting uncomfortably

"You know, you're even pretty when you're mad."

"I..."

Regina struggles for an answer, looking just as shocked as the Sheriff, before it dawns on her that the blonde is simply adding another element to their game and setting her up to look foolish.

Bitch... She's lucky I know full well she's just messing around, and-

"-I missed you too... Not so much the arduous task of dealing with you, but I missed sparring with you, Miss Swan. There are certainly worse faces to look at."

What?!

"Ha... Well... That's the lie, for sure."

Emma laughs uneasily.

"It's not my turn, dear."

"No, I guess not."

"...Of course, I know which of your three options lacks veracity. I can well imagine you had your doubts about coming here today, and I have no trouble believing you opened Snow's gift a month early."

"Actually, it was more like a week..."

"Oh... So... That was the lie?"

"Not a very good one, sorry."

The blonde shrugs, wishing the Mayor would quit staring at her as though she's admitted to something wildly deranged.

Well, I mean, you did just call her pretty, Swan, what's she supposed to do!? You-

"-True, but then my expectations weren't especially high given my company."

The brunette smirks cattily, and she shares a strange look with the Sheriff; her tone characteristically silky and her words snide.

Wait...

"Honestly, I'm just surprised you bothered to put any effort into today at all, Miss Swan, given your track record of letting Henry down."

"Hey..."

Emma frowns, and Regina nips her lip as she swallows; suddenly free to act and speak as she sees fit, yet suffering an absurd pang of regret for her unnecessary comment.

"Sorry... I... I don't know why I said that..."

"Yeah, well, it's nothing new, is it?"

The blonde mutters irritably, although, she supposes it is fairly new that the Mayor should feel the need to apologise to her for something so small.

"I'm not sure what just happened..."

Regina admits quietly, and she can tell from the younger woman's expression that she's lying when she claims not to know what she's talking about.

"I thought it was you that was doing it... "

"Doing what?"

"Today... I... I thought you'd done something to me."

"Done something to you?"

Emma repeats, her brow furrowing deeper, but, when the darker woman shakes her head and seems at a loss for further comment on the bizarre direction the day has taken them, she's suddenly acutely aware that she has two options available to her.

Either she can push for more information and confess her own certainty that there had been a bigger force at play over their interactions today.

Or, she can feign ignorance; forgoing any further awkward discussion while simply continuing to test unchartered territory.

"Your turn."

She states quietly, watching the brunette's expression carefully as Regina studies her wine with a pinched pull to her lips.

Crap, maybe I should just come clean. I-

"-I'm cold... Perhaps we should take our game into the drawing room where we can build a fire."

The Mayor speaks up finally.

"... Sure."

Emma agrees, following the darker woman's lead as the latter picks up her glass, before shadowing her down the hall with her heartbeat in her throat.

---

Clutching the bannisters in his knelt position at the top of the stairs, Henry waits for the sound of raised voices and bitter arguing to commence downstairs.

Nothing.

Checking his phone with a frown, his confusion only grows when he confirms that it's twenty-past-eight and that the charm cast over his mothers will have finally worn off.

Oh, jeez, what if they hurt each other?

He frets, deeming this to be an unlikely scenario, but not impossible from either side.

What if they-

But he stills, frozen, as he spies the door to the dining room swing open down below. Watching silently as Regina makes her way towards the drawing room with Emma at her heels, he strives to catch a glimpse of her face in a bid to read her mood.

Nothing; his mom keeps her head bowed as he looks down upon dark locks, her posture impossible to read as she beckons for the blonde to follow her, Emma, too, offering only heavy curls.

"Come on."

Regina murmurs, and he can no more read her tone than he can read her body language.

What's going on?

And why is Emma still here?

---

"What?"

Regina asks dubiously as the blonde takes a seat, chuckling softly.

"No, nothing, it's just I always forget that's an option."

Emma confides, referring to the brunette's well-practised flick of her wrist to ignite the logs piled in the hearth.

"It's easier than doing it manually."

The Queen frowns, and the younger woman nods as she agrees

"It is, I'm just still a little slow with all that stuff sometimes."

"Just that stuff?"

Regina baits wickedly, but her lips form a companionable smile, and the blonde simply sighs and sips at her drink.

"...I'm only teasing. You actually catch on fairly quickly, Miss Swan. I daresay I might have faired a great deal better were that not the case."

"Oh, because you're so subtle, Regina..."

Emma counters with a bemused shake of her head, nipping her lip as she recalls several instances where the brunette has been anything but subtle, and several more when she's been openly suggestive.

Or maybe that's just wishful thinking.

...What?

"It's your go..."

She reminds her host quietly, watching the subtle glow of the flames catch threads of the Mayor's hair, painting them auburn.

"Fine, but I'm growing weary of the game."

"Well, we don't have to-"

"-Three facts... One; I was also dubious about having you over today... Actually, now that I'm permitted to say so, I found the notion utterly despicable."

"Then, why invite me? And what do you mean? Permitted to say so?"

Emma asks uncomfortably, but the brunette continues as though she's said nothing.

"Two; I may have had a little too much wine, or perhaps I'm just tired, but I'm suffering the rather disconcerting realisation that some of my previous unwelcome... thoughts... about someone I know may hold some weight after all. Maybe I'm realising that nothing said today was a lie- save for those told in the course of our game- and that's a lot to take in. A lot to think about..."

"You-"

"-Three; I regret my choice of dessert. I should have prepared white chocolate ganache."

"But, Henry said-"

"-Hmm?"

"... Never mind."

Emma shakes her head, her cheeks feeling suddenly impossibly warm and she doubts it has much to do with the fire.

"You know... You've never told me I look nice before."

Regina muses to break the silence, and she pretends not to notice when the blonde chokes on her wine.

"I... Well... I mean, I never really felt the time was right, what with you wanting me dead or acting as though just being around me would infect you with some disgusting ailment."

"Hm. I fail to see what my wish for your demise has to do with your power of sight, Miss Swan."

"Uh... Okay... Sorry I never followed up one of our catfights with a compliment on your appearance?"

"Apology accepted. Barely."

"Ha! Well, you've never told me you thought I looked nice before, either!"

"True. And I'm not sorry."

Regina chuckles, wetting her lips as she enjoys watching the blonde struggle for an answer.

"Bet you wish you could take it back."

Emma teases lamely, aware that she's setting herself up for a harsh slap of reality if the brunette offers her the vehement agreement she's fairly sure will follow.

"I'll tell you what I did wish earlier..."

Regina muses, leaving the previous matter purposefully up in the air where it can grow teeth.

"I wished to berate you, to belittle you, when you shared your little tale about your friend with the sword."

"Yeah? I thought you were of the opinion that I was worth more than that?"

Emma teases, and the Mayor bristles as she reminds curtly

"I never said that."

"You implied it."

"Yes... Well... I wished to add further insight to the matter, none of it kind."

"You shock me."

"Mm. Maybe I felt so inclined because sometimes listening to you make casual references to your amorous exchanges just... Something about it just makes me want to bite."

"I've noticed."

The younger woman grins, but the expression is pure bravado as she allows the Mayor's words to sink in and build a hot ball of anticipation in her gut.

Careful Swan, she doesn't mean it how you're choosing to take it, she just hasn't gotten to the punchline yet...

Perhaps, but perhaps not, and Emma considers the last dregs of wine in her glass before adopting a cautiously casual tone

"You know, my friend with the sword and I used to play this other game. I couldn't suggest it earlier as it's not really kid-friendly."

"I see... It's a shame the game that we did play had to be kept appropriate..."

Regina confides, catching the brief glance of surprise Emma throws her way before the blonde once more becomes hard to read.

"Yeah, well... The game we used to play offered no way of dressing it up to be anything other than what it was."

"Oh?... I'm intrigued?"

"It's a stupid game. Fuck, Marry or Kill."

"Fuck, Marry or Kill?"

The Mayor repeats curiously, and Emma digs her nails surreptitiously into her thigh as something about the way the brunette curses incites a very strange and admittedly pleasant feeling in her stomach.

"Yeah. One person lists three names; usually they're the names of people everyone playing knows, or the names of famous people. Then another person has to choose which of the three they would kill, marry, or, you know..."

"Fuck."

"Yeah."

"Alright... What would you do to me?"

"That's not... That's not how you play. You-"

"-I'm tired of playing. Just answer the question."

Regina cuts off the younger woman's uneasy rambling; hoping she's succeeding in maintaining her superior expression of calm aloofness and that the blonde can't tell that her nerves are threatening to render her nauseous.

"... I think we've come a bit far for me to kill you, and Henry would never forgive me..."

"Alright, so you wouldn't kill me."

The brunette agrees, staring the blonde down as she drinks in sparse freckles and sharp features cast gold by the fire.

"I... I'm not really the marrying type."

"No, you don't strike me as such."

"Well... I guess by default, you have your answer, but, I mean, it's just a game... Right?"

Emma scoffs, and the Mayor is pleased to note that the blonde looks as though she's on the verge of passing out despite her bid to appear unaffected by their conversation.

"It's just a game."

Regina agrees, splaying her palms and offering her guest an easy smile.

"Yeah."

The Sheriff replies unnecessarily, and the brunette smirks as she watches the blonde bounce her knee and look down at the floor.

Tempting. She's tempting, and perhaps that's where a lot of my anger has stemmed from recently. At first, she tried to take what was mine, and then, once she gave up on that endeavour, she went on to tease me with what I couldn't have...

Nipping the velvet point of her tongue as she doubts the latter is a conscious effort on Emma's part, Regina breaks the silence between them quietly

"More wine?"

"Please."

The blonde agrees, watching as the darker woman makes her way over to the drinks cabinet in the corner, before hastily looking away when she realises she's waiting for her to bend over.

Oh, fuck, why the fuck did you go and make this weird?!

Scolding herself irritably in her head, she looks up at the sound of the brunette opening a fresh bottle of merlot and frowns.

...It's not just me, though, is it? Not by a long shot...

She swallows as she wonders if this is a very dangerous conclusion to be making, but she's certain she's not wrong, and, really, the reward far surpasses the risk, and she's never been one to choose the sensible option when the alternative promises to be so much sweeter.

"Here."

Regina interrupts her train of thought as she hands the blonde her refilled glass and takes a seat beside her on the sofa. Not too close, but much closer than Emma can ever recall them sitting before.

Don't do it, Swan. Don't you do it. Don't-

"-You know, there is another version of that game that's not quite so crass. Sometimes people refer to it as Kiss, Marry, Kill instead, and-"

Letting out a muffled sound of surprise when Regina cuts her off, Emma reciprocates the darker woman's affection eagerly.

Oh hell, what is this madness?!

The Mayor squeezes her eyes shut as she tastes the blonde, resting her hand on the latter's thigh while its twin keeps her glass held out in a bid to keep from spilling wine on either of them.

"Fuck..."

Emma hisses as the darker woman demands entrance and dominance over their kiss, and Regina pulls back, studying the blonde intently with her breathing ragged.

"That's what you want?"

She demands, and the Sheriff raises a brow before turning the tables huskily

"What about you?"

"It's not my turn."

"Yeah, but it seems pretty important we're in agreement over my decision at least..."

Emma reasons, watching as the Mayor leans over to place her glass on the table.

"Please... As if this is your decision."

Regina scoffs, plucking the blonde's glass from between her fingers to set it beside her own.

"Well, it's either that, or you're just desperate to fuck m-"

The Sheriff chokes on her own teasing as the brunette slides her hand from its previous suggestive position to an openly lewd one and cuts her off with a brush of her lips.

Oh fuck, what the fuck?!

She nips the Mayor's tongue warningly and threads her fingers into thick hair, nodding in distracted encouragement when the brunette moves to straddle her.

"Henry claims that I like you. That I pretend to despise you, but that, really, I like you..."

Regina breathes against softly parted lips.

"You do like me, you have for a while now..."

Emma murmurs, earning a cruel squeeze of the Mayor's hand that causes her to gasp.

"Not as much as you like me, Miss Swan... I can see it in your face when you speak to me... I drive you crazy, but the context varies, doesn't it, dear?... I never wanted to think too hard about that, but then today... Today, I wanted to cut you down and spit you out on so many occasions, but I couldn't. I couldn't earn myself that sweet fix of calling you out and eliciting that pathetic, wounded look I strive to force from you... I hate it, Saviour. I hate that I love it when you look at me like that. I always have... But today, you've offered me other looks... You've made those little suggestive quips you always make- foul, crass remarks that suit you just as well as you say my tree suits me- but without the ability to bite back and remind you what a fool you are, you were offered the opportunity to elaborate on some of them. They were left to linger... You wouldn't make those comments if you weren't into me..."

"Maybe so... But your hand wouldn't be where it currently is if you weren't into me..."

The blonde hisses; leaning back in order to catch the brunette's gaze and stare her down.

"There you go again, running your mouth..."

"So tell me I'm wrong..."

Emma challenges, allowing just a hint of a smirk as she tags on cattily

"You're good at that."

"I'm good at lots of things."

Regina warns, cutting off any further conversation as she crashes her lips against the blonde's while blindly working open her jeans.

"Oh!"

She gasps when Emma reciprocates; tugging her shirt roughly from its neat tuck inside her dress pants before running a hand up beneath warm silk and teasing her over delicate lace. Pushing herself up onto her knees astride the Sheriff, she bites her lip as the younger woman undoes neat, pearl snaps and leans forward to allow sharp teeth to chafe the lace whorls of her bra.

"This is so messed up..."

She mutters with her jaw clenched as the blonde tastes her through the thin fabric, but when Emma stills and tries to lean back, she grabs messy curls tightly in her fists and keeps the Sheriff firmly in place.

"Please..."

She breathes, loosening her grip slightly and closing her eyes when the blonde lowers her hands to the fastenings of her dress pants to reveal the burgundy swatch of her underwear.

"Our entire relationship has been pretty messed up."

Emma murmurs into the soft round of her breast, and the Mayor chuckles huskily before letting out a shuddered breath when sly fingers dip inside damp lace.

"It has, but there's always been this spark... This charge... This f-fee- oh, fuck!"

Regina chokes as the younger woman teases her wickedly, and she allows that sweet torture to continue for a moment longer, before lowering herself down to brush her lips against the Sheriff's once again; moving her hips against the blonde's as she cups warm cheeks in her hands.

"I thought maybe the hold you have over me might break if you were ever, you know, nice to me..."

Emma admits, laughing at her own expense, and Regina joins in, nipping the Sheriff's bottom lip with measured force before demanding

"And? Has it?"

"'Fraid not."

The younger woman chuckles, frowning momentarily when the brunette moves off her lap, before leaning back in to kiss her as Regina moves to sit beside her, once more trailing her hand down between parted thighs.

"I didn't know I had a hold over you..."

The brunette breathes as she slips her hand inside scant cotton and curls her fingers without warning to elicit a shudder.

"Liar..."

Emma scolds, refusing to believe the Mayor might be so blind when so many of her barbed comments suggest she knows exactly how to feed into the troubled confusion plaguing her foe.

"Mm... Maybe."

Regina smirks, thrusting her hand and watching curiously as Emma bites back a hissed expletive.

"Whatever, it goes both ways."

The blonde growls through clenched teeth, and the Mayor raises a brow as, with her current view, she realises that the Saviour might just have a point.

Well, that won't do...

"I wouldn't call boredom the same as barely concealed perversion and idle fantasy, dear..."

"And I wouldn't call this idle fantasy..."

Emma points out as the brunette ups the ante and begins fucking her with intent.

"... And you're the one always commenting on my clothes... M-maybe if you spent less time staring and trying to catch a glimpse of something interesting, you'd have less to moan about..."

"I'd never accuse you of being interesting, Miss Swan."

Regina retorts silkily, although she knows neither one of them is convinced, and therefore can't see much of a problem with feeding into the blonde's accusation without pretence. Pulling at soft wool and thin cotton clumsily as she deepens their kiss, she forces Emma's sweater and t-shirt up to expose the black cups of her bra and uses the hand not busy demanding steadily broken sounds to cop a feel.

"Fuck..."

The blonde hisses, pushing herself up to kneel astride the Mayor's hips and rewarding her eagerly when Regina keeps up her pace and simply changes her angle. Slipping her own hand down to match the brunette's movements, she grins against kiss-swollen lips and murmurs impishly

"Okay, so you have found something else to moan about..."

"Sh-shut up..."

"Is that really what you want?"

Emma counters, falling silent but for her audible breathing as the Mayor picks up delicious speed. Frowning, Regina adds a sense of roughness to her touch, trying to beat the blonde at her own game, but when Emma simply reciprocates in kind, coaxing a helpless groan of approval from her, she calls her out and begs for a truce.

"Don't do that, it's weird."

She pants, gritting her teeth when the blonde laughs huskily against her cheek.

"Emma..."

She warns, the Sheriff's name sounding strange between them as she uses it to appeal to her baser nature and get what she wants.

"Fine..."

The blonde chuckles, allowing several soft sounds of encouragement to escape her lips.

"Oh, fuck..."

Emma hisses suddenly with a greater sense of urgency, and Regina takes heed of what she views as a request, biting back a cry when the younger woman responds in kind; evidently determined that they conclude this foray into utter insanity together.

"Oh!"

The brunette exclaims as she clamps her thighs shut around busy fingers, and she struggles to catch her breath as Emma catches her wrist and yanks her hand away with a choked cry; remaining knelt over her with her eyes shut and her legs shaking.

"Shit..."

The younger woman pants dazedly with one hand clamped over the Mayor's shoulder to maintain her balance and the other caught in her hair.

"Quite."

Regina agrees, willing her heart to resume a less worrisome tempo as she drinks in pale thighs and taut muscle appreciatively.

"I, uh... I should probably get going..."

Emma muses awkwardly, looking down to meet blown pupils and full lips bearing just a ghost of the lipstick worn before they decided to accept the inevitable.

The inevitable?!

"I suppose so... This... I suppose we both knew it would end this way one day."

Regina murmurs quietly, aware that she remains partially on display but seeing no use in doing anything about it now.

Inevitable.

"I'm not so sure about that."

The blonde smiles thinly, climbing off the sofa and pulling her jeans back into place.

"No?"

"No... I'd hoped it might, though."

"How reprehensibly obscene of you."

"Well... You know."

"I do. Now."

---

"What on earth...?"

Regina frowns, turning off the vacuum cleaner and peering under Henry's bed, sure that she's just felt something shatter.

If he's left another one of his lego figures under there only to throw a fit that I've broken it, I'll...

But the Mayor's irritable inner monologue trails off as she uncovers the source of the noise. A wooden box, improperly latched and set on its side peeks out from the shadows, and when she moves to pick it up, she frowns as several shards of glass fall out to speckle the carpet.

"Henry?!"

She calls out, having warned him about the dangers of glass objects countless times. Receiving no answer, she looks to her left and spies the boy building a snowman out in the garden.

"What on earth have you been doing?"

She mutters, wondering for a moment if the glass shards are from one of the baubles decorating her tree, but she can't think of a reason why he would have taken one, and the shape of the broken pieces isn't quite right. They're almost angular.

"A star..."

She muses, turning the box carefully in her hand and studying the lid. Opening it up, she finds the rest of the shattered object which indeed seems to have been some sort of star. A wishing star, according to a small book strapped to the inside of the box.

"What..."

She swallows numbly, considering the inscription on the side of the box and the implication of the title of the book. Studying the fractured glass, she spies a small scroll of paper caught amongst the debris. Easing it out and unrolling it slowly, she recognises her son's handwriting instantly.

A FAMILY CHRISTMAS.

"Oh..."

She utters, taking a heavy seat on the bed as she stares down at the items in her hands.

Finally, she pushes herself up and collects the broken glass from the floor. Mending the star with a small movement of her hand, she seals Henry's wish back inside and slips the box back beneath the bed where it had been hidden.

Making her way downstairs, she calls out to the boy, asking him if he wants her to make him a hot chocolate.

"Please!"

Henry grins as he trudges through the snow towards the back door, his nose pink with cold.

"Do you really have to take the tree down today, mom?"

He sighs as he slips off his boots.

"I suppose I could leave it up a couple more days. I'm taking it down the second it's New Year, though."

She warns, and the boy nods agreeably.

"Deal... What are we doing anyway?"

"Hmm?"

"For New Year? Are we doing anything for the evening?"

"I don't know. I was thinking of inviting Miss Swan over."

"... Really?"

"Only if you wanted me to, of course."

"I do!"

"Well, we'll see what she says."

Regina shrugs, smirking down at the milk warming in the pan when Henry agrees dubiously

"Yeah. I guess."

"Cheer up, dear... I'm sure she'll come."