Hook would have brushed Emma and Neal's warning off and not given it a second thought, if it weren't for the snippets of conversations he caught as he wove his way through room, looking for Ruby:

"Okay, but did you see Neal Cassidy, though?"

"I don't know what it is, but he is especially fine tonight."

"Damn… "

Hook gritted his teeth. That last comment hadn't even come from a girl: it came from Jefferson. And if there was any guy Jefferson should have been whistling at, it should've been Hook.

Right?

Neal couldn't be hotter than him, that was Hook's thing. Because, if he was being totally honest with himself, his greatest assets (only assets?) were his looks and charm. He might have been quite clever, had he not had such an alcohol problem—except, he did have an alcohol problem, and possibly some kind of attention deficit disorder because he couldn't sit still long enough to bother thinking about things. So really, he quite depended on the "hotness factor", and if Neal was now beating him in that…

Well, shit.

Hook stopped in the center of the room, scanning his gaze around the room for the cocktail bar, where Ruby was sure to be. Regina would have placed it in her line of vision, so she could monitor the alcohol level of her party guests, so if he drew a line from Regina's post straight across the room—

"There you are," he muttered, catching sight of Ruby mixing a drink for herself. She was only a little wobbly, so she wasn't terribly drunk yet. But Neal was right: too much alcohol, and she might start wandering off, looking for company.

Don't be angry, he reminded himself as he made his way across the room. Don't be jealous. Ruby had explained to him many times that jealousy implied possessiveness; that she was not a possession; that women were people, not objects. Hook had long since given up on explaining that the constant threat of jealousy didn't come fro misogyny so much as it came from the fact that he was impossibly neurotic and insecure, and his "friends" only reassured him that he was right to feel insecure because apparently, he was (as Henry so eloquently described it) "kind of a dumbass" and (Rumple's words) "Ruby could do better".

Regardless, showing up looking angry and jealous would hardly win him any points with Ruby, so he made sure that by the time he'd reached the counter, he'd suppressed his temper behind a facade of calmness. Ruby had just finished building her drink and was now preparing to shake it together.

"Hey," Hook said, leaning across the counter. "Can I ask you something?"

"Mmm-hmm," Ruby said distractedly as she capped the cocktail shaker. She twisted it a few times to make sure it was tightly screwed on, then started shaking it. "What's up?"

"Um…" Hook followed the shaker with his eyes she sloshed it back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. how very satisfying a sound it was, to hear ice crystallizing against the tart alcohol, a small foam building underneath it all—

"Hook?"

"Right, sorry," he said, blinking rapidly. "Got disoriented by that mix-y thing you were doing."

"You said you wanted to ask me something," she reminded him, concentrating deeply on unscrewing the cap and pouring a herself a tall glass of her dark red drink. Raspberry, Hook thought randomly. Or maybe cherry. No, not cherry. Ruby didn't like cherry; she liked raspberry.

Strawberry?

Maybe it was strawberry.

Why was he fixating on this?

Damn, he would kill for something strawberry right now.

"Hook."

"Sorry," he repeated, giving his head a little shake. "I keep spacing. This room is too busy, I'm getting distracted."

"You want to talk somewhere quieter?" Ruby asked as she dropped an umbrella and a straw in her glass.

"No, I hate quiet. It makes me nervous."

"You want to talk somewhere louder?"

"No, I 'm going to get distracted even more."

"You want to stay here?"

"No, let's talk somewhere quieter."

Ruby let out a tense breath, swiping her drink off the counter. "You are exhausting to talk to."

"I know," he said, following her.

Ruby pressed the straw between her lips, swiveling on her heels as she scanned the room for a less crowded space. "Hmm?" she murmured, still sipping through her straw as she pointed to the guest room, where Henry had been storing all the coats.

Hook nodded, and allowed her to lead him through the crowd, weaving their way through people milling around the room as they chatted amiably. He thought he caught sight of Granny, and for a second, his insides froze—but then she was gone, and he relaxed again. Hook wasn't too proud to admit, the old woman terrified him: it went beyond the crossbow he suspected was never too far from her reach; she had a ruthlessness that made him think all those threats she made were very real indeed.

"Where are you two going?" Regina frowned as they passed her at her post near the door.

"Just to talk," Hook assured her. "It's too loud over there."

"Hold it—" Regina seized his arm, jerking him back. Hook gasped in pain, shocked at the strength of her grip.

"Regina, let go!"

"What do you mean, talk?" she demanded. "That better not be code for whatever creepy, kinky shit you two are into."

"He means, talk," Ruby said, placing her free hand over Regina's. "But look, if you want, we can talk right here and discuss all our couple woes in front of you. Ooh, maybe you could do that thing for us that you did for Emma and Neal at Thanksgiving, and help us figure out what we don't know how to say with a funny little commentary on the side—"

"Go," Regina said, releasing them instantly.

Hook shot her a dark look as he followed Ruby into the guest room, lamenting his injured arm. Rude, he thought bitterly.

Ruby twisted her straw in her mouth, still sipping contentedly. "So, what's up?" she asked. "What did you want to talk to me about it?"

Hook shifted uncomfortably. Okay, now it was too quiet. It was making him tense, he didn't like all this stillness, it was very—ooh, that was a nice coat. Furry, very soft looking—was it Belle's? No, it was too long to be Belle's, she was so tiny, like a little two-bite scone. Scones. Scones were good, he liked scones, especially blueberry ones—not maple, they reminded him too vividly of pancakes, and he hated pancakes—

"Hook?"

"Sorry. God, I keep doing that." He gave his head a little shake, trying to clear it. "I've got the attention span of a caffeinated squirrel with ADHD. According to Neal."

"He puts a lot of effort in his insults," Ruby nodded thoughtfully. "I admire that."

Hook opened his mouth, pointing at her. "See…that's kinda what I wanted to talk you about," he said hesitantly.

Ruby cocked her head, raising her eyebrows she took another sip from the straw. "Hmm?"

"Should, uh—?" He scratched the back of his head, trying to find a non-offensive way to ask, Can you please not find Neal attractive, because now I'm feeling extremely insecure and worried that you're going to leave me for the next scruffy little coffee-man who catches your eyes? "Should I be worried?"

Ruby knit her eyebrows together. "Worried about what?" she asked.

"You…lingered." Hook took a deep breath. "And then you hmphed."

"I what?"

"Emma said, you lingered and hmphed," he repeated, somewhat impatiently. "At Neal. You walked out the door, you saw Neal, you lingered, you hmphed, and then you walked away."

Ruby's confused expression relaxed into a dry one. "Oh, my God, is that all?" she said, rolling her eyes.

"I'm only asking if there's anything I should be worried about," Hook said, hating how whiny his voice sounded. "Emma and Neal said—"

"'Emma and Neal said'!" Ruby threw her arms up exasperatedly, slopping half her drink on the coats. "It's always, 'Emma and Neal said' with you! Why do you listen to them? You know they're just messing with you!"

"They made some good points," Hook said timidly.

Ruby closed her eyes, as though she were trying extremely hard to be patient. "Okay," she said through clenched teeth. "Literally, ten minutes ago—"

"I know 'literally ten minutes ago', but literally nine minutes and thirty seconds ago, you were window-shopping," he said anxiously.

"You're reading way too much into this," she told him. "I seriously can't even believe this is an argument."

"It's not an argument, it's an airing of concerns."

"They're stupid concerns."

"Are they?" Hook asked, raising his eyebrows. "Because I thought we were pretty stable at Belle's wedding—"

"—vow renewal—"

"—whatever. I thought we were pretty stable then, but then Graham happened and…" He waved his hand vaguely. "You know how that went down."

Ruby frowned. "You do know that I didn't dump you because of Graham, right? That was you, buddy. You started acting like this—"

"No, no, no," Hook said hastily. "I'm being nice now. I'm not getting jealous or anything, I'm only politely inquiring after my paranoia. That's it. I mean, I'm kind of freaking out and I think I just broke into hives, but I'm… I'm fine."

"You don't seem fine."

"That's because I'm not."

Ruby stared at him for a minute, as if she couldn't quite understand why she was dating him in the first place. "What the hell is wrong with you?" she asked in wonderment.

"I don't know…I had a bad childhood?"

Ruby sighed heavily, slumping her shoulders. "Okay, come with me," she said, dragging her hand into his.

"Where are we going?" Hook asked, careful not to get his hopes up that she had plans to "reassure" him. "Ruby?"

Ruby didn't answer: she just pulled him along after her, turning her head this way and that as they went. Hook copied her, even though he hadn't the slightest idea what they were looking for.

"Here," Ruby said briskly, and without warning, pulled him quickly in one direction. He nearly tripped over his feet from her speed, struggling to keep hold of her hand as she led him to a table. She swiped out a chair with her foot, swung him around, and plopped him into it.

Archie, seated in the other chair, looked up from his lasagna with wide eyes. Hook smiled apologetically, seeing his own confusion mirrored in Archie's face. Archie didn't return the smile; he trailed his eyes up to Ruby's.

"R-Ruby?" he asked. "Is—is there a reason why—?"

"Fix him," Ruby said flatly.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Fix. Him," she repeated loudly.

"Fix him?"

"He's got…I don't know, like, issues. I need you to fix him."

Archie looked at her for a minute; then at Hook; then back and forth a few times more. "He's not a clock, Ruby," he said incredulously. "I can't just fix him."

Ruby twitched her eye, as if she didn't quite believe him. "Then just watch him, okay?" she said. "Keep an eye on him."

"Why? Where are you going?" Hook asked instantly, twisting in his seat. "Are you coming back?"

"Look…" Ruby sighed, slowly lowering herself to his eye-level. "Hook—"

"Ruby."

"Hook," she said sternly. "You are stressing me out. I was counting on you to keep me from stressing over Granny being here, and you're just making it worse. I can't—I can't handle all your feelings right now, okay?"

"I'm sorry," he offered.

Ruby looked at him wearily. "I know," she sighed. She leaned in and gave him a quick kiss before straightening up. "I'll come back later, I might need you."

"'Kay…" Hook frowned, trying to decipher the tangy taste she's left on his lips. Not raspberry…what was that, cranberry? "Cranberry?" he asked, tilting his head to look up at here.

"What?"

"Your drink—was it cranberry?" He shook his head. "I was so sure it was raspberry. I thought you liked raspberry."

"I do like raspberry, but I thought cranberry was more festive."

"Is there strawberry? Can you bring me something strawberry?"

"Fine. Archie, you want anything?"

"Yeah, to be left alone," Archie said exasperatedly. "I'm not treating this asshole, especially not at a Christmas party!"

Hook raised his eyebrows. "Well, that's nice language for a therapist."

"He kidnapped me, threatened my life, locked me in the brig on his ship, and made everyone think I was dead!" Archie said, outraged. "I still have PTSD from that!"

"Oh, come on, that was years ago!" Hook snapped. "Bloody hell, get over it, man!"

"Don't do it for him, Archie, do it for me," Ruby simpered, her voice suddenly taking on the familiar damsel-in-distress tone. It was the same one she used whenever she was trying to get Hook to do something for her—and it worked, unfailingly, every time. So it was no surprise when Archie faltered, blinking at her clumsily.

"I—b-but I—"

"Please," she pouted. "Just for a little bit?"

"But…"

"For me?"

"I…." Archie trailed off, then sighed in defeat. "All right, fine."

"Thanks," Ruby beamed. She patted Hook's head, then walked away, leaving the two men together in a very awkward silence.

Hook tapped his fingers listlessly on the table, waiting for Archie to say something. Archie had to do the talking first, right? He was the therapist—didn't they have to ask you about how pictures made you feel or something? He chanced a glance across the table: Archie was poking at his lasagna, avoiding Hook's gaze.

"So…" Hook cleared his throat. "So how do we do this?"

"Do what?" Archie lifted his head, looking at him incredulously. "I'm not giving you a free session. Especially not a party. Do you know how many hours a week I work?"

"No," Hook said simply.

"Do you know how many clients I have?"

"No."

"Do you know how exhausting it is to feel personally responsible for someone else's mental health?"

"No. Hang on, wait—no. No, I don't."

"No, you don't," Archie agreed grimly.

"But," Hook went on, unfazed, "Ruby asked you to help me."

"Ruby asked me to babysit you. I don't know why she'd do that, unless…" Archie gave him a considering look, frowning a little. "Are you posing a danger to yourself or anyone else right now?"

"Probably only to Belle. I trip over her, like, all the time."

"She's very tiny," Archie mused.

"Like a scone."

"What?"

"Never mind."

Archie raised an eyebrow. "Why do you think she left you with me?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "She said, I was stressing her out."

"Hmm…And why would she say that?"

"Because…" Hook furrowed his brow, thinking back. "Because I was getting all…God, I don't know! Because, okay?"

"'Because' isn't really an answer, is it?" Archie prodded.

"…No, I guess not."

"So, then, why do you think the answer might be?"

Hook scratched the back of his neck. "Probably because I was asking her stuff that she didn't think was important."

"What stuff?"

"Just…things. Emma and Neal said things, and I asked her about things, and she was all like, 'Granny's here' and 'Why are we arguing about this?' and then she dropped me over here and told me to talk to you about it."

"What kind of things?"

"Like…" Hook exhaled, and looked at the ceiling. "She was talking about Neal and said some things regarding his hotness, and I got a little miffed because it was right in front of me. And then Emma and Neal said that she lingered and hmphed at Neal, like, thirty seconds after…" Hook trailed off, suddenly wondering whether or not Archie was trustworthy to keep his and Ruby's little linen closet adventure a secret. If Regina found out, she'd pull out rusty medieval torturing devices to slowly kill him with.

But Archie seemed to understand nonetheless: he nodded thoughtfully, and said, "So, you were feeling insecure because Ruby found another man attractive."

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Because she's supposed to find me attractive."

"She can't do both? Is she the only woman you find attractive?"

"Well…no, but she's my favorite." Hook dropped his eyes, finding it necessary to examine his rings. "I don't have a lot else going for me, right now. I'm broke, drunk, and apparently damaged. And a lot of guys are like that."

"So, you're worried that if she doesn't find you exclusively attractive, you're just going to blend into the background with a bunch of other mediocre guys?"

He took a minute to translate Archie's words into something he could understand. "Yeah, that sounds right."

"So—" Archie leaned forward in his seat, rubbing his hands together—"before we go any further, I just want to reassure you…"

Hook raised his eyebrows hopefully.

"…I do consider this to be a diagnostic interview, and you will be charged for it."

"Oh."

"That being said, do you really think that that's the only reason why Ruby is with you? Because she thinks you're good-looking?"

"I'm pretty sure that's a big part of it."

"Maybe," Archie shrugged. "But maybe that's just what you think. Maybe that's the only quality you have that you feel confident about, so you cling to it and assume that's all anybody else cares about. Tell me something—why do your friends like you? Is it only because they think you're good-looking?"

"…No."

"Okay. Why do your friends like you?"

"I'm not entirely sure they do, actually. Everyone always seems to be calling me a 'slut' and rolling their eyes at me. Ruby's the only one who seems to like me at all."

"And why does Ruby like you?"

"Because I know how to make her laugh and we have a lot in common and—oh!" Hook pointed at Archie, his mouth falling open in surprise. "You're good."

Archie shrugged, taking up his drink. "We'll discuss my fee later."

We're on our way.

Henry let out a sigh of relief after he read Violet's text. Thank God. He was so sick of being the coatcheck—especially since it involved spending practically the whole night next to Regina. Which might not have been so bad, had it just been the two of them, making sarcastic observations as the party went on; maybe later on, Neal would have joined them, and then a truly epic commentary lamenting the dumbfuckery of their friends and family could have unfolded.

But they weren't alone: Rumplestiltskin had found his way over to them at some point, and he'd started discussing all sorts of complicated magical theory with Regina, every so often tossing Henry a quiz question—just to make sure he was paying attention, he said with a small chuckle. And if that weren't enough, Henry was stationed in such a way that he had a very clear view of Emma and Neal—more specifically, Emma— and the whole thing was really uncomfortable and right now seemed like a good time to burn his eyes until they were empty sockets, but alas—there were coats to check.

"…doing a lot of thinking," Rumple was saying when Henry returned to the moment. "And, you know, when I brought magic here the first time, I used a True Love Potion."

"Mmm-hmm," Regina frowned thoughtfully, nodding her head.

"Most powerful magic and all, I figured that would be strong enough to break through the realm division and bring magic here," Rumple went on. "It worked, didn't it?"

"Yes, but that's where I get confused," Regina said. "We have magic here. The realm division is compromised enough for magic. So what's blocking the effects of Lake Nostos?"

"I've thought of that," Rumple said, smiling triumphantly. "See, Lake Nostos is—Henry, how does the Law of Conversation translate to Balthazar's Theory of Magical Energy?"

"Magic can't be created or destroyed," Henry droned. "Only converted. If you use magic, something has to happen."

"Which means…?"

"All magic comes with a price."

"Good boy," Rumple beamed. "Anyways, as I was saying, Lake Nostos is not a manipulative magic, like ours; it's a more powerful, ancient one. So I think it's too strong to really come through its portal because the realm division is still too weak. If we could get another dose of True Love blasted down there, we might be able to break through."

"So…" Regina gave her head a bewildered little shake. "What, you want to toss Snow and David down the well, and see if something happens?"

"Not what I meant, but I'm going to keep that tucked in my back pocket. What I meant—Henry, pay attention—what I meant was, if I had another source of True Love to throw down the well, we could use it to hold the portal open strong enough for the lake's magic to come through. And then, all its resurrective power would come through, and Henry can bring your skank of a mother back."

"Why me?" Henry frowned. "The magic isn't really coming from me, it's coming from the lake. Shouldn't anyone be able to do it?"

Rumple looked rather annoyed with him. "Magic has to be wielded when it's being used for a specific goal. Not just anybody can do it, and everyone who can expresses it differently. Like snowflakes, Henry, you know about snowflakes? How they're all unique? Do you remember this analogy from that book I gave you?"

"Uh—sure?"

"I don't want to go around changing variables, either. You were the one who the resurrection worked for the first time, so if anyone's going to do it again, it has to be you. Who knows what would happen if I tried it? Or Regina? Or, God forbid, Emma?"

Henry sighed. His head was starting to hurt now. Rumple and Regina could go on for hours about magical theory, and right now, all he wanted to do was grab a root beer and talk with Violet about how stupid this party was. He didn't want to stand there and get lectured about the physics behind turning someone into a snail.

"Do you have any more potion?" Regina asked skeptically. "Did you check your freezer?"

"I don't think a potion would be enough," Rumple frowned, apparently not hearing the mocking in his daughter's voice. "I need something stronger."

"I said Snow and David," Regina pointed out. "Or maybe just Emma. She's a symbol of True Love, isn't she?"

"Wouldn't mind tossing her down there," Rumple grimaced. "Little slut's running her dirty hands all over my boy—"

Henry cleared his throat pointedly.

"—I mean, Emma's a lovely girl," Rumple amended. "But no, I don't think throwing someone down the well would work. Something charged with True Love—"

"Can we stop saying the words, 'True Love'?" Henry asked. "I'm sorry, I know it's the most powerful magic and all, but I literally can't take us seriously right now."

"I don't make the rules, Henry, I just follow them" Rumple said staunchly. "As I was saying, something charged with True Love—"

A knock at the door saved Henry from hearing the end of that sentence. Regina swung open the door and greeted the guests with a flat, "Shoes." Henry peered around her shoulder to see Violet and her parents kicking snow off their shoes.

"Hey," he said, waving at Violet.

"Hi, Henry," Violet smiled, giving Regina a nod as she stepped into the house. Regina forced a smile to her face, then very obviously rolled her eyes. "So…what are you, like, a doorman tonight or something?"

"Not anymore," Henry said cheerfully, tossing her coat to Rumple. "You want to take care of that, Grandpa?"

Rumple caught it, startled, not taking his eyes off Violet. "Er…Henry, who is this, exactly?"

"Violet. Okay, bye."

"Violet?" he heard Rumple whisper to Regina as he steered Violet further into the room. "Like, Violet Violet?"

"Are they talking about me?" Violet frowned.

"They talk about everybody," Henry said, waving her concern away. "You want anything? David's got a bunch of stuff in the kitchen, and if we're lucky, there might be some lasagna left."

"They're…they're not going to stare at me, too, are they?"

"Probably."

"Oy."

"I'll you what—you can find a place for us to sit, and I'll go grab us something. What do you like?"

She shrugged. "I'm not picky. Just nothing with olives."

"No olives," Henry nodded, and started making his way to the kitchen. He had to start humming very loudly in his head after he passed a string of Ruby waitress-friends discussing certain things about his father that he really didn't need to hear. Just to be safe, he hummed all the way to kitchen.

David was busy shaving his turkey into thin, servable slices, while Snow chattered on, building a big salad next to him. Belle sat at the counter watching them, slowly chewing her lasagna. Henry stood on his tiptoes, looking over the counter to see if there was any left—damn.

"Last piece," Belle said, pointing her fork at her plate.

"Who ate it all?" Henry asked, already taking two plates out of the cupboard and glancing over the other pans to examine his options. The hell is that? he thought in alarm, looking at something black and congealed. "Gross, that's not black pudding, is it?"

"What's black pudding?" Belle frowned.

"Pig's blood."

"Gah!" Belle choked on her food, gagging horribly. She covered her mouth and looked up at Henry with wide, horrorstruck eyes. "Oh, my God, that's disgusting!" she said in a muffled voice.

"Yeah, I know. Hence the use of the word, 'gross'."

"It's not black pudding, Snow burned my cranberry sauce," David said.

"I didn't burn it!" Snow said indignantly.

"Okay—" David laid down the knife and fork and gave her an impatient look—"I said, take the sauce off the stove, I'll be right back. And then you said, Okay, sure, you got it. And then you left it to boil over on the stove, and the whole goddamn thing was ruined."

"I thought you meant the tomato sauce," Snow said, nonplussed. "You should have specified."

"Oh, don't start," Belle groaned as David opened his mouth. "Literally no one cares about cranberry sauce."

"What about this?" Henry sniffed suspiciously over a pot that had clams and shrimp tails bobbing through broth.

"That is bouillabaisse," David said proudly. "It's French."

Henry pulled a face, and moved onto the next pot—borscht. "Jesus, don't you have any normal food?" he said exasperatedly, and tossed down the plates in favor for a bag of chips and two sodas.

"Henry, I cooked. What are you eating chips for?" David reproached him.

"I don't like bouilla-whatever," he shrugged, scooting past Snow to grab two napkins. Snow followed his actions with narrowed eyes, slowing her salad-tossing.

"Who's the other soda for?" she asked. "You got a friend?"

Henry didn't answer, because he knew the minute he said it was for a girl, Snow would throw down her apron and start interrogating him. He balanced everything in his hands, determinedly avoiding her gaze, and strode out of the kitchen without another word.

Again, he started humming loudly as he passed the waitresses (all of whom were sending a lot of side-eyed stares in one direction) and meandered through the crowd, keeping his eyes open for Violet.

He found her sitting on the stairs' landing: a little removed from the rest of the party, but not so much so that Regina would have a legitimate excuse to wander away from her post to spy on them. Henry smiled to himself, making a mental note to congratulate Violet on her strategic spot, and climbed the short flight of stairs to join her.

"There was, like, no edible food down there, so I just got chips," he explained, tossing her the bag.

"That's okay," Violet shrugged as he folded his legs to sit beside her. "Chips are good."

"Chips are good." Henry cracked open the sodas and pushed one toward her. "Great spot, by the way. If we'd sat at one of the tables, we'd end up having to talk to people."

"That is the literal worst," Violet groaned. "I hate it when your parents bring this random person and say, 'Hey! This is your cousin! They knew you when you were three!' And then you have to talk to them about how much you've grown since you were three."

"It's like, 'Bitch, I barely knew how to feed myself when I was three. What makes you think I remember you?'"

"Stupid," Violet agreed, rolling her eyes.

They watched the party below for a few minutes, content to just crunch chips and drink soda while the adults carried elegant glasses of wine and plates of David's elaborate food as they socialized. Henry saw Ruby pouring herself another cocktail at the bar, which meant Hook was probably close by…or not. Huh. Not that he was complaining, but the manwhore was nowhere in sight.

"That's weird," he muttered.

"What's weird?"

"Normally, Hook hangs off Ruby like a parasite, but she's on her own…oh, there he is. Wait—" Henry craned his neck, squinting—"why's he talking to Archie? Actually, you know what, forget it, I don't care."

Violet tilted her head, considering. "You know, it's too bad we don't have a water balloon or something. We're at a perfect vantage point to hit him."

"He's got so much gel in his hair, he's probably water-repellant," Henry said regretfully.

"Maybe we could fill it with tomato sauce."

"Inspired," Henry declared. "That's absolutely brilliant. You want to?"

"What—now?"

"Sure," he said cheerfully. "Come on, I think I have some water balloons hidden somewhere upstairs—"

"Wait," Violet said, catching his arm as he moved to stand up. "Henry, I'm not going to throw tomato sauce in Regina's house. She'll kill us."

Shit, she's right. Henry reluctantly lowered himself back to a seat. "Damn it."

"I meant, that we should wait to ambush him on the street one of these days. We could get Ava and Nicholas to help us, and we'll just surround him from all sides and pelt him with sauce balloons."

Henry beamed at her and was opening his mouth to sing her praises when he caught sight of something below that made his smile sour and slide off his face: Emma, twirling her finger around the end of Neal's tie and combing her hand through his hair, while Neal seemed to be acting determinedly casual. Until Emma rose on her tiptoes and whispered something in his ear that made him spit his drink out and start coughing. Henry could have sworn he heard Neal say, "You want to what?"

"Oh, my God," Henry groaned, and dropped his head in his hands, shaking it miserably. "That did not just happen, please tell me that didn't happen."

"What?" Violet asked, startled. "What's wrong?"

"It's—" Henry stopped, suddenly realizing how insensitive it would be to complain about his parents getting along too well (way too well, for his liking) to someone whose parents argued incessantly. "Nothing, forget it."

"No, come on," Violet urged.

"Just my mom…She's embarrassing."

"What, Regina?"

"No…no, the other one." Henry grimaced, trying to burn the memory out of his brain. "Emma. She gets a little rambunctious at parties…and whenever my dad wears a suit."

"Oh…" Violet said with dawning comprehension; then made a face. "Eww, they don't actually—?"

"Violet," Henry said loudly. "I'd rather not talk about this, okay?"

"Oh, right. Sorry."

"Let's talk about something else. Anything. Please, literally anything, I can't be alone with my thoughts right now."

"Um…" Violet flickered her eyes around, looking for inspiration. "Let's see… Oh!" She clapped her hands together. "I know—how are your magic lessons going?"

"They're boring," Henry sighed. "It's literally just math and physics and chemistry…with emotion."

Violet made a face. "That sounds horrible."

"It is," Henry said dully. "I thought it was going to be so cool, but it's fucking hard. It's like being in an AP Tutor session with all the Asian kids."

"All what Asian kids?"

"Okay, with the Asian kid."

"Hmm."

"Honestly, I just want to get this stupid resurrection thing over and done with," Henry said exhaustedly. "I am so sick of magical theory and spending Saturday mornings at the well with Grandpa…especially since he always takes me back to have coffee with him after and his coffee sucks."

"How much longer do you have to keep it up?" Violet asked, raising her eyebrows.

Henry shrugged. "I don't know. He seems to think he's had a breakthrough, so if I'm lucky? Not much longer."

Violet drew her knees to her chest and hugged them, resting her chin on her arms. "That's so weird to think about," she mused. "Coffee with Rumplestiltskin. Bringing people back from the dead." She turned her head to look at him. "You have a strange life, Henry Mills."

"Didn't…?" Henry frowned. "Didn't you grow up around magic? You're from…you know, there."

"Yeah, but Rumplestiltskin was The Dark One and magic was a legitimate threat and…" Violet trailed off, shrugging. "It's just weird, to think about it so casually now. I mean, I'm friends with The Dark One's grandson. That's weird."

"I get that," Henry nodded. "I don't really think of him as 'The Dark One' so much, though. Not since Belle made him stop using magic. He's been dry for over two years."

"You don't worry he's going to relapse?" Violet asked. "I mean, since he's been helping you with all this resurrection stuff? Aren't there, like, trigger thingies for addicts?"

"Well…" Henry stopped, furrowing his brow. She had a point, actually. Rumple had been quite enthusiastic for the weekend mornings they spent together. Henry had just assumed it was just grandpa-imparting-wisdom-feels; he'd never considered that it might be Rumple living vicariously through Henry while he learned the drug Rumple so missed—power.

And every time he spoke to Regina about magic and all his theories, he got this feverish quality to his voice, a gleam in his eye. Again—he'd never thought of that gleam being anything more than Rumple delighting in being the cleverest in the room, but now that he thought about it…

Well, shit.

I figured, addicts never really get rid of their illnesses, and between Henry and Baby Witch, Rumple's bound to get triggered. I don't foresee anything tragic happening, but I'm sure Rumple will get himself into a tangle that exasperates Neal and Belle to epic proportions.