"…Who's to know if your soul will fade at all? The one you sold to fool the world. You lost your self-esteem along the way…"

Henry half-sang, half-hummed along with Seether as he strolled down the hallway of the station, one backpack strap slung over his shoulder. Now that Christmas was over, it was time to settle into his winter-break-homework.

He always liked going to to the station to work on his homework. Graham was always there, so none of the parents could ever complain he was unsupervised or accuse him of sneaking off. And working in a room surrounded by official crap made the hours go by faster: it somehow transformed "homework" into "extremely necessary work". Plus, the station was always nice and quiet, since the only ones who seemed to be there anymore were Henry and Graham: Emma was always out with the patrol car; and Neal had taken to hanging around Rumple's shop when he wasn't with Emma, checking out the books and finances. As for Hook—if he decided to work that day—he usually found something to do at the library, where Belle was conveniently located, so they could gossip all day.

"…Fake it—if you're out of direction. Fake it— if you don't belong here. Fake it—if you feel like affection. Who-o-oa, you're such a fucking hypocrite—hey, Graham."

"Hey, Henry," Graham called out, not looking up from his papers. "What are you singing? It's dreadful."

"Dreadful?" Henry scoffed. "It's better than Celine Dion."

Graham exhaled exasperatedly. "That was one song!" he said. "Am I to be condemned for the rest of my life because I like one Celine Dion song?"

"That's enough to condemn your immortal soul," Henry told him seriously. He dropped his backpack on Neal's desk and started pulling textbooks out. "So, how was your Christmas?"

"Quiet," Graham said. "Victor was working the emergency room, so I took a page out of his book, and had lasagna and a Star Wars marathon."

"And how was that?"

"Extremely dull and depressing."

Henry tsked sympathetically. "Sucks, man." He swiped out the chair with his foot and settled into it, kicking his feet up on the desk. "You should have been able to spend Christmas with your boyfriend."

Graham looked up with a frown. "With my what?"

"Sorry," Henry droned, rolling his eyes dramatically. "With your—" he made air-quotes—"friend."

"I'm not…" Graham gave his head a little shake. "Are you implying something?"

"Yes, but I've got too much to do to explain it to you right now." Henry dropped his gaze back to the textbooks and exhaled reluctantly; then, dragged out his AP Chem notes and his calculator to start work on those nauseating titration problems.

This is ridiculous, he scoffed to himself. Here he was, a gifted young necromancer, with the power to raise the dead and breach the invisible realm between worlds…and he was more worried about turning these problems in by Tuesday.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. There was one thing he was more worried about than titration: stealing the swan pendant. Rumple had finally reached a solid enough theory to test for the well, and once Henry managed to get his hands on Emma's talisman (which was a world of problems unto itself, as she never took it off), he had to think about the fact that he was actually resurrecting Cora. As in, Cora Cora, the woman who'd once planned to take over Storybrooke and become the Dark One, plotting to kill his entire family; not to mention, committing the unforgivable crime of bringing Hook to Storybrooke in the first place. She was going to get a slap for that.

It also bothered him that no one else seemed to have any anxiety over Cora returning to the town she once tried to destroy. Henry didn't say anything, but "peace of mind" was becoming increasingly foreign, the closer he got to actually bringing her back. On the one hand, Regina and Rumple had once been in similar positions to Cora, and they'd managed to turn themselves around. Rumple was getting a little excited during their magic lessons, but there was still Belle and Archie to keep an eye on him.

But Cora would be depending on Regina: no one else would want to get near her, and no one else particularly wanted her back. So she'd be depending solely on Regina—who was currently an unstable, magic-spurting, rage-filled pregnant woman who was liable to burst into tears or flames at the drop of hat— to keep her mentally sound.

Before anything else, though, he had to get the damn necklace. And Rumple was getting impatient: the past two days, he had been calling Henry incessantly to ask feverishly, "Did you get it?" Henry would reply with a sigh and a, "No, Grandpa…" And then Rumple would be quiet for a minute, then say with very obvious disappointment, "All right, Henry. Thank you for trying."

Right on schedule, Henry grimaced, hearing his phone go off. He exhaled impatiently at Rumple's name flashing on screen.

"What?" he answered.

"Henry! It's me!"

"I know it's you, what do you want?"

"Oh, you do remind me of your father, Henry," Rumple sighed.

"Thanks, what do you want?"

"How's Operation Klepto-Kid going?"

Henry frowned. "Excuse me?"

"That's what I've been calling it," Rumple said cheerfully. "How's it going? Did you get the necklace yet?"

"In the past hour since you last called me? No, Grandpa, I didn't."

Rumple was quiet. "All right," he said reluctantly. "I'm sure you'll get it. Eventually."

"Will you stop that?" Henry snapped. "I said, I'll get it, okay? Stop laying a guilt trip on me, it's not as easy as it looks! She never takes it off! I can't just rip the thing off her!"

Graham looked up, concerned. "Henry, who are you talking to?"

Henry put the phone against his shoulder to cover the mouthpiece, giving him a weak smile. "I know that sounded weird and creepy, but everything's fine. Really, really."

"What are you discussing, exactly?" Graham frowned. "Because that sounded really weird and creepy."

"It's about magic lessons, it's this whole thing," Henry said dismissively. "There's this necklace, and it's important and complicated, but it's need-to-know, Graham, and that's all you need to know."

"Who are you talking to?" Rumple asked on the end.

"Graham."

"Graham? Graham who?"

"Graham—" Henry frowned, suddenly realizing he had no idea what Graham's last name was. He'd only ever been Sheriff Graham. "Graham, what's your last name?"

"Humbert," Graham said promptly.

"Humbert?"

"What's wrong with 'Humbert'?"

Henry stared at him for a minute, struggling to compute the fact that Graham's last name was Humbert. "I…I just don't know how to respond to that."

"Graham who?" Rumple persisted on the phone.

"Humbert," Henry said distractedly.

"Humbert? Who's Graham Humbert?"

"Sheriff Graham."

"Graham's last name is Humbert?"

"Apparently so."

"That's so weird…"

"I know."

"Hey, you know what else is weird?" Rumple didn't wait for Henry to respond. "That you come from a dynasty of the world's greatest thieves and swindlers, and you can't figure out how to steal a keychain."

"Grandpa!" Henry snapped, immediately forgetting the Humbert dilemma.

"Well, honestly, Henry!" Rumple snapped back. "You're either incredibly stupid or incredibly lazy, and I know you're not incredibly stupid, so what's the deal, kid?"

"I told you, it's harder than it looks!" Henry said. "She never takes it off. What do you want me to do—put her in a chokehold and rip it off her neck?"

"She has to take it off sometime!" Rumple argued. "In fact, I can guarantee it. That chain doesn't have any rust on it, does it? Still nice and silver and shiny?"

"So what?" Henry scoffed.

"So….what happens when you run silver under water?"

"Wet silver? I don't—"

"Rust, boy, rust."

"All right, rust," Henry said exasperatedly. "Again—so what?"

"So, she has to be taking it off before she showers," Rumple said irritably. "All you do, is sneak in her room when she's in the bath, grab it, and hightail it out of there." He let out an annoyed huff. "My God, I have to do everything around here!"

Henry rolled his eyes. In all honesty, if he hadn't been so reluctant to actually make headway on this resurrection mission, he would have figured that out in less than two minutes. Now, thanks to Rumple, he didn't have an excuse to put it off anymore. "Goodbye, Grandpa."

"You will meet me at the well tonight, with the chain," Rumple said vehemently. "No more bullshit, Henry. You get it done, and you get it done fast."

"No, not tonight," Henry said, shaking his head. "I have too much homework. Tomorrow night works better for me."

"Tomorrow?" Rumple mused. "I don't think I can do it tomorrow. I got a thing with Belle. We're having people over. What about the day after tomorrow?"

"Mmm…." Henry tilted his head, considering. "I can do that."

"Then it's settled. The day after tomorrow, you will meet me at the well with the chain."

"Fine."

"Bring your winter coat, not that flimsy jacket you wear, or you'll catch your death of cold," he chided, suddenly a mother hen. "And for God's sake, Henry, eat something! You're all skin and bones!"

"Fine."

"You can come over for dinner tonight, if you want," Rumple offered. "Belle's making meatballs."

"I might stop by," Henry said, lazily circling on the wheeled chair. "Depends on how much I get done."

"Is that Henry?" Belle's voice said in the background. "Hi, Henry!"

"Hi, Belle."

"I'm making meatballs!" she hollered back. "You should come over tonight!"

"He needs to work on his homework first," Rumple answered her. "All right, Henry, you get back to work. We'll see you for meatballs tonight."

"Yeah, whatever," Henry shrugged, picking at a loose thread. "Bye, Grandpa."

"See you, Henry."

Henry stuck his phone back in his pocket, and reluctantly went back to his homework. Oh, chemistry….Far less interesting than magic, but just as much a pain in the ass. Everything required complete focus and attention to detail, and he really wasn't feeling it for "attention to detail" today.

"Hello, boys!" Emma's voice called out, startling both Henry and Graham. Her clunking boots announced her presence even before she strode to the center of the room, as if walking into the spotlight.

"So," she said, beaming at them. "Who wants to help me with something tomorrow?"

"Ooh, I don't," Henry said, raising his hand sarcastically.

"Henry's in," Emma said, pointing triumphantly at him. She swiveled around to Graham. "What about you, Teddy-Grahams, you in?"

"I've got a thing with Jeff tomorrow," he said, shaking his head.

Henry twitched a frown, and exchanged a look with Emma. Were Graham and Jefferson…an item now?

"It's not a date," Graham said exasperatedly, apparently reading their minds. "We're just two guys, grabbing a cup of coffee, okay? We're friends."

"Isn't this the friend who tried to kiss you?" Henry asked, raising an eyebrow.

Graham frowned. "How do you know about that?"

"Grace told Nik, Nik told Ava, Ava told me," he shrugged. "Tell me about that 'just friends' thing again?"

"Ooh, no, tell me about the 'tried to kiss you' thing again," Emma said, leaning forward with intrigue. "I want to hear that story."

"There is no story! Why is my life suddenly interesting to you people?"

"Come on, Teddy-Grahams," Emma urged.

"And why are you calling me 'Teddy-Grahams' out of nowhere, what is that?" Graham said, looking at her bewilderedly.

"I thought of it on the way over," she grinned. "It's your new nickname. Like it?"

"Not really."

''Oh, come on, Teddy-Grahams," Henry wheedled. "Don't be a fun sucker."

"Tell us about Jefferson!"

"Are you two going out?"

"Are you doing it?"

"Are there any pet names?"

"Does Grace know?"

"Does Whale know?"

"Stop!" Graham cried. "Stop harassing me, I don't even know what you're talking about! God what do you people want from me?"

"I didn't know you were into guys, too!" Emma said, sounding betrayed. "I can't believe you didn't tell me this earlier! Oh, Graham, we could have talked about so much—"

"I'm not into guys, too! I told you, we're friends."

"Yeah, okay you're friends," Henry said, rolling his eyes. "But you're never just friends. Look at me and Violet."

Emma whipped around with wide eyes. "What?"

"What?" Henry said innocently.

"What did you say about you and Violet?"

"Nothing."

Emma narrowed her eyes. "Henry, can I see you in my office for a minute?"

"I'll have to check my schedule—"

"Now, Henry." Emma pointed to her office, her gaze positively deadly. Henry exhaled an, "Oh, shit", and pushed himself up from the chair. Emma slid her eyes to the side, following him as he trudged past her; then stalked after him.

Henry shouldered open the door to her office and threw himself into her chair, kicking his feet up on the desk. He tucked his arms behind his head, closing his eyes.

"This is a great chair," he murmured lazily.

"Glad you like it," Emma said shortly, jerking the door shut behind her. "So, what about you and Violet?"

Henry opened one eye and rolled it to the side, peering at her: she was leaning against the wall with folded arms and a dark look on her face. Oh, Christ, he thought to himself, grimacing. This was going to be fun.

"Me and Violet are friends," he replied dutifully.

"Oh, but you're never just friends, right?"

"Well, she's also really hot," Henry said loudly. "Does that clear things up?"

Emma exhaled in exasperation. "Henry, I'm serious."

"What do you want me to say?" he asked the ceiling.

"I just want to know what's going on with you two," Emma said, though she looked as though she very much did not want to know that. "If I should be worried."

"Worried about what?" Henry said, raising his eyebrows. "That, despite everything, I might actually be a normal teenager?"

"Yes, I'm very concerned about that," she nodded.

"Well, get used to being concerned, then," he said shortly. "Because I'm not ten years old anymore, and you and Regina breathing down my neck about Violet is starting to get really annoying."

"Look, Henry, I know I'm the cool mom—" Emma rolled her eyes, pretending modesty—"but you can't just start dating someone without talking to me about it first. In fact, there's a lot we need to talk about before you start dating someone." She coughed into her fist, avoiding his gaze. "For example…I know you're getting to a certain age now…"

Henry widened his eyes. Good God, in Heaven, she wasn't attempting to have The Talk with him, was she?

"…and I know that…certain things are going through your head—"

"Mom," he interrupted hurriedly. "I know how babies are made and everything, okay? We really don't have to—"

"—but you should probably talk to your dad about that because I don't know what the guy situation is, entirely—"

"Okay, thanks, Mom, I will, please shut up now!"

"Henry, I'm only telling you this, because I don't want you to end up in the same situation I was in. Or rather, I don't want Violet to. You realize, you're only four years younger than I was when I had you?"

"Oh, my God," Henry groaned, sinking further into the chair. "Can we please stop talking about this?"

"I'd love to, but that would require me to have some peace of mind, and you're just not giving it to me," Emma said simply.

"Okay, here's your peace of mind." Henry sat up, looking her dead in the eye. "Between school and magic lessons and that minor issue of necromancy I got going on now—I don't have a lot of time for a girlfriend. So things are moving slow. Very slow. Glaciers are zipping past us. So, like I said, you really have nothing to worry about."

Emma looked at him for a long time, as if trying to determine whether or not he was lying through his teeth (Oh, Henry realized, rolling his eyes, she's using her superpower). Finally, she nodded slowly: once, twice, three times.

"Okay," she said. "Okay, I believe you."

"Oh, joy," Henry said, spreading his lips in a sarcastic smile.

"Well, now we've got that taken care of—" Emma clapped her hands together, and pointed at him—"let's discuss how you're going to help me tomorrow."

"Mmm, I already decided, I didn't want to," Henry shrugged.

"You'll want to," Emma said knowingly. "But you can't tell Dad, okay?"

Henry raised his eyebrows. "Are we hiding Hook's body?" he asked hopefully.

"No, not this time," she smiled. "Someday, perhaps. Actually, I wanted you to help get all his shit together and get it out of the apartment, so I can move my stuff in."

"Okay…" Henry frowned. "But why can't I tell Dad? Isn't this a good thing?"

"'Cause I said I wouldn't," Emma shrugged. "But I'm gonna."

"But I don't want to get in trouble with Dad."

"Nobody wants to, Henry," she said reasonably. "But you might have to risk it, because we only have a very small window of time to work in. And if we don't push Hook out, he'll never leave. He's like that stray dog: once you invite it into your home, there's no getting rid of it."

Henry blew out a breath, tapping his fingers on the armrest. "That sounds like a lot of work," he mused. "Moving…packing…and I've got all that homework to do, not to mention I have to dinner with Grandpa tonight, and he'll want to set something up for tomorrow—"

"Quite the social butterfly, aren't you?" Emma frowned.

"I'm only saying, maybe you should make it worth my while," Henry suggested. "I'll have to sacrifice my own time and energy to help you, so I should be compensated."

Emma blinked at him, as though she had never quite seen anything like him before. "Excuse me?"

"I'm offering you a deal," Henry elaborated. "I will help you move Hook's disturbingly extensive leather collect out of the apartment, and you…" He turned a little smile. "You can just own me a favor."

He rather liked the idea of Emma owing him a favor. Hook had yet to use the favor he had on Henry for stealing his hook, and Henry had jealously considered the feeling of power over him Hook felt (when he remembered, anyways). And after all the time he'd been spending around Rumple, he'd developed a new appreciation for the "puppet master" approach to life. This seemed as good a time as any to start trying it out.

"You're offering me a deal," Emma repeated. "You going to start wearing a three-piece-suit and walking with a limp, too?"

"If the mood strikes me," Henry shrugged. He stuck his hand out, waiting for her to shake it. "Well?"

Emma shifted uncomfortably on her feet. "Henry, I didn't really see this as a business transaction. I thought it could be more like…I don't know, like one of our operations." She paused briefly. "Operation…Squirrel."

"Operation—?" Henry sucked in a breath, and shook his head. "No, Mom. We're done with the operation bullshit. We're in negotiation territory now. Feel free to make a counteroffer, but please don't try to get a free favor of me again. You'll only embarrass yourself."

Emma raised her eyebrows. "You really are growing up, aren't you?" she remarked, taking his hand. "Making deals…owing favors…talking about hiding bodies. You're a little psychopath."

He flashed a smile at her. "Family business."