Robin sits at the counter, sipping his coffee as a big pot of vegetable soup simmers behind him, its aroma wafting through the tiny space and making it feel warm and cozy.

He's tired from a long night of driving, but a cold shower and a hot cup of coffee made it tolerable. Grinning, he takes a slow sip of the coffee, taking in the festive decorations John and Roland had put up while he was gone.

The tree in the corner is strung with dried cranberry and popcorn garlands and adorned tin-foil and popsicle stick ornaments and lopsided little bows that Roland had obviously tied himself. Atop the tree is the star John crafted years ago from chicken wire, along the mantle are the painted pinecones Roland made the year before, and hanging down in front of the fire are the three stockings he'd made when they'd all moved in to the apartment after losing Marian.

He'd painstakingly stitched them—though, at the time, he knew nothing about the basics of sewing—in some sort of effort to prove everyone wrong.

Maybe even to prove himself wrong.

Chuckling softly, he shakes his head and takes a sip of the coffee—it seems like a lifetime ago, a life that may have even belonged to someone else—remember when John presented him with three patched woolen socks from his dresser drawer, his brow furrowing with confusion as Robin brandished three drug-store kits, cavalierly declaring he wouldn't need John's old socks, he'd be making his own.

He'd spent days piecing them together—the stitching was all wrong, little pieces of thread were knotted in some spots and hung loose in others, and the pieces of felt didn't quite align. Roland's name was spelled out in gold thread, but he'd lost steam when it came to his stocking and John's, only embroidering an R and a J.

The stockings were awkward and he knew that now he could do a much better job—now, he could even afford to purchase pre-made nicer ones, but Roland always got a kick out of them, gently teasing him about his shoddy sew job.

And truthfully, he's not sure he could ever actually get rid of them—even if he didn't hang them. He can still clearly see Roland's little face when he first saw his stocking, his eyes growing wide as he reached for it, his chubby little toddler fingers tracing over the gold threaded embroidery that spelled out his name—"Papa, that's me!" he'd announced. He couldn't read it, but he could recognize his own name.

That had been one of the first instances he felt like he might be doing something right, that Roland wouldn't be better off with a distant cousin or a great-aunt who'd nothing better to do with her time, that he could give his son the childhood he deserved, the childhood everyone doubted would be possible without a mother's presence.

Grinning again, he can still clearly hear John, on the other side of the room, holding up the other two haphazardly made stockings for examination. "I can't tell which is an R and which is the J" as Roland stoically telling him that Santa would just know—and while that hadn't brought much comfort, John was comforted as Robin quickly noted John's stocking would be identified on Christmas morning by a fresh bottle of Kentucky whiskey.

Then on Christmas morning, Roland toddled straight past the tree (and all the neatly wrapped presents beneath it) and to his stocking, marveling at the little trinkets and candy "Santa" had stuffed into it—and John nursed his whiskey.

That had been the start of many traditions. Since then, five Christmases had come and gone, and though Roland's interests had changed, his excitement over the holiday and his Christmas stocking hadn't faded—it was still the first thing he checked on Christmas morning.

This year, Robin had some of Eugenia's hand-made chocolates truffles wrapped in Christmas paper, some penny candy from the drug store, a book that Henry suggested to Roland that he was now obsessed with reading, a new set of jacks, a miniautre chess game, and a role Rolmonica he knew he'd instantly regret. There were other gifts too—a new sweater and some winter socks, an art set, and a deck of cards that came with a little book explaining all sorts of different games to play with them. All of which was currently hidden under a burlap tarp in his truck, just waiting to be brought in on Christmas Eve.

He wondered how much longer Roland would believe in the magic of Christmas—how much longer he'd have to hide presents and sign the tags from Santa with a special gold leaf pen, how much longer there'd be letters to Santa and trips to see him at the department store, and how much longer they'd bake cookies to set out with a glass of milk (which he and John ate as their reward for successfully putting a rambunctious kid to bed on Christmas Eve).

Roland was eight now, and already was less enthusiastic about the letter to Santa, shrugging his shoulders at the idea of going to see him, wondering aloud why some of his friends didn't get much of anything from Santa while he always got nearly everything he asked for. In truth, he knew that this would most likely the last.

Already things were different, so at the very least it would be the last like the ones Roland had always known…

"What time did you drag yourself in?" John asks, his voice sleepy and gruff. "I, uh… passed out after helping Roland with the tree."

"Roland conned you into getting one from that lot by the church, didn't he?"

John sighs. "Look—every year he asks."

Robin smirks—he's well aware. "I told him we'd go out and cut one—"

"But when has that kid ever listened? You weren't here and he saw a chance to get a lot tree." Robin's eyes roll—they had the money to spend on a pre-cut tree, but he couldn't fathom spending it on something he could easily get for free. "Besides," John adds as he pulls his mug from the cabinet. "This is the last chance, ya know? I always say that I'll consider it next year—"

"Actually, I say that—"

John's brow furrows. "Well, I stand next to you and nod supportively."

"And, sure, that's exactly the same."

"But this time, it doens't look like there's a next year. Besides that, you weren't here. It was just me and Tink and she's worse than me. All he's gotta do to convince her of anything is bat his eyelashes and smile. He had her convinced that you let him have hot cocoa before bed every night."

Robin looks up from his coffee. "So, last night, he got all sugared—"

"Look, I couldn't take it away once he was drinking it."

Robin sighs. "You're just an easy target—and it's not like you're never going to see him again or like you won't be invited to Christmas at the new house."

"I know, but… it'll still be different."

"He's your nephew, regardless of where he lives, and I'm sure there will be lots of visits." Robin smirks—it's too early for bittersweet and somewhat heavy conversations. "So, just admit it—an eight-year-old conned you."

John reaches for the pot of coffee as he nods, pouring a cup for himself. "Yeah. I know, he did. It's that damn smile. It gets me every time, too," he admits, shrugging. "Reminds me of my kid sister at that age, ya know?"

Robin nods—he does know. The older Roland gets the more he looks like Marian—and though John was just a little more than a year older than her, he'd always been the protective older brother, looking out for the baby sister who had him wrapped around her little finger.

"She'd be proud of him, though."

Robin's smile warms. "I know."

"She'd be proud of you, too."

"You think?"

"Yeah, definitely," John says, leaning to rest his elbows on the counter. "You were a fucking mess after the war."

"Thanks," Robin mutters, taking a sip of his coffee—silently agreeing.

"But she always knew you'd come out of it."

"Her faith was—"

"Justified," John says, looking straight at him. "It's been years since you had one of those panic attacks, Roland's happy and fed, you've got money in the bank—"

"—if by the bank you mean my mattress—"

"Hey, that turned out to be the smart choice."

Robin smirks. "It had nothing to do with smarts. I was just too afraid to put money in a bank that Leopold Blanchard ran. I was too afraid he'd realize I was ripping him off for all of those years, swiping silver and tiny trinkets, and charging him almost double—"

"Does Regina know about all that? The swiping silver, I mean."

"She does."

"Then it's all good, and you damn well know he was glad to pay for the booze, whatever the cost—" John laughs out in a burst, but then quickly turns serious again. "I mean it though, all those years ago, I don't know that any of us were confident you'd come out of that fog you were in, that you'd be so resilient."

"Well, thanks, I guess. I think time just has a way of fixing things. It wasn't anything I did, it just… faded."

"Maybe," John murmurs. "Maybe it's just a natural thing that comes with age—you get wiser, calm down, don't sweat the small stuff…"

For a moment, there's a pause between them. They've been ignoring the elephant in the room for a long time—they'd been ignoring that business was drying up, that branching out into the surrounding cities wasn't a viable option and would take them down a dangerous road they didn't want to be on, that they'd never really prepared for this.

"Ya know," John begins, taking in a breath. "Tink had an idea."

"About?"

"She's been friendly with Mary Margaret lately—"

"Regina's step-daughter?"

"Yeah, since falling off of her high horse, she's been… a lot different. More friendly, normal, even."

"I've, uh… I've gotten that impression from Regina."

"One of the things that Mary Margaret wants to do with the house—"

"I already know," Robin says, his brow furrowing, not quite seeing the connection between their lack business and Mary Margaret's plan for the house. "It's going to be… like a community center or something, a place for folks to go for food assistance, a warm coat, somewhere for kids to play and learn something useful… not a bad idea, honestly."

"Yeah—that's during the day," John says. "She wants to keep it open at night, too, as a place where people can go and drink and dance away their troubles."

Robin's brow arches. "She wants to open a speakeasy."

Robin blinks—straight-laced Mary Margaret Blanchard wanted to open up an illegal establishment under her father's roof.

John smirks. "She wasn't sure how Regina would feel about it, but that eccentric friend of hers—"

"Mal?"

"Is that the blonde, functional alcoholic?"

Robin chuckles softly and nods—suddenly connecting the dots. "Yeah, Arthur's sister—Tink works for him, right?"

"Yeah, helping his girls…" John's brow furrows. "…to do whatever eleven and twelve-year old girls need help doing." Shrugging, he grins. "Regardless, Mary Margaret thinks something like that would bring some fun to this dull, depressed little town."

"Her father made it that way. It was a fine place before he tried to help everyone out by swindling them."

John nods. "She feels bad about that."

"I can imagine."

"But it's not far off the mark of what her father used to do with those damn parties—"

"But instead of stupidly expensive champagne and a live string-quartet—"

"She'd have cheap booze and a gramaphone," Robin supplies, easily connecting the dots. "And she wants us to supply those cheap booze?"

"And serve them, and maybe even keep out the troublemakers."

"You can be the bouncer, I'll be the bartender," Robin says, considering it—and then, he laughs out. It's hard to picture Mary Margaret even in a speakeasy, let alone running one. "I can't believe I'm actually thinking about this—and of course, I'd have to talk to Regina about it—but I think we could work something out."

John nods. "That's what I told Tink."

"I'm seeing her later today. I'll bring it up." His stomach flutters a bit. "Um, assuming it comes up today. Is there a timeline on this, or—"

"Why couldn't it come up today? All you have to do is make it come up."

Robin takes a breath, his stomach once more flopping as he reaches into his pocket. "Well, we've been busy with the move and that makes things a little chaotic, and—"

"Seems like the perfect topic to raise as you're going back and forth hauling—"

"Because today, I'm asking her to marry me." He pulls out the ring that's been living in his sock drawer, just waiting for the right moment, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. "Eugenia cleaned it up for me, what do you think?"

John's smile is immediate. "I… think our future business plans can sit on the back burner for a day or two."

At that, Robin laughs. "I can't believe I'm nervous."

"She's going to say yes."

"I… I think I know that."

"She's moving into your house, you're practically living together. She's not the sort of girl to just… shack up with someone."

Robin's stomach flutters again—he can't think of a single reason she'd say no to his proposal. They'd talked about this—in that dreamy sort of way you do in love letters—and once they'd sorted themselves out, they'd been on the same page about nearly everything. Of course, that was easy when all either of them had to commit to was sending letters regularly.

"Well, she wanted to take things slow and marriage isn't—"

"Just shut up," John says, laughing out as he stands, clapping his hand against Robin's arm. "She's going to say yes and we both know it."

"Please don't jinx me."

"I'm not jinxing you," John sighs, rolling his eyes. "But, uh… if she says no, can you let me know before I start moving all of my junk into your room?" Robin's brow arches and John offers a sheepish grin. "Look, it's bigger and it'd be a really nice Christmas surprise for Tink and—"

"Twenty minutes ago, you were all mopey about the end of our Bachelor Era and now you're—"

John's laugh interrupts him. "I mean, sure, I'll be sad to see you and Roland move out, but it's not like you and I keep each other warm at night, so—"

John's voice stops abruptly and they both laugh out—and again, his stomach flutters.

Mal spins around the room, surveying her work—looking a bit dizzy as she takes it all in. "I think I've tagged it all."

"You got the system right, didn't—"

"Yes," Mal hisses, not letting her finish the question. "Red tags mean it's staying, yellow is iffy, and green means it's going with you and Henry. It's not that hard, even drunk-me can match colors."

"You're implying that there's a time when you're not drunk."

Mal's eyes roll. "It's actually quite the struggle on this side of the Atlantic," she muses. "But that maid at Arthur's makes an incredible Bloody Mary and a pitcher keep me going for the day."

Regina's eyes roll. "That and the flask in your purse."

Mal shrugs, absently. "On that note, please thank your boyfriend—the contents of the flask and the Bloody Marys are his doing."

"Glad you've found a use for him," Regina sighs, looking around at the tagged items, her eyes not finding a single one without a tag. "And thank you for your help. I just… want this done, you know? And I want it to go as smoothly as possible."

"Moving never goes smoothly," Mal says with a shrug. "Something will get broken, you'll forget something else, and that gaudy end table you made me stick a green tag will look hideous in any and every room in that new house."

Regina's face scrunches. "It was my grandmother's."

"I can tell."

"It's valuable—not just monetarily."

"Not even monetarily."

Regina's eyes roll. "I thought the boys could use it as a chess table. They love to play after dinner and—" Regina stops as a smirk edges onto Mal's lips. "What?"

"This is just… so domestic and cozy."

"What's wrong with—"

"It's not a bad thing, Regina. Quite the contrary. It's just… amusing to me, that's all."

"Why is it amusing?"

"Because you've finally gotten out of your own way and you're happy now that you have." She smirks. "And I, of course, was right, which means you were wrong."

Regina's eyes roll. "Why does everything have to be an argu—"

"Alright, my room is all packed up," Henry announces, flopping down in an armchair. "Most of the stuff is staying or can be donated—"

"But what color tag did you use, Henry?" Mal asks, laughing. "That could be red or yellow."

Regina's eyes roll as Henry's brow furrows. "Yellow," he says confidently. "Maybe Mary Margaret can use some of the stuff. There's a lot of kid stuff—and clothes for someone about two feet shorter than me."

"See," Mal says turning to Regina. "It's not hard, a child can do it."

"I didn't say that—"

"Did mom tell you I got my test scores?"

Mal's grin is immediate—and Regina, too, can't help but smile with pride as Henry beams. "She did, but I want you to tell me."

"I scored a year ahead in grammar and reading and mathematics," Henry tells her. "So, when school starts back up, I'll be in grade six which means I'll be with the bigger kids on the second floor and—"

"I'm a little nervous about that part," Regina admits.

"It'll be fine, mom," Henry insists. "Three of those boys I already know from playing baseball are in grade six and next year, all my new friends will be on the second floor with me." He pauses. "Well, except Roland, but I don't know him from baseball and he's got lots of friends already."

"And Henry's used to being around older kids—"

"Yeah, my old school was like that, we were all mixed up all the time."

Regina frowns and nods. "I know, but—" She takes a breath, unable to verbalize the feeling she has, so she stuffs it down, swallowing hard as she puts on a smile. "Well, regardless, I am very proud of him."

"I am, too, kiddo," Mal says, her voice clear and sincere. "So much so that I think I should take you to get ice cream for breakfast."

Regina's eyes roll—but it's too late to say no and suggest a less sugary treat or perhaps some real food first, so she just nods and laughs and tells Henry to get his coat.

"I'll be back to help later," Mal says. "But I want to celebrate with him—"

"I have no objections to a celebration—"

"That math score feels like a personal victory, you know."

"Math has always been a struggle—"

"And he and I worked so hard at it when he was little. I'm glad to see that work paying off now for him."

Regina feels a twinge in her chest, remembering the year that Leopold wouldn't allow Henry to come home because of a low grade in math—a grade that hadn't meant failure, by any means. Mal had been as outraged as she was, taking it upon herself to turn down the school's recommendation for a tutor and doing it herself—a decision the headmaster of the school had scoffed at. Regina, though, was grateful—she'd always been grateful to Mal for everything she did for Henry—but it'd been that moment that validated her choice to trust Mal with her son and keep him as far away from Leopold as she could. It'd been hard on her, but given the options, it'd been the best of them.

Regina grins. "Well, I suppose you've both earned that ice cream, then."

Opening up her purse, she pulls out her little silver flask. "I'm going to see if I can turn mine into a float."

Regina's eyes roll, but nonetheless, she laughs, and a moment later, Henry comes bounding down the stairs, his coat already on as he wraps his scrarf around his head. Again, Regina finds herself smiling—she'd been so worried about him and all the changes he endured in such a short amount of time. But Henry was fine—happy and well-adjusted, embracing their new life with excitement.

When Henry and Mal have gone, she goes up to his room, checking over the things he tagged to take, double checking the room to ensure he didn't forget anything important.

Truly, there hadn't been much for him to sort through, the last time he properly lived in this house, he was just barely more than a toddler and the trunk that arrived from his former school with some of his belongings has already been moved to Robin's house. The rest Mal's butler had sent over, ensuring them it'd be there before the new year.

Regina smiles though—Henry wrote notes on the tags.

His bed and dresser are marked definitely take and the clothes in his closet marked with yellow tags that read maybe donate to a little kid who needs them or keep them in case your next baby is a boy or maybe keep them for Emma to play in since dresses don't seem practical, and the desk and shelf are marked with red tags that read don't need these, new house has some nice ones. Then, on the desk is a piece of paper—a map, of sorts—with some other things in the house that Henry wants to take. Listed are the chess set he and Roland have been playing with a Mary Margaret's old watercolor set (that she apparently already said he could have), a list of books from the library, and the bed and dresser from Mary Margaret's old room (noted that Roland could probably use them)—and at that, her heart swells.

The boys get along better than she could've ever imagined. Roland dotes on Henry, and Henry has always been good with younger children, it was noted on almost every correspondence she had with the headmaster at his school. But the boys also liked the same games and stories, they both liked to be outside and they both liked to play hard, often tiring themselves out long before their bedtimes. It was almost as though they'd been raised together—in time, she doubted anyone would suspect they weren't truly brothers.

Pulling the chair from the desk to he closet, she gets up into it, reaching for a basket of linen sheets and pillow cases, tossing them down to to the bed before turning back to the closet to ensure that nothing on the top shelf is forgotten.

"Hey… there you are," Robin says, his voice soft and sweet. "I've got something for you."

She turns, smiling as his arm encircles her waist as he lifts her off of the chair. Her arms link around her neck. "Do you?"

"Lunch."

She grins. "It's barely nine in the morning."

"And by the time we get another load of stuff moved from here to the house, it'll be lunch time."

She laughs, her eyes rolling. "I suppose that makes sense."

"I made soup—there will be plenty left over, so I figure tonight we can have it for dinner, too, maybe with some grilled cheese sandwiches."

Regina smirks, her fingers brushing against the nape of his neck. "Did you get that out of the same article that you got the cream chipped beef recipe?"

"I did—and so far, the boys have deemed every recipe from that list a success."

"I begrudgingly admit the cream chipped beef wasn't bad—I could do without the stuffed onions you made the other night."

"You ate it."

"And I would again, it just… wasn't my favorite or anything I'd ever choose."

"Well, this soup is a sure win with the boys and you."

"Is it?"

"The recipe's one I've made for years, not one of those "Family Meals for When Money's Tight" recipes that Ladies Home Journal has been publishing lately. And the vegetables are straight from Eugenia's pantry. She sent me home with four whole crates of them." Regina's brow arches as his grin turns smug. "Regretfully, though, her onion harvest wasn't as plentiful as she'd hoped thanks to a certain groundhog that Marco allows to feast in her garden. I think it's his pet now."

Regina laughs. "Well, my thanks to Marco—and to that poor groundhog."

"I wouldn't call it poor—he made it a box in the barn and everything. It's living like a king these days." Again, Regina laughs, her heart flutters as Robin's hand rubs gently along her lower back. "Maybe the next time I go up, you and Henry could come too? I'd love for you guys to meet them, and they've been asking about you since… well… since I started talking about you."

Regina feels her cheeks warm as she smiles, nodding. "I… think we'd like that."

"Then it's settled."

"I suppose it is," she says, feeling a bit breathless as he presses a kiss to her forehead.

"So, what's going today?"

Waving her arm, she gestures to Henry's room. "Bed, dresser, some boxes he's packed up—" She laughs as Robin steps back, surveying the room, his eyes narrowing as he zeroes in on the bed, trying to figure it out. "If I remember, it comes apart—"

"At the sides," he confirms, grinning. "I'll be able to get this one apart with your help."

"John will be glad."

At that, Robin laughs. "Your bedroom furniture is now the bane of his existence."

"Better than me being the bane of his existence."

"You're the reason he'll soon have his own apartment, he could never hate you."

"Well, that's comforting—and that bed set looks so nice in the new house. I didn't know that it would, but it fits perfectly."

"And should you and I ever move, it'll add to the value of the house. We are never moving that stuff ever again."

Laughing, Regina nods—but truthfully, she can't ever imagine a scenario in which they'd move again or any scenario in which she'd want to live anywhere else. Throughout the month, they'd slowly been moving her and Henry into the house, buying new pieces here and there to add personal touches, purchasing light fixtures and appliances as they completed rooms. Since the start of the month, she and Robin and their boys had had dinner together every night; sometimes, Robin and Roland even stayed. And slowly, but surely, the house was starting to feel like home—their home.

It's perfect… or well, almost perfect.

They'd worked in the house all day.

That morning, it'd been just the two of them, and by the time Mal brought Henry back to her, his room was nearly completely set up. Roland joined them just in time for lunch, and then he and Henry spent spent the afternoon arranging Henry's favorite books on the shelf, setting up his desk, unpacking his trunk from school. And to Regina's satisfaction, the boys wasted no time, setting up her grandmother's table in the living room, near the front window, with their chess board.

He'd installed new light fixtures in both boys' rooms while Regina had organized their bedding in the hall closet between the rooms before moving on to set up their bathroom, sticking the cabinet with soaps and towels and creating drawers for their personal toiletries.

Robin grinned at the way she moved around the house—easy with no awkwardness, almost fluttering from room to room ensuring that everything ended up where it was meant to be.

They'd paused again for dinner. Regina helped the boys set the table and today, they used the silverware and china she'd brought over from the old house. It'd been a wedding gift from one of her aunts in Puerto Rico, and one of the few practical things she'd received upon marrying Leopold. For days, she'd debated bringing it, then finally, that morning, taped a green tag onto it, deciding they could use it for special occasions.

Apparently, she deemed tonight's dinner or soup and grilled cheese would be one of those special occasions.

"Why are there so many forks?" Robin hears Roland ask, his voice bewildered as Regina chuckled softly. He smiled as he watched her move toward him, sweeping his messy curls off of his forehead and placing a soft kiss atop his head. "We could eat for a whole month and never have to wash dishes!"

"That… probably wouldn't be a good idea," Regina says. "Think of all the dishes we'd have to wash after a whole month."

Henry laughs at that. "And think about how crusty and gross they'd be after a month of food being stuck to them."

"We'd probably have to throw them away," Roland says, scrunching up his nose.

"And," Henry adds. "All those forks have their own purpose."

Roland's brow furrows with confusion. "Other than eating?"

Regina nods, seemingly ready to explain away the difference between a salad fork and fish fork, as Robin enters the small dining room, a plate of grilled cheese sandwiches piled high. "I think someone," he says, looking pointedly at Roland, "is just trying to get out of doing the dishes."

Roland's cheeks flush and Henry bites down on his lips to stifle a giggle—and then, the forks are forgotten as they all sit down to eat.

He watches as Henry and Roland bite into their sandwiches, then watches as Regina tests hers as if the idea of bread fried up in butter with cheddar cheese stuffed between slices could taste anything less than amazing.

He feels a triumphant thrill run down his spine as she confirms that she likes it—and then his stomach flops, suddenly very aware of the ring box in his pocket.

Robin doesn't dwell on it, though, instead listening as the boys plan out the remainder of their time away from school—lots of chess games and reading and hope for snowball fights with friends, assuming the weather will eventually cooperate.

"What about Christmas," Henry says, looking between them all. "I know it's busy with the move and everything, but are we going to decorate?"

Regina's brow arches. "Oh, I hadn't thought of that, actually."

"We decorated the apartment," Roland explains. "Like we always do."

"Oh—"

Robin's chest tightens as he and Regina exchange a glance. "You know, I think tomorrow it'd be fun to take a break and go find a tree," Robin says. "I don't know that we have time for cranberries to dry out—"

Roland's face lights up. "COULD WE GET STORE-BOUGH DECORATIONS?"

Robin's brows arch at his son's enthusiasm and both Regina and Henry giggle. "Uh, perhaps…"

"And the lot by the church still has—"

"Or we could go and cut one down from—"

This time, Henry lights up. "Like, cut one down ourselves?"

"Yeah," Robin says, grinning. "That way we can pick a really nice one, not one that's been plucked and shaved down."

Regina's eyes widen. "And how do we ensure some little critter isn't still living in the tree?"

"That's part of the fun," Robin says, smirking as both boys laugh. "There's a 50-50 shot you get a tree and a pet squirrel."

"Maybe the lot—"

"You shake it out," Robin says. "I've been doing this for years, never had a bird or a squirrel or—"

"That seems kind of fun, though," Henry says. "I've never had a pet."

"Pets are dogs or cats, not—"

Both boys exchange quick looks, their eyes flashing with wild excitement. "Mom, does that mean we can get—"

"No, Henry," Regina cuts in—this time, Robin stifles a laugh. "And now isn't really the time to discuss—"

"My uncle Marco has a pet groundhog," Roland adds, unhelpfully. "He's fuzzy and likes Aunt Eugenia's plants."

This time, Robin can't hold back his laugh as Regina looks helplessly at him. "I… think we're about ready to clean up. Tomorrow, we'll come up with a plan for a tree and some decorations, and maybe, since we'll be buying them, we can stop at the department store and see if Santa is still taking requests."

Roland's eyes narrow. "Why would our department store in such a small town—"

"Really?" Henry interjects, his voice rising over Roland's. "Santa visits here? That's so neat! I've never gone to see him. At school, we just wrote letters and sent them off, hoping they'd arrive on time."

Robin smiles gently at Henry, his heart swelling with gratitude as he watches Roland look to Henry, tipping his head to the side, wondering.

"After we do the dishes," Henry says, "We should coordinate our lists so we don't both ask for the same things."

Roland giggles and nods—he looks excited and Robin feels a pang of bittersweet gratitude, thankful to Henry for prolonging the inevitable, even if for just another evening.

"Actually," Regina cuts in. "I'll do the dishes tonight. Then I'll find a spot for my china and fancy forks."

Quickly, Regina rises to gather their plates and bowls, carefully stacking them as she takes them back to the kitchen, leaving him along with the boys.

"Have you ever played Chinese Checkers?" Roland asks, looking at Henry.

"No, I don't think so. I've played regular checkers, though."

"I'll ask Santa for that then," Roland decides. "I play all the time at my friend Chip's house, and since you taught me chess, I can teach you this game."

"Roland," Robin cuts in. "Why don't you go upstairs and see if you can find some nice paper and a couple of pens? There should be a box up there that says 'stationary' on it."

Rolands bites down on his lip. "I don't know how to spell—"

"You know 'station,' though… like a train station."

"Yeah…" Roland murmurs, looking confused.

"It's that with 'ary' added to the end."

"Oh! Okay!"

Robin chuckles and Roland sets up, clomping up the stairs on his mission.

Henry grins, shifting a bit awkwardly—this is one of just a handful of times it's just been the two of them.

"There's, uh… there's something I wanted to talk to you about," Robin says, also feeling a bit awkward. "Can we go in your room?"

Henry nods. "Sorry if I said something that wasn't okay—"

"What do you mean?"

"About Santa."

"Oh, no, no that was greatly appreciated," Robin says. "More than you could ever know, actually."

"Some big kid at school spoiled the secret for me and—"

"It was kind of you not to do that for Roland."

"He's smart, he'll figure it out eventually, but Christmas is way more fun when you believe in the magic stuff."

He watches as Henry sits down on the edge of his bed, and he can't help but smile as he looks around the room—the room is identical to the one Roland will occupy, and yet it is very distinctly Henry's space. There are books on the shelf and a little globe that once belonged to Regina's father, a journal on the desk and a fancy pen—an early gift from Mal since Henry is so fond of writing, then on the opposite since a framed photograph of him with Mal and Regina.

"So, what did you want to talk about, then?"

Robin takes a breath—he's suddenly nervous. "It's about your mom."

Henry's eyes widen a little. "Oh?"

"I know that things have moved really fast, and I know that you want your mom to be happy, so I wanted to make sure that—"

"You're not dumping her, are you?"

Robin blinks. "N-no. Why would you think that?"

Henry shrugs. "I just want to make sure."

"Oh, well… no, it's… it's quite the opposite, actually," Robin says, drawing in a breath. "You and I just haven't had a lot of time to talk on our own."

Henry shrugs. "Well, I'm just a kid—"

"You're not just a kid, Henry. You're my—"

Robin stops, suddenly unsure of the label Henry has in his life. He's Regina's son, not his; and as it stands, he's not Henry's step-father nor does he know that would be a welcomed label.

"You're your mother's son," he says, trying not to cringe at how distant that sounds, "and as your mother's son, I hold your opinion in high regard."

Henry shifts, twisting his fingers in his hand. "Oh—"

"Listen, I know things between your mom and I haven't unfolded in the most normal of ways and—"

"Mal says that nothing is actually normal, that there's no such thing as normal."

Robin grins, considering that. Regina's small, slender boy is wise beyond his stature. And much like her, his own experiences have shaped his worldview. "I suppose that's a valid point," he says, looking at Henry. "But still, there are certain expectations people have—"

Henry's eyes narrow, he looks confused. As he should be, Robin thinks, he isn't making any sense, much less getting to the point.

"You've had to deal with a lot of changes in a very short amount of time."

"A lot of people have had to, especially lately."

"Right—" Robin murmurs, taking a breath. "How would you feel if there were… one more change?"

Henry's brows arch. "Are you sure you're not breaking up with my mom?"

"Definitely not," Robin says. "In fact, I… I think I want to ask her to marry me."

For a moment, Henry just stares at him—and for that moment, he panics. And then, Henry smiles.

"Really?"

Robin nods, reaching into his pocket and fishing out the ring box. He tosses it to Henry, watching as Henry opens it and examines the ring.

"I really love your mom," Robin says, suddenly feeling more at ease. "Having her—and you—back in Storybrooke has been really nice and—"

"She feels the same way."

"Did she say that?"

"She doesn't have to," Henry says. "I can just tell." Robin watches as Henry pulls the ring from the box, placing it on his finger and gently swinging it around. "I've known for longer than she realizes, I think."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," Henry says, looking back up. "Because of the letters."

"Ah—"

"She didn't think I knew, but it was obvious," Henry says. "No one looks at a letter the way she looked at yours unless you're in love with the person who wrote it."

He can't help but smile, chuckling sheepishly as he rubs at the back of his neck. He'd had a whole speech planned that he'd worked out in his head—a speech he'd promptly forgotten the second he was alone with Henry.

He planned on telling Henry that he understood he'd been through a lot of change and that sometimes when things felt sudden, that just meant that they were right. He'd wanted to tell him that there were different definitions of what it meant to be a family and that he felt it was important that all members of a family be comfortable with decisions that could affect them all. But suddenly, that speech didn't seem as necessary.

"I just want her to be happy," Robin says. "But I want you to be happy, too."

"She is happier now, so you're doing a good job," Henry says. "She's not sad all of the time like she was before."

"You thought she was sad before?"

Henry nods. "Yeah, even when I'd just talk to her on the phone or read the letters she sent me when I was at school, she always seemed so sad and lonely. And then, when she moved to England, it was better, but she was still sad. She said she wasn't, but I could tell."

"But now, it's different?"

Henry nods, grinning as he pulls the ring from his finger and carefully sets it back in its place in the box. "Yep. A lot different. Better different."

"And what about you?"

Henry blinks as he looks up at Robin, snapping the box shut. "What do you mean?"

"Are you happy here, too?"

"I like that my mom's happy, so—"

"That's not quite the same thing, though, Henry."

For a moment, Henry doesn't say anything. He looks pensive and seriously—and once more, Robin feels himself panicking. For a week, he debated when to have this conversation with Henry, debating whether or not it was appropriate or if he was stepping out of his place. In the short amount of time he'd known Henry, his interactions with him were funneled through Regina—she decided when Henry would know things, when he'd be included, when to hold back. And as his mother, that was her right. But he didn't trust Henry to be truthful with her when it came to Robin and their relationship—Henry cared too much about her feelings to ever do or say something to jeopardize them. So before proposing, he wanted to talk to Henry because the last thing he wanted was to do something that would hurt her son.

And he wanted to start building a relationship with him—one that wasn't based entirely around Regina, one that was completely their own.

But now, as Henry sat silently before him, he was now face-to-face with

"Can I be honest?"

Robin takes a breath, then nods. "Of course."

"I've…never really felt like I had a family. I always felt like I was one of those kids who was being hidden away at school to save face, ya know?"

"Hidden? What do you mean?"

"Well," Henry begins, rolling the ring box between his palms, "a lot of the boys at my school were there because their parents thought it was a good place for them to get an education, but somewhere there because they were secrets."

"Ah—I see."

"Those were the kids who started school when they were really little—like me," Henry explains. "But those kids were sent there because their dads wanted to hide them—not like me."

Robin nods, grinning sadly at the delicate way Henry goes about explaining that some of his schoolmates were the products of affairs that would've been an embarrassment to their fathers. And while that wasn't exactly the case for Henry, it's not far off the mark.

"I don't know how to explain it," Henry says, sighing as he looks down at the box in his hands. "I didn't want to come here," he admits. "Not here like this house, but Storybrooke. Even when we left, my mom didn't tell me that it was forever, but I knew by the way she was acting."

"I'm not sure she really had a plan."

Henry nods. "Maybe not, but I had a feeling and I wasn't happy about it."

"Has that changed?"

Henry nods. "I'll miss Mal, but…" His voice trails off. "I can't explain it. I just… I feel like…" Again, his voice peters out and he glances sheepishly up at Robin. "I sort of feel like I belong here."

At that, Robin smiles. "I'm glad to hear that."

"It's not like I didn't feel like I fit in before, I just… also felt like I didn't belong or maybe I belonged but for the wrong reasons." He takes a breath and sighs, looking back down at the box. "It's complicated."

"Sounds like intuition."

"Maybe," Henry says with a shrug. "But it's really nice not feeling like everything is so complicated, like I fit somewhere."

Drawing in a breath, Robin pushes himself up from the desk and sits down next to Henry on the edge of the bed, smiling as Henry looks up at him, his hazel eyes wide. "So, does that mean you're okay with me asking your mom to marry me?"

Henry nods. "Yeah. I am."

"Good."

A little giggle rises out of Henry. "What would you have done if I said that I wasn't?"

"Panicked."

At that, Henry laughs—and then, his expression turns serious. "I like you," he admits. "Not just 'cause you make my mom happy."

Robin grins, tentatively extending his arm around Henry's shoulder and hugging him into his side. "That might be one of the nicest things anyone's ever said to me."

Henry grins and hands him back the ring box. "When are you going to ask her?"

"Tonight, I think."

"She'll be really excited."

"I hope so—"

"She will be," Henry insists. His lips part as though he's about to say something, but he stops himself, drawing in a breath and reconsidering. "And I am, too," he says instead.

Robin nods, once more hugging him into his side. "Do you think Roland's caught on to the fact that there's not a box with stationary in it?"

Henry giggles. "I bet he's still looking. There's a lot of boxes up there."

"Why don't you go save him and I'll go help your mom with the dishes."

Henry nods and a moment later, Robin's alone in the room—his stomach flopping with anticipation

Regina stands in the hall, holding her favorite Tiffany lamp—a lamp that once sat in her private sitting room and one of the few things she'd purchased for herself—wondering where it should go. She'd left the chaise lounge chair for Mary Margaret, the table the lamp once sat on was now downstairs being used by the boys.

The lamp didn't quite fit in the bedroom and though it could easily go in the living room, she was quick to imagine one of the boys' flying around a corner and knocking it over—and it was a bit too fragile for that. The practical side of her felt like she should give it to Mal or maybe even to Mary Margaret—but the impractical side of her would rather tuck it away in the attic, just in case she one day found a use for it.

Sighing she looked around, focusing first on the nearly empty bedroom across from hers and Robin's. She grins as she peeks in—the mattress Robin initially placed in their room had been dragged in and set up in the corner across from the closet. They left it for the guise of having separate sleeping spaces if anyone were to question it—anyone whose opinions mattered, anyway—but no one had.

And now that the bed was there, maybe they could spruce up the room to be a guest room, in case company ever came to stay—and maybe her pretty little lamp could live there.

Moving down the hall, she opened up the door to the small room at the end of the hall where the things they didn't know what to do with were being kept—her lamp would go there until she found it a worthy spot.

Looking around, she smiles—this was another room that needed a purpose. It wasn't large enough to be a bedroom—a bed alone would fill it entirely—but it was far too large to be a closet. Like in the bedrooms downstairs, each wall had built-in shelves that started at the floor and went to the ceiling and there was a cape-cod style window in the center that brought in natural lighting.

She grins as she hears Robin coming up the stairs.

"Remind me what this room is supposed to be," she says, not turning around.

"How did you know it was me?"

"I could tell. By the way you walk."

"You know my walk?"

"The boys are lighter, so their steps aren't as heavy, not even when they run."

She grins—she can feel him smiling.

"That's very astute," he says, coming up behind her and slipping his arm around her waist as he pulls her back against him. "And the blueprints called it a 'wrapping room' or something silly like that."

She turns her head, looking back at him. "That's… so impractical."

"I know."

"Have you talked to anyone else who built a house like this one? What do they use it for?"

"The guy at Sears said it could also be a flower arranging room."

Regina's brow furrows. "That's even less practical."

"I know," Robin laughs. "The guy down the street has a similar model. They've only got the master bedroom and bathroom upstairs, and this weird little room. They turned it into a nursery."

At that, she turns—and finds Robin grinning.

"Not that that's what I'm suggesting we use it for," he says. "Not yet, at least."

"It'd be like putting a baby in a cupboard."

Robin smirks, his brow arching up coyly. "That's the part you take issue with?"

"I don't know what I'm saying, just… that that's not a good use for it." Turning out of his hold, she steps into the room and holds the lap out in front of her, wondering if the little bay window could be turned into a table. "I'm just… wondering where to put this."

"Well, I was thinking that maybe we could turn this into a little sitting room—a couple of comfy chairs, a radio—"

A grin twists onto her lips. "My lamp."

"Your lamp," he confirms with a nod. "Maybe when we take the boys shopping we could see if there are any chairs that would fit in here. They'd need to be slender…"

"I know I don't have anything—"

"And I just have mis-matched ones that John wants to keep." He takes a breath. "But our sons have taken over the living room and I don't have the heart to kick them out."

"Is that where they are now?"

"Yes, and I'm pretty certain they're having a chess tournament. Roland finally won and—"

"Henry isn't being a poor sport about it, is he?"

"Not at all. With Roland getting better, I think he's glad to have some actual competition, he seems to like the challenge of the game."

Regina nods, her eyes rolling. "That's why he won't play with me anymore. He says I let him win."

"Do you?"

"Not always," she says, smirking. "Well, not lately, anyway. He's just better at it than I am now."

"Funny how that happens—teach them something then all of the sudden, they're better at it than you are."

Regina nods, frowning. "I feel like it'll happen more and more as he gets older."

"Probably," Robin agrees. "Don't you just wish they'd stay little forever?"

"I do," Regina says, a soft laugh rising into her voice. "When Henry was unpacking his trunk, he asked if I could take the hems down on his pants. All of his pants from fall are too short now."

"Soon he'll be taller than you."

"Don't remind me."

Robin chuckles, leaning against the door jamb. "How did you learn to sew?"

"Oh," she murmurs, looking up at him, finally setting the lamp down atop a stack of sturdy boxes. "A maid taught me when I was a girl. She said the world was changing and I should have a skill other than looking pretty and dancing."

"While I don't disagree, I enjoy that you look pretty." Her eyes roll as he reaches for her again. "But I didn't know that you could dance."

"All women who grew up like me can dance."

"Is that so?"

She shrugs, leaning into him a little. "Certainly, how else were we supposed to woo husbands."

He laughs—snorts almost—as his hand pushes to the small of her back. "Ah right, I forgot that the Viennese Waltz is the mating ritual of rich folks."

"Reels were more useful, in that regard," she tells him. "It lets you sniff out multiple potential suitors at once."

"And the poor sap that stepped on your toes?"

"Wouldn't be asked to waltz later."

"And if he were already on your card?"

A grin twists onto her lips. "Well, then you'd hope he wrote in pencil or go and hide in the powder room."

Robin laughs. "Brutal."

"Always."

"So another question for you," Robin murmurs, his voice lower. "A serious one."

"Okay."

"How do you know we're compatible?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well we've never reeled and we've certainly never waltzed—"

"We've danced—"

"In the loosest sense of the word. It was more like… swaying."

"Oh," she murmurs. "That night's a bit hazy, but I think you're right." She steps back, feigning worry as her eyes widen. "Oh no, my mother would be so disappointed in such an oversight."

"Perhaps you need to put me to the test," he suggests. "You know, before things get too serious between us."

"And what exactly do you suggest?"

Robin motions to the gramophone, situated on the floor between boxes. "Fire that thing up and put me to the test."

"And if you fail?"

"Well, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it," he tells her, gently pushing her back. "That'll be the second terrifying conversation I've had today."

Her brow furrows. "What?"

"Nothing."

Her eyes narrow momentarily before she turns to the gramophone, kneeling down to wind it up. She doesn't remember the last time she played this, and when she looks down at the disc in position under the needle, her brow furrows—it's a newer song, Yours Sincerely by Al Goodman's orchestra—she doesn't know it.

But when the first chords being to play, she smiles and rises to her feet.

"So, the first think you have to do is ask me to dan—"

Her voice halts as she turns to face him, her breath catching in her chest. Robin is kneeling down on one knee, holding an open ring box, the stone at the center of the ring catching the light. He's smiling, but his blue eyes look nervous and his hand tremors slightly.

"What if, instead of asking you to dance, I asked you to marry me?"

For a moment, she's stunned, unable to move—unable to think, only able to stare.

It shouldn't have surprised her, but it did. They'd talked around the idea for years in letters and since she returned, talking vaguely of a future and what it might look like, and they'd been rapidly moving in this direction, despite the unnecessary road blocks she threw up in front of them.

"I'd say yes," she hears herself say, her chest pounding.

The next several seconds happen a blur—she isn't sure if he rose up and came to her or if she dashed across the small room to him. But she suddenly finds herself in his arms, spinning around the tiny space as their laughter and excitement fill the air, elevating over the music playing from the gramophone.

Then suddenly her feet find the floor. Her head still spins as Robin stops, opening the box to remove the ring. Her heart pounds and her smile widens more than she realized it could as he slides the ring onto her finger—it's modest, but beautifully set, and a perfect symbol of the life they intend to build.