Regina's skin began to prickle. The way the author was studying her left her every emotion laid bare. She couldn't tell if it was him, or Robin standing on the porch, or just a premonition of Gold's imminent arrival, but she wanted out of the cabin immediately. She called out to Robin and, as soon as he was within arm's reach, she laid a hand on the both of them and magicked them both to the safety of her vault.

The author landed with a thud at her feet, clearly unaccustomed to her preferred method of travel. He looked up at her with a wry smile. "I see you haven't lost your touch," he said. "Even in this world."

"What do you know about me?" she asked. She'd never seen him before, and the intimate way he kept looking at her made her skin crawl. Much like Rumpelstiltskin, in fact, the only other person in her life that had looked right through her, seen who she was on the inside. And much like Rumpel, she had no doubt that he would take those secrets and turn them into whatever he needed to survive.

"I know all about you, Regina," he said slyly. "I'm a big fan."

Regina shuddered involuntarily, not even wanting to guess what it meant to be a fan of hers. She felt Robin rest a hand on the small of her back, and she was grateful for the reminder that he was there. She leaned into his touch, pulling his strength into herself.

"A fan of what?" she asked. "The Evil Queen? She doesn't exist anymore."

The author laughed. "No, not her, though I liked her as well. I've been writing you since you were just Regina, and I have to say, I'm very pleased with how you turned out."

Well, that was a surprise. Regina was pretty sure nobody in the Enchanted Forest was pleased with how she turned out. Unsurprised, perhaps, but not pleased.

"Well, I'm so happy to have your approval," she snapped. "Now, tell me. What does Rumpelstiltskin want with you?"

The author shrugged. "He wants me to save his neck, of course." He pushed himself to his feet and surveyed the cold stone walls of the vault. "He thinks I can fix what's broken inside him."

Robin stiffened behind her. An interesting reaction, and one she'd be sure to ask him about. "He thinks you can fix the darkness? How?"

"By rewriting the story. It's what I do. I take stories and make them better. Make them what people want to read." He poked at the vials on her chest, and she fought the urge to turn him to stone. How many times did she have to tell people not to touch things in her vault? Honestly. If he turned himself into a garden topiary, it wouldn't be her fault.

"This isn't a story," she hissed, smacking his hand away from her wares. "These are our lives."

"Come now, Regina. Everything is a story. Look at yours – a heartbroken, damaged girl turns into the fearsome evil queen, raining death and destruction on a helpless kingdom. Are you telling me you don't want a rewrite?" He gestured toward Robin. "A chance to get things right with your true love here?"

Regina's blood turned to ice in her veins. Didn't she want a rewrite? Or did that make her no better than Gold? Had she pulled him into her vault to protect Emma, Snow and Henry, or had she really done it to protect her own interests? She wasn't sure she could be honest with herself on that; she sure as hell wasn't going to be able to honest with the author. Especially not with Robin standing behind her, listening intently with bow at the ready. She couldn't bear the thought of him thinking less of her, no matter how angry with him she still was. She summoned her most regal tone. "What I want isn't important. What I need is to keep you from screwing up everything we've built here."

"Oh, I have no intention of screwing things up," he said shrewdly. "I've been trapped in that book for thirty years. If you can keep me out of there, I'll do whatever you want."

She had to respect his instinct for self-preservation. "For now, I want you to stay put." She pushed him down the hallway, toward the secret door that held the rooms where she'd hid when the Storybrooke lynch mob was after her for murdering Archie. "I'll come back for you tomorrow."

He gave the rooms a quick once-over and turned back to Regina. "I'm not so sure being locked in a crypt is much better than being locked in a book."

"Oh, relax," she snapped. "It's just for tonight. I'll be back for you in the morning." She moved to close the door, but he stopped her with her name.

"Regina," he said. "I'm glad you found your Robin Hood. It's better this way – people love to read a tale of star-crossed lovers. It's a real page turner, wondering if the timing will ever be right. So much better this way than how I wrote it."

She pulled the door closed behind her, not wanting Robin to hear what he had to say. "How you wrote what?," she hissed, hoping Robin wouldn't hear.

"How I wrote you meeting in the tavern. I thought it would be a great story – the girl driven down the path of darkness until true love saved her. But you're stubborn, and it wouldn't take, no matter how hard I tried to get it into the book. So maybe I owe you thanks."

Thanks? Thanks for what? She'd blown her own chance for happiness and redemption that night, and this jackass was thanking her? Maybe she'd leave him here to rot after all.

"I don't want your thanks. I want you to stay put, and stay quiet, and if you don't, you'll find out what the Evil Queen can do." She smiled at him. "Sleep tight." She pulled the door closed behind her and sealed it. "Idiot," she muttered under her breath, and turned back to the center of the vault.

When she returned to the main room, she found Robin standing with his back to her, staring intently at the chest under her mirror. "What is it?" she asked.

His chin jerked up at the sound of her voice. Clearly, she was interrupting his thoughts. "Nothing," he answered softly. "Just remembering the last time I saw you here."

The last time. The last time there had been heat, and passion, and lips on skin in dark secret places. There had been cries of ecstasy and words of love, and a hand slowly stroking her skin from hip to collarbone while he told her how beautiful she was, and how perfect. She couldn't bear to think of the last time. She couldn't bear to have him here again reminding her of what they'd been.

"Come on," she said, striding toward the stairs, her heels clicking a sharp tattoo against the stone floor. "We have to tell the others."

"As you wish, milady," he said, his voice full of regret, and followed her up the stairs.