When she arrived at the vault the next morning, Emma and August in tow, Regina was shocked to find Robin and Little John standing guard with crossbows at the ready. John stood behind the vault, his back to the cold stone structure, studying the forest with a steady gaze. Robin sat perched on the marble steps, his finger lightly resting on the trigger of his bow, his casual posture betrayed by the alert way his eyes flickered across the landscape.

"What are you doing here?" Regina asked when she was within earshot.

Robin pulled himself to his feet, never dropping the bow in his hands. "Keeping watch," he answered. "As long as the author is here, this vault isn't safe."

"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped, waving aside his concerns with a flick of her wrist. "I put a blood lock on that door."

"A blood lock can be broken. Or have you forgotten that, Your Majesty?" His eyes bored into hers, colder than she'd ever seen them. The Robin she knew was heat, and affection, and teasing. This Robin was a man on a mission, and he wouldn't be distracted by her haughty insults. A shiver trailed up her spine as she took in the intensity of his gaze.

"I haven't forgotten," she said, flashing back to those first days in the Enchanted Forest when she'd been unwillingly saddled with a thief for an ally, "but Zelena is locked away, so we have nothing to worry about."

Emma snorted behind her, and Regina arched an eyebrow at the sound. So, the Savior was second-guessing her. She would remember that in the future.

"Rumpelstiltskin is a formidable foe," Robin said. "I doubt he'd let a little thing like a locked cell get in the way of what he wants."

Regina balked at his implication. She'd been so confident in her plan to secure Zelena in the bowels of the hospital that she'd never bothered to consider the fact that Rumpel might be able to penetrate her defenses. Foolish, she mused. Rumpel had certainly never Regina's defenses interfere with his plans before. "And you think you'd be able to stop my sister and the Dark One," she said, all the dignity and composure of the Queen in her tone and body language, "with sticks?"

"Well, I'm certainly going to try," he answered, a touch of humor dancing across his face. "Besides, Will and Mulan are keeping watch at the hospital. They would have let us know if Zelena had been freed."

"Rumpel hardly needs to use the front door," Emma said from just over Regina's shoulder. "How would they even know if he made it into the hospital?"

"They're not at the front door," Robin replied, irritation in his tone indicating that he was less than pleased at having the Merry Men's skills questioned. "They're standing guard in front of her room."

Regina scoffed. "That's impossible," she said. "Nobody knows how to get down to the asylum but me."

Robin cocked an eyebrow in response. "You underestimate Will's charm," he said. "We Merry Men have a knack for finding ways to get where we need to be. He's been camped outside of Zelena's door since late last night."

Since last night? "Robin, have you gotten any sleep?" she asked, noticing for the first time his bloodshot eyes.

He shrugged, surveying the silent graveyard. "Enough," he said finally.

"Robin," she said, and the tenderness that crept into those few syllables surprised even herself, "you have to take care of yourself. You've been through a lot these last few days."

He looked down at her, finally meeting her eyes. "No more than I deserved," he said quietly. "Now, go and find your answers. I'll keep watch out here." She reached out a hand to him, but he pulled back before she could grasp his arm.

"Go," he said again, with a jerk of his chin toward the vault. She sighed and made her way up the stone steps, followed closely by Emma and August.

"Did you ask him to keep watch?" Emma asked as she helped Regina push her father's heavy casket aside.

"No," Regina answered shortly, her tone indicating that the matter was not up for discussion. Emma nodded, knowing when to drop the subject, and she and August exchanged a meaningful glance (a glance Regina ignored) as they made their way down the steps.

She waved her hands in front of the door to her secret chambers, releasing the lock, and pushed it open. The author was sitting on the makeshift bed, clearly awaiting her return. "So," he said, "you didn't forget about me."

"Not likely," she answered, turning in the doorway and sweeping her arm out. "Come on out. We have some questions for you."

The author (Isaac. His name is Isaac, she kept reminding herself, knowing full well how much it hurt to be an identity, a thing, an evil queen instead of a fully formed person) perched on the trunk in front of her silver mirror and turned an expectant look to Emma and August. Regina hastily made introductions.

"Ah, the Savior," Isaac said, "So nice to be formally introduced. Thank you for getting me out of that book." He extended a hand to Emma. She took it and shook quickly, wiping her hand against her jeans when he released it. "You can just call me Emma," she said.

"And you?" Isaac asked, turning toward August. "What brings you into this cozy little chat?"

"You might say I'm the resident expert on your book," August replied. "I'm a writer myself."

The author let loose a hollow laugh at that. "I'm not a writer. Haven't been for some time. That's the thing they don't tell you when you sign on for this job. You may be putting pen to paper, but you're not actually writing anything." His lip curled in disdain as he studied the book Regina held in her arms. So, he was bitter about that. Interesting.

"How did you get the job?" Emma asked.

Isaac told them about his failed attempts at publishing, about the people who didn't believe that he could write stories that people wanted to read, and about meeting an old man who promised him that the world would someday know the stories he wrote. He told them of selecting a pen, of feeling the shock of power coursing through his arm when he held it up, and of the man – a man he called the Apprentice – opening a portal to the Enchanted Forest. "I believed in magic," he said. "Was raised on it. Believed that writing was the greatest magic of all, so I followed him. And then I was trapped."

"In the book?" August asked. "Is that how you got there?"

Isaac shook his head, a rueful smile on his face. "No, not at first. I was trapped in your world," he said, jerking his chin at Regina. "Cursed to follow the lot of you around and record your stories. I could see the mistakes you were making – and, you, Your Majesty. You made a lot – but I couldn't do anything about it. My job was to put it in the book."

Regina closed her eyes at the mention of the mistakes she'd made. She didn't need a reminder from him; the evidence was all written and illustrated right there in her arms. Emma gently pulled the book from her arms and flipped to the part of the book where August had ripped out the illustration of the door.

"Then how," she asked, "did you wind up here?"

Isaac studied her carefully, a look that Regina knew all too well. He was sizing her up, trying to decide how much to reveal. Too much or too little meant losing their protection, and he needed it. He needed them as much as they needed him, and Regina exhaled softly in relief. Finally, something was going their way.

"I figured out how to change the story," he said finally. "I met your parents. Planted a suggestion in their heads, and they ran with it. They wanted to protect you, so they cursed Maleficent's baby." He smiled. "Finally, I had a story worth telling. Nobody cares about pristine, self-righteous heroes like Snow White and Prince Charming. They want their heroes to have an edge, a backstory. There has to be a conflict, or the story…well, who wants to read that?"

Emma cursed and slammed the book back into Regina's arms with enough force that she had to take two steps back to keep from falling over. She dropped the book with a thud and reached out to grab Emma's elbow, holding her back from lunging at the author. "Emma," she whispered. "Stop."

Emma looked back at her, jaw set and fists clenched. After a few tense breaths, Emma forced her body to relax, and she shook off Regina's hand. "I'm fine," she muttered. She turned back to Isaac. "So you set all this in motion. What happened next?"

"I don't know," Isaac said ruefully. "The Apprentice…well, he wasn't pleased. So he cursed me into the book. I was stuck there until you set me free."

"Then who wrote the rest of the book?" Regina asked. "The story didn't end there. Who finished it?"

"Believe me, I want to know that just as much as you do. I assumed that the Apprentice chose a new author."

August shook his head. "No, he didn't. He finished it himself. He told me that."

Regina looked at him in surprise. "You've met him? You never bothered to mention that."

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "The last time I saw you as August, I didn't really think you'd take kindly to having a chat with me."

He had a point. "Fair enough," she said. "What did the Apprentice tell you?"

August shrugged. "Really, not much more than what our friend here-" and he gestured at Isaac- "has said. He was more interested in us all fulfilling our roles. He wanted me to make Emma believe in the book and end the curse. So I came back, and when she wouldn't believe, I rewrote the ending of my story to try to prove to her that the book was real."

Isaac's head snapped up. "You rewrote the book?" he asked, disbelief sketched across his face.

August nodded. "Parts of it, anyway."

"How?" Isaac asked, leaning forward, his brow knit. "Only the author can write the book. How did you do it?

Emma and Regina turned to August as well, a captive audience. He told them that he'd initially tried to rewrite Emma's story, to tell of the Savior banished to the world and raised alone until she found her way to Storybrooke to end the dark curse, but that every attempt he'd made failed. "It wasn't until I rewrote Pinocchio's tale that I was able to get it into the book," he said.

Isaac shrugged. "That makes sense," he said. "You can't write someone else's story."

"Why not?" Regina snapped. "You did."

Isaac sighed. "I told you, I only recorded the stories. I didn't make Snow White and Charming do what they did; I only offered the suggestion and then wrote down how they ran with it. Once it's in the book, it's done. It can't be changed. I could probably still write the book from this point forward as long as I have the book and the pen. But you…you all create your own stories. You make your choices, and they make their way into the book. And if you do something to change your story, well, the book recognizes it. The book doesn't control you," he said finally. "You control it."

"So, what?" Regina snapped. "You're saying that any one of us could have changed the book?"

Isaac nodded thoughtfully. "In theory, yes. Yes, I think so."

Dammit. Dammit, Regina thought. She'd spent years held hostage to that stupid book, only to find out that she'd had the power all along to edit her own depressing tale. She could have saved herself years of frustration and loneliness. Could have prevented herself from losing Henry time and time again. She turned on her heel and stalked out of the vault, up the stairs and into the bright light of day. She tucked an arm on one of the concrete pillars and rested her forehead against it, gasping for breath.

"Regina," Robin called out, and she could hear his footsteps approaching at a quick pace. "Are you all right?"

She held up a hand to stop him. "I'm fine," she said. "I just needed some air." She could hear someone coming up the stairs. No doubt Emma was following her up to check on her. She looked over her shoulder, surprised to see August emerging from the heavy wooden doors.

"Hey," he said softly. She jerked her shoulders in response. "Don't beat yourself up about this," he continued.

"Don't beat myself up about what? That once again, I've screwed myself over? That all I needed was a pencil and some paper and I could have saved myself years of misery?"

August shook his head. "Don't beat yourself up that your story sucked," he said softly. "Mine did too. So did Emma's. And we all carried on. And Regina," he continued, "you have changed your story. You're not out here setting us all on fire. That's progress, right?"

She shrugged. "Progress that's gotten me nowhere."

He studied her intently. "I wouldn't say that. I'm here, and Emma's here, and the stepdaughter that you tried to kill is in the town you created standing guard over the son that loves you. You're not alone, Regina. That's progress. And no, that's not in the book, but that doesn't make it any less real."

She nodded, her lips pursed in a thin line. "I suppose it's something," she agreed. She looked up at August and gave him a small smile. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me until I've actually done something," he replied with a smile. He patted the small of her back and faded back into the stone crypt. She stood on the steps of her vault, eyes closed, and counted slowly to a hundred until her breathing returned to normal. She opened her eyes to find Robin staring intently at her, an unreadable look on his face. He was here too, against all odds. Without her asking, he was here watching over her. That had to count for something, right?

She smiled at him, and he nodded coldly, his finger still tapping the trigger on his bow. "I don't like this," he said.

"What's to like?" she asked with a shrug.

"Regina, I don't want you going back in there alone." He took a few steps forward, but she held up her hand again to stop him.

"I'm not alone. Not this time." She turned and walked back into the vault, leaving him staring behind her with an uneasy look on his face that had nothing to do with the author.

When she ventured back into the main room of her vault, she found Emma standing over the author, striking the threatening pose that had brought down many a bail jumper. She wanted to intervene, but a quick shake of August's head convinced her to keep quiet.

"Why me?" Emma asked. "Why try to turn me dark?"

"You're the Savior. As long as you're the Savior, the book is true. Good wins, and evil loses." Regina scoffed at Isaac's answer. Oh, she knew that well enough by now. Isaac glared at her, clearly not wanting to be interrupted when he had Emma's full attention. "If you turn dark, if you ruin all the stories woven in the book, then you reset it. A new story can be told. That's what Rumpelstiltskin wants – he wants a story where he isn't the Dark One. He wants to be the hero, but as long as you exist, he can't be."

"Why doesn't he change his story, then?" Regina asked. "If it's as simple as you say, why didn't you just tell him to be a good person?"

Isaac shot her a look of utter disbelief (and a little contempt too, that bastard). "Have you met Rumpelstiltskin? When in the entire history of his existence has he ever chosen to be a good person?"

Well, he had a point there.

"He doesn't want to do the right thing. He wants to do the easy thing. And the easy thing is for him to sit back and watch while everyone else falls apart." Isaac shook his head. "And when that happens, he'll have me by his side to write a new book where he wins the girl."

"Why not help him?" Regina asked. "If it's that simple, why not give him what he wants."

Isaac shrugged. "Because it's changing one cage for another. I don't want this job anymore, Regina. If the story is rewritten, it has to be me that writes it. Do you think he'd ever let me go after that?"

"So that's why you want to help us," Emma said slowly. "You're looking out for yourself."

"Most people do." He gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "I'm not a hero. I have no desire to be a hero. I just want to go back to being a writer. And I never want to see the Enchanted Forest again. I want my life back."

Can't fault you there, Regina thought. "Well, Emma's faced her fears and hasn't turned dark. So isn't your work here done?" she asked.

"It's not that easy. Unless there's a new author, I'm still the only game in town, and your friend Rumpelstiltskin won't rest until he's figured out a way to get what he wants."

"Then why don't you leave?" Emma asked. "Get out of town, go back to your life. Go to the world where there's no magic."

"Uh uh," the author protested. "Back to a world that's been gone since the sixties? No, thank you. Like it or not, you're stuck with me until you can figure out a way to give me what I want."

And there it was. All magic came with a price, after all. "What is it that you want?" Regina hissed.

Isaac smiled smugly. "The same thing you want, Regina. I want my happy ending."

Regina watched Emma and August depart, dragging the author in tow. She'd promised him that he'd only have to spend a night in the vault, and after all, Robin was right. She couldn't guarantee that her blood lock would hold. Better to send the author off in Emma's care than leave him to Regina's admittedly weakened defenses. Isaac knew as well as anyone that Regina was vulnerable to Rumpel's manipulation, and he was eager to get shut of her as well. She couldn't blame him for that.

"So," Robin said, coming up to rest a shoulder on the opposite side of the pillar that was supporting her weight. "Did you find the answers you're looking for?"

She shook her head. "No," she said softly. "Just more questions."

He didn't respond, and the silence stretched uncomfortably between them. He wanted to talk, she could tell by the way he kept shifting his weight and plucking unconsciously at the arrow loaded into the crossbow.

"Pinocchio," he said finally. "He's helping you now?"

"It seems so," she agreed.

"Well," he said, a sullen tone to his voice, "I'm glad he could be of more assistance to you than I could."

He wasn't pouting. He was jealous. Regina felt a small frisson of satisfaction that her brief conversation with August had sparked this reaction from Robin. She knew that she should rise above it and reassure him, but wasn't he the one who was expecting a baby with her sister? Conscience be damned, she was going to enjoy this moment.

"He's part of the team," she shrugged. "And at this point, I'll take all the help I can get."

He winced at that, and Regina felt a stab of guilt low in her gut. He had been camped out outside her vault all night, protecting her without her even having to ask, and she was poking at his jealousy. I am an ass, she thought. She shifted against the column so that she was facing him. "I'll take all the help I can get," she continued softly, "even if it comes from a stubborn thief who doesn't know when to leave well enough alone."

He smiled at that but still refused to meet her eyes, staring instead at the treeline surrounding the cemetery. "I know when to leave well enough alone, Regina," he replied, "and when not to."

She chewed at her lip. "Come on," she said, tugging the sleeve of his quilted jacket. "I need to give you something." She pulled him inside the vault and led him down the stairs.

"I'm a bit afraid to ask what it is you wish to give me," he joked as he watched her pull vial after vial from her chest of magical wares.

"Technically, it's not for you," she said, studying a small blue jar. "It's for Roland. I'm sure he's wondering where his mother is."

"He has asked," Robin agreed, "but I told him she was still in New York seeing to things. He's spent most of his life not having her around – the fact that she's not here now hardly seems to faze him."

"Thank God for that," Regina muttered. She pulled a crystal beaker from the chest and began measuring ingredients into it. "Still," she continued, "he's going to start asking questions."

"He is," Robin agreed. "So what exactly is it you're proposing to do about it?"

"A memory potion," she replied. "I used it once when Henry was a baby. It'll erase the memories you don't want him to keep. He'll remember being with you in New York, but he won't have any memory of Marian ever showing up again."

"Thank you," he sighed, his shoulders sagging, and Regina's heart melted at the relief in his voice. She could fault Robin a great many things (probably many more than he deserved), but she couldn't fault his love for his son. Whatever happened between them, and whatever Zelena's presence in their lives brought, she would do whatever she could to protect the bond between father and son.

Of course, in a few months, Zelena's presence in their lives would present a new obstacle for Robin's adorable small son. "I don't know how you're going to explain a new little sister to him," she said, "but at least you won't have to tell him that his mother is gone. Again."

He reached out and rested a hand on her hip, one fingertip slowly stroking her side. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

She nodded and turned back to the task at hand. Measuring ingredients carefully, adding them in the prescribed order, stirring just enough to combine but not enough to weaken the brew. Concocting potions was like baking – a precise art with predictable results. Regina loved it. Loved the precision of science and the alchemy of creating something from nothing. In a different life, a life where she'd been born in this world instead of casting herself into it, she might have been a scientist. Might have been a lot of things, she mused, carefully swirling the glass vial to combine the contents of the bright green potion. But she wasn't. She was the Evil Queen, and for all her crimes, she could atone in some small way by providing a little boy a measure of comfort. She closed her eyes and concentrated, focusing on the night of Marian's return and the weeks that had followed, and breathed those memories into the bottle. That should hopefully be enough to trigger the memory potion to wipe out all traces of her sister. If not, she'd find another way. She always found another way.

She pushed a small piece of cork into the bottle and held it out to Robin. "This should do the trick," she said with a confident smile. He reached out for the bottle, his fingers curling against hers.

"Thank you," he said. "Again."

She shrugged, averting her eyes. "You'll make it up to me."

"Aye," he agreed, and his grip tightened on hers. She looked up at him in surprise, and the heat radiating in his blue eyes took her breath away. "Aye, that I will."