A/N: This chapter, once again, is on the longer side, and I still had to split it into yet another part. Dealing with Daniel is requiring an unexpectedly large number of words. I hope you enjoy, and, as always, reviews are much appreciated and quite helpful.

xxxxx

After a silent drive, Regina and David stood on her front porch where Regina was having some difficulty aligning her house key with the door lock. She emitted a low growl of frustration and unceremoniously dropped the keys into David's hand and leaned against the house for support.

He gave her a mocking smirk that was a more familiar expression on her face than his and unlocked the door with ease. "After you, my lady," he said with exaggerated gallantry.

She glowered at him and shoved off the wall. She had misjudged the force necessary, however, and she stumbled into her Charming doorstop. Luckily for her hedge, David's reflexes hadn't been dulled by drinking, and he rebalanced them both, pulling Regina flush against him in the process. His hands dug into her hips almost possessively, and he tried not to think about the location of her left thigh. Not even the familiar buzz of their contact-induced magic was helping to distract him.

One of her arms was sprawled against his chest, and the other was wrapped around his neck. She must be feeling her scotch, he thought. Typical Regina would have extracted herself much quicker. Though Typical Regina never would have tripped into him in the first place. He looked down at her, preparing to step back and disentangle them, but her face was tilted toward his and wore that same unfathomable look he had seen in the diner. Instead of letting her go, he instinctively held her tighter. "What?" he asked.

Her expression turned pained for a moment, but before he had a chance to respond to that pain, she pulled his head downward and connected their lips. It was not the most precise kiss—her lips first captured only his bottom lip before he moved both of his over hers, each of them desperate to connect with the other. David's heart twisted at the exquisite combination of longing, hope, and despair radiating from Regina as he held her firmly to him and tried to kiss away her pain.

He knew he wasn't the man in the stables. He knew he wasn't what she really wanted. But if he could be something she needed, well, then, he was beginning to think she was something he needed too.

When their mouths finally broke apart for air, David placed reverent kisses along her cheekbones as he continued to caress her. It was the taste of her tears that pulled him from the intensity of the moment.

He took a cautious step backwards—it wouldn't do to land them both in the hedge, the threat of which had caused their current situation—but didn't release her from his arms. Her head was bowed and her tears dropped silently to the ground. When her shoulders started to shake, he pulled her into him and gently kissed the top of her head. "Let's get you inside," he murmured into her hair.

She didn't resist as he led her into her house and sat her on her living room sofa. When he knelt in front of her and began to unzip her boot, she snapped forward. "You don't have to do that," she protested, reaching for the zipper. She could do it herself. She always did it herself. She'd accepted too much from this man already. It wouldn't do to get used to it.

David stilled her hand with his own and looked into her eyes. "It's all right, Regina," he said earnestly. "Relax. I promised Henry I would take care of you, and that's what I'm doing." David knew he required no such promise to compel him to care for her—he had used the drive from the diner to examine his feelings for the woman in front of him and had concluded at least that much—but neither of them was ready to hear that admitted out loud.

"Before your promise to Henry, I'd always assumed that you used magic to stay standing in these monsters all day," David said, attempting to lighten the mood as he successfully removed one of her boots. "I don't know how you do it."

She cracked a grin at his lame attempt at humor and replied with an equally pathetic attempt, "I enchanted all of my shoes the day the curse broke. Couldn't very well go and 'un-enchant' them after Henry made me promise to quit magic."

He emitted a small chuckle in appreciation of her extension to his joke and tugged her other boot off her foot.

"Mission accomplished," he said and smiled up at her.

She nodded back at him, her voice temporarily escaping her at the simplicity of his kindness.

He placed a hand on her knee for balance and stood, leaning over her body to place another kiss on her head. "I'm going to get us some water, and then I'm going to rummage through your pantry and fridge for food to help soak up some of that alcohol."

She gave him a weak smile in approval of his plan. When he was halfway to the kitchen she said, "Frozen Brussels sprouts."

He turned to look at her in confusion. "Well, they're not traditionally paired with scotch, but if that's what you want . . ."

Regina started to laugh lightly. "No," she said, "That's where I hide Henry's favorite cookies. In the Brussels sprouts container in the freezer."

"Ah," David said, relief and amusement displayed on his featured. "Good. I did not want to thaw out that awful rabbit food."

Regina smiled at the prince's retreating back before pulling her legs onto the sofa and curling them beneath her. She shrugged out of her suit jacket and untucked her shirt. Her perfectly tailored clothing was ideal for presenting an immaculate and controlled appearance to the townspeople, but it was less than desirable for curling her body around a throw pillow in the corner of her couch. Regina shrugged mentally and hugged the pillow tighter. If she ripped a stitch or a hem, she'd fix it tomorrow.

She had nearly achieved her desired state of complete thoughtlessness when David returned with two bottles of water, a bag of popcorn, a box of Henry's favorite cookies, and a stack of napkins. He placed everything on the coffee table, and then opened a bottle of water and handed it to Regina.

Appreciating the wisdom of this, she drank the entire bottle.

He nodded in approval and traded her empty bottle for the full one. Then, he disappeared back into the kitchen to reappear with three more bottles of water. Given the stress of the day, she had probably been dehydrated before she had even started drinking. And—perhaps bizarrely, given that the town was created by a curse—Storybrooke had an excellent recycling center, so he was not concerned about racking up empty water bottles.

He opened a bottle for himself and sat down next to her, just close enough so his thigh connected with her stocking-clad toes and restored their magical hum. "I put Granny's frozen lasagna in the oven and set the timer. I thought we could both use something a bit more substantial than your secret stash of Henry's cookies."

"Hey," she protested. "They aren't for me. I have to hide them from him so he doesn't sneak them." As soon as the words left her mouth, the muted melancholy that always accompanied the absence of her son settled over her. Determined not to dwell on the feeling, she mock-scolded David. "And be sure not to tell him about the Brussels sprouts," she lectured. "I do not want to have to find a new hiding spot."

For a few moments, the pair munched and drank water in silence. There was much to say, but there would be time for that. At this moment, they needed a break.

A break from missing families and temporarily resurrected fiancés. A break from the expectations of others, whether to help or hurt them. And a break from shouldering the burdens alone.

"Henry likes to dunk them in milk," Regina said as David reached for another cookie. "There's some in the door of the fridge, if you'd like."

She smiled a bit at the Prince's poorly disguised resistance to her offer. "It must be genetic," she teased him. "Go pour yourself a glass."

The speed at which he leapt off the sofa confirmed her suspicions—the man enjoyed a glass of milk with his baked goods. For some reason, she found that endearing.

The flare of warmth that suffused her heart at David's enthusiasm for cookies and milk passed quicker than it came, however, and its absence made the void within her starker by comparison.

It was as if a black hole resided in her chest.

Were black holes vacuums like the rest of space? She tried to remember. She'd picked up one of those pop science books at the bookstore a few months back and skimmed through it a bit. Something about dark matter. It seemed like the scientists didn't really understand black holes or dark matter. Maybe they should ask her. She felt like dark matter. A matter of darkness, certainly.

Nothing could live in a vacuum. That seemed logical—how could anything live in nothing?

Was the opposite, then, also true? Could something live with a vacuum inside it? Could she? Could she survive when she felt like a gaping hole was trying to pull her body inside out—searching for anything to fill the void?

She looked up with a start as the ceramic coaster clattered against David's glass of milk on the coffee table. Thank god he's back, she thought. I've gone from a poor attempt at dark matter poetry to morose philosophy. I can't stand my own thoughts for a moment longer.

David gave her a dazzling smile. "Nice to know you missed me," he said, as he reclaimed his seat next to her, connecting their magical circuit once more.

"Huh?" Regina asked. She was too drained to be more eloquent, even though the resumption of the golden hum made the edges of her void less sharp.

David smirked at her and tapped her foot briefly, but affectionately. "You said 'Thank god he's back.'"

Regina looked mortified—she hadn't intended to say that aloud—but she recovered quickly. "Don't flatter yourself. I was just trying to pad your fragile ego."

David hummed skeptically and handed her a cookie. She wasn't eating enough.

Absently, she accepted the circle of calories and just looked at it for a moment. "Talk to me," she said. Meeting his eyes, she added, "Please," and took a deliberate bite of the cookie, somehow trying to demonstrate her intention to meet him halfway.

Halfway to where, she wasn't sure. But the last time Daniel had died, the only confidante at her disposal had been Rumpelstiltskin.

Maybe if she had a friend who wasn't The Dark One—not that Rumpel was ever really her friend—she'd have a chance at leaving her Evil Queen crown on a metaphorical bookshelf to collect dust.

It was just so hard.

"Sebastian is working out great," David said.

"What?" Regina said. Very articulate, Regina, but at least it's a step up from 'Huh?'.

"I took your advice and asked Archie to recommend someone to help me out with all of the paperwork at the Sheriff's office, and he sent Sebastian my way," David explained. "Aside from having to recuse himself from some property disputes he has with Scuttle, he's been an immense help."

David passed Regina another cookie and continued, "He seems to actually enjoy sorting through everyone's complaints."

He leaned toward her as if he were about to share a prime piece of gossip and mock-whispered, "Between you and me, I think he might be on a bit of a power-trip."

Regina actually chuckled a bit at that. The former crab had constantly applied for a job in the mayor's office during her tenure, and she'd always turned him down for that precise reason.

"Thank you," she said. It was kind of David to distract her.

"You're welcome," he said meaningfully.

They sat in companionable silence for a few moments. Regina obediently ate and drank her water, extracting comfort from the golden magic and the fact that, temporarily at least, she was not alone. David, meanwhile, attempted to assess her mood and decide whether he should risk asking her some awkward questions. Since she seemed subdued, rather than homicidal, and he had run out of small talk, he decided to take the risk. His bravery usually paid off where Regina was concerned.

"Why do you suppose we are each other's romantic true loves?"

Regina choked on her water, triggering a coughing fit.

After she stopped sputtering, David asked, "Have you known ever since the morning in the woods when you taught me to find my magic?" His expression attempted neutrality, but a feeling of disappointed betrayal leaked through. After working so closely together, how could she keep this from him?

Regina protested, "No, no, David, I didn't." She could tell that he didn't believe her, and she placed a hand on his arm to try to prevent him from closing himself off from her entirely. "You're right that that morning was critical to me figuring it out, but, David—" Her eyes pleaded with him; he had to believe her—"I didn't know."

She could tell that he wasn't convinced, but at least he was allowing her the opportunity to explain her decisions.

"That morning," she said, "I didn't expect your magic to present itself so strongly. I thought we'd have several failed attempts on your part to even locate it within yourself and that I would need to do some rather serious work on my end to pull it out of you—to even sense it."

She was relieved to see that he was listening intently. He really was giving her a chance. Remarkable, given that he'd accused her of a lust spell not forty-eight hours earlier.

"So," she continued, "when your magic propelled into the forest, on your first try, no less, I was stunned. I had no idea what to make of it. And then," she glanced at him, "when you kissed me . . ." she deliberately looked away from him in an attempt to conceal her feelings, "I was so angry at you for using me as a stand-in for your wife that I couldn't think straight."

Her expression temporarily hardened as she re-felt her determination not to be second to Snow White.

She stalled David's automatic apology with a quick shake of her head, and resumed her explanation. After that stunt she pulled with Ruby in the diner, she owed him that much.

"It wasn't until later, when Belle and I were chained up in the library—and the magical connection re-emerged when we touched—that the pieces started to fall into place," she fiddled with the label of her water bottle. She didn't like exposing herself like this. Her mother had said that love was weakness. Regina's philosophy was more specific: Vulnerability invites pain.

But she was on a mission to break her patterns.

And that motto seemed as good a place as any to start, even if she didn't quite disagree with it yet.

She looked at David and was surprised to see hints of compassion, rather than anger, in his gaze.

"I was going to tell you my suspicions—that you and Snow weren't each other's true loves; I hadn't acknowledged the possibility of, well, this, yet—as soon as we could speak privately," Regina said. "I nearly had a panic attack in the middle of Belle's description," she scoffed, still irritated at her past self for the near-loss of composure.

She met his eyes again. "But then you walked through the library doors," it was her turn to look at him with compassion, "and you looked devastated." She shook her head slowly, "And I just couldn't tell you."

"And then I made you justifiably furious," David continued explaining her actions for her. "And," he said, grabbing her hand in gratitude, "Despite my horrible behavior," he squeezed her hand, "you called me the very next morning to continue to help me get my family back."

He looked at her with something approaching awe. "I was horrible to you, and you responded by continuing to help me, inviting the allies of your mortal enemy into your home, and withholding an unsubstantiated theory so that I didn't have to learn that my marriage to my wife was doomed AND that I had betrayed her in the worst way—by falling in love with her mortal enemy—in the same day."

With the hand that wasn't grasping hers, he reached up and cupped her face. "You are extraordinary," he breathed.

Regina was frozen. She couldn't look away from the earnestness of the Prince's expression. When she felt the beginnings of a blush, she bolted, "I'll go check on the lasagna."

xxxxx

Regina cut them both generously sized slices and tossed some spinach on each plate. It was green; it counted as salad.

"Here you go," she handed him his plate and utensils and curled back up into the corner of the couch with her dinner-lunch. She wasn't really hungry, but Granny's lasagna did smell fantastic, and she knew she had to eat. She didn't want to worry Henry.

After a few bites each, David repeated his earlier question. "Why do you think we are each other's romantic true loves?" His tone was curious and cautious.

"Don't get me wrong," he said, "You're breathtaking, and there is no question that our relationship has improved dramatically, but it was only two weeks ago that we tried to kill each other, so this seems rather . . . unexpected." Or crazy, he thought.

Regina chewed her lasagna thoughtfully and swallowed. Setting her plate down, she said, "I don't really know." She sighed, "But I have some guesses. I'd love to call them theories, but they aren't well-developed enough to deserve that name." She smiled at him wryly.

"To start with," she began carefully, "I think the magic picked up on our obvious chemistry."

"Obvious chemistry?" he couldn't resist teasing her.

"You had me flat on my back on a table in the public library," Regina replied. "Don't get coy on me now, Charming," she smirked at his overly-innocent expression.

"As I was saying," she mock-scolded him, "I think the magic sensed our mutual attraction, even though we hadn't acted on it, and—this is where my idea becomes really speculative—I think the magic knew before we did that we would, well, . . . develop feelings for each other," Regina finished uncomfortably. She couldn't be in love with David. She was in love with Daniel.

Attempting to ignore his own discomfort at their situation as well as spare her feelings, David decided to ask a technical question. "When you explained true love before, you said it only had to be true in that moment, that being permanent was not necessary for the magical properties," he recalled her lesson as best as he could. "How does it make sense, then, that this magic would look into the future rather than into the present, and use a future definition of our relationship?" How had his feelings for Snow been so tenuous one week after her disappearance that his own magic matched him with another woman? He was so ashamed of himself, much more so than when he was seeing Mary Margaret while still curse-married to Kathryn.

This time all of his feelings, and all of his relationships—his marriage—were real.

"This is why I'm calling my idea a guess," Regina responded. "I think that it has something to do with the fact that Rumpelstiltskin reintroduced magic in order to reclaim his former powers, which, as we know all too well, included soothsaying."

David contemplated her words and said, "And you think the magic within Storybrooke has some property to see into the future?"

Regina nodded. "My best guess is that, when you pushed your magic outward and it encountered me, it read our fortunes . . ." She still didn't want to say it out loud. "And this is the result," she said simply.

"Rumpelstiltskin was fond of saying that he didn't see the future but that he saw possibilities of the future," David repeated. "Does that mean that we are not necessarily each other's romantic true loves, but just possible true loves?"

"It's hard to know for sure," Regina replied. "If Snow returns and you can kiss both of us without getting shocked, then that would seem to indicate possibilities rather than some kind of predestination. If kissing her shocks you, however," Regina was still not comfortable in this conversation, "that could indicate that our situation is . . . what it is."

"Or just that Snow is no longer a possibility," David said.

Regina was somber. His tone indicated that he was certain that his romance with Snow was over. While she felt no compassion for the woman who had caused Daniel's death, she couldn't rejoice over her pain either. Not when it also hurt the man in front of her.

"You don't know that, David," Regina said. Resignation was not a good look on him. Hope was.

But his resigned expression remained, though it seemed accompanied by something resembling acceptance. He shook his head and said, "Snow is my past, not my future."

The conviction in his voice surprised her, and she tilted her head in an implied question. How do you know? How can you be so certain?

He gave her an assessing gaze followed by a small smile. "When you're ready to hear my answer, ask me out loud," he squeezed her knee, emphasizing that his statement was not a challenge, but was merely the truth, "And I'll tell you."

His gentle consideration strongly affected Regina. They were discussing the end of his storybook romance, and he had the generosity to be concerned for her feelings.

For some reason, receiving this kindness caused tears to well up in her eyes. After all the isolation and loneliness, this was the curve on the emotional rollercoaster that she didn't know how to handle. A mirthless chuckle escaped her lips as she blinked back her tears, "With all the crying I've done today, I'm surprised—and a bit relieved—that I'm still capable of producing tears."

David heard the hitch in her voice and decided to respond to that rather than her deflection. "Come here," he said gently, holding his arms open.

When she hesitated, rather than mocking him, he leaned into her space and gently pulled her away from her corner of the couch and tucked her into his side, encircling her in his arms and supporting her head in the crook of his neck.

Initially, Regina tensed, but then she allowed herself to relax into David's embrace, and the two sat in the thick, comforting silence for several moments.

Eventually, unwilling to allow herself become used to having someone to comfort her, Regina slid into an upright position to sit next to him, but allowed his arm to remain along her shoulders.

"Do you want to talk about him?" David asked softly.

He felt, more than saw, her shake her head. "Not now," she replied. "If I talk about him now, I won't be able to put myself together," her voice shook slightly before turning more determined, "I don't have time to be broken. I have to help Henry."

Allowing her to change the subject, David asked, "Yesterday, at the diner, you said that we'd need to perform additional magic to 'anchor' Henry to Storybrooke. What do you mean by that and how are you so sure that it will keep Henry safe?"

"Anchoring is actually one of the simpler magical acts," Regina said. "Like much powerful magic, it relies on true love, but, once that condition is met, it's a matter of will and strength. As you might be aware, I have a great deal of both," she finished wryly.

David nodded his head in acknowledgment. There was no doubting Regina's power or determination, especially where her son was concerned. But he was still confused. She would hate him for this question; he had to word it carefully. "Why didn't you kissing Henry break the curse, since you truly love him?"

Regina bristled at the implication that she didn't truly love Henry, but she pushed down her anger; David was trying to protect Henry. "The nature of that curse was that it couldn't be broken by anyone upon whom it was cast. Emma escaped through the wardrobe, and Henry was born in this world. Therefore, they could break the curse, but none of us could."

"You couldn't break your own curse?" David asked skeptically.

"I never tried," Regina snapped and then responded more calmly, "But I couldn't break it on accident."

She looked at him earnestly. "I would die for my son," she stated. "That means that, magically, I truly love him. And, for me to anchor him, that love does not have to be reciprocal," she looked away. Addressing the contingency that her son might not love her was gougingly painful in its necessity.

David wanted to assure her that Henry loved her, but he knew that Henry was the only person she would believe. He settled for squeezing her shoulder in support. "Why don't you call him?" he suggested.

"Henry?" Regina asked.

"Yes," David said. "I'm sure he's worried about you and would love to hear from you. He made me promise that I would call if you needed him."

Regina smiled slightly at the evidence of her son's concern. It would be nice to hear his voice. But she hadn't called him since he moved in with David. What if he didn't want to talk to her?

"Here," David stretched to grab her cell phone off the coffee table and handed it to her. "He's worried about you."

She looked at the phone in her hand, as if she couldn't decide whether it was friend or foe, gathered her courage, and hit send.

"Mom?" Henry's surprised voice answered after one ring.

Regina almost couldn't speak through her broad smile, "Henry—"

"Are you all right? What did the doctor say? Do you need help?" Grumpy and Astrid had tried to keep him distracted, but he's spent all afternoon wondering about his mom. David didn't know her as well as he did; maybe he should have stayed with them.

"Henry," Regina said in a confidently assuring tone, "I'm fine. David took me to see Granny, and she said that, other than a few bruises, I'm not hurt."

"Is Granny a doctor?" Henry challenged.

"She knows a lot about injuries, Henry," Regina replied.

"But, if she's not a doctor—" Henry was frustrated. His mom would never let him go to Granny instead of a doctor. And what if she was really hurt?

"Henry," Regina interjected. "Please trust me. I've lived longer than you and been—I mean, seen—more injuries than you. This one will heal."

"Okay," Henry said, but some doubt leaked into his voice.

Regina pinched the bridge of her nose. She was trying to break her patterns, right? "I was trying to keep my promise to you, Henry," she said, before she could talk herself out of confiding even this small weakness with her son. "I am extremely angry with someone that works in the hospital, and I don't want to do something that you wouldn't like. So I had David keep me away from the hospital. Until I'm less angry." Forever, she thought.

"You mean Dr. Whale?" Henry asked, remembering the brief mention of him between his mom and David at the stables.

"Yes," Regina said.

"Did he hurt the man we saw?" Henry asked. He couldn't believe his mom was telling him the truth instead of telling him that he was too young. He wasn't sure if he'd have another chance to get his questions answered, and, when he wasn't bursting with worry over whether his mom was okay, he was bursting with curiosity over what he'd witnessed between her and the man she'd made disappear.

"Yes, he did," Regina replied in an effortful, detached tone.

Henry was silent for a moment as he digested that information. He had a lot more questions, but his mom still sounded upset.

"I'm proud of you, Mom," he said.

Regina was almost embarrassed by how grateful she felt at receiving praise from her son, but she was too pleased to concern herself with monitoring the appropriateness of her reactions. Her son was proud of her. All of her effort—he was noticing. It was working.

"Thank you, Henry," she said.

"You're trying. It's good," he affirmed. "May I talk to David now?"

"Sure," Regina replied. "I love you, Henry."

"Love you too, Mom."

Regina absently handed the phone to David, savoring Henry's words of kindness and love. To her, it was as if the words had taken physical form, and if she cherished them enough, they would wrap around her wounded heart.

"Sounds good, Henry," David said. "Love you too."

David's salutation and placement of the phone back on the coffee table clued Regina into the fact that she had missed the entirety of David's conversation with Henry.

David seemed to understand that she hadn't been paying attention and squeezed her shoulder. He couldn't believe that she had allowed them to sit so close together for so long, but he wasn't going to question it. He was grateful that she was accepting even this much support from him.

"Henry wanted to make sure I was taking care of you," he told her, grinning at the grilling he had just received from his grandson. "I have no doubt that he would have been over here immediately if my answers had not been satisfactory."

Regina allowed herself a small smile at her son's protectiveness. Maybe she wasn't as alone as she thought.

"He offered to come over tonight, but I suggested breakfast tomorrow instead," David said cautiously. "I hope you don't mind; I thought you could use a little more time to just be you without having to worry about Henry's reaction."

Regina was torn. She wanted to see her son so badly, but she didn't want him to see her like this. David was probably right. Just talking to Henry on the phone had taxed her resources more than she cared to admit. She nodded, "Breakfast sounds nice."

Glad that she hadn't gotten angry, but concerned at how exhausted she sounded, David watched Regina carefully as she dropped her head back onto his arm along the back of the couch. He thought about suggesting that she change into something more comfortable or even go ahead and go to bed, but he didn't want to break the companionable spell they were under.

He pulled the afghan from the side of the couch and began to wrap it around her. Wordlessly, she intervened and extended it so that it covered both of them rather than just her. David placed a kiss on the side of her head as a thank you.

She may not be ready to accept that they were romantic true loves, but he knew they were. He wasn't proud of the change in allegiance of his feelings, but, after some reflection, the evolution in his relationship with Regina seemed natural, even necessary. He would have to be patient though. He loved Regina—there, I said it to myself, at least—but, for all her intelligence, she was a rookie at properly handling her emotions.

A relationship with her was not going to be easy. But, he thought as the warmth filled his heart, it was going to be great.

She wasn't ready to talk about it, but he would show her whatever affection she would allow.

"This 'anchoring' spell," David said, "will keep both you and Henry safe?"

"Magic is never risk-free," Regina said. "But this spell will make the risk to Henry almost zero."

"And you?" her evasiveness had not gone unnoticed by David.

"I'm a survivor," Regina said dryly. She had always tended toward the homicidal rather than the suicidal. And now that things were getting better with Henry, and this whatever-it-was with David, she had so much to live for . . . .

David still was not completely satisfied with her answer, but he knew that she spoke the truth. Regina never stayed down for long.

"You really think we should do this?" David asked.

Regina sighed. "I do."

David nodded in contemplation. "Then I guess we should do it. If you think Henry will be safe, then I defer to your expertise." He rubbed his hand up and down along her arm as his sigh mirrored hers. "What's our next move?"

"Tomorrow morning, we talk to Henry," she pivoted to make eye contact with David, "But we edit what we tell him." She looked at him seriously. "He absolutely cannot know that he is our last option to retrieve Snow and Emma from Storybrooke. Even if he suspects it, we cannot confirm this. The pressure would be disastrous, on an emotional, and therefore magical, level."

She relaxed slightly when she saw that David accepted and understood the necessity of misleading Henry in this way. She had been concerned that the noble prince's abhorrence of deception would ignore this grey area.

"Then," Regina continued, "I teach him what he needs to know."

At the re-emergence of her worry that accompanied her last statement, David asked, "What's wrong?"

She looked at him, as if considering whether to trust him with this particular fear. "Given how powerful you are, and given the power I felt from Ms. Swan before she fell through the portal, I'm concerned that Henry is the most powerful sorcerer in Storybrooke."

David was solemn. That was bad news, indeed. One of the most salient lessons he'd learned stepping into Emma's role as Sheriff was that wielding power made you a target. A target of manipulation, affection, anger. And the greater the power, the larger the target. He didn't want that for Henry.

Regina noted David's reaction carefully. He seemed to understand that Henry's potential magic was a problem rather than an opportunity, so she continued, "For many reasons, I don't want Henry—or anyone else—to know how powerful he could be." She paused. She hated that she was planning to deceive her son, when he clearly valued honesty from her. Would his tenuously rebuilt trust in her permanently shatter if he discovered her deliberate manipulation?

Regina shook off these thoughts. Henry's safety and well-being came first. If he hated her for it—her heart twisted at the thought—well, that was the price she would have to pay.

She turned back to David, "I will teach Henry exactly what he needs to know to do this spell, but nothing more." She grasped his hand in sudden urgency, "And we are both going to have to watch him carefully. To make sure he doesn't use unnecessary magic."

David held her closer in reassurance. "Henry's a good kid, Regina." He kissed the top of her head. "It will be all right."

In her worried and exhausted state, Regina curled into his comfort and hugged him tightly. Mixing magic with the people she loved never ended well.

xxxxx

A/N: Thanks for reading! We are nearing the end of this tale, so if there are holes in the plot that you want to make sure I address or characters that you particularly hope to see again, let me know. I won't guarantee that I will fulfill your request in this story, but if I can make it work, I will!