A/N: Hello all! This is an abnormally long authors' note, but please stick with me. I am sincerely sorry for making you wait over two weeks for this update, but I hope that you enjoy this Mega-update. My muse refused to write in a linear fashion, so the original chapter 22 was over 10,000 words. I've broken it down into more manageable reading chunks as chapters 22-26, but I'm posting them simultaneously because they are intended to be part of the same chapter.

That said, it is highly unlikely that I will be able to post chapter 27 until near the end of March. I wish I could post it sooner, but this is another overtime month for me. (Sorry!)

Disclaimer: Not only do I not own Once Upon a Time, I don't own any other characters or references you recognize. (If only!)

FYI on these chapters: Chapters 22-25 jump around in chronology. I've tried to make the timing clear in the writing, but just in case I did a lousy job: 1) All events take place after the linking spell in chapter 21 and 2) Scenes in the diner are in present time and all other scenes occur before scenes set in the diner.

Finally, Thank you for all of the support for this story. Over 200 reviews! I never imagine other people would enjoy my little alternate universe like this. Thank you for being so much fun to share it with. Your comments keep me motivated.

"I should have let her die on that horse," Regina murmured into her coffee cup. Her decades-old mantra didn't pack its usual punch, though. Her ire wasn't raised, she didn't feel righteously powerful, and she didn't feel like exacting vengeance.

How disappointing.

Snow White and her progeny were destroying her life from another dimension, and she couldn't even summon up the energy to be properly victimized . . . She was losing her touch.

Or maybe the past few days, on top of the past couple weeks, on top of the months since Emma Swan's dilapidated excuse for a car rolled into Storybrooke, was finally taking its toll.

That couldn't be it. She had survived too much to have a nuisance such as Emma Swan be the cause of her unintentional destruction, especially considering that said nuisance would not have any way of knowing that disappearing through a disgusting hat-portal would be such an effective weapon against a once-evil queen.

Regina glared at her hand as she felt it shake subtly from her effort to lift her coffee to her lips. Only an extremely careful observer would be able to spot her vulnerability at this stage, but she knew it wouldn't be long before her physical weakness would be impossible to hide. Given the number of people in Storybrooke that would love to see her tortured or killed, she supposed that reality should worry her.

But she was just so tired.

And she only needed to make it through one more day.

Tomorrow was Thursday. And that meant that Snow and Emma would be back, and no one would care about her one way or the other.

After Astrid's departure on Sunday—and after Henry finished his long division—she and her son had been about to commence his first magic lesson. Suddenly, all of his previous excitement had evaporated and left tension and excuses in its wake. He had been unwilling to share the source of his hesitation with her, claiming that he was hungry/thirsty/tired—anything to deflect the true cause of his unease.

"Henry, please tell me the truth," she had finally requested. It had cost her a great deal of effort to override her habit of demanding answers from him and instead ask him to talk to her, but she had noticed how much taller Henry seemed to stand when adults treated him as an equal rather than a child, and she liked seeing that confidence in her son. She liked knowing she could cause it; she could help him. Like her mother had never helped her.

He shuffled in place and looked at his feet. "What if I can't do it?"

Any frustration Regina had felt melted away at her son's mumbled fear. She quietly approached him and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder as she bent to his level. "Then I'll teach you," she smiled reassuringly. "And then you'll be able to do it."

"But what if I can't?" Now that Henry had overcome his reluctance to admit his uncertainty, all of his fears began to tumble out. "What if, even though Emma is the savior, and my grandmother is a warrior princess, and my grandfather defeats dragons and my whole family breaks curses—what if I can't do any of it? What if I don't belong?"

Even as her stomach twisted at hearing Henry's pride in and wistfulness to belong to his biological family, Regina pulled him into a hug. "Of course you belong, Henry," she replied with conviction. "You come from a stubborn, resourceful, and determined family, and I knew you were all of those things—and so much more—before we even knew who your biological family was. You've always been my smart, brave, caring boy, and knowing that you belong in the Charming family hasn't changed that; it just makes Snow White and David the luckiest grandparents that have every graced your Story Book," she told him with a genuine smile, even if it was tempered by the stark reminder that Henry's post-curse life did not hold a place for her.

"Now," she said, seeing that her words had bolstered his confidence, "what do you say you levitate this kickball? Maybe we can play an extremely unfair game of dodgeball against your grandfather later."

She knew that the devious smile on her son's face mirrored her own.

Maybe not all of his traits were from his Charming family tree after all.

And, while she would never, ever admit it—especially to him—having David around was . . . nice.

After Henry went to bed Sunday night, having successfully levitated the kickball and knocking an unsuspecting David in the back with it, much to the amusement of mother and son, she and the prince engaged in the confrontation that had been percolating all day.

David handed her a glass of apple cider and sat on the opposite end of the couch from her. After their closeness of the past few days, choosing physical distance from her felt unnatural, but he was determined not to push his presence on her any more than he already had.

"I'm sorry," David said.

"For inviting yourself into my home or for making me angry?" Regina replied testily. She knew his apology was sincere, and she knew that she had mostly already forgiven him, but her quickness to forgive him only served to irritate her further. The prince deserved to squirm.

"Both," David replied simply.

A corner of her mouth turned upward involuntarily.

Encouraged, he continued, "I never should have put you in a position where you couldn't say no. I shouldn't have asked Henry in front of you. I was just so sure that it was the right thing, and I didn't think you would agree otherwise."

When she didn't angrily interrupt or protest in any way, he slid nearer to her on the couch and took her hand, restoring their magical hum that he had missed throughout the day. He had felt . . . disconnected without it. "Regina, stop pushing me away. I know that you think my love for you is changeable, transient; you may even expect it to be a trap or come with invisible strings, but that is not the case. I love you, Regina. And that is not going to change."

You don't know that, she wanted to say. But how she wanted to believe him. And, who was she to tell him how he felt? The man should at least be allowed to be the expert on his own feelings. And, if she should be proven correct when Snow returned, well, that hollow victory would be all hers to savor.

Recognizing her silence as the best response he was likely to get from his unwelcome declaration of love, David continued, "I know that you don't believe me—yet." She couldn't help a smile at his brash confidence. Charming, indeed, she thought. "And I also know that, even if you did, nothing could happen between us until Snow returns and she and I separate formally."

Regina nodded. "You don't want to hurt Snow," she said. She felt ridiculous at the spark of jealousy his acknowledgement ignited. Snow was in another world while Regina was accidentally stealing her husband, and she actually begrudged the woman this reasonable measure of compassion.

Old habits die hard.

"Or you," David added. "I know you're working hard to regain Henry's trust. I won't do anything to jeopardize your relationship with him."

Regina knew that her surprise was displayed on her face. His thoughtfulness never ceased to amaze her.

"In return," her flinch did not escape David's notice. He gently placed his palm along her cheek and turned her face to his, willing her to understand that he did not intend to manipulate her. "Please accept my friendship. And I would be grateful for yours."

Regina felt something in her heart shift. He wanted her friendship? No one had wanted that before.

"Now that I've seen you, the real you, I couldn't fathom going back to only seeing the mayor. Only seeing that distance, that detachment. It's not enough for me anymore. Not now that I've seen the passion and fierce love that underlie it. I know you're not ready for more from me, Regina, but I don't want to lose my friend."

"I'll try," she murmured.

"Good," he said, sealing their deal with a kiss to her forehead. "Now that we have that cleared up," he said, "What the hell were you thinking?"

Regina was startled by the irritation and anger that had suddenly sprung into the prince's tone, especially after the fidelity she felt transmitted through his loving kiss to her forehead. "What do you mean?"

"Your hand, Regina," David clarified impatiently. "You just slit it open without warning and allowed yourself to casually bleed out by the stove. What about that seems okay to you?"

"It needed to be done. I didn't see the need to make a fuss," Regina responded.

"A fuss?" David was incensed. How could she be so callous about her own well-being? "Regina, if the Red Cross had been in your kitchen earlier, they could cancel their blood drives for the next month."

"Now you're just being dramatic," Regina chided.

"An exaggeration, maybe," David allowed, "But that was not a negligible injury you inflicted upon yourself. And with Henry in the room . . ."

"I'm sorry Henry had to be there," Regina said. "I had hoped you would keep him distracted. I hadn't realized you would get squeamish at the sight of blood."

David ignored her reproach, still upset, and responded, "Not just any blood—yours. And not a little. Don't do that to me again, Regina."

"I'm sorry, David," Regina replied. "I truly didn't expect it to bother you."

"Well, it did," he said. "It does."

She held contact with his eyes. "And now I know."