"This isn't fair." Henry's understanding of the circumstances surrounding the unwanted love triangle of his mother, aunt and Robin was lacking to say the least. It wasn't that he was unaware. More that his tunnel vision regarding his mother's happiness prevented him from seeing anything but her suffering.
In the large living room of his childhood home, Henry paced in front of the fireplace, crackling and popping to fill in the long gaps of silence.
"Life isn't always fair, Henry," Regina reminded him gently. And that was a statement which wasn't reserved just for her — or even for the citizens of Storybrooke alone. Life wasn't fair no matter who you were, no matter the realm.
She sat close to Robin on the couch, her legs crossed and his hand on her knee, her eyes following her son as he processed the unhappy realization that this was something he couldn't fix.
"What's the point of being the Author if I can't do anything to help. These powers are worthless," he grumbled angrily.
"Henry," Regina breathed out sadly, standing and crossing the room to lay a hand against his back, comforting him as much as he had wanted to comfort her.
"Even if you could use them…there's nothing to do. Magic or not, sometimes you just have to let things play out," she explained softly. Years of holding on to 'what if's' and 'could have's' had taught her that much.
Henry knew his mother better than to push it. He nodded, and said nothing. But Operation: Dingo was already forming in his mind. That baby should have been his mother's. It should have — and he would make things right.
Emma had resisted at first. In fact, he had to trick her to even get her out of the house and away from whatever it was she was guarding in her basement. Under the guise of a runaway horse belonging to his first and current crush, Violet, he lured Emma away from the constant patrol of her own secret to try and talk her into helping him with his.
"My mom can't know," he began, knowing that only half of Emma would be hesitant to keep things from Regina — even as the Dark One, she had a keen understanding of her responsibility as a co-parent and more-so, a friend. The other half of her, he knew, would leap at the chance to spend time with him. He'd been avoiding her as of late, thanks to her dark transformation, and working covertly on another operation would no doubt flood her with memories of happier, simpler times. When the Savior was just the Savior — good was good, and evil was evil — and Darkness didn't have a place in her heart.
In the middle of an open field, Henry holding the reins of Violet's horse, whose location he'd known all along, mother and son spoke somewhat openly — as open as they had been since she'd returned them to Storybrooke, minus a few weeks of memory.
"Regina's not that easy to sneak around, Henry."
Henry. The way she says his name sends a chill through his bones. Because his mother — Emma, and just Emma, not this new bleached and brooding version — would have called him 'kid'.
"I know, but she's pretty… distracted at the moment," he explained, and it pained him because it was true. Once upon a time he wouldn't have been able to get out of the house to talk to Emma at all without her knowing. But here they were.
"Okay," Emma agreed, her lips tight and eyes narrow. She nodded for him to go on. She would hear him out at the very least.
"Zelena shouldn't be having Robin's baby. It should be my mom. It's not fair. She's done so much to change. And every time she makes the right choice, it seems to hurt her in the end. But this… I've never seen her like this. This is worse, somehow." His eyes lowered and he kicked at the dirt beneath his sneakers, clenching his jaw and trying to forget the way Regina looked with tears in her eyes — because he had only ever known her as strong. Bulletproof.
Emma's lips parted as if to speak and she rolled her eyes to the side, crossing her arms over her chest, the thick leather of her long black overcoat squeaking and crinkling. "Henry," she began, her tone hesitant, like she knew where this was headed.
"Don't," Henry begged, his eyes moving to his blonde mother once more. And the longer he looked at her, the more Emma he saw, and the less Dark One.
"I'm not a kid anymore. And maybe I don't get everything. Maybe I don't know the whole story. But I know enough to know she deserves this. And Zelena doesn't. What she did to Robin…" he began, his face puckering in disgust — but mostly in pain on his mother's behalf.
"I have a plan. I know what I need to do. But I need your help."
If Regina didn't want Henry in her vault, she wouldn't have allowed him to pass through the enchantment that kept everyone else out. At least, that's what he was telling himself. Descending the crumbling, dusty stone steps with practiced ease — because he had been down here hundreds of times with her — his hand dragged along the wall at his side. It was significantly darker and he realized his mother always used her magic to light the candles and torches when they were together.
Taking his phone out of his pocket, he flicked his thumb upwards, turning on the flashlight. It wasn't much, but it was enough. He knew what he was looking for, and he knew where it would be.
Crossing the small room, he tripped over a stack of books, likely left out from the last time someone was down there — when Regina was working with Snow and Charming to cast the spell with the Crimson Crown, hoping to speak to Merlin. Crouching down to set them right again, he stepped cautiously over towards the back wall. The large trunk was full of deep jewel colored gowns of silks and satins, lace and beading and gems beneath his fingers as he felt down deep. His lips pulled into a smile when his hand finally made contact with the book. Small for a spell book, but Cora was always practical that way. Magic hadn't come easily to her. She had to be trained at length, and even then, she required the written word to do much (in the beginning, at least). In any case, it's compact size was serving him well now. "Thanks, Grandma Cora," he spoke aloud, his smile only growing as he pulled the silver inlaid book up, tucking it under his peacoat.
Turning on his heel, Henry rushed up the steps and pushed the tombstone back into its place, leaving everything as it had been — minus one very important book. Stepping out of the vault triumphantly, he smiled at his waiting mother. "Got it," he said proudly.
Emma took the book from him and thumbed quickly through the pages, as if she knew exactly where the spell they needed would be.
"Blood magic," she announced, her brow knit in concern. "Henry, this is Cora's spell book. This requires blood magic," she explained, looking up and into his eyes.
"I know," he replied solemnly.
"Well….I hate to tell you this, but Regina's going to know something's going on if we need her blood to cast the spell," she said with a raised brow, her humor even more dry than usual.
Henry rolled his eyes. "We won't need her blood," he argued, reaching forward to snap the book back from Emma's hands.
"Henry," she said again, lingering on the end of his name, like she knew whatever he was going to say would be completely unorthodox, dangerous — and Regina, were she privy to any of it, would be in complete disagreement.
But he cut her off, recognizing the sharp intake of breath to signal a long explanation of why she couldn't — wouldn't — do what he was asking.
"You brought Marian back. You brought Zelena back," he reminded her, and he hated himself for it because she had only been doing what she thought was right. His features softened when he saw his mother stiffen against his words. Even as the Dark One, her son's opinion of her mattered.
"You didn't mean for any of this to happen. I know that. Everyone knows that. Even my mom," he promised. "But we have a way to make it better. To make it right. Mom…please."
Henry's words, his desperate pleas to make something — one thing — right again in his world were not lost on Emma. And even through the stony outer shell of the Dark One, her deepest soul was touched by the sentiment. And if she were to let Emma take over for even a moment, she could agree that Regina deserved this. She owed this to her.
Her eyes were cast down now to the ground between her feet and her son's. Her mind was reeling, thinking of every possible outcome — because there would be a price. There was always a price. But no matter how she spun it, hundreds of scenarios playing across her mind in a matter of seconds, her power as the Dark One allowing her the privilege of seeing possible futures — they all had one thing in common. Regina. Smiling. A child in her arms, and smiling. Smiling like Emma certainly had never seen her smile before.
Emma was all sharp edges and stinging and suffering in this new role as Dark One. But even so, and perhaps because of this fact, the image of Regina hounded her and spoke to her innermost being. It spoke to the woman she hoped she still was. The woman who showed up on the doorstep of an unknown Mayor years ago, who delivered her son safely home. The woman who had counted Regina as a friend, who after years of fighting against her now fought at her side. Now, when given the chance, perhaps she could find it within herself — even this self — to fight for her.
Emma looked up. Her eyes were determined as they met with Henry's, having decided in certainty to follow through.
Because she did — she owed her. This and so much more.
"I think we need to pay that witch a visit."