After lunch, they talk a walking tour through Storybrooke. Their first stop is the pharmacy, where Regina drops off the several rolls of film she's collected over the past few days to be developed. She smiles to herself as Henry grabs hold of her hand as they walk back out onto Main Street—something that's beginning to be an automatic response for him whenever they're in a crowded or public space. The way that he trusts her stirs something deep inside of her—something she can't quite place—and it makes her want to be a better person. For so long as Queen she cared for only herself, everyone else became collateral; and as mayor, especially in the earliest years of the curse, she tried to do better, but fell short because no matter what, it didn't matter in the end–the slate was always wiped clean as the years muddled together. But with Henry, things were different.

He laughs softly as he swings their hands back and forth as they pass little shops and business—he's curious, taking in the small town, looking at it as if it were the most exciting place he'd ever been. Regina points out some of the more interesting places—a wood-crafting shop where Marcus whittles everything from small intricate figurines to large ornate furniture pieces and Gold's Pawn Shop that sells all sorts of strange antiques and relics of another time and place. They don't go inside either shop, but spend a few moments lingering at the windows, looking at the displays.

"I used to like to do this in New York," Henry says, as he presses his fingers to the glass of a sporting goods store she never quite noticed before. "I used to make up stories about the things I saw in the windows."

"Oh yeah? What kinds of stories?"

Henry chews at his bottom lip as he stares into the window. "Like that canoe," he says, as her eyes travel to a yellow canoe hanging from the rafters. "I'd pretend I was a famous explorer." He looks back at her and grins, "And I'd travel in that canoe." He considers for a moment, "Up the…Amazon."

She can't decide if that detail about his time in New York is heartwarming or heartbreaking—and reasons that perhaps, it's a little of both. She slides her arm around his shoulders and guides him away from the window—as they turn a messy-haired little boy knocks on the glass, waving at the as they leave. They wave back and then continue down Main Street, and she makes a mental note that Storybrooke does indeed have a comic book store as they pass it—and perhaps, she thinks, it might make a fun outing on a rainy day sometime. She smiles to herself as they turn the corner, away from Main Street and toward City Hall—she can't remember the last time she planned for something that laid ahead of her, something in her future.

As they approach City Hall, Henry looks on curiously, as she points out her office windows and the bench where she sometimes likes to have lunch—a secluded spot that overlooks a well-manicured courtyard, where an apple tree from her childhood home has been replanted—one of the few spots in which she feels completely content.

"Do you eat alone?" He asks suddenly, his voice piquing with worry as his brow furrows.

A grin tugs at the corner of her mouth—his concern is touching. "Most of the time," she tells him as they continue toward the grassy expanse at the side of the building. "It's a good time to…think, take a break from everything."

"But don't you get lonely?" Henry's hazel eyes are wide and his brow is furrowed. "That was always the worst part of changing schools," he adds quietly. "Sitting all alone at lunch while everyone else got to eat with their friends."

"Oh," she murmurs, her heart clenching in her chest as she thinks of him sitting alone in a crowded cafeteria. It's a feeling she knows well—being lonely despite being surrounded by people, feeling invisible. She spent most of her life feeling that way and she hates to think that he has, too. "Did you change schools often?"

"Yeah…"

"Why?" She asks, feeling a knot forming in her stomach. "Did you move around a lot? From family to family?"

"No. I just had the one family," he says, looking away from her. "But I had to change schools whenever people started to…you know…figure stuff out." He shrugs. "Teachers always saw things."

Her mouth feels suddenly dry and the knot in her stomach clenches tighter. "Saw things?"

"Yeah," he nods, still swinging their entwined hands back and forth. "Bruises and things."

"Oh, Henry…"

"So, they'd change my school and I'd have to start all over again."

"How many schools did you go to?"

"Four," he tells her as a small smile edges onto his lips. "The last was my favorite."

"Why's that?" She asks, holding her breath—she wants him to say something about a teacher who was kind to him or an art class he had fun in, but she knows that's likely not the case despite his easy tone. There's something admirable yet painful about the way he continues on, seemingly unfazed—as if it were normal for a second-grader to change schools four times, as if it were normal to go to school with noticeable bruises, as if it were normal to never have anything tangible and to know that, in a moment's notice, everything could be taken away. And she can't help but think that at eight-years old, he's braver than most and certainly braver than she ever was.

"It was far away," he tells her, looking back up. "I had to take two busses."

"Why did you like that?"

"Because I got to see the city," he shrugged. "Going to school felt like an adventure."

She swallows a lump that's rising into her throat—it suddenly makes sense how at seven years old he ended up living in an alley in New York. "I'm so sorry, Henry," she murmurs, pushing away thoughts of how she could have prevented it all.

Henry shrugs his shoulders easily, looking up into the branches of the apple tree.

"Do you want to try one?" She asks, circling around him and leaning against the trees trunk. "These just happen to be the best apples in all of Maine."

"They are?"

She nods, "They are. And I know my apples." Henry replies with a vigorous nod and she can't help but laugh at his enthusiasm. She lifts him up so that he can choose an apple and he pulls down two; and before his feet touch back down onto the ground he's biting into apple. "I, um, thought maybe we could wash…"

"It's really sweet!" He cuts in, his eyes wide as he takes a second bite and some of the apples juice trickles down his chin. She laughs as she reaches out and wipes it away, then combs her fingers through the front of his hair. He takes a few more bites, then suddenly looks up at her, extending the second apple. "Oh, I forgot…"

Smiling, she shakes her head. "Why don't we save that one, and maybe pick a few more. We can make an apple pie tonight to have after dinner."

"Really? I've never had apple pie before."

"Well, then it's settled. We're having apple pie for desert," she decides as Henry finishes his apple.

They select a few more large apples from the tree and Henry insists on holding them all as they walk back toward Main Street. She stretches her arm around his shoulders and she can't help but notice the way the residents of Storybrooke look at her as they pass—smiling and nodding at her, their eyes warming at the sight of Henry as they trade pleasantries—acknowledging her in a way that seems different than before. And a part of her wonders that if the difference isn't in them, but in her.

"Well, here we are," Regina says, grinning at Henry as they get out of the car. "We're home."

"You live here?" He looks back at her, his mouth gaping open as he looks back to the house. "This house is huge! It looks like a hotel!"

She chuckles quietly and follows his gaze—sometimes, it really does feel less like home and more like a hotel. In truth, the house is too big for her. Several of the rooms are empty and more just used for storage; she occupies only a select few. The several guest rooms never house guests; the meticulously landscaped backyard and comfortably-decorated patio never host company. There's a sterility about it that never seems to go away, no matter how often she changes the décor.

"Come on," she tells him, as she hands him two of the shopping bags from the back seat. "Let's go in, so I can give you the grand tour."

He smiles and follows her gingerly, skipping up the walkway and onto the porch. She turns the key in the lock and she hears him gasp as they enter the vast foyer, his eyes growing even wider. She grins and sets down the bags she carried in, taking the ones he's carrying and setting them beside the others. Reaching for his hand, she tugs him forward. She shows him the living room and the kitchen, the dining room and the backyard before they make their way up the stairs.

"I still can't believe this is your house," he murmurs as his hand slides against the banister.

"It's your house too, you know," she tell him, chuckling softly as his eyes again widen, as if he never connected the dots between living with her and living in her house. She tugs him forward, pointing out her own bedroom and the bathroom; she shows him where the towels are kept, a couple of the guest rooms, and the study. He gasps in awe at the books on the shelves, running his fingers over the spines as he wanders. "So, I've gotten the impression you like adventure stories…"

"I like all kinds of stories," he tells her.

She smiles at the sincerity in his voice. "I don't know why I own this, but I think you might like it." She can feel him watching her as she wanders over to a shelf, withdrawing a thin, purple book. "It's a little old, but…"

"The Chronicles of Narnia!" He exclaims. "I was reading this before I had to change schools!" He looks up at her, his eyes flashing with excitement. "I never got to finish it. I tried getting it from the library, but you need a card to do that."

"Well, now you have your very own copy." She turns back to the shelf. "I think it's a series and…I think I have the other books…somewhere in here." From the corner of her eye she watches as he carefully runs his small hand over the worn dust jacket. "I'll find them later," she says, turning back to him. "Right now, there's something else I want to show you."

"What else is there?"

She chuckles softly, "Well, for starters, your bedroom."

"My room?"

"Yeah," she says as a smile pulls at the corners of her mouth. "You have to sleep somewhere." She takes a breath as she guides him back to the hallway. "I hope you don't mind that I already have one picked out for you."

"I don't mind at all. I've never had my own room."

She takes a breath and opens the door—while in New York, she'd given this room a great deal of thought. She chose a room that over looked the backyard. It has a large window with a seat, which seems to be a perfect little reading nook and it gets a perfect mixture of sunlight and shade. Just outside the window is a large elm tree and the walls of the room were already painted a pale shade of blue—a color painted on herself when she'd planned on adopting all those years ago. Nonetheless, she hired a contractor to touch it up, and the room is now crisp and fresh.

"Oh…my…god…" Henry murmurs in a barely audible whisper as he steps into the room and looks around.

There's a bed with a blue patch-work quilt and a pillow shaped like Captain America's shield. He walks past it, dragging his fingers across the edge of the bed as he notices the bookshelf beside it, filed with popular titles. She watches as he kneels down in front of it, taking the time to read every spine. He pulls out a copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone and then a copy of Treasure Island, and he examines the covers before carefully pushing them back into their places. The top shelf is empty with the exception of a note "For your comic books," it reads. He looks up at Regina and shakes his head—he's at a loss for words.

She feels warm tears brimming in her eyes as he looks at the framed posters on the wall—one of The Avengers and another of Spiderman. On the nightstand is a lamp that shaped like Thor's hammer and in the corner is Lego table, beneath it clear bins of color-coded legos. There's a desk and a computer, and a shelf of various games and another of art supplies. And when he tugs open the closet, it's filled with clothes—things they'd looked at in New York, but ultimately decided against, things he'd wanted but wouldn't ask for.

Henry stares into it for a moment, then slowly turns to face her—and still, he struggles to find the words.

"I hope its okay that I had it decorated," she tells him, as a slight grin forms on her lips. "When I told you there was more to your birthday gift, I wasn't just talking about the comic book subscription."

Still, he says nothing. He blinks a couple of time before tears fall down his cheeks, and a moment later he's crossed the room, hugging her around the waist. She smiles as he holds on tightly, and she cups the back of his head, letting her fingers stroke his hair.

"It's perfect," he murmurs finally. "How did you…" He hiccups and looks up at her. "…know?"

"What do you mean?" She asks, reaching out and wiping away his tears with her thumb.

"This is all…stuff I like."

"Yeah, I know," she says with a shrug of her shoulders. "I…paid attention." A grin stretches over his lips and once more, he hugs her at the waist. "Does this mean you like your room?"

"I love it," he murmurs as he hugs her tighter.

She rarely cooks for more than one—and thrives on the idea of making the perfect meal to celebrate their first night at home together. Henry perches on a stool and watches as she assembles the lasagna, a favorite dish she's perfected throughout the years. She grins as she shares her secret ingredient and he humors her by actually seeming to care that red pepper flakes give the sauce a surprise kick. She adds extra cheese to the layers and this is something that seems to draw actual excitement from him.

When the lasagna is tucked into the oven, she starts to gather the ingredients for the apple pie.

"So, what do you think of Storybrooke so far?" she asks, looking back over her shoulder from the pantry. "I know you only had a whirlwind tour, but…first impressions?"

She watches a grin pull at the corners of his mouth. "It almost doesn't seem real." Her own smile fades a bit and her heart skips a beat, but before she can ask anymore, Henry shrugs his shoulders. "It's like something out of a movie."

"A movie?"

"Yeah," he nods. "It's like those little towns where everyone knows each other and everyone's nice and nothing bad ever happens." His grin deepens. "I like that."

Her shoulders relax as she turns back to him, carrying an arm full of ingredients back to the counter. "I'm glad," she tells him. "I meant what I said at Coney Island—I want you to be happy here."

"Well, so far, I am," he tells her, his cheeks flushing slightly as his eyes meet hers. "I don't think I've ever been this happy so many days in a row." She can't help but think how sad that is, yet at the same time, it warms her heart. "Can I help?"

"You want to help with the pie?"

"If you…don't mind," he says, suddenly sheepish. "If I won't be in the way."

"Of course you won't be in the way," she's quick to say, reaching for the apples. "Come here." A relieved smile crosses his lips and he slides off the stool and she lifts him up to the stool in front of her. "Okay, so the first thing we need to do is the crust." She hands him a bowl and a measuring cup, then slides a bag of flour toward him. "I need you to scoop out two cups," she tells him, grinning as he plunges the cup into the bag of flour sending a white cloud up over his face.

"Oops…"

She laughs out and wipes away the thin layer of flour from his cheeks and from the bridge of his nose. "It happens to the best of bakers," she tells him with a wink, as he drops the flour into the bowl, then more carefully scoops out the second cup. She adds the shortening and then a little water. "Now, here's the part that I hate, but I think you'll enjoy." She extends a wooden spoon to him. "Mix it up and when it starts getting thick, you have to knead it."

"What's that?"

She grins. "Reach in and smush it together with your hands until you can make a ball."

"Really!?"

She nods. "And while you're doing that, I'll cut up the apples."

"Cool…."

"I'm glad you think so," she tells him as she slices into the first apple, enjoying that he seems to be having a good time cooking with her, glad that perhaps they'll be able to enjoy this on a regular basis—though it's always been a favorite hobby, it's something she's never been able to share with anyone.

Henry kneads the dough and separates it, just as Regina instructed and he giggles as she sprinkles flour onto the countertop, flicking a bit in his direction as she finishes. They toss the apple slices into a bowl and she lines up the rest of the ingredients.

"A cup of starch," she begins, watching as he carefully fills the cup and dumps it into the bowl. "Then fill half of that with the sugar." He listens carefully, filling the cup halfway. Then comes the cinnamon and the nutmeg, followed by some brown sugar and vanilla. When it's all mixed together, she helps him to roll out half the dough, then form it around the pie plate. "Good," she tells him when the crust is in the plate, her heart flutters as he smiles proudly at his work. "Now are you ready for my super-secret ingredient?"

He nods, "Yeah!"

"Okay, so the way I get the crust really flaky is by adding pads of butter." He nods and watches as she slices a stick of butter, handing the pads to him to arrange on the bottom layer of the crust. They scoop in the apple mixture and Regina rolls out the rest of the dough, cutting into strips. One by one she hands them to Henry and shows him how to layer them over the top. "This part you'll be really good at because you have little fingers," she tells him, as she shows him how to pinch together the top and bottom layers of crust. "Go all the way around…"

"Like this?"

"Exactly," she tells him with a nod, swallowing the lump that begins to rise at the back of her throat. It's the messiest pie she's ever made, but it's also her favorite.

"Does it go in the oven now?"

"When the lasagna's done…"

"Oh…"She watches as he smiles down at the pie, clearly proud of his handiwork. "Do you…still have that camera?"

"The one we didn't finish?" He nods. "Yeah, it's in my purse."

"Can you…take a picture?"

"Of course I can," she says, already rounding the corner of the counter to where her bag sits, untouched and unpacked from that afternoon. She fishes out the camera, brandishing it in the air and making him giggle. She starts to take the picture, but Henry stops her before she can snap it.

"You should be in it, too."

"Oh, yeah….I guess that would be a good idea," she says with a soft laugh as she comes to stand next to him. "Hold up the pie, okay?" He nods and she leans in beside him and holds the camera out in front of them. She snaps the picture, then turns, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek as she takes a second picture.

After dinner and desert, Henry takes a bath. She changes into pajamas and finally unpacks her things from New York. She chuckles softly as she the water stop and she can hear Henry singing to himself from the bathroom—and she can't help but think of how nice it is to have him there, how much more homey the house feels with him in it and how nice it is to have something other than her own thoughts to listen to.

Her bedroom door is open and she watches as he goes from the bathroom to his bedroom, standing in the center of it and looking around, almost as if in disbelief. He stands there for several minutes before she joins him, leaning against the doorway as she suggests that it's time for bed.

He easily agrees, his cheeks flushing a little as he asks if she can tuck him in. Her heart feels full as he climbs into bed and she folds the blanket around his shoulders, kissing his forehead. "I'm glad you're here, Henry," she whispers.

"I am, too," he says. She starts to withdraw, but he grabs onto her wrist. "Wait…"

"Is everything okay?"

He nods, "Yeah, I just..would you mind…maybe reading me a story?" Again, his cheeks flush. "I know I'm big enough to read on my own, but…I just…"

"Of course I'll read to you."

"Really?"

She nods, "What'll it be?" He points to The Chronicles of Narnia, already sitting out on the nightstand. She reaches for it and sits down on the edge of the bed. "I've never done this before so, bear with me, okay?"

"I've never done this before either," he admits in a small voice.

"No one ever read to you?" He shakes his head and she takes a breath, forcing a smile. "Well, then maybe this could be our part nightly routine."

His eyes brighten and he nods. "That and making pie."

"You liked that?" He nods again and she smiles, this time a bit more genuinely. "Well, I don't know about nightly, but…maybe weekly."

"Okay," he agrees easily as he settles back against the pillows.

She reads two full chapters before his eyes start to droop as sleep beings to win over the story. He doesn't respond when she stops reading, so she folds the corner of the page and sets the book back onto the nightstand, smiling at the thought of continuing tomorrow evening. She presses a kiss to his forehead and turns out the light, then returns to her own room where she continues to hang up clothes and sort her laundry. She laughs when she pulls out the long forgotten brand new pair of Jimmy Choos she purchased before meeting Henry—though it wasn't more than a week ago, it already seems like a lifetime has passed since then.

When everything is unpacked and put away, she crawls into bed and turns out the light. Her eyes quickly grow heavy as she lingers on the edge of sleep, slowly drifting in and out, when she suddenly becomes aware of footsteps in the hallway. For a brief moment, she wonders if Henry's just getting up to use the restroom, but his footsteps go back and forth, seemingly in front of her bedroom door—he's packing there, she realizes. By the time she hears a muffled sniffle, she's already out of bed, opening the door to him. He gasps a little and his eyes widen; and despite the darkness, she can see that they're teary.

"Henry, what's wrong?" She asks, reaching out and instinctively pulling him into her arms. He sniffles a couple of times as she strokes her fingers though his hair. She can feel his tears through the top of her pajamas. "Did you…have a nightmare?"

She feels him nod. "I…I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Henry."

"I didn't mean to wake you up. I'm sor…"

"Don't apologize," she says quickly, pulling back so that she can kneel in front of him. "Please don't apologize to me."

He nods, but he looks away. "I…I had a dream that…that…they came back for me." He blinks and wipes the back of his hand over his eyes, pushing away his tears. "They found me and took me back."

"Who found you?"

"My…my foster parents." He swallows. "They were so mad…madder."

"Oh, Henry…" She murmurs as she pulls him back to her. "You're safe here. I promise."

"What if they find me? What if…"

"That's not going to happen," she interjects. "They're not a part of your life anymore—and they never will be." She presses a kiss to his temple. "Not ever again."

He nods as his tears continue, but he hugs her, his little fingers clinging to the back of her pajama top. "They were so mad at me…"

"Henry, I promise you, they can't hurt you anymore."

He pulls back. "What if the adoption doesn't work? What if I have to go back?"

She sighs, "That won't happen."

"But, what if…"

"It won't."

"What if they come here and…"

"Henry, I promise you, you are safe here. I won't let anyone hurt you—not ever." Slowly, she stands, careful not to break contact with him. "Now, come on," she says. "You can sleep in here tonight—that is, if you want to."

His eyes widen a little and his bottom lip catches in his teeth. "You…won't be mad that I'm not sleeping in my new room?"

"Not at all," she says easily, guiding him into her bedroom and helping him into bed before sliding in beside him. His small frame cuddles into her side and her arm folds around him, her heart breaking as she thinks of how few times someone has been there to comfort him, about the way he trembled and the fear that rested in his teary eyes. She pulls the blanket around him. "Are you comfortable?"

"Yeah," he replies quietly, sniffling again as he bats his hand over his tear-streaked cheeks.

Her eyes close and she takes a breath, hating that there's so much fear built up inside of him and wishing more than anything his life experiences had been different. She rubs his back until she feels his breathing steadying, his tears stopping as he starts to drift to sleep. There's a lump at the back of her throat and she tries to push away her guilt, and instead focus on giving him a better life now, on giving what he needs to be happy. Opening her eyes, she peers down, watching as he sleeps against her and instinctively, a smile forms on her lips. "I love you, Henry."

"I love you, too," he murmurs in barely audible, groggy whisper.

And then, the fight against herself becomes futile and she can no longer stop her tears—but at least they're happy tears.