Meant to Be Yours

by grayautumnsky13

On a weekend trip to New York City, Regina Mills finds a little boy named Henry living on the street after running away from an abusive foster home.

14. Chapter 14

Taking a breath, Regina knots her robe and reaches for a towel, staring blankly into the mirror as she towel-dries her hair. It was just after five in the morning, and she was still undecided about whether or not she'd go into her office and check a few quick tasks off of her to-do list. And while she knew that was the practical and responsible thing to do, Henry had the day off from school and she couldn't help but be tempted by the idea of a lazy morning with him. She continued her debate has she ran a smoothing solution through her hair, even though she knew in her heart of hearts her mind was already made up.

Stepping back into her bedroom, she was startled by the overhead light, flinching at the brightness before her eyes settled on Henry, sitting with his legs folded beneath him at the foot of her bed.

"Sorry, to scare you," he murmurs with a guilty little grin. "I heard the shower and I couldn't sleep."

"Oh," she breathes out, as she crosses the room to sit beside him. "What's the matter?"

Henry just shrugged his shoulders and sighed—and he didn't need to do more than that for her to understand what he wasn't telling her.

Since that almost perfect Saturday they spent with Robin and Roland at the amusement park and zoo in York, things had been tense. She and Robin tried to make light of things, tried to cut down on the tension and the awkwardness, and they tried to pretend that nothing had changed for the benefit of the boys, but of course, they'd picked up on it nearly as soon as they returned to them on the bench. Robin had swung Roland up onto his shoulders and she'd taken Henry by the hand and they jumped almost immediately into a conversation about rides and animals—and brief moments, it did feel normal. But as soon as the boys' voices would stop, the silence settled in, practically screaming until either Henry or Roland filled the void with another story or antidote and by the time they'd reached her car, there was an uncomfortable silence. When they'd gotten back to the hotel and the boys had changed into their pajamas and stretched out on the beds to watch a movie, Robin had gone out to the balcony, while she'd busied herself with making sure their things were packed—and every now and then, Roland and Henry would exchange puzzled glances as they looked between their parents, who pretended not to see their confusion.

"I miss Robin and Roland," he admits quietly. "It's been days since we've seen them."

"I know…"

"Did something happen?"

She blinks and sighs as her arm wraps around his shoulders, and she's still not sure how to answer that question—and she's still not entirely sure where she and Robin stand.

"Hey…" she murmured as she stepped out onto the balcony, shivering as she wrapped her arms around herself as the cool November air surrounded her.

"You should go back in," Robin murmured, turning his head to look at her. "It's freezing."

"I'm fine," she replied as her ran her hands over her arms. "I just… thought maybe we should… talk."

"At least get a coat first," he'd sighed as he turned—and when she didn't move, he took off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. "So, what is it that you want to talk about?"

"Robin…"she murmured with an incredulous look—there was only one thing to talk about.

"What?" He blinked. "I'm not going to pretend to know what's going through your head. If one thing was made perfectly clear to me tonight, it's that I have no idea how to read you."

She wasn't sure how to respond to that because one of the things that made it so easy to be in his company was that he could read her, that they fit so well together, that there was a connection between them that she couldn't quite explain—but then, she had to remind herself, all of that was based on a lie.

"I'm sorry," he'd said to fill the silence. "That… probably wasn't fair."

"It was," she'd replied in a small voice. And then he'd looked at her with those piercing blue eyes that always managed to see through her—and she wondered what he now saw. "You didn't misread anything, though. I meant what I said earlier—this isn't about you, it's about me."

"Regina, that doesn't make sense."

"It does, though—or it would if you knew the whole story."

"Then enlighten me."

"I… can't."

"Why?" He demanded as he took a step toward her. "I want to understand—because right now, I don't. I don't understand at all. I don't understand how we went from… where we were just a few hours ago to here." He blinked and once more, her words failed her—they failed her because the only thing she could say was the truth and she knew the truth wasn't just unbelievable, it would only succeed in driving the wedge deeper. For years, she'd been so careful and refused to let anyone get too close because the pain of being alone was far better than the pain of being rejected—at least her loneliness had been a choice. "Regina, you need to help me to understand this…"

"I can't…"

"Why not?"

"Because I…" she sighed and pressed her eyes closed and willed her tears not to fall. "Because as angry and hurt as you are right now, you don't hate me."

"What?"

"I couldn't stand that…"

"Why do you think I'd hate you?"

She could only shrug her shoulders. "Just a well-informed hunch…"

"Regina, that's… crazy."

"You have no idea how accurate that is."

"Regina!"

"I'm sorry."

"Is it Graham?"

"What?" She asked as her eyes flew open. "No…"

"Because…"

"No," she's quick to say. "It's not about him."

"Someone else?"

"No," she says again. "It's just… me." She shrugs her shoulders. "I'm not the person I let you believe I am."

"And who do you think I think you are?"

"A small town mayor who adopted a little boy out of the goodness of her heart, and…"

"Regina, that is who you are!"

"No, it's… it's only a part. A small part. The good part."

"You're not making any sense…"

"I know," she says with a deflated sigh. "I know…"

Taking a breath, Henry looked up at her with a furrowed brow and sad eyes. She watches as he hesitated chewing at his bottom lip as he fumbled with his fingers. "Did I… do something?"

"What?"

"Did I make them mad or…"

"No," she cuts in quickly as she feels a stabbing of guilt at her core as she presses a reassuring kiss to the top of Henry's head. "Robin and I just need… a little space to figure things out."

"Space?"

"Yeah…"

"Space isn't a good thing."

"That's… not always true."

"My foster mom's sister always said she needed space when she broke up with whatever boyfriend she had that week." He sighs. "Space was never good."

Once more, she's at a loss for words. There's a hollow feeling in her chest and she's tired. She hasn't slept in days—and it's more than just the situation with Robin. As much as that hurts, she knows what's coming—in a few months, his memories will start to fade and by summer, they'll be gone completely; and to him, she'll never have been a part of his life. But with Henry, she doesn't have that same luxury. There won't be a reset. His memories won't fade away. And the real pain and loss he feels isn't temporary.

And that points to the bigger problem of the curse and how to break it.

The curse itself had been uncharted territory, something that no one had ever done before her; and because of that, there were no clear rules for breaking it—the only thing she understands about it is that Henry's birthmother should play a part, that it's her destiny to break the curse. But that would involve bringing her to Strorybrooke, inviting her into Henry's life and potentially upset the stability he's starting to feel, and she wonders if she'd be doing more harm than good; and she wonders if there's possibly another way—and she hopes that there is.

"I guess we'll just have to… wait and see."

"Yeah…" Henry sighs as he nods and turns to look at her. "Are you going to work today?"

"I… don't know."

"You shouldn't."

"No?"

"No," he says, as a small smile pulls onto his lips. "I think we should read Harry Potter."

"Of course you do," she says with a little laugh.

"We're at a really good part…"

"We are…" She agrees as she gets up off the bed and offers him her hand, grinning as he takes it. "So, what do you say we do some reading and then have breakfast at Granny's."

"Waffles?"

"If you want…"

Henry leads her out of her room and down the hall to his, and they cuddle up together on his bed. Regina reaches for the copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone that sits on his nightstand, opening it up to the bookmarked page that begins the tenth chapter. She reads about the Halloween feast—from the magical decorations to the spirited feelings to Professor Quill's warning, and when she glances down at Henry, his hazel eyes are sparkling and she can practically see him imagining each and every detail.

"It'd be so cool if magic like that actually existed," he'd murmured as she paused to turn the page.

"Yeah?" She's asked as her breath caught in her chest, fluttering and aching as Henry looked up at her.

"Yeah," he'd said with a nod before cuddling closer. "It would be." And that innocent and unknowing comment gives her just the smallest shred of hope.

She and Henry were seated in a booth by the window, and there was a plate of waffles between them. They'd ordered all sorts of toppings as sides—and though she was content with just the cinnamon apple sauce, she couldn't help but grin as Henry experimented. He mixed fruits and syrups, his pallet undeterred by switching between combinations like maple syrup and blueberry glaze or whipped cream and sliced peaches.

It was just after eight and despite the below-freezing temperature, it was a bright and sunny day-before-thanksgiving. Eventually, the conversation shifted from waffles and Harry Potter to that afternoon's elementary school pageant—and though Henry told her that he just wanted to get it over with, every time he talked about it his eyes sparkled with excitement and he fidgeted with anticipation.

"Dining alone?" Ruby asked as she delivered the bell.

"I'm not sure that I'd classify breakfast with my son as dining alone."

"Oh, I just meant that you're Locksley-less today. For the past few months, it's always been the four of you."

Regina let out a short breath as Henry's smile faded at the reminder and she felt a familiar knot forming in her stomach as a tight smile pulled onto her lips. "Well, today it's just the two of us."

"Oh," Ruby murmured as Granny looked up from the counter. "I'm sorry, I… I didn't mean to…"

"Its fine," Regina interjects as she takes the check from the waitress. "Really. Don't worry about it." She takes a breath as she slides from the booth and looks toward the counter—and her stomach drops when she sees Graham sitting at the counter with his eyebrow arched and a smug, satisfied smile stretched across his face.

"I'm going to use the bathroom before we go," Henry murmurs as he slips past her, and she sighs and nods as she watches him walk toward the back of the diner as she moves toward the counter to pay.

"So, the good and noble Robin Locksley finally got tired of you."

"That's none of your business."

"Oh, come on, Regina," Graham says as he leans beside her. "You and I both know that was doomed from the start."

"You don't know anything…"

"This little game you're playing is nothing more than a farce."

"My life is…" she sighs, unable to push out that last word because deep down, she knows that he's right. Her life is a farce, and no matter how often she denies it, it doesn't make it any less true. "…none of your business."

"It used to be."

"But it's not anymore."

"Come on, Regina," he says, reaching out and running his fingers over the back of her hand. "You knew this would happen. Why don't you stop by tonight… around ten… I'll take your mind off of it."

She blinks as she finally looks at him. "I don't think so. I'm not going to leave my son for…"

"Then I'll come to you."

"No."

"How long has it been?"

"I don't know," she retorts. "I haven't been counting."

"You miss me. You miss us. Admit it."

"There's nothing to admit…"

"Regina, come on. You know you want me to come over tonight," Graham murmurs in a low voice.

She feels heat rising at the back of her neck and her anger bubbling just beneath the surface, and she wants nothing more than to smack him away, but she doesn't want to make a scene—especially not one that Henry might see—so instead she slowly withdraws her hand.

"No, I don't want you to."

"Regina. You and I both know you're going to change your mind. You always do, so why put up such a protest?"

"I don't believe you understand the meaning of the word 'no,' Sheriff." Regina turns to see Robin standing behind her. Roland is standing beside him, loosely holding onto his hand and wearing his corn stalk costume, unaware of the tension between the two men. Swallowing hard, she looks between Robin and Graham, watching how intensely Robin watches him—and then slowly, Graham's eyes roll. "Regina's made herself perfectly clear, and I'm no expert of the law, but your persistence is sounding an awful lot like harassment."

Regina swallows as she looks between them and then Graham's hand withdraws from her and he straightens. "Call me if you change your mind."

"I won't…" And then he turns away from her and she watches him go. "Thank you for that," she murmurs awkwardly as her attention shifts back to Robin. "You didn't have to…"

"Yes I did," Robin interjects as a slow and sad smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, "Because no matter what happened—or didn't happen—between us, I'll always consider you a friend."

"He misses you," Roland confesses as he looks up at her, and she feels her heart swell with a mix of emotions that she can't quite describe. "He said so this morning."

"Roland…"

"You did say that, though," the little boy says, looking up at his father as he sighs. "When my kernel fell off my costume, you said that Regina would know how to fix it and you missed her."

"Roland, you weren't supposed to be eavesdropping."

Shifting awkwardly, Regina looks down at Robin's son and does her best to change the topic. "A kernel came off your costume?"

Roland nods as he pulls off a piece and holding up the large yellow kernel that's back is covered in duct tape. "Daddy said I should just be popped corn."

She can't help but laugh as she takes the kernel from Roland and twirls her fingers around the thread that had once held it to his costume. "Well, I don't think pilgrims had popcorn with their Thanksgiving dinner, but I can fix this."

"Can you?"

"Yeah," she says with a confident nod, reaching for Roland's hand as she leads him over to the booth she and Henry had just left. "Hold still, okay?" She murmurs as she rummages through her purse, pulling out a needle and thread and looping it through the yellow kernel, then through Roland's yellow sweatshirt. "Henry had a similar wardrobe malfunction this morning."

Roland just grins and from the corner of her eye she sees Henry emerge from the bathroom—and Robin immediately hugs him into his side, whispering that he's missed him and asking how his last math test went. And once more, that indescribable feeling rises in her chest—and it amazes her how easy it is to miss someone whose right in front of her.

"There we go," she murmurs, tugging on the now-secure kernel. "All set."

"Thank you," Roland says too loudly as he leans forward and wraps his arms around her neck. Instinctively, she hugs him back, holding Robin's son close to her—and when he doesn't pull away from her, Robin reaches out and gently takes Roland by the hand. "Come on, Roland, we should go."

And that's when she notices the tattoo.

Her breath catches and she immediately tenses and the shield-like, blackened tattoo with a lion at the center—the tattoo that's seared into her memory, the tattoo of the man she'd been told would be her soul mate so many years before in what was another life. Her heart begins to race wildly and no matter what she does, she can't take her eyes off of it. Swallowing hard, she stands up on shaky legs and when she finally looks to Robin, he's watching her with narrowed, curious eyes.

"I just, um… I never noticed your tattoo."

"Oh," he murmurs, looking down at his arm. "Yeah, I guess it usually gets covered up by my sleeves."

"Yeah," she replies in a near whisper as her eyes cast down once more to look at the tattoo, and suddenly so much of their attraction to one another makes sense—the nearly instant comfort between them and the easy rapport, the way they just sort of fit into almost seamlessly into each other's lives as if they were always meant to be there. "How, um, long have you had it?" She asks, needing something to fill the awkward silence that's fallen between them.

"For my entire adult life," Robin muses, glancing quickly at his arm. "Some fathers buy their sons cars for their sixteenth birthdays or maybe give them a savings bond for college. Mine had me branded."

"Oh," she laughs, nodding as she once more looks at the tattoo—and noticing the glances the boys exchange. "I guess, um, we should get going. We're supposed to be at the school soon to help set up."

"Yeah," Robin says with a nod. "We were just going to grab a quick bite to eat before heading over."

"Then, I guess we'll see you two there."

"You will," Robin confirms with a nod and a soft smile as he reaches for Roland's hand.

As she and Henry make their way to the door, she looks back over her shoulder and smiles as Robin lifts Roland onto one of the stools at the counter and orders his breakfast sandwich with spinach. At that she smiles, thinking back to the sandwich she'd made for him—and then she catches herself off guard when she finds herself thinking that, perhaps, once again fate had intervened and perhaps he could really love her—after all, she'd been told time and time again, that pixie dust never lied.

The elementary school's Harvest performance was nothing short of adorable. The kids sang and dance in their homemade costumes, and even she had to give credit to Mary-Margaret Blanchard for putting together such a cute performance. As much as Henry complained about it, she could tell that he was enjoying himself and her heart always warmed when watched him interacting with his classmates, looking so confident and content and so much more secure than he'd been at the start of the year.

Earlier in the fall, they'd purchased their tickets together—and somehow, it still managed to surprise her when Robin sat down beside her just before the curtain rose, awkwardly handing her a Styrofoam cup of complimentary coffee. Her stomach fluttered and he avoided eye contact, both busying themselves in the play's program and sipping their coffees. But once the curtain lifted and the music began, the tension eased and they had something real to distract them. Between the two of them, they took enough photographs to fill an entire album, and for the duration of the hour-long performance, they managed to forget that things were supposed to feel awkward between them.

When the play ends and each grade trots onto the stage holding hands to take a bow, she feels an emptiness settling in chest, and she knows they'll be parting ways soon. It takes her aback that he can calm her just by being close to her, and how much it hurts to think she doesn't know the next time they'll be this close. Turning her head, she watches as he claps and awkwardly fumbles with his camera trying to get one last picture before the kids leave the stage—and on his wrist, she can't help but notice the bracelet on his wrist. She smiles faintly at the memory of sliding it onto his wrist, her heart thumping in her chest as she smiled at her small victory—and then, another through occurs to her.

And she suddenly realizes what the first step in breaking the curse will be.

When she'd been working to find a way to get them over the town line, she'd prepared a familiar potion, that would allow her to wipe their minds of them memory if crossing the town line hadn't worked. She'd poured it into a little a little bottle and no sooner than she corked it, the guilt settled in the pit of her stomach and she knew she couldn't use it—but she'd kept it anyway.

She wasn't sure why she kept it, but as she looked over at Robin, she knew exactly why—and she wondered if once more fate wasn't trying to tell her something.

"Do you, um, want to come over?"

"What?" He asks, turning to her as they both stood up.

"Henry and I made cookie dough, but never actually made the cookies. The boys could bake them and… we could… talk."

"I don't know if that's such a good idea."

"Please," she insists, her voice more urgent than she wanted it to be.

"I told you earlier that I still want to be your friend, but I am going to need a little more time to lick my wounds."

"I understand," she says with a short nod. "But…" She takes a deep breath as her stomach churns. "There's… something I need to tell you and I need to do it before I lose my nerve and if I don't do it tonight, I don't know that I ever will."

For a moment, he doesn't say anything. He just stares at her as her eyes plead with him to agree—and then finally, he gave in, nodding as he told her that he would come over, but he wanted to take Roland home to change first. She'd smiled and nodded and told him to meet her at her house by noon, and she'd offered him a odd smile as they parted ways to collect their children.

On the drive home, she was quiet, but Henry didn't seem to notice. Instead, he chattered on about the play and how it was more fun than he'd expected. He told her a story about when he was in first grade and he'd thrown up just before a little concert, and her heart had broken that he'd been relieved that no one had been there to see it—and that his nervousness got him out of playing Mary Had a Little Lambon his recorder.

When they got back to the house, Henry was still chattering on; but his rambling had moved onto happier topics as he wondered if they could rent the first Harry Potter movie after they finished the first book. She'd easily agreed as she hung up their coats and he followed her to the kitchen, speculating about what details would be left out and change—and his brow furrowed as she got out the cookie dough from the night before.

"Are we baking?"

"Well, I thought we'd soften up the dough."

"Why?"

"Robin and Roland are coming over," she said dismissively, too nervous to get her hopes up. "I thought you and Roland might want to make them and decorate them for tomorrow."

"Did you guys make up? Are they still coming over for Thanksgiving dinner? Are we going to the community center with them to serve dinner? Or are…"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Regina cuts in, laughing a little as she unwraps the dough, "Don't get too ahead of yourself. There's, um… just something I need to talk to Robin about."

"But talking is a good thing."

"I hope so."

"It is," Henry insists with all the wisdom of an eight-year old.

"We'll see," she tells him with a soft grin as her stomach flutters. "Can you get the food coloring from the cabinet?"

Henry nods and hops off the stool, opening the cabinet where the baking supplies are kept. "Should we use Thanksgiving colors?"

"Yeah. Sure," she tells him with a nod as she collects the rest of the ingredients for her frosting recipe, needing something to do to quell her nerves as she waited for Robin and Roland, and needing something to do to distract her from changing her mind.

The distraction works and before she knows it, the doorbell is ringing and Henry is running excitedly to the door. She follows him, wringing her hands in the kitchen towel and smiling nervous at Robin as Henry invites them. Henry quickly leads Roland to the kitchen, and she leads Robin up to her study. His brow furrows as they enter and she motions for him to sit the table where a tea set is waiting.

"You… invited me over for tea."

"Well, kind of," she murmurs. "It's… more complicated than that. I just thought the tea might help."

"It usually does," he agrees as he sits down and watches her curiously as she tries to figure out how to begin…

When they opened the door, Henry was exhausted, promptly dropping down his bag and heading upstairs for a nap. She'd kissed the top of his head as he went, setting her own bag beside his as she exhaled a long breath, and tried to wrap her head around the gauntlet of emotions she'd felt in the last twenty four hours.

She'd been terrified and relieved, content and nervous, and in a moment that should have been all about happiness and love, all she felt was guilt and regret. She knew that she hurt Robin—and in doing so, she was hurting two innocent children. She'd kicked off her shoes and stepped down into the living room, flopping back on the couch as groan escaped her and she wondered how she'd managed to screw things up so badly. And then, as she laid on the couch a leather-bound book caught her eye.

She hadn't seen it before, but assumed it was one of Henry's—he was always bringing home books from the school library and had penchant for leaving things around the house. She traced her fingers over the gold titled that was painted onto the front, then opened the front cover, expecting to see a children's story, but instead she saw herself.

Her eyes widened and her stomach dropped and her heart began to beat faster and faster as she turned the pages, her eyes skimming over the story of her life and illustrations of her in Evil Queen's regalia. She'd slammed the book shut as tears welled in her eyes and she wondered if Henry had seen it. Slowly, she pulled it into her lap and her hands shook as she turned the pages, looking at illustrations of the villages she burned and the lives she mercilessly took—and the life she'd left behind her came flooding back. Hugging the book to her chest, she inhaled a sharp breath as she stood up. Her knees wobbled and her hands shook as she carried the book up to her office and locked it in her desk.

Reaching out, she pour him a cup of the tea—tea laced with a potion that would allow him to remember, that would allow him to remember who he really was and where he came from, that would allow him to see her for who she really was. He watched the way her hands shook and she could feel him looking at her—but despite his gaze, she refused to look at him because as hard as all of this was, she knew she wouldn't be able to stand him looking at her like the monster she was and she didn't want him to see how terrified she was that he'd no longer be able to love her.

"I told you that I'm… I'm not who you think I am," she tells him as she goes to her desk, sitting down and turning the key in the drawer where she'd hidden the book.

"I remember…"

"And I thought, I should explain what I meant by that." She inhales a deep breath as she withdraws the heavy, leather-bound book. "There's a good chance you won't believe me if I tell you, that you'd think I was crazy…"

"Regina, you're not really making sense here. Why would I think…"

"Just look," she says as she hands him the book, her stomach dropping as the weight of it transfers from his hands. Her eyes pinch shut as she hears the pages turn—but he says nothing. "Notice anything?"

"The illustrations… they look… like people in this town," he murmurs, his voice full of confusion. "Was the author or illustrator or whatever from Storybrooke?" She looks up, watching as his brow creases and he turns another page. "Everyone is in here."

"They are," she says, pushing herself from the edge of the desk and sitting down beside him. "But the creator of that book wasn't from Storybrooke."

"Then, where…"

"Drink the tea," she says, pushing the cup toward him.

"What?"

"Just do it."

"Regina, this doesn't…"

"It will."

"Regina…"

"Drink it," she urges as he looks up at her—and quickly, she looks away, needing desperately for him to understand because only then will it be possible for him to one day forgive her and one day move past it. "Please."

"O-okay," he murmurs. A moment later she hears the tea cup lift from the saucer and she holds her breath, bracing herself for his reaction—but a reaction never comes. Her eyes open and she looks at him, watching as he stares almost blankly down at the book, likely processing what it all means. She tries to say his name, tries to reach out to him, but she finds herself rooted in place, unable to speak or to move; and all she can do is listen as the minutes tick away on the clock and wait helplessly.

"You… cursed us here," he says finally, in a small and faint voice. "You actually succeeded."

"It took… years," she murmurs. "I thought it would…"

"Take away the happy endings," he supplies. "You thought it would make everyone as miserable as you were."

"Yes," she replies in a barely audible voice.

"You're the Evil Queen and I'm…" He blinks as he finally looks up—and no sooner than he does, she looks away. "And I'm Robin Hood."

"Yes," she hears herself say, still rooted her place and waiting for the real reaction.

Downstairs, she can hear Roland and Henry laughing. She hears the over timer sound and she can hear the faint sound of Henry explaining to Roland that they'll have to be careful when the cookies come out of the oven, that they're hot and if they touch them, they'll burn their fingers.

"Did it work?"

"What?"

"Did you get what you wanted?"

She swallows, glancing up at him briefly—she doesn't know how to answer the question. The curse isn't at all what she'd anticipated, and though she can barely admit it, she'd been used as Rumplestiltskin's pawn. The curse was never really about her or what would bring her happiness, it had always been about him. But she'd been led to believe otherwise. In some ways it had worked, but the people she'd wanted to punish had found ways to be happy in their new lives, and for most of the cursed years, she'd been just as lonely and miserable as she'd been before. While those cured years had been absolutely miserable for her, they'd also brought Henry to her and because of that—because of her son—she found herself happier than she'd ever been.

"That's complicated."

"And that's an understatement." She blinks, once more looking up at him to find him staring out into the room, still grappling with his new found understanding. "Why did you… let me remember?"

"Because," she murmurs. "You deserved to know."

"Doesn't everyone? Doesn't everyone deserve to know who they are?"

"Yes," she admits in a hoarse voice.

And then another long silence falls between them. She isn't sure what she expected from him, but it wasn't this. She didn't expect him to be so quiet or reserved, and she didn't think she'd have to question what he was thinking or feeling, she assumed that would be clear. But she doesn't dare ask or interrupt the silence; instead, she leaves him with his thoughts and waits.

"I don't believe this," he murmurs. "All these years…"

"I know, and I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" He repeats as his voice piques in surprise. "You're sorry."

"Yes…"

"For what?"

Taking a breath, she thinks about the pixie dust and the tattoo and the stupid fairy's words about ruining the life of her soul mate—words she hadn't believed until very recently. "I… I ruined your life. I ruined everyone's lives…"

"You think you ruined my life?" He asks, scoffing at the notion as he stands and paces around the room. "Are you serious, Regina?"

Blinking, she swallows the hardening lump at back of her throat and looks up at him—and finally, their eyes meet. "Aren't I the monster who ruined your life? Who gave you all of those sad memories, who ripped you away from your home, and stole your son's future?"

"The woman I know is the farthest thing from a monster," he says as he takes a few strides toward her and before she can process his words, his hands a sliding across her cheeks and into her hair and he's drawing her closer to him. His lips touch hers and her arms go up around him, slowly clasping around his shoulders as he pulls her up and into a kiss.

Her head spins until she's dizzy and breathless—and finally, when he pulls back, a small grin stretches onto his lips. "I've wanted to do that for months," he murmurs and takes a step back. The back of his hand brushes over her cheek as she tries to catch her breath and find her voice. "So are we still on for dinner tomorrow?"

"What?" she murmurs as she looks up at him. "Dinner?"

"Thanksgiving is tomorrow and we had tentative plans to have dinner."

"Oh…right…"

"You forgot…"

"No, not, um, just…" Her cheeks flush. "This is a lot to process."

"You're telling me," he replies with a soft grin that somehow manages to set her at ease.

"Are you, um, serving dinner at the community center this year?"

"No," he says definitively. "I was going but, I want to do something different this year." A slight chuckle rises into his voice and there's a glint of something she can't quite place in his eyes. "I'm tired of doing the same thing over and over again. I think it's time to do something a little different." He offers her a wink and leans in, dropping a quick kiss onto her cheek. "I'll see you tomorrow, and I'll bring the turkey."

She nods and watches him go—and all she can do is stare at the space where he'd just stood as relief washes over her and for the second time that day, she feels hopeful that end of the curse won't be her downfall.

After Roland and Robin left, she finished helping Henry decorate the cookies they'd made. They had a light dinner of fondue—and she felt so relaxed and at ease, watching Henry dip chunks of bread and various vegetables into the melted cheese with a little stick shaped like a sword. After dinner, they played a few math games with legos to review for an upcoming test, and after his shower, they cuddled up on the couch and finished Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. She'd carried him up to bed and tucked him in, kissing his forehead before turning on the night light and closing the door—and once more, that feeling of hope began to bubble up within her.

By the next day, the table was set and she and Henry spent the morning preparing food. They'd taken a quick break to go rent the first of the Harry Potter movies, then returned for more cooking. Henry set the table and just after noon, Robin and Roland arrive on the doorstep, carrying a foil-covered turkey in a roasting pan. Roland had a little bag which she soon discovered contained an herb de province olive oil and fresh sprigs of thyme.

"Can I borrow your oven?" He asks, stepping into the house as Roland hands her the bag and Henry invites him upstairs to play The Legend of Zelda. She nods as the boys run upstairs, and she follows Robin into the kitchen, listening as he explains to her that as the was cleaning and prepping the turkey, he realized that he could just as easily cook it in her kitchen rather than in his own, quickly confessing that it was just an excuse to see her and that in the hours he spent away from her, he'd missed her.

Her cheeks flush and he grins as he slides rubs the oil over the turkey, then slides it into the oven and sets the timer—and then, they're left to wait.

"Do you want anything?" She asks. "Wine or… water or…"

"Is it okay that I kissed you?"

"What?" she asks, turning to him with wide eyes, momentarily wondering if he has regrets.

"Yesterday, I kissed you and…"

"I remember…"

"I just did it; I acted on impulse and…"

"I also remember that I kissed you back."

"Yeah," he nods as he offers her a sheepish grin. "I remember that part, too."

"I was glad you did it," she admits as she reaches for a bottle of wine. "I was a little surprised though."

"Why?"

She blinks up at him as she reaches for two glasses. "Well. I'm…"

"The Evil Queen."

"Yeah…"

His eyes narrow as he reaches for the corkscrew and hands it to her, leaning his back onto the counter beside her. "I've been thinking a lot about that title and I don't know that it's fair."

"It's fair," she says with a slight nod. "I am—or was—exactly that."

"I don't know," he murmurs in reply as she pours the wine. "Bold and audacious, sure. A shrewd and calculated ruler, absolutely. But, evil… that just doesn't add up to me."

"You don't know all of my story."

"I don't believe anyone knows your whole story," he replies as she hands him one of the glasses. "And I think it's likely a lot more complicated than you care to admit."

"Well, you could read about it in that storybook that's upstairs. We've got a few hours for that turkey to cook."

"No," he murmurs, slowly shaking his head. "Not now, at least, and I'd much rather wait for you to share it with me rather than reading someone else's version of it," he tells her as he takes a slow sip of his wine. "And I don't need to read those stories to know that underneath your carefully crafted façade is a person who deserves to be happy, to be loved—a person whose heart has been broken over and over, but still beats, a person whose resilient and has spent a lifetime rebuilding her life into to something she should be proud of."

"How do you know that?"

"You forget I lived through your reign. And, your reputation supersedes you."

"Oh. Right," she murmurs in reply. "But you… really believe that… that I deserve to be happy."

"I really believe that," he tells her with a sincere nod. "You didn't ruin anyone's life with this curse, Regina—not mine or my son's or even Mary-Margaret Blanchard's. And you didn't ruin your own."

"No?"

"No."

"You seem awfully sure about that. What about… the life you left behind? What about all those memories you've had to live with for all these years, those painful memories that I gave you?"

He sighs and a slight smile edges onto his lips, and she watches as takes a short sip of his wine. "I rather enjoy having things like indoor plumbing and centralized heating. I like that when my son is sick, I can give him medicine that makes his feel better. I like that I have purpose in this life, that I can be a man my son can look up to, that I can leave him something that will make his life better. And as for those painful memories, you gave me ones that were much kinder than the truth." Before she can even form a reply, he leans in and drops a feathery kiss onto her cheek. "And had it not been for that curse, you and I might never have found each other and I really can't fathom my life without you and Henry in it. So, yes, I am very sure that this curse didn't ruin anything."

"Well, as long as you're sure," she murmurs, offering him a sheepish grin as she takes a quick sip of her wine. "And since you're sure, I suppose it's safe to admit that… I… feel the same way that your do."

"About the curse?"

"And other things," she admits as a lopsided grin forms on her lips as she struggles to push out the words she's been holding onto for months.

"Other things," he repeats as a smile spreads across his lips and she catches as her bottom lip catches between her teeth as she continues to grapple with her words. "You don't have to say it, you know."

"I know," she nods. "But I want to—I want to tell that I love you because I… do, and it's been so long since I've felt like this about anyone and before, I didn't say it enough… and…" She sighs as her cheeks flush, realizing she's just stumbled through her confession. "And now I'm just rambling."

"Cut yourself some slack," he tells her in a soft voice as he reaches for her hand and gives it a little squeeze. "And speaking of cutting—we've got some carrots to dice up and glaze."

He offers her a quick wink and turns away from as he pulls a cutting board from the dish rack and she turns to the refrigerator to retrieve the carrots—and just like that, everything feels normal between them.

They finish preparing the dinner—mashed potatoes and maple glazed carrots, rosemary and thyme stuffing and creamed Brussels sprouts with cranberry relish, and a sweet potato casserole with a gooey marshmallow topping. There are fresh baked rolls and a cranberry spinach salad—and of course, an apple crumble pie and overly frosted sugar cookies for desert.

The boys eat their weight and then some—and by the end of the meal everything is stacked on the counter. Roland and Henry go into the living, spreading out blankets on the floor as Henry puts in the first Harry Potter movie and Roland beams with excitement. Regina finds herself in the kitchen, staring at the mess of half-eaten food and long-forgotten pans and used plates, and she takes a breath and slowly exhales it, wishing more than anything she could wave her hand an make it all go away.

"You're not doing this now," Robin murmurs as he comes into the kitchen. "The movie's starting and the boys are asking for you."

"Oh, I… I'll be in after I clean this up."

"It can wait," Robin insists.

"But it'll bother me and…"

"Regina," he cuts in as his hand slips over her hip, causing her voice to halt and her thoughts to become very muddled. "It's Thanksgiving and you admittedly haven't slept in days."

"How did you know that?"

"You told me," he grins. "When I was making the cranberry dressing for the salad."

"Oh…I was exaggerating," she says dismissively.

"No you weren't. I can tell." She blinks as she looks up at him. "It's in your eyes." He presses his fingers gently into the fabric of her skirt. "Henry said you've been looking forward to this movie since you finished the book."

"We finished the book yesterday…"

"Still…" He urges, once more pressing at her hip and making it difficult to argue. "We can clean up afterward."

She sighs and nods, and takes his hand to lead him back to the darkened living room. Her heart warms at the sight of Henry and Roland laying on their stomach atop of an oversized fleece blanket with a plate of sugar cookies between them. Robin sits down first and opens his arm to her—and she takes a breath before sitting beside him. She pulls a blanket over their laps and arm folds around her shoulders, and by the time first scene ends, her head is on his shoulder and her eyes are growing heavy…

"Regina," she hears a voice call. "Regina, wake up." She flinches as hand falls on her forearm and her eyes fly open, and for a brief moment the room feels completely dark. Her heart is racing and she can feel beads of sweat on her forehead. There's an unbearable ache in her stomach and she can feel the tear tracks on her cheeks—and then Robin comes into focus.

She pulls herself up and looks around, looking to the floor where the boys had just been laying and then to the TV screen that was now darkened. "Wh-what happened?"

"I think you were having a nightmare."

"No," she lies. "I just… I just dozed off."

"Four hours ago."

"No…" Robin nods and turns his wrist toward her, showing her his watch face and showing her that it's well past eleven. "Oh. Oh god…"

"It's okay."

"I… how much did you…" She sighs and her shoulders slump forward, and she rubs her hand roughly over her face as Leopold's laugh drifts further and further away, retreating back into the recesses of her memory. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," he's quick to say. "Are you… okay."

"Yeah, I just… I have this dream sometimes…"

"A nightmare."

"No…"

"Henry told me."

"Oh," she murmurs as she looks up at him. "What did he… say?"

"Just that you have nightmares sometimes," he says softly as he reached out and tucks a straying stand of hair behind her ear. "Do you… want to talk about it."

"Not particularly."

"Okay," he tells her with a nod. "But if you want to, I'm here to listen."

"Thanks," she murmurs groggily as she stretches out her arms and pulls herself up. "I just… need some water." Robin nods and walks beside her. "Hopefully I can track down a clean…" Her voice halts as he flicks on a brighter light and she looks around at the nearly immaculate kitchen. Dishes are drying in the rack and the dishwasher is humming softly. There are new towels hanging from the stove and in front of the sink and granite counter top shines in the light—and on the stove is pot that smells of milk and honey. "Is that…"

"Henry said this helps."

"He did?"

"Not tonight. He didn't know anything about tonight's nightmare. He and Roland are upstairs trying pretty unsuccessfully to build Hogwarts out of legos, but that night you two stayed over, he… told me this might happen and that honeyed milk helps."

Tears brim in her eyes as she slowly turns back to him. "It does…"

"Okay, then I'll get you a cup."

She watches as Robin pulls out one of the stools for her and then fills a cup with warm honeyed milk before sitting down beside her—and when he extends it to her, she can't help but notice his tattoo. "You… didn't have to do all this."

"Oh, it was nothing."

"I mean the kitchen. The kitchen was a bit more than nothing. " She takes a breath as she looks up at him—for so many years, she'd been alone. Even before the curse, she'd never had someone who was just there, who did little things to make her smile and make her feel like she mattered. And she can't help but wonder how differently her life would have turned out had she found him sooner. There were so many missed opportunities—times when she wanted to run away from her mother and the king, times she wanted to leave her marriage and find her own happiness; and there'd once been time when she'd been so close to it, when she'd nearly been close enough to reach out and touch him. Years later, she'd tried again and once more, she'd only been disappointed—and she wonder had any of those times worked of, if any other those opportunities had led to one another, if they'd have been the same people they were now and if that would have made a difference. She looks up at him, momentarily searching his eyes, and wondering if everything they'd been through—together and apart—had led them to this moment of contentment and understanding and finds herself thinking that she likes that thought, that makes everything else feel worthwhile and that those years of bitter loneliness have only made this one sweeter. And perhaps, it really was all about timing—perhaps this was their time.

"I always have the same dream," she begins as she looks down at the honey milk and slowly lifts the cup to sip it. "It was the first year of my marriage…" She trails off momentarily, and watches as his hand slips over hers, holding onto it loosely as he listens intently to a story she's never told.