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.

15. Chapter 15

Regina grins as she looks across the counter where Robin, Roland and Henry are sitting. Roland is sitting on Robin's lap, kicking his feet back and forth impatiently, while Henry stares down at the counter, his brow furrowing as he looks at the colorful rows of candies lined up in front of him.

"I… still don't get it," Henry groans, looking back to a scrap paper that Robin wrote a math problem down on. "Why do there need to be fractions of numbers, anyway? What's wrong with whole numbers? Those are easier."

"They are easier," Robin agrees. "But everything made up of parts, and fractions make up the parts of a whole number." Dropping his face into his hands, Henry sighs audibly—and Regina's grin deepens and her heart flutters as Robin reaches over and rubs his hand over Henry's back. "Okay, let me show you again…"

Glancing quickly back down at the bowl of nearly-mashed potatoes in front of her, she blinks a couple of times as adds a little sour cream and continues to whip them, listening as Robin explains the problem again in a voice that's patient and kind. Looking up, she watched as Henry chews at his bottom lip, obviously struggling to understand and she watches as Robin picks up a pencil, pointing at one of the written fractions and then to the candies, and it makes her heart clench—because if she ever needed a reminder of why she'd taken a chance on him and allowed herself to fall in love, its moments like this that prove that he was worth it.

"So, I can add them because… they're all red."

"Yes."

"And what do they have in common?" Robin asks. "Well, aside from being red."

Henry blinks down at the paper, staring at it for a minute before looking back to Robin. "Um… the number at the bottom is the same."

"Good!" Robin says as grin stretches across his lips. "And what's that number called?"

"The… dominator?"

"Denominator," Robin corrects softly. "So, add them up and…" His voice trails off as Henry takes the pencil, looking between the paper and the candy. "Good…"

"If you're only using the red ones," Roland begins, looking up at Robin with wide eyes. "Can I eat the other colors?"

"No," Robin's quick to say. "The other colors are for other problems."

Roland sighs as his bottom lip pouts out. "How many problems are there?"

"Too many," Henry tells him as he chews at his lip as he struggles through the math problem in front of him.

"So, you need all of the M&Ms?" Roland asks doubtfully, fidgeting with his hands as he tries to resist reaching for the candy just a few inches away. "Every single one?"

"Every single one," Robin says with a nod.

Regina laughs softly as Roland frowns, sighing in disappointment as he throws his head back against Robin's shoulder. "Hey, Roland," she says as she spreads the mashed potatoes atop the shepherd's pie that she's been working on for the better part of the hour. "I'm about to put this in the oven. Do you want to lick the spoon?"

"Really? Can I?" He asks, hopping off Robin's lap and running to the end of the counter toward her as his eyes light up. She grins as she hands him the spoon, and gives Robin a quick wink before lifting the pie from the counter to put it into the oven. "The potatoes are fluffy," Roland giggles. "Like snow."

"Yeah, I guess they do kind of look like snow."

"They taste better, though."

"Do they?"

"Yeah," Roland says with a nod as he licks the spoon. "Snow is just crunchy water. It doesn't taste like much."

"Oh," she says with a little laugh as she sets the timer on the oven. "I… never thought of it that way."

"We learned about it in science this week," Roland tells her as he sighs contently and takes another lick from the spoon. "I hope it snows for Christmas."

"Yeah," Regina murmurs as she closes the oven door and looks back at him. "That would be nice."

"It didn't snow last year," he tells her. "And it always snows in the movies."

"It does always snow in the movies," Henry says with a nod, looking up from his math problem and looking between them all before looking back down. "But then, movies always make Christmas look so perfect."

Regina blinks up at him as Robin turns to look at him, noticing exactly what she does—and she realizes that it's not just her seeing it and her stomach sinks a little. There'd been an edge in Henry's voice and a certain sadness behind his eyes that she'd hoped she was only imagining, and it breaks her heart a little to know that it wasn't all in her head. Though she knows that it's safe to assume that Christmas hadn't been a very happy time in Henry's past, she'd expected him to be just as excited about this holiday as he about Halloween and Thanksgiving, and every other "first" they'd experienced together. But since the Christmas festivities around town started, Henry had shied away from them. He didn't want to watch Christmas movies and he wanted to gloss over the parts about Christmas in the Harry Potter books they were reading together. Very reluctantly, he'd made out a Christmas list and when they decorated the tree he'd been very quiet, as though doing it only to humor her.

"That's because it is perfect," Roland tells him, bringing her back into the present moment. "It's bestday of the whole year." The knot in her stomach tightens as Henry nods, offering Roland a slight and appeasing grin before turning his attention back to the math problem and finds herself wondering just how bad the past seven Christmases were for him and wishing, for what seems like the millionth time, that she could have been stronger and braver and saved him from whatever it was. "Daddy and I are going to see Santa this week," Roland continues, not noticing the way that Henry fidgets nervously at the mentioning of it. "I wonder if he'll remember me from last year…"

"Well, he does see a lot of children this time of year," Robin tells him softly as he looks between Regina and Henry. "But you are a pretty memorable kid… though, I might be a tad bias in that regard."

Regina grins as Roland hands her the now-cleaned spoon. "We're going on Thursday after school."

"We're going on Thursday after dinner," Robin corrects.

"Oh, that'll be fun."

"Yeah! I've got my list ready for him," Roland tells her, his grin deepening as he hands back the spoon. "I was really good this year, so I think I have a pretty good shot at getting everything that's on it." Regina laughs a little as Robin grimaces, but once again her eyes shift to Henry, who's staring down at the math problem with hooded eyes and a little frown. "Hey! Do you and Henry want to come with us?"

Regina blinks, looking down at Roland for a moment before turning her focus back on Henry, watching as he takes a deep breath and then smiles and nods. "That'd be fun," he says halfheartedly as he musters an unconvincing little smile. "We should go with them, Mom."

"Okay," she says with a nod. "If… if Robin doesn't mind?"

"I'd love for you two to come," he says, looking between her and Henry, clearly noticing the brave face that Henry's wearing. "In fact, I just sort of… assumed the two of you would be coming with us." He grins sheepishly as he looks up at Regina. "It's becoming kind of a… habit."

"Yeah," she grins as her eyes shift to him, watching the way he continues to rub both absently and encouragingly at Henry's back and smiles at her with such warmth. "I… guess it is."

Since Thanksgiving, everything yet nothing had changed between them—and at times, she was caught off guard by how easy it was for them to be together.

They still had their Tuesday night dinners and a weekly movie night with the boys—something that they never seemed to actually plan yet always somehow managed to happen, and they still met at Granny's for brunch late on Sunday mornings. But in addition to all of the things that were there before, there were soft and intentional touches as they prepared dinner while the boys played and quick kisses as they cleaned up afterward; Robin's fingers would lace down though hers as they walked together and her head would fall to his shoulder as they watched whatever movie the boys had picked out—and every now and then, she catches herself thinking that these were the moments she wished that she could live again and again, year after year.

"You know," Robin begins in a tentative voice as he looks from Regina to Henry. "I think we've had enough of fractions for tonight." Regina watches as Henry's eyes brighten and his shoulders straighten, and grateful grin tugs onto her lips. "The only question is… what should we do with all of these M&Ms?"

"We could eat them!" Roland suggests as he climbs back onto Robin's lap.

"That sounds like a fabulous idea," Regina says, finally as she comes around the counter and stretches her arm around Henry's shoulders and presses a quick kiss to his hair. "How about we make brownies for desert?"

"We can put the M&Ms into the brownies!" Roland decides, looking between them all.

"I wouldn't say no to brownies," Henry says, tipping his head back and looking up at her with a grin—and again, she leans in drops a kiss to his forehead.

"Well, then I think we have a plan," Robin says, offering her a wink as he begins to gather the M&Ms. "Brownies, it is."

After dinner was cleaned up and the brownies had cooled, the four of them retreated into the living room, settling around the coffee table. The boys picked Trouble from Henry's board game collection and they ate a brownie as Robin and Regina sipped coffee, and she was grateful that the topics of Christmas and Santa Claus did not come up again.

By the end of the evening, both boys were asleep. Roland's cheek was smushed against Robin's shoulder and Henry's head rested her lap. Her fingers combed through Henry's hair as she and Robin made tentative plans for Thursday—something Robin assured her that she and Henry could back out of with no hard feelings should Henry not feel up to it when the day came. She'd smiled and thanked him as they carefully got up, laughing softly as Henry's head fell onto the couch, completely unaware that she'd moved away. Roland's eyes fluttered briefly as she helped Robin get him into his coat and by the time they made their way to the front door, he was fast asleep once again.

"Hey, before we go," Robin says, as he shifts Roland in his arms. "I wanted to ask you something."

"Ask away."

"Okay," he says, as a grin pulls up onto his lips. "Are you free on Saturday evening?"

"Free?" She asks, somehow a little surprised by the question. "Well, I mean, I'm never actually free these days. But… Henry and I don't have plans."

His grin brightens. "So, if I can find a babysitter for the boys, would you be interested in… going on a date?"

"A date…"

"A date," he says with a nod. "You know, just you and me, some dinner that doesn't have to be kid-friendly and some drinks that… also don't have to be kid-friendly." He chuckles softly as his eyes pinch shut. "It's late and I'm not selling this well, am I?"

"You don't have to sell anything," she tells him. "I'd love to go out and… have a drink with you that didn't come with a lid and funny little straw."

"Wonderful," he tells her, his eyes sparkling as he smiles. "I was thinking I could pick you up around four. I know that's early, but I was thinking that we could do a little Christmas shopping before dinner." He pauses and shakes his head, chuckling softly as he glances down at Roland. "Because, apparently, I have more shopping to do than I initially planned. Who knew that Santa was getting everything on his list this year?"

"That sounds perfect."

"It does, doesn't it?"

She laughs and smiles as he leans in, pressing a quick and feathery kiss to her lips, murmuring his goodbyes as he slowly pulls back—and her heart flutters with excited anticipation as she watches him leave.

"So, you two are finally going on a real date…"

She turns to find Henry standing behind her, grinning groggily at her. "Yeah, we are," she nods. "Are you okay with that?"

"Of course I am," he tells her. "You're forgetting who set you two up in the first place."

"Ah, right…"

"Besides that, I really like Robin."

"I do, too," she confesses, scrunching her nose as she laughs a little and then extends her hand to him. "How about we go upstairs and get ready for bed."

"If I get up a little earlier tomorrow, can I take my shower then?" He asks, taking her hand as he yawns. "I just want to go to bed."

"No Harry Potter tonight?"

"Not tonight," Henry murmurs as they make their way up the stairs. "We can do double tomorrow."

"I knew you were going to say that."

Henry giggles as they make their way to his room. He falls back on the bed as she goes to the dresser, retrieving a pair of pajamas before turning to the closet to pick out fresh pair of pants and a shirt that he'll wear the next day to school. He takes the pajamas from her, changing quickly as she searches for a pair of dress socks and his tie, and when she turns to his desk to reach for his blazer, she notices a note that's addressed to her.

"Oh… I… I forgot about that."

"What is it?" She asks, picking up a folded piece of paper with 'Ms. Mills' writing across one of the blank sides in Mary-Margaret Blanchard's handwriting. "Were you supposed to give this to me?"

"Maybe…" She blinks as Henry fidgets. "It's… it's nothing though. I just didn't want to do an assignment today." His cheeks flush as he looks away from her. "I… kind of refused so Ms. Blanchard wrote you a note about it."

"You refused to do an assignment?"

"It was dumb," he murmurs, still not looking at her. "Besides, I have an A in English. One missing…"

"Stop right there," she cuts in as she opens up the piece of paper. "Having an A doesn't mean you get to pick and choose what work you do."

"I know…"

Her chest tightens as she reads the note, explaining that for today's writing assignment, Henry and his classmates were supposed to write a letter to Santa—and just as Henry told her, he'd refused to do it. Enclosed with the note were the instructions for the assignment and a stamped envelope so the letter could be sent to the Santa at his workshop at the North Pole.

"Henry…"

"I'm sorry."

"We need to talk about this."

"I shouldn't have refused to do my work," Henry tells her, his voice cracking as his jaw starts to tremble. "I'm sorry."

"It's… not the letter that I want to talk to you about," she says, dropping his uniform down onto the chair at his desk. "I… I've just noticed that you don't seem very excited about Christmas and…"

"I don't like Christmas."

"Yeah, I'm… I'm getting that," she says softly as she takes him and leads him over to the bed. "I know holidays were… rough for you before," she begins in a soft voice. "But I feel like there's more to this."

Henry looks over at her and his lips part, but words don't come. Kissing his forehead, she stretches her arm around his shoulders and hugs him into her side, rubbing her hand over his arm. "Christmas is just the worst," he murmurs quietly after a few minutes. "It's all a lie."

"What?"

"Christmas," he tells her, looking up at her with teary eyes. "It's a lie—all of it is."

"What do you mean, Henry?"

"All of it. The peace and good will, the season of giving… even Santa," he says quietly as he looks back down at his lap. "And for one day every year, everyone buys it."

"Except you," Regina murmurs. Henry doesn't reply, instead he just shrugs his shoulders. Feeling a tightening in her chest, she hugs him a little closer. "How long have you felt this way?"

"A long time."

"How long is long?"

"A couple of years," he tells her quietly. "I was just in denial before."

"Denial?"

"Yeah," Henry nods. "I wanted to believe in it all, just like everyone else does, but…" His voice trails off and he looks up at her. "But it got too hard." He takes a shallow breath as he fidgets with his fingers. "And if… if all that were real and if Santa were real, he wouldn't have forgotten about me so many times."

"Oh, Henry…"

"And I know that we're going to have a really nice Christmas and you'll get whatever I ask you for and we'll have a nice dinner and everything, but…" He looks back at his lap and takes a breath. "It won't be like how it's supposed to be… no matter what."

"What do you mean?"

"The magic," he tells her, looking up at her with wide eyes. "It's gone and I never got to enjoy it." With a long sigh, he looks back to his lap. "That sounds stupid now that I'm saying it out loud."

"No…"

"Yeah, it does…"

"Henry," she begins, taking a breath as she reaches out and turns his chin toward her. "Your feelings aren't stupid." Rubbing the back of her fingers beneath his chin, she exhales her breath. "You've had a rough childhood and more than anything, I wish I could change that. I wish that I…"

"It's not your fault."

"It is, kind of," she admits quietly as the knot her stomach tightens. "Had I been braver and stronger and… had a I just believed, none of what happened to you would have happened. You wouldn't have missed out on Christmas mornings and visits to Santa and making silly little reindeer ornaments out of popsicle sticks…"

"Those always look weird anyway," Henry tells her as he offers her a meek little smile

"They do," she agrees, smiling back as a lump rises at the back of her throat. "But we would have made them anyway." Leaning in, she presses a kiss to his forehead. "I can't change what happened. I wish I could, but I can't," she tells him as she reaches out and combs her fingers through the front of his hair. "But I can try to make things better from this point forward."

He nods and a sad little smile stretches across his lips. "Things are better."

"But it doesn't make the memories easier to deal with, does it?" Henry shakes his head as she takes a breath, thinking of her own life and the difficult memories she can't erase, and how strangely similar it seemed to Henry's. "But you know, those memories don't mean the magic's gone."

"But… I don't believe anymore."

"In Santa?"

"Yeah and all the other stuff," Henry mumbles as he looks back to his lap. "I'm kind of… jealous of Roland." He takes a breath and looks up at her with teary eyes. "He still believes there's magic."

"There's magic all around," she says as her chest tightens. "You just have to notice it." Henry's brow furrows and she feels a smile pulling onto her lips. "I mean, look at you and me, for example."

"You and me?"

"Never in a million years did I think I'd see you again or get a second chance to be your mom," she tells, feeling a tiny pang of guilt tugging at her heartstrings. "But here we are, getting that second chance."

"Yeah, that's true…"

"Do you remember what I asked you at the diner that night we found each other?"

He blinks up at her and she can see him trying to remember something significant from that evening. "You… asked me a lot of things."

"I asked you if you believed in fate."

"Oh, yeeaaah. I do remember that."

"And do you remember what I said about it?"

"That it was fate that brought us together."

She smiles a little at the bittersweet memory and chooses to focus on the sweet. "That was magic, Henry."

"What was?"

She laughs a little as his brow creases with confusion and he looks up at her with eyes that want to understand. "Me finding you again—that was magic." She grins as he considers. "There's really is magic all around you," she tells him. "And the more you choose to believe in it, the easier it'll be to see." He smiles a little and she leans in to kiss his forehead as a flicker of a memory begins to flutter and she remembers the bright-eyed and hopeful girl she'd once been. "I'm not telling you that you have to believe in Santa Claus," she tells him with a slight chuckle. "But the rest of… that's worth believing in."

Henry nods and his cheeks flush a little. "Maybe…"

"You have the right to believe whatever you want to believe, Henry." Reaching down she looks at Mary-Margaret Blanchard's note and a smile tugs onto her lips. "I'll tell you what," she begins as she looks back at him. "You should write this letter—and not just because it's an assignment and a grade. You should write it and ask for something and… and then see what happens on Christmas morning. See if on Christmas morning you wake up to a little bit of magic underneath the tree."

"That's… a pretty clever idea."

"I have my moments." Henry giggles and he reaches into her lap and picks up the note. Regina watches as his fingers trace the scalloped edge of the stamp. "Okay, now, I think it's time for bed." Henry sighs but nods as he crawls to the center of the bed and tucks his feet beneath the heavy blankets. He lays back against the pillows as Regina takes the envelope from him and drops it down onto his night stand. She turns off the lamp and the room darkens as she sits back onto the edge of his bed, adjusting the covers around him as he leans in and kisses his forehead. "I love you, Henry."

"I love you, too."

She nods as she watches his eyes close—and again, she thinks of that hopeful and bright-eyed girl that the darkness chased away so many years before, and for the first time in a very long time, she wonders if beneath it all, that girl is still there inside of her.

"And done!" Regina announces as she files the last of the vendor's permits into a manila envelope and seals it. "I am done for the year!"

Henry giggles. "You mean you're done for two weeks."

"Well… yes," she says as she reaches for a role of stamps. "But it makes it sound so much more exciting to say that you're done for the year." She offers him a wink as she peels off a few stamps and presses them into the corners of the envelopes, making a mental note to drop them in the mail the next morning. "And I'm done just in time for cookies."

"They're not done just yet," Henry says very matter-of-factly as he pushes a Hershey kiss into the center of a peanut butter cookie. "They have to cool."

"Says who?" She asks, arching an eyebrow as she reaches for one of the fresh-from-the-oven cookies.

"The recipe card… that you wrote," Henry tells her as he bats away her hand. "Besides, you'll burn yourself."

Before she can say anything more, the door bell rings and Henry runs toward it—and a moment later, she hears Robin and Roland entering the house. She can hear Roland telling Henry about the movie he brought over and Robin makes a comment about the pizza and how he accidently ordered it with extra cheese. Grinning, she reaches across the counter, collecting her work and sweeping it out of the way and into a neat little pile to clear room so that the boys could spread out with their pizza. She grabs a cookie from the cooling rack, biting into as they enter the kitchen, and she can't help but laugh as Henry's eyes widen and his jaw drops open and he silently chastises her for taking a cookie before they were ready. She shrugs her shoulders innocently and Henry rolls his eyes.

"What? I had to test one to see if they were ready to eat."

"Are they?" Roland asks immediately—this time earning an eye roll from Robin. "Can we eat them?"

"Not quite yet," Regina tells him. "They're still a bit too hot."

Robin sets the pizza down on the counter, opening the top as the boys practically drive toward it and he leans in, pressing a soft and quick kiss to her lips. "Mmm," he murmurs as he pulls back. "Peanut buttery."

"And chocolatey," Regina adds as he plucks the half-melted Hershey kiss from the center of the cookie and pops it into her mouth. "Not quite as good as the apple caramel version of the recipe, but still pretty tasty."

"You'd eat apples on anything, wouldn't you?"

"Maybe," she blinks, stifling the urge to laugh. "I like what I like."

Robin laughs out, but before he can respond Henry's voice pipes up, asking if he and Roland can eat in the living room while they set up the movie—and with a reluctant sigh, she nods. And a moment later, she and Robin are alone. He offers her a playful little grin as his hand slips of her hip and he pulls her back in for a longer kiss.

"You're right," he murmurs as he pulls back. "That was pretty tasty."

Playfully swatting the back of her hand against his chest, she circles around the counter and hands him a plate. "So, what movie did Roland bring over?" She asks, lifting a slice of pizza from the box and placing it on his plate. "Henry was pretty excited about whatever it is," she adds as she plates her own slice.

"The Land before Time," Robin says as a grin pulls onto his lips. "It's one of our favorites."

"I… don't know it."

Robin blinks. "It's Bambi, but with dinosaurs."

"Oh…"

"Really? You've never seen it?"

"Up until very recently I didn't really have a reason to watch a cartoon about an orphaned dinosaur," she tells him, once again stifling the urge to laugh. "And I'm now wondering if Roland really picked this movie out… or if his father did."

"It's a George Lucas movie."

"Oh, okay…" Regina murmurs, rolling her eyes as she lifts the open DVD case and flips it over. "Well, that's not what this says…"

"He consulted." At that, she can't help but laugh and Robin rolls his eyes as he leans against the counter. "You laugh now, but you are going to love this movie."

"I'll take your word for it," she tells him as she moves toward the refrigerator and pulls out two cans of soda. "We should get in there. You might miss the beginning…"

"Which is beautifully done, let me tell you," Robin says as a grin twists onto his lips. "But first, I have something for you."

"Do you?"

"For you," he says with a nod, extending a red and white cardboard frame to her. "It's from last night. They gave me two pictures."

"Ohh," she breathes out, flipping the card over and looking down at Henry and Roland sitting on Santa—really, Marcus, the beloved and retired carpenter who year after year volunteered to play Santa Claus in Storybrooke's parade and at the department store where everyone always did their holiday shopping. "Look at them."

"Henry's smiling."

"He is," Regina says with a nod as she traces her fingers over the edge of the frame, remembering the night before. She thinks of the deep breath Henry took as he told her that he still wanted to go, explaining that it was important to Roland, so regardless of how he felt about Christmas and Santa and everything else, he wanted to go. They'd met Roland and Robin at Granny's and the four of them ate burger and milkshakes before walking down to the end of Main Street to the crowded little department store. The line long and moved slowly, and the boys played a game of "I Spy" while Robin held her hand. And when she and Henry returned home and then end of the evening, Henry was practically beaming as he confessed that the visit to Santa hadn't been nearly as bad as he'd expected—and she had a sneaking suspicion that he was finally starting to feel a little excitement about his first Christmas in Storybrooke. "He looks so happy," she says after a minute. "They both do."

"Henry was a very good sport about the whole thing," Robin says, pushing himself away from the counter. "How is he… handling things? I know he wasn't really feeling any Christmas cheer."

"It's hard for him," Regina admits as she puts the picture up on the refrigerator. "He's never had a real Christmas, so he's finds the whole thing a little disenchanting."

"Christmas for a kid in Henry's position must have been… so tough," Robin says with a little scoff. "And somehow 'tough' seems like such an understatement."

She nods, "He had to write a letter to Santa for school and… he didn't do it at first…"

"Well, I can kind of understand why…"

"Yeah, well, I made him do it and… and I kind of feel like he's building up some sort of expectation that whatever he put in that letter is… going to be a test."

"A test?"

"It's… complicated, but I really think he wants to believe."

"Even though he doesn't?"

"Because he doesn't," Regina says with a sigh. "And even though every parenting blog I've read tells me that I shouldn't spoil him, I do—and I'm going to for Christmas—but I can't help but think that he's still going to be disappointed."

"I don't think that you could ever disappoint him."

"We'll see…"

"Regina," Robin says, reaching out and touching his fingers to the back of her hand. "Henry loves you and he loves the life that you've given him. Whatever he asked for in that letter, I have no doubt you'll give him." A grin tugs up at the corners of his mouth. "And I would know—after all, you've sent me pictures of almost every gift you've gotten him."

"A second opinion is always useful," she murmurs, feigning defensiveness as she reaches for his hand. "Come on. We should get in there, otherwise you'll miss your favorite movie and my living room will be covered in glitter."

"Glitter?"

"Yeah," she says with a long sigh. "Every year the elementary school has the kids make hand-made snowflakes to decorate the windows at City Hall with for the winter, but somehow we were short this year."

"Ah…"

"So, I brought home a bunch of craft supplies and thought maybe Henry and Roland might want to make a snowflake or two or… twenty… while they watch the movie."

"You are really something else, you know that?" Her brow furrows as she looks back at him and for a moment, he seems like he's hesitating. "I… I know we agreed that we'd table talking about the curse until after the New Year…"

"Oh…" she breathes out, her stomach dropping a little as she looks away from him. "What about it?"

"I just…" He chuckles soft. "You do know that your so-called Dark Curse is terrible, don't you?" She blinks a couple of times, staring up at her with wide eyes and an open mouth, not really sure how to respond or whether or not she should feel offended. "I mean, really, is this the worst you could do?"

"I… I took away the happy endings of hundreds of people…"

"Yeah, everyone in this town is just so damn miserable." Again, she can only blink, too taken aback to actually respond. "Regina, you have spent year after year after year bending over backwards to make Storybrooke a nice place to live. You cursed us all to a place with indoor plumbing and centralized heating and… parades for holidays and other quaint little festivities."

"And what's your point?"

"My point is…" He sighs as he reaches for her hand, giving it a tight little squeeze. "I don't think you have as much to worry about as you think you do."

"You're only saying that because…"

"Because I love you?" He shrugs. "Maybe, but maybe not." Again he gives her hand a squeeze and rubs his thumb over her wrist in a circular motion that he's come to realize that she finds soothing. "Regardless of what happens, you're giving your son a good life here—just as you've given a lot of us a good life here. Don't forget that."

She can feel a lump rising in the back of her throat and squeezes his hand back before gently tugging him into the living room. They settle on the couch with their pizza. When the plates are empty, she puts them on an end table beside them and Robin arm stretches around her shoulder. She cuddles closer, pulling a blanket around them, watching as the boys decorate snowflakes and watch the movie. She can't help but smile as she watches them—sometimes gasping as their eyes widen, sometimes laughing nearly uncontrollably and sometimes murmurs comments to each other and to the characters on the screen who can't hear them. Every now and then, she glances over at Robin, who, for the most part, is just as engrossed in the movie as the boys are—and that, too, brings a smile to her face—and she finds herself wondering—wondering and hoping—that despite everything, at the very least, it's possible that she won't lose them.

She hadn't expected him to show up on her door step with a rose—but he had—and from that point on, she hadn't stopped smiling. From the late afternoon until their dinner reservation, they wandered in and out of the shops along Main Street. They picked up small gifts for the boys here and there, and one or two larger items at the department store. When the sky began to darken the snow began to fall, and they put their packages in Robin's truck for safe-keeping and decided to walk to the little Italian bistro by the docks.

They held hands and walked slowly as they talked, and when they reached the restaurant, they were red-cheeked and laughing. He'd helped her with her coat and he'd pulled out her chair, and they settled together at a little round table adorned with a candle surrounded by a ring of deep red poinsettias. There was wine and breadsticks and a wonderful meal—and everything felt so lighthearted and full of contentment. And every now and then she found herself thinking about how easy it had been to lose herself in the moment. Though she hadn't anticipated it, she was relieved that there wasn't any awkwardness between them without having their sons there with them, and they fell into easy conversations about everything and nothing. She laughed and she smiled, and when the meal was done and the bill was paid, Robin asked if she wanted to grab a drink—and she hadn't been able to resist agreeing because she didn't want the night to end.

They ended up at the Rabbit Hole, and Robin ordered their drinks at the bar, while she found a table. As expected on a Saturday night, it was crowded and louder than she usually liked, but they sat nearly side by side, and she found that she couldn't be bothered by the atmosphere.

"You look like you could use another," Robin says, tipping back her empty glass as he eyes her.

"You're trying to get me drunk."

"Maybe I am, maybe I'm not…" He tells her as a grin twists onto his lips. "But now that you mention it, something tells me you're a fun drunk."

"A fun drunk?"

"Yeah, you know, the kind of person who really lets loose when they've had a few too many."

Her eyes narrow, "Is that your subtle way of telling me that I'm uptight?"

"Never."

Laughing, she shakes her head, rolling her eyes as she slides the glass toward him. "I wouldn't say no to another."

"Then I will be right back," he tells her, leaning over and pressing a kiss to her cheek he slides out of the booth—and almost before he can even get to his feet, Graham is standing at their table with a smug, drunken grin. He looks from Robin to Regina, letting his eyes linger in a way that makes her wish that she could just disappear.

It's hard to remember a time when Graham wasn't in her life, in one way or another, and she hates the way she used him in the Enchanted Forest and in the earliest years of the curse to feel less lonely, to have someone there with her and remind herself of the control she constantly felt was slipping away for her. It hadn't mattered to her then that the he didn't want to be there, that she wasn't anything to him and that he wasn't anything to her—the only thing that had mattered was that for a little while, when they were together, she could forget and that she could pretend.

"Ya know," Graham slurs as his eyes shift from her to Robin. "You're wasting your time with this one."

"I beg your pardon?" Robin asks, taking a step forward as she reaches for his arm, pressing her fingertips into his sleeve as a feeling of regret settles at her core as she waits for Graham to continue.

"I'm just saying, with this one, there's no need for dinners or drinks, none of that romantic crap," Graham says, laughing a little as he takes a long sip from his mug. "No, this one… she just likes it quick, rough and dirty."

"Excuse me?" She hears Robin say, his voice piquing with anger as her fingers press harder against his arm. "What did you just say?"

Her eyes sink closed and she holds her breath, just waiting for Graham to reveal something about their very complicated past and them memories of her he believes to be real—and then her stomach drops at the realization that the truth would be so much worse than the lie.

"You heard me," Graham says, grinning as he looks to her. "Just push her up against a wall and get you jollies. That's all she…"

"That's enough," Robin says, stepping forward and out of her reach. "You're drunk, Sheriff, so I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and say that it's the liquor talking."

Graham's lips purse and Robin takes a step in, but before either of them can say or do anything else, one of Graham's friends swoops in and corrals him back to the others. She watches as Robin takes a couple of breathes, his shoulders rising and falling heavily as he unclenches his fists.

"I'm sorry," she hears herself say, not really sure what she's apologizing for, but feel like she should—and when Robin turns to her, his eyes looking directly into hers, she feels her cheeks flush with embarrassment. "I…"

"Don't apologize for him," he's quick to say, softening as he slides back into the booth. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, I just…" She grimaces as she looks away from him, focusing on the empty glass as her fingers trace its edge. "It's really hard to believe that he and I… ever…" She stops. It was never a relationship and she can't pretend that it was. "You can't blame him for this."

"Well, I certainly can't blame you." There's a long, tense pause and she wonders if this could be it—if this could be thing that makes him see her for who she is, the thing that unsettles him and makes him rethink it all, the thing that he can't get passed. She knows that it's coming, knows that it's looming ahead, and even though he says he doesn't care about her past, she can't help but think he's only saying that because he doesn't know the details. "I don't get it," Robin says, his voice suddenly softer as he reaches for her hand, pulling it away from the glass and making her look at him. "If he were anyone else, you would never let him talk to you that way. You'd…"

"Shove my hand into his chest and rip out his heart?" She blinks. "Is that what I'd do?"

"Regina…"

"I'm sorry," she says again—but not because she's actually sorry for her words. "Because in another life, that's exactly what I would have done to him."

"I just meant that I've seen you tear into people for far less. I've spent years watching you—noticing you, paying attention to things you do and say as I tried to work up the courage to finally talk to you—and you've always had this sort of no nonsense attitude. Yet with Graham… he gets pass."

She nods as she looks away from him, once more feeling her cheeks flush. "I… I did terrible things to him," she says simply with a shrug of her shoulders, not wanting to get into the details of it. "For years, I… did things to him that are unforgivable, so yeah… he gets a pass sometimes."

For a moment, Robin's quiet; and for a moment, she wonders if he's connecting the dots. But despite his silence and far off stare, his fingers still move in circular motions against the back of her wrist and when she looks up at him, he looks back with empathy. She knows, deep down, that he's right and no one has ever been allowed to treat her the way she's allowed Graham to treat her, but it had taken so long for her to understand the uncomfortable dynamic between them, and it'd taken even longer for her to stop it, and now that she had he was struggling to understand it.

With a sigh, she looks back at him. "I've certainly put a damper on the evening, haven't it?"

"On the contrary," he says, his tone changing as a smile tugs onto his lips. "You've done nothing of the sort." Her eyebrow arches as she laughs a little as the knot in her stomach begins to loosen. "If you want to talk about this, though… I'm willing to listen and if you don't… I'm willing to take your mind off of it."

"And how do you anticipate doing that?" She asks, as her eyebrow arches. "Because I would love for you to take my mind off of what just happened."

"Well," he begins as his fingers slide to her palm. "The boys are likely tired and crashing from a sugar high, and John hasn't texted his distress signal yet, so I think it's safe to say, they'll be spending the night." She watches as a grin pulls onto his lips. "So, I was thinking we could… maybe… go back to my place and wrap the presents we bought tonight."

She blinks. "You want to take me back to your place to… wrap presents."

"Yes."

"Seriously?"

"Yes."

"Like, actually wrap presents?"

"Christmas is in under a week and I live with a six year old who's like a magnet for shiny things like wrapping paper." He laughs a little as his grin deepens. "And if you want to wrap presents too, I… wouldn't be opposed to that. I'm willing to share my rolls of Avengers Holiday Wrap."

Again, she blinks as her brow creases. "Are we actually talking about wrapping presents? Or…"

Sliding out of the booth, Robin laughs and offers her his hand. She hesitates for only a moment before placing her hand in his and letting him pull her up. She smiles as his arm slide around her back and he presses a kiss to her temple. "I'm always here to listen, if you change your mind," he tells her in a soft whisper as they make their way through the crowded bar.

She nods and his hand guides her back as he opens the door for her—and quickly, she glances back over her shoulder at Graham who's sitting at the bar, nursing his drink. She sighs a little and pushes down her feelings, deciding that she'd much rather focus on the potential of a happy future rather than dwell on a sordid past.

As it turned out, wrapping presents actually meant wrapping presents.

An hour after the bar, they were sitting on the floor in Robin's living room with their packages spread out in front of them. There was colorful wrapping paper—plain and glittery, some patterned and others bearing superheroes. There's a stack of wrapped gifts to her side and another in front of Robin, and she can't help but laugh as he struggles with the tape, huffing and puffing about how pointless gift wrap is when all Roland will do is rip it to shreds on Christmas morning.

She laughs and suggests a break, and a grin tugs up at the corners of his mouth as he nods and agrees, suggesting a nightcap of hot chocolate. He gets up, offering her his hand as he helps her up and together, they make their way into the kitchen. She watches as he gets two mugs from the cabinet then moves toward the refrigerator, pulling out a carton of milk.

"Oh, do you make hot chocolate with water?"

"No," she says, shaking her head. "Always with milk. It's…"

"Creamier," he finishes for her. He laughs a little as he leans in to peck her lips. "See, I knew I liked you for a good reason."

"And how I make hot chocolate is that reason?"

"Among other things," he tells her with a wink as he pours the milk into a sauce pan and light the stove. "Would you like me to list them? Because I'd be glad to…"

She laughs out and shakes her head. "No, that won't be necessary."

"Alright then," he laughs as he turns back to face her. "But if you change your mind or you feel like you ever might need a little reassurance, just let me know, and I'll be more than happy to provide that."

"We're not talking about hot chocolate anymore, are we?"

"No," he murmurs, shaking his head. "And I have a small confession to make."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," he says, nodding as he steps around her and grabbing a leather satchel from the counter. "I know that I said I wanted to wait for you to tell me your story, but…" With a guilty little smile, he pulls out the story book that appeared just after they'd returned from Roland's birthday. "I got the impression there were things you might never tell me, things you'd think I couldn't accept or would judge too harshly for or…"

"You stole the book from me?"

"You can't be mad about that," he tells her as smile turns coy. "You knew I was a thief before I did."

She chuckles softly and nods. "So, this means you… know everything," she says, more for her own benefit than his. "And you still think that I deserve to be happy? To be forgiven?"

"We all deserve a second chance, Regina."

"Is that what this is? A second chance?"

He nods as places the book back into her hands. "Yes, it's a second chance for both of us."

She's not sure what to say, but the more she thinks about what that means for her and for them the more overwhelmed she feels. There are tears brimming in her eyes as he leans in and drops a soft kiss to her cheek and his strokes the back of his fingers against her cheek before reluctantly turning away and pouring the warmed milk into the mugs before adding some of the cocoa mix. He tops it with some whipped cream, then hands her one of the mugs and he grins as she breathes in the steam.

His hand finds her waist as he leads her back into the living room, ignoring the wrapping paper, tissue paper and tape that's scattered across the floor. They settle together on the couch and she leans back into him, and though neither of them says much of anything there's a contentment between them that wasn't there before—and she realizes that her shoulders have relaxed.

She thinks about Robin reading her story, reading about the bright-eyed and hopeful girl who'd been married off to a neglectful king while grieving for a lost love and starved for affection, who'd lashed out in pain at anyone and everyone and took solace in the darkness—and she finds that she's grateful that he was somehow able to empathize with her.

It's not lost on her that this means he knows her deepest and darkest secrets—the things she's been vague about, things she's been unwilling to confide—he knows about them and he loves her anyway.

She leans back into him as she takes a long sip for the hot chocolate, closing her eyes as his arm crosses over her chest. She hears him set down his mug on the end table and a moment later, his lips are fluttering down her jaw. His tongue flicks at her earlobe and a smile pulls to her lips as he dots warm kisses along her skin. She sets down her mug and turns herself in his arms as her lips press to his—and somehow, this kiss feels so much different than all of the others.

Her arms link around his shoulders and his hand find her waist as he slowly eases forward, pushing her back down onto the couch. Her tongue slides against his and her fingers tangle in his hair as she pulls him deeper into the kiss—and as his finger slide up her side, a soft buzzing jolts him up.

She blinks a few times as he mutters something she can't quite decipher as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone—and then, he offers her a regretful little smile.

"John just sent that distress signal, didn't he?"

Robin nods, "It appears my son doesn't know how to control his sugar and… is throwing up all over the bathroom."

"Oh, that's… not good."

"No," Robin murmurs as his head dips forward and he rubs his hands roughly over his face. "I'm sorry that tonight's going to end this way." Looking over at her, he offers her a sheepish grin. "I… hope this doesn't sound too presumptuous of me, but I really hoped that I'd be making you breakfast in the morning."

Her bottom lip catches between her teeth as a little grin creeps onto her lips. "Can I… take a rain check?"

"Absolutely," he tells her as he leans over and kisses her cheek.

Henry had been half asleep when they'd gotten to John's house. He'd greeted them with a groggy grin and confessed that Roland had eaten an entire bag of marshmallows as they watched Star Wars. John offered a guilty grin as he'd nodded in confirmation, and then added they'd ordered an extra large pizza that just so happened to come with every imaginable topping and Henry giggled when he confessed he'd almost liked the anchovies because they were hidden by gobs of cheese and between pepperonis.

Robin's eyes had rolled as he scooped up Roland from the couch, and he'd kissed Regina's softly as he parted ways from John's porch. On the drive home Henry chattered on about how much fun they'd had, even though Roland got sick, and he went on and on about the fort they'd made from blankets and how they'd pretended it was the Millennium Falcon. By the time they'd pulled into the drive way, Henry was yawning between words and his eyes were drooping—and when they got in, Regina sent him upstairs, kissing his forehead and telling him she'd be up to tuck him in soon…

Watching him slowly ascend the stairs, she smiles and shakes her head, kicking off her shoes as she reaches for the untouched pile of mail on the table in the foyer. Climbing up the few stairs that lead to living room, she sifts through advertisements barely looking at them as she shuffled them through the pile—and then, she notices a familiarly stamped envelope with Mary-Margaret Blanchard's handwriting on the front. A half second later, she realizes its Henry's letter to Santa and her heart skips a beat.

Dropping the rest of the mail down on the coffee table, she sits on the edge of the couch, pushing her finger beneath the seal and ripping open the envelope—and when she sees Henry's handwriting, she can't help but smile…

Dear Santa,

My name is Henry Mills. I am eight years old and I live in Storybrooke, Maine. I want to be upfront with you about something very important and that is that I don't believe in you. I'm writing this letter because my teacher, Ms. Blanchard made me, and because I promised my mom I wouldn't have a missing assignment.

I should also tell you that I don't like Christmas. It's nothing personal, it's just not a holiday I've ever liked very much. Until this year, I lived with a foster family. They loved Christmas and every year they would get a huge tree and put it in the window. They'd decorate it with ornaments that were special. There were hand prints from when my foster sisters were little, and nice glass ornaments people had given them as presents. There were ornaments there were little frames with their school pictures in them and these dumb little popsicle stick reindeer with those plastic eyes that move when you shake them. I didn't have any ornaments on the tree.

One year my foster mom's mom was in town so they took me with them to the mall to see you… or someone who was pretending to be you. That year, I asked for a reindeer ornament like the ones my foster sisters had so that mine could on the tree with theirs and I could be part of the family. I never got it. That's when I knew you weren't real because Santa doesn't forget about kids, and you forgot about me.

I have a new mom now because I was adopted this year. She is THE BEST MOM EVER. I really, really love her and I know that she loves me, too. We haven't been together for very long, but already we have all of these really great things that we do together, like reading books and making cookies. I know that my mom is going to get me whatever I ask her to get me for Christmas (and probably even some things I don't ask for, like socks and underwear and gloves and other boring things). But she told me that I should ask you for something and if I get it, then maybe I can think about giving you a second chance. I don't know if you've earned it, but I promised my mom, so I'm going to do it.

This is something I could never ask my mom for because I think it might hurt her feelings. I really, really love the life we have together and I don't want her to think it's not good enough because it's better than anything I've ever had. But this year, what I want to ask you to get me for Christmas isn't something you can't buy. Before I was adopted I liked to watch TV before I went to bed. My room was in the basement at my foster parents' house and there were lots of weird noises that were kind of scary at night. So, I used to leave the TV on when I went to bed, that way, I could trick myself into thinking that I wasn't all by myself. Sometimes I would wake up and I would watch whatever show was on. It was usually something really old and in black and white, but one of my favorite things about those shows was that they were always about families that loved each other. No matter what happened in the episode, at the end of it, everyone was smiling and happy. Almost all of these shows would have special episodes for Christmas, too. I don't really like Christmas, but I liked the Christmas episodes. They were always the same. There were kids and parents and lots of presents, and everyone would take turns opening something and everyone stayed in their pajamas all morning. Everyone always looked so happy.

That's what I want. I want a Christmas morning like the ones you see on TV. I know it's impossible to get that for someone for Christmas, but if you're real, you can do it. If you're not, then nothing changes for me. Even if I don't get this, I know that this is going to be the best Christmas that I've ever had, not because of all the stuff I get, but because I have my mom.

Thank you for taking the time to read this and have a Merry Christmas.

Sincerely,

Henry Mills

By the time she finishes the letter, there are tears in her eyes. She drops the letter into her lap and takes a long, deep breath. Slowly exhaling it, she looks to the stairs and her heart clenches as she thinks of Henry growing up, always feeling so alone and unwanted—and she understands exactly what that feels like. Folding up the letter, she tucks it back into the envelop and starts toward the stairs, her heart aching at the realization that she can't make Henry's Christmas wish come true because can't make him feel something that he doesn't feel—and she hopes that when he wakes up on Christmas morning, he isn't too disappointed.

Pushing open his bedroom door, a grin pulls onto her lips. The light is still on, but Henry is sound asleep. His lips are parted and his head is turned into his pillow and he's wearing his favorite Captain America pajamas, looking sweet and content that her heart swells with love for him. Flicking on the nightlight, she turns off his lamp, and then climbs into bed beside him. She wraps her arms around him and rests her head over his, holding him close and combing her fingers gently though his hair as he sleeps.