Regina takes a breath as she reaches for the knob of Henry's door—and when she opens it, she finds him tucked into bed wearing a pair a Captain America pajamas with The Goblet of Fire on his lap. His hair is still a little damp from his shower and she can smell the soap that he likes to use as she nears—and heart breaks knowing that she's about to disappoint him. He smiles at her as he opens the book to the bookmarked page, and edges over on the bed to make room for her—and she smiles back regretfully.

"Hey," she begins as she slides into the bed beside him and stretches her arm around his little shoulders. "Before we start reading, there's… something I want to talk to you about." Henry nods and tilts his head up to look at her, still completely unassuming. "I, um… I heard back from your birthmother," she begins in a tentative voice, waiting as his eyes widen and he swallows hard.

"Did you… talk to her?"

"No," she says quickly. "We missed each other. She returned my call and left me a voicemail."

"Oh," he murmurs, his brow creasing. "What did she say?"

"Well," Regina begins, taking a breath. "When I called her, I left her a message, too, and I told her who I was and why I was calling… and I told her a little bit about you."

"What did you tell her?"

A small smile tugs onto her lips. "I said that I'd recently adopted you and you were… bright and sweet and thoughtful, and I that loved you more than I knew it was possible to love another person."

"That was nice of you to say."

"It's all true," she says, leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to his hair. "And I told her that you'd been struggling with… having spent so much time in the foster system, and that you wanted to meet her, that we thought it might bring you some closure and help you to… deal with things."

"Oh…" Henry murmurs as he looks away, focusing on the book in his lap. "She doesn't want to meet me." Regina's eyes sink closed and she takes a long breath, hating to have to tell him this, hating that this isn't something she can fix and hating that she's disappointed for reasons other than how much this will hurt him. "I should have known."

"She didn't say no… well… not exactly," she says, slowly opening her eyes. "She said she wasn't sure."

"That means no," Henry tells her. "That's always what adults say when they want to say no, but don't feel like they can."

"I'm sorry…" Henry nods, still focusing his attention on the book; and she watches as his index finger traces over the embossed title. "Do you… want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Are you sure? I…"

"I'm sure," he says, trying his best to sound like he wasn't bothered, like he wasn't upset he wasn't upset, and like he wasn't on the verge of tears. "It… doesn't matter."

Regina takes a breath, swallowing the hard lump that's formed at the back of her throat as she presses her eyes closed—and she finds herself wondering how many times Henry has told himself that in that past—how many times he went to bed with teary eyes and a bruised heart, how many times he tried to convince himself that he didn't care, that it didn't matter.

Her arms tighten around him and she starts to rock him—not knowing what to say, but feeling guilty for having ever suggested that they reach out to his birthmother. She should have known this wouldn't end well—no matter how it ended. On a practical note, there was a fair chance that Emma Swan would not want to meet the baby she gave up for adoption eight years before; it'd likely been a difficult choice to make and she'd likely spent years rebuilding her life, years moving on. There'd been a reason she'd asked for a closed adoption. On a personal note, she hated that she'd ever suggested it and she wondered if her motives had been about Henry at all, or if subconsciously she'd only suggested it because bringing Emma Swan to town would do what she couldn't—it'd start to break her curse. But the thing she felt most guilty about had nothing to do with the reason she'd suggested contacting Emma Swan and it had nothing—she felt guilty because when Emma had waivered, when she said she wasn't sure, Regina had been relieved.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," she breathes out as she presses another kiss to his hair. "I really am."

"It's okay," he says, sniffling a little as he tilts his chin up. "It was worth a shot."

"Oh, Henry…"

"Mom," he asks, looking back to the book. "Do you think we could… skip reading tonight?"

"Skip Harry Potter?"

"Yeah," he nods. "I'm just… really tired. I don't think I can stay awake long enough to even get through a chapter, and… and I don't want to miss anything."

Her chest clenches and she sighs—but she finds herself nodding. "Okay," she murmurs. "No reading tonight." Henry hands her the book, offering a shaky little sigh as she sets it onto his nightstand. "Do you want me to lay with you for a little while? I could… rub your back and…"

"No," he cuts in. "That's okay. Like I said, I'm just… really tired."

"You could come into my room and we could cuddle up under…"

"I'm comfortable here," he tells her, purposely avoiding her eyes as he fakes a yawn in an effort to hide his tears. "I just… want to turn off the light and go to bed."

"Okay," she says a bit reluctantly. "But if you… change your mind…"

"I won't."

"Okay," she says again, slowly getting out of the bed and adjusting the comforter around his shoulders. "I love you, Henry," she murmurs as she leans in to presses a kiss to his forehead. "Don't ever forget that."

"I won't," he replies, offering a meek smile. "I love you, too." Taking a breath, she pulls herself away from him—wanting nothing more than to stand there, hovering near him for the rest of the night, just in case he might need her—and she flicks on the nightlight. "Thanks, Mom…"

"Goodnight, Henry."

"G'night," he tells her as he rolls onto his side, and as she pulls the door closed, she hears a muffled little cry escape him.

She lingers there in his doorway for awhile, feeling helpless and wishing there were something she could do and wish she hadn't had to tell him. Finally, his breathing steadies—a sign that he's finally fallen asleep—and he seems so far away from her. Reluctantly, she turns away and heads to her own room, quickly undressing and deciding to forgo a shower. She pulls on a pair of pajamas and lays there in dark, thoughts of Henry and Emma Swan swirling through her head…

She can't sleep, so she gets out of bed and walks toward Henry's room—and her brow creases when she feels a burst of cool air at her feet, coming from beneath the door. Her heart skips a beat as she pushes opened the door and her stomach drops when she sees the curtains billowing in front of the opened window.

She goes to it, looking out and seeing only darkness. For a second, she thinks it's all a misunderstanding—he opened the window to get some air—but when she turns toward the bed, the covers are bunched at its end and there's still a dent in his pillow. Swallowing hard, she turns frantically around the room—and she can't help but notice that his backpack isn't sitting on his desk chair. He's gone. Her knees are weak as she reaches for the phone, dialing a familiar number—and when Graham answers, she pleas for help, begging him to find her son.

The night slowly turns to day, and there's no sign of Henry anywhere. Graham tells her to stay at home—stay at home and wait in case he calls—and she does, in spite of how helpless it makes her feel.

Then, just as the sun is setting, she sees the red and blue flashing lights of Graham's squad car and she scrambles desperately to her feet. Her heart flutters and her stomach flops—an odd mix of worry and relief overcoming her as she throws open the door. Stepping out onto the porch, she smiles in spite of herself as the cold and bitter air bites at her the tear tracks on her cheeks—and she watches as Graham leads Henry to her, and a woman she can't quite place lingers at the car.

"Oh, Henry," she breathes out, stooping down in front of him as her hands squeeze his arms. "I was so worried." For a moment, he doesn't reply—he only blinks and stares, his eyes hard and distant. "I'm so glad you're alright," she says, pulling him to her and in attempt to hug him—but he remains stiff and pulls away. "Why did you run away?"

"You know why," he says, his voice piquing with hurt. "You lied to me." Swallowing hard, she looks at him—and at first, she doesn't understand; and then, from his backpack he pulls the leather bound storybook that she's kept hidden in her desk. "You lied to everyone."

"Please, Henry, just… let me… explain. I can…"

"I don't want to hear what you have to say."

"But, Henry…"

"Why should I listen to you after everything you've done? After all the lies you told…"

"Because I love you.'

He shakes his head as the faceless woman's hand falls onto her son's shoulder and gives it a tight squeeze. "You don't know how to love." Swallowing hard, she lets out a shaky breath as Henry takes a step back. "That was just another one of yours lies."

"No," she says, her voice desperate as she tries to reach for him. "Henry, no."

Again, he steps back and this time, Graham's arm wraps protectively around his shoulder—and she can't help but feel betrayed. "Why are you doing this?" She asks, blinking up at Graham. "What did you tell him?"

"Nothing he hadn't already figured out. He's a smart boy. He can read between the lines."

Her eyes widen and her heart beat slows, and tears well in her eyes. "Henry, you have to believe…"

"No, I don't," he says. "I don't have to listen to anything you say. You're not my real mom."

"Henry…" she murmurs as her breath catches her in chest. "How can you…" And then she watches as Henry looks back over his shoulder to the woman waiting by Graham's car—Emma Swan.

Regina sits up with a start, her heart pounding wildly in her chest as tears stream down he cheeks—and then, she feels a sinking feeling at her core. Throwing her feet over the edge of her bed, she rushes toward Henry's room and when she reaches the door, she hesitates. She's well aware that it was just a dream, well aware that on the other side of the door, Henry is tucked into his bed, sleeping just where she left him—yet, she finds herself holding her breath as a feeling of dread washes over her as she reaches for the door knob.

Pushing it open, a soft smile stretches onto her lips as she sees him in his bed—but the feeling of dread stays with her.

Stepping lightly, she moves toward him and lowers herself to the edge of the bed, adjusting the blankets around him and brushing his hair from his forehead—and she can't help but think of how peaceful he looks, how sweet and unburdened. Leaning in, she presses a light kiss to his cheek and gets up from the bed, not wanting to disturb him.

She pads back down the hall and gets back into bed—but every time she closes her eyes, she sees Henry's hardened eyes and hears his sharp words, and her stomach starts to churn. Rolling onto her side, she stares at the open space beside her—and she remembers that the last time she couldn't sleep. Robin had been there and he'd pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly against his chest as he stroked his hand soothingly over her back. His voice had been so methodical—rhythmic and soothing—and the steady beat of his heart had helped to calm her.

And then, she remembers his suggestion—a suggestion she'd balked at and insisted was something she could never do. At the time, she said that it'd be unfair, it wasn't right to wake him up simply because she couldn't sleep; but he'd been adamant—something she reminded herself of as she reached for the phone.

A grin twists onto her lips as she sees him nearing—and when he stops her waiting at the front entrance of the diner, his stroll turns to a jog. Shaking her head, she chuckles to herself as his eyes brighten and his smile broadens. And when he reaches her, he presses a quick kiss to her cheek.

"Good morning," she murmurs, as he his nose rubs against hers and his hand finds the small of her back.

"Good morning," he returns as he reaches around her to open the door, stealing a second kiss as she turns to enter the diner. "You know, I just realized we both just left the elementary school. We could have came here together."

"No," she says, as Granny motions to an open booth. "We couldn't have."

"And why's that?"

"Because you insist on walking everywhere and its nine degrees."

"I'd have kept you warm…"

Her eyes roll as she hands him a menu—and a little grin tugs onto her lips. "I love you, but you don't keep me warm in the same way that my Mercedes does."

"I… could be offended,' he says, opening the menu, "But I can't feel my fingers or my thighs," he glances up at her, "So, you may have a point." He folds the menu shut, grabbing the attention of Ruby. "And I need some coffee."

Ruby comes to their table and takes their order—and the few minutes later, she returns with two, steaming cups of coffee. Regina watches as Robin holds the cup, and breathes in the warm steam as his eyes close, enjoying the scent and the warmth.

"I'm glad we decided to do this," she says, as she sips her own coffee. "We should do breakfast more often."

"We should," he agrees, his eyes opening and a grin stretch over his lips. "Why don't we?"

"Something about jobs and getting kids off to school."

"Ah, right," he nods, bending his head to sip his coffee. "Obligations."

"Well, I'm glad we're doing this today."

Robin nods. "After last night, I… I needed to know that you were okay."

"I'm… fine."

"You always are," he murmurs, reaching out and sliding his hand over hers, giving her fingers a tight squeeze. "And how was Henry this morning?"

"His usual self," she says with a little nod. "He woke up early and tried to convince me to read him the chapter of Goblet of Fire that we didn't read last night."

"And did you?"

She sighs, "Of course I did."

"You're a good mom, Regina. Henry's luck to have you." For a moment, she looks up doubtfully—she loves her son and she tries to do what's best for him, and on most days, she feels like she does okay, but she doubts that he's lucky to have her—not when the stability she's offered him was built on such shaky ground. "You don't believe me," Robin says, his head tipping to the side. "You really don't believe that."

"I think… he deserves better than what I can give him. I've always thought that." Her eyes fall away from his and she focuses down on her coffee. "He doesn't know that his mother is a tyrannical murder who…"

"Who was an absolute monarch," he cuts in, lowering his voice. "Regina, you weren't very different from other rulers."

Her eyebrow arches skeptically. "And how would you know? You lived in my kingdom, you don't have much to compare it to. Besides… you know as well as anyone what I was known for."

"I do," he nods. "I also know that there was always enough grain, royal taxes never went up and as long as people stayed out of your way, life wasn't half bad," a little grin tugs onto his lips, "My biggest gripe was the lack of indoor plumbing… not that I knew that at the time."

"Plumbing…"

"What can I say, I enjoy my showers and…" a chuckle rises into his voice. "And I lived with nine other men and a toddler. Things going a little… smelly."

"Still, there's only one thing anyone remembers. And… that's all anyone will tell Henry."

Robin takes a breath and leans back into the booth, and she watches as his eyes narrow. "Well, that's just not true."

"Isn't it?"

"Do you really think I'm going to just let him believe the worst about you?" He grins. "Not that I'm going to have to convince him of anything. He thinks the world of you, Regina. Nothing can change that—nor should it."

She nods—but she's not quite sure that she believes him, not quite sure that anything will soften the blow of her past. Even if Henry can forgive her past sins, if she doesn't break the curse, he'll have a front row seat to the quiet suffering she's caused. He'll watch people he grows to care about living in a fog—never growing older, never seeing their dreams realized and living the same struggles that he'll come to know will never ease. And even if he doesn't immediately hold her responsible, unlike his peers, he'll grow up and he'll grow to resent her.

"And I can prove it to you," Robin says, a self-assured smile stretching over his lips as Ruby brings them their food.

Somehow over breakfast, he convinces her to take the morning off—insisting he has something he needs to show her, something she'll want to see and a point he needs to prove. He won't say anymore than that, and he shifts the conversation away from her sordid past and away from the curse, away from Emma Swan and last night's nightmare, and to topics she finds easier to think about. He tells her how Roland suddenly wants a pet chameleon—which he still calls a cotillion—and they talk about Henry's on-going struggle with fractions. They discuss Roland's sudden enjoyment of hollandaise sauce—something he whole-heartedly believes is cheese thanks to Henry—and how he now enjoys asparagus and she tells him about the bow-tie pasta salad that Henry wanted them to have that night, musing about whether or not Roland will pick out the black olives or the bits of green pepper. And for a little while, she is able to forget what was looming.

By the time the bill is paid, it's all settled and they stroll hand-in-hand down Main Street, toward a destination she doesn't know. She makes a quip about how her secretary was likely having an enjoyable day in her absence and Robin playfully chided her about trying to be nicer; and then suddenly, they stop.

"We're here."

"Here," she says, looking up at the boarded up library. "You brought me to… an abandoned building. How… charming."

"It's not abandoned."

"Yes, it is," she says flatly. "I signed paperwork to close it." His eyes narrow and her shoulder square a bit defensively. "What? It was a budget cut. It was…"

"I realize that it's closed; but abandoned isn't the same thing. This building isn't empty. In fact, it's quite the contrary."

Bristling, she shifts her weight, looking up at the fading sign and the plywood that covers the windows. "Semantics aside, what are we doing here?"

"Proving a point." Her eyes narrow and he chuckles softly, pulling off his glove and fishing for something in his pocket. "You'll see. Now, keep a look out, okay?" She blinks, her eyes widening as Robin approaches the door and her breath catches as she hears him fumbling with the lock. Robin looks back at her, a glint of laughter in his eyes. "Don't look so surprised. You know I have a penchant for breaking and entering." She sighs, rolling her eyes and before she can respond, the door pushes open. "After you, M'lady."

Regina can't help but grin as she steps inside and Robin closes the door behind them—and then darkness surrounds them. She squints her eyes and turns—assuming in his direction—and just as she's about to ask how they're supposed to find their way—the electricity was cut off years before—he flicks on a flashlight, illuminating the space between them.

"It's not much, but it'll have to do," he tells her as his hand finds hers. "Come on."

Her brow creases as she looks at the darkness around them, following his lead and trying to remember what the interior of this building looks like. She can see the little spot of light in front of him, shining onto the olive green shelves and dusty books. "You… seem to really know your way around here."

"This isn't the first time I've been here."

"You've broken into the library before?"

"Frequently," he says, his voice distracted as he pulls her around a corner. "The bookstore here in Storybrooke doesn't have a very diverse selection." She hears a chuckle rise into his voice that's meant to mask annoyance—a tone she knows well, and a tone she finds endearing as it's usually associated with his son. "I just never understood how a bookseller could justify selling Old Man and the Sea and the Nick Adams Stories, but not any of Hemingway's other novels or stories—not even The Sun Also Rises! So…I had to take measures into my own hands."

"So you stole the books?"

"Borrowed," he tells her, giving her hand a little squeeze. "I always return them."

"Ah," she nods. "What… other books have you borrowed?"

"I like the short stories—"Hills Like White Elephants" is my favorite—and, of course, The Sun Also Rises, but two others I always enjoy are To Have and Have Not and For Whom the Bell Tolls. They're always worth a read, and…"

"You're quite a Hemingway fan," she says, her voice short as she cuts in. "I suppose it could be worse. You could be a smoker."

He stops—and a grin twists onto her lips as he turns and the light shines between them. "I also have discovered an interest in biographies."

"Biographies."

"Yes—biographies of the lives of people far more interesting than I."

"More interesting than you," she says, her eyebrow arching. "You're Robin Hood. Your story is one of the most legendary stories ever told."

"Perhaps," he says, turning back around and tugging her into one of the aisles. "But we aren't always the best judges of our own stories."

"Way to make your point," she sighs as he again halts, shining the light on a row of books. She watches as his eyes narrow and he crouches down, examining another shelf and her lip catches between her teeth. "I can help if you tell me what you're looking…"

"Got it!"

She watches as he pulls a thick maroon book from the shelf and blows the dust from the top, and she watches as it wafts through the air. "You… brought me here to show me an old beat-up copy of The Kings and Queens of England?"

"Among others," he says, stooping down and pulling another book from the shelf.

"Vlad the Impaler: A Bloodthirsty Prince," she says with a sigh, taking the second book from him and letting her eyes slowly drift up to his. "Should I… be insulted that my boyfriend is comparing me to a blood-sucking vampire?

"No, you shouldn't be."

"Then… what should I be?"

"Open minded."

"I don't see…"

Robin laughs as he takes her hand, tugging her back around the corner. "There's more…"

"A biography of Ivan the Terrible or maybe…" Robin shoots her a look and she sighs, her voice trailing off as they round another corner, he quickly snags a paperback from the shelf and hands it to her, "Or maybe The Golden Compass," she murmurs, looking down at the cover's almost-smiling polar bear. "I'm… even more confused now."

Robin only smiles in return, once more reaching for her hand as he tugs her out of the aisle. In the dark, she can't see where he's leading her—but she was curious. Then finally, his steps slows and he tugs her down onto the braided carpet, and when he shines the light down onto his lap, she can see that he picked up a few books along the way. A little grin tugs up onto her lips as she looks around, seeing that they're nuzzled into a little corner between shelves with their backs against a brick wall.

"So where to start?" He asks, looking over at her as his arm stretches around her shoulders—and instinctively, she cuddles in, pressing her hand to his chest as her head rests on his shoulder. "The Tudors? Catherine of Aquitaine? Mrs. Coulter or maybe Countess Elizabeth Bathory?"

Her eyebrow arches, "No Vlad the Impaler?"

He laughs a little, "One of my favorites."

"Crazed bloodsucking ruler who liked to impale people on spears and watch them die is a favorite?"

"Well, not if you put it like that," he scoffs, offering her quick wink as he plucks the book from his lap and fans the pages. "Sure, he was known for his cruelty, but a lot of it's mostly lore—especially the bits about him being a vampire." He looks over at her, offering a soft grin as he reaches over and tucks her head behind her ears. "But…" his voice slows as he settles on a page, "This poem, Tiganiada, portrays him as a hero of his people, slaying those who posed a threat to his people and…"

Her eyes fall to the poem. "But I was the threat."

"Not to everyone…"

Robin nods and flips to another page, "In this poem, The Third Letter, the poet talks about how his people only saw the good he did after he was gone, and they missed him and wished he'd come back to them to protect them even though they spent most of his reign wishing someone else would take over." He looks down at her and grins, and she feels a soft fluttering in her chest as a slight smile draws onto her lips. "But the ones I keep going back to are the Tudors—not as much lore, but just as compelling a story…"

"If you compare me to the crazed womanizer, Henry the VIII, I swear…"

"How about a different Tudor, then?" He chuckles as he opens the book and scans the table of contents—and she watches as his finger falls between Mary and Elizabeth. "People either loved or hated them…"

"Didn't they call her Bloody Mary?"

"Yes," Robin says as her eyes cast up to meet his. "But she had principles and she stuck to them, even when people disagreed and didn't understand, and the odds were stacked against her."

For a moment, her eyes fall to the page with the name Mary Tudor written in black calligraphy and a sketch of the Queen; and she can't help remember the earliest years of her reign, before the darkness had completely overtaken her and her obsessions began. She remembers how advisors quit, not wanting to answer to a queen they found inferior, and how she'd lashed out and fired those who remained when she realized the debt her late husband had accrued.

"Then," he begins as he flips a few pages. "There was Elizabeth—a beacon of stability."

"That," she begins. "Is not me."

"No?" He asks, his voice ready to refute her. "You don't think so?" She shakes her head as her eyes fall to the page. "Because after the first few years, I remember prosperous one followed. Like I said earlier, there weren't famines or drought, the taxes weren't very high and there was work in the pastures and in markets and the mills…"

"But after those first few years," she says, her eyes casting up. "That's when I really began to lose control. I was fixated on Snow White and I… I lost sight of why I'd wanted power in the first place…"

"Why did you want power?" He asks, closing the book. "Because that wasn't always the case—you once wanted happiness over power."

When she'd first started seeing Archie in those early years of the curse it was, in part, because the memories and the nightmares were becoming too much to bear on her own; of course, she couldn't be completely honest with him, she told him enough that he could help her. She told him about the haze she seemed to live in, the way she'd permeated on certain things until they became obsessions—and she'd been taken aback when he'd nodded and told her it was because she wasn't sleeping. In those years of her reign, she rarely slept—she'd go day after day, growing increasingly manic and crazed, until she finally lashed out and then crashed; and when she awoke, she couldn't allow herself to feel refreshed or invigorated, the guilt always crept in and she knew that it was just the beginning of the cycle she was caught in.

"I don't know," she murmurs—because she truly does know how it happened. She only knows that fighting against it simply became too exhausting to continue.

Robin presses a kiss to her temple as he opens a book on Eleanor of Aquitaine and begins to tell her the story—he draws a parallel between their tenacity and resilience; and though Regina rolls her eyes at the mention of Eleanor's Court of Love where she listened to others' problems in love and offered them her advice, Robin points out how they looked to her to fix them; and as when she insists that's nothing like her rule, he interjects and insists it is. He tells her about how her subjects never feared outside threats, knowing that she'd take care of the problem—she wouldn't let her kingdom fall—and when she tries to tell him that it's hardly the same, he agrees—Eleanor of Aquitaine was known and respected for frivolous advice; she protected their homes and their livelihoods, and even she finds it difficult to disagree.

"What about this one?" she asks, dragging her finger down the spine of a coral colored book that tells the story of Countess Elizabeth Bathory. "What's her story?"

"Ahh, she's quite an interesting one," he muses as a chuckle rises into his voice, "A formidable woman and a serial killer—one of the most prolific. I think she still holds a some sort of record."

"For this one I see the connection."

"Well, there's more to it than that," Robin tells her as he opens the book, "She was notorious for her brutality…"

"Again, I see the connection."

"She didn't act alone though," he says, as he flipped to the epilogue—something that was filled with speculation and assumptions. "She may even have been framed, maybe she took the wrong advice or thought she was serving a higher power…"

She looks away, focusing on the way his fingers hold open the book. "Well, that's where our stories differ, I suppose."

"Maybe," Robin says, reaching out and tipping up her chin. "But you didn't act alone—not really. I know you hate to think of it this way and you place the whole burden on your own shoulders, but there were others who created the Evil Queen and there were others that led you to casting the curse and there were others who influenced your decisions. It wasn't all you. You're not innocent—not by a long shot—but you're also not the only one who's guilty."

"You don't know the whole…"

"I've read your story, too, Regina. I do know."

She sighs a little and looks up at him. "Why did you bring me here?"

"To prove a point—to prove to you that your time as Queen wasn't as terrible as you think it was and it wasn't that uncommon. All rulers have their baggage—tough choices they had to make, outside influences that couldn't be avoided, terrible things they did to protect or balance power—but mixed in with all of those things are good things. They might not be obvious or the story that gets told—but they're there. You just have to look for them." A smile tugs onto his lips. "Henry's a smart boy. He's a reader and he knows there's more to most stories than there appears to be on a first glance—why else would he read the same books and comics over and over again?"

Regina can't help but smile at the mention of Henry and Robin's words conjure an image she often finds on lazy Sunday mornings, an image of Henry curled up in the bay window working his way through an ever-growing stack of comic books. "For the sake of argument," she begins, turning her eyes up to meet his. "Say I tell him who I am—who all of us are—and he believes and he forgives me, and he doesn't see me as the Evil Queen. If I can't break the curse then… he's going to watch people he knows and loves suffer, he's going to see what I've done to them and… what if…" Her voice falters as she takes in a breath, looking back at the books in his lap. "I have to break it; otherwise, nothing else matters."

For a moment, he doesn't reply—and she assumes it's because he doesn't know what to say; after all, there isn't anything to say. "You know, there is another option—an option that would let you keep all of your secrets, an option that would let you forget all about the curse…"

"I know," she says in a meek voice.

"Have you considered it? Have you considered leaving Storybrooke?" Momentarily, she hesitates, not wanting to admit that she's thought of it more and more, every time she meets a dead end. "Because I know I have."

"You have?"

He nods. "I've thought a lot about what it would be like to… pack up and move to Boston or New York or… anywhere. We could start a new life together, just the four of us and… and none this would matter."

A shaky breath escapes her as she lifts her head to look at him. "You'd… just… leave your whole life?"

"Until recently, I didn't have a life."

A smile tugs up at the corner of her mouth. "I've thought about it, too."

"Just know that it's an option, okay?"

She nods and rests her head back against his chest and when his arm tightens around her, the flashlight shifts, illuminating the bottom shelf next to where they're sitting and it shines upon a familiar story. Picking up her head, she looks at it—and suddenly her chest begins to swell with hope. Leaning over she pulls the book from the shelf and blows the dust off the top—Snow White and the Seven Dwarves is printed in gold leafing on the front and below the title is a picture of Prince Charming leaning in to kiss his true love.

"I… I think I know how to break the curse," she murmurs as her fingers trace over image on the front of the book as her heart beat quickens. "Robin, I think I know how to break the curse!" She turns herself toward him, looking up at him as excited tears well in her eyes and she watches as a smile draws onto his lips as his eyes fall to the book in her lap. She laughs a little and wonders if it could really be this simple—and she reaches for him, her hands sliding over his stubbly cheeks, and though she can tell he's not quite sure what's spurred this epiphany, he's enjoying it. She tugs him toward her, her lips seeking his as his hands find her hips, pulling her onto his lap as she kisses him—giggling intermittently against his lips.

They easily lose track of the afternoon—trading kisses and thumbing through the dusty copy of Snow White and the Seven Dwarves as Robin teases about the library's obvious lack of proper organization that a book like Snow White could be found in the same section as a book on Countess Bathory. For the first time in months her shoulders feel relaxed and she feels like the cloud that's been looming above her is beginning to lift.

"I regret to inform you," Robin says as his fingers stroke through her hair. "It's time to go."

"It can't be…"

"It's nearly two-thirty, and I have to tutor today and…"

A smile curls onto her lips as she stretches out her arms and closes the book in lap. "That's perfect. I… need to have a little chat with Mary Margaret Blanchard."

She laughs a little as his eyebrow arches. "A chat, hmm?"

"Yes," she nods, pulling herself off him and holding the book to her chest. "As much as I hate to admit it, I need Mary Margaret to break the curse, and…" she grins as she feels a little chill of excitement run up her spine, "I know exactly what I need her to do."

"Suppose she's not interested," he says as he gets to his feet and offers her his hand. "What then?"

"Trust me," Regina says in a confident voice as her fingers curl around his hand. "She'll be interested."

Robin nods and pulls her up, shining the flashlight out in front of them as they make their way toward the front of the library—and she can't help but laugh as his steps slow and he plucks a copy of The Basil and Josephine Stories from a shelf and tucks the book beneath his arm, then continues toward the door without saying a word.

"Wait," she says, pressing her hand to his arm as he pulls open the door and a little ray of light streams in. "You never told me why you picked up The Golden Compass."

A smirk forms on Robin's lips as he opens the door and he leans in and presses a quick kiss to her cheek. "You'll just have to read it to find out."

They arrive at the elementary school just as the bell rings, and they part ways as Robin makes his way to the school's little library. She watches for a few minutes in the hallway as students run toward the open doors wearing thick coats and well-stuffed backpacks that weigh them down and make them toddle—and a smile pulls onto her lips as Robin sets up the tables with pencils and erasers, crayons and pieces of scrap paper. One of the teachers joins him, tugging a cart of extra supplies—and Regina can't help but laugh when Robin's smile grows brighter and he stoops to assess the contents of the cart.

Taking a long and deep breath, she musters a smile and makes her way to Mary Margaret's classroom and she hesitates for a brief moment, collecting her thoughts as she tries to find a starting point.

"Ms. Blanchard," she asks, rasping her knuckles against the frame of the door. "Do you have few minutes?"

"Mayor Mills," Mary Margaret says, her voice piquing with surprise. "Of course, I do," she says, dropping a pink pen onto a stack of papers as she rises. "Please, come in." A little awkwardly, Regina steps into the classroom—feeling out of place in a room full of low tables and miniature chairs. "What brings you by?"

Regina takes a breath. "There was something I wanted to talk to you about," she begins as Mary Margaret's brow creases in curiosity. "A favor, actually."

"Oh… okay…"

"Henry is always telling me how… warm you are, and how thoughtful…"

"What a sweet boy…"

"Yes, he is," Regina nods. "And, you've been so kind and wonderful to him. I so appreciate all you've done for him, all the encouragement you've given him… the support…" Her voice trails off—and her sincerity surprises even her. "So, with that in mind, you seem like a perfect candidate for a new imitative that my office has been planning."

"Oh?"

"Yes," Regina says, smiling at Mary Margaret's obvious interest as her shoulders straighten and her eyes widen—and she can tell, even without any details, she's flattered. "You see, at Storybrooke Hospital, we have several patients who… have… been there for quite some time with only the hospital's staff to care for them. People who… don't have families or people whose families can't… be there often because of work and children, and other obligations."

"Oh, how sad…"

"It is sad," Regina agrees as her voice drops a few octaves. "So, we wanted to try out an outreach program… to help make them a little less lonely." Mary Margaret nods, her eyes full of empathy—and Regina struggles not to smile. "We were hoping to find some volunteers from the community who could go to visit them—talk to them, bring them flowers, spend a couple of hours with them each week."

"That's such a sweet idea. I love that."

"I'm glad you feel that way. Does this mean I can count on you to help?"

"Of course!"

"Good," Regina says, finally letting her smile tug up at the corners of her mouth. "Once we've worked out all the details, I'll be in touch, then. You can expect a call from my secretary next week."

"I look forward to it."

"I'm so glad," Regina says, feeling a little wave of relief wash over her. "I won't take up any more of your time, Ms. Blanchard, but… thank you. Really. You have no idea how much your cooperation means to me." Regina smiles once more and again, a little thrill runs down her spine—finally, she has a plan and she'd just set it into motion.

Her heels click as she makes her way down the hallways back toward the school's library—and when she reaches is, her heart flutters as she watches Robin slide into a chair beside Henry. There's another boy sitting with them at the table—and Robin opens a box of brightly colored blocks as Henry hands him a dry erase marker. Both boys watch him intently as he works his way through a problem that she can see deals with fractions—something Henry perpetually struggles with—and she watches he writes a step down and then moves the blocks around on the table. And she can't help it when her throat tightens when Henry sighs in frustration, and Robin's hand moves to his back, rubbing circles between his shoulder blades as he encourages him to try the problem again.

Her cell phone buzzes, drawing her out of the moment and when she pulls it out of her pocket, she sees that she has a new voicemail. Her brow furrows as she looks down at it—she hadn't even felt it vibrating as the call was waiting to be received—and she flips open the phone to listen, not bothering to check the number. Taking a few steps away from the window, she wanders down the hallway and listens as Emma Swan explains that she hasn't been able to stop thinking about Henry since the voicemails they traded, and she's had a change of heart—she wants to meet her son—and, Regina feels her heart beat slow as a knot forms in her stomach as Emma urges her to call her back so they can arrange a day and time that will work for all of them.