When the bell to Mr. Gold's Pawn Shop tinkled, he was poring over a potions book with reading glasses perched at the top of his forehead. He didn't bother to look up. He merely speculated, "What are you doing here?"

Regina scowled as she stepped past the threshold and let the door slide shut behind her. "Practicing for a piano recital," she spat sarcastically. She slid regally across the floor, dressed in the glamour of the mayor. "I need something from you, Gold." Her pantsuit still had a tag hanging behind the jacket, but it was intentional. It was meant to remind him she was worth truckloads. Her hair was pulled back into a neat little bun.

Staring at her with a raised eyebrow, Rumple asked cynically, "And what might that be, my queen?"

In a shameful whisper, she enlightened, "My magic isn't working like it should."

In a growl, he questioned, "And that surprises you—why?"

She looked like she was actually going to spit on him, so he shut the book and offered his input. "You haven't used magic in nearly thirty years."

"So?" Her lips were puckered as if she were chewing on a lemon.

"You have to channel the woman who ripped out so many hearts she couldn't count them all. Use the book."

Snappishly, Regina informed Rumplestiltskin as if she were a serpent about to bite his throat, "Someone stole the book."

Dropping his chin in a hand and stroking each side of his chin, Rumple mused, "Interesting."

Clearing his throat, he said, "Never mind. The book is merely a prop. Magic must come from within." Tapping his fingers on his desk, his mind raced. The fingers of one hand fondled the spine of his book. He needed to keep Regina from molting since he had a favor he wanted to slyly convince her to help him with. "Have you tried seizing it from within?"

"You're buttering me up," Regina realized, crossing her eyes in surprise. Then she focused on the Dark One with skepticism lurking on her cheeks. "You want something, Rumple, and it's not gold." Smiling a satisfied little smile, she stared at him with the eyes of a panther about to pluck off a gazelle. "You can't hide it from me."

Crisply, he suggested, "Let's not worry what I want from you just yet. Let's focus on you and your needs."

Regina didn't listen to him. She couldn't imagine what the all-powerful Dark One could need from her, and it left her feeling unsettled. She despised feeling unsettled. She preferred to have the gloating upper hand.

Thus, she asked the question burning at her scowling throat. "A lock of my hair?"

Rumple snorted. "What would I do with that? Tie it to a stake and burn it?"

Fearlessly, Regina tossed her neck then dipped her chin so her hair would flop in her eye. She looked damn good and knew it, though she also knew Rumple wasn't attracted to her. That didn't bother her one bit. "Wouldn't surprise me," she uttered smugly. "People tend to feel fury toward the bearer of bad news, and it was I who informed you your little twinkie committed suicide."

Rumple couldn't stop himself from roaring with fury. "How dare you call her a twinkie?" he snarled bestially. If she'd only left that bit out, he could have pretended her words didn't affect him. She knew that, which is why she said it. She wanted him to roar with spittle flying from his lips—and she had succeeded.

With smug satisfaction filling her features, Regina tilted her head to the left then right. "My pleasure," she crooned. "Anyway, I'm not in the business of calling a teacup a feather." She blew him a kiss.

Through clenched teeth, Rumple snarled, "If you want my help, why are you trying to agitate me into tearing your head off your neck?"

Regina's gaze slid to her right as she momentarily considered his question. Reaffixing her line of sight to meet Rumple's, she answered haughtily, "Because it's fun."

"Alright then." Rumple made shooing motions. "Out of my shop. Before I call the sheriff. Unlike Graham, she's not your robot, having all the logic knocked out of her by that remote control."

"Please," Regina snorted. "Spare me the," she made air quotes, "holier-than-thou," she dropped her arms to a folded position before her chest, "nonsense. You've done it too."

"No. I was more likely to crush hearts than control them. Turning people into mind zombies is a fascination that belongs to you and your mother. If I don't like someone, I don't change him." He studied his fingernails. "I kill him."

"Touché." Letting the smugness sag off her face, Regina deflated. "Fine." Through clenched teeth and with a boot kicking her pride, she admitted, "I need your help."

Rumple smiled sunnily. "Music to my ears."

Propping herself on his desk, Regina urged, "Then sing me a song."

Waggling his finger, Rumple chided, "The Dark One doesn't sing."

"You made that stupid rule up. If Dark Ones are so magical, they can sing."

"I'm not a patron of the Lollipop Guild."

Hopping off the desk, Regina deduced, "I suppose I ought to stop wasting our time. Before it costs me a sliver of my soul."

Incredulously, Rumple asked, "You think you still have your soul? That's the most ridiculous thing I've heard all day. Souls are reserved for people who care about, I don't know, somebody besides themselves? You are the wolf who rips out someone's throat even though they mean you no harm, not the wolf who rips out someone's throat because they mean you harm."

"What is it you want in exchange for helping me?"

Rumple beckoned at his ear. "What else is music to my ears?"

Regina made her mouth narrow then jerked it to the left side of her face. She bunched up her lips before answering with the expression of someone drinking foul-tasting medicine. "I'll do anything." She slanted her arms in front of her, forming a rectangle and buried her head in the shape. As if she expected Rumple's ceiling to drop hail upon her.

Indeed, Rumple's triumph was such that ships would be envious of the effect.

Joyously, he said sotto voce, "That's better." Humming, his body vibrated with magic. Regina rolled her eyes.

"What do you want, you gloating pile of imp?"

In a high-pitched vocal, he answered, "The key to the library!"

Narrowing her eyes in skepticism, Regina dissented, "You can't possibly only want the key to the library. It's so trivial—not to mention, filthy. What do you really want, Gold?" Hands on her hips, she guessed, "A kidney? For me to sacrifice Henry? A vial of my blood?"

"I am looking for a book I can't find online." Impishly, he winked. "I figured it must be in Storybrooke Library."

Smoothly, she countered, "Alright, it's your funeral. Now, my magic?"

Propping an opened book before Regina on his desk, Rumple suggested, "Start small. Picture the top page getting ripped."

Regina stared with her brow furrowed for several long moments. "Nothing's happening," she deduced crossly.

Waving his hand on the page on the right, Rumple wondered, "How do you feel?"

Regina snorted. "How do I feel?" she repeated with scorn, as if it were the most ludicrous question Rumple had asked her. "My curse was broken by a woman with a criminal past whose best friend was carved from wood. My magic is working as if it is fueled by make-believe by a child who lacks a magic bone. My hair looked like a Tyrannosaurus rex got its toenails caught in it when I woke up. I had to call an emergency hairstylist, so how do you think I feel?" Regina seethed.

Calmly, Rumple replied, "I'd hardly imagine you're singing songs of peaches and cream."

"That's an understatement. I feel like a commoner!" raged Regina.

In a silvery voice, Rumple asserted, "There's your problem." Beckoning at her chest, he said, "In order for you to do magic," he chuckled derisively, "you need to feel like a queen."

"Well, ain't that the cherry on the cupcake," she snarked. She tilted her head up at the ceiling, inwardly debating. Then she sighed and clucked her tongue. Holding out her wrists, she commanded, "Queen me." She shut her eyes tight.

Something snapped upon her wrists. When she opened her eyes, she found herself donned in a royal black gown. On her wrists were bracelets composed from the finest gold. Her hair had been twisted by the stylist into a tight bun but was now in a queenly updo. She could feel the difference in her makeup—from everyday mayor to professional queen.

"You do good work," she complimented coolly before hunting the pawn shop for a floor-length mirror. She had to raise her skirts as she walked or they dragged on the floor.

The mirror she wanted stood in the most forgotten corner of the shop. Rubies and emeralds glittered on the rose-gold mermaid-shaped frame. The magic mirror cast Regina in her best light.

She looked like a queen. She smelled like a queen. She felt like a queen.

Snapping her fingers, the library key materialized in her hand. Onto the desk she pressed it.

"I'm back."