so I started a new story...I hope you like it! :) thanks Shan and Jen for pre-reading it for me, you beauties.

And thank you my dearest Geli for beta-reading!

One

Mondays usually bring in a gadarene feeling up in the air as everyone seems to be rushing on their way to work or to school—slowed and weighed down by the lazy weekend that's now passed, the need and desire for sleep and the reluctance to start the day, to start the week. The need to cuddle further under the covers or bury one's nose on the duvet is great, and everyone seems to be snoozing their alarms for five more minutes of shut eye.

Regina Mills starts her day with a modicum of disinclination as she lets her soft and warm comforters swallow her tired body up. She burrows herself further into the soft, warm covers, and presses her nose into the soft, white pillow. Her muscles protest with the need to stay in bed further, and she delays the inevitable as she rolls over and lays, spread eagle on her soft bed. She should get up, she knows, but staying in bed for a few more minutes seems like such a brilliant idea, and whatever she needs to do today seems to be too far from her mind now.

Her alarm beeps again, disturbingly loud in her otherwise empty and quiet house, and she stretches, tries to work out the kinks from her back. She really should go have it tended to, she thinks, but she rarely has the time, so she sits up from bed and rubs her eyes, trying to wake long enough to stand and get herself ready for the day.

It's barely six am, and the skies outside are still dark, grey, even going as far as gloomy and she really feels like it might even rain today—which is not at all surprising, this is Maine, after all. Just as she thinks of it, the skies cracks, makes the loud booming sound of thunder.

With a sigh, Regina climbs out of bed and walks to the bathroom. She takes a quick shower, mindful of the time and wraps herself in a robe. She picks her clothes meticulously and applies her makeup with careful precision. Once satisfied, she goes downstairs and makes something for breakfast (coffee and apple, double the caffeine) and then makes her way to the car, speeding off to the office for another day.

…

Regina's office is large and cozy, is able to hold her desk and file cabinets and still have room for a fireplace and a black leather couch which gives the space a homey feel to it. It has large French Windows, and she can see perfectly one of the apple trees she's asked her father to uproot from their house to plant to her own house and in her office. Her father had acquiesced to that, while her mother had called her sentimental (like wanting a piece of her childhood is a sin). And she supposes it is, was, sentimental of her to have that brought by and planted right where she can see it constantly, but it brings her serenity, takes away the stress of the day when she peers up at it and her mind flashes with memories of time long passed. And more than anything, Regina finds her office as a place for solace. Her house should be that, her huge, white mansion gifted to her by her father on her birthday which stands at 108 Miflin Street should be the place where she finds peace and comfort, but sadly it is not, and she finds that she'd rather spend her days in the office than in her own huge but empty house.

Luckily for her, she has to spend a lot of time in her office, as her growing company now needs more of her time and attention. She owns an Apple Plantation she calls the Forbidden Fruit which manufactures and distributes any apple product (the actual fruit not the gadget that everyone seems to be fond of these days, one that she herself owns) known to man. Apple pies, both fresh and frozen, apple jams, apple turnovers, caramelized apple, the apple fruit itself in all its kinds: McIntosh, Washington, Fuji, Green, Gala…all of it. She even opens the orchard and tourists from all over the country flock all over to go apple picking when it is season.

She is proud of herself, of her accomplishment, because not a lot of people can say that they have a corporation as large as hers at the age of thirty, and father is too, but Mother is a different story. She feels like Regina has wasted her Ivy League education (graduating with a 4.0 average in Vassar) just to plant apples. She doesn't understand that it isn't just planting apples, but making products out of it, making profits, lots and lots of profits, though profits is the least of Regina's concern.

As it is, she's expanding her market to other products, not just apple this time, but other food, other fruits too, if only her mother could see that she's not just wasting away her life like she thinks. Regina does this because it makes her feel good to be the Queen of her own little empire and because she is doing what she likes. It never does feel like she's working, never feels like a job.

Regina sighs and focuses on the document before her, wishing she could at least have some coffee. Maybe, she should have Belle get her a cup. Belle is Regina's quiet, reserved and long-suffering assistant for years now. Regina's hired her when she's started building her company and has been the first employees Regina ever had. She has always been patient, even through the more rocky years, rarely ever complains, and has always been efficient and punctual.

Belle makes sure that all the files are at the right order and Regina's schedule is never in chaos, is in charge of getting Regina's coffee when she can't to calm her down, and is also responsible for Regina not losing her head when documents pile up and Regina is right about ready to curse everyone in town. And though Regina often sees her with a book in hand, she has never once failed Regina, and so Regina doesn't make a big deal out of it.

As if hearing her silent prayer, her assistant walks in with coffee in hand and a smile on her face.

"You're an angel in disguise," Regina groans once her assistant places the coffee in her hands and she takes a long sip. She smiles, pleased when she realizes that Belle's gotten her coffee just right. Regina takes her coffee black, no sugar and no milk, and more importantly, none of those low fattening creamer that only adds more calories. She takes coffee for the caffeine, to wake herself up and keep herself alert, not for the taste. She feels her muscles rise from their previous cathartic state. She places the cup back on her desk, peering up at her brunette assistant (begrudgingly, sometimes, friend too). "Thank you, Belle."

Belle nods and then puts the document down on her desk that she hasn't even noticed at first. "You'll need to go over these," she says. "And Ms. Blanchard called asking if you were free for lunch. I put her on hold."

Regina takes one folder from the pile and scans it, frowns, "Tell her I'll meet her at Granny's at noon," she replies absentmindedly as she reads through the document. It's a contract for a local supermarket in Boston, and Regina wonders if it works out well for her favor.

Belle nods and then exits quietly, leaving Regina to pore over the new batch of documents she needs to go over. It keeps her busy for a long while.

…

Time rolls by in glimpse, and before Regina knows it, it's lunch time, her gurgling belly reminding her of it. She shakes her head and puts her work aside in favor of a very greasy burger from Granny's, quite possibly, the only decent diner in town. Taking her purse and shoving her phone inside, she walks out from the office, says goodbye to Belle with an urge for her to go out and eat something as well, before she makes her way to her car and drives to Granny's.

Mary Margaret is already there, sitting on a booth in the corner, when she arrives. She makes her way to her friend and plops down on the seat across her with a sigh.

"Long day, huh?" Mary Margaret asks, and Regina can only nod.

Long, long day and it is far from being over yet. She sighs and waits as the waitress, Ruby, comes over to their table and takes their orders. Regina goes for the bacon cheeseburger and fries, going with her initial craving and indulging for once. She doesn't usually eat junk but today, her stomach begs for something more than a measly salad. If it surprises Mary Margaret, she doesn't say, and instead she orders a BLT and fries for herself. Once finished, Ruby excuses herself and disappears into the back kitchen.

"How's your wedding plans coming along?" Regina asks the younger (by one year, Regina notes) brunette as she sips the water Ruby has brought for them upon her arrival.

Mary Margaret is the town's princess, daughter of the town's Mayor, homecoming queen, captain of the cheering squad and the queen of the annual Storybrooke Town fair back when they had been in high school. She is only a year younger than Regina and the two has always been able to form a close bond after Regina had saved her from a runaway horse, once when they were in middle school. And considering everything that has happened between their families, it is actually rather a surprise that they managed to remain friends.

"Stressful," Mary Margaret complains with a groan, just as Ruby comes over their table with the food they ordered. Mary Margaret offers her a soft thank you and a smile, while Regina only watches and nods. When she leaves, Mary Margaret continues, "David's mom is sick and is in intensive care for the time being, too, and we don't know if she can be out of the hospital in time for the wedding. And the location, the gazebo at the town square, who knows when that would finish. I've tried to talk to Leroy, but you know how he is. He told me, and I quote, "It will be finished when it is, sister", and that's the end of that discussion."

Regina fights the urge to laugh, knowing that Mary Margaret is actually very frazzled about her wedding, but she cannot deny that it is rather funny.

"Well I'm pretty sure you have enough hope in you that I won't even have to attempt making a hope speech for you," Regina says dryly, knowing that the fair brunette is nothing if not optimistic, and she has an abundant flow of hope and cheerfulness in her system that would put fairies to shame. "You probably get a quarter every time you even say the word hope."

Mary Margaret narrows her gaze and humphs, clearly not amused at her, but Regina only shrugs and shoves a piece of fry in her mouth. It isn't like it isn't true.

"So what about you?" her friend asks, then, "Anything new lately? Heard the good sheriff had been snoopin' round you huh?"

Regina glares at Mary Margaret and leans back. "You spend too much time gossiping, Mary Margaret," she says with a shake of her head. "Shouldn't you devote your time to making sure that the children of Storybrooke actually learn something other than how to make a birdhouse?"

Mary Margaret huffs then, digging into her lunch, and Regina knows that she's not totally pleased, but that shut her up about that topic, and that's all Regina cares about at the moment. She would not discuss this aspect of her life, no matter how good a friend Mary Margaret is. Furthermore, there is nothing to discuss, after all, Regina has closed her heart off on anything romantic eleven years ago, and she's not about to open it anytime soon.

…

By the time she finishes lunch with Mary Margaret, it's already moving past one in the afternoon. With a promise to meet her again soon and to help out whenever she can with the wedding preparations, Regina takes her purse and shrugs on her coat, ready to take her leave. Mary Margaret walks with her to the parking lot, which is not more ten steps from the diner itself, when they both hear the unmistakable and rather annoyingly loud sound of a horn blaring. Regina looks up just in time to see a boy, not more three or four, with a mop of bobbing curls, crossing the street unsupervised. He looks familiar, she thinks, but couldn't quite place where exactly she's seen the boy, not that it matters now as the car comes careening over with a disturbing speed.

It spurs her on, and she runs towards the middle of the street, mindless of the danger the oncoming car is posing, and swipes the child, wrapping her arms around his tiny body and carrying him away. From the distance, Mary Margaret yells out her name in alarm, but she makes it through, the child she carries now frightened and crying in her arms, before she hears the inevitable crash of the car on a lamp post.

The people inside the diner have come flocking out by then, and Regina heaves the boy up her arms and settles him on her hips. His darling little head falls on to her shoulders and she feels his tears wet the fabric of her navy blue pea coat. She runs her hands up and down his back, trying her hardest to calm him down, though that seems impossible as he continues to sob and hiccup in her arms. Mary Margaret stands beside her, placing a calming hand on her back, just as some other people swarm around the car that just crashed.

Regina busies herself with looking for the child's parent or parents, whichever, all the while trying to soothe him. Imagine her surprise when a man steps forward, frantic, and panting, his eyes filled to the brim with worry.

"Roland, my boy," he says, not meeting her eyes as his own eyes search frantically for the boy. He moves towards the crowd that has come and circled around Regina and Mary Margaret, and it isn't until Mary Margaret calls out his name that he even realizes that the boy in question is in Regina's arms. There he stands, just as rigid as Regina has been, his feet planting firmly to the ground as he comes into a grinding halt just before her.

Murmurs spread through the on-lookers, and Regina could just about kick herself because with a town as small as Storybrooke, news spread faster than a wildfire. It would only take twenty minutes, maybe even less, before the news reaches her mother, and god, what an earful Regina would get after then.

She tries to tether herself to the present however, and unconsciously she tightens her arms around the whimpering boy in her arms.

"Regina," the man murmurs now, forcing a hush to fall upon their spectators.

Regina wishes the ground would swallow her up in whole.

"Robin," she mutters, tasting on her lips the name she's sworn she'll never have to say again.

…

Of all the scenarios that crossed his mind when he heard the loud crash of the car and he'd turned around to find his boy missing, this isn't one of those. He's imagined, though not hoped, that his son had been ran over by that speeding car, his remains lying on the middle of the street, blood literally a puddle around him. He's imagined, and hoped, his boy actually making it to the street before the car could have crashed. But he had not imagined this: his son in the arms of a woman.

And of all the people he has expected to see, she isn't one of them.

He hasn't really thought he'll ever see her again, better yet, meet again, because it's been such a long time, and besides, she has gone all out in trying to pretend that he doesn't even exist, therefore lowering any chances that they might meet again. But he's seen her around town, of course, at parties, down the street, because in a town like Storybrooke, every one of its residents saw each other on an alarmingly daily basis. Everyone who is anyone on this town knew each other, which is neither here nor there in regards to their current predicament, really.

Though, he finds very quickly that even if his rational mind have all but settled it for him, his body, especially his limbs, would not cooperate. He stands, rooted on the ground, staring at the woman holding his son. Her hair is short now, nothing like the long one she used to wear, and her taste is much more impeccable, much classier in his opinion, while he…well, he's still the same jeans and a sweatshirt kind of guy. But to be fair, she has always been very classy, ever since they were young and…

Well it's not the time nor the place to go there, is it?

He attempts to take command over his faculties once more, urging one foot forward so that he might gather his son from Regina, and finds that he is, at last, successful in doing so. He moves towards them now in a slow and steady pace, trying hard not to fall flat on his arse and trying hard not to mind the people who have now convened around them like they were some kind of Greek Tragedy playing on stage.

He stops when he reaches her, only vaguely aware of Mary Margaret trying to disperse the crowd or the Sheriff now arriving and gauging the scene for himself. He extends his arms and tries to lift his boy from her grasp but his son protests, and Regina shakes her head, so he lets it go.

"I didn't see him go," Robin explains, without knowing exactly why. "I was buying him ice cream, and was trying to look for change in my pocket. He has a bad habit of running away, a little sneak…but I…God, I won't know what to do with myself had something happened to him."

He feels the tears prickle his eyes, and sees her eyes soften in return, but she makes no move to touch him, makes no move at all, not that he ever expects him too.

"He's asleep," she suddenly says in a soft whisper, her arms still rubbing up and down his son's back.

"Oh," he says, standing dumbly for a second, before he reaches for his son. Roland stirs, but doesn't wake, and at last he is transferred safely in Robin's arms. Before he can say anything else, Regina is walking away from him and the scene, the wet patch on her coat where his son had cried still visible, but she seems to pay it no mind. "Regina," he calls out for her then, spurred on by something even he isn't sure.

She turns around with a great deal of trepidation, and he understands, but he hates it all the same. "Yes?" she asks in a cold, detached voice, but he knows her well enough that it is a mask. It has worked well for her, that whole back-away-from-me-unless-you-want-me-to-run-you-over persona, but he knows her, knows her very well, in fact. It has never worked on him.

"Thank you," he murmurs sincerely, trying to smile, but realizing he can't. His heart pounds loudly against his chest, he's surprised she hasn't heard it, or that it hasn't knocked his child out of his arms.

She only gives him a nod then and turns around, leaving him to watch her walk away from him.

…

Regina likes to think that she knows her mother well enough to know that the reason she's called around three in the afternoon, demanding that her daughter came over and had dinner with her and father is to berate Regina for today's headline event, featuring yours truly. She also knows that it's the highest form of flattery to even dream of actually knowing Cora Mills, and Regina could be in quite a surprise the moment she steps into the house. Cora could be berating her for another reason, like her lack of husband, for example, amongst many other things, which she is sure would be coming up in later conversation as well.

And so it is with a sigh and an emotional armor that Regina makes her way to her parents' house, promptly arriving at six o'clock, just as mother instructed. If anything, she would at least get to visit with Daddy, and that always manages to brighten up her day, even when Cora insists on being surly and forcing everything on a bad note.

Regina thinks of the old days, as she knocks on the door and waits. She misses the Cora she's grown up with, the woman who had been caring and understanding, doting, even though she never was the one for public displays of affections. Her mother has always been a hard-ass but she's always been a good mother, providing and wanting only what is best for her children. Regina wonders if Zelena, her sister, ever hears from mother anymore these days, other than the usual nitpicking, since she's moved to Kansas.

It has only been in the past eleven years that Cora has become the woman she is now—stubborn (though Daddy will probably argue that she's always been stubborn), cold, and insensitive. Regina still blames herself for it.

The door opens, however, leaving her no room for her morose thoughts, and she is greeted by Mrs. Potts, a stout, old woman who has been their housekeeper ever since Regina was a baby. She's seen Regina grow, and has been privy to Regina's moments in life. Regina smiles widely at the older woman and pulls her into her arms.

"Hi, Mrs. Potts," she greets happily. "It's been a long time since I've seen you. How's Chip?" Chip is the older woman's youngest son, who has gone to the University of New York on a football scholarship.

"Oh he is well, Miss Regina," the older woman says with longing in her voice as she ushers Regina inside. "I miss him every day, but he calls me a lot, and tells me about his—well, everything."

Regina smiles at this. "I'm happy for him," she says, "And if I can do anything to help, you must tell me." The older woman nods, and Regina cranes her neck to peer at the nooks and crannies that can be seen overhead. "Where's Daddy?"

"In his study," Mrs. Potts supplies, before she excuses herself to the kitchen where she says Cora is.

Better steer clear of the kitchen then.

Regina makes her way to her father's study, then, and tries to look for her father. Her father, Henry Mills, owns the only bank in town (which is managed by her mother) and the largest flour-milling plant in the East Coast. He has inherited both from his father, and devotes his time in the plantation, leaving the bank management mostly to Cora. Just like his daughter, he enjoys it more than a hard day at work in the local bank.

Regina smiles at the sight of her father when she finally gets to his study and knocks against the jamb. His father looks up and his eyes light up.

"Regina!" he exclaims in happiness as he stands and makes his way to her. He engulfs her in a hug, one that she returns, and pulls her inside. "Your mother mentioned she invited you to dinner, but I hadn't thought you would actually come."

Lately, Regina has been finding reasons not to come over. She nods solemnly, taking a seat beside her father on his leather couch. "I can only stave mother for a certain period of time until she'd be forcefully dragging me to the house by the ear," she says, half serious, knowing her mother would.

Henry chuckles. "You know she won't do that," he says, patting her hand. He remains silent for a moment, enjoying a sip of his brandy, as Regina lays her head on his chest. "I heard about today," he says, breaking the silence.

Somehow, it doesn't even surprise Regina. "You mean Mother has told you?" she asks, already hearing in her head the words her mother had said and the words she will undoubtedly be saying later.

Henry nods his sheepishly. Well that is to be expected. "You saved his boy," he comments, and though his tone is light, the words that he utters are anything but.

"I didn't know the boy was his," she says, and it's the truth, she really didn't.

"You'd have saved him, regardless," her father says, and that is also the truth. "So you met him then?"

Regina bites her lip then and nods slowly. She doesn't really want to talk about it, not even to her father, because everything is just too raw. She isn't even entirely sure that she hadn't dreamed it (later she'll know that she hasn't). She is still somehow in a state of shock.

"Well, you couldn't have avoided him forever."

And those words are the truth. Eleven years certainly has been long enough.

…

Robin watches his son as he sleeps on his bed, the rise and fall of his chest comforting him in ways he cannot even begin to explain. It has been a close call today, and if it wasn't for Regina, he might have lost his son too. He is already without a wife, it would be rather depressing if he loses his son too.

But Regina…oh Regina, she is still as beautiful as he remembers her. While it's true that he's seen her these past few years, it has only been glimpses, just her walking down the street, passing by his office on her way to her Father's office. He's seen her driving down to the bank where her mother works (manages, he corrects himself, as though he hears Cora herself correct him), has seen her in birthdays and parties and events around town. But always just a glimpse, never face to face, and never as close as he had today.

If his son's life had not been on the line, he would have been grateful.

It seems time had agreed with her and she's aged so wonderfully and so beautifully. She is different now, from the sixteen-year-old version of herself, or the twenty, but she's still beautiful, and she's still as gracious as ever. Regal, he thinks.

He wonders where she is now, as he usually does when he gets a bit of time for himself, when his son settles down and allows him a few hours of quiet. He wonders what she's made of her life. He has heard about her owning her own business now, an apple plantation, David Nolan has told him, and it makes him proud of her in a way that he's not even allowed to. She has reached her dreams, she's made use of the orchard that their family owned but no one cared about and she's made a name for herself, with Forbidden Fruit now a household name in the country, still she lives in this small town, tied down to her roots, like she's always wanted. She has never been the one for the lavish and the excess, has always wanted the peace and the quiet, the simplicity of life.

And though he's made quite a name for himself, a bidder and a contractor, doing what he loves best which is building—anything, from houses to actual skyscrapers—he wonders if there is any realm that he can even match her, that he could deserve her. He hasn't really deserved her all those years ago, when they had been young and he had been an eager boy in the throes of his first love.

And maybe, even now, with everything that he's accomplished, maybe he's still not worthy of her, the woman he still loves.

…

Regina throws her keys on the side table as she toes off her shoes and leaves it near the door. It's been a long day, made even longer by her mother who has grilled her about Robin. There isn't much to grill, it was rather just a tiny incident, but Cora seems adamant to see her daughter as far away from him as possible.

"He's trouble, Regina, that Locksley boy," Cora spats at her over dinner, "He's always been."

Regina had bitten her tongue, trying not to snap at her mother. It wasn't her opinion of him all those years ago, she'd thought bitterly, but she hadn't voiced her opinion. She'd only gazed up at her father and gave him a look of resignation, one that he had dutifully returned.

Now, as Regina makes her way to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of apple cider, she can still feel her ears ring from her mother's words. It had been doomed from the very beginning, with her mother's welcoming speech of how Regina had disgraced the family with her little scene today, and how Regina will be the topic of gossip for the next few days for fraternizing with that Locksley boy once again.

Regina had tuned her out after that, but she is pretty sure that there had been mention of Regina being single when Mary Margaret, a year younger than her, will be marrying the next month. She doesn't really care.

As Regina takes a long sip of her drink, she hears the doorbell ring. She sighs, she isn't in the mood for company or unwanted visitors this time of the night. After the day she had, she deserves a break. With a frown, she walks to the door and pulls it open, ready to send away whoever is on the other side. To her surprise, a young boy of nine or maybe ten, stares back at her with big brown eyes.

"Are you Regina Mills?" he asks, all smiles and innocence.

She nods. "I'm sorry, who are you?" she asks the young boy.

He beams at her, heaving his backpack over his shoulder further. "I'm Henry," he says with a shrug. "I'm your son."

Regina stares back at him, feeling air leave her lungs, and she wonders if she's going to vomit or faint…maybe both.

A/N: Let me know if i should continue or not! :D