Regina grunts as she pries open the window above the kitchen sink and considers removing the batteries from the smoke detector in the back hallway. Temporarily, at least. Until dinner is finished.

"It appears you were correct, milady," Robin says, voice raised to be heard over the alarm. "There are a few differences between cooking over a gas stove versus an open fire."

Regina laughs and scoots behind him, squeezing his upper arms and planting a kiss on his cheek as she passes him at the stove. She'd been willing to go back to camp with him tonight for dinner, but he'd been excited to try out kitchen appliances for the first time when he'd met her outside City Hall with a brown paper grocery sack hunched over next to him on the bench, insisting on treating her to this land's version of a proper dinner. A lady deserves to be wooed; even if she has no interest in being wooed, he'd said.

"It's okay," she says over her shoulder as she grabs the broom from the pantry. "Won't be the last time something burns in this kitchen, I assure you."

She rounds the corner and lifts the broom's handle, pressing and holding the reset button on the smoke detector until the alarm cuts off. It's overly sensitive, always has been, which is a good argument for snagging the step ladder from the closet to remove the batteries, but for now she'll leave it be.

When she walks back into the kitchen, she finds Robin fanning smoke toward the open window with a clean dish towel while smothering a new lick of flame in the sauté pan with a lid.

"Anything salvageable?"

"I'm afraid to look," Robin admits. "I'm sorry. I should have practiced before strutting in here like a complete buffoon."

Regina scoffs, pushing him gently out of the way to inspect the damage. "I doubt you can do worse than the first time I let Henry bake cookies on his own. Scorched flour and chocolate lingers."

She goes quiet then, giving their dinner an experimental poke with the spatula.

Robin sighs and mirrors her earlier movements, sliding behind her, hands rubbing her upper arms as he sits a kiss to her neck below her ear. "Still no word from Emma on whether they're staying?"

"No. But she said she'd have an answer by tomorrow."

He hums and winds his arms around her middle, resting his chin on her shoulder. "She'll come through."

Regina drags a harsh scoff from the back of her throat. "You don't know her like I do. She can be quite stubborn. Impulsive."

"She's still here. Henry's still here. That's a good sign, yeah? It's been a week since she came back through the time portal."

"I don't want to lose him again," Regina says, a slight wince crossing her face at the rawness in her voice. She's not above showing Robin a little vulnerability, revels in the fact that he's become someone she's comfortable doing so in front of, but this is new.

And yet old.

And a little confusing at times.

Robin releases another brief sigh, tightening his hold on her for a moment, and she finds herself grateful for the simple warmth of his body wrapped around hers in place of the hope-heavy promises that would spill from others' lips like weighted charges primed to explode, as promises so often do around her.

She clears her throat and gently disentangles herself from him, turning so that her hands are braced on the granite countertop behind her. "If Henry were here, he'd be begging for take out by now. We still need to eat. Have you tried Chinese food yet?" She tugs open a drawer and pulls out a battered, soy-speckled menu, holding it up between her first and second finger. "You haven't lived until you've eaten an egg roll."

"Hum, I don't believe I've had the pleasure." Robin plucks the folded paper from her hand and leans against the island, perusing the long columns of available entrees with pursed lips. "We tried pizza delivery last Thursday and they were somewhat reticent to bring our meal to the camp."

"Yes, I can see them being reluctant to do that," Regina says, cracking a smirk.

After a few seconds, Robin shrugs and shakes his head. "I've no idea what any of this is, but I trust your judgement. So long as it has those fabled eggrolls."

"Ha! I'll order my usual, then."

Regina slips her phone from her pocket and dials the bolded, serif number on the front of the menu. She swallows hard as the old woman who answers the line asks after Henry, comments on her changed order, and Regina lies through her teeth about the former and says she'll pay cash this time instead of using her card.

"Now what?" Robin asks, fingers tucked into his front pockets, thumbs hooked in the thick belt loops of his khaki Tru-Spec pants.

"Now," Regina says, tucking her hair behind her ear, "We wait."

"Shall we move somewhere a little less smoky?"

"Yes, let's do."

Regina leads him across the foyer to the formal living room, taking a moment to crouch before the fireplace and light the logs piled in the hearth. A slight chill still lingers in the rooms with exterior walls. She discards the long match, the wood snapping and crackling as the flames consume it, and brushes her fingers together, dislodging an invisible layer of ash and soot.

Robin makes himself at home on one end of the couch, arm draped casually along the back, body angled toward her and the fire. "How long does this normally take?"

"Depends on the time of day, how busy they are," Regina says, shrugging as she sits next to him, her shoulder sliding into place underneath his arm. "Tonight, about twenty minutes."

"I see. Well, how shall we occupy our time, then?"

"I can think of a few things."

"You can?"

"Uh huh."

"Do you mind?" he asks, pressing gently on her shoulder, enough to make it clear he wants her to lie back but not enough that she can't resist. "I want to see more of you."

No, no she does not mind. Regina shakes her head, shifting backward to give them more room, and then bends forward to snag his lower lip between her teeth as she fists her hands in the front of his henley, pulling him down after her.

It's been a long time since she's had someone drape her across the couch, pressing her into the cushions as warm, wet kisses pass back and forth in a lazy exchange of affection and arousal, and she intends to enjoy every second. He smells like evergreen and wood smoke, rugged and intoxicating; she breathes him in, deep inhalations between dizzying kisses until her head swims in the smell of forest and the taste of his lips.

But this can't be comfortable for him, straddling one of her legs with his right foot planted on the ground between the couch and the coffee table. He's found purchase enough to lean over her and sweep his fingers through her hair, trailing around her ear and tracing a line down the side of her neck to the open vee of her white dress shirt, following his fingers with soft, open presses of his mouth that grow more firm as he descends below her collarbone, and she stops thinking of logistics and angles to hook her right leg around his left to anchor his hips more closely to hers.

Robin groans and grinds against her once, then twice as a low moan tumbles from Regina's lips, before using nimble fingers to pop open the top button of her shirt, revealing the scalloped lace edge of her lingerie. She'd chosen neutral and rather plain today instead of a sexier cut or bold color, given the white shirt, aside from the lace edges of course, but Robin appears unaffected by the lack of detail in her clothing and more concerned with covering every square, open inch of her chest with kisses.

It's enough to have her shifting and arching against him, her fingers scratching through his hair, wandering down to ruck up the hem of his shirt and trail her nails up and down his back as he shivers under her touch.

She remembers this, every stroke of her fingers, each groan-inducing kiss, every reaction she's ever pulled from him with her lips and the touch of her skin. She remembers refusing the tender press of his lips, the slow, savoring build he prefers, in favor of biting kisses, clawing fingers, and a desperate driving need for completion. She remembers the gentleness, the affection her grief soaked heart wouldn't allow her to receive.

"Wait," she says, gripping his wrist.

He freezes, fingers hooked on the zipper of her trousers, stopped midway down, breath stoppered for the moment as his eyes meet hers, wide with confusion.

Regina licks her lips and catches her breath before propping herself up on her elbow and releasing his wrist.

Robin sits back on his heel, removing his hand from her zipper and placing it on the outside of her leg, smoothing a gentle line from her knee to mid-thigh, back and forth. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine," Regina reassures him. "I just… I have a request."

"Name it," Robin says. "Anything."

"This might be a moot point, considering our history, but I was wondering if we could take this… slow."

Robin frowns. "This being?"

"Us. I'd like us to go slow. Together."

"We can go whatever speed you'd like, milady. You have but to say the words."

"Good. Great."

He smiles then, leans down to kiss her again, palm cradling her jaw in just that way, making her insides shiver and unravelling the tension locked in her chest like a frayed, red ribbon.

But even as his teeth graze her pulse point, gentle, so gentle with the hint of a nip at the release that tugs another thread loose, she can't help but question, "You don't want to know why?"

Robin laughs, head still buried in the crook of her neck as his breath ignites a modest flare of goosebumps across her chest. "Regina," he says, shifting himself up onto his elbow to make eye contact without one of them going cross-eyed, "It is my honor, and my privilege, to know every inch of you, from the roots of your hair to the soles of your feet, from the darkest corners of your heart to the brightest planes of your mind. You'll tell me if there's something I need to know."

Regina bites her lip and breathes for a moment. He's willing to go on without explanation, but despite the thick wall of privacy she's erected around herself, maybe here, again, another quiet, impassioned moment in front of a fireplace, she can open the gate a little wider for him. "I told you earlier that I've never had this," she says, her thumb stroking his wrist and sweeping down to tangle with the lion imprinted on his skin. "This affection, this companionship, this glimmer of a chance at happiness. And I think I'd like to savor it instead of rushing through."

"Fair enough, though I seem to remember the two of us being quite affectionate last year in the Enchanted Forest."

"That was different," Regina murmurs, lowering her gaze from his. "You knew what our relationship was and wasn't."

He nods. "I knew."

"And then we lost our memories and you were here and you were so… different and yet the same and… I'd just like to hold on to this for a while longer."

"Then that's what we'll do. We'll take it slow," he says, and tucks a kiss into the corner of her smile. "We'll enjoy each other."

Regina cradles the back of Robin's head as he gives her a proper kiss full on the mouth, and when he pulls back to nudge their noses together, she whispers, "Thank you."

"Pixie dust and prophecies be damned. I don't mind slowing to smell the roses so long as we can still have a bit of fun along the way, yeah?"

"Well it would be a shame not to, seeing as I have my heart back now," Regina says around a wicked grin as she applies gentle pressure to the back of his neck, encouraging him to dip back down, putting his neck within reach of her mouth. She nibbles at his pulse point, perhaps a little too enthusiastically as he hisses and grips the side of her hip harder, and then paints an arc of kisses up his jawline until she reaches his mouth.

His tongue sweeps against hers, and she melts into him, content to spend the rest of their night wrapped up in each other.

Ding-dong!

And the Chinese food.

Robin sits up halfway, frowning as he looks to the clock on the mantle. "They're a bit early, aren't they?"

Ding-dong-ding-dong-ding-dong!

"And a bit psychotic," Regina murmurs, rolling her eyes. "Come on. Let me up." She pats his side, already attempting to wriggle out from underneath him, but he grins, cheekily, and presses her deep into the sofa with a light kiss that builds and builds until her toes curl into the seam between the cushion and the armrest.

Diiiiiiiiiiing-dong-ding-dong!

Regina sucks Robin's lower lip between her teeth and then pushes back on his face, gently. "I have to go murder the delivery person now, excuse me."

Robin sighs and sits back, shifting his pants around his hips as Regina buttons her shirt back up. "At least try to save the food before you reduce them to ash, love?"

"Never fear," Regina says, leaning down to press another lingering kiss to his kiss-swollen lips. "I have my priorities straight."

She scoops the cash for the delivery off of the hall table before opening the door, a smitten smile still stretched across her face. The bell is still buzzing frantically, the incessant sing-songy chime of it enough to transform her make-out induced high into an impatient frown. "I'm coming," she shouts through the door, prepared to give the delivery person a lecture on doorbell etiquette, but the words die on her tongue when she swings the door open and she's facing an entirely different, unexpected guest.

"You are not the Chinese delivery guy."

"No, I'm not," Mary Margaret, Snow, stands on her front porch, a bundle of nervous energy. Her finger still hovers over the doorbell, as if she's not sure what to do with her hand now that there's no reason to keep pushing the button like a maniac. Her other hand is wrapped tightly around the handle of Neal's baby carrier, the young prince sleeping soundly, wrapped snugly in a plush, animal print blanket, completely oblivious to what's going on around him.

"Um, you, uh…" she points briefly at Regina's chest, her eyes flicking down to follow her finger, before looking up again, a slight blush tinting her cheeks.

"Spit it out, Snow," she huffs, running out of patience with the ineffectual game of charades her former step-daughter is playing on her front porch.

"You missed a button," she mumbles, her eyes darting down again, as Regina quickly unbuttons and rebuttons her shirt correctly.

"Is everything okay here?" Robin asks, coming up behind Regina, one hand planting around the curve of her waist.

"I tried calling, but you weren't answering your phone, and Emma tried but you didn't answer her either and now I know why. We were interrupting, I'm so sorry. Though, I supposed it's only fair – you interrupted my wedding, so in comparison it's not as bad that I'm interrupting your date night or, whatever this was," she babbles, gesturing between the two of them.

"You didn't interrupt anything," she quips at Mary Margaret, reaching over and swiping her thumb quickly across Robin's lips to remove a smudge of lipstick smeared across his mouth, smiling when he presses a quick kiss to her finger.

"Really? Because it sure looked like it from what I saw when you opened the door," the younger woman snarks, shielding her eyes slightly, trying to give the two of them a bit of unnecessary privacy.

"Oh, stop it," she scolds. "There was nothing to see." She reaches out and pushes Mary Margaret's hand away from her face, and she notices for the first time the raw, panicked fear, the tears pooling in her wide eyes. "Snow, what is it? What's wrong?" Regina asks, all of the teasing and irritation bleeding away, replaced by an increasingly sinking feeling in her gut.

"It's David," she sniffles, her voice small and tight as she adjusts her hold on the baby carrier. "Something's wrong with David."

…

Leave it to the Uncharmings to attract chaos amidst the pristine calm cloaking the town post-catastrophe.

Regina blazes a path through orderlies and families at Storybrooke General, zeroing in on a red leather jacket and shock of blonde hair pacing near the end of the waiting area as Mary Margaret and Robin follow in her wake.

She hates hospitals. Or rather, this hospital in particular.

It's not so much the smell as the lighting, the way the wall-to-wall fluorescents bathe the world in stark shades of eggshell, thick bands of white stumbling into grey-green chair rails and stone blue walls, colors meant to soothe and calm the sick and injured that only serve to grate upon her nerves. The smell she barely notices.

What is antiseptic compared to a sleeping draught?

Emma's boots scuff against the linoleum as she halts, glancing up as they approach, and Regina slows her pace, her stomach clenching and shifting as she takes in Emma's wide-eyed relief to see them.

"Any news?" Mary Margaret asks, pulling her daughter into a one armed hug, Neal's baby carrier hooked in the crook of her other elbow.

"Not yet," Emma says, returning the hug delicately. "They're triaging him now."

Regina huffs, crossing her arms and suppressing a tiny shiver. "Mary Margaret said he was having some kind of memory loss."

Robin's hand wanders to the small of her back and rubs soothing lines above her waistband as Emma shrugs, and Regina leans back into his touch. Her stomach growls softly as another patient's family crosses near them, a slew of takeaway bags dangling from their hands as they file toward the small cafeteria. Robin squeezes her hip sympathetically before releasing her.

"It's not just that," Emma says. "It's like his cursed memories have taken over. He thinks he's David Nolan, that he works at the animal shelter, that he's estranged from his wife, Kathryn… the whole kit and kaboodle."

"Did he say anything or remember anything on the drive over?" Mary Margaret asks, setting Neal's carrier down in the chair next to her, the handle still caught in her white-knuckled grip as the newborn prince sleeps on. "Anything at all?"

Emma shakes her head, hands thrust into the back pockets of her jeans.

Mary Margaret sits down hard next to Neal, fingers shifting to rub the sole of his footie pajama-clad foot with her thumb.

"Where's Henry?" Regina asks.

Emma hesitates. "He's with Killian."

"Oh," Regina says, outwardly calm, collected. Robin tenses next to her, shifts his stance. "Well I'm pleased to hear that on what's possibly his last night in Storybrooke, you chose to let him go galavanting off with the pirate instead of seeing his mother."

"No, it wasn't like that, it was—"

"Nolan family?" An older nurse in pale green scrubs leans over the admittance counter, searching among everyone until she makes eye contact with Mary Margaret. "The doctor is admitting your husband."

As if on cue, the baby starts fussing, his round little face stained red as he squirms against the carrier restraints, and Robin's cell phone begins jangling in the pocket of his coat.

"I should take this," he says, frowning at the caller id luminescing on the clamshell's screen.

Regina nods and then turns back to Mary Margaret as Robin walks toward a quiet corner of the room.

"Go, take care of the baby," she says, laying a tentative hand on Mary Margaret's shoulder.

"Are you sure?" Mary Margaret asks, fingers trembling as she unlatches the clasp across Neal's chest and lifts him to her shoulder. "He's not hungry. Or maybe he is. It could just be a diaper change or the lights are too bright for him to sleep or—"

"Emma and I can handle this for now." Regina nods, glancing toward Emma, and at her cautious, but firm nod, they both follow the nurse back to the corridor of rooms. At the end of the hallway, light spills from an illuminated chamber and paints a wide rectangle on the linoleum, the only source of activity along the solemn line of closed doors.

Regina takes a steadying breath and feels Emma do the same beside her as they cross the threshold.

They have him in a private room, one that mimics the design and decor of the same room his wife gave birth in mere days ago. But he doesn't remember that, or the year that led up to that, or the decades lived before that even, if what Emma and Mary Margaret were saying is true.

He's shifting in the bed when they enter, tugging on the sheets as he settles and folds his hands in his lap.

"Madam Mayor," David says, surprise lifting his brows. "We need to stop meeting like this."

"We would if you'd change your emergency contact information," Regina snarks, tossing her scarf over the back of a chair and crossing her arms across her chest. "How are you feeling?"

"Confused. It's a hard thing to wrap your brain around, missing time."

"Da— David, we're gonna try to figure out what happened to you," Emma says, flopping into a chair next to the bed. "Can you tell us the last thing you remember?"

David sighs, fiddles with the blanket. "I was at my house, packing. Getting ready to leave town. I sat down on the couch, closed my eyes for just a minute, and when I opened them I was at Mary Margaret's place, on her loveseat. She was there, half asleep, feeding a baby and I just—I reacted badly."

"And you don't remember eating or drinking anything before that?" Regina asks, frowning. "No strange smells or bumps to the head?"

"No, nothing like that. It's like I dozed off and woke up in a completely different life." David looks helplessly to Emma. "Is the baby really mine?"

"Yeah." Emma nods miserably. "He is."

He looks to Regina. "And Mary Margaret and I are married?"

"Yes."

David flops back against the pillow. "I'm never not going to be disappointing her, am I?"

Regina holds back a snarky comment, but says, "This last year has been hard on you two," And everyone else, she thinks, "But you're happy overall. I think. Or at least you were a week ago when you were holding your son on the second floor of this hospital."

"If you want, we can send them in," Emma offers, leaning forward with her elbows perched on her knees. "I know she's worried sick about you."

"Yeah," David says, resigned. "They said they're going to run tests, and they want to keep me overnight given my history. But give me a few minutes? Before you send them in?"

"Of course," Regina says. "Sheriff." She nods at Emma and retrieves her scarf, retreating into the hallway as she winds it around her neck in a loose twist, giving the two family members a chance to say goodnight.

Robin is still on the phone, pacing in front of the row of chairs they'd all gathered around, one hand scratching at the base of his skull as he barks out a quiet laugh, and Mary Margaret is nowhere to be seen. She gives her thief space, waiting for Emma to emerge from the room, left foot tapping against the linoleum.

Finally, Emma appears, but before she can head into the waiting room proper, Regina snags her arm with a firm grip and leads her into a small alcove.

"Okay, ow," Emma says, stumbling a little as Regina releases her.

"Before we go another step further, you're going to tell me why you have my son out cavorting with the one-handed wonder on his death trap of a boat."

"It wasn't like that. It's not like that. I called him after Mary Margaret called me. Henry deserves as much normalcy as possible, or do we not agree on that anymore?"

"And a night with Captain Hook is normal?" She scowls, but the bite is lacking, because she would have done the same, trying to keep Henry from being in the thick of things until they know what they're dealing with.

Still, it would have been nice to see him.

"As normal as you shacking up with Robin Hood," Emma mutters, nodding her head toward Robin's approaching form, and Regina clips the fiery retort from her tongue as he stops beside her, hand curling around her bicep and squeezing lightly before slipping into his own jacket pocket.

"Any luck?" he asks.

Emma shakes her head. "Not really."

"The last thing he remembers is the day the curse broke, and as far as he's concerned, Emma is just the sheriff and Neal is just a random name his former mistress chose for their child," Regina says, bitterness and frustration sharpening her words. "They can run all the medical tests they want, but this is magic."

"Well, if that's the case there must be a way to reverse it. It's just a matter of finding the right spell or potion, yeah?"

"Memory spells aren't really my forte, but I have some books in my vault. I'll do some research tonight and see what I can find."

Emma's phone rings, a heroic trumpeting with a snappy electric guitar in the background that immediately brings Henry to the forefront of Regina's mind, and she can't help the bit of longing that spills over onto her face as Emma apologizes and half-turns away as she answers, Hey, kid.

Robin tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear, fingers lingering along the curve of her neck. "Would you like some help, love?"

"No, that's okay. You should get back to Roland, it's getting late. I'm just going to be reading through dusty, old books, and I don't need an audience for that."

"That was Will on the phone just now, calling to say Roland has been tucked in and asleep for some time now. He's perfectly safe with the Merry Men," he argues, blunt nails scratching along the back of her scalp until her shoulders relax and she leans into the touch. "Besides, we haven't had any dinner yet. How about I go sort out our interrupted take away order and I meet you at your vault? I won't get in the way, I'll just keep you company and provide sustenance."

She should tell him to go home and get some rest, but it might be nice to have a bit of company, at least for a little while, and she does need to eat something. "Okay, but only if you're sure you don't mind."

"Positive. I'll see you in a bit." He leans over and gives her another kiss, and it lingers a little longer than she's normally comfortable with in front of others, but it's only Emma, she tells herself, and she's seen the pirate wrapped around her in much more provocative positions; Emma can get over it.

Even so, she's blushing when he pulls back, another smitten smile forming across her lips that she can't quite seem to wipe away despite the fact that they have an audience. She ignores Emma's fidgeting, her phone call completed, and squeezes Robin's hand as he bids them goodbye.

"You seem happy, Regina," Emma comments softly.

Regina shifts, the warmth of Robin's touch fading. "I'd be happier knowing you weren't absconding with my son in the morning."

"Obviously we're going to stay until all of this is taken care of; after that, I'm not sure."

"You promised you would have a decision by tomorrow."

"Well, then this happened."

"This incident has no bearing on whether or not you're going to try to take my son away."

"This incident, as you're calling it, has everything to do with my decision! It's stuff like this – random curses, flying monsters, storybook villains, and every other weird, dangerous thing that seems to keep happening in this town – that makes me want to take our son away from here!"

"Storybrooke is his home. He belongs here with his family, where we can all protect him."

"I am his family."

"And so am I. Unless you've forgotten that I raised our son for 10 years by myself when you decided you didn't want him. Those memories you have of raising him? They aren't yours, they never were. I gave them to you so that the two of you would have a good life, because I thought I would never be able to see him again, but I'm the one who read him bedtime stories; I'm the one who soothed his fevers and calmed him after nightmares. He is my son, and you have no right to take him from me."

"We did pretty well on our own for the last year, we can do it again."

"Do you really think that's what Henry wants, what he needs? Are you thinking about him at all? Or are you too busy thinking about what's best for you? Not that it would surprise me. That's what you seem to do best, Miss Swan."

"Hey, if I was only doing what was best for me, we wouldn't have come back in the first place! You trusted me to take care of him when you thought you would never see him again. You need to trust that I'm still going to make the right decision. Just give me time."

"You've had time. I deserve to know if you're going to take my son away. Again."

"Is there a problem here, Emma? Regina?" Mary Margaret asks, walking back into the room with a freshly changed Neal, the baby's slobbery cheek pressed to a new burp cloth with tiny grey elephants slung over her shoulder as he squirms in her arms.

"No problem," Emma says, fists clenched as she turns to her mother. "He wants to see you, when you're ready."

Regina watches as Emma stalks out of the waiting room.

I will not cry.

Mary Margaret walks up beside her, a swaying sashay of a gait that Regina remembers performing with Henry as a baby, and smiles as Regina takes Neal's chubby hand between two fingers and thumb and rubs softly. "I think they were planning on staying, you know. This thing, whatever it is, just has her spooked."

Regina nods and smiles briefly as she releases Neal's hand. "Then let's unspook her, for your sake and mine."

…

Robin arrives a little sooner than she expected him. She's still keyed up from her fight with Emma, residual tension still simmering under her skin despite the spray of broken glass glittering on the floor by her feet from where she tried to expel some of the excess stress.

"Love, are you alright?" Robin asks, hastily setting the plastic bags of food down at the base of the steps and rushing to her side.

"I'm fine," she grits out, flicking her wrist and instantly clearing away the shards of glass in a puff of purple smoke.

"I'm not sure that pile of, whatever that was, would agree with you right now."

She glares at him and suddenly she's reminded of bickering around counsel tables and on scouting missions, cutting remarks matched with sarcastic flirtation, and a bit of the tension eases out of her.

"Emma and I had a bit of a disagreement." She folds her arms across her chest, curling in to keep the last bit of anger itching to break free through her fingers at bay.

"Ah," he steps into her, warm palms cupping her elbows, then running soothing passes up and down her arms. "About Henry, I assume?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not particularly."

"Okay, then why don't we have a bit of food and then we can get started on some reading, yeah?" He releases her from his hold, going back and plucking the bag of take away from its discarded place on the floor.

"I'm not hungry." She snips back, picking absently at a string on her jacket with her right index finger and thumb.

"I find that hard to believe, milady; it's after ten and you've had no supper. You need to eat something, love."

"How do you expect me to eat anything when that woman is threatening to take my son from me?"

Robin ignores the question and starts pulling food containers from the bag, lining them up along one of the high trunks against the wall, avoiding any of the clusters of potion ingredients scattered about. He's waiting, she knows he is. She can see it in his practiced movements, the way he snaps opens the lids to their dinner, folding back the little cardboard tabs, giving each of the various items a cursory sniff. He used to do this during their year in the Enchanted Forest, he learned quickly to read her moods, and somehow he always just knew when she wasn't quite finished talking and he would just sit back and wait, like he is now. Insufferable man.

"She thinks that because she has my memories of raising Henry swirling around in that blonde head of hers that she's a fit parent. Nevermind the fact that she abandoned him when he was a baby to be raised by someone else because she was in jail. Oh, no. She spends one year with our family traditions, and our holidays, and our history and suddenly she's a fit parent. Fit enough to take my son away from me, and I'm supposed to, what? Just sit back and let her?" She paces as she talks, her voice raising with each rattling complaint.

"No, of course not. The boy belongs here, with his family, and the people who love him. Surely Emma must see that."

"Miss Swan doesn't see a whole lot beyond what suits her." She fires back, taking a pair of chopsticks from the top of the trunk and snapping them in half.

"Regina, we both know that's unfair," he says, making a valiant effort with a pair of chopsticks, clicking them aimlessly between his fingers in an attempt to feed himself before giving it up and just stabbing a piece of chicken with the end of one of the sticks.

She watches for a moment as he continues to struggle with the wooden utensils. "Here, let me help with that," a swirl of purple smoke surrounds the wooden sticks in his fingers, clearing to reveal one of the forks from her kitchen.

She picks up a box, absently twirling noodles of lo mein around her chopsticks as she shoots him a look that's all sass and eyebrow, but he just meets her gaze for gaze. She breaks first, sighing and taking a seat beside him.

"You're right," she admits, setting the food aside.

"Parenting is a full time job, you can't just pick and choose to be around for the bits that are convenient for you. And Henry is your son, she can't just take him away from his family, from his home. Surely the boy gets some say in this as well?"

His words strike a nerve, popping her bubble of ire and deflating her like a balloon. She swallows thickly, her throat suddenly tight with gathering emotion. "I didn't even get to see him today. I already missed a whole year of his life. I can't miss anything else, Robin, I can't."

"And you won't."

"How do you know?"

"Because I know you, Regina. You're a mother, it's part of who you are; and you're good at it." It's a simple answer, but he means it, she can hear the sincerity in his voice; it makes her swell with gratitude and affection.

"Thank you," she whispers through the tears clogging her voice, leaning over and pressing a kiss to his lips, hoping he won't see the moisture gathering in her eyes. But his hands sweep up and cup her jaw, thumbs swiping along the apples of her cheeks to catch the few tears that leak from her eyes.

"Henry belongs here," he says, when they break apart, his forehead still resting against hers, "with his family, and the people who love him. Emma does too. She just might need a bit more convincing."

"If I didn't know you better, I'd think that sounded vaguely like a threat." She tips her head back, giving him a watery smile.

"I have been known to threaten my fair share of stubborn royals, in case you've forgotten."

"Oh, I remember your utter lack of respect, thief."

He chuckles, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead, followed by a lingering one to her lips, smiling when she chases his lips for just one more before pulling back. "Now," he says, as they pull apart and he tips her chin up to meet her still slightly glassy eyes. "Why don't we have a bit of supper and then we'll see what we can do to rectify the David situation, yeah?"

"I don't think there's enough magic in the world to fix what's wrong with David, but we can probably find a way to get his memory back." She smiles, a sinister tip of sarcastic lips that pulls a deep chuckle from Robin's, before they tuck into their take away.

"Oh, and Robin?" She says as she reaches over and plucks an egg roll from the container.

"Yes, Milady?"

"Don't read anything out loud."

"Why not?"

"Trust me; you don't want to find out."

...

She hasn't been this bone tired since Henry was in diapers. Her back aches from spending hours hunched over dusty tomes and crackling parchment. Her eyes sting from the constant strain and the lack of sleep, and she's in desperate need of a shower and a tooth brush to rinse away some of the grime she's gathered while searching for answers. She sent Robin home hours ago when he started falling asleep with his face pressed to the pages of a book, only to wake himself, coughing and sputtering after taking too deep of a dusty breath.

Maybe just a few more minutes.

Something is scratching at the back of her brain; the answer is just there. She knows it, she can feel it in her bones, but she can't quite grasp it through the fog of exhaustion.

She's just decided to pack it up for the night, to go home and crawl under her sheets, when something in an alcove catches her eye. The heavy leather bound she'd been perusing closes with a thunk as she stands and strides across the room. Why didn't she think of this before?

Her fingers curl around the coiled stem of a pewter chalice, the one she drank a forgetting draught from so many years ago. Of course! This is the answer she's been looking for.

If she can find a way to alter the potion she used on herself – some way to reverse the effects so that instead of removing specific strains of memory it replaces them – they might be able to reverse whatever's happened to David. She slots the chalice into the holder on the top of her table, plucking various bottles and vials from their resting places inside wooden chests and stone niches.

Practiced hands measure exact amounts, a dash of this, a pour of that, until the concoction begins to bubble and breathe, a delicate silver white mist curling over the edges and spilling onto the table. It only needs one more ingredient. She reaches for the deep amber phial, it's one of the few she has made of dragon glass, the magically infused material is nearly indestructible but incredibly rare, so she only uses it for the most precious of ingredients.

Carefully, she releases the stopper, trying to prevent a single drop from spilling, but the moment the seal is released smoke starts to billow from the opening. There's a familiar look to it, onyx clouds laced with a wicked electric green and her stomach drops as the vapor fills her lungs, her eyes roll back, and she sinks to the ground.