Author's Note: I did it, I wrote Evil Charming! But please don't get out the pitchforks just yet XD Written in response to a historical AU prompt on tumblr from the fabulous Lala-Kate. Title comes from Gabrielle Aplin's wonderful song "Home."

November 1933

It was only after Regina suggested the shortcut through Central Park that she remembered Hooverville.

It was one of many all across the country, or so the rumors said. A shantytown, really, full of ramshackle tents and lean-tos and perhaps a few pieces of furniture, looking forlorn and out of place, as if missing the houses they used to reside in before the banks foreclosed on them. The name was a joke, a slight against the President who had allowed this crisis to happen and then failed spectacularly at all of his promises to clean up the mess that the stock markets had made. It was a refuge of sorts for the thousands of people who had lost their homes and jobs when the stock market crashed and the economy went to hell in a handbasket. It was a place of desperation, of despair but of hope, too–but only if you could look hard enough to spot it. It was a place you went when you had nowhere else to go.

It was the kind of place that ordinarily, Cora Mills and her daughter would avoid like the plague.

"Regina!" Cora barked the moment she saw the first tents and crude attempts at shelter, suddenly appearing out of the lush green grass of Central Park's Great Lawn. Regina could see people milling about, standing around over crude fires warming their hands, washing sheets and underclothes in filthy water, bartering over bread and sharing what little they had. The smell of woodsmoke and wet wool hung heavy in the air, along with cooking vegetables and unwashed bodies. Some of the people stopped and stared as Regina and Cora passed, as if wondering why someone as grand as them would stoop so low as to be seen near a Hooverville. Others ignored them completely, which Regina supposed was just as well. Certainly it was what half of New York was attempting to do to the citizens of the Hoovervilles.

"Regina! Where in heaven's name have you brought us?" Cora demanded, keeping as wide a berth between her and the shantytown as possible.

"I'm sorry, Mother. I thought this way would be quicker. I forgot…" she trailed off helplessly as her mother turned away with a look of disgust.

"I knew we should have just taken a cab," Cora said contemptuously, but Regina knew for once that her mother's words were just empty threats. Her family had fared better than most after the crash, but one bad investment after another had severely depleted the family's fortune. They were now hanging onto the money they did have by the skin of their teeth, and while her mother continued to splurge on things like dresses for herself and Regina, the reality was the family no longer had the money for luxuries like cab rides. Not anymore. And they wouldn't again, Cora relished in explaining to her daughter, until Regina made an advantageous marriage.

"I'm sorry, Mother," Regina began, but stopped short. Someone had caught her eye as her mother tried to hurry her away, and for a moment Regina found herself frozen, looking into the eyes of a stranger.

She had never seen him before in her life, but it felt like she had known him for years as she took in the sight of him–blue eyes and sandy hair, gray hat, patched trousers, a jacket that looks just a little too large for him. There was a faint smudge of dirt on his cheek that Regina inexplicably had the urge to touch, and his eyes–behind the beauty in them there was curiosity, but more than that, there was pain.

She wondered what sadness this man had seen, what circumstances in his life had brought him to a place like this. She suddenly felt more out of place than ever in her cream-colored dress, immaculate and impeccably fit to her figure, in a sea of patched clothing and dresses made of chicken feed bags and flour sacks. She wondered if they hated her.

She wondered if he hated her.

But as she watched, he seemed to realize that she was looking at him. Brown eyes met blue, and slowly, he smiled.

"Come along, Regina," her mother snapped, tugging on her hand and breaking Regina's trance. She began to walk without waiting for her daughter to follow, knowing that she would (she always does), muttering–but still loud enough for everyone in the vicinity to hear–about how it was a disgrace that these vagrants are allowed to fill the park like this, that the government should lock them all away if they can't contribute to society. Regina found herself pulled away from the man and his sad smile, tugged back into a life that hopefully would never look as bleak as this.

She tried to forget. She knew her mother would. In a week, this unpleasant detour would be pushed aside to make room for dinner parties and eligible men she could match Regina up with. But Regina found herself thinking back on that moment time and time again, haunted by the memory of a stranger's eyes.

She went back to the park the next day.

There he was, sitting on a bench near the Hooverville entrance as if waiting for her. Regina stared for a moment before coming to sit next to him, drawn to his side as if by a magnet.

"How did you know I would come here?" she asked.

He smiled. "I didn't."

They got to talking after that. He told her that his name was David Nolan, that he'd been born and raised in Brooklyn and had been forced to move to Hooverville after losing multiple jobs in quick succession. He was a widower, he told her, and had lost his wife less than a year after the economy crashed. He spoke to her as if he had known her for years, and she did the same, talking of her father's poor business dealings and her mother's impossible expectations. She talked until the sun sank low in the sky, until her throat was so dry that she wandered further into the park and bought both of them a cup of hot chocolate (he had tried to protest, digging through his pockets for change to pay her back, but she had refused), until it seemed like she knew everything about David Nolan, and he knew everything about her. She had never felt a connection like this with anyone else before, and she already knew that she never wanted it to end.

She came back to Hooverville every chance she could, making up excuses to her mother about outings with friends or shifts working at a local soup kitchen (something that Cora hated but could never object outright to, because it painted Regina in a good light and you never know when she might be seen by the right people for doing something so selfless and charitable) when she was really spending time with David. Sometimes, she managed to convince him to let her pay for little outings–a movie here, a lunch at a little diner there, sometimes a hot dog from a vendor as they walk hand in hand through the park. She counted herself lucky that none of her mother's friends ever saw her, but even though she knew that things would probably be better for both David and herself if she stopped seeing him, she couldn't. He had brought something to life inside of her, something that she never knew that she had.

For once in her life, Regina Mills felt like there was someone who understood her.

Their first kiss was on the bench where they had their first conversation, only a week after they met. His lips were soft against hers, tasting faintly of hot chocolate, and so tender that a tear slipped from Regina's eye before she could stop it. David smiled and wiped it away gently before cupping her face in his hands and kissing her again.

"You're beautiful," he whispered against her lips.

Regina wasn't sure if anyone had ever called her that before and meant it.

The more time she spent with David, the more comfortable she became in Hooverville itself. What once had seemed so foreign and unknowable to her soon opened its arms and accepted her as one of their own, simply because they knew how much she meant to David. She met the unofficial leader of the camp, a man named Robin who did his best to keep order and morale up. Helping him out were Will Scarlet and Killian Jones, close friends of both Robin and David who both quickly took to Regina as older brothers. She met a pair of sisters, Emma and Elsa, who welcomed her into their community with open arms. Robin's son Roland never failed to bring a smile to Regina's face, although it broke her heart that a child had to live in such a place, and Granny Lucas always shared whatever food she had with everyone. No matter what the rest of Manhattan–the rest of the country–might look like, Hooverville was a truly equal society where no one was better than anyone else, and everyone leaned on each other for support. It was all they had.

And Regina loved it. Somehow, impossibly, she had found her home among people who had none at all.

She wasn't sure when exactly she fell in love with David Nolan, or he with her, but they both had a feeling it had begun the day they'd locked eyes across the park.

They made love for the first time by light of a kerosene lamp in David's tent, David's hands mapping her body like he wanted to memorize every inch of her. She was nervous and so was he (it had been so long for him, since before Katherine died, and he wanted to make sure that everything was perfect for both of them). He treated her like she was a queen, and she held onto him tight, never wanting to let him go. "I love you," she whispered against his skin, over and over. "I love you. I love you."

This carried on for several months, and Regina was the happiest she'd ever been in her entire life. Even her mother's endless plans for her future–the latest one including an architect named Leopold Blanchard with more old money than he knew what to do with–didn't faze her, until one morning Cora opened the bathroom door to find Regina hunched over the toilet, retching up her breakfast as she had done all morning. And all of last week…and the week before.

"You little whore," Cora had spat, and the slap that she gave across Regina's cheek–strong enough to make her see stars–told Regina that her own worst suspicions had been confirmed.

"It's that tramp we saw at the shantytown, isn't it?" Cora screamed at her as Regina clutched her stomach and sobbed. "Ursula told me she'd seen you two together. I didn't want to believe it. Regina, how could you do this to me?"

"I love him!" Regina whimpered, cradling her red cheek.

"You foolish girl! Love is weakness!"

Cora wanted it done away with, the whole thing. As she left Regina in a crying heap on her bedroom floor, she was already muttering to herself. There was a woman she'd heard of, a woman who could take care of things quickly and discreetly. Just one visit, a few weeks of rest for Regina, and then "whatever foolish oaf is stupid enough to marry you won't ever have to know that his bride is not a virgin…"

Regina's hands rested on her stomach as tears flowed freely down her cheeks. She wanted this baby. Already she loved this little life inside of her, the life that she and David had created, so much that she felt her heart would burst. For the first time in her life, she had found true happiness, and here her mother was trying to take it all away again.

Regina would be damned if she let that happen without at least putting up a fight.

A doctor was discreetly called, a diagnosis confirmed. Regina declined her mother's offer of supper (made while the doctor was still in earshot and no doubt a hollow gesture) and stayed in her bed, lying on her side with one arm curled protectively around her stomach. Neither her father or her mother came to check on her, which gave Regina ample time to gather her things as quietly as she could. Her suitcase packed, she waited until she knew her parents were sound asleep before tiptoeing through the house, her suitcase in one hand, her coat in the other.

She knew where the safe was, where her father kept the money that he didn't trust the banks to hold onto. She knew the combination, and she knew that she would have at least a few days to get more money before her mother saw sense and had her account cut off. She was tempted to take all the money, but that would be punishing her father for her mother's sins. She left them with more than enough to get by, and chose to leave the safe open.

She wanted her mother to know what she had done.

The journey to Hooverville seemed longer than ever before, and David's face when he saw her wild hair and suitcase said more than words ever could. In halting tones she explained everything, wiped away his tears when she told him the news, wrapped her arms around him tight and swore to never let him go.

"Marry me, Regina. We can leave this place and never look back. You never have to face your mother again. We can leave tonight–we can leave right now."

A tear rolled down Regina's cheek, and she smiled.

"I thought you'd never ask."

They were married in Hooverville, only a short distance from the entrance where they'd first met. Reverend Archie Hopper, a minister from upstate who often visited the shantytown to lead prayer meetings, performed the ceremony. Killian served as David's best man, and Emma was not only Regina's maid of honor, but also provided her with both something borrowed and something blue when she presented her with a blue embroidered handkerchief. It was a wedding that would be talked about for years, or so the two dozen witnesses proclaimed, and when the bride and groom kissed over the makeshift altar (really an old heirloom table belonging to one of the residents–people swore that the applause and cheers could be heard all through Central Park.

Hands were shaken and toasts made, but the newlyweds did not stay to celebrate. A few hasty goodbyes later, they were on their way, suitcases in hand to start their new life together.

And they never looked back.

The disappearance of Regina Mills was covered in all the New York newspapers. Speculation ran high, with the family's society friends clutching their pearls as they discussed theories and everyone else simply glad that there was something to talk about other than the ruined economy, the growing problems of homelessness and unemployment, the lack of food and stability that was felt on nearly every level of society in some way. Some suggested that Regina had been kidnapped by one of Henry Mills' former investment clients and was being held for ransom until the debts could be paid. Others thought it was murder, revenge against her father for investments gone sour, and that Regina Mill's body would be discovered any day now at the bottom of the East River. Some thought she had been snatched up and pressed into servitude by some wealthy family, still others that a casting director had taken one look at her and whisked her away to Hollywood to be an actress, and that they would soon be seeing her face on the silver screen. Some guessed–rather correctly–that she had run away. But no one would ever have dreamed the truth–that Regina had fallen in love and eloped with an unemployed tramp with no prospects and no future, in her mother's words.

Cora Mills never gave up the notion that her daughter would return to her. She put on a brave face for the reporters and cameramen, she made an elaborate show of going to church every Sunday to pray for Regina's safe return, she hosted dinners to raise money for the search for her and made impassioned speeches about hope and love conquering all obstacles. She never made any attempt to squelch any of the rumors about Regina's disappearance, believing that all publicity was good publicity if spun in the right light. And still she bided her time, waiting. Regina would be back, sooner or later, when the money she'd stolen from them dried up or when she tired of being the wife of a filthy vagabond. All of the so-called love in the world could not turn a nobody into a prince.

One day, almost exactly a year after her daughter's disappearance, Cora received a knock on the door. When she opened it, no one was there, save for a small envelope with her name and address clearly marked in an unfamiliar hand. There was no return address to be found, nor any clue as to the sender. She knew that she should probably throw it out–unmarked mail like this could only spell trouble–but something stopped her. Frowning, Cora let her curiosity get the best of her and took the envelope inside, carefully slitting it open with a letter opener and sliding the contents out.

There was no note. Inside was only a photograph of a smiling baby, so familiar that Cora's hand flew to her heart, her gaze torn from the photograph to the nearly identical one that hung in the foyer. But no, the photograph of Regina as a baby was just where it always was, and now that she took a closer look, she could see the differences between her daughter's picture and the one she now held pinched between her fingers. The one she held was newer, to begin with, and of much lower quality, looking more like something that was taken with a cheap Brownie camera than a professionally done photograph. This baby's eyes were lighter than Regina's–blue, perhaps, instead of brown, although of course there was no way to tell–and the smile on the baby's face was bigger, as if whoever was behind the camera was doing something to produce that beautiful grin. But the shape of this baby's face, the look in its eyes…it looked so much like her daughter had years ago that it nearly took Cora's breath away.

With trembling hands, she turned over the photograph. A short message was scrawled on the back, in the same unfamiliar handwriting as on the envelope. Henry Nolan, it read simply. Your grandson.