Acknowledgement: A huge thank you to South For Winter for giving this the once-over and without whom this story would not exist. Literally. She posted it for me. Thank you, SfW!
.

A/N: This takes place in Storybrooke in some post-Neverland AU universe.
.

David heard the bell above the front door ring, so he secured Baloo, a happy, slobbery Komondor (or "mop-dog" to the uninitiated), back into his space and walked into the front room of the animal shelter.

He'd expected to maybe see Marie, the baker from the patisserie across the street. He and Snow had signed the paperwork that formally tore apart their marriage a couple years ago—they were just never really the same after Neverland—and David had finally gotten up the courage to 'get back on the horse.'

Emma insisted that his subtle flirting in no way counted. 'You can't even see the stable from where you are. Now go out there and get laid and don't tell me about it, because I can't believe I just told my father that.'

Instead of a pretty baker, however, David was greeted by the sight of an intense, consternated Henry.

"I don't know what to do," Henry said.

"Okay." David visually inspected the teenager for clues but came up empty. "About what?"

"This." With dramatic flair that could only be learned from his mother, Henry slapped an old leather bound notebook onto the counter. It looked worse for the wear, and it was held together by ribbons which might have once been red.

"What's that?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?" David was used to being a couple steps behind his grandson, but he was ready to know what they were talking about. "Come on," he said, throwing an arm around Henry and guiding him to a couple chairs along the wall. "Sit down and tell me what's going on."

Henry slumped into a chair but held the leather journal out in front of him with both hands, like, if he didn't keep a grip on it, it might leap out of his hands and attack him.

"Now," David's voice was calm and light, "what's the problem?"

Henry sighed and dropped his head back against the chair so that he was staring at the ceiling.

"I don't know whether to read it or not."

"The notebook in your hands?"

"Yeah."

"Well, my guess is that you shouldn't."

Henry's head snapped down and he looked at David. "How can you know that without knowing what it is?"

"Because anytime you have to ask whether you should read something when you don't know what that something is, odds are you shouldn't. Odds are it's none of your business. Especially when that something looks like a handwritten journal meant to be private."

"You're probably right." Henry kicked at the ground with his shoe, showing that, despite a growth spurt and cracking voice, he was still a kid.

"But what if there's something in here that I really need to know?" Henry implored David.

"Henry," David said seriously, "who does this notebook belong to?"

Sullenly, Henry replied, "My mom."

"I thought you said you didn't know what it was."

"I don't know." Henry folded his arms across his chest, the notebook arranged securely under them.

"Henry . . ." David used the stern, semi-threatening tone known to all parents everywhere.

"I don't!" Henry jutted his chin out. "But I strongly suspect that this is my mother's journal from when she was married to Snow's father."

David's jaw dropped, and Henry' s fingers gripped the journal possessively, almost like they anticipated David's next words.

"Henry, you have to give that back." In a lifetime of earnest speeches, none had ever been so earnest as this. "You cannot, you must not read that."

"But what if this is what could finally help me understand her? Understand why she did all those horrible things? Why she made everyone hate her?"

David ran his hand through his hair.

"Henry, look at me."

Reluctantly, Henry met his grandfather's eyes.

"You love your mom, right?"

"Of course."

"And you know she loves you, right?"

"Yeah."

"And you two are doing well?"

"I guess. She should relax and let me stay out later, but, yeah, she's not, like, lying about evil curses or anything again."

"Do you honestly—honestly, from your heart, not your curiosity—believe that your relationship with your mom would improve if you read that book behind her back?"

"No. It wouldn't." Henry sighed and kicked at the floor. "I won't read it. I'll put it back where I found it. She'll never know."

David cocked his head in consideration.

"I'm not sure that's the right answer either, Henry."

Henry perked up, suddenly four inches taller in his chair. "So you think I should read it?"

"No." David shook his head. "I think you should show it to your mom and ask her about it. You two worked really hard to stop deceiving each other. I'd hate to see you backslide because you try to hide this curiosity from her."

"You don't think I can hide stuff from her?"

"I didn't say that. You're a teenager. I'm sure you have your secrets." David waved his hand as though to shoo them away. "I don't need—or want—to know what they are. But, c'mon, you're in knots over this. You really think your mom isn't going to pick up on that?"

"You're right." Henry groaned. "What if she doesn't want to talk about it?"

"Then you need to find a way to respect that and live with the curiosity."

"That sounds terrible."

"Part of growing up."

"That sounds depressing."

"Sorry, kid." David patted Henry's knee. "For what it's worth, I think you can take it. And there are good things about being an adult."

"Like women?"

David laughed. "Yes, like women."

"Emma says you're flirting with Marie but that you're not any good at it."

"Go talk to your mother."
.

.
Two days later . . .

The bell clanged over the front door of the shelter, and David snapped his head up.

He stood to get a better view of Regina striding directly toward him with Henry following—in that skulking teenage style—behind her.

They stopped directly in front of him, and Regina set her (giant) purse to the side on the counter, blocking the basket of muffins Marie had brought in earlier.

Regina eyed the muffins, arched and eyebrow, and greeted David with a lilt of a tease.

"David."

"Regina." He couldn't help but notice her toned arms when she cocked her hands on her hips like that. She could probably man-handle much more than a purse . . . .

"Henry, manners." Regina turned a stern gaze to her son, whose head was sure to be sucked into his phone any moment.

Henry's eyes darted upward, but his neck never strayed from its bent angle.

"Hi, Grandpa."

"Hello, Henry," David replied with a wry smile, and he shared a look of understanding exasperation with Regina.

Regina rolled her eyes and snatched her son's phone.

"Hey!" Henry protested.

"I'm not reading it, and you'll get it back as soon as you talk to David like a proper human. I know you can impersonate one. I gave you lessons."

"Should've given me lessons for my reflexes," Henry grumbled.

"Maybe if you're good," Regina said with an overly saccharine smile.

"Hilarious, Mom."

"Yes, I know. I am the funniest of them all." Regina tossed her hair. "Now, stop stalling."

"Fine." Henry straightened his posture—gaining two inches in height—and faced David.

"Grandpa."

"Henry."

"Thank you," Henry stated.

"You're welcome." David looked to Regina for some kind of explanation, but her eyes were fixed on Henry, as though to ensure he would finish his homework.

Henry shuffled his weight from foot to foot.

"Not that I don't appreciate gratitude . . ."

"That would be ungrateful," Regina interjected.

"Yes, yes it would." David laughed. "I wouldn't want that. So, not to be ungrateful, but, what am I being thanked for?"

Henry inhaled deeply and squared his shoulders.

"For advising me to speak with Mom before opening her journal." Henry glanced at his mother, like he was checking his work, and continued at her nod. "Violating her privacy would have been wrong." Henry's posture then relaxed as he seemed to realize that he agreed with what he was saying. "I wouldn't want to violate her trust like that. Especially after she's worked so hard to be honest with me."

"Mom," Henry turned to Regina, "I'm sorry I even thought about it. I should have just given it back to you right away."

Regina smiled that watery smile that only appeared when Henry was concerned.

"It's all right, Henry." She reached up to squeeze his shoulder. "You figured it out, and much better than I would have at your age."

"Not one homicide." David deadpanned.

"We're very proud that Henry is on track not to have any unjustified homicides this year, aren't we Henry?" Regina took the joke in good humor.

"Right, Mom!" Henry agreed.

"Wait," David tilted his head, "zero unjustified homicides? Meaning that he could have committed justified ones?"

"Please," Regina looked mock-stern, "like you, shepherd, didn't execute a sheep thief or two during your adolescence?"

"I did, but—" David sputtered.

"Don't you think Henry should be accorded the same defensive rights as you?"

"Sure, but—"

"Then I don't understand why we're talking about this." Regina rubbed Henry's shoulder and smiled.

David sighed in resignation.

"Yeah, umm, so thanks, Grandpa." Henry tried to bring the conversation back.

"You're welcome, Henry. I'm always glad to help and be a sounding board."

"Thanks." Henry cracked a smile.

"Yes," Regina's smile was warm—a smile he never would have seen on Regina even two years ago—"Thank you, David."

"You're welcome, already!" David was uncomfortable with receiving credit for his good deeds. "Here, take a muffin."

Henry reached in the basket and grabbed two.

One was already being chewed when he said, "Besides, the journals aren't even interesting."

"Henry!" David and Regina scolded in unison.

"Sorry, Mom," the muffin masticating continued, "but they weren't."

"That doesn't seem possible," David stated.

Regina arched an eyebrow.

"I can't imagine that anything written by you would not be interesting."

David got a peek of Regina's pearly whites as her smile widened, and he could swear that her eyes sparkled.

Why didn't everyone in town trip over themselves to be kind to this woman?

"Well, you're wrong. They're not interesting." One muffin was gone, and the second was in mortal peril. "May I tell him, Mom?"

"Sure," Regina said, still smiling at David.

"It was about rainfall."

"Rainfall?"

"Rainfall."

"Not just rainfall," Regina objected.

"Right, right." Henry held a hand up. "It was a proper Farmers' Almanac with temperatures, tides, and times of sunrises and sunsets."

"You kept a Farmers' Almanac?" David asked.

"Didn't you?" Regina asked, suddenly self-conscious.

"Yes, but, as you've pointed out, I lived on a farm."

"Well I had an orchard!" Regina's defensiveness surprised her. "And an herb garden."

"I didn't know that."

"Now you do." Regina drummed her fingers on the counter and inspected her manicured nails. "I liked logging the data."

"My mother liked it too," David said. "She said it made her feel more in control of the uncontrollable."

Regina looked up, and that warm smile was back, shared between them.

"I still can't believe it wasn't plans for a coup." Henry's chewing was obnoxious.

"Henry Mills, if you speak with your mouth full one more time, you're going to lose your phone for much longer than one human interaction."

Henry gulped grotesquely.

"Fine, Mom." His enunciation was perfect. "I'm just saying that it would have been more interesting if the journals had contained plans for a coup."

"Care to take this one, David?" Regina unexpectedly passed the buck to her new shepherd-ally.

"Henry, your mother is not stupid enough to write down plans for a coup. Not even close."

Regina gave her son an I told you so look.

"Treason was punishable by death," David continued. "And there was no due process, no concern with facts. An accusation of treason was often good enough evidence to warrant immediate execution of the most horrible kind." He shuddered at the memories of a gruesome past life. "No one planning a coup would ever write anything down. Ever."

Henry shrugged, and, in typical teenage fashion, moved onto the next thing.

"Are these from Marie?" he asked.

"Yes, she brought them by earlier to say good morning."

"I bet she did," Regina teased as she evaluated the muffins critically.

"You can take one to go, if you want to," David offered.

"Thank you." Regina's tone was genuine, but she didn't make a move to take a muffin. "I'm sure these baked goods are textbook perfection . . ."

Regina looked up and caught David's gaze. His heart sped up at the familiar—yet unfamiliar from her—glint in her eyes. Something had shifted between them. Something significant.

The area around his heart felt big and puffy.

It was hope. He was feeling hope.

" . . . but mine are better." Regina's smirk felt like a promise, and David cursed Henry's presence.

He willed himself not to gape at her and tried to find the power of speech. He and Regina had been on friendly terms for well over a year, but this was blindingly new territory.

He'd never allowed himself to look at her that way. (Except when he was dreaming, but that wasn't his fault.)

"C'mon, Henry, let's go," Regina ordered. "Leave the poor man one or two of his perfect muffins."

" 'Kay, Mom," Henry said around a mouthful of starch, another muffin in one hand and his phone magically back in the other.

Regina tapped the handle of the basket before grabbing her purse.

"I never do anything by the book," she told David. "I bake off-script."

With a conspiratorial wink, she turned and sashayed toward the door, held open by her long-strided son.

"Regina," David called after her.

She spun on her five inch heels, displaying her attitude—and other assets—to full advantage.

"I would never expect anything less from you."

His smile was warm, with a little something extra, and he could swear he saw her shiver.

Regina grinned.

"Good," she said, and she strode out the door.

It shut behind her with a lackluster clang. Even the bell was sad to see her go.

His eyes fell to the nice basket of buttery carbs in front of him. It was nice of Marie to bring them. She seemed like a nice girl. He picked up a muffin and began peeling the wrapper away from it.

David's phone buzzed on the counter.

It was a text from Regina. Once again, Ms. Swan was wrong.

David's brow furrowed.

His phone buzzed again. Also from Regina. You flirt just fine.

David laughed. He picked up his phone to reply, muffin forgotten.