STORYBROOKE, MAINE, 2022.

Breeze flows through the open windows of Regina's mansion, sending a mild chill through her kitchen and erupting gooseflesh over her arms as she bites into a strawberry. In the early days of May, summer is finally beginning to grace Storybrooke's eager residents, and, delighted by the newfound warmth, Regina has perhaps prematurely cracked most of the windows in her house.

Regina places her knife in the sink and sits at the island with her fresh fruit salad, a new Saturday morning breakfast routine as of late. Despite the peace and solitude of her late morning, her heart once again yearns for company. Unbidden, her mind's eye presents her with an image of Emma, and she squeezes her eyes tightly shut, shaking her head with a firmness that surprises even herself. It's been four years--when will she ever find a way to let her go?

Four years isn't exactly fair, she knows; it hadn't exactly been a clean break. The last time she'd seen the blonde had been at the town line after Regina willingly helped Emma pack up her entire life--because that was the only way she knew she could show her support and give her a shoulder to lean on--but they hadn't stopped talking, not right away.

After Regina watched the yellow bug disappear from the magic shielding the town and allowed herself to cry, she'd walked home slowly, instead of magicking herself into her room, forcing herself to feel and work through the complicated hurt Emma had left in her wake. She hadn't needed to wait long before the blonde reached out to her. Regina laid in bed that night, tears stinging her eyes, when her phone buzzed and it had been a call from Emma, telling her they made it to their new apartment safely, and thanked her, as Regina cried silent tears all throughout Emma's staged excitement as she explained the layout to her--but their call had quickly become more enjoyable as they fell into their usual easy routine of talking about anything and everything, and suddenly, it wasn't hard to imagine that Emma really was down the street, and she hadn't left her at all, and maybe Regina really was fine--but then the call ended, and Regina had been left empty once more.

But then Emma had called her again the next night, and then the night after that, and somehow, those phone calls had become a lifeline for Regina, the best part in her day to look forward to, the moment she could pretend Emma wasn't lost to her and she wasn't so terribly, hopelessly alone. And, judging by Emma's behavior, the calls played a similar role for her--until they didn't anymore.

Nightly calls turned to weekly calls, which turned into monthly calls, which became holiday calls, stretched thin between the months, and then the years, and then nothing, nothing, nothing at all. By the end--oh god, the end for them--the happy, emotional, lifeline phone calls became stilted and almost awkward, with chasms of time between the two women and somehow monumentally less to say, and even though Regina vehemently hated herself for it, she found herself almost dreading those same beautiful phone calls that had turned ugly with time and the constant look behind shoulders for an increasingly angry husband. Until finally, Emma stopped calling, and Regina wasn't forced to answer the horrible question of whether she would pick up the phone next time.

The loss of contact has in no way stopped Regina of thinking of her, however; wondering if her hair was still long or whether she had cut it, whether the color had completely drained from her face or if there was still even the smallest glimmer of light behind those sad, sad eyes. She pictures her with a baby bump, pictures her at a baby shower with no family to attend, pictures Hook with a smug, accomplished smile on his face all the while. Regina realizes she's been clenching her fork much too tightly and loosens her grip, chewing a bite of cantaloupe and sternly telling herself to let it go. Let her go.

Regina takes a shuddering breath and brings her bowl to the sink, calming her mind as she washes her dishes, inhaling the clean, fresh scent of the Dawn soap under her fingers. She glances at the calendar on the adjacent kitchen wall and bites her lip. In a few days, it'll be the four-year anniversary of the day Henry left home--a clean break with his past life--and disappeared behind the portal. Regina sometimes wonders if that portal swallowed a part of herself along with her son, and now she's forced to squeeze her eyes shut to halt the stinging beneath her eyelids. Now, she's almost entirely used to his absence; his bedroom door has been shut for a few years, his shoes are put away, his shampoo stored away in the bathroom cabinet. Many of the reminders are gone, but a hole in her heart remains, one rendered completely unrepairable, one Regina is still learning how to live in spite of.

It would help, wouldn't it, if there was a day Regina could count down towards, a moment in time she knew she would feel him in her arms again? A when, an ever? She shakes her head again, her longer dark hair swaying around her head. She can't think like that, she knows, previous therapy sessions entering her mind. Archie coaches her to be realistic, but never to ignore the facts that blend into hope and instead give into despair--Henry had promised that he'd come home, and Archie had leaned forward in his chair.

"Hold onto that. Breathe that. Believe him. Your son doesn't make promises he doesn't intend to keep. If he is able to, Regina, he will find a way to contact you. If he doesn't, then you know what it means."

Regina almost wants to smile. Archie is almost too honest for his own good, but Regina welcomes it. So, she continues to live her life, accepting the need to find a way without both of the most important people to her. Regina has never been, never will be weak. She finds a way to not just get out of bed in the morning, but to make it behind her, and a way to laugh and smile and exist as her own person.

But god, she misses them.

She unplugs the sink and listens as the sudsy water struggles thickly down the drain in a gulping, strangling sound. She rinses her sponge and sets it on the edge of the sink. She is okay, isn't she?

She's startled by the sound of a light rapping against her front door, and she stills, wondering if she'd imagined it--she combs her mind and is unable to think of a single person she's expecting. It couldn't even be Snow--she, David, and Neal had taken a temporary trip to the Enchanted Forest to allow Neal to see where he would have grown up in another life and to introduce him to the culture, and she's not expecting them back for another six months.

But then--the knocking is back, a little stronger and more confident this time, and Regina turns to check her reflection in the microwave door, rubbing her painted lips together and smoothing down her hair before drying her hands on a dish towel and striding towards the door.

Squaring her shoulders, she pushes down the latch and swings open the door--

--no.

It's not possible. She stands utterly still, her very breath halted as she takes in the man in front of her. It's Henry--it has to be--but the Henry she knew left her only four years ago, and this one stands before her as a stranger.

The conflict within her passes through all within a matter of seconds--she'll always recognize her son no matter how much time has passed, but the impossibility of it all baffles her, and as she looks into the eyes of the very man she had been trying so vainly to live without, the man she doubted if she'd ever see again, and the man who is so impossibly different--she can't breathe. She can't form a single coherent thought or a sentence, so she stands, completely dumbstruck, both of them only staring until the pressure builds to a breaking point.

The man opens his mouth, and with it confirms her simultaneous greatest wish and greatest fear. "Hi, Mom," he says, voice breaking across the syllables, and only then does Regina begin to cry.

Because there's her son, her little prince whom she'd missed so deeply and terribly that it'd left a horrible gaping hole in her heart, and all she can do is sob. Henry moves toward her first, tall and muscular and broad-shouldered, and they collide, Regina curling her fingers into the unfamiliar material of his foreign leather and riding pants appropriate for the Enchanted Forest.

"Henry," she whispers, her voice completely broken, and she feels his strong arms tighten around her.

"I'm home," he tells her, curling his palm against the back of her head, smoothing down her hair and leaning down to press several kisses to the crown of her head. "I know it's been so, so long, but I promised I would come home to you."

Regina pushes back slightly, confusion lining her face. "It's..." she begins, trying again when hardly any sound comes out, her heart feeling as though it's about to burst out of her chest. "It's only been four years," she tells him, and only five minutes ago, she'd felt as though four years was a monumentally long time, but now looking at her adult son, it suddenly feels as though that period of time is far, far, far too short.

Henry immediately blanches, and he stumbles back. "Four years?" He repeats, his voice suddenly extremely small and far higher than it had been moments before.

Regina feels a wave of nausea cover her, her stomach turning over violently. "Henry..." she begins slowly, "how long has it been for you?" Her mind presents her with an image of Gideon, Belle and Gold's son who, six years ago, had been taken as an infant to the Black Fairy's realm where time moves differently, and had come home only days later fully grown. Her stomach turns again. Time moves differently in other realms.

Henry pauses for a moment, as if he's counting. "I think...thirteen?" He mutters, glancing behind him for a moment before seeming to remember Regina and turning back towards her. "Oh, god--Mom--"

He swoops in again as Regina's world spins. She looks into his face, and it all makes sense--too much sense. Henry had been eighteen only four years ago, and now--her mind doing the math for her though she resists it--thirty-one, far, far too soon. Except for him, he'd lived an entire thirteen years away, no shorter than the four long years she'd endured at home, or than it would have been had he spent thirteen years in Storybrooke.

"Henry," she says again, cupping his face in her hands and fighting back tears in order to see him more clearly. "You're beautiful." He grins, somewhat embarrassed, the tips of his ears tinging pink, and Regina finds herself overjoyed in a sense that some things never change.

Henry laughs then, a deep, throaty chuckle and covers her hands with his own. "I've missed you so much, mamá." They quietly embrace for a few moments more, the breeze from the open door engulfing them in a hug of its own, blowing through hair and fabric, sweetening the air. Henry draws back this time, his face a confusing mix of nerves and love and excitement. "Mom, I need to tell you something," he opens slowly, watching her face to gauge her expression.

"What is it, my little prince?" She reaches up to his face, running her fingers through his brown hair, and watching him break out into a reminiscent grin that looks so much like himself but with the wisdom and wistfulness from all of the years she missed.

He gives her one last little smile, the kind he reserves only for her, and turns toward the open doorway again. "You can come out now," he calls, and Regina's heart leaps into her throat.

A stunning Latina woman walks inside a little timidly, dressed in similar leather, her hand resting on the sword at her hip. Her curly brown hair is pulled back into a low ponytail, and she glances around the house before siding up next to Henry. "I know you told me your mom is a Queen, but this is unlike any palace I've ever seen," she says to him, and they share a quiet laugh before turning to face her.

"Ella, meet my badass mother. Mom, this is my wife, Ella."

---

THE ENCHANTED FOREST, TEN YEARS AGO.

The wind blows through Henry's hair, becoming more aggressive as he picks up speed. The sharpened air stings his eyes and dries his lips, but he can't help but whoop with a sense of delight and freedom, shifting his motorcycle into a higher gear as he speeds across the hoof-paved landscape of the forest trail. He moves with the bike, following the path expertly. He's moved around a lot since he left home three years ago, but he's stuck around this kingdom for the past few months; long enough to have grown well-acquainted with this particular trail. He has more than a few burdens on his mind, but right now, he's enjoying the ride to the fullest, inhaling the pine tree scent and ducking low branches.

He glances down at his speedometer for a few seconds, knowing to shift slightly to the right in the next clearing--and then he hears a gasp.

He glances up a moment too late, watching as a figure on a horse barrels towards him in the opposite direction. He curses, squeezes the brake with all the strength in his fist, and jerks the handlebars to the left just as the horse halts only a few feet in front of him, throwing its rider into the adjacent clearing.

Henry's bike handles the abrupt stop well enough, considering--it falls onto its side and he collides with the ground, but he can tell there'll be no lasting damage. He scrambles to his feet and rushes over to the clearing, snagging the horse with the reigns as does so. If the rider's horse ran off too, Henry would feel even worse than he does right now.

"Shit. I'm so sorry, I looked down for one second--" he begins, then looks down. A woman is sprawled in the grass and flowers, the scent and color and movement of the hyacinths kissing the air. Her brown waves surround her head like a crown, her chest rising and falling as she gathers air back into her lungs. "So...sorry." He repeats, this time slowly in a state of almost awe, as he gives her space to find her footing.

She rises, gathers her thoughts, then gasps. "Kaladian!"

Henry bobs his head and passes her the reigns. "Here."

She grabs them quickly--her gloved fingers brushing against Henry's--and gently, though firmly, guides her horse backwards while never dropping Henry from her line of sight.

"Are you alright?" he tries again, soft green eyes expressing his regret while searching the woman's reserved facial features for traces of forgiveness and even companionship. Throughout the years on his own, he'd gained both friends and enemies, but recently he's lost more allies, and safety in numbers sounds appealing to him.

Her guarded, sharp eyes stare back at him for a few moments, mouth opening and closing as though she's deciding his character. Finally, she slips into a smirk so small Henry nearly misses it. "I feel as though I was just thrown from my horse because some idiota and his beast did not watch where he was going."

As she speaks, her voice becomes stronger and her accent thicker, and Henry, though at first chagrined, finds himself smiling in mild confusion. "My...beast?"

The woman cocks her head towards the road. "Your headless horse."

Henry breaks into a laugh--not a condescending one, but one that is truly amused and thoroughly enchanted with the woman in front of him. "That would be my motorcycle."

She only cocks a brow, the smirk on her lips becoming a permanent feature.

Henry's heart picks up speed as he continues to laugh softly, watching as the woman collects her reigns and seems to ready her leave.

"Wait," he begins, nearly breathless as she turns to look at him once more, no blame in her eyes. "What's your name?"

A flash of panic flickers across her face, masked well but not unnoticed by Henry's observant nature, and she pauses--not long, but long enough. "...Lilith."

Henry raises his eyebrows along with a halfway-impressed scoff. "Right. I believe you."

She turns quickly, mounting her horse and staring back at him, aloof and reserved once more. "Why wouldn't you?"

Henry crosses his arms and squints up at her. Her jaw is set and strong and proud. "Your name isn't Lilith."

The woman tosses her head to tame the curls shielding her eyes. "That may be, but what does it matter to you? I have an identity to protect, and I will never see you again."

"Are you in some sort of trouble?"

She pauses.

"I know that look of falling in with the wrong people, especially around here. Maybe I can help you."

Henry watches as she considers it; her carefully guarded face motionless as she turns the offer over in her mind. A seed of pride plants itself in his stomach as he waits. He's obviously made the correct assumption.

"Unless you know how to get out from under the mercy of Doctor Facilier, you're wasting your time." Deeper in the forest, a twig snaps, and the woman tenses, her eyes widening and her face draining of its former color. Henry reaches in his belt for his gun, holding it steady as he moves noiselessly across the clearing towards the source of the noise.

A shot echoes around them, and a moment later, Henry's walking back with a rabbit hanging from his fist. The woman is still there, her horse unshaken from the bullet.

Henry holds up the animal with a smile. "Peace offering? Found some dinner."

She considers it a moment, then climbs down. "Fine, you win." Then, glancing down at the gun in his hand, "Who are you?"

Henry chuckles, stooping down to begin collecting kindle for their fire. "My name is Henry. I'm from another realm."

Their eyes connect, emerald and honey shining as they share each other's space and silently decide, in that moment, to trust each other. "My name is Ella. Cinderella."

--

AN: here's a shorter chapter this time! This was meant to be much longer but then I decided to end it, so the next chapter will continue the reunion (and yes, Lucy is here too, but we wouldn't want Regina to literally pass out. Baby steps.). It took me awhile to figure it out, but I'll be telling Henry's story while he was away in flashbacks scenes, and we will stay in this time period otherwise. Henry's backstory will have tons of meaning and huge consequences for what's about to occur for Storybrooke, so stay tuned :)

Have a good Memorial Day everyone! Votes and feedback are sooo appreciated.