A/N: and it's here! part 3 of the series, following directly after "a place where there's room to grow" (which followed after "those like us"). many thanks to amy, onella, amanda, and addie. they give me and this series life.

(Previously: Regina takes Zelena in, everyone but she and Henry like her, Zelena is afraid, Emma acts out and books it, Grumpy is an asshat, Tink is an angel. And that's what you missed on: Z!)

She'll actually kill her.

Regina hasn't even gotten all of the sleep out of her eyes yet when she finds Zelena's room empty, her car gone, and two text messages from the sheriff's department talking about some bullshit about public nuisance. She's going through ten different scenarios and six out of ten involve Zelena sitting like a delinquent at the station waiting for Regina to pick her up, two involve someone's blackened eye, and all of them have Emma somewhere in the equation. Regina doesn't ever get a break. Never.

She sits at the foot of the stairs, her cell on her lap, massaging the temples of her aching forehead because all she can do is wait. When she finally hears the sound of keys being jabbed into the knob of the door, she quickly gathers up every possible scolding she could give to Zelena.

Except that she walks in like a freaking somnambulist, not even meeting her eye, like she's lost somewhere. There are stains on her clothes, there is quite possibly loose dirt at the back of her head, and there are just so many questions. So many.

"What in the world, Zelena?" is all she can manage, looking up at her.

"I brought coffee." She gingerly places it in Regina's hands, and walks off down the hall and into the kitchen with her own cup.

Regina sighs, takes a sip––and damn, it's right what she needed now, but Zelena is so far from off the hook––and rises to follow her insane sister. Her sister that doesn't even say sorry or grant her an explanation as to why she snuck out early in the morning with her car. She'll actually kill her.

But upon entering the kitchen she finds Zelena leaning with her elbows onto the counter, hands covering her face. She's not touching her coffee. She suddenly looks so small, and Regina doesn't know what to say.

She goes for a gentle, "Hey?"

Zelena lifts her head up with a deep inhale and she's not so small anymore, though a little worn; truthfully, Regina's just relieved that she isn't crying again, but who knows how long that emotional détente will last.

"Hey. Yeah. Sorry."

Regina leans on the doorframe and lets the cup warm her hands. She feels like she needs distance for this one. "Care to tell me what you're sorry for?"

There's a hesitation, a brief stillness of Zelena looking at nothing with her arms crossed atop the counter but her lips begin to part and words begin leave them. "I went to Emma against my better judgment."

She was right, she needs distance, because she actually might kill her.

"I don't know why, I just," Zelena shrugs ever so slightly, but it's full of this hopeless weight, "it made sense at the time. I was thinking of you and Henry." Regina softens, but then––"And then she said things and then things didn't make sense. And then at the diner––"

She tries to stifle her exasperated sigh, she really does. It's too early in the morning. "You went to the diner, too. Emma wasn't enough. It's like you want to be––" She almost drops the cup onto the floor because she's caught herself being so careless.

Zelena huffs. "You can say it, you know," she says, her voice a low rumble of a rasp, "It's like I want to be treated like trash."

"No," Regina shakes her head, "that's not what I was going to say."

She's shrugged off, dismissed, like it doesn't really matter how you wrap it, it's the same stuff in the box. "You told me yourself, the first night I spent here. Our reputations follow us around like flies. Emma verified that to me. And then I suppose I needed to see it for myself."

Zelena's starting to shrink again as her face scrunches up, her nose begins to turn that shade of red. Regina's vision is starting to blur with each blink.

And then she minds the stains on Zelena's hoodie and she thinks of Grumpy knocking down her first set of coffee or her stumbling into a pole and getting it on herself.

"What happened there," she asks, barely above a whisper. She's resting on the fork in the road that could easily turn into either pity or anger.

There's a subtle change in Zelena, though, something she'd miss the transition of completely if she had blinked, and maybe she hears a small laugh in place of a sob. "Your clumsy friend Tinker Bell."

And honestly, they're both so ridiculously sick of feeling. They're so, so utterly sick of talking about people who make them miserable, so really, the only logical thing to do right now is laugh at Tink's blessed, blessed expense. They laugh so hard and it's full of and she was like, oh gods! and that is exactly her face.

Henry actually comes down half awake and says that if they're not splitting their sides while splitting eggs then he's not interested in being woken up like this.

Soon, as if everything before had never actually happened, Regina and Henry take it upon themselves to guide Zelena through her first attempt at the creation of food.

("Magic-less cooking without still starving. What a feat of this life!" Zelena would sob but it's with true excitement; Regina's never seen anyone hold a spatula with such teary zeal.)

And somehow and someway, flour ends up all over the counter, some of it sprinkled over their heads; an egg almost meets its demise on the tile floor and Regina would be furious about it, but everything before did happen, and they need laughter, they need smiles.

Henry doesn't think Regina can hear him when he cups a hand next to Zelena's ear and says, "You ever heard of the cinnamon challenge?"

Regina is tempted to let it happen. "You let her do that and you'll be cleaning it up, mijo."

"Aw, mom, I was just kidding." She gives him the sure you were face and he mirrors it with an added sarcasm and he's hers, he's really hers.

"How about some music?" Zelena suggests, shaking the loose flour from her hair and tying it back up again. "Maybe that ABBA stuff you're so insistent I should get around to."

Regina pops it into their old portable stereo and in a moment they're making pancakes while singing and dancing to Super Trouper, and none of them really know the words besides the actual lyrics from the title, but it's good enough. They're happy enough.

At one point Zelena lifts the spatula with misguided force and a pancake goes midair, too far over her head for her to recover. But Henry, like he is made of magic, catches it with a plate, and it's all open mouths and cheers and clapping.

Briefly, when productive cooking is actually happening, Regina wonders if it had been Zelena. If she had been chosen, if she had lived the life that she had sought so desperately. By the stretch of her smile, how the lines around her eyes are so deep as she looks at Henry, she doesn't doubt that she'd have found him and loved him the way Regina did. The way Regina does.

There are still so many pieces to be picked up but she's never felt so whole.

The mirth trickles down and plateaus to a zone of "holding up alright" over the next few days. No one really talks about Emma, at least not by name, because they know there is nothing to be done, and Zelena had relayed her message that this wasn't permanent anyway.

But then Henry confronts her one night. She thinks about if you love him at all you will tell him, but he's not there to place that on the table, he's not angry. He's grown so much, and she can hear it in his voice as he reflects his aging heart: "It's okay. I understand. I just wanted to let you know that because I haven't always before."

They later decide that Emma's absence does not mean that the gap between the Charming and Mills households should continue. It's a conclusion that perhaps Snow has not only come to as well but necessitates: Regina receives a phone call inviting her and Henry for lunch, with an I also may need help with the baby and you were so good with Henry please come over attached hastily at the end.

Regina asks if she could bring Zelena, and she doesn't think very hard on the reluctant "yes" that she receives.

Neal is not a quiet baby; the three of them are barely out the car and they can hear him wailing through an open window, and the sound rings familiar to both Regina and Zelena except that one recalls Henry and another is an echo of just the week before.

"You were the same," Regina says to Henry as they climb the steps. They share a smile but Zelena rolls her eyes.

"They all are, aren't they?"

The baby screaming intensifies when they get to the door, and Snow is the portrait of relief when she sees Regina.

"Oh thank the gods. Come in, come in."

(If she or Henry sees the momentary glint in Snow's eyes upon seeing Zelena behind them, they don't say a word.)

David has the baby in his arms and is bouncing and swaying in futile attempts to soothe Neal. Out of the two parents, it's David who looks like complete shit. It would be no surprise to anyone if he had volunteered to take care of Neal so Snow could get sleep.

"I don't understand. We've done everything right. The animals used to love me. Why doesn't my own son?"

"Because your son isn't a goat, genius," Regina quips in response to his dramatics. She raises her arms toward him and David gladly settles Neal into them.

She loves Henry no matter how old or big he's gotten, but it doesn't mean that Regina is incapable of holding baby Neal and experiencing heavy doses of nostalgia, that the weight of a tiny being makes her arms feel less empty.

Then the cacophony decrescendos and at the sound of Regina's gentle cooing, he's silent. David and Snow, despite being the ones who had asked for her help in the first place, look offended.

Zelena actually snorts from where she's sitting next to Henry on the couch; Regina doesn't blame her, because it is all laughable indeed, but there's a little more weight in the glare she receives. It instantly sobers her, needless to say.

"Thank you, Regina," Snow starts, and she lifts her hands under Neal, "I've got him now."

Neal feels himself being passed on and starts fussing again; Snow places him back with Regina and he's back to relaxed gurgles.

"If you remember anything about when Henry was Neal's size," Regina laughs, "I suppose we're even now."

But Snow, no matter how grateful she is, has so much pride. She blurts, "Everything was fine with Neal until Emma left."

Regina faces Zelena and she looks like she's stopped breathing, and Henry's looking at everyone with an uneasy confusion and given different circumstances, she'd eviscerate Snow for ever pulling this shit in front of him.

It's David, though, whom she realizes she is grateful for more and more. "We should get you all drinks. Zelena, I hear you're fond of pineapple juice…"

It becomes an easy distraction, a seemingly bland conversation, and Regina gently guides Snow to the kitchen end of the apartment.

"Snow…"

"I welcome her into this family," Snow whispers angrily, opening the fridge to close them off from Zelena's view, "and then she tears it apart. I don't want to hear it. I should've told you to leave her at home."

Snow pretends to look around inside for something and Regina feels like she's being hammered underneath her brain with an ice pick, and Neal begins to whimper.

"First of all," Regina starts, careful for any edges in her voice that could cut the baby in her arms, "You have literally done nothing more to welcome my sister into the family than dine in her presence. Secondly, do you honestly believe that she is solely responsible for Emma?"

Snow pauses, visibly clenching her jaws.

"You forget that not even my attempts to have her gone were enough to drive her away. Don't underestimate her like that."

Then she sees the anger dissipate into something softer and, well, pitiful.

"It's my fault, isn't it."

"Snow."

"Emma needs to be put first, she's never had that before, and then we had Neal, and she––"

"Needs to grow out of the idea that first means only." Among other things, Regina might add, but she's so tired.

Neal makes an urgent gurgle as if to agree (another thing that won't come to Regina's surprise is if down the line, this child grows up to be an intuitive mind reader), and Snow's no longer clenching her jaw, hand no longer gripping at the fridge handle.

"Meanwhile, so do you two idiots, if you never thought to have this conversation with Emma in the first place."

Snow closes off the discussion on the subject of food, but Regina knows she understands. She has to, when she can finally pick Neal up without him crying, and when she actually asks Zelena if she'd like to hold him herself.

But if Regina has to talk about Emma one more time, she may burst. She doesn't realize how much of Emma is seeping into every aspect of her life and how much she doesn't want it until it happens with Robin.

One comfort of having him was that he was distant from everything. He was distant from her history, and even though he's accepted everything in his stride, there is a constant anxiety over having this part of her story mingle with the part that has Emma in it. And then he goes and asks her if she's all right, if she's still upset about her.

Of course she is. But she's making do. She's trying not to build her houses on sand.

And if he didn't have Roland sat on his shoulders and if they weren't being so adorably precious, she'd push him.

"I'm sorry," he starts, "we won't talk about her, then."

"Too late," Regina shrugs sardonically, "you brought her up, and now we're going to talk about her."

Robin sighs, sets Roland down. "See that swing over there, son? Don't that look fun? Go on, we'll watch you."

He half waddles half runs to the tire swing, and Robin leads her to the bench across.

(Bless his gentle, patient soul; Regina still wants to disappear at the mention of Emma's name. She's so tired. Emma isn't even here but she is everywhere.)

It takes her a while before she actually starts talking to him, because it's hard, but she needs to, even though running would be particularly easier.

"Before us," she begins tentatively, watching Roland as he grips the rope and swings to and fro like a grandfather clock, "it really could have been… we understood each other, when it came to Henry –– and we could have… I was –– we were ––"

She's never said it aloud. Something feels so wrong about the fact that she's beginning to in front of Robin of all people, but he only looks at her like she hangs the stars, as always, and she breathes a little easier.

He takes her hand, says it for her. "You loved each other. Love, even."

Then she's afraid, she's worried, because Emma can't break this, not when she's not even in their vicinity. "Robin––"

"I'm not hurt. There is nothing wrong." She searches his face and it's all there, it's all genuine, and this is the last thing she'd have expected.

If she hangs the stars, then he paints the black sky for them to shine in.

And she can only laugh. What rare, beautiful luck she has sometimes. "Are you sure you're a real person?"

Good presence and drink is something they all need at this point. The Rabbit Hole isn't a place where Regina often frequents, especially not with a sister to accompany her, but it's a treat, and there isn't a reason why not. Regina's dropped Henry off at his grandparents' with his overnight pack, and now all that is on her list of worries is what kind of drunk Zelena turns out to be.

They're in the driveway with their arms crossed against the cold waiting for Tinkerbell; Regina prefers not to drive with any amount of alcohol in her body, and she could just not have any but everyone knows that's not happening, especially after this past month and a half.

"So," Zelena starts, her breath misting the icy air, "What made things right between you and, uh, fairy girl?"

There's a restrained interest in her voice, one that Regina can't quite identify yet, and it amuses her. "You could at least pretend that you didn't watch me for years on end. We made amends. Like how all fixed relationships go."

Regina observes Zelena from the side; her eyes are darting everywhere and she's tapping her feet ever so slightly. She's nervous, and there could be a thousand reasons why that is, but then she remembers how she flipped a switch that one morning, and how she did it again when she mentioned Tink tonight.

Oh.

Ah.

"I can see why you two are friends," Zelena says, "she's very nice."

It's so hard not to smile. "She often gets her foot in her mouth, but yes, she really is."

Momentary silence is filled in with the tap of Zelena's heels on the cement.

"Do you talk to her often about me?"

"No."

"Oh." Then she blunders, "Good, cause that makes me uncomfortable anyway."

"I'm sure it does."

Zelena catches her smiling and is instantly irritated. "What is that look for?"

A laugh bubbles out of Regina's mouth, and her grin is all teeth. "You're as subtle as a rock on glass. Why don't you just tell me?"

Zelena frowns, and it shouldn't be healthy how red her face is turning, but then again, that face is familiar with unnatural pigments.

Then she thinks briefly of how destructive this may be, how Tinkerbell is all about the predetermination and destiny that Zelena has been running from––but that's a discussion for when there's more than just prospect.

"Do you want me to tell her to forget it?" Regina asks, and the concern for her comfort is genuine. "We'll walk and get a taxi later. Or we can do something else. Whatever you like. There's a karaoke bar just down the street from The Rabbit Hole, I'm sure they have the entire ABBA discography."

"No, I––ugh, Regina." It's a whine so characteristic of all the teenagers in the DCOMs Henry used to watch that it makes Regina want to laugh again, but of course there's something more. Zelena's afraid, and has all these reasons to be.

Regina puts an arm across her back and pulls her close to her. "Let's just have a good time tonight."

Then Tink rolls up in a bright green mini cooper and Zelena actually breathes, "I am not getting into that car." But Tink rolls down the window, gives that enchanting beam and says hello, so of course she gets in the stupid car.