Part 3: Three awkward confrontations, all of which end in laughter.

Regina

Regina keeps her mouth open slightly as she finishes applying her lip-liner. Once the definition is perfect, she pops open her most dangerous shade of red, and carefully presses it to her lips with finesse that comes from years of applying only the highest quality cosmetics.

Sitting up, she examines herself. She looks dangerous. That's good. The power to intimidate will be important no matter how far removed she becomes from her years as the Evil Queen. It's especially important today, because she's going to visit an old friend. The last thing that she wants is to lose control of what she's well aware could spiral into an emotional mess.

It's just after noon on a Thursday. Jefferson should be home. She hasn't called ahead because she expects he won't want to talk to her. Dropping by without notice isn't polite, but she can't stop thinking about Alice and he's the only one who understands.

She's spent the morning in her kitchen making what used to be Jefferson's favorite sweet, a sort of almond biscuit that he'd always begged her to steal from the kitchen for him. Although she's never made them herself before, she's rather proud of how they turned out.

They're not exactly a peace offering, but she's hoping that the gesture might buy them a few minutes of amicability. After all, their last meeting hadn't been exactly friendly.

As she gets out of her car, she takes a moment to look at the expensive prison that she trapped her ex-lover in for almost three decades. It's just as grand as her own home. She wonders what it was like to spend nearly every waking moment alone, two sets of memories battling it out inside of an already unstable mind.

Guilt tugs at her gut, and she can't seem to vanquish it. In fact, it only seems to get stronger as she rings the doorbell.

There are footsteps. They stop, and Regina assumes that the hatter is looking at her through the keyhole.

"I don't want to talk to you." Jefferson says through the door.

"Please." Regina forces the word out.

"No."

"It's about Alice." The mayor says as loudly as she can muster. She feels nauseous. It's a name that hasn't left her lips since well before she cast the dark curse. She can practically hear Jefferson hesitate and reconsider, and then the door opens.

"I thought you were done with me." He retorts, mocking their last private encounter. She finds herself relieved to find that he looks much healthier than he had at their last encounter. His cheeks aren't as hollow, and there's more color in his skin.

"I brought you sweets." She pushes the basket into his arms and walks past him into the kitchen. "If I remember correctly, you take them with tea and lemon."

As Jefferson slowly trails behind her, he picks up one of the pastries and stares at it with misty eyes in a moment of defenselessness that she hadn't expected quite so soon after being let into his home.

"I didn't think you remembered." He murmurs, expression hardening a moment later as he cocks an eyebrow and meets her gaze. "And I didn't think that you were capable of baking without apples."

"I'm full of surprises." She says dryly, filling his kettle with water. As Jefferson fetches mugs, tealeaves, and plates for the biscuits she makes her way to the fridge. It's covered in Grace's drawings and homework assignments.

They're good enough for an eleven-year-old. She knows how proud he must be of her, and how happy he must be to have his child back. That's something that she can relate to.

She moves aside so that Jefferson can fetch lemon from the fridge. Unsure how else to help, she sits down at the table and thinks that the house is too big for just one man and his daughter. If she'd gone with them, she wonders, would they have had more children?

Would they have filled a house up with laughter and babies? Stop, she chides herself. It doesn't do any good to think about missed opportunities. Jefferson glances at her but doesn't say anything as he sets the table. The kettle starts whistling a minute or two later, and soon enough they're seated together at the small table in the kitchen squeezing lemon wedges into their mugs and looking rather uncomfortable.

"So…" Jefferson starts, biting his lip. "You said that you wanted to talk about Alice."

"Yes. I miss her." Regina admits, her voice barely a whisper as she refuses to look at him.

"Oh, Regina…" He sighs, dunking one of the biscuits in his tea and taking a bite. She glances up and sees nostalgia and pain in his eyes. That was one of the reasons she'd baked something that would remind him of the time that they'd spent together with Alice.

She wanted him to talk.

"You could have come with us." He reminds her. "We wanted you to."

"I know, I know." She sighs, taking a biscuit and giving it a nibble. They're dry and not very sweet. Why Jefferson loves them so much is a mystery to her, but she can still remember the boyish wonder that would cross his face whenever she presented them to him. He'd tried to kiss her with crumbs on his lips and she'd pushed him away laughing. "…but I wanted revenge. I wanted—"

"It's too late for regrets. We are where we are now." Jefferson cuts her off. "Maybe Alice and I should have tried harder…but Leopold had a price on her head, and—"

"And you had to protect the baby." Regina finishes. "I know, I know. Alice was pregnant and you couldn't r—"

Jefferson pulls away from her as much as he can without standing up. The biscuit falls from his fingers. His face drains of color. She can almost hear his heartbeat.

"Jefferson?" Regina asks, confused and startled by the sudden change. "What's wrong? That's why you left, isn't it? Alice was pregnant. That's what you s—"

"No. No." He shakes his head and grips the table, and she grows nervous. "Alice wasn't, Regina. I—I was. I was." He stares at her like he's never known her at all.

"You were?..." She speaks slowly, because now half of what she'd thought about Alice and Jefferson's life after her is wrong. "But Jefferson, I didn't think you could—"

"Regina," Jefferson is almost shaky, and she's a little scared. "You have been more intimate with me than anyone in this godforsaken town. You know I—"

"Fine, Fine." She says, masking her sudden guilt with anger. He's right, of course. She's known since their first time that Jefferson was not born with the body of a dashing gentleman, and she still knows exactly what he looks like underneath his clothes, but she'd never considered that his body was still capable of carrying children. "So why didn't you tell me—"

"I did!" He snaps. "I told you. When we tried to take you with us. I told you that I didn't want to do it without you! I told you that I needed you!"

Regina falls silent, and thinks back to what Alice and Jefferson had said when they'd asked her to go with them. Even after all of these years, she remembers that night vividly. He's not wrong.

"Well, at least you had Alice." She eventually says, keeping her words short. "I didn't have anyone."

"You think I don't know that?" Jefferson looks like he's in pain. "I'm never going to stop feeling guilty for leaving you, Regina—but I didn't have a choice. You left us, too."

For years Regina has told herself that Jefferson abandoned her and was responsible for Alice's death, but now she isn't so sure. It feels like she might throw up. It occurs to her that she's never asked about Alice's death. She knows that it happened within five years of the pregnancy (Jefferson's pregnancy, she now realizes) but she isn't sure exactly when it occurred.

"Did you…I…" She's at a loss for words, a rarity. "Were you alone? When Grace was born, I mean. Was Alice already gone?"

She's afraid to hear the answer, and breaths a sigh of relief when the man across from her answers.

"No." He mumbles. The hatter isn't meeting her gaze anymore. His arms are crossed tightly over his chest and he's looking at the floor. "Alice died when Grace was three. We were together for Grace's birth." Regina sees him swallow. "And…But…." He's struggling.

Suddenly there are tears running down Jefferson's face. She hasn't seen him like this since he asked her to run away. Every few moments his body tenses and shakes with a repressed sob.

"I wanted you there." He manages to say, as he begins to tremble. "I just wanted you to be there."

Regina feels like her heart has been stolen and crushed to dust.

For years she's conceived memories of Jefferson catering to Alice's every need as her stomach grew rounder and they both waited for Grace's arrival. Now, that vision is gone, and instead she thinks about what Jefferson's pregnancy must have been like.

He'd been terrified of being discovered—of being called a woman. The first time they'd gone to bed together he'd been scared that she'd reject him, or worse, out him. He'd once admitted to her that there were still times when he'd look between his legs and hate himself.

Sometimes he'd politely excuse himself when Regina and Alice craved intimacy. He said that he was just tired, but they'd all known that wasn't what he meant. It had been strange, and unsettling, to see a person who was usually so confident be so immersed in self-doubt over something that mattered so little to his lovers.

Regina had never cared about that.

The hatter, she recalls, has always been anxious. She imagines that pregnancy, the epitome of so-called womanhood, must have nearly killed him.

Wetness on the hand she's been gripping her mug with startles her, and she realizes that Jefferson isn't the only one who's crying.

"I'm sorry," she chokes out.

They're on the floor holding each other and crying like children. Regina sheds her tears elegantly enough, but Jefferson sobs openly into her chest, his arms around her as they finally, finally, give up the game that they've been playing for far too long.

"It's okay…" She whispers, rubbing his back and letting her chin rest on the top of his head. "It's okay." Her breath hitches, and she admits the reason that she's been so cruel. "I love you."

He pulls back and looks at her, his eyes red and puffy as his hands move up to cup her face.

"I never wanted you to hurt like that."

All that she can do is nod and press their foreheads together, taking inventory of just how much he's aged. She wonders how much younger she would look of she hadn't sworn to ruin his happiness along with everyone else who had ever wronged her.

There are still many things she can't forgive, but she decides that she can find room in her heart for the man in front of her who never really left it in the first place. She's heard people say that hate isn't the opposite of love: there's too much passion there. She's not sure how much she agrees with the idea, but it describes her feelings for Jefferson well enough.

Not that it matters. She can't fight him anymore.

He hiccups, she laughs, and then they're helping each other up and sitting back down at the table. Despite the tension that's been lifted between them, she feels like she's walking on glass. Things are different than they were only minutes before. She feels raw.

With no trace of refinement, Jefferson stuffs an entire biscuit into his mouth and Regina snorts with laughter.

Emma

Biting her lip, Emma shifts from one foot to the other as she stands in front of the door to Mary Margaret's apartment. She's done a lot of thinking over the past week, and has decided that it's time.

She's going to do it.

She's going to come out to her parents.

"David?" Emma abuses the doorbell to the point of what she knows is extreme obnoxiousness. "I'm here!"

The door opens and her mother pulls her into an embrace.

"Emma! We haven't seen you in days. How are you?" Snow asks, bubbling over with cheer as she looks at her daughter.

"I'm fine." The Savior grins awkwardly and walks through the door, making herself comfortable on the couch and watching her parents as they bring three mugs over to the coffee-table. "What about you guys? How's the little guy?"

"Wonderful." David gushes, looking proud as can be. "He's sleeping right now. Getting bigger every day. Maybe he'll wake up before you leave."

"I hope not." Snow groans. "I've always loved babies, but I had no idea how little they slept! In the Enchanted Forest, we always had servants t—"

"Please tell me you're not complaining about being able to take care of your son yourself," Emma cuts in.

"Oh! No, no!" Snow shakes her head, face red. "That's not what I meant." She takes a quick gulp of tea that's obviously too hot, and flinches. "So—what did you want to talk about?"

"Right." Emma goes quiet for a moment. David's earnest smile is the only thing that makes her keep going. "I…there's something important that I forgot to tell you. A lot has happened since the curse broke, and there are a few things that just sort of never came up."

"Like what?" David asks. "Is everything okay, Emma? Are you in trouble?"

"No! No, nothing like that." She assures him. "It's just…I…" At first she thinks about going on a tangent about Neal and all of the other men she's been with, but that would be stupid. There's no need to assure her parents that she's attracted to men when the entire point of this conversation is to inform them that she's also attracted to women. "I'm bisexual."

David's face contorts to resemble that of a puppy seeing a mirror for the first time.

"What?" Snow's voice raises in pitch. "What did you have sex with, Emma? Is this about Walsh—it's okay, we found out that he was originally a man, remember, I—"

"You know what I said, Mom." Emma adds the last word on to calm Snow down, but her mom doesn't look any less distressed. "I'm bisexual. I always have been. I loved Neal, but I've been in love before. With girls."

"No—is this a joke? Is there—a—a camera?" Snow's voice is shrill. It reminds Emma of a bird. Emma feels sick.

"No." She suddenly feels very small, just like when her foster parents had told her that she was a mistake, and sent her away for falling in love. They'd taken back everything they'd ever given her, except for a bible. Emma had burned it.

"You can't be." Snow decides loudly. "You're a princess."

"We're not in the Enchanted Forest, Mary Margaret!" Emma snaps, because she just can't stay passive when her mother is trying to deny her identity. "Maine isn't in the dark ages. People love who they love."

"What? So old men should be able to—"

"That's not at all the same thing!" Emma stands up. "I love you but I'm not going to take this back. Not again." She's crying and she hates it. In that moment she's so infuriated with her mother that she doesn't notice David standing up to follow her out of the apartment. He stills Mary Margaret from following with a classic I'll-take-care-of-it smile and joins their daughter outside the apartment.

"Emma," he says, brow furrowed slightly as he takes his daughter by the arm.

"I'm not going to listen to you tell me that I'm something I'm not," Emma says defensively. He shakes his head a little bit.

"No." He almost looks scared, but not of her, and that's enough to stop Emma from wrenching her arm away and driving off. "Let's go for a drive."

Emma nods a little and sniffs, letting David finish putting on his coat before they get into his truck. She's a little anxious, but not frightened of being alone in a vehicle with her potentially-very-homophobic father. She knows that they love each other.

"Where are we going?" she asks, even though Storybrooke is a small town and she knows that they're heading towards the harbor.

"I thought that I'd have Granny fill up my thermos with cider, and then we could sit by the water and talk." He hesitates as he stops in front of the diner. "Is…is that okay?"

"Yeah." Emma nods a little. Her heart is pounding in her chest because she doesn't know what's going to happen.

Ten minutes later they're sipping at the sweet, hot liquid as they sit bundled up on a bench looking out over the water.

"Do you know how things were in the Enchanted Forest?" he asks eventually.

"Yes." Emma nods. "Ruby told me. It happened to one of her friends. Did you know that? Her best friend got turned away by the town she'd grown up in just because she couldn't help who she loved." She snorts. "Some fairytale that is…"

David nods a little, and draws a deep breath.

"Among peasants—like me, when I was growing up—it used to be that it was okay as long as it was behind closed doors." Emma doesn't speak, because David seems like he's choosing his words carefully and this is a story that he's never told before. "Snow loved her father, but he was one of the biggest enforcers of those laws that the Enchanted Forest had ever seen."

"There was a butcher who'd lived in the village by our farm for years, sharing a cottage with the tanner, who had also never married. Everybody knew, but they'd been born and raised with the rest of us so we left them alone. Then Leopold's people found out, and then they were gone." He swallows hard. "No one even…no one even tried to get them back."

"They were good men, Emma," David adds, voice breaking. "The butcher was always good to us, after my dad…" He sighs. "There was someone else, too."

Emma leans against him, letting her father put an arm around her shoulders. She wonders how long it's been since he thought about this.

"He was the son of a local carpenter. Jack." There's a long pause after that. It's not until Emma squeezes his hand that he keeps going. "I wasn't…it wasn't like what I have with your mother, but I did love him."

"Everybody thought that we were just friends. There weren't many young men in the village. It was natural that we'd be drawn to each other. We'd…we'd sneak out at night and kiss in the woods."

"What happened to him?" Emma asks.

"I don't know," David admits. "I was pulled away to become a prince. It was tough saying goodbye, but then I met your mother. I never told you. You can probably guess why."

"Yeah." Emma rests her head on David's shoulder. "Were there…where there other?..."

"Other boys?" David asks, and Emma nods. "I mean…I'm in love with your mother now. She's the one for me." He said a little more loudly than before, as if to convince the world of his heterosexual relationship. "But I don't…if I ever looked at other people, which I wouldn't, I…I don't feel any differently about men than I do about women."

"So that joke that you made about you and Killian awhile back?" Emma asks, hoping that she's not overstepping her boundaries. "Was that because—"

"Because I'd thought about it? Yeah," David admits. "You can't help thinking about it."

Emma sighs and sips at her cider. It reminds her of the mayor.

"Snow will come around," David assures her. "You're right—this isn't the Enchanted Forest. I'm not sure that everything in this world is an improvement, but I do…I do think that people should be able to love who you love." He hesitates. "Which is why I'm wondering why you're bringing it up now. Is there…do you?..."

"Yeah," Emma responds, her voice small. "It's Regina."

"Does she know?"

"No."

There's a long, long pause after that. It's not terribly uncomfortable, but she's still on the edge of her seat (not literally) for an answer.

"We've all been through a lot. Regina's done a lot of horrible things, but I…after all that's happened since you came to town, I don't think that it's my business—or Snow's—to stop an opportunity for her to have a happy ending before she even gets her toes wet. I think that you should tell her."

"And…" He swallows hard. "And if you do it with me, I think that I…I should…I'm going to talk to your mother." His eyes crinkle in a smile. "She should know where you get it from. I think that's why we're both…bisexual." The word sounds awkward and heavy on his tongue, but he rolls with it. "It's because us 'Charmings' are just too damn easy on the eyes. It would be a crime to limit ourselves."

They both laugh, and this time when Emma starts crying, it's because she's overjoyed.

Killian

He wakes up late in the afternoon, in a state that's half-drunk and half-hungover. His head is fuzzy and it feels like his heartbeat has moved up into his brain. Despite that, his thoughts roll in clear and easy like the water that's lapping up against his hip.

Years and years ago, he should have realized what he had to do in order to fix things. Taking women to bed and making them love him wasn't the answer. That wasn't going to make him better.

No. What he needs to do was get it out of his system.

Weeks ago Emma had explained the concept of a taxi to him. Storybrooke only had one cab driver, a peppy black man named Naveen who loved jazz. He was French of all things. Killian, true to his heritage, has never liked the French.

Still, he knows that his destination is too far to walk in the cold and so he dials the taxi-driver's number and tells him where to go.

"No problem!" Naveen laughs, and starts to drive. His attempts at small-talk are met with nothing, and so they eventually lapse into silence. "Do you need me to come back later to pick you up?" he asks when they arrive, looking a little wary about how far from town they are.

"No," Killian says immediately. "Thanks." He stuffs some money into the other man's outstretched hand, and watches him drive away. It's nearly dark now, and that makes Jefferson's home seem even larger and more intimidating.

The door opens, and Killian reasons that the hatter must have heard the automobile.

Killian's head is pounding in earnest now, but he doesn't care.

"Killian?" Jefferson asks, looking the pirate up and down. "You look awful—you—what are you doing here?"

"I…" Killian takes a few steps forward, and thinks about the other man. "Where's your daughter?"

"Upstairs doing her homework. Why?"

"Because I need to talk to you." His voice hasn't faltered yet. That's a surprise. "Alone."

"Okay. Are you sure that nothing's wrong?" Jefferson asks, his nose crinkling as the smell of rum and sweat his him. "I don't suppose that there's a shower on that boat of yours?"

"It's a ship," Killian huffs, pushing past Jefferson and all but collapsing in the living room on the largest, plushest sofa in there. "Go tend to your daughter. I'll be here."

"Mm." Jefferson's eyes narrow briefly, and then he turns to go up the stairs. Five minutes later he's back, some clothes over his arm. "I won't talk to you until you've bathed. Now get off of my couch. It was rather expensive and the last thing it needs is to smell like a boat."

"I'm fine," Killian grunts. "And it's a ship."

"You're clearly not." Jefferson reaches out and pulls the other man up, leading him back. "There's a downstairs bathroom. I'm not talking to you until you come out clean. If Grace does come downstairs, I will not have her see you like this."

Killian protests but finds himself alone in the bathroom with a change of clothes moments later. He wants to burst right back out, but hesitates.

This is a good idea, he admits to himself. It's been a week since he bathed, and Jefferson's right. There isn't a shower on his ship. Besides, it'll be easier to get this done if he doesn't stink like a cellar.

Before he comes out, he borrows a toothbrush he finds by the sink, and tosses it into the trash once he's done because it seems like the considerate thing to do.

When he emergences with damp hair, smelling like soap, he feels better…but everything is still terrible.

"Oh look at that. I'd forgotten what you look like under all that grime." Jefferson pats the couch next to him and leans back. "I don't think I've said more than two words to you since you arrived in Storybrooke."

His brow furrows.

"Why are you such a mess?" He's blunt when it counts. That's how they've always been with one another. "I thought that you were having your happily after with Emma."

"No." It's all that Killian can say for a few minutes. "I…I can't be happy yet."

"Yet?"

"I'm broken, Jefferson." Killian can't cry anymore. His head is pounding and rum has been his only liquid intake for three days. He's probably dehydrated. "I'm so, so broken."

Jefferson's sarcasm and wit vanish as he realizes that his friend is in real trouble, not just drunk with no place to go.

"What's wrong? What's happened?" He asks.

"I…nothing's happened. That's the problem. Nothing's ever changed." Killian can't hear his own words because his head hurts too much and his heart is beating too loudly. "But you can help me. You can fix me. I know you can."

"If this is about my hat, I can't use it anym—"

"No!" Killian cuts him off. "This isn't about your hat. I need you to help make me normal."

He doesn't ask permission or give any warning. He just sits up and leans across the couch, all over Jefferson as he presses into a messy kiss only to be shoved away immediately.

"Killian!" Jefferson hisses, wiping his mouth. "What's wrong w—"

"I told you! I'm broken!" His voice becomes louder. "I've tried so hard not to be—but I see now! I know how to fix it. I just need to get it out of my system and then—"

"Oh, no. Oh, Killian…" Jefferson breathes out, cupping the pirate's face. "You stupid, stupid pirate." His voice softens. "You're not broken."

"You're wrong," Killian croaks.

"No, no, no…" The hatter sighs, smoothing back the pirate's wet hair. Killian can do nothing but hiccup helplessly, his body unwilling to spend extra moisture on tears.

"I don't want this." Killian shudders and collapses against his old friend, letting Jefferson pull him close. "I just want to be normal."

"You are," Jefferson says firmly. "You are." In a somewhat fatherly gesture, he kisses the top of the pirate's head.

Killian's too tired to say anything else. He's been fighting himself for years, and decides that right now he just can't. Jefferson already knows that he's a freak of nature. He can't decide whether or not he's upset or relieved that the other man didn't kiss him back.

The hatter has him eat a fried egg, drink as much water as his stomach can handle, and sends him to bed.

Killian doesn't know how much later it is that he realizes he's starting to sober up and can't sleep, but he finds himself on his feet and heading down the hall. After standing in front of Jefferson's room for a good ten minutes he opens the door, deciding that the worst thing Jefferson can do is send him back.

He doesn't make it inside, because Jefferson isn't alone.

The Evil Queen herself is laying beside him, Jefferson's back pressed to her chest as they slumber. Jefferson's head is tucked under Regina's chin, and one of her hands rests loosely on his arm. It looks as if nothing could tear them apart.

Killian makes his way back to the room that he's been offered for the night. Exhausted, he laughs himself to sleep.