Cora sipped her tea serenely, her delicate hands folded around Regina's finest china. She'd always been a very elegant woman, Regina had to give her that: however insane, power-hungry, and manipulative she was, Cora Mills was the definition of class. It was something Regina had always admired about her mother—that, and her cheekbones.

"Your house is beautiful," Cora remarked, setting her tea cup down. "Though, I don't recall seeing any of those last time." She nodded at the corner, where one of Roland's brightly-colored plastic trucks sat, half-hidden by the plant.

Regina gritted her teeth, getting up to retrieve the offensive toy. "There is a toddler living here, you know," she said, irritated—but not surprised—by the criticism.

"Roland," Cora recalled, holding up a finger. "Short, dimply, looks like a Christmas elf—yes?"

"That's an apt description."

"Robin's son," Cora went on, as though intent to prove to her daughter that she'd paid attention.

"Very good, Mother."

"Hmm." Cora smiled, proud of herself, and reached for her cup again. "Speaking of Robin…?" She glanced toward the clock, indicating the rest of her question: Shouldn't he be here by now?

"He's busy," Regina said vaguely, retaking her seat. "We'll have to reschedule for another day."

"Oh, yes, of course!" Cora fluttered a giggle, waving her hand. "After all, forest outlaws have such demanding schedules—I suppose we're lucky he has time for us at all!"

And then she went on to mutter into her cup about Regina's abysmal taste in men; how Leopold would never have conducted himself so improperly; and how this insistent attraction to common and rude nobodies was an act of teenage rebellion that had long overstayed its welcome.

"…pathetic means to reclaim her youth, no doubt," Cora confided to her sugar cubes. "Rebel against me, like she never could."

Regina raised her eyes to the ceiling. It was becoming more and more apparent to her that she'd made the right call in putting off the Robin-Cora-introductions. Her mother was already having a field day with the guilt trips and criticisms, and she'd barely made it past the front door.

"What about Henry?" Cora asked, raising her eyebrows over her cup. "Necromancy is a rare gift—I trust it's being properly handled?"

"It's nothing you need to worry about, Mother," Regina exhaled. It was bad enough with Rumple breathing over his shoulder, encouraging every dark little instinct. The last thing she needed was Cora adding her efforts to turn her son into a teenage supervillain.

"Well, excuse me for taking an interest," Cora sniffed.

"Taking an interest and micromanaging are two very different things," Regina said coolly. "And I'm not going to let you into a position of influence around my son."

"No, I suppose I'm just here to—" she shrugged her shoulders with a little sigh—"meet forest outlaws and accept them into my royal family tree." She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. "An insult to my blood and station, but the things we do for our children."

Perhaps it was the way she said it, or the forlorn, self-pitying expression on her face when she spoke, but a swell of irritation stung Regina like a metal hook pulling at her skin. She tensed her jaw, eyes in venomous slits, and said icily, "What was that thing you said? Before you died? About how I would have been enough, without all that political, royalty bullshit?"

Cora knit her brow, looking hurt, and touched a hand to her heart. "I apologized for that."

"And yet…." Regina let the words drift off meaningfully, and took a sip of tea. It was a mannerism of Cora's that she picked up, mostly to maximize guilt or doubt on the opposing party. It had worked on her, and it worked on Cora now. But clearly, Cora dealt with guilt in a different way than most people, because instead of shrinking back, she stood up, chin high and voice ringing with indignation.

"Well, what can I say, Regina? I'm a woman of ambition! If you wanted someone pathetic and weak-willed, you should have brought back your father!"

She swirled her skirts dramatically, whirling around and stalking out of the room with her chin in the air. Regina rolled her eyes she listened to Cora's tiny heels clack on the floor.

"Where are you going, Mother?"

"To my room!"

"You don't have one."

"I shall find one, and claim it for my own!" Cora cried back . "And then I shall SLAM the door behind me, and you are not allowed in!"

Regina jumped as Cora made good on her word and slammed a distant door with a force that made the chandelier tremble dangerously. "Hey!" she yelled. "There is a no-door-slamming policy in this house!"

Cora shouted something back that sounded like, "Bite me!", but it could have also been, "Fight me!", which Regina was all too willing to do, since it would give her permission to hurl a fireball at her mother's face.

"I'm going to kill her," Regina said to the empty room, letting out a maniacal little laugh. "I'm going to fucking kill her."

And she very well might have, had it not been such a monumental pain in everyone's ass to resurrect her in the first place. Instead, she pulled her phone out of her blazer pocket, quickly dialed a number, and put it to her ear. She wasn't sure who she'd just called, but she was thankful that her brain's executive function had won out over temper to distract her from strangling Cora by calling someone.

The "someone" picked up on the second ring, sounding weary. "Yeah?"

"Uh—hi," Regina said, surprised to hear Snow on the other end. "It's me. Regina Mills."

"I know your voice, Regina," Snow replied.

"Yes." Regina paused, unsure of how to go about this. "Erm…"

Snow seemed to sense that she was having trouble. "How's it going over there with Cora?" she prodded.

"Not….ideally."

"Not ideally," Snow echoed, sounding skeptical. "What does that mean.

"It means, she's driving me nuts!" Regina hissed into the phone. "I thought I could handle this—I'm not handling this, Snow! I am not handling this!"

"You were the one who wanted to bring her back," Snow reminded her. "I told you it was a bad idea. We all told you it was a bad idea."

"Yes, thank you, I was there," Regina said through her teeth. "I wanted a second chance with my dead mom, fucking sue me. Point is, she's here now, alive and well, and I can't deal with her."

"Well, I could always kill her again, if you'd like," Snow said dryly.

"Don't tempt me," Regina warned.

"Look, maybe…" Snow exhaled, reluctant to give Cora the benefit of a doubt. "Maybe you just need to give her some time. It can't be easy, unlearning a lifetime's worth of…well.. being Cora. I mean, look at you."

Regina frowned. "What about me?"

"I mean, obviously, you're not trying to kill us all anymore, and we're all friends and it's cute, but you're still…you know."

"Tread carefully, Snow," Regina said through her teeth.

"But you know," Snow insisted. "So, you can't expect her to change overnight. Work with her, be patient…there may be hope for her yet."

Regina grimaced, rather doubting it. "You think so?"

"No, Regina, that's why I told you not to bring her back in the first place," Snow said exasperatedly. "But since you did it, anyway, this is really your only option. Either have hope, or resign yourself to eternal misery." She paused. "The offer to kill her again is still on the table, just so you know."

"I'll keep that in mind, thanks."

"I'll do it humanely—"

"Thank you, Snow."

She hung up before Snow could come up with too many convincing reasons to let her do it. Have hope, or resign yourself to eternal misery. That's what she was going to take away from that conversation. Not the most uplifting way she could have put it, but it was enough to use as a mantra.

"Have hope," Regina murmured to herself, closing her eyes. "Or resign yourself to eternal misery. Have hope…or resign yourself to eternal misery. Have hope, or resign yourself to eternal misery. Have hope—"

She broke off as her phone rang, giving it a curious look before slowly raising it to her ear. Generally speaking, she didn't permit people to call her—she called them. Whoever it was must have had either a good reason for disturbing her, or a lot of unfounded nerve.

"Hello?"

"Regina?" a girlish voice breathed into the phone. "Hey, it's Ruby."

Regina frowned. "The hell do you want? How did you get this number?"

"That's rude," Ruby told her. "Look, I was just calling to tell you, your baby daddy is passed out in my bar. He was playing darts with Emma—who is also drunk off her ass, in case you wanted to know—"

"I didn't, thanks."

"Okay, well, that's your sheriff, that's where your taxes are going. Anyway, he came in for a few drinks to steady his nerves before meeting your mom, and he kind of overdid it. So…" Ruby trailed off uncertainly. "Yeah. That's it. I just—you know, I wanted to let you know, he didn't bail on you, he's just kind of…incapacitated."

"Why are you telling me this?" Regina asked, nonplussed. She wasn't even sure she cared that Robin wasn't there anymore, but for some reason, Ruby calling to inform her of his whereabouts was irritating. Or maybe that was just Ruby's voice.

"Well, he's going to need a ride home, eventually," Ruby explained. "And since Emma's practically singing show tines at this point…"

"She shouldn't be operating a vehicle, or a position of authority," Regina finished with a grimace. The sheriff's badge had never looked quite right on that woman. Moments like these, Regina seriously questioned the merits of democracy because what kind of functional system put someone like Emma Swan in charge of anything?

Ruby cleared her throat a few times, as though to remind her she was still waiting for a response. Regina sighed, putting two fingers to the corners of her eyes. "Very well," she said. "Does it have to be right now? I'm dealing with a…situation."

"A disaster-situation?" Ruby asked. "Because like I said, they were playing darts, and I've seen a game of darts escalate into carnage. I can't really work my shift and babysit them at the same time—"

"All right, I'm coming now!" Regina snapped. "Just don't let them drink anymore!"

There was a pause, before Ruby's now-poisonously sweet voice said, "Well, I'd hate to complicate things with your situation…"

"I guess, my situation will simply have to behave herself," Regina growled, raising her glare to the ceiling as Cora's little heels echoed across the floor. "By the way, Ruby?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't ever call here again."

She hung up, swinging her purse onto her shoulder with a sigh. "Mother?" she called, voice carrying over the clack! of her heels as she strode to the bottom step. "MOTHER!"

A door swung open sharply, and Cora snapped back, "What?"

"Come down here." Regina lifted her chin, trying to summon as much authority into her voice as possible. "Now."

"What for?"

"Field trip," Regina said vaguely. "We're going to the local watering hole."

There was a pause. "I don't drink, Regina. You know that."

"No, I know." Regina carefully adjusted her purse. "But there are a lot of young men who do."

"Are there?" Cora said, sounding more interested (as Regina knew she would—Hook hadn't been the first to receive her mother's cougar charms). "Handsome, I suppose?"

"Sure."

There was another pause; then pitter-patter of tiny feet and the swoosh of a big skirt as Cora came skittering to the steps. She stood at the top of the steps, head tilted she regarded Regina with a mix of intrigue and suspicion.

"You're going to take me to a tavern with handsome, young men?" she questioned.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because you need to familiarize yourself with the social scene…" Regina trailed off as Cora's eyes narrowed at the obvious lie. "Robin needs to be picked up, and I don't want to leave you alone."

"Robin, eh?" A smile spread on Cora lips, triumph dripping in her words. Regina could already hear the tirade she was going to get in the car: "Oh, yes, what an upstanding gentleman! You really know how to pick them, Regina—good thing I never interfered! Clearly you know exactly how to make all the right decisions in your life!"

"That's right," Regina smiled through her teeth. "So, how about it? Not only do you get gawk at men twenty years younger than you, but you get a front row seat to yet another one of my huge, life-altering mistakes. You'll love it."

"Don't be silly, Regina," Cora beamed, her hand already sliding down the railing. "That brings me no pleasure at all." She stopped at the bottom, folding her hands in front of her, and tittered a laugh. "Where would you get an idea like that?"

"I don't know, Mother," Regina exhaled. "But I'm sure that's my fault, too."

Cora put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I forgive you."