Author's Note: Meant to post this on Wednesday, the 27th, but it slipped my mind. So today you get two updates!

It was too much to hope that Regina would be able to avoid her mother indefinitely. She should probably just be glad that she'd made it a whole four days before getting cornered over breakfast. There are no distractions today – Ophelia had gone home with Zelena at the end of the winter festival last night, her date cut short by Zelena's overprotective freak-out. It was a shame, Regina thinks, both because she's convinced her sister was being irrational, and because she'd meant to bring Ophelia back here and have another little slumber party, start her morning with another round of snowman pancakes, or maybe chocolate chip waffles, and hot cocoa, and a good excuse not to talk about things like divorce.

Instead, she's been cornered at the kitchen island over a mug of strong, fragrant coffee, and a breakfast of buttered toast and two spice cookies.

She'd been perfectly content to sit here and sip, and chew, and trade a few texts with Robin.

Somehow, she'd won the raffle for that year of free breakfasts at Granny's despite only buying a single ticket, but she'd been gone before they'd done the drawing. Robin had oh-so-generously offered to hand-deliver the voucher to her, and this being a small town, they'd actually agreed. So they've been trying to arrange a hand-off of this little card, which Robin is convinced should happen over her inaugural free breakfast, of course.

The idea makes her heart flutter in a way that has her feeling very silly, and young, and foolish – but it beats feeling lonely, and melancholy, and like a failure, so she's not going to argue with a little bit of fruitless holiday flirting. They're both free agents now, they're allowed.

Unfortunately, it leaves her with a smug little smile that she's not quite quick enough to suppress when her mother comes walking into the kitchen, already dressed in a pair of casual cotton slacks and a long sweater. Regina tugs her robe a little more tightly around her flannel pajamas and turns her phone face down.

"I see you're in a good mood this morning," Cora comments, with just enough pointedness for Regina to know that she has an opinion on said mood.

"I am," she confirms carefully, grasping her mug in both palms. "It's probably all the sleep I've been getting. That new bed is wonderful."

"Yes, I know," Cora says easily, reaching into one of the cabinets for a mug of her own, and filling it with coffee as she adds, "And here I thought it was that Locksley man you were hanging all over at the winter festival last night that had you feeling so… merry."

Regina freezes for a moment, her mug just a centimeter from her lips. She should have known that indulging in those comforting touches from Robin, stealing his warmth and kindness in such a public place, would not have gone unnoticed.

"I was not 'hanging all over' him," Regina corrects frostily, before finally taking that sip. "We were talking."

"With your arms around each other, all in and out of each other's pockets?" Cora questions, leaning against the counter with her own coffee and giving Regina one of those far too superior looks she's so good at.

"We were not 'in and out of each other's pockets,'" Regina scowls. "And yes, we were talking, about private, personal things. Robin gave me a hug, and it was cold out, so perhaps it… lingered. But whoever you're getting your information from is sorely mistaken if they made it sound the way you did."

"Hm," Cora remarks, and how she manages to load so much doubt and suspicion into one syllable, Regina will never know. "I can't imagine what you'd have to talk about with that man – it can't possibly be the state of your marriage, considering you've been avoiding talking to your own mother about it for days now."

Right. So. They're doing this.

Regina exhales wearily and sets her coffee down, waving a hand in invitation and saying, "Fine. Say what you have to say – now that it's no longer a holiday, and we no longer have a child in the house, and—"

"Oh, stop making excuses," Cora scolds, moving from the counter to perch on the stool beside Regina and asking her, "What on earth happened that was cause for divorce, dear? Leo is a good man, he takes care of you, he's given you a job practically running the foundation. You're well-connected, you have a life that makes you happy—"

"Mother, if I had a life that made me happy, I wouldn't have left it," Regina interrupts, irritated at the audacity of anyone other than her husband trying to talk her out of a divorce – and one that's already final, no less. "And Leo may be a good man, but we want different things. Our marriage had lost what little passion it ever had—"

"There are more important things than passion, dear."

"Maybe so," Regina says, her jaw ticking as she watches her mother reach over and break off a piece from one of the cookies beside her half-eaten toast. "But it's still important, and the idea of living the rest of my life without it just to – to keep up appearances—" she's getting flustered, her temper rising "—was intolerable. I'm tired of it – I'm tired of the picture perfect marriage and the picture perfect home and the picture perfect career. Pictures are nothing, Mother. They are flat, and lifeless, and static, and I feel like I have become flat, and lifeless, and static, and I couldn't take it anymore."

Cora takes in a breath, then lets it out, her expression pinched. And then she says, "You've always been so dramatic, Regina. Marriage is not some passionate fantasy you see in the movies. It's full of compromise, and sacrifices—"

"I know that, Mother; I was in one for a decade," Regina mutters, reaching for the cookie her mother hadn't pilfered from and taking a generous bite. If she has to go rounds about this, she's at least going to eat something delicious while she does.

"And now here you are, wanting to leave it, because it's not exciting enough," Cora tuts. "Of all the reasons… And what are you hoping will happen now? That you'll find something even more exciting? In your forties? Is that why you've been chatting up that man—?"

"For God's sake, Mother, I'm not looking to marry Robin Locksley," Regina grumbles. "He's a friend – one of my oldest friends. And I'm not 'wanting to leave' my marriage," she bites, reminding, "I already have. The papers are signed, it's final. I moved out months ago, so whatever you're hoping to accomplish by berating me for doing so, give it up. It's done."

It's exactly the thing she shouldn't have said. Cora zeroes in on two little words and ignores the rest, narrowing her eyes and asking, "Months ago? You moved out months ago, and never said a word to your own mother?" Regina would respond, but Cora doesn't give her a chance to. She keeps going, lamenting a completely ludicrous, "Then I can assume you didn't get your Christmas card, or—"

"Leo brings my mail into the office once a week," Regina heads her off. "I got your Christmas card, and the official one from the Mayor's office, and the donation request form with the complimentary stamps, yes. I got it all, Mother."

"Well, now that I've been informed of all these changes in your life, do you think you could deign to give your mother your new contact information? I can't imagine Leo will keep forwarding your mail forever."

Regina rolls her eyes, and reaches for her phone again, ignoring the text notifications from Robin in favor of opening her thread with her mother, typing out her address and wishing for the satisfaction of the days when smartphone keyboards had actual keys you could punch down in annoyance. Instead she has to settle for pressing "send" with a particular amount of force, and then dropping her phone back to the countertop with a clatter, and a testy, "There. Now you have it."

For a moment, Cora just stares at her. Regina's not looking directly at her—she's reaching for her coffee again, taking a long swig and wishing she'd had the foresight to spike it with some Bailey's—but she can practically feel the weight of her mother's gaze on her.

So she's not at all surprised to hear, "There's no need to be so snappy, Regina. After all, I'm not the one who decided to keep this all a secret, and I think a mother has a right to be offended that she was kept in the dark about something so important."

"No, you're not the one who kept it a secret, you're just the one who has been acting from the moment I walked in the door like my marriage ending is somehow a disappointment to you – and I knew that you would, which is why I didn't tell you sooner. Because you don't give a crap about how unhappy I was, about the pain that I've been through, about any of that. You just care about my prospects, about how this looks, about how good we were on paper. And maybe on paper we were a good fit, but I've been miserable for three years—" she doesn't expect the tears, springing sudden and hot to her eyes, Jesus, this needs to stop happening "and I am not going to sit here and let you make me defend why I left when I was so unhappy."

And she's not, she's not, because those tears have careened down her cheeks with her last blink, and she might be able to salvage her dignity after crying in front of Robin, but crying in front of Mother when she's so unsympathetic is utterly humiliating. It makes her feel foolish, and childish, and every silly thing Cora will say that she is.

So Regina doesn't even give her a chance to respond, she just turns on her stool and hops off, grabbing her phone but leaving her coffee and half-eaten breakfast behind as she stalks out of the room and up the stairs.

She ignores the way her mother calls after her, picks up her pace on the stairs and then shuts herself in the guest room and throws the lock on the door.

It's not satisfying, it doesn't make her feel any better, because she knows exactly what her mother would say to her storming out of the room like a tantruming toddler. But at least in here, there's quiet, and nobody but herself to make her feel like shit.

.::.

Regina doesn't re-emerge until she's had a chance to cry a bit, and then take a shower. And then slather herself in lotion (it's Mother's guest lotion, it's too flowery, but it's something to do that isn't going back downstairs, so she does it.) And then she dresses, slowly, and blows her hair out, and applies her makeup with the utmost care. And then she notices her manicure has begun to chip, so she hunts down a bottle of polish remover and strips her nails bare before repainting them a frosty winter white.

And then, she pulls her iPad from her travel bag and finishes reading a chapter in the novel she's been working her way through.

And then, and only then, once she's whiled away a good two hours of her morning, she makes her way back downstairs.

The house is silent.

For a minute, she thinks maybe had Mother slipped out at some point without her noticing, maybe went into the office to "catch up on her paperwork" or whatever nonsense she comes up with to excuse retreating to the solitude of her workplace for hours at a time.

But no, Regina is not that lucky.

She's only just begun to fantasize about the prospect of having the entire quiet house to herself, to read, or bake, or do anything else she'd like with her time, when she hears her mother's voice coming from the kitchen: "Regina, dear, can you come in here? I want to talk to you."

Right. So much for that idea.

For a second, she considers simply slipping out the front door and making a break for it for the rest of the day. Of course, her keys are upstairs in her purse, along with her wallet. She could walk, though, and she does have that free breakfast voucher burning a hole in Robin's wallet. She could probably talk Granny into letting her sneak in one early meal.

It would only delay the inevitable, though, and Regina is too old to run and hide (again).

With a deep sigh, she heads for the kitchen and back into the fray.

When she walks through the door, Mother is sitting at the island, right where Regina left her, as if she hasn't moved at all. She has, though, Regina knows she has – if for no other reason than that there are fresh mugs sitting on the counter top in front of her.

Cora smiles stiffly at Regina, and says in a way that is a little too kind, "I made some hot cocoa. I know how you like it."

This time, Regina remembers to reach for the Bailey's.

She's not going to sit through another few rounds with her mother without a little bit of liquid courage to loosen her up. So she ducks into the appropriate cabinet, pulling out the bottle and uncapping it, pouring a generous glug of it into the mug of cocoa steaming in front of the empty stool beside her mother.

Considering the way she'd left things, and the painfully obvious way she'd been avoiding her mother for the rest of the morning, Regina is fully expecting to get another earful.

What she's not at all expecting is for her mother to tell her, "I'm sorry."

And sincerely, no less.

Even more shocking, she follows it up with, "You're right; I wasn't listening to you. I was just so angry and so hurt that you kept this from me, and you'd seemed so happy every other time I'd seen the two of you. I thought you were making a rash decision."

Of course she had. Regina takes a deep swig of her spiked cocoa to keep from making a face. When she sets it down again, Cora reaches for her free and hand and gives it a squeeze, insisting "But I want to listen now – talk to me, sweetheart. Tell me what happened."

For a moment, Regina just looks at her, not sure if she should trust this sudden change in mood. But she seems sincere. She's sitting here, waiting – not expectantly, just… hopefully, maybe?

Maybe Regina should have tantrums more often, if this is the result.

Regina lets her fingers close around her mother's, squeezing back and then disentangling, wrapping them around her mug instead as she begins, "I tried to make it work; I really did. But Mother, I was so unhappy with him. I don't think I realized quite how much until I was talking to Robin about it last night – and it's not something I want to go into again, so please don't ask."

The last thing she needs is for her mother's good mood to expire at the revelation that Regina had kept her infertility a secret too — she's not sure she could handle getting bawled out about that one.

"But Leo didn't want the life that I wanted," Regina tells her, finally willing to go that far, at least. "He didn't want the things that I needed. And I gave them up for him, for years, trying to make it work, to not be a failure, to fit in the life we'd chosen. And it made me angry, and resentful, and—" She's not prepared for the rush of anger, or for the stupid tears that well up and push out her true feelings. "—he should have told me from the beginning how he felt about children, I wouldn't have married him if I'd known how little he wanted them."

She ought to be prepared, after last night, after the other day, but she's just… not. So now she's sitting here like an idiot, taking a deep breath and brushing away the couple of tears that managed to escape as her mother offers an all too sympathetic, "Oh, sweetheart…"

Regina sniffles and continues, "All I've ever wanted was— And we tried so hard to—" Regina catches herself – she's already said more than she'd meant to. She wipes away another tear and changes track slightly: "And then he told me he didn't think he was good with kids, that he only wanted them because I did, and it's not enough, Mother. I want to be with someone who wants to build a family with me. I don't just want a nice house, I want a home."

A little voice inside of her points out that all she's gotten herself is an empty apartment, but she silences it. She's gotten herself a new beginning, a place to start from to find the future she wants. Maybe it sucks right now, but that's okay.

So she ignores that lonely little voice, and focuses on Leo, on the topic at hand, telling her mother, "He's not enough for me; I don't love him. I never loved him enough to marry him, I don't know why I ever—"

Cora interrupts, cool as a cucumber as she says, "Because Robin Locksley was marrying that Marian girl instead of you."

Oh, for Christ's sake, "No." Regina shakes her head, reiterating, "Mother. No. Robin was a friend, nothing more."

Cora offers up one of those condescending sort of smiles she's so good at (even when she's trying to be warm and supportive, she somehow manages to miss the mark just a little), and says, "Regina, it's a small town, and people talk," as if there's anything to talk about. "I was well aware of your little indiscretion at the Rabbit Hole – if a man is going to cheat on his fiancée and expect it to stay a secret, he ought to pick a less public place to do it."

Well, that's just great. This is exactly what she wants to talk about with her mother – the night she managed to betray her friend, with her other friend, all because she couldn't stand to be in this house for another night all those Christmases ago.

"I swear, this town is so full of loose lipped gossips it's a wonder anything ever stays a secret," Regina mutters, before telling her mother, "Nothing happened at the Rabbit Hole. We both had a little too much to drink, so we walked back to his place together, because it was closer. That's all."

All Cora needs to know, anyway. And it's all that happened in public, at any rate, so why should she admit to the rest?

She's no sooner had the thought than the universe provides her with an answer: "And then you left, and stumbled home in the cold in the middle of the night, in tears."

Regina freezes at Cora's even, knowing statement.

She'd been under the impression that Mother hadn't been aware of that. Regina had borrowed the spare key for the week, as usual, so she could come and go as she pleased. And it had been late, very late, when she'd (yes, okay) stumbled in on legs numb from whiskey and cold, cheeks flushed and chapped from wiping tears from them the whole blustery half-hour walk home.

Daddy had been up. Sitting in the living room in his pajamas, and robe, and slippers, reading a book and sipping a full brandy. Regina had taken one look at him and crumpled, confessing her sins and taking what little comfort she could from his absolution.

And she'd always thought it had stayed between the two of them, but apparently she'd been wrong.

"How do you know about that?" she asks quietly, lifting her cup to take a much-needed sip of Bailey's and cocoa.

"When the phone rings in the middle of the night, Regina, it tends to wake all the sleeping parties."

Right.

Well.

That solves that mystery.

She'd come home well after two AM. It had been too late for Daddy to be up, for anyone to be; she'd always assumed that Robin had called the house to make sure she'd gotten home alright, but when Mother never said anything about it, she'd figured she'd slept through whatever wake up call Daddy had gotten. Clearly not.

And it's old history, something firmly in the past, so there's not much point in lying about it now. Against her better judgement, she admits to her mother, "We kissed. We were drunk, and we kissed, and then we came to our senses, and I left. Nothing else happened – and nothing happened in public."

They'd gotten perilously close, much to her eternal mortification, but ended up no further than some heated kisses and groping through wooly sweaters. Thank God. She's not sure what she'd have done if they'd actually lost their minds and ended up back in bed together.

"Nothing but you taking a job in Washington and not showing your face for another year," Mother points out, adding, "And then coming back engaged yourself, to a man you keep telling me you were never right for in the first place."

Leaving hadn't been about Robin. It had been about herself. About the mortification of making out with an engaged man, about the family conflicts that had led to her getting so stupidly drunk during her Christmas vacation in the first place.

But her move hadn't been borne out of jealousy, or… whatever it is Mother thinks it was. Neither had the rush to settle down with Leo, and move on with her life. And the idea that it had been, well, Regina finds that just makes her tired, the way so many conversations with her mother do. Her weariness with the topic at hand colors her voice as she asks, "Mother, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying if a man is worth picking up and moving yourself several states away to avoid, then maybe it's worth considering if he's worth moving yourself several states back home now that you're both single." Cora lifts her cup, finally, glancing sidelong at Regina and adding, "If you really are finished with Leo," before she takes a dainty sip.

Regina's brow furrows deeply.

"I'm sorry; I'm confused," she drawls. "Do you want me to date Robin or not? Not that your opinion is relevant, I'm just trying to adjust to the whiplash here, considering you started the day berating me about it."

"I did not berate you," Cora sniffs, and oh, that's rich. And then she tops it off, continuing with a little shrug, "I've always thought you should move closer to home; if it takes a silly crush to bring you here, so be it."

"No, you haven't," Regina reminds, because that's not true at all. Not even a little bit. "You were thrilled when I moved to D.C. to work for Leo. Try again."

Cora sighs, and says, "I was happy for the job opportunity; I was proud of you. But if you're not married to that man, you shouldn't work for him. It will only lead to complications. And if you're not working in D.C., and you're not married to a man in Virginia, I see no reason why you shouldn't move closer to home."

God, she really is a piece of work.

"Okay, let's set aside, for a moment, the fact that you've now downgraded me from divorced to divorced and jobless," Regina begins, because oh-how-quickly she's fallen, it seems. "What is it you imagine me doing here in Storybrooke? There's not exactly a glut of opportunities for philanthropic work outside the convent, and I am certainly not about to join the sisters and take a vow of chastity."

"I think you'd do well in the Mayor's Office," Cora tells her casually, and Regina scoffs, her brows shooting to her hairline. "You have roots in the community, you're good at influencing people, and Lord knows you've been brokering peace deals between me and your sister for decades. I think government would suit you."

Oh, yes, that's just what she needs – going from working under her ex-husband to working under her overbearing mother. What a peaceful life that would be.

She'll take a hard pass on that one.

Regina lifts her cocoa toward her lips again as she says, "Mother, I love you, but I don't think being your deputy would pay enough to cover the amount of family therapy we'd need to survive working in the same office indefinitely."

It's perhaps a bit cattier than she ought to be with Mother if she's hoping to keep this tentative peace, but she would honestly rather remarry Leo than take that job.

To her surprise, her sass doesn't earn her a scolding. Instead, Mother simply purses her lips in irritation and then tells her, "I never said anything about deputy, dear. I was imagining something a bit higher up the food chain."

Regina frowns, swallowing her sip of cocoa and then saying, "I don't understand."

"You're not the only one who can keep her plans a secret, Regina," Cora tells her, sitting just a little bit straighter, and not quite meeting Regina's eyes. "I've been thinking of retiring."

Regina nearly chokes on her drink.

"Retiring?" she questions. Mother's just full of surprises today, isn't she? "That's not a word I ever thought I'd hear you say."

"Yes, well, I'm getting older, and I'd rather spend the next few years seeing the world while I'm still spry enough do so than settling petty disputes at town halls and working on city budgets." Cora folds her hands together on the countertop, and adds, "But I can't just leave this city in the hands of any old townsperson and have all the work I've done the past several decades go to waste, now can I? However, if you were to move home..."

Regina scoffs, shaking her head and thinking that only her mother would think that decades of mayoral work could go down the tubes in such short order.

The idea is ludicrous, not least because, "City politics isn't a dynasty, Mother. I'd have to run. And win."

"Oh, that part's easy," Cora dismisses, and, well, she would think so, having run mostly unopposed since Regina was in high school. Somehow Regina doesn't think her own road would be such smooth sailing.

"Mother, I don't even live here," she reminds needlessly. "And haven't in years."

"But you could," Cora insists. "And you grew up here, people know you, you come from a good family. Move home, buy a house, settle down, find something to do for the next year. And when I announce my intent to retire from City Hall, I'll endorse your candidacy. I'll even help run your campaign."

Well, wouldn't that be a treat.

Regina has a quick flash of memory, her mother telling her the night she'd arrived that they could 'discuss her options,' and she can't help but ask, "How long have you been thinking about this?"

"I've been thinking about retiring for about a year now, and thinking what a shame it was that you ended up so far away and your sister ended up so… Zelena." Regina scowls; now isn't the moment to defend her sister, and it wouldn't do any good anyway. Mother will always consider her a giant waste of potential for managing to be content with single motherhood on the farm. "And then Alastair Gold let slip about your divorce—" (she knew it; that son of a bitch) "—and, aside from being furious you'd kept something so important from me, I saw an opportunity that could benefit us both."

Regina would roll her eyes if she wasn't so utterly perplexed. Mother is never one to shy away from opportunism, but this seems like a rapid about-face from their earlier conversations about her future.

"I don't understand," Regina says, shaking her head. "You've been trying to convince me since I arrived that divorce was a bad idea. That I should fix things with Leo. That I was being a quitter, for lack of a better term. Why on earth would you do that if you want me to be your successor?"

"Well, there's what's right for me and what's right for you," Cora tells her, and Regina lets out another scoff. She cannot believe her. Cora sounds far too sympathetic when she tells her, "I'm not completely heartless, Regina. If you truly are unhappy, then maybe you're right about the divorce."

'Maybe,' Regina thinks with enough inner scorn to light the room on fire. 'Maybe' she was right to make her own damn choices, according to Mother. Now. When it suits her needs.

"Well, at least you've finally come around to that idea, late as you may be," Regina mutters. "But I still think it'd be awfully rash to just quit my job and move home so that I could maybe, one day, go into small-town government."

"What have you got to lose?" Cora asks her.

Regina shakes her head, spreading her hands and letting the sarcasm drip into her tone as she answers, "Oh, I don't know, not much. Just my whole life as I know it."

Cora tilts her head, a knowing sort of smile flickering on her lips for just a moment before she can push it away and feign innocence when she says to Regina, "The life that you've been telling me has made you so unhappy?"

She's got her there.

Regina scowls into her cocoa, taking another deep swig of it in lieu of admitting that Cora might just have a point.

Unfortunately, it gives Cora enough time to reach over and squeeze Regina's wrist again, urging her to, "Just think about it, dear," before she slides from the stool and walks out of the kitchen.

Regina is acutely aware of the fact that her mother has managed to get the last word.