She's not sure if she smells more like coffee or beer, but beer is definitely stickier. Fuck she should shower, but it's late and no one's going to see her in the morning because Mom has disappeared into Regina's house again.
Maybe she'll be back Tuesday.
Tossing her hoodie over a chair, Lily ignores the lights and walks into the kitchen. She knows everything is and Mom rarely touches anything in the kitchen.
In the doorway she stops, drawing her hand across her pocket for a knife she doesn't carry anymore. No one needs fucking knives in Storybrooke, they need fireballs. She has that too but old habits die slowly.
Rather than forming a neat ball in her hand, fire spills over it, cascading down her fingers as if she scooped it out of a bonfire and it's dripping like melted ice cream.
Good thing they fireproofed the floor.
Who the fuck robs the fridge anyway?
"Look, there's no money, no guns, no magical trinkets that wouldn't fuck you up or turn you into a lizard if you touched them, just get the fuck out of my house well you're still semi-human. There's barely any food either."
Why does that sound apologetic? She doesn't have enough food to be worth robbing. Who cares? Stupid judgemental thief can fuck right off. The figure in the light of the fridge turns, illuminated by the bright blue light. Her feet and legs are bare, and the shirt she has buttoned up halfway up her stomach is gray silk.
Lily knows that shirt.
Mom doesn't walk around in just a shirt and doesn't raid the fridge.
Breasts, not Mom's, thank whatever ridiculous gods made this town, are nearly exposed by the shirt, faint red marks stand out on her skin on her neck and her hair is all messed up.
Like the lipstick that's been kissed off and the smudged eye-make.
Oh fuck everything. The odd little fireball fizzles in Lily's hand, popping out of existence.
"You're right about the food," Regina says, raising her free hand in surrender. "Mal thought you were staying over at Granny's when you didn't come home. She says you do that."
"It's nice to crash there when I have to work in the morning. No rest for the coffee and beer wenches." Converse like a normal person. Pretend you don't see the marks on her neck. (of course Mom's a biter, she's a dragon.)
She hates these thoughts. All of them. Yet, they crawl up the back of her mind. Mom had Regina over, and they fucked, a lot, by the glow of Regina's skin.
"You must be feeling better if Mom finally let you out of bed."
Regina raises her eyebrows. Of course, even those are perfect. Who's sick for weeks and still has perfect eyebrows? Although she does finally not look like she's dying, and her skin's a little pink instead of far too pale.
Good job Mom. Fuck, she's not thinking about that. Where is Mom? Probably wearing even less in bed.
Glancing down at herself, she shrugs at Lily. "I suppose you could say she found something more fun to do in bed than worry."
"She worried a lot."
"I know." Regina lets the fridge close and wraps her arms around her chest. "I know, she's been wonderful."
"And?" Lily flicks on the overhead light and they both blink in the sudden shift.
"And I suppose you could say we're seeing each other."
"Seeing a lot of each other." Lily glances down at Regina's legs, which are very nice legs. That's her mom, she can't think of her that way. She is pretty. Of course she is, both of her moms are super classy femmes who spend more money on a suit jacket than Lily's last car. Lily shuffles awkwardly in her diner-stained jeans and sweaty t-shirt. How did she come from them? Even wrinkled, Mom's shirt is tailored and smooth and clings to Regina's body.
Her mothers are not supposed to be barely older than her and hot. It's fucking confusing as hell. Her mothers should be like sixty, and if they have to be rich, more like the stuck-up mom on Gilmore girls. She understands that, not this perfect makeup, just stepped out of a pantsuit photoshoot for Vogue, we-fucked-until-Regina's-hair-went-curly bullshit.
"Your mother loves you very much-"
Lily tilts her head and tries not to laugh. What does Regina think she is, twelve?
"-And our relationship means you and I will see more of each other. I think you're a very intelligent, intriguing woman and I'm looking forward to getting to know you better as we spend more time together. I hope seeing me and Henry more often is something you could be happy with." Regina says this so earnestly that it has to be practiced. Probably didn't practice giving it all but naked, but points for composure, considering.
Lily's stomach tightens up, but she's safe. They like her, both of them. Archie said just say it over and over until it makes sense. They like her. Regina will like her. Being Lily's mother is something Regina (fuck knows why) might actually like.
She stares down. She can do this. "Look, I appreciate what you're trying to do." Forcing herself to look up, she meets Regina's eyes. "But this isn't some Brady Bunch kind of thing, you're not just fucking my Mom, you are my mom too."
Regina blinks at her, lips parting. Her arms drop from her chest and one hand creeps to her stomach, almost like she's going to be sick.
"Zelena and I did a spell, well, like she did the doing and I had the magic. Zelena and I are related, so you and I are- you're my mom. I don't know how it works, and I haven't told Mom yet, but she's gotta suspect. I don't think she was fucking a lot of people with enough magic to get her knocked up. It's kinda rare."
Silence. Heavy, tingling, really fucking awkward silence.
"I should have told her first, let her tell you. I don't know what I was thinking."
Regina grabs her arm, gentle, fucking maternal. "I'm your mother?"
She reaches for Lily's face, caressing her chin, and the hint of a smile builds. "You do have my cheekbones."
Lily's eyes sting. Fuck, crying about this wasn't a fucking option. She just wanted Regina not to be horrified. She didn't want another mom. She's so not dealing with this that she nearly teleports away (like she can do that).
"Hey," Regina says, all soft. "Lily, I'm your mother." Her voice breaks a little and holy fucking shit.