SO THIS HAS BEEN KICKING AROUND IN MY HEAD FOR SUCH A LONG TIME, AND I'M GLAD I FINALLY GOT TO WRITE IT. I'VE BEEN REALLY INTO ONE-SHOTS LATELY, SO AS I'M WRITING THIS A/N I SEE IT AS BEING A ONE-SHOT. AS YOU KNOW, EVERYTHING WITH ME IS SUBJECT TO CHANGE . THIS TAKES PLACE ABOUT A MONTH AFTER SNOW AND EMMA GET BACK TO STORYBROOKE.
DON'T OWN ONCE UPON A TIME.
Snow looks at her daughter with a small smirk. Feeling the weight of her gaze, Emma looks up from Henry's book.
"What?"
"You." The brunette answers, turning her attention back to her hot chocolate.
"What about me?" If this conversation had been with Mary Margaret, things would have been fine and not too alarming. But the woman sitting across from her is her mother. She does her best to keep the edge out of her voice.
"Just… you. Remember how you told me about Neal?"
"Um… yeah." Emma is regretting telling Snow about that.
"Well, I was just thinking back to one of our first real conversations." She starts with a laugh. "And you told me you weren't sentimental. And now realizing what your car and the baby blanket –and the keychain you turned into a necklace—mean, and it's like just wow. You, Emma Swan, care a lot more than you let on. And you're adorable for it."
"Adorable?" No one's ever called her that before.
"I'm sorry, but the way you slouch, hot chocolate in hand, staring at Henry or the TV or whatever, it's just so cute. You're so much like me and your father." She reaches across the table and takes Emma's hand in hers.
"How so? David –er, James– isn't exactly what I'd call cute. And you're not that warm and fuzzy anymore." The blonde gets up and pulls a hot chocolate packet out of the cabinet, then pours it into a mug. She briefly considers putting new water in the microwave to prolong the break from their conversation, then decides against it. Snow –after who knows how many weeks stuck in fairytale land, she finally got the name right– wouldn't put up with those old tricks. Emma sighs and dumps the rest of the teakettle Snow used into her mug. She squirts a generous amount of whipped cream on top, followed by a heap of cinnamon. This is going to be a rough conversation. She leans her back against the counter. Snow smiles a little. Emma may have put space between them, but she's not running away.
"Your fath– James can be adorable."
"Dear God, please don't go there." Emma makes a face.
"Oh I didn't mean that way! I mean, yes, but… He does such sweet things. On Valentine's Day, at least back home," Snow's eyes glaze over as she remembers the bittersweet memory, "he'd bring me breakfast in bed. The strawberries outlined the letters in a heart shape. Our initials were inside it. That's just one of many things…" She snaps out of the reverie. "But anyway, yes. He's the most amazing man I've ever met."
"I just can't get over the David persona, but I know he's okay. I believe he won't hurt you again. Not that I'd need to intervene." The blonde smiles, then licks a bunch of whipped cream.
"Emma, you're going to spill it."
"I'm not thr–" She realizes stating the fact that she's not a child will hurt her companion, so she says instead, "I thought you'd rather this than licking it off my finger."
"Would it kill you to use a spoon?" Snow suggests with a small chuckle.
"Fine." Emma sticks out her tongue, and for a moment it feels like she's with Mary Margaret, not Snow White. She opens a drawer and pulls out a spoon. Then she takes a pointed bite of the whipped cream. "Happy?" She says sarcastically, with a roll of her eyes.
"Yes." Snow matches her tone and expression, minus the eye rolling. And just like that Emma's thrust back into reality, with her mother again because Mary Margaret wouldn't be like that to her. She wouldn't have that edge. Emma looks down into her mug, staring intently at the swirls of dark brown against the light brown. "What is it?" The brunette asks, her voice laced with concern.
"Nothing. I'm fine." Emma looks up at her mother with her face emotionless, looking her in the eyes, hoping she won't spot her lie. She doesn't want to hurt her more than she already is.
"Emma, when I said you're like Charming and I, I meant it. I know that look because you got it from me." Snow says gently. "And you're not the only one who can spot a lie when she sees it."
"I–" Now she feels like a child. "I'm just, I'm still having a hard time adjusting." Snow studies her daughter's face.
"But that's not all of it, is it?" She's almost afraid of the answer.
"No." Emma whispers, unwanted tears springing to her eyes. She looks down at her hands and chokes out, "I miss my best friend."
"Oh, Emma." Snow sighs, her chair scraping as she gets up to embrace her daughter. "I will always be your best friend."
"But you're my mother." The blonde says, her voice catching on every word.
"That's true. But how much has our relationship really changed? Mary Margaret mothered you. She gave you advice. You talked about things –deep things– with her. The only aspect that is different is the fact that I get to protect you." Snow smirks, hoping to draw even a smile out of Emma. The blonde looks up, her lips twitching just a bit.
"It is kinda nice not having to constantly make sure you're okay. You know, not getting charged with murder or your heart breaking or whatever other problems there were. You're a badass, did you know that? And I like it." A grin breaks across Emma's face as she pulls the smaller woman into a hug. "Even if David was a complete idiot… James isn't and… I'm proud to be your daughter. Both of you."
"And we're proud –so immensely proud– that you're our daughter. There are literally no words to describe it." Snow responds.
"Okay." Emma pulls back. "This is way too mushy and all that crap. I'm drinking my hot chocolate and going on my afternoon patrol."
"See, but you are sentimental." Snow teases, earning her another eye roll from the blonde.
"I am not." Emma scoffs.
"Blanket, car, necklace, and Graham's jacket." The brunette ticks each item off on a finger.
"Fine, fine, point taken. I have a few items from people I never thought I'd see again. Two of them I won't. That does not mean I keep everything I've ever come across."
"Emma, I understand. You don't have to be so defensive." Snow chuckles. "When you said that, you were trying to keep me away."
"And now I want to let you in." The blonde whispers to herself, though Snow caught it. She hides a smile and Emma puts down her mug. Snow hands her her blue leather jacket.
"Your red one's being stitched by Granny. It should be ready by tomorrow."
"Thanks." Emma smiles. "I'll be back in an hour or so. When are Henry and James getting home from the stable?"
"Probably around the same time as you. Charming said he'll take you some time, when you're ready. If you want to, of course."
"Tell him I'd like that."
"You could tell him yourself." Snow says, and this stops Emma on the threshold.
"I'm not ready for that." She replies sadly. "If he asks, it's different."
"I'll make sure he does." Snow smiles and gives her daughter's hand one last squeeze. "Be safe, okay?"
"I will." With that, Emma closes the door behind her.