Hey, everyone! I know it's been basically a year since I updated this story, but... it's honestly kinda hard to write a holiday-themed story when it's not holiday season anymore, you know?! The feeling goes away very quickly once January has turned around, I guess.

So, I seized the fact that it is again Christmas to continue this... and to surprise my best friend with her first Christmas gift! ;)

You know it's already morning and Henry will be waking up at any moment and you should get up and get dressed and start working on breakfast so he'll find the table ready and the house smelling of sugar and cinnamon when he gets to the living room, as has been your tradition ever since he started being able to go down the stairs on his own. But you cannot resist pulling Emma in and holding her tight, and you cannot resist savoring that moment, feeling her breath on your neck, her lips lightly grazing your skin, her arms sneaking around you and pulling you ever closer, and you cannot resist trying to make that moment last as long as possible.

Closing your eyes again, you inhale deeply, and allow your other senses to be flooded by her in every way, from the scent of her shampoo to the contented humming noises she's making to her body pressed against yours. You feel your heart steadying its rhythm, your whole self being washed over with warmth. And you know this is right.

You have always found it funny, how so many people seem to describe love as butterflies, or as a jolt of energy, or as something that makes your heart stop or your lungs forget how to breathe. Some of those have instead always been panic responses to you – and you are quite familiar with those. But you have always thought of love as comforting, soothing rather than electrifying. That has been all too rare in your life, but at this very moment, you feel it: the tranquil bliss flowing inside you, calming every nook and cranny of your previously-agitated heart and making your soul for once rest inside your body at ease. After the night you had, you welcome this feeling with arms as open as you had for the woman who has evoked it herself. You are not ready to relinquish it just yet.

Eventually, however, you know that you have to. Not only because of Henry, but because the noises the blonde is making against your neck have stopped being contented sighs and have become grumbling that sounds a lot like "I need to pee". So, with a smirk forming on your lips, you force yourself to loosen your grip on her and allow her to get back up.

You stay in bed for a while longer, waiting until she comes out of the bathroom again, and it strikes you that you once wished, with all your might, that this woman would simply disappear from Storybrooke, from the world, from your life. You wished that she had never come into it at all.. and you had actually done quite a lot to try to make that happen. You run a hand through your hair, sighing deeply, knowing you will probably never find a way to be comfortable with the things you have done – both in this world and in the one you were born in -, but you try to remind yourself that, even if you cannot erase or take back any of it, you are not that person anymore, and you are trying to do things differently now.

You take a moment to dwell on how thankful you are that none of your plans to drive Emma away worked – and that this, on the other hand, is working. She comes out and back into the bedroom, and you know it's time for you to get up and face the day. There is a lot to do and a little boy to be fed and probably his mother too, judging by the time she had arrived. You don't think even the not-so-Charming idiots have breakfast that early. And you have the distinct impression of having heard the blonde's stomach growl while you were snuggling.

Seemingly never-ending appetite really does appear to be a genetic trait with those two. It took getting to know Emma for you to figure out why Henry was always ready to eat, regardless of how little time had passed after his last meal. After noticing that, watching the way both of them act concerning food (or even the mention of food) has become a great source of amusement for you, and you would never admit it to anyone but yourself, but you have at times purposefully discoursed about your cooking plans aloud instead of just thinking about them, only so you'd be able to watch the reactions it would elicit. Anything, from wide eyes to actual drooling, could happen, and on occasion, there will even be a bribing attempt or two – which you undoubtedly answer with a smirk and no promises beyond "We'll see".

But in the end, you always cave; you always end up cooking whatever you know they will appreciate the most. You have always done it for Henry, ever since he learned to voice his opinions on the matter, and it has always filled you with pride to know he appreciates your cooking so much. In a way, it has always been gratifying to know you can nourish him; and watching his delighted expression as he eats has always been a most welcome bonus to that. But now, you have all of that times two. Because, if there is one thing about which Emma behaves like a complete child, that thing is food. So, in all honesty, their reactions are identical; and realizing that, differently from what you would have imagined a year ago, has filled you with warmth.

Which means that, in practical terms, you have two famished kids to feed on Christmas morning. You wash your face to shake away the last remains of sleep, get dressed and take Emma by the hand, leading her downstairs. And then, magic starts. And by "magic", for once, you do not mean actual magic. Then again, according to the vocabulary of the woman sitting on the stool and watching you cook, "magic" and "food" are very closely related words, so you allow yourself to expand the concept of the first in your mind.

You make french toast, regular toast, eggs, bacon, applesauce, and so on. Christmas has always been a huge-breakfast, late-lunch day in the Mills mansion, so you always allow yourself to go overboard. This year, even more so, because there's one more person to have breakfast with you. You look back at Emma, who still hasn't taken her eyes away from you – certainly hoping for a sample and decidedly looking very much like a hungry puppy – and smile. She responds with a big grin and you feel yourself blush lightly, turning back before that can actually be noticed.

Midway through the process, Henry wakes up. You can hear him practically gallop down the stairs, infused with all the holiday cheer in the world. For a moment, you feel a bit bad that, for the first time in his life, breakfast is not yet ready when he comes down on Christmas morning. But then you see Emma – his other mother – immediately rise from her stool and pull him into her arms, holding him tight and kissing the top of his head various times. And when she finally lets him go, you see that both of them are tearing up the slightest bit. And you are glad for not being done with breakfast just yet. You are glad they could have that (brief, but still loaded and meaningful) moment for the first time, and you are grateful to have been able to witness that.

And when the sweet, beautiful boy walks over to you and hugs you just as tightly as he has just hugged the other woman, you know this is not a competition. This is not a dispute, no exclusion is necessary. For him, there is no choice to be made; he has a big enough heart to comport two mothers, and to love them both earnestly. Slowly, little by little, you are starting to realize that Emma being there does not suddenly make you unnecessary in his eyes, it does not suddenly make your company or your hugs undesirable.

You know you have also done wrong things when it comes to him, and perhaps the biggest one of them was trying to stop him from having the blonde in his life. And you know that, possibly exactly because of that, he reacted by not wanting you in his life anymore. But you also know that those times are past, and he has been very clear for quite a while now about wanting both of you in his life. You should have known better from the start, but at least you are starting to accept that now: he is your son, your baby boy, your little prince, and Emma's presence does not change that in any way.

You are so used to never being good enough, to never being loved, that you were sure that the only way for him to keep loving you was if the other woman was out of the picture. You were so sure that he would never willingly choose to live with you again, to even speak to you again. It's a good thing that surprising you and proving you wrong also seem to be genetic traits for them.

Finishing up, you ask for their help to bring everything to the table, making sure to remind them with a mock-stern tone that that means things are actually supposed to arrive at the table, and not be consumed midway – to which both of them giggle guiltily. The meal is lighthearted and conversation mostly revolves around Henry, who keeps going on and on about the latest comic book he's reading and how he and his friends are planning a snowball fight the next day and so on. There is a contented atmosphere, an almost familiar feeling, as if this wasn't the occasion for more "firsts" than can be counted.

You were sure you had made enough breakfast to feed a battalion, but unbelievably enough, there isn't a single crumb left. Emma is left groaning and holding her stomach, announcing that she ate too much – but quickly adding that it was worth it. Henry allows himself to be in the same predicament for all of two minutes, before animatedly jumping from his chair and exclaiming that it's time for presents.

You smile warmly at him, always amazed at how much energy he seems to have; you can't remember a time in your life when you have ever had that much, even as a child. Then again, it's not like you had all that many chances for that. In a way, it makes you proud to have been able to provide him with a light enough environment growing up, that he could simply be a kid and jump and run and break things without the necessity that was always imposed on you to be quiet and proper.

You transfer to the couch next to the Christmas tree, chuckling lightly at Emma's groans upon getting up from the table and sitting down again, but keeping yourself from making any comments or reminding her she could have stopped eating before it got to that point. Henry is too excited to even sit down at first; you're pretty sure his gift pile has never been this big before – and you were never one to hold back when it came to gifts for him. But Emma... she's gone completely overboard, so much so that you actually avoided getting him much this year, otherwise he would have more presents than any child would know what to do with. Hell, he probably already does.

But you don't say a word about that, not really. At one point during the last month, you caught Emma bringing yet more boxes to your closet, which is where you've always hidden Henry's presents before the time to give them came, and you thought that was a bit too much, seeing as it wasn't even mid-December yet and it was already hard to move around and pick your outfits, and yet the blonde did not show any signs of intending to stop getting him more and more things.

So you told her she was exaggerating, you told her he had never received that many presents at once before, you asked her if she didn't think that was way too much, if maybe she could just save some of those for his birthday instead... but the look on her face before she even said a word made you simultaneously regret the question and understand the answer. The sadness in her eyes, the way they immediately started to tear up, how she looked down and simply mumbled that she had never gotten to give him Christmas presents before... it made your heart ache for her, and all you could do was take a step forward and pull her into your arms.

She was the one for whom this would make the biggest difference, not you or even Henry. You had had every single Christmas with him since he was born, you had gotten to shower him with presents at least twice a year for the past eleven years, you had shared all of those moments with him. And Henry? He had had all of that since birth, love and attention and presents galore, so that would be nothing new to him even if it would be bigger than usual. But for Emma? That was the first time. Last year, you had prevented her from seeing him at all during that time, and when she tried to give him something, you had burned it... one more thing to your regret list. At that moment, you understood why she was doing that. This would be her first chance, and she needed to make it good.

You never said a word about it after that. You pondered that having a spoiled child was a price worth paying if it would heal some of the wounds inside his mother's chest. Besides, Henry has always been too good a kid to ever really become a brat anyway.

So you allowed it silently from then on, and silently you watch them now, the child eager to receive presents as every child should be on Christmas morning, and the mother, who at that moment looks to you nearly as much like a child, happy just to be there, to be with him, eager to give him love, in any way she can manage, even if that is smothering him with presents – and with hugs, which she seems to dispense so sparsely for everyone else, but so freely to him.

You look at them and you see the lively glint in both their eyes. You notice Emma's are humid and know she must be holding back so much emotion, not wanting turn a relaxed moment into a heavy one. And yet, behind the forming tears, you can recognize an infinite amount of joy and affection and love when she looks up at Henry. And him... he is happy. He is just a kid, and yet you know him enough to be sure that he knows how important that moment is, to be sure that he understands that this is just as important for his blonde mother as it is for him.

It is their moment with each other, all of it. And you let them have it. For once, you are at peace with not being a part of it; you make it that way, even. You sit farther away on purpose, and take pleasure in simply observing them quietly, taking in every expression, every emotion flowing between them.

And when your own eyes start to water and you feel your heart swell with love for the two of them and with gratitude for being allowed to witness a Christmas miracle in action, you know they are not the only ones for whom things have changed. Because, looking at the two of them grinning and giggling and hugging each other, you finally realize you do not feel threatened anymore.

You feel complete.

So, how was this? As it's looking, we'll have one more chapter, and then it's a wrap. Cross your fingers that the holiday spirit lasts long enough for it to be finished still within this holiday season? ^^

Of course, encouragement always helps, so don't forget to let me know what you think! Oh, and chocolate. If anyone wants to send me chocolate as encouragement, I'll gladly take that too. :D

Merry Christmas!