It had been a relatively quiet few weeks in the newly-developing Swan-Mills household. Cora's threat had been defeated, Emma and Henry had forcefully beaten down the resurgence of a thirst for Regina's blood, Regina and Emma had confessed their newly-realized love, and while Storybrooke was once again safe, the nightmares of the newly-formed royal family were still being played out daily in their minds and hearts.

Henry had only recently stopped being plagued by his nightly trips to a fiery netherworld; was adjusting to having two parents to love (and to discipline him); and was slowly acclimating himself to the idea that he was not alone in his beliefs, that he was not out of his mind, that one of his mothers had truly been a mass murderer but was such no longer. Regina was still reeling from the finality of her mother's loss (she had destroyed herself rather than be subjected to Emma and Henry's insistence on mercy) and to Daniel's second goodbye; still adjusting to empathetically considering other people - like that pixie-haired wench and her husband - stop it! - in her everyday decisions; and still spinning from the sensations that accompanied truly loving and being loved, for the first time since her teenage years. And Emma was still coping with finding her parents, with accepting that they had given up everything for her rather than given up her for everything; coming to terms with loving the woman who murdered a man as he kissed her, had murdered the man after whom she named their son, was the reason she had spent her young life in the system; and constantly reliving the sound and sensation of blade digging deep into flesh that was already dead, protecting herself, her mother, and their new friends from what had felt like certain death at the hands of people whom, a day before, she had seen laying massacred in careless, blood-soaked piles.

It had been a quietly difficult few weeks, but all three were at the same time happier than they had ever been: they were together. A family.

And one Saturday morning, Henry awoke early and did something he had not done in years. His fuzzy-slippered feet pitter-pattered across the cold dawn floor to the room that was now not Mom's, but Moms'. He hesitated slightly at the door, wondering momentarily if they would be mad at him if he woke them, if they would say he was too old for this. I don't think they even believe in "too old," he thought to himself, satisfied, knowing that both his mothers were made of fairy tales, as he gently nudged the door open.

The rising sun illuminated the figures of his mothers, delicately intertwined: Regina's face was buried in Emma's tank-topped breasts, her arm curled around the blonde's stomach, their legs as tangled together as the blankets at the foot of the bed. One of Emma's hands was on Regina's silken-clad hips, fingers disappearing slightly under the fabric. Her other arm was nestled under Regina's shoulder, curling around in sleep to rest on her vulnerable and strong back.

Henry paused in the doorway with his head tilted to one side. True Love must keep you warm, he thought, as a shiver ran through him, just imagining sleeping with the blankets kicked down as they were. A stabilizing joy flooded his heart and he smiled deeply as he reflected that his parents were in love, that they made each other happy. Good always wins, he thought, doesn't really explain it. Maybe it's really that there's good in everybody, if they just have someone to understand them.

Remembering why he had come to their room to begin with, Henry tiptoed into the room, removed his slippers, and climbed onto the bed, trying to gently wedge himself between his intertwined mothers. Emma was the first to groan, and she opened her eyes, squinting in sleepy confusion at their son.

"Henry," she croaked, slipping her hand out of Regina's nightwear and moving her body so he could lay down somewhat, tenderly shifting her lover's head from her chest onto her arm. "Wazzamatter?" she wanted to know.

Regina sighed into wakefulness. "Did you have another nightmare, honey?" she asked, blinking sleepiness out of her eyes.

"Nope!" Henry whispered cheerfully. "I just wanted to cuddle with my moms. I didn't mean to wake you, but you were sort of stuck together!"

The groggy women beamed at each other sleepily, Regina with tears flooding her chocolate eyes, over their son's head. They scooted closer to mold themselves to his body as Emma used her legs to skillfully lift the fallen blankets back within grasp, tossing them over her child and her lover.

"Iz so early, you little nut," she grumbled happily, kissing Henry's head and snuggling him under her chin as she stroked Regina's arm, which was around his waist.

"I know," he said gleefully. "I was thinking we could re-start Henry's Choice Saturdays!" he announced. Emma, amused but nonplussed, glanced again over his head at Regina for an explanation.

"When Henry was small," she began in the most adorable morning voice Emma had ever heard, "every Saturday was Henry's Choice Saturday. He picked when we woke up, what we ate, what we did, whom we saw." Emma snorted affectionately at Regina's semi-conscious commitment to grammatical precision.

"Alright, kid, so waddaya wanna do today?" Emma smiled, her eyes closed happily.

Henry giggled and lifted his head, gesturing for Emma to bring her head down to him, which she did once she opened her eyes and saw his movements. He whispered happily into her ear.

Emma's eyes flew open. "She did not!" She looked at Regina with mock horror as Henry shook with laughter. "You were busy beating my whack-a-mole record while I was off fighting ogres and giants in Fairy Tale Land? No fair!"

Regina rolled her eyes affectionately. "Really, Ms. Swan, it wasn't quite so difficult to beat."

"Wasn't difficult to beat, my - " she glanced down at Henry as Regina raised her eyebrows in playful warning. "- shirt," Emma finished, humorously abashed.

Regina snorted.

Emma grumbled: "Rematch. Today. It's so on."

Regina rubbed her knuckles lightly across Henry's hair, a habit she had picked up from her lover. "You little trouble-maker. You're going to force me to make your mother cry when I break her record again," she said lightly as he leaned back into her and laughed

"You with your little pencil skirt and mayorly blouse?" Emma teased.

"Me with my pencil skirt and mayorly blouse," Regina winked.

Henry reveled in their obvious affection for each other, their intimate knowledge of how to rile the other up, their radiant love for him.

Poor Happy at the arcade didn't know what he was in for today.