Emma/Henry interaction, with a smidgen of Swan Queen on top.
Breakfast in Bed
With a hand still tangled in her unruly, blonde locks, Emma dragged her feet over the threshold of the bathroom with a yawn. It was barely past seven on a Saturday morning, and she had full intention of getting right back in bed and sleeping for as long as she possibly could until Regina drove her into making herself look presentable.
Her trip back to the bedroom, however, was interrupted by a small, ten-year-old body suddenly appearing in front of her. She stumbled, cut off a curse, and came to a halt before him. She considered them both lucky that she hadn't dropped them both to the ground.
"Woah, kid, what?" she croaked, squinting. She rocked back on her heels, steadying herself, and pushed her hair out of her face properly so as to see Henry's wide, nervous blue eyes. "What's wrong?" she asked, the sleep falling from her as parental concern swiftly took precedence over her weary mind.
Henry released his bottom lip, red raw from his teeth, and peered up at her with an almost desperate expression. "I…need your help," he said, tilting his head to the side in that way he did when wanting to get his own way. Or, Emma thought, when in trouble and hoping for an early end to his grounding.
Instantly wary, she straightened up and asked, while kneading a hand into the small of her back, "…what kind of help?"
Dark blues flittered around the landing, and then rose back up to waiting green. Mustering all the courage any ten year old boy would need to fulfil this latest quest, Henry sucked in a breath and answered, in a croaky, pleading tone, "Breakfast."
Emma blinked. Breakfast?
"You could'a said," she smiled, releasing a breath and shaking her fingers through his hair, until it looked almost as mussed as her own. "Give me five minutes and I'll get your mom up, we'll make you some–"
"No." Henry shook his head quickly, frowning a little. "Not breakfast for me. Breakfast for you. I was… gonna make it, but I can't do the bacon and I burnt the eggs."
He pouted in a way that Emma thought adorable and terrifying, so uncanny the resemblance was to her own features. Whether nurture or nature was to blame, the kid was damn stubborn. Though she couldn't much complain – she couldn't remember the last time she'd had breakfast in bed.
"Why're you making me breakfast?" she asked, with enough amusement for Henry to blatantly frown at her.
"Not just you," he answered, his tone the equivalent to an unspoken 'duh'. "Both of you." When Emma only stared at him, uncomprehending and about to suggest he spend more time in the kitchen with Regina if he was so interested in cooking, he rolled his eyes and clarified, "It's Mother's Day. All moms are supposed to have breakfast in bed on Mother's Day, and I'm old enough to make it, now."
The look on his face just dared Emma to say otherwise.
Touched by the gesture, Emma fell silent with a soft 'oh'. Breakfast in bed and the celebration of her parenthood? Well, she could get used to this…
She felt her throat tighten in a way that could quite easily lead her to being a blubbering mess within the space of nought-to-ten seconds (an ability she had first discovered during Henry's school nativity last year), and so pressed on before the feeling could fully grab her.
"Right," she nodded, "Mother's Day…" Because, of course, she hadn't remembered – or, known, "What're we making for breakfast?"
Henry smiled and slid his hand into hers, the gesture comfortingly familiar, by now, as he pulled her towards the stairs. "I used all the bacon, so probably some of that healthy stuff that mom likes… but with fruit, you know? To make it look better."
Emma smiled to herself as she was pulled towards the kitchen, and resisted the urge to muss her fingers through the kid's hair again. As uncertain as she'd first been about the whole domesticity thing with Regina, she really couldn't argue against the feelings that seemed to swell from within her chest.
And, with her son's hand loosely curled around her own, and his incessant babbling about the difference between porridge and pancakes filtering up the stairs, she couldn't think of a single complaint. This was life, now. And, this time, she was going to stick around long enough to live it.