Author's Note: This chapter is ridiculously sugary. I remain unapologetic. :)

While Snow cooked the cheeseburgers and hot dogs and David organized all the condiments, sides, and rolls on a folding table they'd brought from the apartment, Henry and Emma made themselves comfortable on the picnic blanket. Emma had snagged the half-empty jar of pickles from the table on her way past and was munching on the sour slices as if they were candy.

"Emma!" Snow cried, sounding very much like a mother exasperated with a rowdy child. Apparently, she'd finally turned away from the grill long enough to see what her daughter was doing. "I thought I told you to stop eating the pickles!"

Henry had to bite his lower lip to keep from laughing out when his grandmother abandoned the grill, strode over to the blanket, and plucked the jar from her unsuspecting daughter's hand. "Hey!" Emma cried as she whirled around in her seat and made an unsuccessful grab for the jar. "But I'm hungry!"

Now Henry was trying even harder not to laugh. Emma was whining. Full-on whining like a cranky little kid. He made a mental note to remind her of this very moment the next time she admonished him for whining.

"You won't have any appetite for dinner if you keep eating these pickles." Snow turned on her heel and carried the jar back to the table.

"Um, hello, have you met me?" Emma called after her mother. "When do I not have an appetite for bacon cheeseburgers? Besides, it's not like pickle slices are filling. They're just taking the edge off." Snow sent a mildly annoyed glare over her shoulder before refocusing her attention on the burgers and dogs. Swallowing a smile of her own, Emma gave Henry a little wink, a clear indication that she was being annoying on purpose.

Henry grinned and winked back. Though her original whining had been real, she was playing it up now simply because she thought it was funny.

David snickered as he stepped forward to grab the jar's lid, which Snow had left on the blanket. "I think her real objection is that we won't have any pickles to put on the cheeseburgers if you keep eating them."

Snow sent another mildly annoyed glare over her shoulder, this time at her husband. To Henry's immense amusement, the look Emma gave her father was almost identical. "Hey, I'm not the one who chose to bring a half-empty jar with us in the first place," she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Why am I being punished for not thinking to have you pick up a full jar at the store?"

A frustrated sigh escaped Snow's lips as her glare turned even more no-nonsense. In response, Emma smiled at her mother, her face the very picture of innocence. The corners of Snow's mouth turned up in a smirk that was half-amusement and half-smugness. "You know, the longer I stand here arguing about this, the more at risk I am of accidentally burning this delicious-looking bacon cheeseburger ..."

Emma's eyes widened as she jokingly raised her hands in surrender. "No burning of the bacon cheeseburgers! I'll be good from now on, I promise. No more arguing." She even drew a closed hand across her mouth, mimicking zipping her lips closed.

That did it; David and Henry both burst out laughing.

It had been no more than fifteen minutes since Emma had finally told her family how she had spent almost a day and a half lost in the woods at seven years old, but the difference in her demeanor was remarkable. She appeared much more relaxed, and her jokes and the teasing came easier.

Of course, the real test would be later, after they'd pitched the tent on the apartment grounds and settled down for the night. One of her more strenuous objections had been the nighttime accommodations, after all. Plus, Henry was more than a little curious as to whether the yoga mat would make any difference. But he supposed they could worry about all that later. Emma was having fun now, and that was all that mattered.

Something occurred to him then, a way to make his mom even happier. He pushed himself to his feet and casually made his way over to the cooler. As he dug around for a fresh bottle of water, he gave a surreptitious glance up at his grandparents. Both Snow and David were standing at the grill, Snow turning the hot dogs and David flipping the burgers. Neither of them looked in his direction, so he snatched the pickle jar off the table and carried it back to the blanket along with his water.

With a mischievous wink, he sat back down and handed the jar to his mother. "You're the best kid ever," she murmured – softly, so her parents wouldn't hear – as she tore into the pickles. After a moment, she seemed to remember her manners and held the open jar out to Henry. "Want some?"

"Nah," he replied, giving a slight shake of his head. "I'm not a huge fan of pickles."

Emma stared at him as if he had three heads. "Who the hell doesn't like pickles? Everything tastes better with pickles. Kind of like bacon, you know?"

"I don't like pickles," David called from the table, smirking when Emma started and tried to hide the jar behind her back.

"Then you're weird," she called back.

"I didn't say I don't like pickles," Henry clarified, hiding a smile at his mother's insistence that pickles were the best things since sliced bread. "It's just that we had a pickle at lunch and now I'm going to be putting pickles on my cheeseburger and relish on my hot dogs. That's kind of a lot of pickles."

Emma turned her son's words over in her head for a moment before nodding, apparently allowing his argument.

"Besides," he teased, "not everything tastes better with pickles. Would you put pickles on spaghetti? Or pancakes? Or ice cream?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Yeah, okay, you may have a reasonable point."

Snow's surprised voice startled them both. "Emma! How on earth did you get those pickles back?!"

Henry and Emma, masters of mischief that they were, exchanged an amused glance before cracking up. It took a few seconds, but Emma finally managed to control herself enough to hand the jar back to her mother, who – try as she might – couldn't hide the smile on her face.

"I think there might be a few pickles left for the burgers," Emma snickered. Her amusement faded slightly as something new hit her. "Hey, wait a sec. What difference do the pickles make if we have relish? Is there a law that says relish only goes on hot dogs? Why can't we put it on the cheeseburgers?"

Snow paused, the stricken expression on her face indicating that she didn't have a ready answer for that. "Dinner's almost ready anyway," she huffed, turning back to the grill.

"I think you made her mad," Henry stage-whispered. His eyes flicked to his grandmother to gauge her reaction. She once again tried and failed to hide a smile, which meant she wasn't really as aggravated as she seemed to be.

"That's what daughters are for," Emma stage-whispered back, making everyone grin. David winked over his wife's head at his daughter and grandson.

A comfortable silence settled over the clearing as Snow put the finishing touches on the burgers and hot dogs. Henry watched as Emma looked up to the sky and let the sunlight beat down on her face for the briefest of moments. He smiled, pleased to note how relaxed she seemed to be.

When David gave the word, both Henry and Emma got to their feet and headed over the table to make their plates. Huge mounds of macaroni and cucumber salads joined the promised bacon cheeseburger and one hot dog on Emma's plate. Henry wrinkled his nose when she squirted mustard onto her burger, causing her to frown down at him. "What?"

"Mustard on bacon?"

"I like mustard on my bacon. You should try it."

Shrugging, he grabbed a couple slices of bacon to add to his cheeseburger and squirted mustard onto the bun. He also took two hot dogs, a huge handful of chips, and some cucumber salad to try.

Snow's and David's plates were small in comparison to their daughter's and grandson's but they were still heaped with food, indicating the hunger level of the entire family. As everyone settled on the picnic blanket and began to eat, Henry asked, "Mom? Can I ask you something?"

"You just did," Emma teased, "but yeah, sure."

"You said Mr. Browne liked music," he said, carefully gauging her reaction. Considering how her time with the Brownes had ended, he wanted to make sure his question wasn't going to put her on edge again. He figured that if it did, he could simply tell her to forget it. Since she seemed to be okay with it so far, he pressed on. "What other songs did he teach you?"

He'd expected her to shrug it off or even tell him she didn't want to answer. To his surprise, she set her hot dog down and shut her eyes as she thought back to her music lessons with Mr. Browne. "He liked oldies," she said, opening her eyes. "I don't really remember a lot of what he taught us; I was little. I do remember him teaching us 'Free To Be You and Me,' mostly because of how ridiculously cheesy it is."

Snow smirked at her daughter as she began to sing softly. "There's a land that I see where the children are free, and I say it ain't far to this land from where we are–"

Emma stopped her with a groan. "Of course you would know that song."

"I was a teacher of small children for twenty-eight years," Snow reminded her with a laugh. "If there was ever a song that was tailor-made for children's music classes, it's that one."

She gave a little nod, indicating that her mother had a point. Then she turned back to Henry. "And before you get any ideas, no, I am not teaching you any of it. I don't play instruments, for one, and I don't like to sing, for another."

"Aw, but aren't we going to sing campfire songs?" Henry asked, his voice verging on a whine. "I can't go camping with Snow White, of all people, and Prince Charming and not sing campfire songs."

"You guys can sing all the campfire songs you like," Emma told him around a bite of cucumber salad. "I'll sit there with you and probably make a whole bunch of snarky comments but I am not joining in."

Henry glanced at his grandparents before turning a frown on his mother. Then he stuck out his lower lip in the very beginnings of a pout. "Oh, no, uh uh," Emma said with a vigorous shake of her head. "The Puppy Dog Eyes will not work this time. I am not singing campfire songs. End of story, Henry."

He allowed his face to fall back into a normal, if somewhat disappointed, expression. "Okay," he sighed. Satisfied, Emma gave a little nod and went back to her dinner. Over her head, Henry winked at his grandfather, who grinned back at him.

The wheels in his head were already turning. Somehow, some way, he was going to get Emma to sing at least one campfire song. All he needed was a plan.