Author's Note: Because father/daughter moments seem to find their way into my stuff on their own ... (Seriously, this chapter wrote itself. I just typed it. ;))

The family sang two more campfire songs, neither of which were cheesy or morbid and neither of which Emma joined in on, thank you very much. After the second song, Henry began to make noises about being ready to roast marshmallows. Emma wrinkled her nose; she was still a bit full from dinner, but hey, if the kid wanted to roast marshmallows, who was she to stand in his way?

She pushed herself to her feet. "I'll get the stuff for the s'mores from the cooler." Her parents both gave her grateful smiles while the excitement on Henry's face told her he was craving sugar he didn't really need. She smiled back, turning towards the cooler as her family launched into "Billy Boy."

It may have seemed like she was just trying to be nice but in reality, she wanted – no, needed – a minute alone. So much family togetherness all at once was goddamned hard for her, and though she was getting better at it, she still needed a break every so often. Not a break from her family or anything, just a moment by herself to regroup.

Because every now and then it would hit her: this was how her life should have been. If it hadn't been for Regina's curse, this was how her life would have been – full of love and laughs and warmth and comfort. It was such a far cry from how she grew up that attempting to reconcile what had been with what should have been was overwhelming.

"Are you all right?" a soft voice asked from behind her.

She spun around, the lid of the cooler slamming closed and muffling her gasp. Her father stood behind her, a sympathetic cringe on his face. "Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

"No," she started to say, then sighed. Denying he'd startled her would have been pointless. "It's okay. And to answer your question, I'm fine."

The already kind expression on his face grew impossibly kinder, his eyes softening as he looked her over. He reached out as if to lay a hand on her shoulder but then paused, suddenly unsure whether she would welcome the contact. He dropped his hand back down to his side, settling for giving her a calm smile instead. "Just making sure."

A pang of guilt tore through Emma. Any other father would have been able to comfort his daughter the way David had intended, but not hers. Emma's childhood had conditioned her to be wary of people, to not let anyone in, to not let anyone behind her walls. Prior to Henry knocking on her door the night of her twenty-eighth birthday, every single person she'd let in had let her down, in one way or another.

It was the system that was supposed to help her but instead took her away from the nice families and placed her with the awful ones. It was the social worker who'd tried her hardest but had had dozens of other kids to take care of as well. It was the little boy she'd considered a friend who had abandoned her among tall trees and thick thorns and underbrush. It was the man who'd promised to make a home with her – her first home ever – and then turned her over to the cops, sending her to jail in his place.

David turned to go back to the fire, and all of a sudden, Emma didn't want to be alone with her thoughts anymore. "I'm sorry."

He turned back to her, eyebrows raised in surprise. "Why are you apologizing?"

Her first instinct was to tell him to forget it. To let him go back to his family while telling him she'd be right behind him with the fixings for the s'mores.

A smaller, more insistent part of her understood that doing so would be choosing the easy route. Letting her family in – really letting them in – meant taking a chance. With a deep breath through her nose, she squared her shoulders and looked her father in the eye. "It's just that I look at you and Mary Margaret and Henry together, and it all seems so … effortless for you. It's not effortless for me. It's really damn hard, and I just ..." She trailed off, tearing her gaze from his.

"Oh, Emma," David said, his voice full of sympathy. He stepped forward, placing his hands on her shoulders. He squeezed gently, his hesitance over showing her physical comfort apparently over. "It's not effortless for us, either. The last time your mother and I saw you, you were the most precious little baby girl. Twenty-eight years passed for us in, essentially, the blink of an eye, and now you're a grown woman. We have to come to terms with the fact that we missed out on your entire childhood. Your first words, your first steps, your first day of school ... all those little milestones parents are supposed to share with their children. We weren't there for you the way parents should be there for their children. Even things like taking you on a camping trip and singing around a campfire. Strangers did those things for you, Emma, not us, and believe me, it kills us. And that's not even getting into all the things you should have had but didn't."

Emma's vision had started to blur with tears and the telltale tickle in the back of her throat told her that a lump had begun to form. She tried to pull out of her father's grip and stop this conversation in its tracks – taking a chance be damned – but David held on tightly. "We wanted so much more for you, Emma. We wish we could have been there for you, and we know that every time you pull away from us, it's because of our choice and because of what our choice cost you. But you know what? We have each other now. We've lost enough time with you, and we're determined not to let any more time slip through our fingers. So, no, it's not effortless but I promise you, it's worth it."

The tears in Emma's eyes spilled over before she had a chance to blink them back. David smiled gently at her, removing his hands from her shoulders as she stepped back to dry her cheeks. "You okay?"

"Yeah," she nodded, sniffing back the rest of her tears. She darted her gaze across the campsite at her mother and son before refocusing on her father. "I just wish I knew how to start. All the family togetherness stuff, I mean."

"You already have," he told her kindly. "You're here. You're with us, doing something you don't even like just because Henry wanted to do it. That's how it starts, Emma … just by being together. The rest of it will fall into place with time."

A little smile began tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Where in the hell did you learn all of that?" she asked, trying her best to inject a teasing lilt into her voice.

"It's a father thing," she said, giving her both a wink and a mock self-deprecating shrug. Emma chuckled before running her hand over her face in an effort to regain her composure. "You're good now?"

She cast another glance across the clearing. Henry was looking over the flames at the cooler, his brows knit in a perplexed frown, clearly wondering what was taking them so long to get the stuff for the campfire snacks. Upon being caught staring, he quickly returned his attention to the fire. "Yeah," she said, flicking her gaze back to her father's. "Yeah, I'm good now."

David smiled at her. "Good, because I think Henry's on the verge of stomping over here and asking us what the hell's taking so long."

She chuckled, mostly because she could definitely see that happening. She bent down and once again opened the cooler to retrieve the marshmallows, chocolate, and graham crackers. If she didn't hurry, they would have a hungry – and thereby cranky – eleven-year-old boy on their hands, and no one wanted that.

As they walked across the clearing to the campfire, David hesitantly slid his arm around his daughter's shoulders. Emma tensed for a brief moment, barely the space of a heartbeat, but before David had a chance to remove his arm, she relaxed her shoulders and welcomed his touch instead. Father and daughter exchanged a smile, his grateful and hers tentative.

She was trying, and that was enough for him.

The second they were seated around the fire, Emma back in place next to Snow and David beside Henry, the boy ran over to his mother for some marshmallows. She handed a whole bag to him, along with a box of graham crackers and a few chocolate bars, while keeping the rest for herself and her mother. "That's for you and David, kid," she told him. "Make sure you share."

"I will," he chuckled, practically skipping around the fire as he returned to his seat. He picked up his stick-turned-marshmallow skewer – examined previously by Snow and David to make sure the wood was safe – and stabbed the end of it through a marshmallow. Carefully following David's instruction, he held the skewer over the fire.

Emma watched him to make sure he didn't get too close to the flames for her comfort. When he pulled a lightly browned marshmallow away from the fire, she relaxed enough to skewer her own marshmallow. While Emma browned her marshmallow, Snow began setting up a kind of s'more assembly station. She broke apart graham crackers and set pieces of chocolate on top of them.

"Would you like some?" she asked when Emma brought her marshmallow out of the fire, holding up a graham cracker piece so her daughter would know what she meant.

"Yes, please," Emma smiled. She held her skewer out to her mother, who sandwiched the marshmallow between chocolate and graham cracker before gently sliding it off the stick. After letting the gooey concoction cool for a moment, she handed it over to her daughter. "Thanks."

"You're very welcome," Snow said softly. She opened her mouth as if to say something else but then seemed to change her mind, spearing her own marshmallow instead. As she held her treat over the flames, she glanced at her daughter, who was enjoying her s'more with just as much enthusiasm as her eleven-year-old son.

She looked across the fire at her husband, their eyes meeting. He nodded at her, which was the exact encouragement she needed.

Emma caught the silent exchange, understanding for the first time what her father had meant about things not being effortless for them, either. Each of their interactions with her was a carefully choreographed dance. They wanted to be her parents but they also wanted to give her the space she needed. They wanted to comfort her but they also wanted her to feel comfortable. It was a fine line they were walking, and they'd been doing it so well she hadn't even noticed their struggle.

It was then that Emma realized that sometimes, she needed to be the one to open the door. "I see where his nickname came from now," she said to her mother, answering the question her mother wanted to but dared not ask about the talk she'd had with her father. "Charming, I mean."

Snow smiled at her, touched that she'd chosen to open up to her, at least a little bit. "Yes, he's pretty good with his words when he puts his mind to it. So what he said helped?"

"It did."

"I'm glad."

Emma smiled back. "I am, too."