Hey guys! Thanks so much for your reviews and follows! Sorry this one's a little late; I just couldn't seem to get it right. But I hope you all like what you read :)

Alas, I do not own OUAT…that'd be the coolest thing ever.

"It's nothing," Emma grumbled, shying away from the woman's touch.

Mary Margaret gave her a pointed look and, despite the blonde's protest, delicately continued to dab around the plaster on her forehead. "If it was nothing: a) you wouldn't have a plaster, and b) you wouldn't be wincing every time I did this-" She lightly brushed over the middle of the plaster that covered the wound, causing Emma to shoot back at the dart of pain.

"Ow! Okay, okay, you made your point just please stop doing that! You don't need to worry, I'm fine."

With a huff, the brunette dropped her hands and crossed them over her chest. "Emma, are you ever going to stop telling me not to worry? Seriously, you say it nearly every day and every day I tell you that I can't help it. So, please, stop saying it. You have a head injury from a car accident – I think that justifies me being concerned."

It was hard to deny her mother when she looked at her with those big, green, grossly warm orbs that could see right past everything and melt her armour. They did that the very first day she met Mary Margaret and if anything, were more difficult to deny now. "Fine," she muttered, hunching her shoulders.

"Thank you. And stand up straight." She was teasing but that didn't mean that there wasn't some signal of an order buried underneath. Light, feathery taps began their work again and Emma, with a roll of an eye and a bite of the tongue, straightened and allowed the woman to fuss. It was kinda nice, she had to admit.

Emma had readied herself for the big, monumental task of essentially spilling her guts to her mother about Neal and everything that happened between them back then and about him being Henry's father. Boy, did she need her advice for that. She paced around the kitchen and then the lounge and then the dining room and then back to the kitchen trying to figure out what to say and how to say it and what parts she had to tell and what parts she could leave out. After all, she may be her mother but there were certain things that Emma just couldn't tell Mary Margaret. Like, the fact that Emma and Neal basically went around robbing stores and cars and sneaking into seedy motels to take showers and freshen up. Mary Margaret – Snow White – was a legendary figure. A leader. A Queen. A Badass. And Emma…well, didn't feel like any of those things. Deep down under her tough exterior beat the heart of a girl who just wanted to make her parents proud. Stealing hardly screamed 'hero'. Her past was colourful, to say the least, and she just didn't want them to look at her with any less affection than they did now. Especially not when she had gotten so accustomed to it.

No, maybe she'd leave all that stuff out; that's not important to the story.

"Mom, I do have something to tell you. I mean, I didn't just call you home so you can poke at my head wound and scold me for slouching."

"Oh, really? I never would have guessed."

Emma peered at her with questioning eyes.

"Emma, honey, you always get like this when you have to tell me something that you don't want to tell me." She rubbed her arm lovingly before popping over to turn on the kettle.

"Wait, hold on. Get like what? And why are you putting on the kettle?"

Mary Margaret flipped the switch and swirled around to face her, her smile sly. "All tense and snappy. You sort of freeze and your forehead creases in the exact same way your father's does and then when you can't get whatever it is you need to say out, you start getting irritable." Her face softened, a twinkle in her eye. "And whatever it is, it sounds like it needs hot chocolate with extra cinnamon."

With a heavy sigh, Emma planted herself down at the table, head in hands, letting her blonde locks form a barrier around her frame, already feeling the weight of the revelation pressing down on her. It literally felt like all the air around her was heavy and getting heavier by the second. "Maybe you should add some marshmallows on top, too," she advised.

Her mother's voice was wary. "That bad?"

"I guess that depends on your definition of bad."

She shut her eyes and her mind drifted back to her confrontation with Neal earlier. He looked sorry, he sounded sorry, and if she was honest with herself, seeing him face-to-face rather than in memory form, unearthed a lot of complicated, confused feelings she thought she had eradicated a heck of a long time ago. Did she want him back? No. She was far too angry at him to even contemplate going down that path again. But did she miss him? Maybe.

Two steaming hot cups of the finest hot chocolate were placed on the table and Emma forced herself to sit upright so that she could look at her mother. She needed all the encouragement she could get.

The brunette spied her over her mug, taking a deliberate, slow sip.

The thousands of speeches she had rehearsed vanished in an instant and she was left with nothing. Just perfect. "Okay," she said, wrapping her fingers around the cup, ignoring the urge to pull away when it got a little too hot. Reckless behaviour she liked to think. Gave her something else to focus on.

"Okay," her mom mimicked, waiting. And she could wait all day if it was necessary – Emma knew that well.

She licked her lips. "Okay so…I know the guy who crossed the line and crashed into us."

"Yeah your father mentioned something like that." Another sip.

"Of course he did," she muttered. It was loud enough for the other woman to hear but she didn't pass comment. "Well, his name is Neal. Neal Cassidy. And we kind of, I don't know, hung out when we were younger."

"Hung out?"

"Yeah." Emma took a gulp of the hot drink and squeezed her eyes shut as she swallowed the fire in her mouth.

"So you two were friends?" She elongated 'friends' just a little too much for the blonde's liking.

"You see when you say 'friends' like that it makes me uncomfortable."

"Why?"

"Because you're my mom."

The brunette scowled. "So? What's that got to do with anything?"

"Can you just be, I don't know, a little more Mary Margaret than Snow White right now?" she asked, hopeful. Mary Margaret was good with issues like these and it was easier to talk to her than it was to a real-life fairy-tale character that just so happened to give birth to her. That train of thought required another gulp of the chocolate beverage.

Her mother leaned forward on the table, her eyes searching the corner of the room. "I am Mary Margaret though."

"I know… but you're not."

She pulled back, her expression stern.

"Oh, come on Mom! You know what I mean."

She fixed her hair, pushing some behind her ear, slightly bothered. "It's not some switch I can just flip, Em. I can't just choose to be her – that version of me – whenever I feel like it. I am her and I am Snow."

"I know," she exhaled, her features dropping. "I know. It's just…"

"Just what?"

Emma inhaled slowly. "Just hard to talk about. And, I don't know, it was always so easy with Mary Margaret. I didn't feel like I was being judged when I was with her; I didn't feel like I had anything to prove."

"You have absolutely nothing to prove to me, Emma. Surely you have to know that."

"I know, I know. It's just that it's different with a friend than with a parent." She didn't remove her eyes from her mother's but instead tried to read them, gauge her emotion, hoping to soak up the comfort and warmth they emitted every single time they appraised her. It was still pretty amazing how one look from the brunette could instantly calm Emma. It was things like that that Emma wondered if she'd ever get used to and, to be honest, she hoped she never did. There was something so enchanting about being constantly surprised by someone. And Emma was constantly surprised by her parents' unconditional love. It was all so bizarre and normal at the same time. "This stuff – Neal – is a sensitive subject for me. It was a really difficult time and I don't think I've ever really moved passed it, no matter how many times I've tried to."

Mary Margaret pushed her cup aside, rested her elbows on the table and reached over to grasp the blonde's hand. Rubbing soothing circles with her thumb, she smiled warmly. "Em, you can tell me anything, you know that. You and I have always been able to and will always be able to talk about absolutely anything, so don't ever question that." Emma squeezed her hand in gratitude. "So…Neal. You guys were friends."

The blonde ducked her head. "I guess, maybe, it's very possible, that we were…more than that."

"I had a feeling that was the case. You loved him," she surmised.

Emma's eyes widened, her mouth opening and closing as if to say something but then forgetting entirely how to speak. God, she hated being an open book. "Yeah," she managed to choke out. "Yeah, I did."

"And he broke your heart." Her voice was as soothing as a teacher lulling students to sleep with a bedtime story but Emma let out a cackle, running her free hand through her unruly locks and bringing them all to one side.

"Oh yeah you can say that again!" she scoffed, inviting a peering glance from Mary Margaret. "He betrayed me!" Though she swore to herself not to let her anger swell while she was with her mother, the mere thought of Neal simply 'breaking her heart' spurred a fresh wave of fury in the pit of her stomach. It was more like smashed it into a million pieces and made sure she would never open herself up to that amount of pain ever again. He broke her, heart included.

The brunette jolted back at the ferocity of the statement, clearly not anticipating the sharp left turn the conversation had taken, but her thumb continued to rub circles on her hand. "Okay. Tell me what happened."

"I loved him," she shrugged, trying to play it off. Mary Margaret's breath hitched at her sincerity. "I was a kid when I met him. I was just trying to survive, just out of the system and long story short, I met Neal and I fell for him pretty quick. I don't really know what it was about him – I guess I saw something in him that I saw in myself and just connected with it." She snickered. "It sounds so stupid when I put like that."

"No it doesn't. It sounds…romantic."

"No smiling," Emma warned, pointing accusingly.

Mary Margaret obeyed but her eyes were alight with speculation.

"Anyway," the blonde carried on, looking over her mother's head to the wall behind, "we had planned on settling down in Tallahassee – a new life, you know? But we just had to…tie up a few loose ends. We weren't exactly the most upstanding citizens," she explained as her mother tilted her head to the side like she always did when she was curious, "and you knew that about me so don't act all surprised. We were almost there, and I wanted nothing more than to leave the life we had behind and start off new, but he left. Got up and left, implicating me in a crime that he committed in the process. I took the wrap for him. I ended up in prison for him. He betrayed me and left me to rot in prison without so much as a note. Nothing! All I got was the car and this freakin' keychain. I don't even know why I still wear it!" Emma yanked the chain from around her neck and flung it onto the table in her chagrin.

Her mom, removing her hand from her daughters, tentatively took up the item and passed it between her fingers as if looking for an answer that wasn't there. "I'll kill him," she murmured so quietly Emma wasn't sure if she had heard her or imagined it.

"Wait, what?"

"He put you in jail and he broke your heart, Emma. I had no idea – I mean I had an inkling that something had happened for you to be so guarded – but never had I imagined it was in such a drastic way. I'm your mother; I'm supposed to protect you and if I was there when he left you to take the blame I would have killed him myself. How dare he do that to you."

Emma laughed softly, picturing the timid Mary Margaret verbally ripping Neal to shreds. She would have loved to have seen that.

"As much as that sentiment warms my heart I don't think killing him is the right form of action since he's just popped up back in my life like an annoying zit. But I appreciate it."

The brunette's eyes danced in the light. "I'll bet the next time your father sees him he'll punch him. David's always been that kind of guy; I heard he hit Whale while we were gone."

"Whale? Why?"

She pursed her lips. "We were cursed…"

"Oh yeah, yeah, I really don't need a reminder!" she exclaimed, smacking her head to rid the images that swarmed her mind. There were some things she wished she could erase from the pre-curse Emma and Mary Margaret catalogue. A window of opportunity dangling in front of her to change the subject, Emma grabbed it with both hands. "Uh, I don't think Dad will have the chance to get his feelings across though; I sent Neal packing."

"Where did he go?"

"What does it matter? The guy found out who I was, found out what I was supposed to do-"

"Wait, how?" Mary Margaret asked, her finger tracing the air as though it was following her train of thought.

"Our buddy August paid him a visit. Showed him that he had to leave me," she clarified sardonically. "Son of a b-"

Her mother jumped in, her eyes wide, her body leaning forward against the table. "So you went to jail."

"Yeah I thought we were past that."

"You had Henry in jail."

Emma swallowed sternly and flexed her jaw. "So?"

"So Neal left and you were pregnant. That's why you gave Henry up. You were alone and heartbroken and Neal wasn't coming back. Neal's Henry's father."

Emma pushed her chair back and stood upright. "Yeah. Yeah he is but he doesn't know that and Henry doesn't know that and that's the way I want to keep it. I had to give my kid the best shot at life because I…didn't want him growing up like I did. I wanted him to have a parent who could give him everything he needed. I couldn't do it alone."

Her mother's smile was sad. "Did a part of you want to forget about Neal too? Did that factor in to the decision to give Henry away?"

Instead of answering, Emma stalked over to the far cupboard and took out a bottle of whiskey. Collecting two tumblers from the sink, she brought them over to the table, planting one in front of the woman and pouring some in.

"What's this for?"

She poured some into her own glass. "To soften the blow for what I'm about to tell you."

"But you didn't answer my question," she pointed out.

Emma downed the liquid and then refilled. "Yeah, well, this is more important."

Mary Margaret took a tiny sip. Probably to be social. She had a tendency to revert back to her old roommate whenever she and Emma were drinking. It was like she felt like she had to be the responsible one – of course. "What is?" she eventually questioned, scrunching her nose at the taste.

The blonde sighed as sat back down, pushing the tumbler from one hand to the other. "Neal's from…" she hesitated, shaking her head, "…he's from the Enchanted Forest, too."

Wordlessly, the brunette rushed the drink to her lips, allowing the liquid to slide down her throat. "Okay," she swallowed.

If it were under any other circumstances Emma might have allowed herself a short chuckle or a smile but something in her expression told her not to go down that route. She passed the tumbler from hand to hand again. The rhythm was soothing, steady. "He's related to someone we know."

She perked up a little. "Who?"

Another swig. "Gold," she garbled as she tasted the drink. She didn't want to build it up to this huge, dramatic moment because she was sure she'd start crying, or laughing, as soon as the words left her tongue. So she tried to act calm, focusing only on the taste of the whiskey, ignoring her mother's ever widening eyes and dropped jaw.

"Gold? As in Rumpelstiltskin?"

"Yeah," she breathed. "He's his son."

Mary Margaret took another sip. Actually, it was more like a gulp. "So that makes Gold Henry's…"

"Grandfather," the woman finished.

She exhaled sharply. "Wow."

"I know."

"That's…that's really…something."

"You're telling me."

The two women locked eyes with one another, neither of them really sure as to what to think or say, and simultaneously grinned in incredulity of their situation.

"Just when you thought our family tree couldn't get any more screwed up, this happens," Emma remarked.

"I've got to admit, I didn't see this coming."

Emma narrowed her stare. "But…?"

"What?"

"That sounded like there was a 'but'. What is it?"

Mary Margaret smiled briefly and turned her attention to the table, her pointer finger circling a faint ring marked on it. "I agree it's not exactly ideal but do you think it's still right to hide his identity from Henry? Or Henry from him? Whatever he's done, Henry deserves to know the truth about his father – even if it hurts you. It's the right thing to do, honey, and you know that. I mean, it's one thing to think you'll never see the man again but it's another to have seen him and still choose to keep his son a secret."

Emma looked up to the ceiling, feeling the alcohol take effect and tears starting to form. Her mother was right and she knew it. Just because it was right didn't make it easy. "It was a part of my life that I never wanted to think about again. I just…I just wanted to forget it; him and our life together and everything. I don't want Neal to hurt Henry the way he hurt me."

"But hiding him, Emma? Keeping it all a big secret, is that really your decision to make? You have to do what's best for him."

"I just want to protect him, mom. That's all."

The brunette gazed at her with the most understanding eyes Emma had ever seen and the tears that had formed started to multiply, blurring her vision. Mary Margaret stood up, circled the table and wrapped her arms around the blonde, holding her close to her heart. Her fingers ran through her hair aimlessly. "I know," she whispered, "but let me tell you that whatever you decide, whatever happens, your father and I will support you one-hundred-percent; that much you can always count on. We love you no matter what happened to you in the past and we'll love no matter what happens in the future. That'll never change so don't you ever worry about that okay? We're on your side. But, Emma, everything – everything – will work out. You just have to have-"

"Faith, I know," she mumbled against her arm.

"Now you're catching on," the woman replied fondly.

"How could I not? I have you guys for parents," she chuckled followed by a sniff. Curse her emotions.

They broke apart and Mary Margaret wiped away a stray tear sneaking its way down Emma's face. "I love you, Em. So much."

Emma smiled, her heart swelling. She'd heard that on so many occasions over the past few months but she knew she'd never tire of hearing it. Knowing she was loved offered a brand new perspective on her life. "I know. I love you, too."

"So what do you say we make a start on dinner?"

The younger woman groaned. "Do I have to? You know how much I hate doing that."

"Oh don't whine," she said, rolling her eyes. "How about I start the dinner and you set the table? Does that sound fair?"

Emma hopped to her feet. "Now that I can do."

"Good."

And as she gathered the cutlery and the plates, Emma resigned to the fact that Henry deserved to know who his father was. She spent her whole life wondering the same thing and wished she had someone tell her the truth, so why not provide the same for her son?

She just wished he didn't hate her afterwards.

She wouldn't be able to handle that.

Neal was reeling. He hadn't stopped pacing since he picked up his car and drove it to the town line to think. There was a very strong possibility that that kid, Henry, was his.

He had a son.

He had a son with Emma. And she didn't tell him.

She had the nerve to yell at him and kick him out for lying to her but the whole time she was keeping something equally as huge from him.

What were his options?

Leave? Or stay and figure out what the hell was going on?

No, he had to stay. He wasn't like his father. If Henry was his, he was going to make damn sure that he was around for him.

Even if it meant coming face to face with his father after all this time.

It was a risk he was more than willing to make if it was true.

Pumped and compelled to find answers, he jumped back in his car, turned it around and headed back to town.

Emma Swan had some explaining to do.

"So is that it?" he asked, looking through his telescope.

Her smile was distant. "Storybrooke? I believe it is, Hook."

"And what exactly is your plan?"

"Reconcile with my daughter."

"And?" he prompted, lowering the instrument.

Cora's smirk was menacing. "And take revenge on those stole from me and left me for dead – Snow and Emma."

He ambled over to the wheel. "What about the two below deck? What happens to them when we get there?"

"They, my dear Captain, will bring my enemies to me."

"And this revenge you seek, what exactly does it entail?"

She laughed as if he was missing the point. "Oh, Hook. I plan on killing them and their loved ones."

Dun, dun, dun! So what did you all think? That Snow and Emma scene took me forever to do so I hope it worked out! Ha I hope you all enjoyed it and please, please, please review and let me know what you thought of it :)