A/N- Thankyou for all the reviews on this story so far. As I said, I was originally expecting this to be a quick two-shot piece but the comments have made me all warm and fuzzy (something I am usually not, in fact this is one of the only non-angsty things I have written) and there was an opportunity to add a little extra on to the end- so here you go! Again, please R&R, positive or negative I'm interested in feedback, as well as any prompts/ requests you may have.


They stop by Granny's on the way back to Mary Margaret's with a promise of a hot drink from Emma. This turns into a double scoop root-beer float once she gets around to actually ordering, which Ruby jots down with a flourish, directing a wolfish grin at the two women and a wink down at Henry.

"You're a woman of great taste, Sheriff, shall I make that three?"


"-Two" Mary Margaret interjects, "And make Henry's a single scoop"

Both Henry and Emma groan at this as Mary Margaret ushers them to a nearby booth, rolling her eyes. She points out to Emma that the boy has had more sugar in one day than he probably consumes within any other given week, which is met with a shrug but no further argument. The brunette resists the oddly maternal urge to scold her housemate for her own sugar consumption- wondering, as she has may times, where the hell the blonde stores the copious amounts of junk food she snacks on- as she reminds herself that Emma is a grown woman and can make such decisions for herself.

They chat amiably while demolishing the floats, Henry showing off his bubble-blowing abilities until he starts hiccuping giddily. Emma uses her straw as a scoop for the ice-cream, handing Mary Margaret the silver spoon provided with the order, and shoving the drink to the middle of the table. A little touched by the gesture, the brunette complies and takes several small bites of the cold slush that has formed at the bottom of the glass. Emma glances down at her watch before looking up to be met with wounded hazel eyes across the table

"Just checking, kid; of all the ways to end the day, your mom on my back about my timekeeping is not one I'd choose"

"It's not fair though, why can't I have dinner with you?"

"I'm sure you can another time, and besides, someone's got to get some vegetables down you"

She laughs at his grimace of disgust and winks at her housemate who smiles back rather wickedly

"Don't worry, Henry, I'll make sure Emma gets some vegetables down her too, after all, no one likes a hypocrite!"

"What's a hypocrite?"

"It's what Emma will be if she doesn't eat the spinach and broccoli I've bought for tonight!"

Throwing her housemate a death glare, The Sheriff leaves a few crumpled notes on the table, waves to Ruby who returns with a mock salute, and leads them out into the street. Following the two women, Henry hesitates for a moment before launching himself at the blonde, small hands gripping her slim shoulders, legs wrapping round her waist.

"Shit! What the hell!"


"I mean... crap, what the heck?"

Despite her shocked outburst, her hands instinctively find the crooks in Henry's knees and hoist him up into a more stable piggy-back position. Her heart resuming it's normal pace she continues at a slightly burdened pace next to Mary Margaret who watches the other two out of the corner of her eye in amusement.

They walk this way the entire distance to the teacher's apartment, Emma's breath slightly ragged by the time she reaches the top of the stairs to their front door. Once inside she finally offloads Henry, massaging her neck gingerly.

"Huh, I forgot how much I enjoyed breathing"

Henry's smile is sheepishly apologetic as he stands before her, hands stuffed in his pockets. She starts yanking at the toggles on his coat- fully aware he is capable of doing so himself, but somehow unable to resist the urge- her long hair pooling between them as she leans forward slightly to reach the lowest fastenings. Dragging the coat off him, she takes in his appearance properly for the first time since they've left the woods.

"Oh, crap"

She inwardly scolds herself for her use of language, but then supposes if Henry was going to pick the word up from her, he would have done so already.

"Look at the state of you!"

Henry does just that, looking down at his grass-stained jeans and muddy t-shirt; currently a Hallmark-worthy match to his birth mother's own attire.

"Your mom is gonna kill me"

The blonde groans, running a fretful hand through her hair. She wets her fingers childishly with a stroke of her tongue, crouching down and rubbing at the knee of his jeans in a futile attempt to rid them of the dirty green marks.

"You slobbering on him is hardly going to be successful, not to mention hygienic, Emma"

Mary Margaret tuts as she takes in the scene before her. Sighing she begins rooting round in the cupboard beneath the sink for washing powder.

"There won't be time to wash your clothes and have them dry before your mom wants you home, Henry, but I'm sure Emma can drop them off tomorrow morning"

Agreeing that Regina would likely be angrier should he show up in soiled clothes, Henry begins removing his shirt, getting it momentarily stuck over his head as he comes to a new realization.

"I don't have any spares"

"We'll find you something, kid"

Henry hands Mary Margaret his shirt, but when his cheeks redden as he begins fumbling with the button on his pants, Emma places a hand on his shoulder and steers him towards the stairs.

"Hold your horses, lets see what we can find you before you start waltzing around in your skivvies, Lancelot"

Henry perches on her bed as Emma conducts a fruitless search of her rather insubstantial wardrobe, companionably letting her mutters of "no", "uh-uh" and "definitely not" wash over him. Finally she reemerges from what is now just a heap of clothes with a pair of cargo shorts and a t-shirt. The shorts will be too big for him, but are fairly unisex, and the only thing she owns that isn't cut below the ankle or shaped to the ass. Similarly the t-shirt is a simple cotton; not the very smallest she owns, but she doubts Regina will appreciate receiving her son back clad in a Hooters top she doesn't even remember acquiring. The chosen shirt depicts Harry Potter and his merry band of unfortunate companions. She reckons the fantasy theme will please her son anyway.

"Who are those people?"

"You're kidding me?"


"Harry Potter? Jeez kid, how the hell did you miss out on that one? Hang on..."

She fumbles through one of the boxes left unpacked in the corner and throws him a tattered paperback

"Here, I'm afraid this one doesn't narrate the lives and backstory of anyone I've met so far... apart from maybe your mother, she's a regular Voldemort... or maybe Bellatrix-"


"Never mind kid, just read it, it's completely up your street"

He chucks the proffered book in his rucksack and takes the clothes from Emma, padding off to the bathroom to change. When he shuffles back in- t-shirt sleeves draped like wings to his elbows and holding the shorts up around his waist- Emma greets him with a gail of laughter.

"Hey! It's not my fault your so big!"

"Oi! One should never speak that way to a lady, Henry"

"It's a good thing he was only talking to you then"

Mary Margaret chuckles behind her hand as she regards the scene from the doorway. She enters the room to pick Henry's discarded jeans up off the floor while Emma threads a belt through the loops in the shorts, her pink tongue poking out the side of her mouth. Successfully completing threading the belt through the cargos she yanks forcefully, causing Henry to stagger and place his hands on her shoulders, and fastens the ends as tightly as possible, letting the t-shirt fall over her handy-work once secure. The shorts brush his calves in a manner eerily nostalgic of the nineties, and the shirt hangs to just above the knees.

"Well... I doubt your mom will be impressed, but at least you're clean!"