AUTHOR'S NOTES:

Hi guys! :) This is my first OUAT fanfic, and I hope you'll like it.

This is going to be a multi-chapter fanfic, based on what you want to read.

So please, send in your suggestions! PM or Review, or Tweet: CaminnaFerolin. Anything will work.

Have a nice day in the name of Charmings Family feels!

:)

I Wasn't there the moment you first learned to breathe
But I'm on my way
On my way
I wasn't there the moment you got off your knees
But I'm on my way
On my way

On my Way, Boyce Avenue

Fifteen minutes till dinner cooks—enough time for a run down the grocery store. Emma haven't the slightest idea why she had been craving deep-fried Twinkies. She swore to herself never to eat that junk since high school, when all she ate for breaks were boxes of Twinkies. But tonight, amidst the strong aroma of grilling steak and brewing soup, she craved it so bad, her mouth began to water.

Drumming her fingers on the kitchen counter while she watched her parents do the work, she thought of ways on how to escape her sometimes-okay, all of the time-protective folks.. There was no way in this land or the next, would they ever let sweet little Emma to put herself in the middle of a raging storm. Especially not for a Twinkie. But why did she even have to ask for permission? Because they were her parents, right. But she was twenty eight years old, and capable of taking care of herself, right? Right! "Listen, I'm going out for a while…"

Snow looked up, confused. David stopped the slow stirring motion of the ladle in his pot.

"Five minutes, tops. I have something..."

"But it's crazy outside." Henry chimed in, peeking from his K-zone magazine.

"Henry's right, Emma. Can't it wait until the storm's over?" Snow asked, watching as Emma went for her coat. No, there's no way that would shield her from the weather outside. When Emma only shrugged, she put down her ladle and gave her daughter a look. Her look. No non-sense, bad-ass Snow White look. "Emma?"

Emma sometimes forgot that she wasn't Mary Margaret anymore. Or that, she was just half of the shy, timid woman she once knew.

"I'll be alright," She stubbornly shot back, putting an earmuff over her head.

But somewhere between reaching for her coat and dodging Snow's colder than the weather glare, the lights went out. For a moment, there was only silence before Emma put a sound to the pitch dark void. "Oh, crap." She mumbled under her breath. Definitely no Twinkie tonight. She needed to get to the emergency cupboard where she hoped Snow stashed the flashlights, and trusted her internal memory of the apartment to navigate.

One step. All good, Emma. All good.

Another step…ow! "Oh, crap!" She cried out in pain as she stubbed a toe on the coffee table. She felt the sensation linger and kept the curse words to herself as it crawled to her every being. "Crap!"

A glaring light from the kitchen shone on her, and there they all stood—Her parents, and Henry—holding a chuckle to themselves. "Oh, Emma. You should have waited a bit."—David said, and started setting candles on the countertop.

Henry moved to the living room, and put two candle holders on the doomed coffee table. "I've stubbed my toe before. I thought I was going to die."—Henry teased. But who could ever resist that face? Definitely not Emma.

Emma ran her fingers through Henry's hair, her face still etched with pain. "Well, since I can't possibly leave now, why don't you help me with the plates?"

It was probably the best beef steak and seafood soup she had tasted her whole life. Definitely better than Twinkie. Disney couldn't have guessed Snow White's mad cooking skills, and Prince Charming's wicked culinary abilities. Over the course of dinner, Snow handed over extra layers of thick clothing to keep them warm; it was getting way, way colder than the usual winter.

Fifteen minutes later, they were sprawled in a small circle in the living room, surrounding what little warmth some six candles could offer.

"Who wants hot chocolate?" Snow offered, rubbing her hands together while snuggled close to her husband.

Emma and Henry raised their hands in unison, just as David kissed her wife's cheek as a go for the warm drink.

"We are seriously trapped!" Emma grunted. "I wonder how big of a damage the storm did on the power lines."

"Come on, mom." Henry looked over her shoulder, "This could be fun! We can call it Operation," he paused, at a loss of a better name for this adventure. Then just like the cliché light bulb effect, he beamed, "Operation: Icebreakers!"

Emma raised an eyebrow. "Ice breakers? Because of the storm, that's it?"

Henry resigned, "No, mom. Icebreakers is a card game. You pull out a card from the deck of cards, and you answer the question it asks."

Emma hesitated but didn't let it show. She exchanged glances with her father, who understood what she had in mind. With Henry's advanced mind, it would be no wonder if he caught the emotion in Emma's eyes.

What if the question's too hard?

What if it hits too close to home?

What if I hurt them with my answers?

What if I get hurt? What if Henry gets hurt?

"We have nothing else to fuss about, you know?" Henry broke the growing ice, and it was starting to get colder than the angry storm.

Again, Emma couldn't say no to that smile. "Alright, kid. Let's do this Operation: Icebreakers thing."

Henry stormed into his grandfolks' bed where he had placed his backpack. He had all kinds of things in there—the story book, school things, a couple of cheap magic toys, and now, an icebreaker deck.

Snow returned with a tray of fresh hot chocolate mugs. "What are we doing?" She asked, handing over the treat to her daughter, then to her husband. Henry came back to their fort, with a smile so wide, it reached his ear. Her eyes trailed to the small box on the boy's hand. "Oh, is that what I think it is?"

Henry put on a full-on puppy look, "Sorry. Nobody really paid much attention to it in the classroom."

"That's school property?" Emma mocked, snatching the box so Henry can get a hold of his mug.

Emma shuffled the small cards in her hands and placed it on their center.

"I'll go first." she volunteered, eyeing both her parents nervously. This is just a game, Emma. Just a game.

She picked a card from the middle of the deck, and read the words out loud. "If you could be any non-living thing, what would you be?" Easy. Impersonal. Perfect. "A gun," Emma immediately answered. She earned concerned and confused looks from the rest, so she went for elaboration. "Because a gun is perfectly able of taking care of itself. So long as it has bullets, though."

"I'd be an apple." Snow said.

The rest of them let out a small chuckle. "I'd be an apple so I can tell the evil apples to stop putting people in sleeping curses." If it hadn't been for the lightness in Snow's voice and the laugh that followed her answer, they would've thought differently.

"I'll be a Transformer." Henry answered, "Because robots are so cool!"

"I want to be a clock." David followed, unable to contain what he had to say. "Because I want to be able to turn back time and be right here, whenever I need it." And to go back to when Emma was still their baby girl, but for some reason, he left that out. "That was easy enough. Who wants to go next?"

Snow lifted a finger, "I'll go."

Butterflies flew into her stomach as her mother read the question with her eyes.

What could it be, what could it be, what could it be.

"What is your favourite childhood moment?" Snow huffed out. Emma's heart dropped to the ground.

Did it really have to be that? But her parents didn't seem to notice her change of aura.

"Oh, easy. Seventh birthday." She began. Emma couldn't help but hang on to every word her mother said. As much as she couldn't imagine herself in a royal situation, she wanted to know what it meant to be a princess. And her mother, of all people, could give her that. "It was my first ball. My mother dressed me quite nicely—a blue and red, dainty ball gown with pearls sewn everywhere—and my father, the King, taught me how to dance." Snow's breath caught at the memory. To be reminded of the life she had felt anything but comforting. It also reminded her of the life she lost. But she didn't let the hesitation show; not when Emma's attention was on her. "…anyway, it was my favourite moment because of those little things. I was very nervous. It was my first dance, and with a handsome Prince from another kingdom."

David raised his eyebrows at that. "I might have been a shepherd, but I doubt he was more handsome than me."

Snow hit his arm playfully. "Well, he certainly wasn't charming. He told me I had chubby cheeks, and didn't want me for a wife." She chuckled at that, "He was seven, too. I guess people from our land just expected the royalties to marry other royalties their age. At least, that's what he thought."

Emma shook her head let out a laugh. Blue and red dress? Disney isn't entirely wrong about Snow White, then. She expected Snow to say more, but her turn had ended.

David cleared his throat, "Well, I grew up in farm. My favourite moment would be the day when my mother took me to a friend's farm to ride the horses. Unlike your mother," he directed his gaze to Emma, "Her castle had hundreds or probably thousands of horses you could ever count. But we didn't have a lot then. I as twelve when I first learned how to ride, and a little afterwards, the man gave the horse to my family to pay a debt. I couldn't have been happier."

"Just as you taught me how to ride, Gramps!" Henry chimed in, "That would be my favourite. Actually, that places second from finding my mom."

Emma's heart melted. At the same time, guilt washed over her. The fact that it was her son that looked for her and found her still made her think of herself as the worst mother ever. But Henry wasn't giving her any of that. He was just as happy as she was that he found his mom.

She didn't realize it was her turn until her parent's gaze stung her.

The realization had already hit them, and they were hoping she'd open herself up to them. Oh for crying out loud, Emma wanted nothing more than to open herself to her parents. But every time she tried, she ran out of ways on how to do it.

Maybe answer the question, Emma.

Yeah, Emma. Start with the question—her irrational side told her. No, screamed at her.

But after a moment's silence, they were beginning to lose hope. As much as they wanted to know more of their daughter's life, they didn't want to push her. Snow said, "It's alright, we'll just…"

"No." Emma replied sternly. "I didn't get to share mine," her lips broke into a small smile, and the butterflies were on full force.

"When I was five years old, I lived with this family—the Rogers. They lived off of a small income in a small house, and that was why they had to give me up. They just didn't have enough for another mouth to feed," Emma swallowed, not sure if she could take her parents holding on to every word that ever left her lips. "I was with them on the Christmas season, and that was the best and the last Christmas I spent with a family. They gave me this small doll that I came to like at the store, but it cost way more than they could afford; and it wasn't even that costly." Emma smiled. She wondered what had happened to the doll. Oh, right. Some bully twice her age took it from her. What was her name? Oh...Tabitha, was it? "So this doll, they bought it and gave it to me for Christmas."

Snow's chest tightened. Her daughter shouldn't have been one to want for anything. Emma deserved everything in the world, and she could have had the chance at a great life. She squeezed David's hand, and he returned a reassuring caress.

"Needless to say, I was very happy. Because for the first time in a long time, I felt loved."

Snow didn't help the pained gasp that escaped her mouth. "You are most certainly loved now, Emma."

Emma smiled as warmth crept to her chest. Her mother was right, and she believed her. Because for the first time in her whole life, she had never felt so loved.

So wanted.

Cared for. And this time, her family was here to stay.

Emma smiled, "I know."