Author Note: I miss writing How to Make a Monster. I think I mentioned that with the last Conviction chapter... I dunno but my muse is kind of a bitch and when I'm in a fluffy mood it's impossible not to be distracted from my other stories and write these one!shots. If you're waiting for an update to something else, I am sorry but I got bored enough to get off my ass and accept a contract for some work that has taken up most of my time this past month so... sorry again.

Anyway, enough rambling and onto the fluff.

"Ha!" Emma exclaims, raising her fist into the air. "In your face!"

Henry rolls his eyes, dropping the controller onto the cushion beside him. "Real mature, ma," he says, standing and shaking his head as he leaves the room.

"Aww come on, I was kidding!" She yells after him.

"I'm getting something to eat!" He calls back and she grins, launching herself off the couch to follow after him. He is definitely her kid, and she could use some food.

When she reaches the kitchen, she remembers where she is and comes to a sudden stop. Right, she reminds herself; Regina had to work late and she invited Emma to the mansion to make sure Henry did his homework, and didn't waste all of his free time on videogames.

Oops.

Ah well, she thinks, one out of two aint bad—although…

"You did your homework, right?" she asks, brow furrowing.

She knows he was doing something when she first arrived, but hadn't paid much attention due to the fact Regina was still on the phone with her when she came through the door, yammering in her ear about Snow trying to tell her how to do her job. Typical 'Regina needs to yell at someone about something before she explodes and decides a killing spree is a perfectly valid option to make herself feel better' material. It amuses Emma, so more often than not, she's happy to be on the receiving end of the brunette's rants.

He nods and she breathes a relieved sigh. Ever since their time in New York, she's been a little, well, slack—for lack of a better word—when it comes to parenting him. Regina doesn't seem to mind, sometimes the brunette even mothers her in a way; inviting her to dinner, bringing her soup that one time she was sick. She loves the kid more than she's ever loved anyone; she's simply learned that Regina is better at the whole motherhood thing.

Not that she takes advantage of the brunette, more that she accepts help when it's offered and no longer thinks herself entirely useless when she needs to ask for advice. It's good—life is good. They're sort-of co-parents and Henry is happy with the little family… type… unit… thing they've got going on. Emma is too—happy, that is. Regina is a lot more relaxed than she used to be, now that their lives aren't in mortal peril constantly anymore.

It's good, great even.

"Want some?" Henry waves a bag of what looks to be meat in her face and Emma squints, trying to figure out what it is before he catches on and explains, "It's ground beef, ma; I'm making nachos."

"Oh." She chuckles, nodding as she says, "Yeah, I'd love some."

He gives her a look that's eerily familiar, the one Regina uses when she thinks Emma is being an idiot and she grins, shoulders lifting in a shrug as she plops onto a stool at the island counter. It took her a while to figure it out, but she knows there is fondness beneath the exasperated look and it no longer makes her feel what it implies.

It was yet another thing she's accepted about herself.

Despite what her teachers use to say, there is such a thing as a stupid question and she has an ample supply stocked up and ready to use, daily. She's smart, she just happens to know very little about food beyond the fact she loves to eat it.

She accepts it, Henry accepts it, and Regina accepts it—hence, the look. It is also used when it comes to magic, algebra, and whenever she refers to Regina as a friend while within hearing distance of the brunette because bad Emma, "the Evil Queen doesn't have friends, dear."

Pulled from her musings by the incessant and unnecessary beeping of the microwave, Emma's nose twitches and she hums—right before she hears the front door open and close.

"Aww man," she whines. "Now she's going to kick me out and I won't get any nachos."

Henry smirks, shaking his head as he grabs the bowl from the microwave and returns to the den. Ruled by her stomach, Emma stands and trails along behind him, pausing in the foyer where Regina is removing her coat while he disappears into the adjoining room.

She eyes the brunette. "You're supposed to shout honey, I'm home," she informs the tired-looking Mayor who scoffs in response.

"In your dreams, Swan," Regina replies, lifting each foot to remove her heels and carrying them in one hand as she moves passed the blonde into the den. Emma activates her puppy mode and follows once more, very aware of the habit so ingrained within her that she no longer even pretends to be bothered by it.

Regina hadn't dismissed her, so maybe there is hope for her yet.

Henry sits in the middle of the couch, Regina beside him—both apparently waiting for her to join them if their blank stares are any indication. She drags herself over to them and sits down, unable to hide her surprise when Regina hands her a controller with a grin, its twin firmly grasped in her other hand.

"You… you play?" she stutters, baffled by this brand new piece of information. Regina's grin merely widens in response and oh yeah Emma needs to see this. "Alright; let's go, Mills."

Thrashed would be an understated kindness in terms of how badly Regina had beaten her. Twenty minutes after their final match, Henry is still sniggering on and off, while Emma continues to gape at the now blank television. As with all things, Regina is merciless when it comes to gaming and if that isn't bad enough; she is immune to guilt, winning again and again and again until even Emma's ability to complain had been exhausted.

"How," she says for what has to be the hundredth time since her latest loss. Mortal Kombat is her game, the game she wins, the one that never lets her down no matter who she plays against. Regina had swooped in and wiped the floor with her, it is—in short—highly unacceptable. "You are pure evil."

Her head snaps to the side as her words are greeted with throaty laughter. The sound only confirms the claim in her mind—no one should be that pleased with themselves, no matter how enchanting a face is when proud and full of unadulterated mirth. "One hundred percent, without a doubt; evil. Hades, Lord of the Underworld aint got nothing on you, lady."

"You do know that Hades is a fictional character, yes?"

Emma raises her eyebrow, forgoing a religious slash mythological debate as she chooses the route with less chance of a headache and responds, "So are you."

Henry snorts. "She's got you there, Mom."

Regina sniffs, as though she's about to dismiss the conversation, but the twitch of her lips gives her away and Emma grins. She sighs, allowing the smile to surface as she admits, "I suppose I walked into that one."

"Yeah you did," Henry and Emma announce at the same time, sharing a look before they both erupt with laughter.

No matter how hard she might have tried had the desire to do so struck, Regina doubts she could have hid the widening of her smile. Their interactions bring a warmth to her chest, one that lingers until the very last second and it has become somewhat of a companion to her during their prolonged respite from dangerous missions, the lack of villains popping out of the woodwork providing their little town with a time of peace.

Emma has proven herself a valuable friend—no, she will never admit such—in the past few months, and to see the blonde being happy with their son no longer causes an irrational feeling of jealousy in her. She isn't certain, but she believes that there is a possibility buried somewhere within their friendship, something that could possibly change their lives for the better and she had decided months earlier that she would refrain from interfering with it.

It is freeing—not to feel the need to control everything. Emma had described her as more 'down to earth' from the woman she once knew as Madam Mayor. Regina still thinks she should have set the blonde on fire for using the phrase removing that stick from your ass as sufficient explanation for her observation, but has so far refrained from such while accepting that she is indeed changing to the point where people who see her as the Evil Queen are fewer with each passing day.

When their laughter dies down, she pretends not to notice and can feel their eyes on her as she stares down at some imaginary dirt beneath her fingernails, wondering which of them will cave first and hiding her smirk behind a mask of clear, bored indifference. Henry makes a sound that has her thinking he's about to break into a fit of giggles, a sort of strangled squeak that almost, almost causes her mask to slip.

"So…" Emma, she should have known, breaks first and Regina tilts her head as if listening to a story. She waits, silent, still picking at the imaginary dirt and there's a single huff before, "I guess I'll be leaving now."

Emma stands and Regina looks up then, brow rising. She'd expected a joke, a plea for conversation—hell, she would have taken an overdramatic comment on the slowly discomforting silence but leaving? Leaving is out of the question. "You're not staying for dinner then?" she asks, smirking when the blonde's mouth opens and closes without a single word making it's way passed her lips.

"I think that's a yes," Henry offers, looking to Emma who nods an affirmative, her mouth snapping shut now that the need to respond has been satisfied by his assistance.

Want fulfilled, Regina pats the cushion beside her and waits for Emma to sit before offering her the remote. Emerald eyes narrow suspiciously, but the blonde takes it from her hand and Regina pats her thigh as she stands. "You two can amuse yourselves while I decide what it is we'll be having," she says, moving toward the foyer. "No more games tonight—and Henry, I expect your homework on that table when I return."

"Yes Mom," he murmurs dutifully.

Oblivious to their moment of responsibility while channel surfing, Emma gasps, "Ninja Turtles!" and Regina hears their son's groan, laughing quietly to herself as she makes her way to the kitchen and leaves the children to argue over what to watch.

"Miss Swan," Regina growls, hands on her hips and eyes fixed to the back of that hideous red leather jacket the blonde insists on wearing around her. "Take one more step and I swear I will roast you alive right where you stand."

Emma freezes, hand halfway outstretched towards the door handle. Dinner had ended more than two hours ago, Henry is getting ready for bed and although Regina hadn't yet suggested she leave, she thought the time was almost upon them and did the smart thing. She thanked Regina for dinner and said goodnight to their son before donning her jacket, but she knows that tone, knows she's done something wrong and for the life of her, she has no clue what exactly that something is.

Turning slowly, her hand drops to her side and she takes in the sight of the brunette; the stance, the glower. A shiver runs down her spine, her mind struggling to remember a time when Regina had looked as angry as she does in that moment. "What?" she half-croaks, half-squeaks the question. "What did I do now?"

An eyebrow rises slowly. "You have spent the better part of the last hour downing my cider," Regina says, her tone suggesting how idiotic she thinks Emma is being. "If you think I'm going to allow you to drive home, you are sadly mistaken."

Refuting the implication that she's drunk would be easy, but Emma is so surprised by the unexpected consideration for her well-being and the last thing on her mind is how to prove her capability behind the wheel as she stands there, gaping at the brunette as if the woman had just asked her to move in with her.

"If you're done imitating a fish, I suggest you remove that abomination…" Regina gestures to her jacket before she turns swiftly on her heel, moving toward the stairs as she finishes, "And follow me."

Looking over her shoulder at the door, Emma considers simply making a run for it while Regina has her back turned but the thought flies from her head when she hears the warning drawl of, "Don't think for a second that I won't come after you."

Trusting Regina will happily make good on the threat, and not in the mood to explain to her parents why the Mayor had followed her home, Emma resigns herself to being badgered into spending the night and turns back, sighing as she discards her jacket once more and tugs off her boots before following the domineering woman upstairs.

"I expect you down for breakfast in the morning," Regina states, pushing open the door to the guest bedroom. "I trust you can understand that sneaking out during the night is both discouraged and ill-advised."

Emma mumbles the word bossy under her breath, and she knows Regina hears it by the grin that forms dark lips. She steps into the room, sensing the magic before she sees the purple cloud appear above the bed, and she watches as it dissipates to reveal an old pair of pajamas she thought she'd lost.

"I've been looking for those for a month," she says, turning her head to glance suspiciously at the brunette. "How did you know where they were when I didn't?"

Regina smirks and taps her nose as though knowing the location of Emma's runaway clothing is some highly valued secret, which Emma supposes is a possibility otherwise why would they hide? And okay, perhaps the thought is enough for her to reconsider her stance on whether she's too intoxicated to drive… maybe.

"I always get what I want, Miss Swan," Regina replies in that unsurprisingly vague way, answering a grand total of nothing as she turns to leave. Emma huffs, and then huffs again because she can't even pretend to be annoyed by the response when she hears the, "Sweet dreams, Emma," Regina throws over her shoulder.

Dragging herself over to the bed, she flops down on her back and releases a pleasured groan that—under normal circumstances—would have her blushing at how sexual it sounds in her ears. She's never stayed the night before and with less than 5 seconds on this bed; she thinks she'd like to stay for the rest of her life. To top it all off, Regina is going to cook her breakfast and the mere thought causes another, equally sexual-sounding groan to slip from her lips.

"I'm a damn glutton," she confesses to the empty room, forcing herself to stand so she can close the door and change into her pajamas before she returns to the bed. She wriggles and squirms until she's safely tucked between the most comfortable sheets in the world, and closes her eyes with a longsuffering sigh.

Stubbornness be damned, Emma Swan is staying for breakfast.

The soft thump of feet alert Regina to the fact Emma is finally out of bed, and she grins upon hearing the blonde groan, no doubt catching the scent of freshly brewed coffee that permeates the house. Henry was ecstatic when she told him Emma stayed the night, and it had taken a number of promises from her to convince him not to run back upstairs to wake his other mother before he wandered off to school for the day.

Gliding over to the oven where she kept the pancakes she'd made heated, she retrieves the plate from within ands set it down on the counter just as Emma appears in the doorway. "You can obey instruction," she says, holding a hand to her chest in feigned disbelief. "Colour me shocked, Miss Swan."

"I'm still half asleep," Emma mumbles, dropping onto a stool and slouching over the counter as she adds, "Coffee before sass, please."

"You have manners too," Regina mock gasps, and chuckles as emerald eyes peer up at her from the arms where Emma has buried her head. "I suppose I can be nice for a few minutes and let you wake up," she concedes, pushing the plate of pancakes toward her before she moves to the coffeemaker.

Emma perks up at the sight of food, and her mouth waters as she recognizes a familiar scent. "Are these banana?"

Regina glances over her shoulder with a grin. "They are," she confirms. She remembered Henry had mentioned the fact Emma prefers them to the usual blueberry or apple, and she'd driven to the grocery store before either of them woke this morning.

Of course, she keeps this tidbit of information to herself as she slides a cup of coffee to the blonde and takes a seat across from her. She tries not to watch Emma eat, but with the sounds coming out of her mouth, she finds her attention slipping once in a while. Emma catches her looking every time and offers one of her lopsided grins as if to say sorry, can't help it.

Even when she picks up the newspaper and valiantly tries to distract herself by reading it a second time, she can feel her grin widening with each satisfied sigh and hum of approval. By the time Emma finishes, her cheeks hurt and she feels an insane desire to launch herself from the stool and cook something else, simply so she can continue basking in the appreciation that is radiating off the blonde.

Draining the last of her coffee, Emma beams. "I need to get drunk here more often," she announces and the declaration is too much, as Regina is unable to hold in her laughter. Emma is so easy to please and she wonders how no one had discovered such an obvious weakness. Killian, she thinks, Killian is an idiot; she had listened to him whine for months about how hard it is to make her happy.

Emma tilts her head, curious and Regina manages to compose herself after a moment. "Don't ever change, dear," she says with another laugh as Emma's expression transforms, bringing to mind the image of a confused puppy.

She reaches over and pats her hand before she stands. "More coffee?" she offers, smiling when Emma nods despite the suspicion she now wears, which Regina finds equally amusing if not slightly less adorable. Emma can be somewhat dense at times, but with a little nudge every now and then, she's confident the blonde will come to realize why it is the two of them have been spending more and more time together.