Title: The Mystery of the Smile
Author: Liza Cameron
Spoilers: through episode 4.11 kind of

Disclaimer: I own nothing; this is for fun and no money.

Summary: A mother/daughter breakfast conversation about a smile. Emma and Mary Margaret.

AN: For Captain Swan smile week. All the gif sets inspired me to think about how much more Emma is smiling than she used to do and to think about what if someone else noticed as well. Total and complete fluff, I think, actually I'm not sure what this is!

"You're smiling," Mary Margaret said as she surveyed her daughter across the table.

"What?" Emma knit her brows in confusion, a slight flush coloring her cheeks as she looked up from her phone.

"You're smiling," her mother repeated, setting down her coffee cup. They were sitting at the kitchen table, Mary Margaret picking at some toast while Emma enjoyed a more hearty breakfast. David had left for the station early, Henry was at Regina's and the baby slept peacefully. It was a rare moment of quiet in the loft. "You're sitting there smiling to yourself."

"No, I wasn't. That's ridiculous." Emma sounded so defensive that Mary Margaret looked taken aback and shifted uncomfortably at her reaction.

"Emma, it's nice. I'm just commenting that you're smiling. It's not a bad thing. I was just wondering what made you smile."

Emma shook her head and adopted a cool tone. "Nothing. I'm eating breakfast, I'm not smiling."

"Okay," Mary Margaret raised her hands in defeat and then once again picked up her mug. She glanced down at the newspaper that was spread in front of her. They sat in silence for several minutes, until Mary Margaret once again peeked over at her daughter.

"There!" Mary Margaret said in an almost accusatory tone. "There it is. You're smiling again."

"No, I'm not." The smile vanished from Emma's face. "I don't smile."

"Actually that's not true. You do smile. You never used to smile, but you've been smiling a lot. At least lately and just now…" Mary Margaret paused for a dramatic effect, beaming to herself, "you were definitely smiling."

Emma sat back in her chair and sighed. "So what if I was?"

Mary Margaret shrugged and then asked nonchalantly, "Are you thinking about your boyfriend?"

"Mom!" Emma's eyes flashed in indignation as a tell-tale blush crept up her neck. "This is so embarrassing. I'm thirty years old, not 16. I'm not sitting her daydreaming about…" she paused as she searched for the proper word, she settled on, "anybody."

"Okay." Mary Margaret once again appeared as if she would drop the subject. That lasted about ten seconds before she broke the silence. "It's just that I know you and Hook have grown close, but you never really talk about it. I was wondering if you might want to talk about it."

Emma gave her a tight-lipped smile. "Thanks, I'm good," she said before she looked back down to the table and her phone.

They sat in silence for almost a minute, both of them going back to their prior actives.

"There it is again." Mary Margaret muttered as she made a show of continuing to look at the newspaper in front of her.

"Are you policing my facial expressions?" Emma replied with a bit of irritation, before adding, "I really need my own place."

"Of course not!" Mary Margaret replied quickly. Her attempt at getting her daughter to talk about her love life was backfiring; it seemed like she failed every time she tried to be a mother to Emma. "It just… it makes me happy to see you happy. I'd like to be able to share in that. But if it makes you uncomfortable, I won't say another word."

Emma looked back down to her phone and sighed. She was being a pill, she knew it, but she wasn't used to talking about these things, especially with a mother. After several moments of reflection she lifted her gaze to the woman sitting across from her. "Maybe," Emma picked up her phone and gestured with it, "I'm smiling because I just read a funny internet meme."

"A what?" Mary Margaret asked with very honest confusion.

"Nothing." Emma did smile this time in real amusement. "I forget that even though you've been in this realm for years you were stuck in 1983 for most of that time. Just something funny on the internet."

"Oh," Mary Margaret nodded as she took a sip of her coffee. "So you're smiling about something on the internet?"

Emma looked up at the ceiling, why had she opened this door? Because now that she had, she couldn't lie. "No. You were right. It's Kil… Hook. He figured out how to take pictures with his phone and how to send them to me."

"Are they dirty?" Mary Margret asked conspiratorially.

"What!? No!" Emma practically screeched. "Why would you ask that?"

"I don't know, I read somewhere that people," she waved her hand towards the window, "out there, in your world, do that. I'm trying to keep an open mind."

"We don't!" Emma replied quickly and turned her phone towards her mother. "See it's a picture of his breakfast at Granny's. That's it."

Mary Margaret's eyebrows rose as she studied the photo. "Oatmeal, orange juice and coffee." Mary Margaret listed off the rather mundane contents of the picture; it was hardly smile-inducing stuff. "Granny does make decent oatmeal, but…"

"But what?" Emma tilted her head to one side as she questioned her mother.

"Oatmeal isn't funny, Emma."

"I never said oatmeal was funny."

"A-Ha! So you weren't smiling because of oatmeal, you were smiling because of him."

Emma rolled her eyes and then focused on her mom. She looked so excited, almost like a puppy, the expression alone made Emma relent. "Okay," she met her mother's eye, "I get that you would like me to be more open about all of this. That's not easy for me, but how about… I give you three questions."

"Three?" Mary Margaret questioned, sounding suddenly intrigued.

"Yup, ask away." Emma leaned back in her chair, her arms crossed against her chest protectively.

"Uh…" Mary Margaret's mind was suddenly blank. Over the last few weeks, she'd desired to know a thousand things, but now that her opening had come, she was scrambling for something say.

Emma seized the opportunity. "If you can't think of anything, no problem, we'll let it drop."

Under pressure, Mary Margaret blurted out, "Why were you smiling?" and immediately regretted it. She knew why Emma had been smiling. She mentally kicked herself for wasting one of her questions.

Emma replied matter-of-factly. "Because Hook texted me a picture of oatmeal."

Mary Margaret tilted her head and shot her daughter a pointed look. A look that clearly said her answer was not satisfactory. She may have wasted her question, but she might as well try to wheedle something out of her usually tight-lipped daughter.

Emma tried to stare down her mother, but failed. Finally, she relented with a shrug. "I don't know… why does anyone smile? I guess because I get a kick out of it when he experiments with technology… and… and texting me a photo of his breakfast means he was thinking of me and it made me smile. I guess."

Mary Margaret nodded and looked satisfied with that answer. She assessed her daughter before posing her next query. "Why do you like him?"

"Why do I like him?" Emma felt herself stiffen at the question, jumping to the immediate conclusion that her mother couldn't understand what she might see in him, couldn't see his inherent value. However, when she looked into Mary Margaret's open expression, she didn't see judgment, only curiosity.

"Well," Emma cleared her throat and fidgeted in her chair, showing signs of obvious discomfort. "Obviously… he's charming, funny and smart…" Emma paused at the almost imperceptible look of doubt that crossed her mother's face; she decided to defend the only one of those traits that wasn't subjective. "Really he's much cleverer than people even give him credit for… plus he's almost criminally good-looking." She felt her cheeks redden at that and considered leaving it there. Those things were enough to like someone, right? However, she didn't stop. She wasn't sure why she continued, except that she felt an almost primal need to defend him flare deep in her soul. Even if he wasn't being attacked, she knew he deserved to have someone in his corner, someone who would put voice to what made him special. "He… his heart is… so big…" Emma then added almost under her breath," that is when it's in his chest." She gave a small huff of a laugh at her own joke, before continuing, "He cares… he's… he's been there for me, really, in a way that no one ever has…"

At that Mary Margaret winced, the bare reality of her inadequate parenting hitting her full force.

Emma watched her mother's reaction and then quickly continued speaking, clearly hoping to cover the moment. "I don't know, I guess we have… a thing."

"A thing?"

Emma waved her hand in the air in a gesture that was meant to signify everything and maybe nothing as she searched for the right way to explain it. "Maybe I mean that we have *the* thing. You know, chemistry, attraction… whatever you want to call the indefinable factor between two people. We have it and I like that."

Engrossed, Mary Margaret studied her daughter and then asked the question she hadn't thought she'd dare.

"Emma, are you in love?"

Emma felt the air whoosh out of her and vaguely noted that it was a good thing she'd been seated and not standing because she might have staggered at the question. It was not what she'd been expecting. No one could say her mother wasted her last question. However, she tried to ignore her own physical reaction to the question; instead she adopted an unconcerned façade and shrugged. "I don't know."

Mary Margaret narrowed her eyes suspiciously at her daughter, clearly not buying what she was selling.

"I don't!" Emma defended her answer, but then she thought of him and thought of the question. She felt herself blush hotly and she couldn't have stopped the smile that spread across her face if she'd wanted to. So she took a deep-breath and met her mother's eye. "I don't know, that's the truth… but… I do know that I've never felt like this. Nothing has ever felt like this."

Mary Margaret felt her heart clench in her chest. Emma was happy. And smiling. Actually, it was the most beautiful smile she'd ever seen. Whether she knew it or not, her daughter was clearly, irrevocably, head-over-heels in love. She felt a matching smile grace her own features and she looked back down at her newspaper. "Okay then, thank you; I think we've cleared up the mystery of the smile."