Cover art by the wonderful Bee Goddess!

It was the sound of her exasperated moan of pleasure that startled Emma awake – yet again and as usual she was waking with her hand clamped tightly between her quivering thighs. She gasped grumpily. It took her a moment longer to figure out where the hell she was as she blinked against the wood of the desk.

Coffee – she could smell crappy Folgers – and Cheetos – three-day-old donuts and office supplies. Right, she was at the station, of course. Because it was indeed her luck that she would have these dreams at the station. She whimpered, trying not to groan with frustration and kick something – anything at all. She released the apex of her jeans and palmed the breast that moments before had been lightly caressed into a hard and insistent peak by the strange phantom touch. She didn't know if she was touching herself to bat the heightened feeling away or to squeeze and hope it would return. She never knew when it came to this strange happening.

She groaned again, just because it felt good, and covered her head with her arms, trying to hide - or possibly bury herself - in the wanting feeling that had been produced.

It had started in Neverland. In Neverland weird things like this kind of...made sense.

At first she had panicked, thinking she was crazy. She had roared and screamed at nothing but bushes and vines, alone in the jungles of that godforsaken island. She didn't know what it was; all she knew was that she had not given it permission to touch her and so she was going to fight it with all she had.

But the touch had been calming, a soft caress while she worried about her and Regina's stolen son; or a warm and gentle massage when she was having trouble sleeping. The touch had become a kind friend, welcomed and reassuring.

It had not been long though until the touches had begun to draw desire to the surface no matter how innocent they were.

Perhaps it had been her fault that they had turned from innocent to impassioned. She had been resting on her sleep pad that Regina had created for her, a few tears of worry for Henry falling, when the touch had appeared. Instantly Emma had sighed, pleased to feel the warm fingers at the back of her neck, rubbing reassuring circles into her sore muscles. It was as though the touch knew exactly why she was upset and was whispering that everything would be alright.

It had focused for a while on her shoulders, her neck, her back, so intimate that when it slipped down her sides Emma had found she needed to bite her lip to keep her gasp to herself.

She had learned to trust the touch weeks ago when it had saved her from going over the edge of a cliff while chasing Felix. The grip on her arm had been hard enough to stop her feet and force her to see the mistake she was about to make. It had saved her.

When she had injured herself tripping over a large rock, it had cleaned and healed her wounds in her sleep.

Therefore when, during a typical massage she had involuntarily let out a sigh of pleasure, she didn't think twice about the phantom's pause of evaluation. She had laughed when a finger grazed up her side, tickling her in just the right way. Her laughter only grew when the touch played with her ribs, experimenting; making her squeal and squirm like a small girl. Then all laughter stopped when the touch slipped down her chest, between her breasts, making her breath catch in her throat.

The touches had changed after that. They still caressed and comforted her but it was as though she was in the beginnings of a new relationship and the touch couldn't keep it's hands off of her; as if it took as much pleasure from the act as she did. When she was alone, she spent the time talking in a whisper to the touch as it played with her body, making her eyes roll and her breath pant. Somehow the touch had a way of responding, a stroke here, a graze there that left Emma with the distinct impression that it knew what she was saying and, in its own way, was responding.

But they were home now. Things were supposed to be going back to normal – if she could ignore the amorous pleas of the two men vying for her attention, that is.

Henry was safe. She and Regina were – friends? Friends-ish. Friend-like. She didn't know, but they had stopped hurling insults at each other - let alone fists or magic. Crap had been coming at them at full force since the curse broke and now it was time to let the dust settle.

Things were supposed to be getting back to normal, damn it.

Breakfast at Granny's. Walking Henry to school. Her main problem was supposed to be what the idiot teenagers of Storybrooke had up their sleeves this week and if she wanted to wear her dark blue skinny jeans or her dark gray.

Only life wasn't going that way because every time she began to feel "normal" again these phantom touches would appear; once so comforting, now so confusing.

Why hadn't they stopped? When they left the island she had assumed the touch would stop. She had thought it was some strange magic the island held, which had grown to know her so intimately. She had worried it was Pan though that fear had faded quickly when she realized that the boy could never make her feel the way these invisible hands did.

She had been walking down Main on her way to wherever in the heart of Storybrooke a few days after her return when suddenly soft, warm fingers played up her spine in the lightest of touches as if it were saying hello. The tiny hairs on Emma's body stood in immediate attention. At first she had smiled to herself, feeling momentarily a little less lonely before sense kicked in and she froze in place. Jefferson had walked into her, not expecting the sudden roadblock and she had nearly clocked him, thinking for a moment that the intimate touch had been his.

The newly reappeared touches were docile again; it was if they had lost some of their bravado. They had been polite, hesitant; soft caresses to general parts of her body not unlike a massage or the familiar pat you give a very tired friend. They had been startling, but to Emma's surprise she had welcomed them.

However, slowly over the past weeks they had become more familiar and frankly, blatantly sexual; sliding across her stomach just above her panty line as she lay in bed, up a thigh and recently cupping and whispering across her breast, teasing her nipples until she cried out for it to stop as she begged for more.

The touches pulled a longing from her that she had decided to squash down and hide in the pit of herself years ago. Storybrooke was small; there was no way any wild oats were to be sown here. Still, the more the touches coaxed those feelings from her, the harder they were to close away again. They had grown desperate and angry locked in their lonely confinement. She wasn't sure how much longer she would be able to ignore them.

Perhaps if she just had an answer about what it was - no, who – no, what - She had not been sure if it was a person or a thing. Part of her thought that perhaps the touches were phantom or in her mind; a figment of an overly tired and undersexed, under romanced imagination. Then she had watched as the touch had grazed across her stomach and for the first time she had seen the small indent of fingers there.

Startled, she had tried to fight the touches off, kicking at the air and yelling from her late night bed, but the touch had only pulled away for a moment to let her have her tantrum before softly touching her cheek kindly, reassuringly. Then it worked across her skin in such an intimate way that she had been left breathlessly panting, her back arching just slightly off the bed.

It was probably one of the Asses and she hated that fact. More than likely either Neal or Hook had gone to Rumpelstiltskin on the island and asked for some weird-ass piece of magic to seduce her without the other knowing. Any day now he would present himself proudly, probably in front of the other man, smug about his dirty - yet slightly successful - dealings.

What would she do then?

The thought made her want to repel the phantom touches all over again, to deny the connection she knew she felt and hide away completely. She wanted to encourage the men and their stupid and childish rivalry as little as freakin' possible.

But if it did turn out to be one of them, what would she do? The touch, in many ways, had become her best friend and her only source of comfort. Would she deny the man who belonged to those touches? The gentleness she felt through the phantom fingers was sweet, kind and caring not to mention intoxicating. Whichever man it was - if it was one of the men - would be clearly different than she had thought he was.

But – it just didn't feel like it could be either of her newly developed and little-wanted suitors. They both, in their way, seemed as though they would be unable to produce a touch such as this one. Neal, in all of their history, had always been a goofy and awkward lover; something of a grab on and squeeze kind of man. These touches – they were light, soft and pointedly exact as if they knew exactly where to touch a woman to drive her absolutely mad.

And Hook, well, no offense to him but she would put money on the idea that he would be a very selfish lover. His sweet words were nice but she would bet that he would be too busy reaching for his own pleasure to bother much with hers. He couldn't possess this type of skill, no way.

No, these touches couldn't be from either of them. Since there was no one else after her amorous attentions, she was back to thinking that these touches had to be something she was unknowingly concocting, despite the handprint. Could they be alien? Could she center in her own episode of The X-Files?

She had tentatively spoken to her mother a few days after the touches returned asking awkwardly if she ever 'felt' anything strange after being surrounded with magic as she had been in Neverland. Mary-Margaret had laughed, knowingly, "oh yes." she had said, "Things can be quite strange after something like that. But don't worry, sweetie, those things always fade with time."

So she had decided to wait and see, despite the fact that she was sure her mother hadn't meant things like this.

Her head was still resting on the desk, letting her body cool from the latest dream when the phantom touch appeared again. It began at the back of her neck and softly stroked the length of her spine.

She shuddered, always a sucker for a tender touch there and then yelped as it slid an inch past the waist of her jeans, hovering just above her panty line. She jerked into a sitting position before her body could begin to slowly rouse into horny triumph again.

"What the shit?" She cried, jumping out of her skin as she saw Regina pouring herself a cup of coffee across the room; her brain too scattered to think straight at this particular moment.

She hadn't realized she was not alone. She hadn't heard Regina enter at all.

Oh god, did Regina know? Of course, she couldn't really know but –

"You have a Cheeto stuck to your face."

Emma blushed and pulled the orange snack from her skin, clearing her throat awkwardly.

"You make a lot of very strange noises in your sleep."

"What?" Emma croaked, shifting through the papers on her desk so she could avoid eye contact.

Did she know what types of sounds they had been? Could she guess? There was no way she would guess, right? The touches, while stimulating, never drew her close to her edge. They never lasted long enough nor touched in all of the right places, but that didn't mean they couldn't pull a few choice noises from her when she was alone - or asleep, apparently. "Uh, sorry. Weird dream. Why are you here?" Emma winced as soon as she said it. Their friendship was tentative, neither woman entirely sure what they wanted from it. That left it awkward and uncomfortable.

"I want to talk to you about that man you brought into my town."

"Who, Neal?"

Regina frowned and crossed her arms over her chest, "Indeed."

"Uh, okay." The navigations of Henry-now-has-two-mommies had been difficult. It had spawned many a fight in its day but now, throwing a third into the mix; Emma had known there would be problems.

"He has decided that Henry will be going out for football."

"What?" Emma scoffed. No way, that was happening.

"Yes, apparently your boyfriend has decided he wants to see our son's face broken and bleeding."

"He's not my boyfriend." She stood, feeling disoriented. It was hard to clear her mind after the phantom touches, they were just – so good. They left her – ugh, they left her too horny to think, god damn it. "You know that."

The former version of Regina would have said something snide and cutting, but instead Regina's face broke into a small smile. Emma knew she was thinking back on the time a few days ago that both men had insisted on her attentions. Emma had panicked, unsure of how to save feelings while remaining - free. Without thinking Emma had word vomited all over the men that she already had plans with Regina and sorry, bye.

She had shown up on the mansion doorstep that night with a bottle of wine and a sheepish grin. Regina had cocked an eyebrow but stepped to the side, letting her in. To the surprise of both, once they got past the discomfort the night had been pleasant. Until, that is, the topic of the men had come up and Regina had started to give Emma a hard time.

"Are you planning on running the opposite direction each time you see them for the rest of your life, Emma?"

It still sent a shiver of surprise down her spine each time Regina said her name instead of Sheriff or Ms. Swan or - something more colorful. "No. I just - I don't know."

She knew she needed to pick one of them but damn, if they would just give her a few days to herself maybe she could do that.

As if the men's ears had been burning, the station door flew open with a slam and Neal and Hook came stumbling in, bickering and shoving like school children.

Regina had to jump back to avoid being run down as they focused only on their goal.

"Em, settle an argument for us." Neal insisted with a confidence that sent a clear message that he knew he would be right.

"Uh, okay."

"Right. He," Neal jabbed a finger toward Hook, who looked like he would happily take it off, "insists that you're having dinner with him tonight at Granny's but, I know he's wrong because you're having dinner at Granny's with me tonight. You told me right before you walked Henry to school this morning, remember?"

"What?" This was all getting to be a little overwhelming. She just wanted a moment alone to calm her body completely and to gather her thoughts. A drink. She could use a drink. What time was it? "How does this stuff come up between the two of you? Do you fucking check in with one another?"

"Oh no, Ms. Swan, they keep giant blackboards over their pathetic beds and make a new check each time you choose one over the other. Then they bask in the glory that is their pathetic and sad manhood's."

They all ignored her.

"Dinner. Tonight. Him. Or me?" Neal insisted, pressuring her with his eyes. He was always insistent that their past should give him a higher rank in her affections. She couldn't help but to wonder if he remembered that while he had given her Henry - he had also given her incarceration.

Over their shoulders, Emma saw Regina fold her arms, amusement dripping from her sly grin. She cocked an eyebrow at her as if to say 'yes, Emma, which one?' Emma glared.

"Oh I uh, have plans -"

"Actually, I remembered that I have a meeting tonight. I'll have to cancel our plans, Emma." Regina had known exactly what Emma was about to do.

Both men grinned, triumphantly. They seemed to inherently understand that while they were her 'romantic interests', Regina and their son ranked much higher than them.

"I, uh, I don't know." With a promise to contact both of them when she was off work that evening, she shoved them out the door. They went unhappily and began bickering the moment they were outside together.

Regina gave her no time to start in, just leaned in to whisper wickedly, "This is your bed, Emma. Lie in it." Her eyes twinkled with obvious enjoyment of Emma's predicament.

Emma scoffed as she watched the woman sassily sway her hips toward the door. That wasn't fair! She had been thinking about their son on that stupid island. There had been an invisible thing touching her. Things had gotten away from her. She hadn't meant for this shit to start and now, well she was screwed. Maybe she should just let the touch decide for her. If it was one of the men, then that is who she would be with. If the touch were someone else, then screw it, she would be with them. But if the touch was in her mind, then fuck them all, she was going to grow old with herself and a few cats.

"And tell Tweedledum that our son will not be playing football while you're at it." Regina called over her shoulder and was gone.

She had been unable to satisfy both men and, well, she didn't care. The plain truth was she hadn't been listening when the men had individually insisted that they would take her to dinner. Her thoughts had been on the phantom touch and their origins.

She had double booked.

She had spent dinner that evening with Neal and then gone on a long walk with Hook. But she had been distracted the entire time because what she wanted to do was spend more time pouring over books; none of which ever had the answer she was looking for. Phantom or person? Phantom or freaking person?!

If she was crazy - going crazy - gone crazy - she was hoping that there would be a warning sign or two. But perhaps the phantom touch was her warning sign and she hadn't realized it! Could you really get much crazier than something you can't see touching you?

When she fell into bed that night she knew the touches wouldn't come, they usually only came once or twice a week. Still she stayed awake for a while, hoping or perhaps dreading.

Hook was downstairs the next morning with her grinning mother. Mary-Margaret had perhaps not been a huge fan of Hook at first but now, since he had helped to save her husband, she was putty in his hands - hand.

"What are you doing here?" Emma asked grumpily, sipping the coffee that Neal had no doubt dropped off for her before she was up as he did every morning.

"Good morning to you too, love." He stood and wrapped her in a hug. She allowed it, smiling lightly at her excited mother. She hadn't figured out what she was going to say to separate herself from the men - if she was going to at all, but the first person she would need to let down easy would be her mother.

Mary-Margaret insisted that she didn't care which man Emma dated, as long as she saw that her daughter was dating, a.k.a. on the path of true love and true happiness or - whatever. Emma was sure however that her mother did favor Hook.

When he leaned in for a kiss, Emma clicked her tongue and backed away, giving him a shove. He shrugged, knowing he had tried to push too far and proud of himself for it, "Can't blame a man for trying."

"Hmmhmm." Emma sighed.

A knock at the door surprised them all. Emma frowned, usually when there was a knock that no one had expected, it meant trouble.

What was it now? Had little Timmy fallen down the well? Were Aliens attacking? Perhaps instead of aliens it would be giant engorged tomatoes bouncing up and down Main Street.

"Sorry I'm late." Neal grinned and held out her coffee and morning donut. Confused she looked between the cup she was drinking from and the cup Neal was holding.

"Ah man, Em! You got yourself a coffee just because I was late? That's cold."

"Er-"

"Actually Baelfire, it looks like I beat you to it this morning."

Emma turned back into the house, ignoring Neal's small boy scowl, "Killian."

"Neal."

"What are you doing here? Mornings are my time."

"Oh, I didn't know we were assigning ourselves time slots now. Well, if that's the case then I guess I'll take her in the evenings. You can have her in the morning." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively and Emma groaned.

"It's early guys; I don't have time for this. I'm getting into the shower. Alone. Uh - bye." Her mother scowled disapprovingly as if to say that she did not raise her to be so rude. Emma's eyes rolled in annoyance shooting her a resounding; you didn't raise me at all, mom.

"Mom," Henry called through the door as she was dressing, post shower.

"What's up, kid?"

"Your boyfriends are fighting."

"What?" she cried, letting her head fall back in exasperation, "You're kidding me. About what?"

"Coffee." She could hear the shrug in his words.

Emma swore. "All right, go get your backpack. We gotta go. I'll take care of it."

"'Kay."

Sure enough when she entered the living room the men were bickering - nicely - polite smiles on their faces but bickering nevertheless. "Okay, whatever this is about, stop it. No! I don't want to hear it. Go. Out. I need to walk my son to school. You both are welcome here in the mornings but not like this. No! GO!"

Emma left while the men still squabbled with one another about who had the right to bring her coffee.

"Are you going to date Killian?" Henry asked as they strode casually through the fall leaves.

Emma sighed, "I don't know. I can tell there is a good man under there and I can see that he cares about me. He's changed a lot since we first met and that's great."

"So what's the problem?"

"It's complicated." How did you explain to a child that you wanted sparks? Was it possible to make him understand that dating was a huge pain in the ass so if she was going to do it then she needed it to be worth it? She needed her knees to tremble and her body to ache for the person.

"Oh. Well then are you going to date my dad?"

"I don't know, kid."

Would it be worth it with either of the men?

She had been happy with Neal once - right? But...she had been so young. And Hook he was...charming.

Ugh. She knew that the odds were she would never find out which was the right man - if either - unless she just jumped in fully and gave one a chance. But which? How could she choose? She cared about both of them deeply and in very different ways. It wasn't fair that she was taking this long. Maybe she should just flip a coin. That thought was depressing. Was this really all she had available to her? Two men who were wonderful in their own right but neither of which could make her shiver, make her weak at the knees and giddy all at once?

A soft breeze blew across her face and in it she felt the gentle appearance of fingers. It started at her temple softly and affectionately pushing her hair behind her ear. Then it kindly caressed down her jaw and settled at her chin. Slowly the phantom lifted it as if to say keep your head up before fading away like smoke.

Emma smiled, feeling lighter instantly.

In the pit of herself she knew she hoped it was a person because if it was then this was the person she wanted to give all of herself to. So kind. So warm. So strong.

That evening she settled into bed for some TV, feeling depressed. The confidence the touch had given her that morning had faded as her phone had blown up all afternoon with desperate texts from Hook and Neal. This wasn't right. She needed to make a choice. Now. They might be, as Regina called them, Tweedledee and Tweedledum, but they had feelings and she knew she was stringing them along.

But what if one of them was the touch and she broke it off with them, unaware?

Her mind whirled and spun, going over her choices again and again until the guilt threatened to take over and consume her.

She sucked. Why couldn't she make this choice?

She groaned as she rolled her shoulders, comfort washing through her.

It took her a long while to realize why her thoughts were calming themselves. The phantom touch had appeared, not doing much of anything. It was merely playing with her hair mindlessly as if it were also laying in bed watching old reruns of Friends on TV. She watched the golden tresses lift from her pillow, wind through invisible fingers, drop and begin all over again. She sighed and closed her eyes, guilt temporarily forgotten. If this was a person, were they sitting in bed right now watching old reruns of beloved TV shows? Is this something they were doing together or was she fooling herself into thinking that for the moment, she wasn't alone?

That night Emma dreamt of a faceless figure standing at the foot of her bed, it's long endless fingers hovering over her, possessively. At first she was filled with terror but as she looked into the featureless face the fear melted replaced by a sense that she knew this person, she knew it well. Though the face was blurry and indistinguishable, she could feel its warm smile, so when she felt the tender fingertips touch her shoulder she obeyed rolling onto her stomach in her usual sleep position. It was only a moment before she felt a ghostly caress across her back in a soft-handed swipe.

Emma's lips parted.

The invisible hand began to draw designs on her back, across her skin; the tank Emma wore was no obstacle.

Emma chuckled comfortably as the gentle fingers slid over either side of her ribs, tickling lightly.

She gasped as the ethereal hands continued down her body, squeezing mildly as it passed over her underwear and then down her thighs, inching just slightly inward so they hovered a breath from where Emma wanted to be touched the most. Her breathing picked up as her fingers clenched tightly in the bed sheets with anticipation, but the touch continued until it reached the heels of her feet and started it's way back up again. The caress lingered momentarily in the sensitive spot at her Achilles, the back of her knees, the underside of her rear, the center of her back, between her shoulders and then just behind her ears.

The room around her began to fill with a soft floral scent as though someone had lit a bergamot aromatherapy candle. It was calming and deeply stirring. She could feel a soft, warm breath flowing in and out behind her ear, breathing against her skin. A hand slid under her hipbone and squeezed, lifting her hips off the bed slightly and holding her in place. She could almost feel the warm body pressing against her back, almost feel a nose bury seductively in her hair, moaning as it took her into its senses.

The other hand reached between her skin and the bedding, cupping her breast. Emma's head came back, resting against the invisible shoulder behind her as she moaned with pleasure.

She rolled halfway over, leaning on the invisible body behind her and cried out as the nimble unseen fingers toyed first with one nipple and then the other, making them stand hard and to attention. She sighed and whined as invisible lips locked onto the back of her neck, the soft hand suddenly rougher on her sensitive skin, cupping and squeezing her breast delightfully.

She groaned.

"Emma."

She moaned in response, the center of her begging for attention.

"Emma."

Emma chewed her lip, her hips moving of its own accord, rubbing against the body she could not see behind her.

"Emma!"

She woke with a start, instantly sitting up in the dark of her room. "What?" She was groggy and confused, her body humming with the dream. Then she recognized her mother sitting at the edge of her bed, blanched and worried. She yelped, nearly falling backward out of bed in her rush to pull the blanket up over her excited body.

"Honey, are you okay?"

"Mom?" She blurted out, making Mary-Margaret smile. "Mom, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, honey, nothing." she softly caressed her cheek.

Emma cringed away, not because she didn't appreciate her mother's comfort but because - well, being touched by her mother after that dream felt plain wrong.

Mary-Margaret's eyebrows furrowed, but she did her best to pretend as though the cringe hadn't hurt her feelings.

"I'm sorry." Emma immediately started, "It's just that - my dream, um-"

"Yes? What is it, sweetie?"

Words fumbled around in her brain for a moment or two, considering ways she could confess without giving away too much. In the end, she just slumped back on the pillows and exhaled deeply, "I guess it was just a strange dream. I'm all right. Um, thank you."

Mary-Margaret frowned but nodded understanding the dismissal. With a pat on the leg and a sad glance over her shoulder, she left the room.

Emma needed her own place. She needed her own place so badly. One where her mother wouldn't come rushing in to save her from her sex dreams.

Staring up at the ceiling Emma sat and felt her body hum, hungry and demanding. She could feel the night breeze from her open window and even that soft touch was so tantalizing that she wanted to thrust into it and scream.

What the fuck was happening?

Frustrated, she numbly bounced her head off of the headboard. She was dreaming of the touch now? She was sure that hadn't been the actual phantom touch - it had never been more than fingertips, never hands, lips and definitely never a whole body. No, her brain had turned the phantom touch into a body and her unconscious self had been well on her way to having sex with it. What the hell did that mean?

She had to figure this out. She had to find out - if it was a person - who it was. Neal? Hook? Someone else entirely? Or if it was possibly in her head.

She woke the next morning grumpy and groggy. She showered, allowing the cold water to freeze her skin. But she still felt twitchy, itching and sensitive as if she had been interrupted while touching herself and could think of nothing but getting the guest out of the house so she could continue with her private dalliances.

She clambered downstairs, uncoordinated and was not surprised to see Neal sitting on one of the breakfast bar stools.

"Good morning." He grinned and handed her a cup of coffee.

"Morning."

"What's wrong?"

She took a chance, "Oh, I don't know. I was just up half the night." She waited for smug pride to flash through his eyes, proving that this was his evil work, but all she saw was the aggravating puppy dog concern.

"Why were you up? Are you alright? - Em? Uh...Emma?"

Emma hadn't realized she had been intensely studying Neal until Henry spoke up, milk dripping from his chin as he ate his morning cereal. "Mom?"

"Hmm? Er, never mind. I was just - weird dreams." She turned away, sipping the coffee. Grimacing she put it down in distaste. She felt hungover. Coffee was too strong; she needed something else, something lighter - fresher maybe.

Someone knocked on the door and Emma just sighed, she didn't need to answer it to know who it was. "Come in, Killian."

He entered, grinning, "How'd you know it was me?"

"Lucky guess." she grumbled.

The men greeted each other coldly and Emma just let her head fall into her hands.

"You alright, love?"

Emma snapped, "Look guys, I know that you are unhappy and you want answers. I need to give them to you, I know. It's not fair that I haven't but just for today can you please not fight? I feel like crap."

The men nodded and busied themselves with Henry, fawning over him since fawning over his mother would get them into trouble.

While Henry grinned, enjoying the attention Emma looked in the bags that the men had brought her, a bear claw and a maple bar. Her stomach squirmed. She didn't think she could handle the usual sickly sweet breakfast treats this morning.

Ugh, she needed a nap.

Another knock sounded at the door and all heads turned in unison.

"That's funny, all of our usual breakfast company is already here." David said, sitting next to his grandson to have a bowl of fruity cereal before work.

Emma scowled, but her father just grinned at her, good-naturedly.

"Uh, I'll get it." Henry decided and ran to the door. "Mom?"

Regina stepped in, smiling her special smile that was reserved only for Henry, "Good morning, sweetheart."

"Regina!" Emma grinned, surprised that she was pleased to see her. "What are you doing here? Um, everything okay?"

Regina visibly bit back a snarky comment and instead nodded, "I thought, if you don't mind, that I would walk with you and Henry to school today."

"Oh," Emma grinned, "Sure. Of course."

"Oh and here," she thrust a cup and a small bag into her hands. "I got breakfast for myself this morning and I thought you might be hungry but," she eyed the other bags and cups, "I see that has been taken care of."

Curious Emma sniffed the cup, a strong whiff of peppermint wafted through her and she sighed, "Peppermint tea?"

"Mmm, and a few slices of rye. The last of the batch, as it happens."

Emma sipped, relishing the clean taste of the tea. This was perfect. "Um, thank you - Regina."

Regina nodded tightly, awkward but willingly holding her eyes for just a moment. Emma saw something flicker there. She watched, curious but whatever it was it had faded so fast that she couldn't be sure of it's meaning. Perhaps the former Evil Queen was merely uncomfortable doing kind deeds for others; that wouldn't surprise Emma at all.

"Okay so," Emma turned to Henry, "you ready?"

He was grinning between his mother's, backpack over his shoulder, "Yup."

"Did you brush your teeth?" Regina asked, knowingly, taking over what would have been Emma's next question.

"Moooooom." Henry frowned.

"Henry, you know how this is going to go. Go brush your teeth." Emma chided.

"Okaaay." He slumped off toward the bathroom.

Emma took advantage of the moment to toast the bread and spread a little butter across its face, "How did you know this is my favorite?"

Regina shrugged, "I didn't. It's mine."

Emma grinned and offered her a bite. All eyebrows in the crowd of spectators shot skyward in unison as Regina hesitated for only a moment, watching the blonde then leaned forward and took a small bite.

Emma sipped her tea, chomping down another chunk unaware that the room had stopped functioning, all shocked to their core.

"So, uh, Swan," Hook started after a minute of silence, "the fall festival starts next Friday and,"

"Wait a minute," Neal started, "that's why I'm here. I've been planning it for weeks; no way am I going to let you ruin it."

"What?" Emma frowned.

"Look," Neal started, "we both want to take you to the fall festival next week. Why don't we compromise?" He had clearly decided that diplomacy would get him the furthest with Emma this morning.

"Compromise?" Hook's dark eyebrows furrowed, clearly unhappy that it was Neal who had come up with the wise tactic.

"Yeah, look, I'll take her to the opening night and you can take her to the closing."

"No way! There is nothing that happens on the last night. That's why everyone goes to the first."

Instantly the men started quarreling. Emma leaned against the sink and Regina joined her, watching the show with contemplation.

"It's very attractive, isn't it?"

Regina chuckled, "Well, Ms. Swan, I think until you choose one, the other, both or neither this is what you get."

Emma chuckled, "You're not wrong."

"Do you," Regina shifted awkwardly, "which one do you think you will choose?"

"Um, right now I don't think I would choose either."

"That's rather telling, is it not?"

Emma rolled her eyes.

"Okay, Emma," Neal turned to her, "what about tonight? I thought we could watch a movie or something." He grinned, his mischievous intentions barely hidden. Hook looked like he wanted to knock his lights out.

"Tonight? Oh uh,"

"Actually, we were planning a movie night with our son tonight." Regina provided.

Emma did her best not to let the shock show on her face. Since when did Regina come to her aid? She usually enjoyed Emma creating a mess and then drowning in it.

"Oh then," Neal started, but Regina cut him off.

"Mothers only." Regina's lips pressed into a thin line. "Sorry." she added as an after thought.

"We are?" Henry asked, bounding into the room excited.

"Mmm, Swan/Mills movie night." Emma agreed as if this idea was not entirely new to her.

"Great! Are we ready to go?"

The women nodded.

"Awesome. Let's go, Swan/Mills." Henry grinned at his mothers as they followed him through the door.

That night wasn't the last Emma spent with Henry and Regina that week. As a matter of fact, it seemed that every time one of the men requested her time the name Regina popped from her lips as a reflex.

It was surprisingly fun at the Mills mansion and Emma found that with a legitimate-ish excuse to avoid the attentions of the men, her life began to feel steady again. The phantom touch eased to the back of her mind as it remained absent. As a matter of fact it was nearly forgotten by the time it appeared again…on the evening of the fall festival.