Author's Note: Once again, this story ended up being far longer than I ever intended. (Seriously, I was planning on thing being like, a three- or four-chapter minific.) And it's all because you guys are such amazingly awesome readers that I don't want to stop writing. Thank you so much for all the comments and favorites and follows. I hope you've enjoyed this story! It was a fun one for me to write. :)

For a few blissful moments, Emma was alone. Not that she minded the family time at all; loath as she was to admit it, there was a small part of her that was thrilled to pieces with it. Somewhere deep inside her was an excited little girl who wanted nothing more than to bask in the love and the togetherness. But a lot of times that little girl's wishes were overshadowed by the adult who was unused to love and togetherness and needed some space.

And not that she did anything special with her alone time. She spent this particular few moments in utter domesticity. She made her bed, making sure to tuck her baby blanket back in its hiding place. Then she turned to get started on Henry's bed. The kid had made breakfast and helped with the dishes, so she figured she owed him.

Just as she finished making her son's bed, she heard the unmistakable sound of someone starting to climb up the metal staircase to the loft. Emma took a deep breath, bracing herself for either a tentative knock on the doorjamb from her father or an exuberant entrance from her son. After a couple of footfalls, though, she realized who was coming.

"I don't know whether I should be impressed with myself or kind of freaked out that I'm starting to recognize the sound of your footsteps," she said with a little smirk as soon as her mother appeared at the top of the stairs.

Snow looked surprised for a moment before returning the smirk. "To be perfectly fair, it's not like it's that hard to figure out. Henry would be bounding up the steps two at a time and Charming, bless him, has a tendency to be rather heavy on his feet on lazy Sundays like this."

After a brief moment of thought, Emma smiled and gave her mother a nod. Everything she'd said was absolutely true. "This is probably the laziest Sunday I've had in … well, years. It's going to be noontime by the time I get dressed."

A grin curled onto Snow's lips as she glanced down at her own sleep attire. "Same here, but I figure we're allowed a lazy Sunday every now and then."

Emma nodded again, this time a little uncomfortably. How was it that her mother managed to slip vague – and sometimes not so vague – life lessons into the most innocent of conversations? Not only that, but Snow tended to lead with vague life lessons when she wanted to talk.

Emma gave a quiet sigh as she sank down on the edge of her bed. "I know you didn't come all the way up here just to tell me to enjoy the occasional lazy Sunday," she said, giving a slight nod in the direction of the empty spot beside her.

Her mother accepted the silent invitation, easing down next to her. "I'm sorry for springing the baby blanket on you."

She winced almost imperceptibly. She'd thought – hoped, really – that putting it away would have been the end of it. Out of sight, out of mind, and all that. Apparently not. "It's okay."

"I wasn't trying to make you uncomfortable," Snow continued. Emma groaned inwardly; she should have known that a simple, dismissive okay wouldn't have put an end to the conversation. This was one of those times when she really missed Mary Margaret Blanchard; she didn't remember the teacher being this overtly pushy. "It's just … not counting when I was Mary Margaret, the last time I saw that blanket was when I handed you to your father to take you to the wardrobe, and now ..." Emma tore her gaze from Snow's, which forced the rest of Snow's statement out in a rush. "I know it's silly, but I just wanted to be able to use it to comfort you, the way I should have been able to comfort you your whole life."

Well, then. This was far more than Emma had been expecting but somehow – she didn't even want to hazard a guess as to how – she knew exactly what to do and what to say. Swallowing hard, she pulled the blanket in question out from underneath her pillow, unfolded it, and handed it over to her mother. "You did give me comfort my whole life. Look at all the frayed yarn and loose stitches." She pointed to a couple of small circular stains no bigger than water droplets. "That right there? Dribbled chocolate ice cream no one was ever able to get out. This blanket didn't just get stuffed into a box and put on a shelf. I used this sucker, every day and every night."

Snow ran her hand over the soft yarn, blinking away the sudden tears that had welled in her eyes. A few select spots were worn where her daughter's little hands had frequently gripped. Then she spotted an almost threadbare section of purple ribbon. She grasped it between her thumb and forefinger.

"That was exactly what I used to do," Emma said, pinching another section and running the ribbon between her fingers to demonstrate the action for her mother. "I liked the way the satin felt on my fingertips."

A gentle, nostalgic smile lit Snow's face. "I used to run the satin trim of the blanket on my bed in the palace between my fingers for the same reason."

Emma's breath caught in her throat. All kids must like the way satin feels on their fingers, she thought, because the notion of sharing such an innocent trait with her mother was a bit too much for her at the moment. She still had things she needed to say, and if she got distracted now, her courage would wane and those things would be left unsaid. "Even though you weren't there when I was growing up," she finished, softly and a lot more sagely than was typical for discussions about her past, "you were still there for me, in a way. I had this blanket from you. It was a poor substitute, sure, but it was a lot better than nothing."

The tears that had been building in Snow's eyes finally spilled over as she cupped Emma's face in her hands. "Thank you."

Emma allowed the contact for a long moment before finally pulling away. "Yeah, yeah," she murmured, smiling.

Snow smiled as well. Her baby's walls were back up but not quite as high as before. She handed Emma back the blanket and watched as she folded it and stowed it back under her pillow. "I suppose I should let you get dressed," she said, pushing herself to her feet.

"I do kind of want to move the day along a little bit," Emma admitted. Not that the family had a busy day ahead of them; the only thing on anyone's agenda was deciding on a couple of movies to watch.

Snow nodded and brushed her thumb over Emma's cheek before heading back downstairs. Once alone, Emma let out a heavy breath. That was certainly a conversation she hadn't planned on having.

After taking a moment to let her emotions settle, Emma stood and began pulling clothes out of her dresser. Just as she turned to head down to the bathroom to change, she heard Henry bounding up the steps. He wasn't taking them two at a time as she and Snow had joked, but he was still quite clearly full of energy. Emma sighed and sank back down on the edge of her bed, admitting defeat. Getting dressed this morning was apparently not in the cards.

"Hi, Mom," Henry said as he stepped over to his dresser to pick out his clothes for the day. "I have a question for you."

What a surprise, Emma thought as she gave an indulgent roll of her eyes. "Oh, yeah? Shoot."

"Am I banned from ever waking you up during a thunderstorm again?"

The question took Emma by such surprise that she laughed. "No, you can still wake me up if you want to. Just, you know, don't expect to do what we did last night every time there's a thunderstorm."

Having chosen his outfit in a fraction of a second as eleven-year-old boys were wont to do, Henry slid his dresser drawers closed. "Okay."

Then he headed back downstairs, clothes in hand. Emma assumed he was heading to the bathroom to change. Maybe, just maybe, she might have a few minutes to herself now to get dressed. She held her breath, waited, and finally deemed it safe when she heard the mumble of her parents' voices as they tried to narrow down the choice of movies for the family to watch.

It was as she was running a brush through her hair that the tone of Henry's "okay" registered. That wasn't an agreeing "okay." That was a "Yeah, sure, Mom" "okay." As in he had every intention of expecting to do what they did last night every time there was a thunderstorm.

Emma sighed. This family thing was going to be the death of her, wasn't it? Still, she thought, allowing a little smile, I suppose there are worse ways to go.