[A/N: just a brief little idea for Captain Charming Friday I had that @sancocnutclub made me run with. enjoy!]
Emma and Killian had always known parenthood would be an adventure. They just hadn’t expected it to go this way once they were, well, expecting. Even several months later, Emma laughed to think of that conversation with her mom that was just the start of their world turning on its head.
They’d met for lunch and been discussing their hopes of adding to their families—though in very little detail, for Emma’s sake.
“I’m a little nervous to be pregnant again,” she’d admitted. “But I know it’ll be worth it.”
“Well, there’s always the chance it’s not you,” Snow offered in a helpful tone, but it just left Emma confused.
“Uh, why wouldn’t it be me?” she asked. “Who else would it be?”
“Oh no—you don’t know,” Snow said, aghast.
“Know what?”
“When you have True Love, it’s pure chance whether the man or woman carries the baby. Literally 50-50 odds. It’s just luck that I had both you and Neal.” Then she tilted her head, confused. “I thought Killian would have told you that?”
“He would have if he knew, so I’m assuming he doesn’t,” Emma replied. “Oh—oh crap. And he’s been fighting a stomach bug lately.”
Snow just raised her eyebrows, curious.
And now, 30-some weeks later, Killian was the one on the cusp of delivering their baby (a girl!) into the world. He’d been just as shocked as she was at the revelation, having been previously ignorant of that bit of lore, but once he’d accepted it, it had been smooth sailing—though he groaned each day at the increasing size of his waistline as their baby grew.
To add to the joy (or chaos), it turned out that David was also expecting; Emma’s new little sister was due just a couple weeks later. He’d had a few more gripes than Killian but was otherwise taking it well.
Killian had confessed to her around the start of the third trimester that he was glad David had ended up pregnant, too; it made him feel less odd, even if their neighbors didn’t find it out of the ordinary, and he appreciated being able to share the experience with his best friend.
The guys were constantly swapping stories and advice, while also not-so-subtly competing with each other—first to see who lasted longer in their regular clothes (David, ever the fan of forgiving cotton knits), then to see who would end up with the biggest bump (Killian, who carried it all out front). They also had each other to commiserate with when the babies wouldn’t stop kicking them at all hours of the night, or when their cravings got weird, or when they got a glance of their stretch marks in the mirror.
Killian was always a step ahead of David, though, which was good for the prince as a preview of what was to come, but meant that Killian was on his own for a few things—most dramatically, being the first to wear maternity jeans and a belly band, but most painfully, Braxton-Hicks and the day his belly finally dropped. (At least they both had their wives for those moments.)
It was odd for both the girls to be on the other side of being an expectant parent, but having been through it previously made them more adept at helping their husbands. However, they also got some giggles out of certain situations—like when Killian insisted his old tshirts still fit, exposing his belly for all the world to see, or when David attempted to milk the cows into his third trimester. The ladies also insisted on weekly pictures of the boys side-by-side; Snow already had a scrapbook going—because what were the odds of them ever being in this situation again?
So here they were—at 38 weeks for Killian and 36 for David—posing for their photos; Killian was feeling tired and over it, though looking forward to the end result, while David was still feeling great (of which Killian was both jealous and incapable of comprehending).
Killian waddled over to their sofa and collapsed on it once they were done, legs spread to let his belly rest between them, letting out a long sigh and resting his hand on the apex of his generous bump as he felt his daughter move within.
“That bad, huh?” David asked as he sat (much more gracefully) next to him; his belly still sait fairly high on his frame, but was beginning to drift lower.
“Aye,” Killian told him. “Give it a couple weeks and you’ll know.”
“I dunno,” David countered. “Even at 40 weeks, I’m not sure I’ll be that big—hey!” He was promptly punched in the arm.
“Boys? Stop it,” Snow scolded from the kitchen.
“Yeah, stop it,” Killian parroted, then stuck out his tongue.
David rolled his eyes. “Must be why that kid is so big—she’s already full of sass.”
He promptly got hit again, but then hissed with a different kind of pain and his hands rushed to his belly.
“I swear, if you go into labor before me…” Killian grumbled.
David relaxed a minute later. “No, it was a practice one,” he waved off. “There’s no way you’ll outlast me, not at that size.”
(Emma was the one to smack him upside the head that time.)
(However, he was right, but only just: it was three more hormonal weeks before Killian finally went into labor—only a few hours before David did, because why wouldn’t that happen in Storybrooke?
Both delivered healthy daughters—Alice Margaret Jones and Ruth Hope Nolan—in the wee early hours of the morning. And they eventually discovered the other perk of being pregnant at the same time: raising their babies together.)
thank you so much for reading! tagging a few: @wyntereyez @jennjenn615 @superadam54 @ashley-knightingale @justsomewhump @teamhook @mathiaskejseren @88infinity88
This is all @annytecture ‘s fault. Well, and Colin and Josh for being bicep thirst traps today. But Ann enabled it.
It wasn’t really that hot of a day, but warm enough to be sitting on the back porch at the farmhouse, where Emma and Snow were sharpening swords while the guys took care of some work around the place. (Neal was inside, playing with a toddling Hope.)
But apparently it was warm enough to quickly work up a sweat inside an unventilated barn. Killian, flushed, emerged from the suffocating structure and strolled across the yard, deftly unbuttoning the plaid work shirt he’d borrowed from Dave.
“You alright?” Emma asked when he alighted on the steps up to the house, peeling the sweaty fabric from his shoulders.
“Aye, love; just overdressed,” he breathed, shucking off the stifling shirt and hanging it neatly on the stair rail. “But perhaps a water break in a few minutes would be welcome.”
“We’ve got you,” Snow said, because Emma had suddenly gone very silent. And it was pretty obvious why. Whatever they were doing in there was obviously strenuous, and clearly required some upper body effort. And under the plaid, Killian had only been wearing a tank top. It wasn’t a term she’d ever really liked, but she was pretty sure Killian was hosting a gun show: it was no secret he was a strong guy, but—damn! How had she never noticed those biceps? Even she wanted a squeeze.
(She’d let her daughter thirst over the rest of his upper body display, which was also—damn.)
About 15 minutes later, both guys emerged from the sauna-like barn, and Snow had a pitcher of lemonade at the ready, as stereotypical as it was. Emma was quick to bring a glass to Killian, nearly spilling it as she hopped off the porch to greet him.
“What’s that all about?” Dave panted as Emma brushed past, then joined Snow for his own cup.
“Nothing,” Snow said too quickly. “What are you guys doing in there?”
“Just moving equipment around; why?”
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Emma leaning close to Killian, hands on those biceps, tracing their curve with her thumbs.
But Snow had her own spectacle in front of her: David, in a T-shirt that was clinging to all parts of him, but especially his strained arm muscles.
Without thinking, Snow’s hands drifted to her husband’s equally (if not more, in her opinion) impressive biceps, and took a long moment to enjoy how firm they felt under her palms. She knew what those arms were capable of and was getting a vivid reminder of it.
“Keep up the good work,” she finally said, then pressed up on her toes to give him a less-than-chaste kiss.
He tried to chase after her when she pulled back, but was grinning. “Guess I picked the right shirt, huh?”
“Definitely.”
“Couldn’t let him have all the fun.”
Snow rolled her eyes, but another glance to the yard saw Emma’s fingers drifting to her man’s chest and the space between the two of them becoming almost nonexistent. “Oh, I think he’ll be having some,” Snow assessed.
David looked over his shoulder, but just shrugged. “I told him the tank was a good idea. And I don’t care as long as I do, too.”
It was closing in on 2:00 in the morning as Charming finished setting up the living room.
As he was heading to bed he turned to look at soak in the view one more time. His dog asleep next to his pillows close to the fireplace. The fire cast a warm, cozy glow on the living space. In the corner sat a table, set holding a forgotten glass of wine from the dinner earlier that night.
All the presents placed on the right side of the tree furthest from the fire. The tree lit and decorated with ornaments each carrying a story.
The apple was a gift Regina to Snow that they all shared a laugh over. He was still amazed Henry found an ornament resembling Emma's bug. The disney ornaments were bought to be ironic.
As he was remenacing a small mouse scittered into sight and stopped next to the dog. The mouse scavenged for a moment from crumbs and then left as fast as he arrived. With that Charming turned and head to his bed to get some much needed sleep.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Mama Papa WAKE UP!" Neil shouted and jumped on his parents bed.
Snow bolted up, "what? What's wrong?"
"It's Christmas Mama!"
Realization dawned of Snow just then and she tackled her son into the bed. "You scared mama," she chastised the little boy as she tickled him.
Neil was sent into a fit of laughter wiggling and kicking try to escape the tickles. That's when Charming groaned awake. Neil jumped on his papa making him finally open his eyes. "Papa it's Christmas!"
"It is? Did Santa come?"
The little boys eyes went wide at the question. He was so excited about it being Christmas, he didn't even go downstairs, he just went straight to wake his parents. "I'll go check," he said as he jumped off the bed bolting out of the room.
Snow and Charming chuckled at their sons antics. Snow curled around her husband laying her head on his shoulder, "morning." A gruff morning was her response.
"MAMA PAPA SANTA WAS HERE!!" Their son yelled from down the hall along with the sound of their dog barking in the living room.
Snow giggled "we should probably go down there before he tears the place up."
"Two more minutes," Charming whispered back.
Snow got up and left the room. Charming A eyes were closed again and he enjoyed the relaxing peace of his room.
"PAPA!!"
For about a minute.
He opened his eyes and turned his head to see his son clasping his arm trying to drag him out of bed. "COME ON!"
Charming couldn't help but laugh. "Okay. okay. I'm getting up."
He allowed his son to drag him down the hall and into there living room where they sat and opened presents. Their smiles never leaving their face for it was a Merry Christmas.
XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX
Merry Christmas everyone! Wrote this while waiting to go next Christmas event so don't judge to hard.
Anon prompted: No sleeping curse. Snow returns to Charming after her night out with Emma and Regina.
II
Being woken up by his wife kissing him is not really that strange – in fact, it's fairly normal – but Charming still has to admit this is rather unusual. Because Snow, Snow is wearing a horned Viking helmet and grinning cheekily at him. She has straddled him, running her hands up and down his chest, and she looks quite, quite pleased with herself.
“Snow,” he says, taking in the flush in her cheeks and the look in her eyes. “Hi.”
“Hi Chaaaaarming,” she sing-songs, kissing him again.
“You're drunk,” he observes, feeling amused.
“Princesses do not get drunk,” she counters, stabbing a finger against his chest.
“Bandits do,” he says, his eyes twinkling.
She pouts. “Not fair.”
“What isn't, my darling bandit?” he asks softly, drawing his hand across her back lovingly.
“Bandit and princess,” she murmurs, fighting not to slur the words. “Two.”
He chuckles. “Need I remind you that I am also two? A shepherd and your Prince Charming?”
“No,” she says, and he raises an eyebrow. “You, always Prince Charming. Always, even when a shepherd.”
Her words are wonderfully touching in ways he can't put to words, so he simply presses a kiss against her wrist that is loving yet reverent at the same time.
“Always Charming,” she repeats, and he lifts his head to kiss her, his lips caressing hers with infinite love and tenderness.
“Always Snow,” he says against her lips, and she sighs happily. “As a bandit or as a princess – or as a Viking.”
She giggles. “Won a bet.”
“I see,” he says, wondering just want kind of bet his wife made to result in that prize. “You went out with Emma and Regina and returned with a Viking helmet. I really shouldn't be surprised. I knew what I was getting myself into when I married you.”
She nods sagely. “You married me.”
“I did,” he agrees. “I married you, my darling princess bandit Viking, who is a little bit drunk.”
“Little bit drunk,” she admits, leaning down. “Very horny.”
In more than one way, he discovers.
Snow and Charming are the perfect fairy tale couple, the ideal relationship that we all aspire to have. But, what happens to the king and queen of romance when one of them starts developing a weird sleeping habit? What will be the weird habit and who will develop it? YOU decide!
(Eeee! This is SO CUTE!)
“Are you all right?” Emma asked her mother. The two of them were sitting at Granny’s, waiting for their breakfast before Snow’s day at school and Emma’s shift at the station. It was a lovely thing, sharing a meal with her mother and catching each other up on their somewhat separate lives, and it would have been perfect except for one thing: Snow looked like she was seconds away from falling asleep.
“Yes, sorry,” Snow replied, swiping her hand over her face. “I haven’t been sleeping well lately.”
A thousand things ran through Emma’s head. Was something wrong with her brother? He shouldn’t still be teething; they’d all experienced the worst of that a few months ago. He’d been sleeping through the night a while now, so that couldn’t be it. Was something wrong with her mom? Or her dad? “What, is it Neal? Are you okay? Is it Dad?”
Snow’s face grew impossibly kind when she realized she’d sent her little girl’s brain running down all kinds of concerned paths. “Oh, Emma, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. Everyone’s fine. It’s just that your father has picked up a habit of sleepwalking lately.”
“What? Why?”
“Your guess is as good as mine, baby. Maybe it’s a lingering aftereffect from the latest sleeping curse? All I know is that I’ve been waking up at all hours of the night to find him doing everything from making a snack to putting his coat and shoes on to work in the barn, all while sound asleep.”
Emma raised her eyebrows. “What do you do?”
“Gently coax him back into bed and wait until he settles,” she shrugged. “Then I try to go back to sleep myself.”
And clearly, the missed hours had been taking their toll on her. “Have you mentioned any of this to Dad?”
“No,” Snow said softly. “I don’t want to embarrass him.”
Emma sighed. “You’ve got to let him know, Mom. Or at least hide the keys to the cars at night. What happens if he gets up and tries to drive?”
From the way Snow’s eyes widened, Emma gathered she hadn’t thought about that before. “All right, sweetheart. I’ll talk to him.”
—–
That night as Snow and Charming climbed into bed, Snow looked over at her husband. He looked so exhausted. He probably didn’t even understand why he was so tired. He didn’t seem to have any memory of his somnambulistic escapades but they couldn’t be relaxing or restorative.
Snow sighed heavily. Emma was right; it was time to tell him. “Charming?”
“Yes, Snow?”
“I have something to tell you.”
And so she told him everything. She told him about that first night when she caught him making toast and only realized he was asleep when he didn’t respond to her questions. She told him about the time she slipped the phone from his hand before he actually place a (surely nonsense) call to Killian. She told him about the time she walked him back inside after he’d headed into the backyard in his pajamas and bare feet. And she told him about the time she slid the remote control out of his grip as he sat in front of the TV with his finger on the Channel Up button.
Snow didn’t know what she expected Charming to do with this information but one thing was for certain. She had not at all expected Charming to bust out laughing.
But that was what he did. He laughed so hard he had to wipe tears from his eyes. “What’s so funny?” Snow asked, thoroughly confused. Because honestly, this wasn’t funny. She was tired and she was worried and she was not at all laughing.
“It’s funny because I’ve been doing the same things for you,” Charming said once he’d managed to calm himself down. “You, my darling wife, have taken a liking to attempting to bake in your sleep. Which would be fine, except for the fact that you actually turn the oven on.”
All right, now Snow was laughing. “I hope I’m trying to bake something decent,” she giggled, feeling her cheeks turn hot.
“You don’t ever get that far,” Charming assured her. “I take you back to bed before you even get out the flour.”
After a few more minutes of shared giggles, the two of them calmed down. “So what do we do?”
“Ride it out,” Charming shrugged. “I figured it’s got to be some kind of weird side effect of the sleeping curse. Hopefully it’ll go away on its own like the red room nightmares.”
“Hopefully. We could also mention it to Regina, see if there’s anything in her magical arsenal that could help.”
“That, too,” Charming smiled.
Plan set, Snow snuggled under the covers. Charming switched off the bedside lamp and settled down with her. “Good night, Snow. Happy travels.”
Snow chuckled. What would she do without her husband? “Good night, Charming.”
The video is so shaky that it takes David a minute to realize that it’s Snow taking recording it at all. It doesn’t help that there’s a large Viking helmet on her head, or that her eyes refuse to focus on the camera she’s poorly holding in front of her.
“David!” Snow says, her voice commanding and, yes, very drunk. He sighs as the camera jostles again. “David, I love you. And you should snow - “ she stops and snorts, giggling against the back of her hand for a minute before schooling her features back to a serious look. “You should know, that Vikings are fun to drunk with. Go drink with them while I’m sleeping.”
He casts a glance at the Viking helmet at the foot of their bed before scrubbing a hand down his face.
“Also,” his wife’s voice dips down low. “If you weren’t sleeping, we wouldn’t be sleeping. If you know what I mean!”
“We all know what you mean,” Regina says somewhere off to the side, clearly needing to assist his intoxicated wife into bed. “Wait until I’m gone to do... whatever it is you’re going to do to him.”
In the background of the video, the door slams to signal Regina’s exit, and Snow looks back at the camera, slightly steadier, slightly sadder, but her eyes still full of love.
“I miss you.” He’s about to whisper his return love to her, but she belches loudly, erupting in a fit of giggles again as she slurs out an I love you and ends the video.
He turns his head to see her asleep, still dressed in the outfit she left in, snoring lightly. He’ll be up all night, now, but it was worth it if it meant Snow getting out and having fun. Besides, he doubts he’ll be bored for long. There’s always another crisis around the corner.
At the end of another day, another shift, she looks down at her husband, lost to his cursed slumber, and she feels the weariness right down to her soul.
She hadn’t known she could feel so tired, so… she doesn’t want to think ‘defeated’, but Gods…
It’s time for her to kiss him awake, to take his place, his turn in their shared-but-not life, and she just doesn’t want to.
He’s just as worn out to the very heart of him, she knows. Just as done. He needs her every bit as much as she needs him, maybe even more.
The Evil Queen could not have cursed them better if she tried.
It’s been weeks. Months, perhaps? She’s lost track, time losing its meaning when you’re just trying to get through, when half your life - more, even, as Charming has taken more than his share of the time trying to protect her from the horrors of being awake - has been taken out of your control, stolen from your grip.
She doesn’t particularly care to count anyway.
They’re no closer to finding a solution, a cure; the closest they’ve come to anything resembling help at all was Regina’s finding a way to alter the curse so that they were no longer trapped in the fiery netherworld while taking their turn asleep. Rather, at least, at very least now their time lost is to their own dreams, be they what they may.
Nightmares often still, given the way they suffer while awake, but at least not trapped in a literally burning hell.
The emotional agony of being without each other is bad enough. Adding in physical pain - especially his - was more than she could bear.
And looking at Charming now, his face seems more relaxed in sleep than she’s seen it in some time. Perhaps his dreams tonight are good, calm. She hopes so.
She desperately wishes to join him in that peace.
And it suddenly occurs to her that she can, perhaps. There’s no rule that says they have to switch off when it’s time to… and certainly, if there was Charming had already quite spectacularly blown that to bits a few weeks back, when he’d kept himself going for over forty-eight hours straight on willpower and fury and protectiveness of her alone.
There’s no emergency that needs one of their attentions right this minute. The baby is sleeping sound. Emma has given herself a ‘timeout’ night that quite clearly was meant for her and Killian alone, no disturbances wanted.
She can… she can do this.
Just crawl into bed beside her husband, pull his arm around her body, curl up with her head on his chest, in just the right place to hear his heartbeat steady and true and matching up with hers.
She cannot be awake with him. But she can be asleep.
After all this time, it’s finally occurred to her that she can at least have that, still, despite everything.
She can let herself fall asleep without taking on the curse to do it.
Cuddled up against Charming in a way she hasn’t been in so long, too long, she feels her eyes almost immediately fall heavy.
And with her eyes closed, drifting off to dream, she could almost believe that everything was normal, and all was well.
It’s always a funny thing, to know when you’re dreaming as you’re dreaming it.
She’s home in the way that she hasn’t been in a lifetime, wandering the woods of the Enchanted Forest, finding them completely untouched by time or magic. They are, in every way, the forests she remembers of her youth.
In this dream, the curse has not happened. What a thing.
The curse had left such a mark on her soul, she’s never before dreamt of the lands she was meant to rule unravaged by it. They’d been destroyed in her imaginings ever since.
But now, she finds them strong and pure and as utterly magical as she remembers them.
She walks them in a gown of white silk and feathers that she remembers from another time, awakened from another sleeping curse; her hair flowing down her back in a cascade of long midnight curls.
She is every bit the princess just out of the coffin of glass.
And as she clears the tree line to come to the lake, she somehow, impossibly, finds the prince.
She’s frozen, entirely frozen.
He’s there. Just there, right in front of her. Sitting, his back to her, looking out at the lake.
They got engaged here, she thinks inanely. Just right here.
And now they’re there. Just right there.
It’s a dream, she thinks, telling herself it desperately. It’s just a dream. And she should walk away now, so as to make it hurt less.
But she hasn’t seen him, hasn’t been with him in so long. She cannot walk away. Not from him. She’s never been able to, not really - not unless it was to save his life.
And there’s no life saving needed here.
It’s not real, she thinks, even as she finally feels herself start moving forward.
But then again, she thinks, when it comes to her and Charming, stranger things have most definitely happened.
Of course this is all in her head… but that doesn’t mean it’s not in his too.
“Charming,” she whispers, when she gets close enough for him to hear.
He stiffens. He does not move, does not turn, but she’s spent forever studying him, and she knows he’s heard, knows he’s holding himself tenser than he was before.
He seems frozen still. She knows the feeling.
He starts shaking his head. “Not real,” she hears him mutter.
She’s thrown herself in front of him, down on her knees, hands strong on his face before she can even register moving.
“I am,” she cries. “Charming, I’m right here, I’m with you, it’s me.”
“That’s not possible,” he breathes, even as he stares at her almost hungrily, as if trying to take every bit of her in, her face, her eyes (her open, awake eyes).
(Again, she knows the feeling).
“This is not possible,” he repeats. “I know I’m dreaming, and I never dream of you anymore. The curse won’t let us have even that.”
She wants to laugh, wants to cry, seems to be doing both and neither.
“It can when we find the loophole,” she tells him. “I can’t believe we went this long without trying it…”
“Trying what?” he demands.
“I fell asleep,” she laughs, thrilled with a delight she hasn’t felt in far too long. “And I didn’t wake you up. I didn’t want to. I wanted to sleep with you again, so I just crawled into bed with you without waking you first. We’re both dreaming right now. That’s why we can be with each other like this.”
The grin has worked its way onto his face slow and sure, and she knows he believes in this now.
“Love true enough to pop you into my dreams?” he teases.
“We share a heart,” she reminds. “Stranger things, and all.”
“Thank Gods for it,” he says, serious now, wiping at her tears.
Her smile falls. “It’s gotten us cursed.”
“I don’t give a damn about the curse. We’ll find a way out, we always do. Especially now that we know we can do this, we know there’s a way for us to talk and see and be with each other. Never regret it, Snow. Never regret our heart. It’s kept me alive, kept me with you, and it’ll keep us together forever, even through the worst.”
“I love you so much,” she tells him, desperate with it. She feels like she could explode out of her own skin, loving him so much, needing him so badly, and she throws herself into his lap, legs wrapping around his waist. He catches her with ease, in rhythm with her immediately, as always, and his hands are tight and strong at her back, gripping and holding her tight, and Gods, Gods, Gods she wants him, and she finally, finally lets herself kiss him and…
Light explodes.
Her eyes fly open, and she sits straight up, suddenly wide awake.
And her tears are immediate and fierce.
“No,” she sobs. “No, no, no, go back to sleep, go back to sleep…”
“Snow.”
She freezes.
The arms around her are tight and sure, and given the hands rubbing soothing circles on her back, belonging to a man very much awake.
Charming is awake.
And so is she.
The laughter is startled right out of her, a fiercely abrupt switch from the tears, and he is quick to join her in it. It’s desperate and more than a little hysterical, and theirs, theirs, theirs.
“Oh my Gods,” she gasps. “Charming…”
Whatever she was going to say, it’s lost to his kiss.
David and Mary Margaret both slept fitfully, Emma had tossed and turned a little but was too exhausted mentally and physically to wake up, with every turn David and Mary Margaret woke up. Emma and Mary Margaret both settled a little better as she cuddled up to Mary Margaret but David still lay on the cusp of waking as soon as Emma moved closer to the centre of the bed again David’s eyes opened watching her. He wasn’t sure how but somehow she seemed even younger than she had before.
When the first curse broke, and he saw Emma for the first time as his daughter, his eyes had automatically searched her face, trying to see the baby she had once been as he raced through their castle. He had just about been able to make it out, but mostly he saw that his daughter was an imperfect copy of his wife, yet perfect in her own way, a perfect Emma.
But now it was clear for him to see the baby she had once been, the shape of her chin as a newborn was easier to make out on baby Emma, and the shape of her face, the shape of her nose, even her ears. It was still easy to see Mary Margaret in her, and she was still perfect. She always had been.
As David watched her Emma, she moved a little further away from Mary Margaret’s arm so she was completely by herself in the centre of the bed, she curled up tighter in a ball with only her broken arm sticking out. David was brought out of his thoughts as she began to whimper and curl closer in on herself.
He felt his blood boil as she whimpered. He was a second away from climbing out of the bed and going and hunting down the people who had made his little girl so scared she had nightmares. He was sure they would be more scared of him with a sword. He could feel the anger like fire burning through his body, like a beast he was desperately trying to restrain, something both unnatural and a force of nature.
He took a couple of deep breaths before he gently stroked his hand through Emma’s hair, he didn’t want her to wake up or somehow know how angry he was, as he knew that she would probably interpret it as anger towards her or something she did.
He felt his anger dissipate a little as she uncurled and moved slightly towards him. He continued to stroke her hair trying to calm her so she wouldn’t wake.
Emma’s next movement was more pronounced that her others had been, her whimpering quietened down as she cuddled right up to David, half lying on his chest.
David’s anger disappeared completely as her head rested on his chest, her golden curls curled even more dramatically after her tossing and turning. One hand rested lightly on the back of her head, as it always did when he hugged her, while the other gently stroked her back. Emma’s stopped making noises and fell back into a deep sleep. David’s hand drifted over the raised line which Mary Margaret had told him about. How could anyone hurt a child? He held her tighter and felt the steady movements of her chest against his as she took steady breaths in her sleep.
“It’s okay,” he whispered as her hand held tightly to his t-shirt, “I’m here, daddy’s here. Nothing bad is going to happen to you while daddy and mommy are here.” He knew she was asleep so couldn’t hear him, and he knew he was talking to her as though she was younger, but it just felt right, as though he needed to say it. He felt a hand on his own and he stopped rubbing Emma’s back and looked at his wife.
Mary Margaret gave David a sympathetic smile, she had heard everything, naturally. She had woken up as Emma had started to whimper and head towards David, she didn’t mind that Emma wanted her dad, even in her sleep. Despite how many protests Emma would make if she said it, Emma was a daddy’s girl, through and through.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” David whispered to his wife, assuming that it was his whispering to Emma that had woke her. He moved his right arm up for her to move closer, which she did straight away, as she cuddled into his side her hand carefully stroked Emma’s curls.
“You didn’t.” Her eyes finally looked away from Emma to David. “It’s almost time for Neal’s three am screeching.” She joked lovingly, despite the sleep exhaustion they already faced with him, it was plain to see that neither of them minded being woken every few hours by their son. “And I heard her.” Her eyes fell to where Emma’s left hand was holding tight to David’s pyjama t-shirt, she smiled a little, it was an adorable sight – their tiny daughter cuddled on top of David’s chest and holding tight to him, she too was aware of how young she looked when she slept.
“She’s adorable, isn’t she?” David said reading her mind. “She probably would have had me wound around her little finger.”
Mary Margaret chuckled quietly so she wouldn’t wake Neal or Emma. “She already does.”
David chuckled in response but didn’t disagree. He carried on watching her. “I like the yellow cast.” There was a smile at his face, not at Emma needing a cast, but at the fact it was a yellow one in the shade of her bug. He knew that they should both probably be trying to get more sleep but neither could make themselves miss this moment. Plus unspoken words hung in the air, but neither could bring themselves to say them, even as they tiptoed closer to the subject.
“She chose it herself.” Mary Margaret smiled. She saw David raise an eyebrow a little surprised. “Well, the nurse sorting the cast out for her asked her what colour she wanted, I don’t think she realised how old Emma really is, when she started to list off the colours I saw Emma’s face light up a little. She looked at me as though I would stop her from getting a coloured one.”
Her face fell a little at that. The habitual look behind Emma’s eyes as she sat on Mary Margaret’s lap, refusing to be apart from her mother in the hospital. She really did seem like a little kid then.
David shook his head, why would anyone stop a child from choosing a coloured cast, what was the harm in it? It seemed to him to be an act purely to upset a child. “We have to talk to her.” He said it quietly but it was not a surprising statement to Mary Margaret.
“I know.” Her statement meant more than that. It was a shared dread, and guilt, but a tone of inevitability. It wouldn’t be easy for them, and would be even harder for Emma, but by tomorrow they would know about Emma’s past. She pressed a kiss to Emma’s cheek, her little face scrunched up a little but she stayed sleeping peacefully, an action she shared with David. She heard Neal start to fuss, she pressed a kiss to David’s lips then got out of bed to feed her youngest, before he woke up his big sister.
They both knew that it would be hard for Emma to tell them about her past, but they had to know, for all of their sakes.
In the wooden trunk in the living room Emma’s thick medical file lay forgotten.
*OUAT*
Emma woke up feeling a lot calmer than she had the previous morning waking up, or the night before, she had a sense of having had bad dreams while she had slept but they seemed to have gone away. She felt a shiver run down her and she cuddled closer to her pillow. No. Not a pillow. She fought her sleepy eyes until she eventually opened them.
“Shit.” Her mouth formed the word but no sound came out when she realised that her comfy pillow was in fact David. Her eyes shot up to his face as her body went rigid, her fight or flight instinct seemed to be in overdrive in her younger body, she scan David’s face for any sign of annoyance, anger, even awkwardness or disgust. There was none.
David smiled down at her with a look of pure undiluted love. He had tried to move out from under her when Mary Margaret had woke up for the second time with Neal, but Mary Margaret had sent him a look that told him which told him that he didn’t need to feel bad for not getting up with Neal, he was already looking after their other child. Plus Emma had made grumpy sounding noises of protest and held tighter to him until he wrapped his arms back around her. He carefully stroked his hand down her back, he was already aware of where not to touch as it would be painful, and where she was comforted by.
“Morning, kiddo.”
Emma relaxed a little, a blush still coloured her cheeks, but she didn’t try to move off of him not unless he asked or made her, she was comfortable where she was. “Hey.” She croaked out, she gave a little, slightly painful, cough to get the sleep out of her voice. “Sorry.” She mumbled.
“Don’t worry, it meant I didn’t have to get up with your brother.” He joked to make her feel more comfortable though his tone told her that he really didn’t mind. “Plus it’s adorable.”
Emma hid her head against his chest, she could smell the faint smell of his aftershave and laundry detergent. When she spoke it was into his chest. “I’m not adorable.”
“Uh huh.” There was disbelief in is tone and a smile evident even without looking at his face.
“I’m not. I’m a saviour. I have magic. I’m a badass.”
David snorted with laughter. He cuddled her tighter, seeing that she was clearly still sleepy, and she didn’t even try to move away. “Adorable.” He insisted teasingly.
Emma huffed but hid her smile against David’s chest. Her throat and chest still burned and she still felt freezing. Not to mention the slight pain in her back when she moved a certain way, and the sharp pain of her arm under the heavy cast.
David’s hand managed to get between his own chest and Emma’s head to feel her temperature, as though sensing all those things. He already knew that he would be met with her high temperature, he had felt it through his t-shirt since before she had even woke up, but both he and Mary Margaret hadn’t thought it would do too much harm to wait to give her medicine until she woke. He noticed that his wife wasn’t in the room still, though he was sure she would have heard him and Emma talking, he rolled his eyes with a smile when he realised she was purposely not there so he would be on medicine duty.
“How are you feeling?”
“Meh.” Emma answered noncommittedly. She didn’t want to lie to him, but she was also way too stubborn to admit the truth, that this flu had really kicked her on her ass.
David gave a knowing nod. “We’ll get some medicine in you, we can just chill and watch movies today, if you like?”
Emma groaned. “Dad do I really have to-”
“Yup.” He cut her off, he smiled when she looked up at him with puppy dog eyes and a pout, her chin resting on his chest. “But I can make you chocolate chip pancakes before you have to take them…”
Emma bit her lip at his tone which dragged out the food name trying to tempt her. “Double chocolate?” She bargained.
David smirked, yeah he was definitely wound around that girl’s finger, he had been since before she was even born. “I think I can manage that.” He grinned as she held her little finger out to make sure he would make them without Mary Margaret convincing him to make something healthier. He went to go the same but paused before they shook. “But no trying to get out of taking the medicine.”
Emma rolled her eyes but shook their fingers. “Fine, but I’m still going to complain.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything different.” David noticed the slight moving of the curtain which signified that Mary Margaret was about to enter the room. He carefully moved Emma off of him, noting her slight look of disappointment, and climbed out the bed making sure she still had blankets wrapped around her.
“You play dirty, bandit.” David whispered jokingly as she started toward the bed to see Emma, there was a knowing smile on her face which showed her happiness at not having to convince Emma to take her medicine, that was David’s job this morning.
“I have no idea what you mean, Charming.” She replied sweetly taking more steps into the room.
*OUAT*
Emma couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed when David moved her from where she had been lying on him. She frowned a little and tried to keep a pout from her face. She felt the bed dip down next to her, when she looked up she saw her mother’s smiling face. She smiled back, then looked down at her cast.
Mary Margaret placed her hand on Emma’s shoulder making Emma look up at her with big green eyes. “How are you feeling?” She asked kindly, she didn’t mention their trip to the hospital the previous night and her injuries, though they both knew that there would be some talk about that at some point.
Emma shrugged her shoulders, she watched her mom raise an eyebrow then patiently wait for Emma to answer. Emma sighed. “Everything hurts.” She admitted, she felt her lip tremble a little and grew frustrated at herself for feeling so self-pitying. She looked down into her lap with tears in her eyes. She suddenly felt two arms hugging her gently but securely.
Mary Margaret couldn’t help but hold her tight. She could tell that she was feeling miserable and finally admitting to herself that she was ill. She almost wanted to put off the talk she and David were going to have with Emma, she just looked too little and poorly to have it, but deep down she knew this was needed and that Emma was still a grown up. Plus everything was likely playing on Emma’s mind just as much as it was on hers. But they would have breakfast first, before they spoke of anything else, especially as it might make Emma close up – then it would be even harder trying to get her to take her medicine. Though Mary Margaret had something else she need to do too. She pressed a kiss to the top of Emma’s head then moved back a little.
Emma frowned. What was it with her parents moving her when she was comfortable today? She didn’t even notice that she wouldn’t normally feel like this, she didn’t care, it was instinctual; she wanted her parents.
“I have to put the cream on your back,” she noticed Emma start to pout and the slight fear in her eyes, “it will be quick and it’ll help it get better quicker. That way it’ll stop hurting sweetie.” Emma nodded so Mary Margaret carefully manoeuvred Emma so she was led on her front flat on the bed.
Emma seemed to detach from herself as Mary Margaret lifted her top and vest, as though she was trying to avoid talking or thinking about it. She was as gentle as she could be as she rubbed the cream onto Emma’s back but Emma still wiggled a little trying to get away from the cold cream. She managed to get the cream onto Emma’s back as quickly and gently as possible, she didn’t want to delay it being done, especially as Mary Margaret seeing it seemed to make Emma behave differently.
She pulled back down the vest and the dinosaur pyjama top with a small smile, they really were cute, plus Emma hadn’t protested them yet though that might have been because of the events and things which transpired the previous night. Emma’s small voice brought her out of her thoughts, and the way she spoke reminded her of the shyer children she taught at the school, who had rehearsed what they were planning on saying several times in their head. She had never heard Emma use that tone.
“Can I get out of bed?” Emma wasn’t sure why she was feeling so timid, she had never had a reason to feel like this around her parents, she tried to shake herself out of it and remind herself that she was safe, but it didn’t work. “Please?”
Mary Margaret hid a frown at Emma’s tone, as though she was waiting for something bad to happen. “Of course you can.” She smiled, she couldn’t refuse Emma right now, plus when they had the talk it might be better to have it away from the bed. She had read articles on having conversations while Emma had slept and they said to leave certain spaces away from bad conversations. “But you still have to rest, and you have to go back here later on.” She added, because Emma was still ill after all, and although she didn’t phrase Emma’s return to the bed as a nap Emma would need to sleep some more a little later on to help her get better.
Emma didn’t seem to mind that as she just smiled and started to climb out of the bed, she wobbled a little, clearly still dizzy from the flu. She was tempted to make Emma get back in the bed, but she had seemed so hopeful when she had asked if she could get out of the bed, she didn’t want to go back on her words straight away. “Here let me help you.” She picked Emma up and started to carry her out of the room.
“Seriously?” Emma raised her eyebrow, though both she and Mary Margaret knew it was a token protest, she cuddled a little closer to her mother – for safety purposes, she told herself, she didn’t want to be dropped. They got to the table just as David was plating up breakfast. He had made plain pancakes with strawberries for him and Mary Margaret, but in Emma’s place was double chocolate pancakes topped with chocolate sauce. She heard Mary Margaret tut at David as she placed Emma onto the chair topped with cushions, David winked at her and Emma grinned back, Mary Margaret obviously didn’t mind to much as she cut up the pancakes for Emma so Emma could use her one good hand to eat them.
*OUAT*
Mary Margaret had eaten her breakfast quicker than David and Emma so she could feed Neal again. David finished after her but stayed sat at the table with Emma, making casual conversation, once Emma had finished David had laughed at her then wiped the chocolate sauce from around her mouth with a napkin, making her give him a playful glare. David made Emma take her medicines, which she did, though with the complaining she had promised.
Emma tried to stand down from the table but found herself feeling dizzy again, David scooped her up straight away, though at least he headed towards the couch instead of the bedroom again. Mary Margaret was sat on the couch watching Neal asleep in his Moses basket, that was she was watching him until David and Emma entered the room, David placed Emma down on the couch next to Mary Margaret who placed a cushion on Emma’s lap for her to rest her cast on, David sat down on the coffee table facing Emma.
“Sweetheart, we need to talk.” Mary Margaret’s voice was soft as she pushed a strand of Emma’s hair behind her ear.
Emma sighed. “I know.” She said quietly. Her parents weren’t the sort of people to leave things unsaid or alone not when something was needed, something slightly irritating when you were used to suppressing things like she was though she had to admit their way was more helpful, she could have done with someone like them when she was younger… she could have done with them when she was younger. She looked down at her yellow cast for a few seconds, she had never been allowed a coloured one when she was young, she finally looked up at Mary Margaret then David showing them that she was ready for them to ask her some questions.
Mary Margaret took Emma’s tiny left hand into hers, while David lay his hand on Emma’s knee, trying to support without overwhelming her. “Can you tell us how you got the marks on your arms? The scratches and bruises, and the cigarette marks.”
Emma had to admit that she was kind of impressed with Regina’s first curse then, she knew her mother had spotted the burns because she knew what they were from her teacher training, a curse and her fake teaching degree apparently making her a better teacher than most of the ones she had as a child. “They were from the foster home I would have been in at this age.” She looked down at her cast as she spoke. Squeezing her mom’s hand a little as she spoke. “I had a bedwetting problem, apparently it’s harder to acquire the skill when you’re constantly moving around, but my foster mother caught me trying to wash my sheets… she never took it too well…. The big hand bruise is from when I tried to run away from her when she caught me.”
David gently squeezed Emma’s knee, she looked up at him and he gave her a small and comforting smile. “Is that why you were trying to rush to wash the sheets last night?” She gave a small nod and he could tell she felt embarrassed and worried about the accident. “It’s okay Em, just let us know if something like that happens again, you shouldn’t have to change them by yourself and that bed’s too big for you to try.” He watched her eyebrow’s furrow in confusion but there was also a grateful look also, she clearly had never had people who didn’t make a big deal out of bedwetting, or have people insist on helping her. “How about this?” his hand left her knee to gently touch the cast on her arm before he placed it back on her knee. He saw her look of hesitation. “It’s okay, you can tell us, you don’t have to be scared Emma.” His voice was quiet and reassuring, as though he was talking to a small child, which seemed to be a better tone while talking to Emma about this as she was half clinging to Mary Margaret’s hand and looked so small and young.
Emma nodded though mostly to herself. She knew that if she really didn’t want to tell them they would understand, they wouldn’t make her tell them, and she did want to tell them it was just hard. She had expected this talk to happen but there was still a part of her, a small part, which was battling with the fight or flight response the mere idea of talking about her past brought out.
“It was the foster home before the one I got the bruises in. The foster dad… he wasn’t nice… he used to drink a lot which only made him worse. He had a temper.” She squeezed her mom’s hand a little tighter, Mary Margaret squeezed it back gently, grounding her. “There was a couple of us being fostered by him and his wife, though neither actually cared about children, let alone foster kids. We only got small meals twice a day, but I had missed one of them as I had a meeting with my social worker. He had his friends over to watch the football, so I snuck downstairs to try and get a slice of bread to eat, I ate it quickly and tried to drink the juice too, but the glass was too heavy. I dropped it and it smashed on the floor. He came into the kitchen and started yelling, saying I was stealing his food and yelling names at me, he pushed me over and I fell onto my arm.” She didn’t add that she had never gotten it checked out, well not until the foster mom who had given her the bruises and other marks broke it again, she tried to tell the doctors but they didn’t really care.
“Oh Emma.” Mary Margaret sighed, her free hand covered her mouth, tears clouded her eyes but she could see well enough to tell that David had tears in his eyes too. “You should never have gone through that. You shouldn’t have had food withheld, or had your arm broken, or been in a home with such a horrible man.” She wrapped her arm around Emma and held her tight, after a couple of seconds David joined in. “I’m so sorry.”
Emma stayed wrapped in their arms for a little while, allow tears to roll down her own cheeks too, although eventually she moved back a little she stayed tucked into Mary Margaret’s side. “I hurt my back there too.” She told them quietly as David sat back down on the coffee table while wiping his eyes.
“Emma, if it’s too much to tell us right now, we understand.”
Emma shook her head at her father, if she didn’t say it now, she might never say it. “I can do it.” Her words were brave and a stark contrast to her tone. “I was in the same home, I was the youngest, I had an older foster sister and an older foster brother, my foster brother was a few years older than me but my foster sister was a teenager - just. I was staying up really late, my foster brother had leant me his glow in the dark watch he had told me that when the numbers all turned to zero I would be five years old, plus my foster mother had her television in her room on loud so I couldn’t sleep. The numbers had just hit zero when the television went off. I was about to fall asleep when I heard my foster sister crying in her bedroom, she was always nice to me and tried to look after me, so I went to see if she was okay. I got to the landing and saw my foster dad coming out from her room, she was crying really loudly, he hit me and told me to go back to bed, I argued because it sounded like she was really in pain…. Next thing I knew he had hit me really hard with his belt, so hard I fell down, and my back felt as though it was on fire.” Part way through speaking Emma had started to cry again, she didn’t say what her foster father had been doing in her foster sister’s room, but she was sure her parents could guess. She stared down at her cast as she spoke. “My foster sister tried to look after me, she stole some pharmacy supplies and tried to patch it up as best she could. I was at nursey school and had an accident, the teacher there had to help me change, she saw it and called the police and social services. We got taken away from that family that day. I don’t know what happened Alice and Zac though.”
“Oh Emma.” David and Mary Margaret breathed out her name at the same time, tears flooded from their eyes. In one swift motion David picked Emma up into his arms, he sat down in the place she had been sat with her on his lap, he held her tight with one arm, while the other wrapped around Mary Margaret who also wrapped an arm around Emma. The three sat crying with David and Mary Margaret tried to soothe Emma but they were doing all they could just by being there.
“I should have told someone about what had happened sooner, but my foster sister begged me not to, I think he had threatened her that something would happen to the rest of us if anyone found out.” Emma choked out eventually.
“It wasn’t your job to have to tell someone, baby,” Mary Margaret stroked tears from Emma’s cheek as David held them both close, “you were just a child. You should never have been placed in the care of someone like that, you shouldn’t have had to be put in that position.”
The three sat quietly for a while, the only sound was the occasional sniffling, as they all tried to control their crying. Which they couldn’t. David held tightly to Emma as though he was never planning on letting her go and Mary Margaret didn’t take her eyes off her. But they couldn’t change Emma’s past, even if she was now five years old, she wasn’t everything had already happened. There was nothing they could do to save that little girl from having to go through that.
“When I became a bails bonds person I check on him, to make sure he wasn’t hurting anyone else, he was already in prison.” She assured them as she cuddled against her father’s chest.
“We love you Emma.” David told her. “You’re a good person. I’m so, so, sorry you had to go through all of that.” David knew the ‘what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger’ saying, but that was bullshit, no one deserves having to go through crap like Emma had – she was already and always would have been a strong person without having to go through abuse from an early age.
Emma started to cry again. She cuddled her head closely against David, her cast arm rested on her lap the pillow she had had lay abandoned on the floor, Mary Margaret sat next to David cuddled up while holding onto Emma’s good hand while stoking her hair. Soon Emma fell asleep cuddled up to her parents. David and Mary Margaret didn’t have to speak to know that they wouldn’t be putting Emma down that day, not even to sleep, maybe not ever again
