storybrooke_savior

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for david

It happened at some point between that last late night/early morning session of bottle feeding, diaper changing and lullaby singing that Emma took so David could get a solid night of sleep and the moment her internal clock still woke her up around 6:30, as that was when she would've usually been waking Henry up for school. She might've just rolled over on the couch, snuggled back in and dropped back off to sleep, if she hadn't immediately realized that something was really, really wrong.

Tangled up in clothes that were many sizes too big, Emma stared down at her little bitty hands and arms and let out one shrill, short but enthusiastic scream before she remembered her little brother and clapped her tiny hands over her tiny mouth. "Dad?" she squeaked, fighting her way out from underneath the blanket and her oversized pants. "David?! D-daddy?! Help!"

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He's been alert for what feels like years, so when he hears a small, girlish voice call out for 'Daddy', David's awake. He doesn't even know what time it is, anymore, and doesn't take the light outside as any sign because it could be nine PM instead of three AM for all he knows. On his feet and struggling to find a sword he didn't show up with, David rounds the corner and looks for the threat, only to find a little girl where Emma was meant to be.

It takes him about three seconds to figure out that this is his little girl. "Emma, sweetheart," David breathes, drifting closer after checking that Neal is still asleep. He holds out both arms to her as he gets close to the sofa. "Is that you?"

"Uh-huh." Emma felt her eyes welling up and her lower lip trembling as she reached for David. It was the strangest feeling, remember being an adult but suddenly finding herself stripped of all the hard-won maturity and impulse control that came with it. "What's wrong with me?! What's happening?!"

Knowing that Emma might not want him to pick her up is the only reason David's hesitating. Every ounce of him, every pulsing thought is telling him to take care of his daughter the way he never got to. He's had so many nightmares about having to give her up and now she's there, small and the picture of the girl he would have raised, if he'd only had the chance.

He reaches for her as soon as he realizes he doesn't dare incite regret over this, hefting her up into his arms so he can support her carefully, holding onto her tightly. "I don't know," he admits. "I've never seen this kind of magic before."

Emma held tight to David, sniffling and scowling as she rubbed at her stinging eyes with one hand. "Is it like the powers thing?" she chirped, making a face at the way her voice sounded, tinny and girlish and entirely too close to a whine. "S-something that'll go away in a few days? Dad, what if it's not?! Wh-what if I'm stuck like this?!"

As very much as he'd like to imagine that he has his baby girl with him and a second chance to raise her properly, he knows it's not fair to Emma and that he shouldn't even think about those kinds of things. "Well," he says considerately, brushing hair off her forehead gently in slow strokes. "You still remember that you're not supposed to be this age, which is a good sign. Maybe it'll be like all the other things and wear off?"

She could remember it, but it was fuzzy and strange. Like there was too much to remember and she wasn't capable of keeping it all in her brain anymore. It was as though the most vivid and sharp memories were things she'd mostly forgot as an adult. She remembered her preschool, right down to the grey pinafore she'd worn on picture day that'd been the nicest thing she'd had to wear. It was scratchy. And it was honestly kind of terrifying that she can recall it so perfectly.

What was the point of this...place, or whoever was in charge, making her four years old again?

"What am I supposed to do til then?" she asked, trying not to panic.

"Well," he says, taking a long breath to make sure he didn't sound too eager about the suggestion he was about to make. "I think that maybe I could take care of you, for a while," he says, trying to make it sound like a suggestion instead of something he's already decided will happen, no matter what, because he's missed out on so many years of taking care of her. He needs to make up for them somehow.

David settles them on the couch, giving Emma the chance to stand on her own two (very small) feet. "You and your brother, I can handle two kids. Right? I mean, I handled seven dwarves, several faeries, a wolf, and a kingdom. How bad can this be?"

It was beyond weird to think of herself as needing to be taken care of, but she was just going to have to suck it up and deal with it being weird. Because Emma knew David was right, it wasn't as though she was physically capable of taking care of herself right now. She couldn't even reach the bottom shelf of her refrigerator like this. And well, David was her dad, even if it was still sometimes hard to think of him and Mary Margaret that way. "I don't guess we really got a choice," she admitted, curling up on the couch and tucking her legs up to her knees. "I gotta have some clothes, dad. And shoes. We gotta go shopping."

He wants to pull her right back into his arms, the way he hasn't held Emma since she was a newborn and he'd swaddled her in her blanket to protect her from Regina's henchmen and the creeping curse. Sometimes, he wonders what life would have been like if he'd been alive to undergo the curse. Would he and Snow have been together? "I think maybe before we do, we should ask Robin if we can borrow some of Roland's things," he suggests. "I think you might be about the same age."

Emma knew it was practical, but still she groaned and made a face. If Robin had to know she was currently tiny that meant Regina was going to know, too. "I guess Regina was gonna find out anyway," she grumbled. "She's never gonna let me forget this."

"Don't worry," David replies wryly, giving Emma a look that says he has his own plans in place -- mischief in the face of whatever Regina might have to say. "I think maybe a polite reminder about the fact that I had to miss out on this the first time around could potentially keep her quiet," he says.

He doesn't want to know what happened the first time around because, more than anything, he'd wanted to be there for it. "C'mere," he says, patting the couch in front of him. "Let me braid that hair of yours before we get you some clothes."

That was a good point, Emma supposed. She doubted even Regina would have a good comeback to that.

She peered at David dubiously, but moved to sit down in front of him. "Where did you learn how to braid hair?" she had to ask.

This is easy to get back to and he works his fingers through her hair. "I'm sure you remember vaguely from the book, but until about two years before I met your mother, I was a shepherd who grew up in a home with only his mother to keep him company," he says, beginning a french braid down Emma's back. "And your grandmother very much liked to teach me fine motor skills. Braiding was one of them. Knitting, too," he admits. "Though, with the number of sheep we had, I feel like that one was expected."

"I remember a little, yeah." Emma, of course, hadn't read the book quite as extensively as Henry. Managing to stay unnaturally still for a toddler, she giggled at the mention of knitting. "You can knit?" That was even more unexpected than the braiding.

"Not well," he says wryly. "My mother always lamented the fact that she would never get a sweater from me. The best I ever managed was half of a mitten. It was a good thing it never got too brisk in our world," he says, collecting up her hair and winding it through the motions of the braid.

The braiding combined with the storytelling made Emma feel almost sleepy. "What was she like?" she asked, a question she'd never really been able to bring herself to ask before. "My grandmother, I mean."

"She wanted children very much and grandchildren more so," David remembers with a fond smile. "Giving up one of her sons to save the farm killed her and my father wasn't far behind, though he took it much harder." And in the end, it had taken him away from them, too. "She would have loved to meet you, but she died during one of the skirmishes against Regina."

Of course she had. Emma wondered yet again how they'd all even gotten to the point of civility and, dare she say it, family with Regina. She knew it had a lot to do with Henry, and a lot to do with there being some blame on both sides, and even more to do with the fact that if it all didn't stop somewhere, none of them would have anything left to fight over or fight for. But still, sometimes, it boggled the mind.

"I wish I could've met her," she remarked, then smiled a little. "Even if I had to do it as 'Princess Leia'. It would've been nice."

"She would have loved you," David promises, finishing up the braid and tying up a quick knot so that it won't go anywhere. "She wanted to spoil her grandchildren so much that I think you could have asked for anything. And certainly you'd get a pony," he says with a grin. "We did have a few of them."

"Plus side of living on a farm?" Emma remarked with a little smile. "Do you miss it ever? The farm, I mean." Since, obviously, he missed his mother. That didn't even need to be asked.

"All the time," he admits, managing a smile. "I'm lucky that I met Snow because I hated being a prince. It was terrifying and George was a horrible man and while I wanted to do the honourable thing, it was hard." He runs a hand over her braid, giving her a fond smile. "And many, many years later, I finally got my happily ever after."

"Now if only we could keep our happy endings for longer than five minutes," Emma sighed, rolling her eyes. She was starting to think that was just their lot in life, and it was kind of a depressing thought.

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