Disclaimer: I don't own Once Upon a Time or any of its characters.
broken words and small things like superglue
Snow White knows there was more than one way to say I love you.
She'd known it the first time David's skin had touched her own, and his brow had furrowed in an expression she now knew to be his beautifully simple way of longing.
She'd known it in the moment Emma had been born, then stolen from her, with no time to form the words; only time enough to wrap the tiny child in a hand-knit white blanket to keep her precious bundle warm during her journey to a cold world.
And she'd known it when that same child, now grown, had stumbled back into her life, moved into her spare room, and graced her with a cup of tea every evening before bed, because Snow's sweet baby had had a broken life, leaving her unable to wrap her mouth around those treasured words.
But Snow had known. She had learned that, sometimes, words were hard and clumsy, falling from lips like broken glass. And in those instances, it was the small things they were left to cling to. And cling, they did, if only to say together.
So when she saw her daughter, her sweet, little, precious bundle of white, track the Evil Queen from across the room with her gentle green eyes, Snow had known, once more, that there was more than one way to say I love you.
She'd known it when Regina had plucked a shredded leaf from Emma's wild blonde hair, scolding the sheriff for such unruliness, but tempered her words with softly condescending smirk.
She'd known it when Emma's fingers had subtly brushed Regina's as the two women flanked their young son on either side, each with a strong hand on his narrow, fragile shoulders.
She'd known it the first time she heard the former mayor say Emma's name; the way it rolled off the older woman's lips like a prayer, sounding holier than it should have, coming from the same tongue that cursed them all.
And she'd known it when the White Knight had protectively stepped in front of the Evil Queen the time Grumpy had had just a little too much to drink and had begun forming a half-drunk, semi-serious lynch mob on Snow's unwitting behalf, every inch the gallant Savior prophesized.
She wants to un-know all of this. She wants to be blissfully ignorant, as she is sure both Regina and Emma are blissfully ignorant, of their feelings – their love – for one another. Snow would gladly take one of Gold's memory potions, if only to erase the seared images of what would surely come to pass; Emma finally taking Regina's hand in her own; Regina allowing herself to smile at Emma the way she smiled at Henry, all wide lips and crinkled eyes; Emma declaring a permanent ceasefire on Regina, putting the fear of god into anyone who might dare cross her; Regina allowing Emma to claim her in a way she hadn't even let Snow's father claim her.
She dreads the day Regina's title will change. The day stepmother, Evil Queen, witch, and Mayor of Storybrooke would all be put to rest and 'daughter-in-law' would take their place.
Because Snow knows that their ignorance will pass. Eventually, they'll figure out – just as she had – what they'd been telling one another for so long now.
And they would know what Snow knows; that there is more than one way to say I love you.
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