Author's Note: Personal Prompt: Baker's Dozen: Lydia's first word/step.
Lydia Locksley is a late walker. She'd been on time for scooting, and crawling, but walking… she's a little behind schedule. Not enough that they worry about her – nothing like that. She's just… on the later edge of things, that's all.
She's gotten good at pulling herself up. Has gotten good at taking careful steps while holding onto someone's fingers, or gripping tightly to the edge of the coffee table. But walking, all alone, by herself, no help? She hasn't mastered that yet.
Robin says she's just a bit timid. She's social and funny and a sweet little cuddlebug, but she's not exactly a daredevil child. She likes to have her hand held. She likes to take her time deciding how she feels about new spaces. And she doesn't like to let go of her assistance to take steps of her own.
No matter how much they try to coax her.
She'll walk in her own time, they've decided, and they're in no real hurry.
As such, they nearly miss it when it finally happens.
It's a Monday afternoon, and Regina is taking a break, wolfing down a brie and turkey croissant at one of the front tables while Robin grades essays at the table beside her. He's covered the surface in papers, even his own coffee cup is settled next to Regina's on her little tabletop. Lydia had been parked on the bench between them, munching happily on a cookie, until she'd gotten bored and wanted to stand.
So now she's traversing the space from one parent to the other – a scant two feet or so between their seats, a slow back and forth, with a careful grip on the bench seating or one of their legs the whole time. Practicing, Regina thinks. A slow U, out to Robin's knee, and then back to the bench, along Regina's thigh, and then back to the bench, babbling to herself all the while.
One day soon, she'll let go, but it doesn't have to be today.
Regina reaches for her iced tea as Lydia makes her way along her thigh, little fingers pressed against her jeans. They're loose fit today, and a good thing they are, because Lydia fists the fabric one-handed and wobbles a bit. And then suddenly, she's gone.
Regina glances down, halfway through a knee-jerk drop of her hand to steady her daughter before she topples. But when she sees her, she freezes.
Lydia is standing. By herself. Staring at her daddy's leg just a few feet away and teetering just a little.
She's going to do it, Regina thinks, and she hisses a quiet, urgent, "Robin!"
"Hmm?" he asks absently, not even glancing in her direction.
"Robin!" she whispers fiercely, not wanting him to miss the moment, but not wanting to disturb Lydia's concentration. "Walking!"
He looks over at that, a frown on his face, and then his mouth falls open at the sight, both of them staring, rapt, as Lydia lifts one little foot, and plops it down. Tears flood Regina's eyes as she does it again with the other leg, a joyful laugh bubbling up from her throat as Lydia manages one more step before wobbling and tipping toward Robin's now-waiting hands.
She giggles as he scoops her up into his arms, giving her a little toss and announcing, "You did it! Look at you, you brilliant girl!"
Robin presses a proud smooch into her crumby cheek and then sets her on the ground again, pointing her in Regina's direction this time and urging, "Do you want to walk back to Mummy, then, sweetheart?"
Regina doesn't waste a moment, turning more fully toward her daughter and holding out her hands in invitation. "Come here, baby," she urges. "Come see Mommy!"
Lydia giggles again and toddles on chubby legs, one step, two, three, four, and then she lets herself crash-land safely in Regina's hands.
And for a little while, nothing else matters. Not the papers to be graded, or the payroll that needs to be done. Not the chocolate chip cookies they sell out of, or the paying customers that might want a place to sit and eat their mini grasshopper pies.
All that matters in the whole world is this little girl who has them both wrapped around her little finger, and her latest milestone.