Papa's Princess
Disclaimer: I wish, but no, I don't own the characters/show.
Author's Note: This is a requested fanfic based on a certain BTS moment between our Prince Charming and a baby. Hope you enjoy!
He awakes to her cries, but hearing Snow groan against his chest something feels off, something he can't quite place.
Emma's protests grow louder, however, and watching Snow hide her face in his nightshirt the feeling is quickly forgotten as he smiles down at his wife.
"I've got her, Snow."
"My hero," she murmurs, moving off of him and falling asleep again almost instantly. It's times like this that he wishes he had a better hand at sketching; the undignified lump of blankets and mussed hair his true love presents is a visage he wishes to look back upon with more than his mind's eye.
But the other lady in his life will not be ignored, an indignant wail echoing through their bedchamber from the bassinet at the foot of the bed.
Their darling daughter has yet to spend a full night in her nursery, a fact that is part her insistent need for nourishment and part her parents' over-protective natures. Regina's threat still looms over their heads, and her as well as other formidable enemies they've made would like nothing more than to strike at the heart of their new family. So as exhausting as it is for them both to be "on duty," Snow continues to refuse a wet-nurse and Emma spends her nights with them.
He knows this decision has raised some eyebrows amongst the castle staff, Snow has talked to him about how not many royals are so hands-on with their children, but the poor shepherd that he's spent most of his life being cannot grasp not being involved. How could a man father a child and not wish to know everything about them? To understand the sounds they make with they're tired or hungry or want to be held?
He especially can't believe it when he reaches Emma's bed and looks down on the squirming baby, her little arms and legs free of her white blanket in her struggle. Even with her face all red and scrunched from crying she's one of the most beautiful sights he's ever seen. And what's more he knows why she's crying, he knows she wants attention and not her mother's milk or a nappy change.
"Shhh, it's alright, Emma, it's alright. Papa's here," he coos softly, reaching down to tuck her limbs back into the blanket before picking her up, the change of position instantly silencing her cries. But her bottom lip still quivers and he immediately starts to sway back and forth, rocking her as he's learned she likes.
Those big, bright eyes of hers stare up at him inquiringly, and he smiles.
"That's right. Papa's got you. You're safe."
For a moment she almost looks unconvinced, and he chuckles, leaning down to press a whiskered kiss against her forehead. One little hand manages to wriggle free again from its blanket prison and tiny fingers grasp his nose, and he laughs again.
"Nothing can tame you for long can it, sweetheart? You're just like your mother, stubborn," he grins, escaping her grip to place a tender kiss on that tiny palm. Emma gurgles happily in response, reaching again, but he moves his nose out of her reach. If he didn't know better he'd swear his daughter pouts at her foiled plan, but the pout suddenly breaks into a yawn, and he continues their rocking ritual.
"That's right Emma, go to sleep now."
In moments their baby girl is fast asleep once more, and he carefully places her in her crib, whispering good night and pressing one last kiss to her head before tiptoeing back to his own bed and Snow's arms.
But when he wakes next it's to the sound of his cellphone going off, and he runs a hand down his face, doing his best to ignore the tears he finds there. There's no bassinet, no baby, their daughter is grown with a baby of her own, and she's not even in the same town as them right now.
"Charming? You okay?" Snow whispers sleepily beside him, and he tightens his grip on her waist, happy that at least she's still beside him.
"Yeah, I'm okay. I've got it, you keep sleeping."
"Mmkay," she sighs, snuggling further into her pillow. Instead of a sketchpad and an artist's hand he wishes for a camera at the sight, but another shrill ring of his phone quickly disrupts such wishful thinking. Duty calls.
Grabbing the phone and flicking it open, he answers with a direct hello, expecting some town trouble or another at this time of night.
"David?"
He nearly drops the phone.
"Emma? What is it? What's wrong?" he whispers into the line, not wanting to disturb Snow. They barely slept as it was, and she would be wide-awake if she knew their daughter was on the other end of the line.
"Nothing's wrong. We just stopped at a hotel for the night and- You know what, forget it. It's late, I didn't think-"
"No, no, it's fine," he quickly assures, rising from bed to take their conversation to the living room.
"Okay…Is Mary Margaret asleep?"
"Yes, but if you want me to wake her -"
"No! No, it's okay."
"You sure?"
"Yep, let her sleep. It's fine. I called your phone, remember?"
He starts; realizing just that as he sits down on the couch.
"That you did. But why?"
He hopes he doesn't come across as too curious or eager, but they'd just been getting used to each other before she'd been forced to go on another quest. Heart-to-hearts are definitely more her and her mother's thing, something he could admit to himself he was more than a little envious about.
"Well, it's hard to explain… I was trying to get some sleep but I kept tossing and turning and then suddenly I was calling you and this is really stupid I should just hang up and let you get back to bed-"
"No! Wait, Emma, it's not stupid. At all. I was just thinking about you actually."
"Yeah?" her voice sound so small, so unsure, and he keeps talking, willing her to believe him, to trust him.
"Yes. Listen, you don't need a reason to call me or your mother, okay? Day or night, we'll answer."
"Okay," she whispers, and not for the first time since they've left does he wish she were still with them. He'd give just about anything to hug her right then, but words will have to do.
"So, you think you can get some sleep now?"
"Weirdly enough yeah, I think I can. Thanks, David."
"No problem," he swallows thickly, "Sleep well, Emma."
"You too."
He stares at his phone for a while after hanging up, wondering at Emma's need to call and his dream. Could they be connected somehow? If they were it's by a power beyond his ken, but just on the off chance he brings the phone to his lips and whispers, "Good night, sweetheart," pressing a kiss to the plastic before returning to Snow.
And in a hotel in a place far from the town of Storybrooke, Maine, Emma Swan smiles in her sleep.