Title: Early Morning Confessions
Summary: Snow raised her eyebrows. As far as Emma was concerned, this time of the morning was still the middle of the night, and here she was, willingly getting out of bed at this hour? Whatever nightmares she'd had must have shaken her to her core.
Spoilers: Post-ep for 3x22, "There's No Place Like Home."
Characters: Emma Swan and Snow White.
Rating/Warning: K+. Mama Snow fluff so sticky sweet it'll rot your teeth if you let it.
Disclaimer: Once Upon a Time and its characters were created by Eddie Kitsis and Adam Horowitz and are owned by ABC. I'm just borrowing them put I'll put everything back the way I found it.
Author's Note: For drfits1 and BelovedMaeve, who wanted to see a Snow/Emma late-night conversation. I decided to make this a companion piece to "Midnight Confessions," so it's early morning instead of late night, so I hope that works. :) You don't have to have read "Midnight Confessions" to follow this piece, and man oh man, do I miss writing Emma and Snow like this. Feedback would make this rainy day a thousand times better! Enjoy.
Something's wrong, Snow White thought as she woke from a heavy slumber.
She blinked her eyes open to an apartment bathed in gray light. And no wonder; a quick glance at her bedside clock told her that it was much too early for her family to even think about rising for the day. She seemed to be the only one awake and as such, it was silent and still in the apartment. There was no baby boy crying out for food or attention, no cabinets opening or closing, no footsteps from the loft above her.
Wait, not quite silent. Next to her, her husband breathed deeply and evenly. His breathing was the only sound Snow could hear, though, so it wasn't a sound that had woken her. No, it was something else, something deeper.
Something instinctual.
Something … maternal?
Heeding her instincts, Snow threw the covers off her legs. A quick check on everyone should calm her nerves a bit. Taking care not to wake Charming with her movement, she climbed out of bed and first looked in on her baby boy.
She smiled when she saw little Neal still deep in the milk coma from his earlier feeding. He was lying on his back, his little legs bent towards him and his tiny arms flung up around the sides of his head. Afraid that a full kiss would wake him, Snow kissed the tips of her fingers and pressed them to her little boy's forehead instead. "Good morning, little prince," she whispered. He squirmed lightly at her touch but remained asleep.
Snow smiled and crept from her room to continue her rounds. She silently ascended the metal staircase to the loft and first encountered Henry's day bed. He, too, was fast asleep, the comforter pulled up to his ears and one foot sticking out over the edge of the mattress. With a soft smile, Snow gently tucked his foot back where it belonged and tugged the comforter back down around his shoulders so the poor boy could breathe.
Then she shifted her attention to her baby girl. Her sweet baby girl who, at long last, had finally come home. Snow still hadn't come down from the high that was her daughter – her baby girl, her light in the darkness – telling her she wasn't leaving. That she was staying. That she was home. Her baby girl calling her Mom and running into her arms like the little girl Snow wished she could have known was more than she could have ever dreamed.
And the second her eyes landed on Emma, Snow understood what had woken her.
Her sweet little girl was deep in the throes of a nightmare, squirming under the covers and her face screwed up against whatever horrifying images her subconscious was throwing at her. Out of the corner of her eye, Snow saw the candlestick on her daughter's bedside table, the remnants of a long burned-out candle stubbornly clinging to the edges. Charming must have been up with her at some point during the night, soothing another of her nightmares with soft candlelight.
Snow eased down on the edge of Emma's mattress by her knees. She rested a hand on her daughter's shoulder and gave it a gentle shake. "Emma, sweetheart," she murmured, mentally crossing her fingers that she'd hit the sweet spot between loud enough to rouse her daughter but not so loud that she woke her grandson.
Her touch had more effect than her voice, for another gentle shake of Emma's shoulder finally broke through the nightmare. Emma's eyes snapped open as she gasped, startled. "Shh, it's all right," Snow murmured. "It was just a dream, sweetheart."
It took a moment for poor Emma to orient herself. Snow simply sat with her, her hand still on her shoulder, until clarity came into her eyes. Then Emma sat up and somewhat sheepishly ran her hand over her face. "Thanks."
"You're welcome," Snow said gently. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Emma shook her head.
Snow's heart sank. After Emma's openness the previous night, her reticence now seemed to be a step backward. Then again, connecting with Emma had always been a two-steps-forward, one-step-back kind of process and Snow sensed that now was not the time to push. "All right," Snow replied, patting her daughter's blanketed knee. "I'll let you go back to sleep–"
"No," Emma said, once again shaking her head. She threw the covers off her legs and pushed herself to her feet.
Snow raised her eyebrows. As far as Emma was concerned, this time of the morning was still the middle of the night. And here she was, willingly getting out of bed at this hour? Whatever nightmares she'd had must have shaken her to her core.
Her poor baby.
"Come on," Snow said as she reached down for Emma's hand. "How does a slice of cinnamon toast sound?"
That got Emma to smile, at least a little bit. "Perfect."
As Snow led her still somewhat sleepy baby girl down the stairs, she was struck by the domesticity of it. It brought to mind mornings they'd never had, mornings where Snow or Charming would have ushered a still half-asleep little Princess Emma to breakfast before her lessons.
It may have been a couple decades too late and she may not have been ushering her little princess to lessons but Snow was grateful for this little moment. Reclaiming some of those missed moments now helped to ease the pain of having missed them back when they should have had them.
Once downstairs, Emma plopped down in a stool at the kitchen island while Snow set about making her toast. After she put the bread in the toaster, Snow headed to the fridge to retrieve the butter. While there, she took stock of her supplies. She had a green pepper in the crisper and a ham steak she could cut up. She had plenty of eggs, she knew there were onions and potatoes in the pantry, and an unopened package of shredded cheddar cheese smiled up at her from the bottom shelf.
That decided it, then. Her family was going to have omelets for breakfast.
Butter in hand, Snow closed the fridge and grabbed the little bottle of cinnamon sugar from the spice rack. A plate from the cabinet and a knife from the drawer completed her ensemble and she brought everything to Emma at the island. "Thanks, Mom," Emma said when Snow handed it all over.
Nothing in any realm could make Snow's heart soar like hearing her sweet baby girl call her Mom. "You're very welcome, sweetheart."
When the toast popped up, Snow set it on Emma's plate. She watched with a hidden smile as Emma buttered her toast and sprinkled a generous amount of cinnamon sugar onto it.
Her internal smile dropped into a frown of concern, however, when Emma picked up the slice of toast and proceeded to nibble on it. Emma Swan typically ate with gusto. She didn't simply nibble on anything unless she was sick or upset.
Some little maternal instinct kept Snow from asking what was bothering her. Emma had been so amazingly open with everyone after returning from her time-travel adventure but Snow had to admit to being somewhat afraid of pushing that new openness too far and shutting it down before it had a chance to even get off the ground.
Instead, she decided to focus on preparing for breakfast. There were probably a good couple of hours yet until the entire family was awake but she she needed to do something to hide the fact that she didn't want to leave Emma. She grabbed the pepper and ham steak from the fridge to begin cutting up for the omelets.
As Snow pulled a knife from the butcher block, she said, "I was thinking of making omelets and home fries for breakfast this morning. How does that sound to you?"
"Sounds good," Emma said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
All right, now Snow was getting really concerned. Still, she had to put her trust in her baby girl and trust that Emma would talk in her own time. Keeping her tone light, Snow replied, "Good? Usually when I suggest omelets, you act as if I'd suggested ambrosia pilfered from the gods."
This time when Emma looked up, Snow could see the conflict swimming in her baby girl's eyes. Part of Emma wanted so badly to tell her mother what was on her mind but part of Emma was extremely hesitant to do so for reasons Snow couldn't even pretend to understand.
It pained Snow to realize that she still wasn't able to read Emma's emotions to the point that she somehow instinctively knew what was behind her daughter's reticence. Shouldn't a mother know her child?
Then again, she did instinctively know that the decision to open up needed to be Emma's. And somewhere, a little instinctive voice told her that Emma would open up to her now … as long as she knew it was safe to do so. "You know, Emma," she said softly, "you can talk to me about anything."
Emma held her gaze for a long beat and then something changed. Snow could actually see the wall separating mother and daughter come tumbling down. Emma set the toast down, pushed herself up from the stool, and rounded the island to wrap her mother in a strong embrace. "I'm so glad you're not dead," she whispered.
"Oh, sweetheart," a stunned Snow breathed. She held her daughter tightly, running her hand up and down her back.
It all made perfect sense now. The night Snow had almost burned to death at Regina's stake had been over three decades ago for her but it had been only a couple nights ago for Emma. That must have been the source of her poor little girl's nightmares. Now Snow remembered a detail long forgotten: a teary-eyed stranger hugging her when the Blue Fairy returned her to her own form, squeezing her as if her life depended on it.
Only that stranger hadn't been a stranger at all. That stranger had been her baby girl in disguise.
"It's all right," Snow murmured into Emma's ear. "I'm all right."
Emma tightened her grip, a gesture Snow had come to realize only came when Emma was either crying or on the verge of it. "I know. It's just–"
"Shh."
For a long moment, the two of them stood in the embrace. Then Emma seemed to come to her usual self and pulled away, a sheepish blush coloring her cheeks. "I'm sorry."
"No, don't be sorry," Snow insisted, reaching down to take her daughter's hands in hers. "You never have to be sorry for hugging me, Emma. This is what moms are for, all right?"
Emma nodded sheepishly.
"And truthfully," Snow continued gently, "I'm the one who should be sorry. I remember Leia hugging me after I came back from ladybug form … and I also remember walking away from her."
This time, Emma shook her head. "You shouldn't be sorry, either. You didn't know. How could you have known? All you knew was some random blonde chick was basically squeezing the life out of you."
Snow smiled at Emma's self-deprecating description of the event. "I know but when I think of how you must have felt …"
"Don't. I mean, yeah, it hurt but in some ways, it's what made me truly understand something you once told me back before the curse broke."
"What's that?" Snow asked, frowning slightly. How on earth could walking away from a hug have taught Emma some kind of life lesson?
Emma took a deep breath as if to shore up her courage. That conflict was still there, Snow realized with a pang of sadness for her baby girl. She tightened her grip on Emma's hands, hoping the action would give her daughter the courage she needed.
It worked. After a beat, Emma set her shoulders and said, "You once told me that the wall around my heart would keep out pain but it would also keep out love. And you were right; it was keeping out love. I … I was holding everyone at a distance because I was so afraid that you would leave and I'd get hurt again. But holding you at a distance kept me from really feeling the love you were offering."
Snow had to blink rapidly to clear the tears from her eyes. Her poor sweet baby girl.
"I'm sorry," Emma whispered around the lump in her throat, the tears brimming in her eyes finally spilling over. "I'm sorry I held you at arm's length for so long. I just–"
"Oh, sweetheart, shh," Snow said as she pulled Emma into another hug. Emma clung to her, resting her chin on her shoulder. "It's not your fault, Emma. Being there even when the child is pushing you away is part of a mother's job. I understood why you were holding everyone at arm's length and on some level, I also knew that you'd let that wall down in your own time."
"How'd you know?" Emma asked, sniffling.
"Because I have faith in my wonderful, amazing baby girl." Snow pulled out of the hug and smiled somewhat teasingly at her daughter. "I was just hoping you wouldn't figure that out after you'd already moved back to New York."
Emma chuckled through her tears, a grateful expression on her face. Oh, yes, despite her relative openness, there was still only so much mushiness Emma Swan could take in one conversation. Snow smiled again, happy that she'd set her daughter at ease with the joke, and dried the rest of Emma's tears with the pads of her thumbs. "I love you, sweetheart."
"I love you, too, Mom."
Snow's heart soared higher than she ever thought possible. She cupped her daughter's cheek in her palm and then, knowing this was the last bit of mushiness Emma could handle, shook off the rest of her emotion. She nodded towards the pantry. "Will you grab an onion and a couple of potatoes? I figured since we have nothing else to do until everyone wakes up, I could teach you how to make home fries."
Emma sent her a touched and grateful smile and Snow knew in an instant that her decision to change the subject had been right one. "You mean to tell me," Emma said with false shock as she stepped over to the pantry to retrieve the requested items, "that you're actually going to let me near the stove?"
Snow grinned at her daughter. "Yes, for two reasons. One, you have more cooking experience under your belt now due to your year in New York. And two, I'll be supervising."
That got Emma to chuckle. She returned to the island and set the onion and potatoes down next to the pepper and ham. "Let's get to it, oh wise one."
Snow laughed and handed Emma a potato to peel. And as Emma got to work on the potato, Snow took a moment to just stand and watch and revel in the domesticity. There were not enough words in the English language to express how thrilled she was that her baby girl had finally come home.