One minute she is there, watching the shaft of light grow thinner, reaching her hand out, scared and wanting to grasp his hand just one last time. The next, everything stops and she's crouched in this little space, hands wrapped over her swollen belly, keeping her safe.
Keeping her safe.
Her legs are shaking and her stomach is aching when she reaches out in the surrounding darkness to pull open the door. Sunlight spills in, and its so familiar. Woods and trees, and for a moment she thinks it hasn't worked. Then she realizes she does not know these trees. She does not recognize this wood, and it must be…
She straightens. Her dress drags in the leaves. They have done it. They have made it. She tries to ignore the twist of guilt in her chest. She has left him. She isn't exactly certain what will happen to him. What will happen to any of them. If they still are.
She's so scared. And she has been alone before. She had been convinced at one time that this was her destiny. To be alone, but never like this.
There's a movement in her belly and she runs a hand down the soft fabric of her dress and feels the tiny pulse of a kick, reminding her she will not be alone long.
She glances back to the tree, thinking—and knowing for certain there is not—there is a way she can get back. She can't go back. This was their fate, or their choice. The choice they had made for her, in order to set her destiny right.
There's a violent kick, suddenly that makes her nearly double over.
She holds her breath and waits. And it vanishes. She can make it. She can do this. She has convinced herself that she could, tamped down the fear and did not give it another conscious thought before he'd shut her in the intricately engraved prison. The vessel that would separate them for half a lifetime. Maybe longer. She could not know.
She couldn't think about that now. Perspective. There would be a baby soon. A little one who would need her more than anything. There was no going back, and like she'd shoved everything aside to just focus on getting here alive, she'd have to shove aside all thoughts of the past—of the future she thought they were going to have—in order to do this.
She finds a road quickly, and it is not a well-worn path trodden down by horses and people. It is a long ribbon of solid grey stone, or something like stone. She follows it til she sees light.
The shape of the building she comes to is unfamiliar and too sharp, too structured. There are no castles here, no quaint cottages, or burrows beneath the roots of trees. There are ominous looking buildings, seemingly glowing from within, and she just wants to run away. But if she's going to bring this baby into the world safely, she knows she will need help.
A bell jingles somewhere when she opens the door. She glances around, seeing people in odd little chairs at odd little tables with dishes that are too white and clean.
A long bar runs the length of the room, not unlike a tavern, but much cleaner and pleasant smelling. She thinks this must be something like that. A place to eat, to drink, to be with company.
She smells something strange that she cannot place. And apple pie. It makes her stomach swim sickly as she approaches the counter. People are glancing up from their dinners, watching the woman with flowers braided into her hair, in a long white dress, and why is everyone dressed so strangely?
An older woman behind the bar, Granny's age, greets her and asks if she'd like a table. She shakes her head and runs a hand over her belly again, grounding herself.
"No, thank you. I'm…I'm…" She wonders what she is supposed to say. What is most important. Shelter? Food? The baby's safety.
"I'm lost," she admits it, because she doesn't know how else to say it. And it's the truth. She is lost. Away from everything familiar, away from her home and him.
More people are staring, and her stomach is hurting. Not because of the smell of warm apples, but because the baby is moving, deciding now is a good time to spar with her organs. She gives an uncomfortable grimace, stroking her belly. She apologizes to the woman who's looking at her now like she's crazy, but also as if she cares and just as tears bubble over her cheeks the woman grasps her shoulder.
"Hey. Its alright. Come around back. We'll find you some help, sweetheart."
She follows the woman's invitation behind the counter, through a door to a back room. A desk is laid with paper and envelopes; a huge box with a reflective front that she thinks might be some kind of mirror. The woman sits at the chair by the desk, and invites her to sit in the only other free chair in the corner.
"Is there somebody you can call? You can borrow the phone."
Snow blinks, shaking her head. She is still crying, and the woman offers her a box of soft little cloths that feel like handkerchiefs but more artificial and they crumple in her hands. She dabs her eyes anyways. "The phone?" she asks, confused.
The woman sighs and leans back in her chair, eyeing her. She isn't sure if this woman wants to help or just wants her to leave. She's obviously impeding business.
"Did someone drop you off here?"
Snow shakes her head. "No, I walked." It isn't a lie.
"Walked?" the woman asks in disbelief. "As pregnant as you are? From where? We're miles away from town."
She wants to laugh at that, because she can remember the other day when she was waddling around the bedchamber, complaining about pregnancy and that she was as big as a whale and David smiled and simply asked if she needed a nap.
"I can't…" she starts and shakes her head. More tears come and the woman leans across the desk.
"OK, OK. How about a name? What's your name, honey?"
She starts to answer, remembering the name she gave Red all those years ago. But there's a sharp pain in her stomach again, and the baby is demanding not be ignored. She gasps, and stands, all at once something is warm on her legs. Her dress clings to her.
Oh…
New tears spill over, and it doesn't hurt physically as much as it does to think that this happening now when she's just arrived. When she has no idea where she is, what kind of land this is. If this woman can be trusted. If she really can do this, how she promised David she could. She can't do it without him. A wave of fear grips her, tighter than the pain in her abdomen.
She hears the woman yelling, calling for someone named James to call an ambulance. Why does his name have to be James? She doesn't even have time to think on what an ambulance might be before she's ushered inside a white and red vessel where everything is too bright and too loud and strange people are around her asking her questions and telling her to breathe.
She cries and she screams, not because it hurts. It does. But its all so unfair, and she hates it here. This is their best chance. She tries to remember that. She tries to concentrate on that. Tries to imagine David's blue eyes and his smile, that he's holding her hand and not some stranger. When the cart her out of this thing that must be called an ambulance, the pain is blinding.
People all around her are talking, and lights are flashing over her in a repetitive pattern. They are inside another building, and she's being wheeled down a long hallway. Someone somewhere is telling her to keep breathing. It's a man's voice, and for only a split second she thinks it could be his.
Everything stops again, and it seems like its only her screaming and gripping someone's hand. It feels like it lasts only a few minutes, but she knows it is much much longer.
The room is white and the artificial light is too bright.
"It's a girl!" someone announces and she hears someone else's cries. Strong, ear-splitting cries. Emma's cries. Her vision finally focuses again, and she feels the baby being laid against her chest. She is still delirious with confusion and shock and pain, but just before she rests her head back on the pillow and her eyes fall shut, she sees a whisp of fair hair, dusty blonde like David's.
-O-O-O-
There is sunlight spotted along the floor when she wakes up, morning light filtering through a tree outside the window. It does not take her long to realize she is alone in the room that—even in the shade of morning—is still too bright. She panics, and glances around for Emma. Her body is sore, but she sits upright.
Just as she is about to stand, the door opens and a man in all blue wheels a short cart into the room. It isn't until she hears cooing and whimpering that she realizes it's a strange-looking bassinet.
"Good morning, Miss," he says,
She doesn't know what to say in return, and something like a bit of relief rises in her because no one in this world will be calling her Princess or Your Highness.
"Is that…?" she manages, glancing down into the strange looking basinet. The man nods, and Emma cries loudly all of a sudden.
"We wanted to let you have some rest before we brought the baby to stay in your room. Most new moms like a little bit of rest," he states.
Snow nods. "Can I hold her?"
"Of course." He lifts little Emma from the square shaped basinet that reminds her too much of a glass coffin. She settles against her chest easily, and Snow feels her breath catch when she finally looks at her little blonde head and her eyes that match her own.
"She's beautiful," she says, more to herself, but the man answers her.
"She is. You did a wonderful job last night. I'll let you two spend some time together, and bring you the paperwork you'll need to fill out, along with the birth certificate. Does she have a name?"
She doesn't know why her voice shakes so much when she says it. "Emma."
"A beautiful name. Well, I'm your nurse, Nolan. If you need anything, feel free to ask."
She nods, uncertainly, and looks back down at Emma when he leaves the room.
Emma is beautiful, and everything she had hoped and more. She sees Charming in her already, and the dint in her chin is her own. She cries against her chest, swaddled in a pink blanket and Snow remembers the pretty white one Granny had been knitting. It now hung, she supposed, over the side of the crib that was to be Emma's in her nursery. Before all of this happened.
She soothes the baby to quiet murmurs. When Emma finally falls asleep against her, it is Snow's turn to cry.
She rests hear head back on the pillows and streams of silent tears sting her cheeks. This was not how things were supposed to be. Charming was supposed to be with her when Emma was born, encouraging her and smiling down at their new daughter like she'd hung the moon, telling her Emma had her mouth and counting her fingers and toes.
She didn't belong here. Wherever here was. She was meant to be home, with her friends and the people she loved most. With Charming and their new baby, making a little family of their own.
Emma was supposed to be coronated as crown princess, and there would've been a party.
Up until now, everything since the week before had been a rush. To prepare a way out, to build to wardrobe, to decide on a plan, and now she was here only a few hours, with Emma in her arms and everything slams into her all at once. Everything they have done, their talk with Rumplestiltskin, learning of the Queen's curse, and escaping before she can find out.
Bringing Emma into the world was supposed to happy, so why isn't she?
They were alone. In this strange world where everyone had thought they'd be safe, a place that would be the best place for them. the best place for Emma. But Snow could see nothing good about it now. Except that she had no idea what to do next, and her one instinct was to protect her daughter.
She has no clue where to go next. What to do. She barely even has time to calm herself before they bring her a stack of papers, and instruct her how to fill out the birth certificate—which she figured out easily was documentation of Emma's birth. She doesn't know what is appropriate to put at her surname.
She doesn't have one really. Snow White was more on a moniker. And royals did not have surnames. Not many people did, in her land.
Nolan. The nurse's name. In addition to surnames being hard to come by, she had never known a male nurse. A doctor, certainly. It didn't really matter who he was, she supposed. Nolan was as good a name as any, and so she took it as her own. As Emma's. She jots her first name as Mary Margret, opting for both of the name's she'd once given Red as a cover, simply because it sound pretty together.
There's a space for a middle name for Emma, and she crosses the t on Ruth's name with a swell of reminiscence in her chest.
On the line designated as 'Father,' she writes David. David Nolan. Because certainly they won't really be concerned about who he is or need to ask any more questions than this. It all false, but that's ok. She doesn't know how any of it works, but she wants Emma to know his name one day, and perhaps she'll even tell her the story of her favorite nickname for him.
After all the pomp and circumstance, she is alone with Emma again. The bright light above her bed makes Emma's eyes shine brightly like jewels.
"You made it," she coos at her. "We made it."
Emma wriggles against her, and she's so tiny and new.
Snow's chest tightens again and she tries not to cry.
"I promise, Emma," she says quietly, "I'm going to make this work for us. I'm going to give you your best chance."
The baby watches her, reaches up towards her.
"I love you, Emma." She catches her hand in hers and presses it to her lips.