The light in the main room was still on when Snow woke to feed Neal at 3 am. Just the small light, the lamp on the table, but light nonetheless. Not that it bothered her, she could sleep with it on, but Emma usually turned it off if she came home late.
Laying the baby down in his bassinet, Snow padded softly into the other room. Perhaps Emma had just forgotten. She stood at the base of the stairs and listened for a moment, but it was too hard to tell if Emma was there or still out. Snow turned back around to flip off the lamp, but stopped, seeing her daughter sprawled across the couch on her stomach.
It looked uncomfortable, to say the least. It wasn't even a full couch, more the size of a love seat, and Emma hung off it at odd angles. She'd removed her jacket but still wore her knee high boots. Her breathing was even and slow.
Snow crossed the room quietly, brushing a lock of hair from Emma's face. She looked so peaceful lying there. Somehow, in sleep, she looked so much younger, easily passable for early to mid twenties, Snow thought. Even though she technically had 28 extra years of (cursed) experience, and was supposedly much older (though not physically), sometimes Emma seemed like the older one. Neither of their lives had ever been easy, but Emma's even more so than Snow's.
Gently rubbing Emma's back, Snow whispered her daughter's name, but she didn't stir. Snow eased one foot up from where it rested and unzipped the boot. She used to wear boots similar to this, she remembered with a jolt, back in her bandit days. Of course, getting them on and off was much more of an ordeal without the convenience of a zipper. Snow slipped it from Emma's foot gently, lay the leg back down and took off the other boot, careful not to jar Emma, least she startle awake and hurt herself. She tried again to wake her daughter, but Emma was out cold.
Pulling an afghan from the trunk, she covered Emma up, placing a gentle kiss on her hair. She wished there was something more she could do to make her girl more comfortable. With a sight, Snow turned back toward her and David's room to find him leaning on the doorframe smiling at her.
"What are you doing up?" she whispered.
He smiled, coming toward her and placing a soft kiss on her forehead. "Watching you care for our daughter."
"You weren't supposed to wake up."
"I know."
"Do you always wake when I feed Neal?"
"Sometimes. Not so much anymore. But I did a little tonight, and when you didn't come back to bed, I had to see what you were doing."
Snow turned her head back toward Emma, who gave a little snore-like noise in her sleep.
David smiled. "She's so peaceful."
Snow gave a little laugh, reading into what he didn't say. "When she's sleeping, and not running around shooting sarcasm like bullets and acting like nothing penetrates that armor she puts up, you mean."
He chuckled. "Yeah. But you know, I wouldn't have her any other way. I might not have ever envisioned a daughter like her, but I wouldn't trade her for the world. She's our Emma."
Snow sighed softly. "I just wish…" she trailed off. She'd voiced it before; David knew how she felt about missing childhood. How they both felt.
"Me too."
She stood in his arms and they regarded their not-so-little girl.
"She doesn't look very comfortable," David observed. Snow looked up at him.
"I tried to wake her. She's out."
"She may be our daughter, but she is our age physically, and I know that won't feel good when she wakes up."
"You try to wake her, then. I told you, she's out cold."
He paused a moment. "No, I'm not going to wake her. I'm going to do something I wish I could have done for her when she was a child."
He let go of Snow. She looked at him quizzically. He crossed the room, removed the afghan and gently lifted Emma into his arms.
"I'm carrying my baby girl to bed."
Snow followed him up the stairs and pulled back the covers so he could lay Emma down, then covered her. Emma stirred slightly, turning on her side. David kissed her gently and took Snow by the hand, leading her downstairs again. There would be more time to spend with Emma in the morning.