Two years ago he'd been a literal ghost of a man, left nothing but the bitter, broken, wish of belonging somewhere that'd been stirred again one single word and the night haunted so impossibly still the face of the man who had once soothed away such terrors.
The man who'd taught him the only lesson he'd believed he'd never forget, the only lesson that'd been all but scarred into his skin as he'd grown in this new, crueller, world and yet still, somehow, he'd made the same mistake.
Had allowed fear to steer his feet on a path that'd had him so very close to destroying everything without ever realising he'd done as such.
Then.
Then papa had appeared before him, older and so much more fragile than he recalled, only the lingering spark of the Dark one there in his eyes stopping him from simply forgetting everything that very instant.
They'd talked over coffee, he bleeding out everything he'd written that other life in that clumsy, childish, letter and papa telling him the bits of the story he'd felt safe giving over, pleading forgiveness and offering his arms as though he were still Bae and he simply papa.
He'd known there were harder truths to hear and, when they'd at last come, he'd sworn he'd never again talk to the man, had screamed and raged until all he'd felt was empty.
Perhaps if papa had been alone that day then that would have been the end to it all, but…
As they'd stepped out into the autumn chill that first day an impossible dream had been balanced on the railing outside, golden hair blowing somewhat in the wind.
She'd smiled a weary little smile and it'd only been when he'd caught sight the charm on her necklace that he'd felt safe enough to smile back and state simply, "hey."
They'd had so much more to talk about, so much more to hide and yet the very moment she'd introduced Henry to him he'd understood well the time for such things had passed. Understood that he needed to let the fear go and trust her implicitly if he was ever to hope of even getting the chance of undoing the harm he'd caused by letting it in the first place.
She'd been understandably weary, a good word from August, as well as a little time, bringing them to a point where she'd tolerate him talking to Henry and, from there, it'd just been a matter of patience.
Of trusting in the power of true love.
He'd thought that being able to call her his wife would be the greatest joy he'd ever experience and then two blue lines had shifted everything onto its axes.
Now, looking into his daughter's beautiful eyes, it's as though suddenly he's been gifted utter clarity.
As though his whole life has been nothing until this moment and he still can't quite decide what he's done to deserve it.
"So, what are you going to call her?" Snow looks about as tired as he'd felt a few instants previous, though given that she and Charming have been taking rounds through the night that's about to be expected.
Less expected is the twinge as he takes in the mirror of his joy in her face, the pride she clearly feels for her beautiful, wondrous, daughter.
A painful sense of the absence from this moment and, placing his daughter gently back into her mother's arms he states,
"I need to make a call." Emma's sleepily easing the ruffled feathers the slight sharpness will have caused as he scrambles from the room and, stopping only to wave Charming and Henry in, makes his way out into the open air.
It's not really needed, there's enough signal in the warm to make calls but he can't quite make himself make this call in earshot of the rest of his family.
Which is odd, given why he's doing as such in the first place, but he'd given up attempting to rationalise his subconscious logic long, long, ago.
Honestly it's likely good thing that Belle answers despite his having dialled the shop, his head's so scrambled right now he's as likely to make the rift worse rather than better and, taking breath, he states "It's Bae."
The old nickname as peace offering and yet still Belle is stating, "You've hurt him enough," with more than a little accusation in her voice.
It's testament to how much he likes her, to how good having her, saving her, has been for his papa that he doesn't snap back, that he allows the vulnerability in as he responds,
"I know, and I didn't ring to make it worse."
"Maybe not, but you didn't ring to apologise either, did you?"
"No, I called to say that I understand, that today I held my daughter in my arms for the first time and I got it.
"You see he told me over and over those first weeks that it was all for me, that he'd taken on all that darkness to keep me happy and yet I kept thinking that if that really was the case why didn't he just let me go? Allow me to fight and thus assure I had a papa to come home to?
"Today I saw that it was because that, as a father, keeping your child safe is all but written into you, an all consuming compulsion that a force such as The Dark One could so very easily manipulate. Twist and twist until having magic seemed as vital part of assuring that I stayed safe…until he became lost enough to believe magic all he needed.
"It doesn't make anything better, doesn't take away the fact that the Dark One killed my mother using his hands but, maybe, it means I'm ready to accept that's what happened. That I can get to a place where they're again two separate entities in my head." A moment, as she likely takes it all in, pulls cohesive sense from what's really little more than thinking aloud and then,
"So what next?"
"Come to the hospital."
"Give me a minute." She places the phone down with as much care as possible and there's a long moment as her sweet little voice imparts everything to papa, broken occasionally his deeper, older voice, and then,
"We'll be there as soon as we can." He's not stupid enough to think that'll be it, that there won't be at least one point down the line where he'll regret ever starting this again and yet…
For the first time since a plucky blonde had broken her way into an already stolen car he felt truly excited about just what the future might hold.