Chapter 10: Baby, You're a Miracle
Disclaimer: Still not mine. The fucking Blue Fairy isn't answering my calls.
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"Babies are always more trouble than you thought - and more wonderful." -Charles Osgood
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For all that she knew, academically, that after pregnancy came a child, nothing could have prepared her for the actual reality of being Rose's mother.
Isobel is enjoying every second of it.
Every blink of Rose's eyes, every grip of her fingers around Isobel's own, to every sleepy snuffle she makes is a precious gift.
That is, not to say, that aren't seconds she enjoys more than others though.
Because Rose is a miracle, no doubt about it, but she is also a miracle that wakes every two hours in the night, like clockwork, needing to be fed.
And Isobel is glad to get up, she really is, because there is nothing in this world more beautiful and wondrous than watching her daughter's little rosebud mouth latch onto her nipple-the precious intimacy of that moment something indescribable by modern language.
However after a month of sleep deprivation, the four am feeding has become just a tiny bit less magical though.
This is where Gold really is-pardon the pun-golden.
She's not sure what it is-perhaps the man is a vampire and doesn't need sleep-but at this point she really doesn't even care, because she's just so grateful for the help.
Because, frankly, for all that he'd agreed to be Rose's father at the hospital, Isobel still hadn't been sure how much of a role he had intended to take, because no matter what he said, intent is meaningless without action.
Gold, however, is clearly a man for whom his word is his bond.
Because he's invaluable; he changes diapers, helped her through that first, terrifying bath-really, who designed those tubs anyways-rocked Rose through a period of colic, and, more often than naught when she wakes up in the night, can be found in Rose's room, rocking her and talking to her in that delightful brogue of his.
Sometimes, Isobel wants to freeze those moments, and just live in them forever.
He's Rose's father.
But this is where her certainty ends.
Because for all that he'd kissed her at the hospital-and what a kiss it had been-he hasn't made any more advances towards her since then. He's unflappably gentle towards her-truly kind, all hesitant smiles and soft looks-and an absolute gem with Rose, but no more. And Isobel, frankly, knows that she should be content with what she has, because it's so much more than she ever dreamed it would be in that damned cell, but well…
Isobel wants more.
She blames this, frankly, on that spark of bravery that she'd found when she took on Regina and won, because the girl that she had been before-the scared little girl fresh from the cage-wouldn't have dared to dream for anything. But the woman she is now-the mother who took on her dragon and won-isn't satisfied with this lovely little half-life that they are living; she, having tasted Gold's kiss, wants more.
Wants everything.
The problem is, she isn't sure how to go about getting it.
Though she thinks the six week post-natal appointment she just had is a step in the right direction.
She went alone with Rose-a big step, for both she and Gold-but Isobel really needed to do this one by herself. She's so grateful for everything that he does for her, but she doesn't want to be entirely dependent on him for the rest of her life. She's a mother now, and a brave woman, and she wants to be able to prove to him and herself that she can stand on her own two feet and face the scary things on her own, even though she knows she doesn't have to.
Additionally, she might have died of mortification if Gold had been there when the nurse had given her a saucy wink and certified her as fit to resume having sex.
Though in retrospect, it might have solved her dilemma.
Regardless, the appointment went well, and Isobel is flush with pride when she returns home afterwards. So it's with a special glow that she nurses and changes Rose and puts her down for a nap, placing her into her adorable little crib, tucking her into the little blanket Gold bought and placing the baby Winnie the Pooh stuffed animal beside her to watch over her.
And then she can't help but stop and look; look at her daughter, and her heart just swells, because she didn't even think it was possible to love someone as much as she loves Rose.
However she's disturbed from her observation of watching her daughter breathe by the sound of the door opening and closing quietly, and so, knowing that the sounds indicates that Gold has come home early from the shop-likely worried about her, and isn't that just terribly sweet-she grabs the baby monitor and, as silently as she can, creeps downstairs to meet him.
He's in the kitchen when she finds him, and he looks up and smiles, that heart-fluttering softness to his eyes when he sees her, before he asks, voice hushed so as not to wake Rose, "How did the check-up go-everything alright?" And although concern is carefully modulated in his tone, Isobel can almost see him tamping down the panic that wants to escape him at the thought of her being alone in the hospital.
To ease that look, because something deep in her hurts when he hurts, she says quickly, voice quiet but reassuring, "Everything's perfect-I got a clean bill of health."
"That's excellent dear," he says in return, relief clear in his voice that turns to pride as he reads between the lines and hears what she didn't say, in addition to what she did-that she was ok at the hospital; the site of her nightmares-by herself.
At that-at his pride at her accomplishment, as mundane as it is-Isobel gathers her courage and continues, voice trying for casual, "And the nurses even said I could resume all my pre-birth…activities safety now."
"That's good," he says simply, entirely not getting the point, and Isobel feels the brief, strong urge to repeatedly bang her head against the nearest wall.
Isobel is aware that, as a mature adult, there are a lot of ways that she can deal with this. She can simply lay out the facts, and ask him why he hasn't made a move. She could kiss him, and try and go from there. But there is still that hint of doubt, that erodes at her bravery-that says that he hasn't made a move because he doesn't want her, and he's just trying to be kind about it, and it's that doubt that keeps her frozen.
So, naturally, she chooses the mature option of bursting into tears.
At that, the panic is back in full force as he rushes over to her, though his hands are gentle as they bracket her shoulders as he says, voice nearly frantic, "Isobel, sweet, what is it? Please, sweet, I can't fix it if you don't tell me what's broken."
"You don't want me!" She manages to wail, through her sobs, and her courage fails her as she can't meet his eyes, knowing that her little display is hardly helping to create the image of her as mature adult he'd want to date.
"What?" He says, drawing back a bit, and at that Isobel finally manages to meet his gaze, to find that he's looking at her like she's just said that there's an alien on the roof, or something equally ridiculous before he continues, voice entirely bewildered but still modulated as not to wake Rose, "What on earth would give you an idea as moronic as that?"
"You haven't kissed me since the hospital!" She says, her tears beginning to fade as the look of sheer puzzlement on his face registers-a look that does wonders to tamping down that self-destructive doubt.
And then the doubt is dealt a death blow as he says, "You just had a baby!" And his voice is the definition of incredulous, staring at her like he thinks she's being deliberately obtuse and missing the obvious dancing pink elephant in the room.
And so, although Isobel is pretty sure she finally gets where their wires were crossed, she can't help but asking, just for the certainty of verbal confirmation, "So…you do want me?"
"My dear," he says, voice wonderfully soft, and the look he gives her warms her very soul, "if there are things you can be certain of in our ever changing world, they are these; the Earth will always revolve around the sun, water will always be wet, and I will always want you."
"The doctor says I'm ready," she says in return, stomach fluttering, and it's not quite an answer, but really, what do you say to something like that?
At that, he smiles, the gesture a bit rueful, as he says, voice soft but entirely serious, "Yes, but there is a world of difference between being ready and being ready, sweetheart. And personally, I don't think either of us is ready yet."
"You're not supposed to be this understanding," she complains, only half-heartedly, because he's right, and they both know it but really, he's the man. Isn't he supposed to be insensitive and demanding about this?
His understanding only makes her want to jump him.
It's a vicious cycle.
"You're important, dear," he says, the soft glint of humor in eyes indicating that he's aware of her predicament, before his voice becomes painfully sincere, "You and Rose are the second chance I never thought I'd get, and I don't want to do anything to jeopardize that. Especially jumping the gun and indulging in an urge to soon."
"Well," she says finally, over the warm, cresting wave that is happiness in her heart, "if the mood ever hits you, please feel free to indulge that urge a little bit, alright?"
He smiles at that, and then, with a soft look of intent, draws her into him, his mouth descending on hers, somehow both gentle and deep, and Isobel is helpless to do anything but open her mouth and respond, grasping his shoulders in order to keep herself standing as her legs suddenly turn to jelly.
"Alright," he says, when he finally draws back, and Isobel is proud that she manages to contain her whimper at the loss of his lips on hers, though twinkle in his eye as he rubs his thumb gently on the curve of her chin suggests she might not have done as good a job as she thought.
And of course, it's at that point that Rose lets out a cry through the monitor, and the spell that seems to have fallen around them breaks, and so, although he lets go of her shoulders and takes a few steps back, the good humored twinkle remains in his eyes as he says, voice soft, "You go tend to the babe, and I'll start dinner."
Isobel manages a dazed nod in his direction, before she goes up stairs and does just that, unable to stop the beaming smile on her face, even as she rocks Rose, shushing her tears. From that point on the evening progresses as most of them do; they eat dinner together, Rose a warm presence in her basket beside the table, and then they read in the library where they take turns rocking Rose in her basket near the fire-but not too close, of course. The only difference is when they part ways to go to bed, and he gives her a good night kiss, barely more than the brushing of lips, but it makes her heart sing all the same.
The taste of him still on her lips, Isobel falls asleep with a light heart.
She wakes up, hours later, to silence.
This, in itself is a surprise, because it's four am, and Rose should be crying, making her presence known. The fact that she isn't indicates that something is going on, and so, although she doesn't need to, because she knows what's going on, Isobel makes her way quietly to Rose's room, hit with the sudden desire to watch what she knows is happening.
When she gets there, the door is partially ajar, and so instead of opening it, Isobel peaks in, and then she just stops, and stares.
Because there, as she expected, is Gold, cradling a gently crying Rose to him in the rocking chair, rocking back and forth as he murmurs to her, feeding her breast milk from a bottle-and on a related note, the breast pump is a torture device that is finally, finally worth it-and Isobel can just make out what he is saying from her position, hidden by the door.
"There, there Rose. That's better, isn't it," he says softly, as Rose's cries tamper off in favor of sucking on the nipple of her bottle, and Isobel's heart melts as he continues, "We mustn't wake Mummy-she needs her rest after all. There you are, darling girl, Daddy is here."
And then, just when she thought her heart couldn't get any more full, she's proven wrong as, voice soft, accent thick, he starts to sing.
"Golden slumbers kiss your eyes, Smiles awake you when you rise; Sleep, pretty baby, do not cry, And l will sing you a lullaby."
And it is then, that she realizes something.
Love, she thinks, is layered.
This is not a fairy-tale-Gold is no Prince Charming and she is no princess, and true love's kiss will not fix everything-but she thinks that this is love all the same.
Standing in the shadows, watching Gold sing to their daughter, heart near bursting, Isobel knows she wouldn't trade it for the world.
"Sleep, pretty darling, do not cry, And l will sing you a lullaby."
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A/N: So sorry for the delay; I got hit by the head cold from hell, and could barely sit up, much less work through a plot. The cold is still kicking my ass, but at least I can write now, and so, I give you the first sort-of-fight I guess, and the adjustment period of Isobel and Mr. Gold. Still slow and steady, people! This chapter was hard, because I wanted to capture the wonder of a new baby with the reality of a new baby; because I love babies, but they're hard work; no sleep, and worry, and I didn't want to over or under romanticize that. Also, the more thing is a nerd nod to the Disney Beauty and the Beast, who's Belle, if I remember correctly, sang a lovely number about wanting more-and possibly Ariel as well. Disney heroines really like more, apparently! Any fans of the Nostalgia Critic will pick up on that joke, and if you have no idea what that is, google it, because it's a fun way to waste some time-like quickmeme but crankier and with videos…ok it's nothing like quickmeme; look it up anyways! Additionally, the lullaby Gold sings is Golden Slumbers, a little ditty by a group you might have heard of called the Beatles-appropriate, no? Finally, it might be another few days before the next update-mostly 'cause I'm still sick-but I'll try my best, and as always, enjoy, and reviews and constructive criticism are welcome.