As it turned out, life did not always work like feel-good sports movies … when it came to the game of War, at least. Sometimes the underdog lost.
Oh, Henry held his own, all right, and he held it quite well. But when Emma captured his singular ace in a war of twos, of all things, the game was pretty much all over. He rallied for a few minutes, his eight taking her seven or her five surrendering to his ten, but eventually her face cards and the aces captured everything in Henry's hand.
A slightly triumphant grin pulled at Emma's lips when she took her son's last card. Henry, on the other hand, jutted his lower lip out in the tiniest of pouts but it was one that Emma recognized. It was his dreaded warm-up to the first stage of Puppy Dog Eyes.
Snow, who'd settled on the settee with her husband in an effort to give mother and son a bit of space, watched with amusement as Emma rolled her eyes, heaved as much of a sigh as her aching chest muscles and fluid-filled lungs would allow, and shuffled the deck. "One more game, kid, and that's it," she said, looking her son in the eye with an expression that was probably meant to be stern but was instead indulgent.
The boy's tiny pout grew into a thrilled smile. "All right! Thanks!"
Charming caught his wife's eye, and they shared a smile. Although Emma had indeed offered to play another game because Henry was disappointed that his turn ended so quickly, she'd also done so to keep herself awake a little while longer.
"She looks better today," Snow murmured to Charming, her voice soft enough that Emma couldn't hear. She didn't even want to imagine the fit her daughter would pitch if she caught them discussing her as if she wasn't in the room.
"She does," Charming agreed, his eyes focused on his sick daughter. "When she's not talking, it sounds like she's breathing a little better, too."
That was true as well. Her breathing only sounded labored now after she'd been talking, which was quite the change from the day before. Her coughs were still wet and raw, however, and they were still painful, if her facial expressions were anything to go by. Every time Emma coughed, Snow cringed in sympathy.
At least Dr. Whale had ordered a higher dosage of her pain medication. While the extra medicine was more than likely contributing to her sluggishness and sleepiness, it was also helping her to take deeper breaths.
Out of the corner of her eye, Snow caught Charming watching her watch Emma. When he reached for her hand, she allowed him to take it. The rational side of her knew that Emma would be just fine with some antibiotics, fluids, and rest. The emotional side of her, however, could not get over the sight of her baby girl sitting in a hospital bed with an oxygen tube in place under her nose and an IV line coming out of the back of her hand. And on some level, the Mary Margaret in her could not get over the sight of strong and independent Emma Swan doing the same. Her emotional side needed her husband's support, even if her rational side felt a little silly for doing so.
Charming had always been able to read her, and he did so now. A held hand wasn't enough, so he leaned over and pressed a soft, supportive kiss to her cheek. She tightened her grip on his hand in response and turned her head, ready to meet his lips with her own.
The moment was broken by a weak groan from across the room. "Guys, seriously, can you take it easy with the PDA? I'm in the hospital, here. Isn't that enough?"
Both parents chuckled at their daughter's attempt at humor. So many things that had come out of Emma's mouth in the past twenty-four-ish hours had been so unlike Emma that it made Snow quite happy and relieved when very Emma-like things came out of her mouth. In deference to their daughter's wishes, they put the kibosh on the kissing, though they did remain holding hands. The physical contact gave them both some desperately needed comfort and support.
The game of War between mother and son raged on. As far as Snow could tell, it was neck and neck. Emma would win a hand, Henry would win a hand. Face cards and even the aces kept getting won and lost in wars. Just when it looked like Emma was down for the count, she would win a war that pushed her back in the running. Snow quickly decided that watching them play was almost as amusing as playing herself.
After a while, though, the combination of the pain meds and Emma's exhaustion began to get the better of her. It started slowly, with Henry having to nudge her so she'd pick up her cards when she won a round. Soon enough, her eyelids started to droop.
She shook her head and tried to focus on the game but found the task pretty much impossible. Henry must have gathered as much because he recaptured her attention with a gentle, "Mom?"
"Hmm?" Emma asked, lifting her head and blinking at her son.
"We can stop if you want," he told her. He held out his hand for her cards.
Emma wrinkled her nose and shook her head again, stubborn until the end. Still, she didn't argue when Henry slipped the cards from her hand. "Maybe just for a little bit, okay?" she murmured.
"Sure, Mom," Henry replied while hiding a smile.
And that was Snow's cue. She released her husband's hand, stood up from the settee, and crossed the room. Emma only allowed fussing like this when she was half-asleep, and Snow was not about to let this opportunity pass her by. She fluffed the pillows behind Emma's head before whispering, "Lie back, sweetie."
Though Emma wrinkled her nose again at the pet name, she did as instructed without a word of complaint. She simply must not have had the energy to argue, because her eyes closed the second her head hit the pillow. Snow gave her a moment to settle into a light sleep before she chanced brushing a lock of hair off her forehead and tucking it behind her ear.
Emma sighed softly at her mother's touch, her eyelids fluttering open. She smiled at Snow just as her eyes drifted closed again. Smiling herself, Snow ran her thumb down Emma's still far too hot cheek and tried to ignore the leap of her heart when Emma turned her head into her touch.
She eased down in the visitor's chair and simply watched her daughter fall into a deeper sleep. It was a few minutes before Henry chanced whispering, "Gramma?"
"Yes, Henry?" Snow whispered back.
"Can we go down to the gift shop? I grabbed my allowance money from my room when we went home and I want to get her something."
Charming and Snow shared a smile, touched that their grandson wanted to give up some of his hard-earned money for his mother. "I'll take you," Charming offered, standing up from the settee.
Snow sent her husband a grateful look. Though she would have loved to take her grandson down to the gift shop, she didn't want to leave her daughter's side just yet. The hour and ten minutes she'd spent away from her this morning had been far too long. A little bubble of separation anxiety had begun dancing in her stomach the second she stepped out of Emma's room and had grown into a churning well by the time she returned.
She couldn't leave Emma again just yet, not until her fever came down a bit more and she was off the oxygen.
Charming and Henry left the room, promising to be right back. Alone now with her daughter, Snow simply watched her. Sometimes she could hardly believe that Emma was hers. The precious baby she'd handed to Charming so he could get her to safety had grown up, and they had missed it. They'd missed everything, and it was so hard to reconcile the little baby she'd known for five minutes with the woman she'd come to know as Mary Margaret. And yet other times, she would look at Emma and everything would feel right. She really did have Snow's chin … and her eyes. She had her mother's fair skin and her father's coloring. She had her father's temper and fight and her mother's strength. She had their loyalty and their stubbornness and their determination.
She was theirs, and she was everything Snow could have ever hoped she would be.
A soft whimper drew Snow from her reverie. Emma's sleep had grown restless, and her head was turning from side to side as if fighting off images Snow couldn't see. "Shh, sweetie, it's all right," Snow murmured, reaching through the bed rail to grasp Emma's right hand.
Emma's whimpers slowly tapered off and her breathing evened out. Then, with a twitch of her fingers – or a squeezing of Snow's hand around her own, Snow couldn't tell which – she calmed completely. Snow waited a moment before trying to slip her hand free, but Emma's grip simply tightened again.
With a touched smile, Snow stopped trying to pull away. Clearly her daughter needed this, needed the comfort of physical contact. She simply shifted the chair closer so she could sit a little more comfortably while holding onto her daughter's hand.
Every time Emma began to get restless, Snow would give her hand a gentle squeeze. The gesture would calm her, at least for a minute or two. Snow wished so hard that her daughter could get some real, restful sleep but between the fever and the pneumonia, she knew it was pretty much an impossibility. Once Emma's fever broke, she would sleep better, but not until.
Henry and Charming returned to the room after twenty quiet minutes. Charming held a small box of chocolates that was sure to satisfy Emma's sweet tooth, and Henry was carrying a fluffy brown teddy bear dressed in a white hospital gown with baby blue polka dots and with a small happy face Mylar balloon on a stick sewn to its hand. "I know she's going to think it's silly," the boy admitted as he showed his grandmother his purchase, "but I couldn't help it."
"I'm sure she'll love it," Snow assured him with a smile.
But her grandson, it seemed, had inherited his mother's sarcasm along with her stubbornness. He arched an eyebrow at his grandmother and smirked. "She won't love it. She'll think it's ridiculous, but she'll tolerate it because I gave it to her."
Snow and Charming exchanged an amused glance. "You're absolutely right, sweetie," Snow told him, swallowing a chuckle.