Next chapter (this weekend) is the ceremony for Snow and Charming! Hope you enjoy a little fluff before then.
David ran the plate under the water from the faucet and placed it in line with the others in the dishwasher, a towel over his shoulder in the perfect picture of domesticity. The square window over the sink offered him the perfect view of the backyard where his wife and son were currently playing on the second part of his gift to Mary Margaret. Marco had truly outdone himself, creating a castle like playset, complete with turrets and a drawbridge for Neal to enjoy.
"It's like back home," she had whispered as they looked own on it from the back deck of their new house. Always a little more emotional than most people, she wiped away the tears with her hand and promised that she absolutely loved it. The backyard had been one of the reasons she wanted a new house for them. She was already imagining their children and grandchildren playing there as he grilled hamburgers and she and Emma sipped on tea.
Neal seemed to adore it, climbing every surface and yelling out to them so they could appreciate his dexterity and bravery. Emma had appreciated it too, commenting that she'd have loved it as a small child. As usual, David noted the wistfulness in her eyes that was quickly replaced with happiness with a reassuring squeeze from her husband.
"Are you going to join us?" Mary Margaret called through the doorway. "Neal wants to fight a few dragons."
Chuckling, David knew that his son just wanted to get his hands on the wooden swords that Marco had included. The master woodworker had created several sizes so that Neal and any nieces, nephews and siblings could grow into them. Picking one of the smallest, David proceeded to offer his son his first real lesson. Maybe it wasn't the cleanest fake fight or even the way he had intended for the lesson to go, but the toddler loved swinging the stick and the loud thumping noised it made against the mini-suit of armor that Marco included as a knight to guard the castle.
"Our neighbors are going to love that," Mary Margaret joked when David helped her up from where she sat with her legs sprawled out in front of her.
Tag teaming as parents often find themselves doing, they managed to bathe and get the young prince into bed with only one extra story and a slight flood on the bathroom floor when he insists on a water fight with no one in particular. David asked with mock seriousness if they should be worried about his antics, but as a good mother, Mary Margaret found it all rather amusing.
"Did Emma seem okay to you?" she asked, momentarily cheerful as she found the hand lotion she had been searching for since the move. "She looked a little pale to me."
"She's fine," David reassured, pulling the freshly added sheets and blankets down so that he could climb into the bed. "She's working her regular shifts, Regina's been busy with things so Henry's been there more, and from the sounds of it Killian said she's trying to mimic Martha Stewart with all the household tasks. He said he's planning to hide her phone and computer so she can't find any more do it yourself projects."
Running her hands together and then up her forearms, she rubbed in the floral scented lotion. Frowning, she added some more and then frowned again. She held her hands out to David who allowed her to spread the excess onto his palms too. "You smell like lilacs now," she said as she joined him on the bed. "She really needs to cut back. She's having twins for goodness sake. She should be kicking back and relaxing."
"Have you met our daughter?" David laughed, wrinkling his nose as he smelled the feminine scent of his hands. "She doesn't relax."
"Maybe not, but I'd still rather her take care of herself than run around and put herself and our grandchildren at risk."
David reached over to turn out the light and then snuggled in next to his wife who was still sitting with her back against the headboard. She was clearly ready to talk rather than sleep. "She's not going to do anything stupid," he said with a yawn. "She's going to be careful."
Mary Margaret lifted and readjusted the blanket over her legs. "Maybe, but I was thinking that maybe we should help her out. We could hire a housekeeper. Just someone who could come in and do a few chores, maybe a little grocery shopping, and take the load off of Emma would be good." She smiled happily at her plan.
"First," David said, rolling onto his back when he realized his wife was seriously planning to debate this issue, "how can we afford to do that? We have a mortgage, our own baby to get ready for, Neal's preschool tuition to think about, and this place is not going to be cheap on electricity and gas to heat and cool." He could feel her eyes on him, judging his reluctance. "Secondly, Emma would kill us. She'd take it as a sign that we don't think she can handle things."
Mary Margaret slid from her sitting position to lie next to him. "It wouldn't hurt to check," she protested. "It might not be too expensive."
He turned back to his side, covering the now protruding stomach with his hand. "Honey, I love that you want to take care of our daughter. I do too, but she isn't going to let you send some stranger into her home. Besides, as much as I hate to admit it, she has Killian. He's been doing most of the cooking and from what Henry says he's been trying to keep her happy with cleaning and even moving furniture the other day when she saw a television show about losing your energy through bad furniture placement. He even moved it back when she said she didn't like it."
Mary Margaret's hands joined his. "You're defending the pirate?" she asked incredulously. "What have you done with David?"
"It's painful," he admitted teasingly. "But I'm willing to give him some credit." His nose nuzzled into his wife's neck playfully but with purpose. "I don't want to talk about him while I'm in bed with you though."
"You don't?" Mary Margaret laughed. "I thought you were tired? You said you didn't want to christen our new bed and our new house." She tried her best to sound accusatory, but failed as she bit back a giggle.
"I'm in a celebratory mood," he grinned over her, dropping a series of kisses on her face and ending at her mouth.
"And what are we celebrating?"
"Plumbing," he answered, again with a muffled voice as his mouth trailed along her jaw. "Do you realize that we have enough hot water that we washed a load of dishes in the dishwasher and bathed our son? At the loft we'd still be waiting for the water to heat up."
His wife nudged his shoulder to send him backward, worrying him that she was about to reject him. However, she followed his pat so that she hovered above him. "Well by all means, let's celebrate some hot water."
***KECS***
The next morning Emma's legs dangled off the side of the bed and her fingers were steepled together over her stomach. She kicked her bare feet through the air with scissor like movements. "They aren't going to fit," she announced as Killian patted his hair dry with a towel and looked at her in confusion. "My shoes for the ceremony. My feet and ankles are swollen and I can't get the right one on at all and the left one cuts off my circulation."
He peeked out from under the fluffy green towel and smiled with a lopsided grin. "You could wear other shoes?" It was the wrong question. He knew it as soon as he heard it leave his mouth and by the look on her face that said she might actually harm him if she could get up off the bed from that position. He considered running.
"I cannot wear other shoes," she explained with a calm voice through a clenched jaw. "My mother picked out those shoes. Ruby and I are supposed to wear the same shoes." She kicked her feet a bit higher. "And now I cannot do it because I'm like a whale already and I'm not to my third trimester. And by the time I am you're going to have to bring me all my meals because I won't be able to fit through the door." She folded her arms up over her eyes and let out a strangled grunt. "This is your fault."
Dropping the towel on the floor, he knew she would protest that as well. "Emma, darling, they are just shoes. Your mother will understand. She might not even notice."
"Have you met my mother?" she asked with a dramatic sigh. "My mother spent three weeks deciding which shade of yellow would look best without turning me into Big Bird or washing out Ruby's skin tone. She spent an entire weekend deciding between six types of chocolate cake only to go with carrot cake. She nixed a whole set of invitations for this event because the font was too close to what Regina and Robin used and she wanted to be original. She's going to notice my shoes."
He knelt down, his shirt still lying beside her on the bed and his pants riding low on his hips. Picking up the shoes, he smiled. "They are like little death contraptions, love," he said. "Perhaps you just need some help."
Emma appeared ready for a good pout, her bottom lip already protruding and her nose crinkling as he ran his hand along one leg and then the other. "That's not going to help," she chastised, her pout falling into a grin. "It feels good, but it isn't going to help me fit in those shoes."
He chuckled, kissing the tip of each of her knees and then throwing his head back to look at her. "Why are you even trying them on right now? It's two days before the ceremony."
"I was worried," she said honestly. "I can feel how much they have swelled and I didn't want a last minute surprise." She placed her hands together and out in front of her as if an amateur diver. "Help?"
He clamored to his feet and pulled her up to a sitting position. "So they don't fit. What would you like me to do?" He sounded so typically male, expecting to be able to solve her problems when she might just want to whine and complain for a moment in a venting session rather than have him shout out suggestions.
"I'm going to call my mother and tell her that I may need to walk down the aisle in fuzzy slippers," she said. "The pictures will look great."
He settled next to her, pulling her head onto his still damp shoulder. "You could go barefoot." His hand automatically looped up to finger through the long blonde hair that he had already made a few comments about hoping at least one of the twins got from her.
"Not a beach ceremony," she reminded him. "My parents are going for a little more high class. But I suppose it will take a trip to the shoe store and some creativity." She groaned. "You don't know how lucky you are that your wife hates shopping. I could be one of those types who always has our bank account at zero over what we just had to have."
He was less teasing as he told her that he was the lucky one.