"And then, we're just going to stir in these onions here…"

David glanced up, still scribbling furiously as Ina Garten demonstrated how to properly braise a roast. "Onions," he muttered, dropping his eyes back down to the page. That's what he'd been forgetting, onions! Oh, he should've known.

"And now, we're going to take this beautiful roast—"

His phone rang, drowning out the rest of Ina's sentence. David cursed, turning the volume down, and put his phone to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Oh, David, thank God!" Robin breathed into the phone. "I've been trying to get a hold of everyone, no one's picking up! I think they're all ignoring me on purpose," he added worriedly.

"What do you want, Robin?" David asked, pressing the phone between his ear and shoulder so he could keep writing down Ina's instructions.

"I need you to pick up my order from Granny's and drop it off for Regina. She's really sick today, so I said I'd get her some soup, but then Roland's teacher called because he got another toy soldier stuck in his nose, so I had to take him to the hospital—" Robin paused to catch his breath—"anyways, now I'm waiting for Dr. Whale, but he's got three other kids from the preschool with things caught in their noses because apparently, there was some kind of nose-jamming-war going on, and so Regina's sick and lacking soup, so could you please please please drop her soup off, David?"

David frowned, setting down his pen. "Robin, if she's sick, I don't think getting her something from Granny's is going to help. She'll probably get sicker, if anything."

Robin sighed exhaustedly, sounding close to tears. "I don't know what else to do," he wailed. "I'm stuck here with Roland—"

"Just calm down," David said over him, getting up from the couch. "I'll take care of it, okay? I'll go over there and make her some soup so she doesn't have to eat that rancid dishwater Granny's serves."

"You will?" Robin said in relief. "Oh, my God, David, you're a saint."

"Don't worry about it," David shrugged, going to the kitchen to start gathering his ingredients. "I'll see you later."

He hung up, sliding his phone into his pocket, and continued collecting ingredients: spices, onions, potatoes, carrots, chicken stock, spinach, chicken, and his secret ingredient—bacon bits.

"Snow?" he called up the stairs, placing everything in a bag to carry out to the car. "Snow!"

"Yeah?" she called down.

"Listen, I'm going over to Regina's, okay? She's sick, so I'm going to bring her some soup!"

"Not from Granny's, David," she said warningly. "She'll vomit up a lung if you bring her diner soup."

David turned on the car radio, smiling as the Christmas station came on and started playing "Jingle Bell Rock". God, he loved Christmas.

David and Christmas was like Emma and grilled cheese: he just couldn't get enough of it. The light-hearted music, the nostalgic movies, that warm, cozy feeling of home that just wrapped itself around the entire season… Christmas was like an enormous hug, a perpetual smile, just pure love and happiness. Harmony, peace, quiet, and just love. Something about the soft snow and warm street lights, the iced sugar cookies and gingerbread houses, the homey decorations and the cheerful music…it just made him realize how much he really loved everyone. Snow, Emma, and Henry—they were the the epicenter of his heart. It was pure instinct to love them, to want to do anything for them, to give them his undying devotion and whatever else he could. When he was growing up, the only family he'd had was his mother: she was gone now, and though there would always be an emptiness in him because of that, he had his wife, daughter, and grandson to love, and them to love him back.

But he also had Neal and Hook. It was bizarre how two, three years ago, he hadn't even known them. And for those first few weeks he did know them, he had regarded them with pure suspicion and distrust, tensed against any sudden movements. And now, they were like the younger brothers he'd never had: frustrating, annoying, exhaustingly immature…Yep. Younger brothers.

And then there was Regina. It still amazed him how it only took a few years of friendship to undo the decades of hatred. But Regina was a good person, a good mother, and a good friend.

And that was why he was going over there with all his culinary superpowers in tow. She was sick, and she needed soup. And if there was anything David could do, it was making comfort food. It combined all the kitchen skills he'd picked up, since the sword-fighting game in Storybrooke had died down, with all the love in his extra-big heart.

He pulled into Regina's driveway, still humming "Jingle Bell Rock" as he picked up his ingredient bag, got out of the car, and walked up the driveway.

"…in the frosty air," he sang, ringing the doorbell. "What a bright time, it's the right time—Regina!" he beamed as she opened the door, looking very ill indeed.

"David?" She crinkled her brow. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Robin told me you needed soup, so I—" he held up the bag, giving it a little shake—"am making you soup."

"Soup?" Regina repeated, stepping back to let him in. "Why?"

"You're sick," David scoffed, handing her the bag so he could shrug off his coat. "You need chicken soup and cuddles—though, I think I'll let Robin provide the cuddles."

"Okay," Regina said, still looking a little confused as she handed the bag back. "Just don't make a mess in my kitchen."

"Of course not," he said, affronted that she would suggest he would even consider making a mess in that beautiful, stainless-steel kitchen.

Regina settled into a kitchen chair with a sigh as David started setting up at the stove, laying out his ingredients and utensils in an organized formation. "Where's Robin?" she asked wearily, touching a hand to her aching forehead.

"At the hospital," David said, filling up a pot to start boiling the chicken. "Roland's got a thing in his nose."

"Again?"

"Mmm-hmm," he nodded, turning the stove up.

"Oh, my God" she groaned. "I swear to God, that kid has shoved more things in his nose…"

David made a noise of agreement, starting to chop his vegetables. He started with the potatoes, so they could boil in the water with the chicken and thicken it up. Then the onions, so he could really develop the flavor, give it a nice bite. Then the carrots, then the spinach, and round it all off with a nice dash of spices and a splash of chicken stock. A good simmer, and voile! Chicken soup a'la David.

"So, how are you doing?" Regina asked after a while, an odd note of sympathy in her voice. David glanced over his shoulder, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

"Fine," he said simply. "Why?"

Regina raised her eyebrows. "Your daughter's dating," she said in a mocking hushed tone. "Shouldn't you have your Daddy-Claws out, and remind Neal that you have a hardened criminal's prison record?"

David turned around, refocusing his attention on his potatoes. "I like Neal," he shrugged. "He's a good guy."

Although, if he were going to be totally honest, it still kind of weirded him out that one of his best friends was dating his daughter. He knew all—well, most—of the history between Neal and Emma, and that they had actually found a way to start moving past it; and he knew that they really cared about each other, even though they didn't say it much; and he knew that Emma was happy. And that made it all worth it.

But that didn't change the fact that she was his baby girl. He never got the chance to see her walk, to teach her to ride a horse, to braid her hair, to see her dance at her first ball…He had built up so many daddy's-girl- reserves for her, and never got a chance to use them; now, he was making up for that.

However good a guy Neal was, however happy Emma seemed, that didn't mean David was going to stop eyeing them suspiciously when they sat (too) closely on the couch. Nor was he going to stop clearing his throat when he walked in the room, so he wouldn't have to burn out his eyes to get rid of any images he didn't need. Nor was he going to stop asking Emma what time she'd be home, just in case she had any ideas about staying out inappropriately later (which, in his opinion, was anything later than Henry's bedtime). Snow told him he was being ridiculous, but David turned a deaf ear to it all. It was his right as a father to be overbearing and annoying, and damn it, he was going to take advantage of that!

"I don't mind Neal," he said, working on his onions now. "I'm fine with it. I just want Emma to be happy, and —" he shrugged—"she is, with him." He glanced over his shoulder, jutting his chin at her. "What about you? How've you been?"

"Well, let's see," Regina grimaced. "I have a pounding headache. I feel like I'm going to throw up at any second. My back hurts. My feet hurt. I'm completely exhausted. Basically, I'm dying. Say something nice at my funeral, huh?"

Uh-oh. This all sounded familiar. Very familiar. David frowned, scraping the onions off the cutting board into the pot. "How long you been feeling like this?" he asked.

"I don't know. I've been feeling under the weather for a while, you know how I get in winter." Regina groaned, holding her head in her hands. "God, I hate this time of year."

David didn't even bother objecting in the name of Christmas, far more concerned about his growing suspicions."Regina," he said, leaning against the counter with folded arms. "I think you should go to Dr. Whale."

Regina lifted her head, looking at him incredulously. "Whale?" she repeated. "David, I'm not literally dying. You know that, right?"

"I don't think you're dying," David said bluntly. "I think you're pregnant."

Regina stared at him, her hands dropping away from her face. "Are you stupid? I'm not pregnant! It's just the flu or something!"

"Last time Snow had the flu like that, it lasted nine months and we got a kid out of it," David said. "Go to Dr. Whale, get a blood test or something."

"This is ridiculous," Regina declared, standing up. "I'm not going to listen to this, it's just pure stupidity."

"Regina, it's not a disease," David said exasperatedly, following her out of the room.

"It's impossible!" she insisted, pacing the hallway with her hands braced on her hips. David sighed, leaning against the doorway as he watched her go back and forth, shaking her head and repeating to herself,"Impossible, just impossible!"

"Impossible? Really?" he asked dryly, raising an eyebrow. "You do know how babies are made, right?"

"Oh, my God, David, I am so not talking about this with you!" she flared, stopping in her tracks.

"Then don't! Talk to Whale! Talk to Robin."

"No!" Regina said instantly, rounding on him with fierce eyes. "I don't want to tell him…you know, whatever, and then find out it's not true." She started walking toward him, pointing a threatening finger. "And I don't want you breathing a word of this to him,understand? Not a single word."

David flinched irritably away from her finger. "Yes, yes! I understand, I won't say anything!"

Regina glared at him for another minute, then slowly lowered her hand. "Good."

"But will you do something for me?" David asked, looking at her intently. "Will you go to Dr. Whale?"

"I don't need—"

"Yes, you do need," he insisted. "I know you don't want to tell Robin yet, but I could always go with you, you don't have to go alone."

Regina made a face. "I don't think we have that kind of friendship. It would be too weird."

"Well, fine. Take Snow. Or Emma. Whoever." David put his hand on her shoulder, prompting her to roll her eyes and exhale exasperatedly; David took no notice. "But you have to make an appointment with Dr. Whale. Or I'll do it for you."

Regina's eyes flickered closed exasperatedly. "Fine," she droned. "I'll call."

David smiled triumphantly. "Good." He gave her a little push back through the kitchen door. "Now, come on. Eat your soup."

So...? What do we think?