Chapter Seven: The New Rule
Emma's favorite holiday, it turned out, was Thanksgiving.
"Because of the food," she clarified before adding, almost as an afterthought, hands rubbing circles on her stomach, "Though I suppose this year we do have something to be thankful for, don't we?"
And while Neal had never really celebrated the holiday himself, he kissed her cheek and agreed, even adding, "Lots of things."
So they made a big deal about Thanksgiving, Emma and Neal preparing to step out of their comfort zone to put together a meal worthy of the holiday.
(They had even invited Joy and Maya, but the pair already had plans, Maya's grandparents from Tom's side having invited them to visit in Texas.)
"We should have plenty of leftovers too," said Emma practically, "which'll be nice after the baby is born."
The baby's due date and the holiday pretty much fell on top of each other, making dinner preparations a trying task, further complicated by the fact that Emma and Neal had never cooked anything more elaborate than spaghetti and meatballs.
"They pre-cook these things," Neal observed, stopping in front of a display of turkeys packaged in plastic containers. "Maybe we should try it?"
Emma looked unimpressed. "You want a pre-cooked turkey?"
"Could be good," Neal said with as much nonchalance as he could muster, but Emma caught on almost immediately.
"You don't want me to cook," she said accusingly, "you don't think we can pull it off."
He really didn't. Maybe, if he hadn't just spent a day witnessing Emma's poor attempts to pick boxes off any shelf higher than her head or any lower than her waist he might have mustered up enough confidence. But if she could barely reach a box of stuffing, he had no idea how she planned to work the stove. Meaning he'd probably get stuck with the cooking and normally he didn't necessarily mind this. But really, with less than two weeks to go, Neal just wished Emma would let herself relax.
"I just thought we could save ourselves the hassle," Neal explained before very pointedly stepping away from the display. "But frozen? Just as good. Though … maybe slightly out of our wheelhouse."
"We have to learn sometime," she insisted, "children like home-cooked meals. They're comforting."
Neal, who had learned that his jokes didn't always mix well with his very pregnant audience, bit back the thought that it would be a few years before Porter started judging them on their cooking skills.
But Emma's worries and insecurities about their pending go at parenthood came in waves, reaching new heights the closer they got to her due date. She worried about everything. From money to baby-holding techniques. And then, of course, labor, and not having the strength to actually push the baby out.
"Do you think one's ever just gotten … stuck?" she had asked one evening over a baby book they had picked up from the library.
"No." And Neal felt … fairly confident about that answer. He certainly wasn't going to say yes.
But Emma looked up at him over the book, all wide-eyes and guarded expression, forcing him to elaborate, tone calm and practical. "It's a natural process, Em, your body knows what to do even if you don't."
This mollified Emma somewhat even if she had later pointed out that women die in childbirth all the time. He replaced her book after that, getting her something much more current and with far less fear-inducing facts.
Naturally, she still found things to fret over. Emma's discomfort around children had faded as their friendship with Joy and Maya bloomed, but entertaining a five-year old remained very different from taking care of an infant.
"I haven't held one before," said Emma, cornering him in the bathroom one morning. "A baby. I never held one."
Neal didn't dare tell her that he hadn't either, refusing to give her any more reason to panic.
Instead he found a free baby-parenting-Lamaze class thing at a local community center and they took a couple of classes that taught Emma exactly how to breathe during labor and then proper techniques for holding and burping and generally caring for a baby after it came out.
It helped, at least, to alleviate her more practical concerns.
Of course, they still had to contend with Emma's … well, insecurities.
He used the word loosely because he hated calling them that when Emma merely worried about how to best parent their child. And Neal understood her concerns. Because he had them too. That happened when you had a sucky life with even suckier parents.
But then, one night in bed, in a mere whisper nearly drowned out by the passing sirens outside their open window, she had even admitted to a nearly asleep Neal that she worried she would make a horrible mother.
(He hated that she thought that.)
"I think you're doing a wonderful job," said Neal. And he did. In fact, he considered himself a very good judge of this good and bad mother thing. Maybe not expert material, seeing how few examples he could actually draw upon, but he had at least witnessed Joy's and Mrs. Darling's parenting and then, upon discovering the truth about his own mother's disappearance, the complete lack of hers. There were very obvious differences between the two.
"I haven't even done anything yet," she said, somewhat exasperated in that way that told Neal she thought he wasn't taking her seriously enough.
"But Emma, can't you see it?" he whispered passionately. "You've done all the important things. You've loved him and put him first. Even when you weren't sure we should keep him, you were still trying to do what was best for him."
"Yeah, but –"
"But what, Em?" He flipped on his side, propping himself up on an elbow so he hovered somewhat above her, the only way he could ensure she was paying attention. "You're not alone in this, remember? I'm going to be here and we're going to muddle through things together. All the late nights and spit-ups and what-have-you. Plus, Joy said she'd help too. You've even got your pals from work looking out for you."
Which she couldn't deny. The day she officially went on maternity leave, Gretchen and Mark and a few of the others with names he'd never bothered to learn had presented Emma with a bunch of baby supplies. Diapers and wipes, a cute little car-covered onesie, and a few other necessities all packed into a car seat that had left Emma looking visibly touched.
"You are not alone," he repeated and he would continue to harp on that point until she got it.
Emma stared up at him with wide eyes. "I know," she relented, though not convincingly enough. "I just …"
Neal shook his head because no more just's. They needed to stop what if'ing because they could do this. He had faith.
"Look at everything that's happened since we got here, baby," he said, settling onto a pillow, Emma turning her head leaving them close enough that he could feel her breath on his face. "Like lucking into an apartment our first go, meeting this kindly woman who just happens to be good-hearted enough to give her furniture away, no run-ins with the law. Babe, our luck's changed and that's gotta be a sign. A sign that we're meant to keep this kid. Because we can do this."
Emma had that look. Her 'are you shitting me' look. "You believe in that?"
"Yeah," he said easily. He believed it even when it knocked him on his ass. "But even if I didn't that doesn't change the fact that I believe in you. I believe you are going to raise the hell out of this kid, okay?" He heard Emma's breath hitch and her expression softened, hard lines falling away and he hoped that meant, somehow, he'd gotten through to her. "I have faith in you."
Emma gave him a half, closed-lipped smile. "Thank you." She kissed him lightly, restraining herself because the final weeks of her pregnancy had drained her of energy, turning her off sex completely and she'd been making a conscious effort to not lead Neal on or whatever, knowing it'd probably be a while before they could sleep together again. Obviously she underestimated her power over him and he deepened the kiss, content with what he could get.
"I believe in you too, kay," she whispered against his mouth. "And us. Together."
Neal smiled into the kiss, managing a murmured, "Together."
And while they didn't abate completely, Emma's concerns quieted somewhat after this. A good thing, really, because as they got closer and closer to the big day, Neal found that it became increasingly difficult for him to ignore his own case of growing nerves. He came up with better ways to hide it than Emma, he thought, channeling all his nervous energy into various pet projects around the apartment. Something he'd meant to do anyway after too many of his complaints to the Super had gone unanswered. But obviously his son shouldn't have to live somewhere with a leaky faucet and a fridge that went bump in the night.
This, however, only caused Emma to worry about different sorts of things.
(At least they had shifted off their singular baby-minded focus though.)
"You're going to break it," she said as he banged away at pipes and pulled at wires. "Do you even know what you're doing?"
Neal hadn't known what he was doing, but he had figured it out. Well, he had fixed the sink and he thought, maybe, he had fixed the fridge until it stopped working entirely.
"Do you know how much fridges cost?" said Emma fretfully as she ate a melting container of Rocky Road ice cream and scanned the ads from that Sunday's paper. Neal, meanwhile, had taken on the project with a renewed determination. "This wouldn't have happened if you'd never started nesting."
"Nesting?" What a ridiculous thing to say. "I wasn't nesting."
Emma snorted. "You were so nesting. And now you're going to have to find one of your precious garage sales, hope they have a fridge they're looking to unload, and get a price we can afford. Three days before Thanksgiving."
"Or I could fix this one," he said, before eyeing Emma. "You could help, you know."
Emma returned his look with a silent yeah, right. "I know less about fixing fridges then you do."
He handed her a manual that looked like it might be even older then she was and pointed her to the appropriate section. "There. Now you know just as much as me."
Emma read between bites of ice cream while he focused on trying to separate dusty wires.
"It's okay if you can't fix the fridge," said Emma eventually. He could feel her eyes on him, intense, only softened by the practical yet sympathetic lilt to her voice. "We'll figure something else out."
Neal grunted a reply. He'd be glad to see the mood swings end with her pregnancy.
"And," she continued, raising her voice, "not fixing it isn't some sign from higher beings that you're going to be a horrible dad."
(Right. He really should have known that sharing the fact that he believed in things like destiny and fate would come back and bite him in the ass eventually.)
He looked at her sharply. "I wasn't –"
"Weren't you?" she asked, raising a brow. And okay, maybe he had started freaking out, but he didn't want Emma to know that, worried that she might take it as a sign that they weren't cut out for this, after all.
Though maybe they weren't, and he had just projected his hope onto a few would-be coincidences. Just because bad luck ruled most of his life that didn't necessarily mean a sudden turn for the better had to mean something.
(Right?)
Emma made the effort to join him on the floor but gave up, reaching a hand out for him instead, wriggling her fingers until he took them, brushing off invisible dust and joining her at the table.
"I know I've been freaking out a lot," she said, covering his hand with her own, "and you've been a saint, really. But you can freak out too because I think, maybe, it's okay to be scared. As long as we do it together."
"Together," he agreed roughly and Neal felt Emma squeeze his hand, giving him an encouraging smile that soon faded into an expectant look. Right, he supposed that meant talk about it.
It wasn't something he talked about.
The closest he had gotten was on the swings in that closed fair with Emma. And hardly anything since. Not even when she'd kiss him, gently rousing him from nightmares that he couldn't escape, talking nonsense at him and stroking his hair until he fell asleep. She had asked, of course, if he had wanted to talk about it but had been mostly content to let things go when it was obvious that he didn't want to.
(He wanted to.) (With her and more than he ever had before.) (He just didn't know how.) (And as their time together passed the point became increasingly moot, the nightmares turning from a constant to a rarity to a, mostly, thing of the past.)
Maybe though, with the baby coming, there were certain things he should learn to share with Emma.
"I've just been thinking a lot," he admitted finally, "about my father, y'know?"
Emma gave a knowing nod, a thumb rubbing circles on the back of his hand, "You're not like that, Neal."
"But he wasn't either, not at first. And what if it's," he swallowed thickly, glancing down at their joined hands, "what if it's something that you can't control? Something that just happens, no matter how hard you fight it?"
Emma pressed her lips together and he knew that she was trying to resist the urge to counter his fears with the fact that everyone had choices and it was those choices that made you who you are.
Neal mostly believed that too, that his choices somehow mattered, except when he believed in other things, like forces that acted outside of them, pushing events to reach some sort of hidden agenda, only granting them the illusion of control when, really, they were puppets in someone else's play. Because for every one of his actions he had felt the direct consequences of, like his stupid stunt with the watches, he had just as many examples of things done to him. And he mostly kept his head above water, continued swimming, but sometimes he fucked up too, maybe because a part of him felt like the universe owed him a break that he apparently hadn't earned. Something he couldn't quite fathom because maybe, if things like karma did exist, he could understand that he hadn't done enough to earn the positive yet, but he didn't think he had quite earned all the negative either.
Of course, he couldn't regret anything too much because it got him to things like Portland and Emma and Tallahassee. But he kept waiting for the other shoe to drop too, waiting for something that would force his hand into doing something he wouldn't necessarily do otherwise.
Like his father had done for him.
Because even if he feared the monster that his father had become, he could maybe understand why Rumpelstiltskin had made the choices he had. Because Neal knew that he'd do just about anything to protect his kid. Easy. It wasn't even a question.
That's what scared him.
Emma regarded him carefully, clearly biting back questions she knew he didn't want her to ask. Then finally, looking at him with intense eyes and a serious expression, she said, "Then let's make a promise. In fact, we'll make it our new Rule Number One. Whatever happens we put our kid first. Even if the thing we have to protect him from is one of us. No matter what," she finished firmly, bringing their joined hands to her stomach, "Porter comes first."
He considered her carefully.
"So if I turn into an abusive ass," Neal said, "you'll take Porter so I can't hurt him?"
"That's never going to happen," insisted Emma. "But yes, if I have to choose between you and Porter then I pick him. And naturally, I fully expect you to do the same, yeah?"
"Even less likely," countered Neal lightly before sobering himself, "but yes."
"Then that's settled," she said, bringing his hand up and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. "Now what should we do about the fridge?"
He laughed and pulled over one of the ads that Emma had been pouring through, feeling better. It wasn't the most ideal solution obviously. It didn't even really absolve him of his fear of accidentally making some big blundering mistake like his father had.
(Though he, at least, understood that those fears were not lined with any sort of rationality.)
But it gave Porter something that their own parents had never bothered to give them. A back-up plan. A Plan B. Something that could give him and Emma the peace of mind that their son would always be taken care of and safe. Even in the unlikely scenario that something happened to one of them or, even less likely, that he or Emma turned into something remarkably like the pathetic excuse that passed for their parents.
Porter came first. That was all that mattered.
x-x-x-x-x
They bought a new fridge. One day before Thanksgiving and handing the money over was so stressful that Emma's stomach started to knot in the same way it used to whenever she moved in with a new foster family. She neglected to tell Neal this, of course, not wanting him to feel worse about breaking their already half-broken fridge and instead did a fine job of directing delivery men into their feeble kitchen and then directing Neal on which shelves and drawers their foodstuff belonged.
(She just couldn't move anymore and she had no idea what she'd been thinking trying to put together an actual dinner one week before her due date.)
The next day Neal made pumpkin pie, Emma whipped potatoes at the kitchen table, and they actually followed a recipe when they prepared the turkey. So naturally, with only forty-five minutes left until the bird finished roasting, Emma went into labor, water breaking all over their kitchen floor.
"That'd explain the stomach ache," said Emma wryly before clutching the counter because oh, that was definitely a contraction.
Neal remained perfectly calm, directing her to the door, before cussing under his breath when she asked if he remembered to turn off the stove.
"Hey," he said, offering Emma a significant look some time later as they slowly made their way down three flights of stairs. "Porter's almost here."
Emma breathed deeply, very focused on not doing something incredibly stupid like dropping the baby right there on those steps.
(Because that was definitely how it worked.)
"Figured that out, thanks."
"No, Emma," Neal insisted and she at least looked at him this time, finding soft features and bright eyes, "Porter's on his way."
Emma softened, though her smile remained tight around the edges. "He's on his way," she echoed, matching every bit of his wonder as thoughts of finally holding their son danced around in her head.
Thanks so much for reading and a big thank you to lilnudger82 and steelneena for taking the time to review.
To answer lilnudger82's question: Yes? No? Maybe? Honestly that depends on what you mean by past, I guess. And that's not me trying to dodge the question - I just don't want to make a false promise or give too much away. But I will go ahead and say things like: Emma and Neal will continue to test the limits of Neal's false identity. Emma only knows a part of the story with the Swans. Neal will continue to reveal bits and pieces about himself. Both of them will still struggle with their abandonment/family issues. August and Storybrooke are still out there. And so on.
I'll add that there's a sort of act break after the next chapter - I did (or tried to anyway) a lot of set-up in the first 8 chapters and so a lot of themes and story threads (things like the rules even - that last one shows up next chapter) that were in these chapters tend to reoccur and come back later. :)
Next Chapter: Porter
