Chapter Nine: Growing Pangs

Considering the excellent health of both mother and baby (and some not-so subtle prodding from the hospital staff), budget trumped nerves and Emma and Neal took the earliest possible discharge. But in preparation for their very first night on their own as new parents, Emma had asked countless questions of any doctor, nurse, or supposed professional that came in and out of their hospital room, determined to prepare for every possible scenario. She received multiple demonstrations of swaddling and diaper changing techniques, along with a how-to on properly installing their car seat (she had managed to get the nurse that had wheeled her out to the curb to put the damn thing in a total of five times, shushing Neal whenever he tried to jump in with the know-how). She read pamphlets on what to do in emergencies and how to diagnose various ailments, Neal eventually prying the things out of her hands when she worriedly tried to diagnose Porter with whooping cough (but she stood by the fact that she had heard a cough and not a gurgle). Emma had even asked about proper baby protocol in freak-weather related scenarios (because they lived in Florida - home of the hurricane and unbearable heat waves and clearly she should have never teased Neal when he had wanted to outrun Omar).

Not that it mattered how many questions she so obsessively asked because nothing could have prepared them for the exhaustive work topped with complete lack of sleep that went into caring for a newborn.

Now admittedly, it had started as something somewhat self-induced. Porter slept and she and Neal just sort of stared, completely awe-struck as they took him in because arguably they had never seen anything more peaceful and precious.

And so absolutely fragile.

Emma desperately wanted to protect him. From everything.

She started her new crusade right away, tiredly cleaning and scrubbing every reachable surface while directing Neal to fix and upgrade anything that they could upgrade and fix, determinedly trying to combat the germs and dangers she had stupidly allowed to take over their deathtrap of an apartment. She even apologized to Neal, obviously sorry that she had ever gotten on his case about nesting.

But even then Emma had to worry about a killer even more silent than tiny, microscopic germs - sleep.

"He could stop breathing," said Emma, shaky hands fiddling with the baby monitor long after they had settled on their mattress. A needless task considering they shared a room with Porter. "We wouldn't even know."

"Except you'll wake yourself up in an hour just to check on him and he'll wake up hungry ten minutes after that," Neal murmured, gentle fingers slipping the monitor out of her tight grip. "So sleep. While you can."

And Emma supposed that, yeah, she should because sleep really had become this strange, elusive thing. Well. Until all their wonder and worries officially faded away into pure exhaustion.

Oh, about two days in.

And then they just started catching short cat naps whenever they could because while it certainly seemed like Porter spent most of his time sleeping, he also did it in snatches and definitely not on the night-to-morning pattern Emma and Neal would have preferred.

He did this, the sleeping, between lots and lots of crying.

Fledging parents as they were, they eventually managed to learn the difference between a hungry wail and a wet cry and a something is seriously wrong whine. But in the beginning his cries started out as nothing more than a cryptic code, impossible for anyone to decipher without the necessary key. Which Emma had definitely not received instinctively (despite all those stupid assurances that she would). Sometimes it just seemed like Porter cried for no reason at all and this always made Emma want to cry herself because no amount of bouncing or cooing could get him to stop and she just really wished he would.

Amazingly though, Porter would also do this thing where he would screech angrily and then stop, like instantly, as soon as Emma or Neal bundled him into their arms. Because apparently he just missed them. So much so that he couldn't even seem to stand the thought of being left alone (which included anything that involved them stepping out of view of his limited vision). And after Neal returned to work, it made getting the necessary chores done, like trying to put something together for dinner, an especially difficult task because when Port got like this no amount of talking or maneuvering would satisfy him as he desperately wanted to do nothing more than cuddle in the safety of her arms, staring up at her with wide, now-content eyes. It forced Emma to abandon everything, settling into the orange recliner (the mahogany rocking chair, even with pillows and blankets, still a bit too hard for her ongoing recovery), gently rubbing circles on his back and humming (the closest she would ever get to singing), until his eyes drifted shut, resting peacefully until she showed any signs of putting him in his crib, jump-starting the whole process all over again. Which absolutely baffled Emma, particularly when he'd fuss for everyone but her (sometimes he'd even squirm restlessly for Neal until he reluctantly passed Porter back to her), because how could he find her any more comforting-slash-comfortable than Neal or his crib.

All the crying didn't exactly endear them to their neighbors whose new favorite phrase to shout through the extra-thin walls and floorboards became variations of, "Shut that thing the fuck up." And this only made Porter wail harder, briefly causing Emma to swell with pride because obviously that would show those jackasses. But then, of course, she had to go through the process of calming Porter down and some days she just really hated their shithole apartment in their sucky building in their stupid run-down neighborhood.

The baby seemed to have an up and down effect on her and Neal's relationship too. Well. Not Porter specifically. More the lack of sleep, really. Hormones might have played an unfortunate role in things as well - sometimes Emma just burst into tears for no reason at all and Emma rarely cried. And certainly never without an actual excuse.

Another contributing factor? Neal had returned to work not even a week in, picking up extra hours not long after that, working over-time whenever he could. And a tiny, clearly irrational part of Emma worried that he only spent so much time working so that he could get away from her and Port. And she thought this even when logically she knew that he really only meant to earn some extra cash, eager to make up for the paychecks lost during her maternity leave. Which she hated because Neal shouldn't have to work so hard while she did nothing. Except she did just as much, really. Because damn, as much as she loved him, Porter was a lot of work too.

(She was such a fucking mess.)

It didn't help that they couldn't break the tension like they usually did. Because no sex.

Not that either of them had the energy.

But they bickered, a lot more now, and over stupid shit. Like who should do what chores and what shows to watch. Even breastfeeding. Because apparently Neal fancied himself some sort of expert.

"Maybe you're doing it wrong," he suggested as Emma tried switching sides, thinking that somehow Porter simply preferred her right to her left.

(She was tired, okay? And something about breastfeeding and the hormones made it that much worse. To the point that Neal, unhelpful as he clearly was, had to get up with her in case she passed out with Porter smack dab in the middle of a feeding.)

"How many ways do you think there are to do it?" snapped Emma and she realized later that, maybe, Neal only wanted to help and that he hadn't meant it as some sort of accusation. But it still felt like one. "I don't think he's hungry."

And it only got worse because they barely saw each other anymore. Neal would get home and Emma, exhausted from taking care of Porter all day (and therefore in desperate need of a baby break) would pass him off to his father before disappearing into the bedroom for a nap or the bathroom for a long, much overdue shower. And Neal (who was just as tired himself due to things like work and traffic and people and no sleep the night before), would collapse down next to her as soon as the baby settled and that, clearly, left no time for talking with each other.

It marked a big change for them after a year of practically living on top of each other. And, as stupid as it sounded, Emma missed Neal.

(And she couldn't tell him any of this because he was just trying to support his family.)

Eventually, when Emma had thought months and months must have passed, Joy and Maya dropped by, returning from their vacation and announcing that no, they had barely reached the middle of December. It made her feel all sorts of pathetic, but at least Porter finally got his first set of visitors (because angry neighbors didn't count).

"What's he do?" Maya asked with all the innocence of a five-year-old, peering curiously over the crib.

"Cry, mostly," said Emma drily, pushing her crooked glasses up her nose and, as if on cue, Porter let out a rather loud wail.

Joy laughed and then waved Emma off when she tried to push off her and Neal's pathetic mattress. "Take a break, honey."

Despite her typically sound judgment (Porter had never actually experienced anyone but his trusty mother and father holding him before), Emma let Joy take care of the baby. And then, when he didn't cry out for her, promptly fell asleep while Joy did so.

But that, surprisingly enough, didn't even mark her worst infraction that day. After she woke up, not even an hour later, Porter hungrily demanding her attention before his own nap, Emma unloaded everything on poor Joy, head collapsing on top of arms she had folded across the patio-slash-kitchen table.

"It's just so hard," Emma moaned, and Joy gave her a gentle squeeze of the shoulder as she passed, pulling something out of the fridge, the sound of cartoons carrying in from the next room. "He never sleeps, except that's, like, all he does and I'm exhausted. All. The. Time. And he hates me, he has to, because when he's not sleeping, he's just crying and I never know what he wants."

Speaking of ... Porter hit his cue again and after spotting his favorite blue blanket draped over the back of their stupid orange recliner, she grabbed it, tucking it dutifully around him until he stopped fussing, collapsing heavily back into her chair, ignoring Joy's amused smile and the cup of tea now set out for her. "Like how am I supposed to know if he's really happy or if he's just sick of trying to tell me something? And there's like this humongous rift between me and John. We barely see each other and we never talk and I miss him. And I don't know how to keep doing this if he ..."

Emma couldn't even bring herself to say it, but Joy made her and she bit her lip, whispering, "leaves."

(And yeah, saying it out loud, it did sound ridiculous.)

"Drink," was all Joy said, nodding to the mug and her voice was firm enough that Emma immediately took a tentative sip and then a bigger gulp because despite not being a tea person, there was something oddly soothing about it.

"First of all," continued Joy, all annoyingly calm and rational. "You're doing fine and you'll see it. I promise. You've just got to get past these next few weeks. Because Porter is happy. You'd know if he wasn't."

Emma opened her mouth to protest because how, but she didn't even get the words out, Joy cutting her off, insisting, "You'd know. And finally, don't be ridiculous. That man isn't gonna leave. You just need to grab his attention. Tell him how you feel."

She snorted and at Joy's unimpressed look, Emma added a somewhat petulant, "I can't."

(Not without sending Neal down an undeserved guilt trip.)

"You can," insisted Joy, "because I bet he feels the same way. Here - tell you what. Take Saturday night. Go out. Treat yourselves to an actual dinner. I'll watch the baby. Me and Maya."

Emma really should have protested. But as much as she loved Porter, a few completely baby-free hours sounded far too tempting.

Not that they were baby-free.

Emma had never actually spent any time away from Porter before and so leaving turned into a whole thing. She didn't want to let go of him, for one, and then she kept remembering things that she thought Joy should know. Well after they had left. So she spent half the car ride to the restaurant sending her instructive texts. And over ridiculous things too. Like how he preferred his blue blanket (and his mother) when he fussed until finally Joy returned with the fact that she was turning her phone off now so just relax.

(And how, exactly, was Emma supposed to do that because, you know, what if there was an emergency?)

But when it came down to it, despite the crying and lack of sleep and the smelly diapers, they found Porter well and truly enchanting. He had this natural curiosity and the simplest of things (her and Neal most of all) held his attention, entrancing him. Caring for him and worrying if Port had everything he needed had become an all-consuming job, taking over everything else in their life, including them, but watching him take in the world - new sounds and sights and smells - was this amazing thing Emma couldn't get enough of.

(She was probably missing all of it.)

As if sensing as much, Neal grabbed her hand, threading their fingers together and it was the first time in weeks they had really touched without something sticky somewhere and that was enough for Emma to actually, kind of, relax for a bit.

At least until she realized that she had nothing to say. Well. She had things to say, of course, but only of the baby-related variety and Joy had strictly told them that they should probably take this time to not talk about anything Porter related.

(What exactly had they talked about before again?)

They didn't go anywhere fancy. That had never been them and anyway, that would just mean stepping out of their price range. But they found somewhere nice enough with food they would actually like and would, maybe, serve as something substantial because neither of them had actually managed to start and finish cooking a meal since what Neal affectionately referred to as b-day.

(At least nothing that didn't involve the microwave.)

"Emma," Neal said later, after they had settled on two house specials and she had admitted that she had nothing interesting to say. "I want to hear about the baby."

"You do?" she asked with extra care because obviously she had never heard a sentence more difficult to interpret than this should-be straight-forward statement.

"Yeah," said Neal easily. "I miss so much, stuck at work all day, y'know? I worry, sometimes, that I'm missing out on too much. Things I won't be able to get back."

A part of her really just wanted to tell Neal that he should just quit then. Or take a break, at least, because it just didn't seem worth it. She didn't, of course, because he was trying and she appreciated that (and yeah, okay, they needed the money or whatever), and so she cocked her head, pretending to give this some deep and serious thought.

"Well, he's very energetic, y'know," she offered glibly, fingers picking at the bread on her plate, "he gives me quite the work-out and he's very good at snubbing the neighbors."

Neal snorted, smiling widely, satisfying Emma enough to continue on.

"And have you heard the way he babbles on?" Aside from the trademark cries, grunts and gurgles and tiny little squeals had become very common sounds in their household. "He obviously has a lot to say. And he is absolutely in love with my hair."

She kept it pulled back in a ponytail most of the time, but Porter still found something to grab at, his tiny fingers getting tangled up in blonde, tugging with apparent fascination as Emma gently pulled at his fingers, trying her best to talk him into letting go.

Neal reached across the table and flicked at a blonde curl. "Well, who wouldn't?"

They joked like this for a time, settling into a comfortable silence when their food finally arrived, both taking the time to enjoy their meal because it was arguably the most decent thing they had eaten in a while (maybe ever). It gave Emma plenty of time to gather up her courage until, finally, the words just burst out of her.

"I miss you," she said, wincing, immediately regretting the words because they just made her sound needy and desperate.

Neal, however, merely responded with a simple, "I know. I miss you too."

"And I get it, really," she admitted because they had talked about this before. Well, argued really, and she didn't want to do that again. "But it still feels like we're doing it wrong. Tallahassee, I mean, and this family thing. Because what good is building a life together if we're not actually together, y'know?"

"Then we'll make more of an effort," Neal promised, the words simple enough but weighted down with his intent. "We'll find the time. Make it if we have to."

The funny thing? Emma actually believed him.

They started the very next day with a road trip. Well, a drive, really, and talk about a hassle.

Having a baby meant, for one, they couldn't just get out of bed, grab a bite to eat and then get in the car to drive all willy-nilly like they used to. In fact, a plan as simple as that became oddly ambitious once you had a baby.

Porter needed to be fed and burped and then dressed and changed. He needed a diaper bag and fresh bottles, though if he got hungry he would probably just force them to pull over because Porter had already decided that he preferred one thing over the other. They needed his favorite toys and blanket and they should probably stuff the stroller in the trunk. And, of course, Emma wanted to bring the camera for Port's first road trip - an event more than worthy of going in the baby book she dutifully kept, starting with ultrasounds and hospital bracelets and pictures of his first night, Emma's more sentimental side pushing her to capture and record every precious moment.

Finally, they had to contend with actually getting Porter into the car.

(And then, if they got really slow about things, a repeat of steps one through four.)

Now Emma loved the bug, but without easy access to the back it was not the more opportune thing to have when you wanted to lug around a fussy newborn. But eventually they managed to get him buckled in, all nice and secure (and, thankfully, without hitting his all-too fragile head along the way), and well into the afternoon, when they had checked everything off their list, they finally picked a direction and drove.

For, oh, about twenty minutes when it became abundantly clear that Porter needed a change of diaper. And so clearly this whole thing had turned out to be a giant disaster because what, exactly, had they accomplished, but Neal simply laughed it off as he pulled into the parking lot of a local dinner.

"It's new, at least," he noted, unbuckling the car seat, taking Port out with it.

Emma smiled tightly as she dug out the diaper bag from underneath the stroller, whisking Porter away to a bathroom while Neal grabbed them a table. They settled in across from him a short while later, Emma trying not to smile too proudly when people awed at the cute baby wiggling his legs beneath his blanket, cooing at all the new things assaulting his senses.

"Everything alright?" he asked when she opened her menu and when she raised an eyebrow in confusion, he noted, "You're quiet."

Emma shrugged. "Just tired, I guess."

Neal nodded in understanding. "We can head back after lunch."

"I don't want to."

"Well, we should probably order something," he said, scrunching his nose, "like a coffee at least."

But Emma shook her head. "That's not what I meant."

"Okay?" said Neal carefully.

Emma fussed with Porter a bit, cooing at him, reminding him that yes, she and Dada were still there despite the obvious lack of home. She did this and ignored Neal's intense look until she just couldn't stand it anymore.

"I don't know what's wrong, okay?" Emma snapped defensively and just as the poor waitress happened to arrive at their table too. She offered to come back but suddenly Emma was starving and so she quickly stopped her, ordering a grilled cheese while Neal got the club sandwich. That, maybe, should have ended the conversation but Neal only offered her another pointed look.

"You don't know what's wrong, but ..."

"It's just," she shrugged, and tried something a bit more direct. "I think I do and then I get it and it doesn't help. Like last night. I thought I just needed a breather, y'know, to get away from the baby for a bit, but then I just spent the whole night missing him. And today, I thought it would be nice to just get out of the apartment, but really, it's just been exhausting."

"Em, baby, it's only been a few weeks."

"I know," she said quite dramatically.

"We just had a major life change," he continued and Emma hummed an acknowledgment, though without the enthusiasm of her previous statement. "It's gonna take some time to adjust and fall back into a rhythm."

"I know," Emma agreed quickly.

Neal raised a brow. "Do you?"

She nodded but Neal's knowing (and completely infuriating) look remained.

"I just," she sighed, her shoulders sagging in defeat, "I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing."

Neal nodded and grinned like she had just told some sort of joke. "Me either."

Emma rolled her eyes because great. Neal hadn't quite finished though. "We must be doing something right though."

"How do you figure?"

"Well, look at him," said Neal, nodding at Porter who was staring at them (and everything, really) with those giant doe eyes of his.

Emma smiled.

"He is pretty great, isn't he?"

"Yeah," Neal agreed softly, "but it's more than that. He can barely stand to be out of our sight. That's gotta mean something."

"We provide him with the means to survive," she said drily.

"Sure, but that's like only twenty percent of the time and that other ten percent, y'know, when he's not sleeping," Neal twisted his features in mock thought, "and sometimes when he is ... well, he just likes us, doesn't he?"

Emma gave it a moment of thought. "I guess he does."

Neal nodded. "And I know we've still got a few kinks to work out till we find a better balance. But it's gonna happen. This is just a hurdle we've got to struggle through and it's okay if we're struggling, Em."

"Yeah," Emma agreed, somewhat reluctantly. It made sense, she knew that, but she couldn't quite bring herself to believe it.

"It is," Neal insisted, reaching across the table, playfully grabbing his son's foot who flailed happily. "I love Port to bits, but he's hard work. He's gonna grow out of it though. Bring us whole new sets of challenges. Amaze us. We just," he paused, obviously taking the time to choose his next words carefully, "we can't worry so much about how much time we have. But more what we do with it, y'know?"

Emma smiled tightly. She supposed she could work on some things. Like the whole running off to nap the moment Neal got home thing.

"We're gonna figure this out," he promised her.

And, once more, Emma believed him.


Thanks for reading everyone and thanks to steelneena for leaving such a kind review!

First off, I forgot to add this the last time, but Porter was officially born on November 28, 2002.

Also, I got a comment on ao3 and I figured that I would carry over my reply in case anyone was curious about why I ultimately decided to use a name other than Henry (it's a bit long-winded, sorry!):

From a character perspective, a lot of the reasons why I ultimately went down the new-name route were laid out in chapter 6 so I won't bore you with them again. But I'll add that personally, particularly as I got further along in the writing process, I did feel it was important to distinguish between a child raised by Regina and a child raised by Emma and Neal. Because, and this probably won't help, I do kinda see them as different characters in some ways.

Not completely, of course. A lot of his characteristics are just inherently that character, regardless of his name or who raised him. But those characteristics do present themselves differently because he's not growing up in a town where no one ages and his primary influences are Emma and Neal, who have different ways of looking at the world, different values, etc. And, given that they don't have to share custody with Regina or worry about stepping over any bounds, their approach to parenting means that Porter just wouldn't be able to get away with the stuff that Henry does in canon. Because they wouldn't let him. Not without consequences. And more importantly I think (though this might be my own issues with canon shining through) he won't have to. Which changes his role. Not to say that Porter is any less important. Once he's old enough, he'll have his own threads and plot points going forward. And that's in addition to the fact that he is and will remain, as they laid out in chapter 7, Emma and Neal's primary motivation. And all that is something that takes the story in some different and what I hope will be some interesting directions.

Finally, I'll geek out a moment, because Porter's name really grew on me (as you can see from this ridiculously long answer,) but ... Emma and Neal do use the nickname Port, which will play into the Argo/ship motif when it pops up. And when I looked it up later I found out that Porter actually means 'gatekeeper' which while unintended, I like to see as a bit of a nod to Henry's original role in season one as he was the one that brought Emma to Storybrooke (hero's journey, passing through the threshold, etc.). So there's that.

Next chapter: Karmic Reciprocation