prompt: A Gremma Christmas baby...a little girl :)
prompted by: KBC04070911
I will not panic, Graham tells himself, when Emma informs him that their daughter is coming. No, just because it's nearly midnight on the 23rd (was it really just a year ago that they were sitting on Granny's floor playing drinking games? Really only seven months since the curse was broken and Emma learned exactly who he'd been before and that he'd done horrible things at Regina's command and yet still chosen to stay with him?) and Whale had said she was supposed to be born on the 27th is not a reason to panic. It isn't an exact science. Is it?
Still, he's got to keep telling himself not to panic as he turns the cruiser's sirens on so that he can break the speed limit getting Emma to the hospital. She glares, and asks if that was necessary – nothing's too far in Storybrooke, he wouldn't have taken that much longer without it – but he justifies it easily. This is his True Love and their child. He will make sure they're both safe and healthy, traffic laws be damned. He's the sheriff, he can fine himself later if he feels too guilty – which he knows he won't.
They've been up all night, her parents and Henry and what, according to the nurses, appears to be half the town in the waiting room (he only called her mother. Snow must've been the one to spread the news to everyone else), when at 7:29 in the morning on Christmas Eve, their daughter is finally placed in Emma's arms, all Whale's fussing and making sure she's healthy done.
Noelle Margaret. Their little Christmas miracle, their daughter, the product of their True Love. The curls of hair that she already has are darker, like his. Like most newborns her eyes are blue, but he hopes they eventually take on Emma's blue-green shade.
Emma looks up at him with tired eyes and smiles gently, and he leans in and kisses her cheek, about to go get Henry and her parents, when she stops him in his tracks with three little words –
"Merry Christmas, Daddy."