Watch Over Me

by Dani-Ellie03



Category: Once Upon a Time
Genre: Family, Hurt-Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-12-11
Packaged: 2014-01-07 18:35:19
Rating: K+
Chapters: 20
Words: 45,263
Publisher: www.fanfiction.net
Story URL: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9780705/1/
Author URL: https://www.fanfiction.net/u/55690/Dani-Ellie03
Summary: Charming crouched down next to Emma's chair, but it wasn't until he went to place his hand on her shoulder to shake her awake that he felt the heat rolling off her in waves. As she would say: oh, *crap*.





	1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Watch Over Me  
**Summary: **Charming crouched down next to Emma's chair, but it wasn't until he went to place his hand on her shoulder to shake her awake that he felt the heat rolling off her in waves. As she would say: oh, _crap_.  
**Spoilers:** None, really. Set mid-season 2.  
**Rating/Warning: **K+, for language, mostly. Family hurt/comfort and fluff, as per usual.  
**Disclaimer:** _Once Upon a Time_ and its characters were created by Eddie Kitsis and Adam Horowitz and are owned by ABC. Not mine, I'm just playing, etc etc.  
**Author's Note:** crowned tiger asked me for another Sick!Emma story a la "Story Hour," so here 'tis! Sixth (?! ... holy crap!) in my little series of "family things the Charmings never got to do so are doing now" but as always, the following can be read as a standalone piece. Also as always, feedback thrills me to pieces. Enjoy!

* * *

A cough loud enough to rattle the window panes erupted from the sheriff's office. Charming winced, then sighed. Why his inordinately stubborn daughter had insisted on coming to work today was beyond him.

Probably just because she was inordinately stubborn. Admitting that she wasn't feeling one hundred percent was not something his daughter did on a regular basis. Or at all.

She'd been moving in slow motion since she'd come down to breakfast that morning. When he'd asked if she was feeling all right, she'd simply nodded before saying she hadn't slept well the night before. He'd glanced over at his wife, who looked as concerned as he felt.

What Emma had neglected to mention but her parents still knew because noise carried in that small apartment was that she hadn't slept well due to her cough. Attempting to talk Emma into staying home to rest had gone as well as Charming had expected, which was not well at all. "I'm fine," she'd finally said for the tenth time as she shrugged on her jacket. Then she'd left the apartment, abruptly ending the discussion.

Snow had sighed. "Keep an eye on her, please?" she'd asked her husband.

Keeping an eye on a tired and cranky Emma had turned out to be quite the arduous task. She'd already caught him watching her a few times, which had not gone over well in the slightest.

This time it was the cough that made him glance over his shoulder and into the office. "Oh my God, I'm _fine_!" she cried when she caught him looking at her. The tone of her voice caused Charming to have a sudden flash of what she must have sounded like as an annoyed teenager.

Part of him wanted to argue that she clearly wasn't fine but a larger part of him had no desire to make her any crankier. He simply sighed again before turning back to the files stacked on his desk.

Honestly, she could have stayed home today. Storybrooke was oddly quiet; he didn't think the phone had even rung once. Sheriff and deputy were left with nothing to do but catch up on their paperwork.

Neither of them could stand paperwork.

Charming worked on his file for a few minutes before chancing another peek over his shoulder. Apparently his daughter's mostly sleepless night had begun to catch up with her. Her pen was still poised over her file but from the way she was slowly blinking, Charming could tell she was on the verge of falling asleep.

He hid an indulgent smile as he stood up and crossed the room to the coffee machine. Had he been able to have things his own way, he would have just let her sleep, but the thought of the argument that would ensue when she woke was exhausting.

He filled a mug three-quarters of the way with the dark liquid and proceeded to add so much creamer and sugar that he didn't understand how it could still taste like coffee. Perhaps that was the point, though. Emma had once sheepishly admitted that the only use she had for coffee was to melt the sugar, a confession that had made Snow throw up her hands in surrender to daughter's – unfortunate, in her opinion – sweet tooth.

By the time Charming stepped into Emma's office with the coffee mug in hand, her eyes had drooped closed. "Emma," he called softly, startling her into awareness.

She blinked up at him with a slightly confused expression. Only after spotting the mug in his hand did she understand why he'd called her. "Thanks," she said, accepting the mug when he held it out to her.

The little smile that curled on her lips when she taste-tested the drink told him he'd gotten the proportions correct. Good, good. Maybe the fact that he'd brought her coffee and had prepared it correctly would temper her aggravation with what he was going to ask. "Are you sure you don't want to go home?"

"No need to go home," she grumbled, rolling her eyes. "I'm perfectly fine." She put the coffee mug back up to her lips and sipped greedily.

"Yes, the speed at which you're downing that coffee tells me exactly how fine you are," he retorted dryly, crossing his arms over his chest.

She shrugged. "I'm sorry I don't find paperwork nearly as riveting as you do."

Charming pursed his lips as he narrowed his eyes at his ridiculously stubborn daughter. Her fatigue was not at all owing to boredom, and they both knew it. Still, arguing with her would only annoy both of them, so he simply let out a quiet breath, left the office, and went back to work.

Barely five minutes later, a soft, plaintive voice asked, "David?"

He turned around in his seat to find Emma staring at him with an uncertain expression. "What is it?" he asked, his voice gentle.

"Would you mind running to Granny's and getting me a hot chocolate?" she asked sheepishly. "It, um, would feel nice on my throat."

He swallowed the slight panic that had risen at her mention of a sore throat. Of _course_ she had a sore throat. With a cough that deep, it was a wonder she hadn't pulled chest muscles yet. "Of course I don't mind," he told her with a smile. "Just sit tight; I'll be right back."

Charming shrugged on his jacket and left the station. Oddly enough, walking to the diner from the station was quicker than driving, so he walked. It was just his luck that pretty much all of Storybrooke had decided to have a mid-morning snack at Granny's. The place was packed.

Poor Red was running from table to table, and poor Granny was in the kitchen, trying to keep up with the demand. Still, when Red saw Charming walk in, she flashed him a smile while holding up her index finger to let him know she'd be with him in a minute.

It was actually closer to five minutes before Red got the chance to take Charming's order, for which she apologized profusely. He waved her apology off; clearly, she was a bit busy. "Are you having a two-for-one sale or something?" he joked.

"You'd think!" she replied breathlessly. "I have no idea what's going on, but Granny's thrilled."

"I bet!" he chuckled as he waved to Granny in the kitchen. She waved back before returning her attention to the orders that were still rolling in. "Well, I'm here to make you an easy sale. Just a hot chocolate, please."

"For Emma?" Red asked. When Charming nodded, she grinned. "Coming right up."

He noted that she went back into the kitchen to make the drink herself. She returned a minute later with a covered styrofoam cup. "Just the way she likes it," she said as she handed the cup to him.

"Thanks, Red," he smiled. He paid for the drink and was on his way back to the station with Emma's cocoa in hand.

The first thing he noted when he returned to the station was that it was quiet … eerily quiet. Of course, Emma was the only one in the station and it wasn't like she would typically make a racket on her own. Still, he couldn't help but feel like something was wrong.

He quickened his pace while feeling somewhat ridiculous for doing so. As he rounded the corner and peeked into the office, he suddenly understood why it was so quiet. Without anyone around to talk to her or bring her coffee, Emma had finally fallen asleep, slumped forward in her chair. Her arms and a couple of manila folders on her desk were standing in for a pillow.

Sighing, Charming set the cup on the edge of her desk while gently calling his daughter's name. She didn't respond, and he shook his head with an indulgent smile. He crouched down next to her chair, but it wasn't until he went to place his hand on her shoulder to shake her awake that he felt the heat rolling off her in waves.

As she would say: oh, _crap_. Sudden concern flooded him as he tenderly pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. His baby girl was burning up! How had he not noticed this before? "Emma," he said, gently shaking her shoulder. "Emma, wake up."

She groaned as she blearily blinked her eyes open. "Hmm?" she mumbled, sitting up straight in the chair. "What time is it?"

"It's time for you to go home," he insisted sternly. "You're sick."

"No, I'm not," she argued wearily. "I just had a crappy night's sleep."

"You had a crappy night's sleep because you're sick. You're running a fever, Emma, and you need to go home and rest."

She muttered something under her breath that Charming didn't catch. He hid an amused smile at how very … Emma she was being. After all, he remembered quite well how much she'd railed against being taken care of when she'd had a simple head cold.

A larger part of him, though, was truly concerned for his daughter. Whatever she was coming down with, it was hitting her fast. Her skin was paler now than when he'd left to pick up her cocoa, and her eyes were glassy. She coughed again, wincing in pain and covering her mouth with one hand while pressing the other against her sternum.

Maybe he'd assumed she hadn't yet pulled muscles in her chest a bit too soon.

"Emma," he said to her, recapturing her attention. "You need to go home."

She nodded weakly and began to push herself from her chair. She only managed to get about a quarter of the way up before sitting back down hard. "What's the matter?" Charming asked her, panic rising in his chest.

"Nothing," Emma replied, shaking her head. The motion must have made her dizzy because she squeezed her eyes shut for a brief moment. "I just … really need a nap. I can take one here." She lifted a weak hand to gesture towards the holding cells.

"Absolutely not," Charming replied. "The sheriff is not sleeping in a holding cell, for one. And for another, those cots can't be comfortable. You need to rest, and you have a nice, big, warm, comfy bed at home."

Emma whimpered softly. She shot him a helpless look before dropping her head to inspect her hands in her lap. "I, um … I don't think I can get myself home."

Charming's concern shifted into overdrive. For Emma, of all people, to admit that she didn't have the energy to drive herself five minutes down the road, she had to be _really_ sick. As her eyelids started to droop again, Charming knew that Emma was right. There was no way she was going to be able to get herself home safely.

He smiled gently and held out a hand to her, a silent offer of assistance. She graced him with a tiny, grateful smile of her own as she placed her hand in his and allowed him to pull her to her feet.

Her skin felt clammy against his, which was surely due to her fever. After he helped her stand, he once again pressed his hand against her forehead. She allowed the contact for a moment before weakly reaching up and brushing his hand away from her face. "Stop."

Her voice was so soft and weary that he didn't have the heart to argue with her. He simply smiled at her in apology before wrapping his arm around her shoulders in an effort to hold her up.

"You do realize that if you tell anyone about this," she groaned, "I'll have to kill you, right?"

"Understood," he chuckled. At least her sarcasm was still there in full force.

Of course, he didn't dare remind her that there was no way of getting her home and up to bed without Snow knowing. Nor did he dare mention how much of a fit Snow was going to pitch the second she saw her. They'd both lived through the fussing Snow had done when Emma had had the cold. Seeing Emma in this condition would only send her into overprotective mother mode in earnest.

He simply hugged his daughter closer to him while suppressing the strong desire to press a comforting kiss to the side of her head. First and foremost on his mind was getting his stubborn girl home to rest; the pieces could fall where they may after she was safely tucked into bed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Holy friggin' crap! Y'all's response to this story is already_ insane_! Yahoo may not know what to make of the explosion of notifications to my inbox but I love you all for it, haha. Hope you enjoy the next part!

* * *

Snow paced the downstairs of the apartment, her mind running in a zillion different directions. Her husband had just called her with every mother's worst nightmare: their daughter was sick. And not just take-a-nap-and-feel-better sick, but _sick_.

She'd _known_ something was wrong with Emma that morning at breakfast. Why had she let her leave the apartment? She should have insisted that Emma stay home.

Of course, if she had insisted, Emma would have simply argued with her before going ahead and leaving anyway. Her daughter did have quite the obstinate streak in her. Still, Snow couldn't help but feel like she'd failed some sort of test of motherhood, and all she could do now was wait for her husband to bring their sick baby girl home where she belonged.

From the clip of his speech and the soft tone of his voice, Snow figured he'd probably called her on the sly in between getting Emma settled in the car and climbing in behind the wheel. Despite her mounting concern, she had allowed a smile at her husband's ingenuity. What Emma didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

The second Snow heard the sound of a key turning in the deadbolt, she dashed over to the door. She whipped it open to reveal her husband supporting their quite obviously feverish daughter. A light sheen of sweat covered Emma's pale face but she was shivering in her father's arms. Maternal instinct took over immediately; Snow stepped forward and grasped Emma's hands to slowly walk her into the apartment.

The second she felt someone take her hands, Emma tensed. Her glazed eyes searched until they met her mother's. "You called her, didn't you?" she groaned, addressing her father.

"Yes, I did," he admitted in a tone that indicated he was not at all sorry for calling Snow. He caught his wife's eye before darting his gaze to the metal staircase leading up to the loft. Then he looked back at Snow and gave a slight shake of his head.

She understood in an instant: after already climbing two flights of stairs, Emma's energy was spent. Getting her up to her own bed was not going to happen.

Which was for the best, in all honesty. Keeping Emma downstairs was a much better idea anyway. It would be safer for Emma, for one, and for another, it would cut down on the trips up and down the stairs for everyone else.

"Didn't I say that if you told anyone, I'd have to kill you?" Emma grumbled as she tried to pull her hands from her mother's. "You didn't have to call her."

Snow tightened her grip for a brief moment only to release Emma's hands when she raised her arm to muffle a deep cough. She'd thought Emma had been struggling against her grip to be contrary, but all she'd wanted to do was cover her mouth.

Emma clamped her hand over her mouth as two more coughs escaped. Each one was more painful than the last, if the expression on her face was any indication.

Those coughs had not sounded good at all. They were deep and rattling, and they made Snow very uneasy. "From the sound of that cough, I'm glad he did," Snow said, latching onto Emma's arm instead.

She and Charming slowly walked Emma to their room while listening to their sick daughter's protests. "Guys, seriously, this is ridiculous. I'm fine. I just need a nap and then I'll be–" She stopped short as a deep shudder ran down her spine. "–good as new."

The worried parents exchanged a troubled yet vaguely amused glance over Emma's head. When Charming gave a slight roll of his eyes, Snow had to bite her lip to hide a grin. Just as she'd suspected; her poor husband had been listening to similar proclamations since leaving the station.

Only Emma.

Despite her insistence that she was absolutely fine, Emma practically collapsed on the bed as soon as they sat her down. She lay down on her side and tucked her hands under the pillow. Her eyes closed, and she drifted off into a light sleep in a matter of seconds.

Charming stood up straight, panting from both worry and the effort of essentially dragging his sick daughter up two flights of stairs. "That was the longest ten minutes of my life," he whispered to Snow. "All I wanted to do was get her home, and she fought me the entire way. I think she might actually be the most stubborn person on the face of the planet."

Snow chuckled. "Well, you and I can both be quite stubborn. Unfortunately for us, she got hit with double the dose of the stubborn gene." At that, Charming smiled, and Snow set about carefully slipping off her daughter's boots. "Will you do me a favor and bring me the thermometer from the bathroom? I need to see what the damage is."

Charming nodded and gave his wife a peck on the cheek before disappearing from the room. After Snow tucked Emma's boots in the corner of the room, she sat down on the edge of the bed just above her daughter's knees. She touched the back of her hand to Emma's forehead and winced. Her poor baby's skin was fiery to the touch; she should have instructed Charming to grab some medicine from the bathroom as well.

Prince Charming, it seemed, needed no instruction. He returned a moment later with the thermometer, a dose of ibuprofen for Emma's fever, and a glass filled with water. He handed everything to Snow and ducked back out of the room before she could say one word of thanks. It wasn't until she heard him rummaging through the kitchen drawers while pouring water at the sink that she understood: he was making a cool compress for Emma.

_Our knight in shining armor_, Snow thought with a touched smile.

She set the pills and the water on the nightstand. The medicine could wait a minute; checking Emma's temperature came first. "Emma, can you open your mouth for me?" she murmured as she turned on the thermometer.

Emma didn't move, and Snow cringed at the thought of what she had to do next. She gently shook her sleeping daughter's shoulder, trying to rouse her just enough that she would respond without waking fully. The soft whimper Emma let out over being dragged from the oblivion of sleep tore through Snow's aching heart. "I know, honey, but I need to take your temperature."

Although Emma wasn't a hundred percent awake, she wasn't a hundred percent asleep, either. She was aware enough to make a feeble swipe for the thermometer. Snow pressed it into her hand while allowing the tiniest of smiles; she could almost picture Emma as a toddler insisting that she could do things for herself. Emma stuck the tip of the thermometer under her tongue and then, energy spent, let her hand fall back to the mattress.

Snow couldn't stop herself from softly playing with the curling ends of her baby girl's hair as she waited for the thermometer to beep. Emma began to shiver again, and Snow reached over to grab one of the quilts she kept folded on the chest at the foot of her bed. She spread the blanket out over Emma, whose eyelids fluttered when she felt the weight of the fabric draping over her. "Shh," Snow whispered, running her thumb over Emma's hot cheek to soothe her. "It's okay."

The thermometer beeped just as Emma settled. Snow waited a beat but when Emma made no move to remove the thermometer, she slipped it from her daughter's mouth. The reading made her do a double-take.

103.2?! That was far too high. That was_ hospital_ high! _Oh, sweetheart_, Snow thought as she shook Emma's shoulder again. She needed to get some ibuprofen into her stubborn daughter's system _now_.

"Stop, want to sleep," came Emma's mumbled reply. She weakly pushed at her mother's hand in effort to make her leave her alone.

"I know you do, but you need to take some medicine. We've got to get your fever down." Emma didn't move except to tuck her hands back under the pillow. Snow didn't know how, but she knew that she wasn't refusing because she was too out of it to agree. Emma was simply being her typical, stubborn self, only this time her obstinacy was dangerous.

No matter how much it would pain Snow to do so, apparently it was time to get tough. "Emma, either you take the medicine now or I'm taking you to the hospital."

The threat was enough to make Emma blink open her eyes. "Don't need the hospital."

"You will if you don't take this." Snow grabbed her daughter's wrist to pull her hand out from under the pillow and pressed the pills into Emma's palm. "I'm not kidding, Emma. Swallow those pills now, or I'm bringing you to the hospital and they'll make you take them."

"Holy crap, you're bossy," Emma muttered before sitting up slightly and popping the pills into her mouth. Snow hid a smile at her own cleverness as she handed her daughter the glass of water. Did she know Emma or what?

Emma downed the ibuprofen with a sip of water and handed the glass back to her mother. "Happy now?"

"Very much so," Snow evenly replied, refusing to take her daughter's argumentative bait. "Thank you."

A sound that was half-groan and half-grunt escaped Emma's lips as she settled back down on the pillows and shut her eyes.

Snow let out a heavy breath as she watched her daughter fall back into fitful slumber. Charming returned to the room then, carrying a metal mixing bowl with two dish towels floating in cool water. As with most things, Snow didn't know what she'd do without him: now she wouldn't have to keep refreshing the same compress. He gave her a wan smile as he set the bowl on the nightstand. "How is she?"

"103.2," was all she said.

It was all she needed to say. Charming briefly shut his eyes and swallowed hard. "I need to go to the station to switch the phone system over so the calls will get routed to my cell, but I'll be right back."

"Charming, you don't have to–"

"Yes, I do," he interrupted, his voice soft but strong. "I do need to be here. For one thing, you're not going to be able to keep an eye on both her and Henry once he gets out of school. For another, do you really think I'm going to be able to concentrate on mundane paperwork knowing how sick she is? I need to be here with her."

Snow shot her husband an apologetic smile.

He smiled back as he eased down on the bed next to her. "Her cough is worrisome."

That was an understatement. Her cough had sounded like it started in her toes. "Right now, her fever is troubling me slightly more than the cough. I need to make sure it's not going to spike any higher." If it did, her threat of taking Emma to the hospital would no longer be an empty threat.

She reached into the bowl for one of the dish towels, wrung it out, and folded it up before gently placing it on her daughter's forehead. Emma screwed up her face and shuddered against the cool temperature of the cloth but relaxed after a moment. "Go do what you have to do," she murmured to Charming." We'll be all right for a few minutes."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

He gently touched Emma's blanketed shoulder and gave his wife both a smile and another peck on the cheek before standing and tiptoeing out of the room. Only after hearing the front door open and then click closed did Snow allow her concern to truly show on her face.

Emma was _so_ sick, sicker than she'd originally thought. Snow could treat a fever on her own; she'd done so more than a few times in the Forest. But a fever was merely a symptom of an underlying illness, and Snow couldn't even hazard a guess as to what that illness was. Emma hadn't eaten much at breakfast ... could she have the flu? Of course, there was also her cough to consider.

Snow hadn't noticed anything else over the last couple of days aside from a lingering cough from the cold she'd had a few weeks back. When Snow had heard her coughing last night, she'd assumed that was all it was.

If only Emma weren't so maddeningly independent. She could have been feeling under the weather for days and wouldn't have said anything.

_Oh, Emma_, Snow thought as she adjusted the blanket over her shivering daughter, _why do you always keep everything to yourself?_

When Emma was feeling better, Snow vowed to have a little chat with her about her holding things in all the time. It wasn't necessary, and this time, it was reckless. Until then, the only thing she could do was watch over her baby girl and take care of her … whether Emma liked it or not.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** Y'all are still boggling my mind, and I'm still humbled and grateful. All of your lovely reviews have put a smile on my face and a few have made me laugh out loud! You guys are fantastic. :)

* * *

Charming's trip to the station ended up taking him a little longer than planned, mostly because he decided to stop at the pharmacy before heading back to the apartment. When he'd taken stock of the medicine cabinet, he'd found it severely lacking in the cough and cold department. Apparently Snow hadn't had the chance to restock it after Emma's cold.

Not knowing exactly what illness his daughter had was maddening in more ways than one. He hadn't known exactly what medicine would help her, so he'd just grabbed anything that sounded like it would be effective. He returned to the apartment carrying a bag laden with a plethora of cough medicines and fever reducers and pain relievers.

Rationally, he knew he'd gone overboard. On the other hand, his little girl had a fever of a hundred and three; going overboard in a case like that was certainly justified.

He was not at all surprised to find the main room of the apartment empty when he walked in. Knowing Snow, she hadn't left Emma's side. He crept to his room and sure enough, Snow was still sitting in the same spot as when he'd left her.

Emma had grown restless while he'd been gone, and Snow was humming quietly in an effort to calm her while patting her forehead with one of the compresses. The tune was familiar, but Charming couldn't place it.

For a long moment, he just watched his wife comfort their daughter. Snow's humming turned to singing, and Charming finally placed the song. It was a lullaby Snow's mother had sung to her when she was young that Snow in turn used to sing to Emma when she was pregnant with her.

He swallowed hard when he felt a lump forming in his throat. Snow should have had the opportunity to sing that song to Emma from the day she was born.

When she finished the song, she left the compress on Emma's forehead and sat back. Only then did she realize that her husband had returned. She smiled at him, a silent invitation to join her in the room.

"How's she doing?" he whispered, setting the bag down at the foot of the bed.

"I'm not quite sure. I've been trying to quiet her for about fifteen minutes," Snow replied just as softly, glancing up at her husband. Her brow wrinkled when she spotted the bag out of the corner of her eye. She peeked inside and quirked an amused eyebrow at her husband. "Was cleaning out the pharmacy necessary?"

"Probably not," he admitted sheepishly.

Snow smiled, reached for his hand, and squeezed. "Thank you. If she were able, she'd thank you, too."

"Actually, she'd probably roll her eyes at me," Charming said through a chuckle.

That made Snow chuckle as well. "Yes, you're probably right. Underneath her annoyance, though, she'd be grateful."

He smiled at his wife before returning his attention to their poor sick daughter. "Do you know what made her so restless?"

"Not a clue," she admitted, a touch of helplessness in her voice. "I can't tell if it's the fever or if she's dreaming."

The despair underneath her words tore at his heart. A mother _should_ know how to interpret her child's reactions to an illness, but she couldn't do so with Emma.

Of course, Charming was just as clueless. He didn't know how to help Emma any more than Snow did, hence the dozens of bottles of this world's medicine. He squeezed Snow's shoulder, hoping the gesture would give her some semblance of comfort, before easing down on the bed next to her.

And then Emma began whimpering in her fevered sleep, soft, heartbreaking whimpers that hit Charming right in the gut. His poor little girl was hurting, either physically or emotionally, and he had no idea how to stop it.

Or maybe he did.

Without the first clue where it was coming from – maybe gut instinct or maybe a memory of having a fever soothed when he was young – he removed the compress from his daughter's forehead and traced soft circles with his index finger there instead. "It's okay, Emma," he whispered. "You're safe now."

He repeated those words while keeping up the soothing circles. To his utter amazement, Emma slowly quieted. When she stopped squirming under the quilt, Charming lowered his hand to caress her cheek. "You're safe now," he murmured one final time, then gasped in surprise when Emma nestled her cheek against his palm.

With a shuddering sigh, Emma calmed completely. Her features grew serene as she fell back into peaceful slumber.

Charming's heart filled with a warmth the likes of which he'd never felt before. His soothing had worked, and unconscious though it was, his daughter had not only accepted it but also sought it out. He remained still for a long moment, relishing the contact with his daughter, before slowly removing his hand. Emma's brow pinched at the loss of the warmth but she didn't wake.

"Looks like you have the magic touch," Snow whispered, beaming at her husband.

He smiled back at her, still somewhat in shock. He had no idea how he'd managed to calm his daughter, but the explosion of love and awe he'd felt when he did was nothing short of miraculous.

"Will you sit here with her?" Snow asked quietly. "I want to refresh her water."

"Of course," he whispered back. Snow smiled, grabbed both the bowl and the glass, and crept from the room. Charming was left to watch over his sick daughter alone … for a few minutes, anyway.

It didn't appear as if the ibuprofen had made a dent in Emma's fever yet. Her skin was still pale and clammy, except for her cheeks, which were a bright shade of pink. She hadn't stopped shivering despite both the blanket covering her and the heat still radiating from her.

What on earth could be plaguing her? Charming felt that her fever was too severe to indicate a cold or even the flu. A deep cough like hers didn't just happen on its own, either. Bronchitis, perhaps?

His train of thought was cut short when Emma coughed and shifted under the blanket, her eyelids fluttering. When she moaned and brought a weak hand up to her chest, Charming knew she was waking. "What's the matter, Emma?" he asked her softly.

"Chest hurts," she mumbled, opening her eyes and panting slightly from both her illness and the effort of speaking. She coughed again, a deep, throaty cough that made the muscles in Charming's own chest ache in sympathy.

"Do you think you can sit up for a minute?" he asked, making a blind grab for the pharmacy bag behind him. "I bought you some cough medicine but you can't drink it lying down."

"Ugh, liquid?" she grumbled, wrinkling her nose. Her eyes slid closed again. "It's going to be gross."

That made him swallow a chuckle. Only Emma would have such a completely childish reason for refusing cough medicine. "It'll be gross for thirty seconds. It'll help your cough for hours."

She groaned. "Who said you could bring logic into this?"

This time he couldn't swallow his laughter. Just like back in the station, he was glad to hear that his daughter's sarcasm was still intact despite the fever and the illness. "My apologies," he teased as he dug into the bag.

Out came the various brands of cough medicine he'd purchased. As he compared the boxes to determine which one would be most effective, Emma watched him through heavy-lidded eyes. "I'm not seeing double, am I?" she asked after a moment. "Did you really buy like, seven thousand bottles of cough medicine?"

"You're not seeing double," Charming admitted as he opened one of the boxes. He poured his daughter a dose of cough syrup and held the little plastic cup out to her before she could say another word. "Drink up."

She grunted as she pushed herself up on one elbow and downed the medicine in one quick gulp. "Good God, that's disgusting," she whined as she handed the empty cup back to him. That must have been all the energy she had, because she flopped back down on the pillows and pulled the quilt tighter around her shoulders.

"Disgusting, but helpful," he reminded her, hiding a grin.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." She shut her eyes and fidgeted to find a position comfortable enough to go back to sleep.

It hit Charming a moment later that while she was still awake, he should probably check her temperature. "Emma, can I take your temperature again?" he asked, reaching for the thermometer on the nightstand.

She simply shrugged. Since it wasn't an outright denial, Charming took it as a yes. Not that an outright denial would have mattered; he'd only asked to be polite. When she heard the thermometer beep as he turned it on, Emma opened her eyes and made a weak grab for it. Hiding a smirk, he allowed her to take it and put the tip under her tongue.

The second it beeped, he snatched it before she could. The reading made his heart sink: it was the same 103.2 it had been before. At least it hadn't risen; they didn't have a lot of leeway in that department. But it hadn't fallen at all, either, which was troubling.

Of course, it hadn't even been an hour since Snow had given her the ibuprofen. Maybe he just had to be patient. Patience was a little hard to come by with his little girl so sick, though.

"What's the verdict?" Emma mumbled, drawing him from his reverie.

"Same as before," he replied, clicking the thermometer off. She nodded even though Charming didn't think she knew what her temperature had been before.

He set the thermometer back on the nightstand and watched out of the corner of his eye as Emma forced her eyes open twice after they drifted closed. Why on earth was she trying to keep herself awake? It was actually Charming's hope that the alcohol in the cough medicine would help her stay asleep for more than a few minutes at a time. "Go to sleep, Emma," he whispered to her.

"Mm-hmm." Finally, she allowed her eyes to close. Charming started to stand, intending to give her some space, but she shot her hand out and caught his, latching onto it as tightly as she could. "You can stay, if you want."

Charming was beginning to learn that with his daughter, a lot of the important details were hidden in what she didn't say. Although she'd made it sound like she was simply allowing him to stay if he so desired, in truth she wanted him to stay.

Whether she really wanted his comfort and presence or whether she simply didn't want to be alone, he didn't know. Frankly, he didn't care. His daughter wanted him to stay with her, and that was all that mattered. Thank goodness her eyes were closed, because he couldn't hide his touched smile as he sank back down on the edge of the bed. "Okay," he said, making sure to sound nonchalant, "if you don't mind."

She gave a slight shake of her head as sleep overtook her. Charming just sat for a long moment, watching over his sick daughter. Then he adjusted the quilt around her shoulders before standing and turning to tiptoe from the room.

That was when he found his wife leaning against the doorjamb, metal bowl and glass of water still in hand. From the tears brimming in her eyes, he gathered she'd been watching them for a while. He took the bowl and glass from her, set them aside, and pulled her into a tight hug. "She's going to be okay, Snow."

"I know," she sniffled. "It's just that … we should have been able to do this for her her whole life."

They should have, but dwelling on that fact wouldn't make it any easier to move forward. And they needed to move forward. They really, really needed to move forward.

"We should have," he agreed softly. He pulled out of the hug and cupped her face in his hands. "She needed us then, and we weren't there for her. I know it kills you; it kills me, too. But she also needs us now and we can be there for her now. It won't make up for the past, but we have the opportunity to try to mend the present."

Snow swallowed the rest of her tears, a gentle smile lighting her face as she looked into his eyes. "How do you always know the exact right thing to say?"

He grinned at her and gave a faux-modest shrug. "It's a gift."


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** I still can't even. You guys are fantastic. :)

* * *

The one thing neither Snow nor Charming had taken into consideration was the fact that the other two members of their family might in fact make plans without them. It seemed that the night before, when Emma still felt relatively okay, she and Henry had made plans to meet up for ice cream at Granny's after he got off the school bus.

And that was where the boy was now. Charming and Snow only found out about this little mother-and-son ice cream date when Henry called the station, assuming that Emma had simply lost track of time. Thankfully, the station's phone system had done its job and patched the call through to Charming's cell. Unfortunately, that now meant poor Charming had to walk the delicate line between not upsetting an eleven-year-old by telling him his mother had gone home sick and not lying to him by telling him that everything was hunky dory.

"She's going to be all right, though, Henry," he was now murmuring into the cell phone. "She's home now and resting. Either your grandmother or I will come get you. Stay at Granny's within Red's sight."

He must have received assurance from Henry that he would do as he was told, because Charming nodded, said goodbye, and disconnected the call. "I'll go," he said to Snow as he tucked his phone back into his pocket.

"He's not going to be happy when he sees her," Snow warned, darting her eyes to the bedroom where her daughter was sleeping soundly. Although Charming hadn't lied, he had somewhat understated the truth. Snow remembered quite well how much trouble she'd had keeping a worried Henry away from Emma when all she'd had was a cold.

Actually, she'd given up trying to keep Henry away from Emma then. She hoped that she would be a bit more successful this time around. They'd been lucky that the boy hadn't caught his mother's cold; she couldn't bear to think of Henry catching … whatever Emma had.

"I'll prep him for it when I pick him up," Charming assured her. "I just didn't see the point in telling him everything while he was alone. He has a tendency to be a bit of a worrier, much like his grandmother." He paused to smile kindly at his wife. "His mind would be jumping from worst-case scenario to worst-case scenario."

That made sense, Snow supposed. She gave her husband a smile and shooed him towards the door. "He's not going to want it now, but you should offer to buy him the ice cream she promised him anyway."

"Will do," he smiled as he ducked out the door.

The second she was alone, Snow crept to her room to check on her sick baby girl. The cough medicine Charming had given Emma had certainly done its job; she hadn't made a peep in over two hours. No whimpers, no coughs, nothing. And surprisingly, Snow had managed to silence her inner overprotective mother enough to leave Emma alone and let her sleep.

It had, however, been far too long since she'd peeked in on her. She stood by the nightstand for a long moment, observing her sleeping daughter. Perhaps it was because her guard was down in sleep or perhaps it was because of the color the fever was giving her cheeks, but Snow couldn't get over how _young_ Emma looked. She could almost imagine Emma as a rosy-cheeked little girl with bouncing blonde curls bursting into the castle out of breath from climbing the trees on the grounds … because a rambunctious young Emma most certainly would not have stood for poise and propriety.

Snow had to swallow hard and shake herself out of her reverie. The time she'd lost with her baby … it was too much to contemplate. Especially in times like this, when Emma was sick and Snow was left to wonder who'd soothed her fevers or quieted her nightmares or peeked in on her to make sure she was okay. Strangers? Anyone at all?

Instead, Snow focused on Emma's symptoms. Her breathing seemed a little labored and she was still simultaneously sweating and shivering. Snow reached down to brush a stray lock of hair off Emma's sweaty forehead. Sure enough, she was still burning up.

Snow's eyes flitted to the metal bowl sitting on the nightstand; perhaps another round with the compress was in order. She picked up the bowl and took it back to the kitchen sink to refresh it. The sound of the cool, running water made Snow realize that when Emma woke, she was going to need something to drink. She'd lost too much hydration as it was.

Just as she turned the water off, she heard Emma let out a thick, wet cough. The sound made Snow's blood run cold; her coughs hadn't sounded like that before. And then the single cough turned into a full-blown coughing fit that sent Snow running back into the bedroom.

She found Emma half-awake and struggling to sit up. Snow was by her side in an instant, helping her sit. Then she sat behind her and rubbed circles on Emma's back. Poor Emma continued to cough with heaving gasps in between as she tried to get a tiny bit of oxygen. Snow winced and shut her eyes against the sound of her baby girl's struggle to breathe.

The coughing fit subsided after a moment, leaving Emma gasping and panting for breath. "Slow breaths, Emma," Snow murmured softly. Her gasping was only leading to panic, which then led to more gasping. "That's it, slow breaths."

Emma nodded to let Snow know she'd heard her and made a concerted effort to control her breathing. Snow continued to rub Emma's back, hoping the soothing motion would calm her. Only when Emma's breathing returned to normal did she drop her hand and reposition herself at her daughter's side. "Are you all right?"

Again, Emma nodded. Her eyes were still a little wild, a remnant of the panic of not being able to get enough air. Snow gave her a smile, hoping that if she remained calm, Emma would calm down as well. Then she reached for the glass of water to the nightstand and held it out to her daughter. "Drink."

Emma snatched the glass from her and greedily gulped the water.

"You all right now?" Snow asked when Emma handed the empty glass back to her.

"Yeah," Emma replied, her voice raspy. She winced in pain as she drew in a breath. Apparently her coughing fit had taxed her already sore chest muscles to their limit.

"No, you're not," Snow told her, attempting to tamp down the concern she felt. Emma's breathing was truly worrying her now; something about it just … didn't sound right. She reached out to feel for her stubborn daughter's fever yet again. "What do you need? More pain reliever? I should get some more Advil into anyway for your fever." She stood, oblivious to the vaguely horrified look on her daughter's face at the overprotective hovering.

She was out of the room before Emma had a chance to protest. She grabbed the whole bottle of Advil from the bathroom, deciding that leaving it on the nightstand with the thermometer would negate the need to run in and out of the room. When she returned, Emma did her level best to arch an annoyed eyebrow at her. It didn't quite work, though Snow saw no need to tell Emma as much.

She dropped two pills into Emma's hand and handed her the refilled glass of water. "What, take two of these and then call you in the morning?" Emma quipped.

"Swallow them now," Snow replied, studiously ignoring Emma's sarcasm. She also ignored the roll of Emma's eyes as she popped the pills into her mouth and swallowed them down with a gulp of water. Then she took the glass from her and set it on the nightstand. "Do you think you can stay awake for a little while? I want to check your temperature again, but you just drank cold water and it won't be accurate."

"I'm sure I can manage," Emma replied dryly.

This from the girl who couldn't stay awake long enough to drive herself home from the sheriff's station. Though Snow was thrilled to hear that underneath the fever and the sickness, her daughter was still herself, she shot her a look to tell her to cut the attitude.

Emma's features instantly softened. For a brief moment, she was the very picture of a contrite, scolded child. With a smile to herself over getting her stubborn daughter to obey, Snow sat down on the bed facing Emma. "Good. Let's talk symptoms."

"I really don't want to talk symptoms," Emma groaned, wrinkling her nose.

She didn't, did she? Well, that was just too bad. They needed to talk symptoms so Snow could figure out how to treat whatever Emma had. Apparently, it was once again time to get tough. "Either you talk symptoms with me, or you talk symptoms with Dr. Whale. Take your pick."

It was a good thing looks couldn't kill, because Snow would have been dead about ten times over. "You know, you threatened me with the hospital the day I hurt my arm, and now you're doing it again? One of these days, I'm going to call your bluff."

Snow, however, could glare with the best of them, and she answered her daughter's glare with one of her own. "It's not at all a bluff, Emma, so by all means, call it if you want."

Mother and daughter stared each other down for a brief moment, and it was daughter who eventually admitted defeat. Her shoulders slumped as she reached behind her to prop a pillow up against the headboard. She let out an aggravated sigh as leaned back against the pillow. "My chest hurts and I'm tired."

"You also have a fever and you just had a coughing fit," Snow reminded her.

Emma wrinkled her nose but ultimately added the symptoms to the growing list. "I have a fever, I had a coughing fit, and I couldn't catch my breath. And now it's actually kind of hard to breathe because my chest hurts."

That last one made Snow sit up a little straighter. "I imagine you pulled muscles from coughing–"

"No, lower." Emma placed a hand on her sternum. "When I cough, it hurts here." Then she lowered both hands to her abdomen, right at the base of her rib cage. "When I breathe, it hurts here."

_Oh_, no. The pieces were starting to come together for Snow, and she sincerely hoped she was wrong. She moved closer to her daughter and reached around her. Emma obeyed the silent instruction, sitting up straight so Snow could place her hand on her back. "I want you to take the deepest breath you can for me, all right?"

A soft whimper escaped Emma's lips at the thought of the pain a deep breath would cause. She shot her hand out to grasp Snow's free one. Before Snow had the chance to even identify the complicated emotions that arose from the feeling of her daughter latching onto her hand for support, Emma took that deep breath. Her grip on Snow's hand tightened as she squeezed her eyes shut against the pain.

There were two things Snow heard in that moment, both of which made her heart sink. One was that Emma's breath in had been crackly and wet, as if the air had had to move around fluid in its path. The other was a high-pitched whistle in Emma's breath as she exhaled.

Perhaps Charming giving her that cough medicine hadn't been the good idea it had seemed. Emma's ability to cough being suppressed had only exacerbated her illness, one which Snow was reasonably sure she had identified.

"What is it?" Emma asked, her slightly frantic eyes searching her mother's.

Snow squeezed Emma's hand tightly while running a thumb over her cheek. "I'm pretty sure that you, my darling daughter, have pneumonia."


	5. Chapter 5

"Pneumonia?" Emma asked, pulling her hand from her mother's. She shifted back slightly, and Snow could only watch as her daughter's walls shot up around her. She was used to trying to connect with Emma being a two-steps-forward, one-step-back process, but it still hurt whenever they reached that backward step. Emma shuddered as a chill ran through her and then pulled the quilt up higher against her chest. "How in the hell did I end up with pneumonia?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Snow told her softly. She had to make a concerted effort to not adjust the blanket around her daughter. With Emma pulling away again, doing so now would only cause an argument. "You never got rid of your cough from that cold. Sometimes one lingering germ is all it takes."

Emma crossed her arms over her chest and huffed, which, due to the whistle in her breath, ended up being slightly less dramatic than she probably wanted. "I don't want to have pneumonia."

Snow had to work doubly hard to hide a smile at that one. Her twenty-eight-year-old, I'm-not-a-child daughter was _pouting_. Really and truly pouting, with the crossed arms and the whiny voice and everything. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. If it makes you feel any better, I don't want you to have pneumonia, either."

That comment at least got Emma to smile. It was a tiny, barely there smile, but Snow would take what she could get. Of course, the smile dropped from her face the second Snow reached for the thermometer. "What was my temperature before?"

"103.2," Snow answered as she turned the device on and handed it to her daughter. Emma accepted the thermometer with wide eyes and swallowed hard before sticking the tip under her tongue. Snow cringed at how unnerved Emma appeared to be, but perhaps that was a good thing. Perhaps letting her know exactly how sick she was – through indisputable, factual evidence like temperatures and lists of symptoms – would put an end to her stubborn arguing.

Then again, probably not, but Snow could dream.

The two of them sat in silence. Snow idly traced the patchwork of the quilt with her index finger while Emma worried the edge of the blanket between her thumb and forefinger. A couple of times, Snow looked up in time to catch Emma crossing her eyes in an attempt to read the digital display of the thermometer. Again, she hid a smile and simply waited for the device to beep.

The second it did, Emma pulled it from her mouth and glanced down at the display. Her shoulders slumped, making a small bubble of panic rise in Snow's stomach. The expression on her face as she handed the thermometer over made Snow want to pull her into a hug and tell her that everything was going to be okay. However, since Emma's walls hadn't yet come down, Snow simply took the thermometer from her and glanced down at the reading.

Just as she'd thought; Emma's temperature had risen ... to 103.6. Between Snow's suspected diagnosis and the fact that her temperature was rising, the hospital was a foregone conclusion. Still, Snow's heart shattered when Emma said, "I'm not going to the hospital."

It wasn't her words that had gotten to her; it was her tone. There was an air of vulnerability in her voice that Snow didn't hear very often, if ever at all. The words were insistent and argumentative, but her tone was pleading.

Taking a chance, Snow reached for her daughter's hand. After a brief moment of hesitation and much to Snow's relief and delight, Emma slipped her hand into her mother's. "Emma, I will do whatever I can to help you get better. I can treat a fever and I can help keep you comfortable, but I can't treat pneumonia on my own. You need antibiotics and probably IV fluids and other things I don't have here. Please don't make me promise you that I won't take you to the hospital, because it's a promise I don't think I can keep."

For a split second, Snow saw tears welling in her baby's eyes. Then Emma blinked rapidly and the tears were gone as quickly as they had come. She slumped back into the pillow, her energy finally dwindling. "I'm tired."

"I don't doubt it," Snow murmured. She'd done well to stay awake this long with a fever that high. She squeezed Emma's hand before letting it go so her baby could get comfortable. "Do you need me to get you anything?"

Emma shook her head, and Snow thought she could see her baby's walls lowering just a tad. Her instinct was proven correct when she said, "Can you just … I mean, if you don't have anything else to do ..." She sighed at her inability to find the words, then flinched against the pain when her chest muscles protested the sharp breath.

How an unasked request could simultaneously thrill Snow and make her so unbelievably sad, she would never understand. Emma wanted her to stay but she didn't know how to ask her to do so. A daughter should be able to ask her mother anything, and yet her daughter couldn't. Still, the very fact that Emma wanted her to stay pretty much made her entire month.

"I'm going to stay with you until you fall asleep, all right?" Snow offered, taking a little bit of the pressure off of her daughter.

Emma, in turn, gave her a wan but touched smile.

Snow returned the smile before placing a hand on her daughter's back, once again silently telling her to sit up a little bit. Emma obeyed, allowing Snow to pile two pillows behind her and place them slightly at an angle against the headboard. "Lie back," she instructed softly. "Propping the pillows up like this will help you breathe a little bit easier."

With a weak nod, Emma did as she was told. Snow watched her get settled on her side while thinking that as soon as her daughter was asleep, she should probably dig out Mary Margaret's old humidifier. The moist, warm air would help her breathe easier as well.

Once she was sure that Emma was comfortable, Snow got up and crossed to the empty side of the bed. She settled down next to her daughter, causing Emma to shoot her a light smile. "Just like old times," she murmured, her eyes drifting shut.

Snow smiled as well as the memory came back to her. That night had been one of the worst of Mary Margaret's life. She had curled up on her bed, heartbroken over David Nolan, and yet Emma's presence had helped far more than Snow believed Emma even comprehended. The simple notion that she didn't have to go through the heartache alone had helped. The idea that someone would be there to listen or to comfort or to share a pint of ice cream or a drink while trashing the man who'd broken her heart had been comfort enough.

And as she ran her eyes over her poor sick daughter, it hit her not for the first time that Emma had never had that. She'd never had anyone curl up in bed next to her and offer comfort in silence. She'd never had anyone be there for her at all, not until she met Mary Margaret. Tears burned Snow's eyes – tears for the lonely, loveless life her baby had lived and hadn't deserved – and she couldn't stop herself from tucking a wayward limp curl behind Emma's ear.

Emma's eyes fluttered open for a brief moment at the contact before closing again. Then, to Snow's utter shock, she reached out her hand and grasped her mother's. A breath caught in Snow's throat as she wrapped her hand around Emma's and held on tightly. For the third time in less than thirty minutes, Emma had sought comfort from her.

Snow hummed softly while running her thumb along the back of Emma's hand. Soon enough, the combination of the motion, the humming, and her own exhaustion lulled Emma to sleep. Still, Snow waited until Emma's grip completely relaxed before giving her hand a light squeeze and slipping her own free. "Sleep tight, sweetheart," she murmured, and, after a moment, dared to press a kiss to her daughter's temple.

Emma smiled lightly in her sleep at the gesture. Snow smiled as well, brushed her thumb down Emma's cheek, and carefully pushed herself off the bed. Time to leave her sick daughter alone to get some rest.

She exited the room just as Charming and a subdued Henry returned from Granny's.

"Hi, Gramma," Henry said as he hung his jacket on the back of a kitchen chair. Snow could already see the concern swimming in his eyes. Charming must have told him that they'd set Emma up downstairs, because he headed directly for his grandparents' room.

"Quietly, Henry," Snow warned him. "She just fell asleep."

He paused at the doorjamb. "Can I go in and check on her?"

The poor boy looked so worried that Snow didn't have the heart to deny him. "Yes. Just be careful not to wake her."

With a smile of gratitude, Henry disappeared into the room.

Now that Emma had someone to watch over her for a minute, Snow was free to talk to her husband in private. "We may have a problem," she murmured to Charming. When his panicked eyes immediately darted towards the bedroom, she winced. "Sorry, not an immediate problem. She's all right for now, but I'm reasonably sure she has pneumonia."

"Pneumonia?" Charming asked, his brow knotting into a troubled frown. "If she has pneumonia, she needs to be in the hospital, Snow. We can't treat that here."

"I know. That's the problem. She doesn't want to go."

Charming's eyes widened. "Tough! I think we're a little beyond what she wants–"

"No, that's not what I meant." She latched onto her husband's hand and dragged him away from the bedroom a little so Henry wouldn't be able to overhear her. "She wasn't protesting to be difficult. She _doesn't want _to go. It's almost like … she's afraid to go."

Charming heaved a sigh and brought his hand up to the back of his head. There could have been any number of reasons for Emma to be afraid of going to the hospital, and none of them were good. "So what do we do?"

"Give me a couple of hours," Snow told him. "I already told her I think she needs to be there, but I need more time to prep her."

After a moment, Charming swallowed hard and nodded in acquiescence. Then he tiptoed over to the entrance of their bedroom and leaned against the doorjamb, watching as Henry carefully settled down on the bed next to his mother. His presence seemed to be comforting her; she'd been whimpering but stopped when Henry lightly gripped her hand. "He's good with her," Charming whispered to Snow after a moment.

"He takes after his grandfather," Snow whispered in return, giving her husband a soft smile.

Charming smiled back. "No, he takes after his grandmother."

"All right, all right, he takes after the both of us," Snow chuckled. She stood in the doorway for another long moment, only stepping away when Henry gave them both as a smile as if it say, _I've got this_.

"I need to find the humidifier," she murmured to Charming as they both headed back toward the kitchen. "It'll loosen up the gunk in her lungs and help her breathe."

"We need to keep her hydrated, too," Charming reminded her. "Did she drink when she was awake?"

"She did. I'm also thinking another round with the compresses is in order. Her fever went up."

At that, her husband's eyebrows shot to the ceiling. "It doesn't exactly have a lot of room to go up."

"I know, which is another reason she needs the hospital." Snow gave a helpless little sigh, trying to determine which of those things she should do first.

And once again, it was Prince Charming to the rescue. "I'll go find the humidifier," he said, placing his hands on her shoulders and giving them a comforting squeeze. "You go give her another round with the compress."

She smiled at him. "What in the world would I do without you?"

"Thankfully, you'll never have to find out," he replied with a wink.


	6. Chapter 6

Emma's fever was proving to be just as stubborn as Emma herself. She'd had two doses of ibuprofen and Snow had been patting her forehead with the compress for an hour and a half now, and there'd been no change for the better. In fact, Emma seemed to be getting worse. She barely responded whenever someone nudged her to take her temperature, and even more troubling, she'd begun muttering gibberish in her sleep.

Snow was beside herself, Charming was pacing the room, and Henry was scared. She'd tried gently kicking the boy out of the room but he refused to leave his mother's side. Emma's incoherent muttering had continued for a few minutes when Charming eased down on the edge of the bed behind Snow. "I think it's time," he whispered into his wife's ear.

Unfortunately, Snow had to agree. Emma was getting too sick now; they'd delayed the trek to the hospital long enough.

Henry watched as his grandparents carried on a silent conversation. Charming's questioning look at Snow asked if she wanted him to handle Emma. She shook her head but darted her gaze over to Henry for a beat, silently telling her husband to get him out of the room.

Charming nodded at her before standing, rounding the bed, and placing his hands on his grandson's shoulders. "Come on, Henry," he said softly. "Let's go get your mom a fresh glass of water."

"No," he insisted, shrugging out of his grandfather's grip. "I want to stay with her."

The boy had certainly inherited his mother's stubbornness. Husband and wife shared a glance. Snow eventually gave her husband a little shrug. She supposed they could let Henry stay, but she also nodded towards him to let Charming know to be ready in case she needed him to usher Henry out of the room quickly. When he nodded at her again to let her know that he understood, she returned her attention to her sick daughter.

She removed the compress from Emma's forehead and placed it back in the bowl. First things first: she needed to calm her poor baby down. She cupped Emma's face in her hand, stroking her thumb along her daughter's fiery cheek. Slowly, Emma's incoherent muttering faded to soft whimpers. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Henry let out a heavy breath when his mother stopped murmuring.

Now it was time to try to wake Emma. If the past hour and a half was any indication, this was not going to be an easy task. Gentle nudges hadn't been working so Snow started with a somewhat rough shake of her daughter's shoulder. "Emma, sweetie, it's time to wake up."

Emma groaned in her fevered sleep and shrugged her shoulder out from underneath her mother's hand. Snow winced, hating herself a little for both having to wake Emma in the first place and for waking her to tell her that she had to go to the hospital. Neither one of those things were on the top of the list of things Emma liked. With a soft sigh, Snow tried again. "You've got to wake up, Emma."

It took a little more prodding but Emma finally managed to blink her eyes open. Snow let out a breath of relief when Emma's disoriented gaze settled on her. "Can you sit up for me?" she asked, lightly gripping her daughter's hand. She was afraid that if Emma didn't move, she'd fall back to sleep, and Snow needed her to be as alert as she possibly could be for the conversation they needed to have.

The look on Emma's face plainly indicated that sitting up was not high on her priority list at the moment. Still, she slowly pushed herself off the pillows until she was sitting while tugging on her mother's hand for support.

As Snow looked her poor baby over, she couldn't resist reaching out and brushing a finger down Emma's cheek. Her eyes were glazed, her cheeks still pink, and her forehead still sweaty. Yes, the hospital was most definitely necessary, though Emma wasn't likely to feel the same. Since there was no easy way to do this, Snow decided to just do it quickly. "We need to take you to the hospital, Emma."

"No," Emma grumbled, pulling her hand from Snow's. She was trying to sound insistent but her voice lacked the edge it really needed. "I'm not going."

"Emma, you need to go," Snow said, glancing behind her at Charming. He nodded at her, telling her to be just as insistent with Emma as she was being with her. "We can't treat this here. Someone needs to take a look at you–"

"I'm not going," Emma repeated, a little more strength to her words this time.

"We're not offering you a choice, Emma," Charming spoke up from the other side of the room. Emma sluggishly turned her gaze to him. Her eyes widened as if she just now realized that he and Henry were in the room. "You need treatment that we can't give you. You're going to the hospital."

A healthy Emma was stubborn, to be sure, but a healthy Emma had nothing on a sick Emma. Her brows furrowed in anger as she shook her head, refusing her father. Then she squeezed her eyes shut, the motion having made her dizzy.

"Emma, you can't even shake your head without the room spinning on you," Snow said softly. "You need to go."

"No, I don't," Emma grumbled. Then without another word, she lay back down and pulled the quilt tightly around her shoulders.

Henry, who'd darted his eyes among the adults throughout the entire conversation like a spectator at a tennis match, swallowed hard. He seemed to realize that his mom had just sort of declared war … war between a sick child and concerned parents. The only thing Emma didn't seem to realize was that the concerned parents always won that particular war.

Snow looked to Charming, who nodded at her. Once again, gentle wasn't working. It was time to show their baby girl who knew best in a case like this. After taking a deep breath to prepare herself, Snow whipped the blanket off Emma's shoulders, latched onto her daughter's hand, and pulled her back up into a sitting position. Emma angrily protested but Snow didn't care. "You're going, Emma. No ifs, ands, or buts. It's up to you whether you walk down the stairs on your own or whether your father carries you down."

"What the hell?" Emma sputtered, yanking her hand from her mother's. "What gives you the right to–"

A coughing fit interrupted her no doubt impassioned argument. Snow repositioned herself behind her daughter in an instant, repeating her earlier action of rubbing circles on Emma's back as the coughs wracked her body.

Henry watched with wide eyes and a frantic expression. Snow caught her husband's eye, and he understood immediately. "Henry, your mom really needs that glass of water now," he said, taking the boy's hand and tugging him off the bed. He gently ushered him toward the kitchen, murmuring all the way out of the room that Emma was going to be okay.

The current coughing fit lasted longer than the previous one and once again left Emma gasping for breath. She placed a hand on her sternum, a meager attempt to soothe her aching chest muscles. "Slow breaths, Emma," Snow reminded her softly. "Slow breaths. In and out steadily."

It took longer for Emma's breathing to return to normal this time. Snow waited until Emma removed her own hand from her chest before dropping her hand and leaning forward to catch her daughter's eye. "You want to tell me again how you don't need to go to the hospital?"

"Please don't make me go," Emma whispered, more than a hint of pain and fear in her voice.

With that, Snow's heart shattered. Her baby was pleading with her and she couldn't in good conscience give Emma what she wanted. What on earth had she gone through to make her hate hospitals so much?

Before Snow had a chance to answer, Henry stepped back into the room with the glass of water for his mother. He handed it over and watched with worried eyes as she drained the glass. It wasn't until she handed the empty glass back to him that she caught the panic on the poor boy's face. "Oh, Henry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

"I'm not scared," he insisted, forcing a little smile for her benefit. "I'm worried about you. I just want you to get better. You may not like it, but the hospital can make you better. Will you please go? Please?"

Emma's features softened as she looked at her concerned son. With a breath of defeat through her nose, she started to push herself off the bed. Snow smiled at Henry over Emma's head, working extra hard to hide her utter relief. Perhaps they should have played the Henry card earlier and saved themselves a lot of aggravation.

She helped Emma stand. Her poor daughter was really too sick to be walking, as evidenced by her slight stumble when she tried to take a step forward. Snow didn't call attention to that fact, though. She was just thrilled that Emma had finally agreed to go to the hospital and was afraid of saying or doing anything to make her change her mind.

Charming stepped into the room and took over for his wife, supporting Emma as she walked like he had when he brought her home from the station. After her husband carefully walked their daughter out of the room, Snow pulled her amazingly wondering grandson into a tight, comforting, and grateful hug. "Thank you, Henry," she murmured to him. "She never would have gone without you asking her."

"I know," he said, smiling up at Snow. She smirked; her grandson certainly knew how to handle his mother. "She needs to be there, though, doesn't she?"

"Yes, she does," Snow replied as Henry pulled out of her embrace. She gently lifted his chin with her index finger so he was looking up at her. "She's going to be perfectly fine, Henry. The doctors just need to get some real medicine into her."

He smiled at her as he nodded. "I know she'll be fine. You and Gramps won't let anything happen to her."

"No, we won't," Snow agreed softly.

"And I won't, either." Still smiling, Henry grasped her hand and tugged her out of the room.

The front room of the apartment was already empty; apparently, Charming had already started walking Emma down the stairs and out to the car. "Will you go see if your grandfather needs any help?" Snow asked Henry. "I just want to pack her a couple of things."

Henry swallowed a grin. "Sure. I'll go make sure she's not driving him crazy yet."

Snow giggled. "That's my boy."

As Henry took off for the door, Snow climbed the stairs to the loft bedroom. She wanted to pack Emma a change of clothes and some sleep wear. She would probably be more comfortable in her own clothes.

She grabbed Henry's backpack and packed a couple of tank tops and Emma's favorite pair of yoga pants along with a change of clothes for when she was released. She also tucked Emma's hairbrush into the bag while making a mental note to grab her toothbrush from downstairs. Just as she was about to zip up the backpack, though, she thought of something.

Should she or shouldn't she? It could go either way, really. Either Emma would appreciate it or she wouldn't, but it couldn't hurt to bring it, just in case. Before she had a chance to think better of it, Snow pulled Emma's baby blanket out from its normal hiding place under her pillow.

She held it in her hand for a beat before tucking it into the backpack as well. If Emma hid it under the hospital pillows or under the covers, no one besides Snow would even have to know she had it. Maybe, just maybe, having a little slice of home with her would make Emma's stay less stressful for her.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:** So this chapter kind of ran away from me. Oops? Also, you all are the most amazing readers ever. The review count on this story is nutsy! Thank you! :)

* * *

The kindly older woman working the intake desk at Storybrooke General's emergency room when the family arrived took one look at Emma and whisked the family down the hall to a small exam room. She got Emma settled on a stretcher with the head mostly raised so that she was sitting up but reclining a bit and promised that someone would be right in. She kept her word because barely five minutes later, a nurse entered the room to check Emma's vital signs.

All poor Emma wanted to do was sleep but she remained mostly aware while the nurse took her blood pressure and pulse. She made note of Emma's labored breathing and the second she got a reading of her temperature, she strode out to the nurse's desk and told her colleague to page Dr. Whale stat.

After that, there was a flurry of activity in the little room. Someone came in to start an IV, as Emma was dehydrated and needed fluids. He ended up placing it in the back of her hand because she'd been too restless for him to get it in her arm. Someone else came in to hook up an oxygen mask and secure it in place over Emma's nose and mouth with a strap around her head. She also clipped the pulse oximeter on Emma's finger so they could monitor her oxygen level.

The part of Emma that was aware of the fuss being made over her was annoyed and a little embarrassed, but mostly she just wanted everyone to leave her alone so she could sleep.

The activity was over in a few minutes and Emma finally let her eyes close. Snow and Charming clasped hands while watching over their poor sick daughter. Henry had climbed up onto the foot of the hospital bed and was now staring at his mother with wide eyes. "I know it looks scary, Henry," Snow whispered to him, "but she's going to be okay. All that stuff is there to help her."

"I know," he whispered back. "It's just … seeing it made it real, you know?"

Snow did know. She completely understood because she felt the same way. Standing there, looking at her baby girl hooked up to the machines, it hit her just how sick Emma truly was. Still, she needed to be strong for both Emma and Henry, so gave her grandson an understanding smile, grasped his hand in her free one, and squeezed.

They were all tensely quiet for a little while but when a mostly asleep Emma began pushing at the oxygen mask, Snow told Charming to take Henry and get him something from the vending machines. His mother's disoriented struggling was not something an eleven-year-old boy needed to see. Though reluctant, Henry allowed his grandfather to lead him from the room.

"It's all right, sweetie," Snow whispered to Emma after the boys were out of earshot. She fixed the mask over her daughter's mouth and nose. "It's all right. Just breathe."

Emma pushed it off again, muttering incoherently as she did so.

"Emma, honey, you need the oxygen," Snow murmured gently as she replaced the mask on Emma's face.

Again, she pushed it off, her brow wrinkling in frustration and her muttering more insistent. Unfortunately, it was also still gibberish, and a just as frustrated Snow had no idea what the problem was.

Dr. Whale stepped into the room just as Emma pushed the mask off for the third time and Snow let out a soft but decidedly annoyed grunt. He gave the concerned and aggravated mother a calm smile before approaching the side of the stretcher, unhooking the mask from around Emma's head, and placing a tube underneath her nose instead.

After waiting to make sure that Emma wasn't going to struggle against the tube as well, he hooked it in place over her ears and turned to Snow. "Sometimes patients feel like they can't exhale properly due to the air flow coming from the mask," he explained to her. "Kind of like trying to breathe into the wind."

Snow nodded, letting out a breath of her own in a combination of relief and guilt. Her poor sick baby had simply been trying to breathe properly, and she'd been unknowingly making it worse by continuing to put the mask back on.

"I'm pretty sure she has pneumonia," she said to Dr. Whale.

"Judging from the nurse's observations, I am, too," he admitted. "I'll know for sure in a few."

She nodded and watched as Dr. Whale gently roused Emma so he could ask her a few questions. After they got a basic list of symptoms out of the way, the doctor asked Emma if she could sit up straight. She wrinkled her nose at the thought of expending energy she didn't have but still did as she was told. Dr. Whale smiled sympathetically at her while placing his stethoscope to her chest and telling her to inhale as deeply as she could.

Just like when Snow had asked her to do the same back at the apartment, Emma's hand shot out for Snow's. Snow gripped her baby's hand tightly while she took the breath. Then a sudden coughing fit caused Emma to pull her hand from her mother's so she could cover her mouth.

Snow again rubbed circles on her daughter's back while Dr. Whale spun around and grabbed a box of tissues from the counter in the corner of the room. He held the box out to Emma, who snagged a tissue and spit into it.

Snow winced. That was a new development, though she suppose it wasn't entirely unexpected considering the wetness of her recent coughs. Dr. Whale took the tissue from Emma when she was finished and set it down on the counter before turning back to his patient.

The whistle in Emma's breath was more pronounced now. Judging from the look on Dr. Whale's face, she guessed that both their initial diagnoses were correct. "I'm going to send you up for a chest x-ray," he said to Emma as he pulled off his gloves and began writing notes in her chart. "I'm sure it's going to tell me that you do in fact have pneumonia."

"So, what, you give me some antibiotics and I can go home?" she asked, her voice weary but slightly hopeful.

"Believe it or not, this will help determine our course of treatment," he informed her, holding up her used tissue. "But no matter which care plan we decide on, you're not going anywhere until that fever breaks."

Emma slumped back against the pillows, sending an annoyed look Snow's way. Clearly, she'd been hoping that the ER staff would simply prescribe her some pills and send her on her way. Snow sent her a no-nonsense look right back. Whether or not Emma wanted to admit it, she was where she belonged, at least until her fever went down and she could breathe without wheezing.

"Someone will come to take you up to Radiology in a few minutes," Dr. Whale told both mother and daughter. He seemed to be hiding a smirk at the silent play of looks between the two women. "We'll go from there."

"Thank you," Snow said. He gave them both a smile and stepped out of the room to start getting the necessary paperwork processed.

A minute or so later, Charming and Henry returned from the vending machines with snacks and drinks for everyone. Snow hid a smirk when Emma sat up a little straighter in an effort to not look like she belonged in the hospital. "Vending machine cocoa isn't nearly as good as Gramma's," Henry said as he handed a warm cup to his mother, "but it's better than nothing."

"Thanks, kid," Emma replied, giving him as big a smile as she could muster. She wrapped her hands around the cup, mindful of the IV in the back of her left hand, and simply allowed the cup to warm her palms. She felt like she hadn't stopped shivering all day, mostly because she didn't think she had.

"So what's the plan?" Henry asked as he tore open a bag of Doritos.

"A chest x-ray for the sheriff, here, and then a stay overnight, at least," Snow replied, watching Emma closely for her reaction. To put it bluntly, she was decidedly not pleased with this turn of events. "Dr. Whale doesn't want to release her until her fever breaks."

"He's totally overreacting," Emma grumbled, slumping back against the head of the bed. Her eyes slid closed and it was a long beat before she forced them open again.

"Yes, I can see exactly how much he's overreacting," Charming deadpanned.

Emma scrunched her nose at her father but she didn't argue. Snow assumed she simply didn't have the energy to do so.

Just as Emma was falling back to sleep, a nurse stepped into the room to bring her up to Radiology. Emma wrinkled her nose again when she spotted the wheelchair the nurse had brought with her. "Do you want one of us to come with you?" Snow asked, brushing a lock of hair off her daughter's sweaty forehead.

She shook her head as Charming rushed forward to help her climb out of bed and into the wheelchair. "I've had plenty of x-rays. They're a piece of cake."

Snow winced but was careful to hide her concern until after the nurse wheeled Emma from the room. Just why had her baby had plenty of x-rays? That was yet another indication of how sick Emma was; she never would have let something like that slip if she was well enough to keep up her usual reticence.

She looked to Charming, who gave her a tight but understanding smile. He'd heard the implications in Emma's words, too, and he was just as concerned and felt just as much guilt as Snow did. When Snow looked down at Henry, though, his concern for his mother's health was written all over his face. He'd seen too much tonight, and who knew how much worse it was going to get before Emma started feeling better? "Listen," she said to Charming and Henry, "you two don't have to stay here–"

"I'm not going home," Henry insisted around a small mouthful of Doritos.

Snow met Charming's eyes, pleading for a little help. "We'll stay until she gets settled in a room," he said, smiling down at his grandson. "There probably won't be much room in there, and she's just going to be sleeping anyway."

"Okay," Henry agreed, though it was clear from his tone that he was disappointed.

"Plus, she's not going to want us to fuss over her." He glanced up at Snow, giving her a little knowing smirk at that one. They were here parents and Henry was her son, and they were worried. Of course they were going to fuss over her, whether she liked it or not.

"Right," Henry replied with a soft sigh.

So all three of them waited. When the nurse returned with Emma about twenty minutes later, Emma said, "See? I told you … piece of cake."

It took another half an hour for Dr. Whale to deliver the inevitable news. "It's definitely pneumonia," he said somewhat apologetically as he reached down to feel Emma's forehead for her fever. "Bacterial, at that, so we'll get you started on a course of antibiotics. As I said before, I'm admitting you, so you'll be moved upstairs as soon as we can."

Emma heaved a sigh, then winced in pain. "Once you get upstairs, I'll do something about that, too," Dr. Whale assured her before stepping from the room to get started on Emma's admission papers.

"I'm tired," Emma mumbled when the family was once again alone. Her eyes drifted closed as if to prove her point.

"Go back to sleep, then," Charming told her softly. "We'll be right here."

She nodded and drifted off into a light sleep almost instantly.

Barely ten minutes later, Emma was being roused and transferred to a room of her own on the third floor. Snow almost asked how they'd lucked into a private room but then figured that Emma's savior status had more to do with it than anything.

The room was big by hospital standards and boasted two visitor's chairs along with a small settee in the corner. Snow smiled to herself. Even though Emma was not going to like it in the slightest, neither Charming nor Henry were going anywhere now. Her stubborn daughter would more than likely flip her lid when she started feeling better, but for the time being, they could shower her with all the love and attention they wanted.

Once everyone was settled, Snow turned to Emma and held up Henry's backpack. "I have a change of clothes for you if you want."

Emma shook her head with a weary expression on her face. Snow smiled at her to let her know that it was okay. After the activity since they'd arrived at the hospital, Emma didn't have the energy to change. As Snow stepped away from the bed so her daughter could go back to sleep in peace, Emma latched onto Snow's hand.

The pleading look in her sweet girl's eyes sent tears to Snow's own. Where was this coming from? Emma didn't do clingy, and yet here she was, silently begging Snow not to leave her. Was it just because she was sick or was it the hospital? Maybe it was a combination of both. "I'm not going anywhere, Emma, I promise. I'll be right here next to you, all right?"

Emma nodded and finally shut her eyes. She did not release the death grip on her mother's hand.

True to her word, Snow didn't let go even when Emma's grip loosened. Charming settled in the chair on the other side of the bed while Henry plopped down on the settee. "She's going to be all right, Snow," Charming murmured to his wife while running a finger along his daughter's forehead.

"I know," Snow replied. It was the truth. "I just wish I knew why she hates hospitals so much.

"She'll tell you if you ask her right," Henry spoke up. "She wants to tell you but she's afraid."

"Afraid of what?" Snow asked, turning to look at her wise-beyond-his-years grandson. Afraid of telling Snow the truth? Afraid of facing whatever happened?

"I don't know," he shrugged, a frown on his face. "I just know she's afraid of something. I can see it in her eyes."

_Well, then_, Snow thought as she smiled at Henry before returning her attention to Emma. She would just have to show her daughter that there was nothing to be afraid of, wouldn't she?


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:** I shall keep you in suspense no longer. ;) Plus, after the last episode, we all need a little fluffiness, don't we? Yeesh!

* * *

Snow's eyes slowly opened to a mostly dark room. She wasn't sure what had woken her. Come to think of it, she didn't really remember falling asleep. She shifted a bit, sitting up straighter in the chair, and … wait a second. Chair? What chair?

Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough that she could make out the bed in front of her and the other chair across from the bed. And then it all came rushing back: Emma was sick. They'd taken her to the hospital, and Dr. Whale had admitted her to a room of her own. After getting her settled, Charming had gone down to the cafeteria to bring back dinner for everyone. He'd even brought Emma up a grilled cheese sandwich and side of fries, but she'd slept straight through the meal.

After dinner, Henry had refused to leave. The room was big enough for all of them to fit in comfortably, he'd plaintively argued. Snow didn't have the heart to object, and she could tell from the look in Charming's eyes that he didn't want to leave his sick baby girl, either. No one from the hospital ever came to kick them out, so they'd all stayed.

Snow must have fallen asleep in the chair at Emma's bedside not long after they finished their takeout dinner. In the dim illumination spilling into the room from the hallway, she could see that Charming was asleep in the chair across from her. A glance behind her revealed Henry curled up on the settee, his arm dangling over the edge.

What time was it? As she started to push herself from the chair in an effort to find a clock, she heard Emma moan softly in her sleep. Emma's features were pinched and her breath was coming out in short, rapid pants. _That_ was what had woken her, Snow realized after a moment: the sound of her poor sick baby struggling against a nightmare.

Snow leaned forward, brushing the backs of her fingers down Emma's still fiery cheek. "Shh, Emma, it's all right."

For a moment, Emma seemed to quiet. Then her face scrunched further as she squirmed under the covers and turned her head away from Snow's touch. "Please … don't ..." Her mumbles were soft, pained, and pleading.

Snow's heart broke for her poor daughter. The nightmare could be stemming from any number of things: her fever, the pneumonia, the emotional upheaval from having to go to the hospital. Though Snow didn't have the slightest clue what her daughter was dreaming, it clearly wasn't pleasant and she had every intention of bringing her out of it. "It's all right," she murmured as she tucked a lock of hair behind her daughter's ear. "Open your eyes, Emma."

"Please ..." Emma murmured again in her sleep. She whimpered twice before reaching up and grasping the hand gripping her shoulder as tightly as she could. "Please don't … don't send me back."

With her baby girl's words, Snow's heart clenched and her breath caught in her throat. Tears leaped into her eyes as she shook her daughter's shoulder. "Emma, baby," she said around the scratching in her throat, "you've got to wake up."

Emma's eyes snapped open then, though Snow couldn't be sure whether she had cut through Emma's nightmare or whether the nightmare had woken her. Her disoriented gaze became frantic when she realized she didn't recognize her surroundings. "It's all right, Emma," Snow said, keeping her voice soft and gentle in an effort to calm her daughter. "You're in the hospital, but you're not alone."

An unnervingly silent Emma sat up straight and squinted at Snow as if she wasn't sure she could believe her eyes. "I'm not alone?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Snow didn't quite know how to respond to a sick and disoriented Emma. If she showed too much reassurance, Emma might react negatively but if she didn't reassure her enough, she wouldn't calm. "No, you're not," she said as she gave her daughter's shoulder a gentle squeeze.

The physical contact must have finally grounded her, because she slumped back against the bed. "I was dreaming."

"Yes," Snow replied, removing her hand from Emma's shoulder. The silence stretched out, and Emma still looked tense, so Snow asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Emma shook her head and tore her gaze from Snow's. She began picking at her cuticles instead, mostly to give herself something to do so she wouldn't have to look at her mother.

Snow leaned back in the chair, observing Emma closely. She hadn't really expected Emma to take her up on her offer to talk but it still hurt more than words could express that Emma wouldn't confide her. All she wanted was to help her daughter calm down and to let her know that she was there for her. She tried to tell herself that Emma was used to calming herself down after a nightmare. She wasn't used to talking them out with anyone; of course she wouldn't want to talk about it now.

The movement of Emma's hands slowed and finally stopped as she once again started succumbing to her pneumonia-induced exhaustion. The only problem was that every time she started drifting off, she would jerk herself awake.

Snow frowned. Though Emma may not have wanted to talk about her nightmare, it was obviously bothering her enough that she didn't want to go back to sleep. "You know, Emma," she spoke up gently, "I think you would feel better if you talked about it."

Emma heaved a weary sigh, then covered a wet cough with her hand. "There's nothing to talk about."

Except that there clearly was. Snow took a deep breath of her own as she prepared herself to push her daughter a little. "You were talking in your sleep … pleading with someone to not send you back?"

Emma winced, then shrugged.

And there she was, being incredibly stubborn again. Snow heaved a quiet sigh. There had to be something she could do to help her daughter, some way to get Emma to open up to her. Whether Emma wanted to admit it or not, she needed it. She needed to let it out.

After a moment, her grandson's statement from earlier that evening came back to her. Somewhere inside Emma was a little girl who wanted to tell her mother why she didn't like hospitals. Maybe if she could get Emma to open up that much, it would give her an indication of what the nightmare was about.

Except … how to ask? _In for a penny …_ she thought as she took another preparatory breath. "Why don't you like hospitals, Emma?" she asked, making sure to keep her voice soft.

"What's to like?" Emma replied with a dismissive shrug. "People go to them when they're sick. People die in them. They're not exactly fun places to be."

Snow waited a moment before saying, "I think we both know that's not the real reason." Emma looked up at her, sheer terror on her features. Whatever the reason, Emma clearly was terrified to reveal it. Snow reached out and grasped Emma's hand to let her know that she had no intention of going anywhere. "You don't have to be afraid to tell me anything, Emma. Just let it out."

Emma was quiet for so long that Snow was beginning to give up hope that she would ever answer the question. But then, at long last, she spoke. "When a foster family returned me to a group home, I would have to go to the hospital a day later for a check-up. Someone would wait with me until I was called, but then I had to go in alone. There was a lot of poking and prodding … and, in some cases, documenting. And then I'd go back to the group home and wait for the cycle to start all over again."

Snow's heart shattered in her chest. _That_ was why Emma had been so clingy and _that_ was why she'd pleaded with Snow not to take her to the hospital. Having to go to the hospital had always represented the end of the line with a family to her. In her pneumonia-addled mind, she'd been afraid that her family was going to take her to the hospital and then just leave her there.

She swallowed hard as she tightened her grip on her daughter's hand. "Sweetheart, we're not going anywhere. We're here to stay." Emma nodded, squeezing Snow's hand back. After a moment, she seemed to grow uncomfortable with the emotion, so Snow decided to take a page out of Emma's book. Smirking, she added, "Trust me, we're going to be around you so much that you're going to get utterly sick of us."

That earned Snow a small smile. Then, with a final squeeze of her mother's hand, Emma sank back into the pillows and shut her eyes, finally able and willing to go back to sleep.

Snow continued to hold her daughter's hand even after her grip relaxed. Something told her that Emma needed the contact, needed the reassurance that someone was with her. Not that she would ever admit it, of course.

It wasn't until Emma's breathing deepened and evened out that another voice whispered, "Are you all right?"

A startled Snow glanced across the room and discovered to her surprise that Charming was awake. "How much of that did you overhear?" she whispered back.

"Most of it," he admitted somewhat sheepishly. "She would have clammed up if she'd known I was awake, so I kept quiet."

She smiled sadly at her husband, grateful that he'd been able to discern what his daughter needed but upset for him that he knew she wouldn't have shared if he'd chimed in. "I'm all right," she answered after a moment, though she was not at all sure if it was true.

Her eyes traveled to Emma. Her poor baby had been so hurt in the past. So neglected, so very alone. That fact killed Snow every single day; her stomach turned somersaults at the notion of her sweet little girl trying to fight for a place in this world all on her own.

Charming, bless his heart, must have been able to see through his wife's words to the pain beneath them, because he whispered, "Remember what I said earlier, Snow. We can't change the past. We can only focus on the present. She didn't have love then, but she has it now. We just have to make sure she knows it."

She allowed his words to sink in. Part of being a parent, Snow was realizing now, was being there when the child needed, no matter if the child was eight or twenty-eight. Emma needed her family's love and support now, and Snow was going to make sure she had it. "Oh, she'll know it," she murmured back, meeting her husband's gaze while running her thumb up and down the back of Emma's hand. "We won't let her forget it."


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note:** Here's some Charming-and-Emma time. Just because. ;)

* * *

"We'll be back soon, all right?" a weary Snow murmured to her just as weary husband. He gave her a nod and Henry a smile before the two of them slipped from Emma's hospital room.

The night had been long and restless. Apparently, Dr. Whale had ordered regular readings of Emma's temperature because the night nurse had come around every couple of hours to check her vitals. Though she'd tried to be as quiet as possible so as not to disturb the whole family, either Charming or Snow had woken each time she'd entered.

Emma herself had been restless most of the night as well. The nightmare from which Snow had woken her was merely the first in a long line of what had to have been awful and disturbing dreams. Sometimes Snow would try to calm her and sometimes Charming would. It all depended on which one of them was awake at the time. Eventually Snow had gotten up from the chair, crossed the room, and pulled something out of Henry's backpack. In the darkness, all Charming could see in his wife's hand had been a bundle of soft fabric. She'd tucked the bundle under the covers with her daughter, making sure her flailing hand found it. And with that, Emma had finally calmed, letting out first a shuddering breath and then a soft sigh.

"What on earth was that?" Charming had whispered, eyes wide in awe.

"Her baby blanket," Snow had whispered back around the lump that was forming in her throat.

That had been at a little before three. It was now almost eight. Emma had been quiet ever since, and Henry was complaining of hunger. Snow had offered to take Henry back to the apartment so they could both shower and change, and they would pick up breakfast on the way back to the hospital.

Now Charming sat alone, watching over his sick daughter. She seemed to have a bit more color in her face than she had yesterday, which was most definitely a good thing. There was still a slight whistle in her breath, though, which was troubling. And when Charming gingerly brushed his thumb across her forehead, he noted that her skin was still on fire.

_She's not going to like that_, he thought with a frown. After all, Dr. Whale had said he would only release her when her fever broke. Charming was not looking forward to being the one to tell his stubborn daughter that she was likely going to be in the hospital another day.

For a few minutes, he simply watched his daughter sleep. It still awed him sometimes, that the woman in front of him was his daughter. He was so proud of her, so thrilled that his little baby had grown up into such an amazing, loyal, fierce, and courageous woman. And yet sometimes, like now with her face blank of any emotion, he could see the little girl she still had once been, the little girl he'd never known who would have sat on his lap and given him running hugs and a run for his money. It hurt more than words could express that he'd never known that little girl, and yet, he was so unbelievably happy that she was here with him now.

It was all quite confusing.

Emma began to stir after a few minutes. At first, it was just shifting under the blanket but then there was a mini-disaster that Charming could see unfolding almost in slow motion but didn't have the time to stop. Emma placed her hands flat on the mattress in an attempt to push herself up into a sitting position and cried out in pain, her eyes snapping open. "Shit!" she cried, cradling her left hand in her right. "What the hell?"

Charming was wincing right along with her. "The IV's in the back of your hand," he informed her gently.

"Yeah, I get that now," she grumbled. "Who the hell's bright idea was that?"

Technically, it was her own restlessness that had made the gentleman unable to place the IV in the typical spot in her arm, but Charming didn't find it prudent to mention that. "They couldn't get it in your arm yesterday," was all he said in terms of an explanation. Standing up from the chair, he reached around the bed rail and pressed the button that raised the head so she was sitting up straighter. "Is that better?"

A tiny grateful smile curled on her lips as she nodded. He smiled back and reclaimed his seat in the chair. Charming sensed that Emma needed time to wake up a little bit, so he didn't say anything. Eventually, she frowned at him, slight confusion wrinkling her brow. "Weren't you sitting there yesterday?"

"I was," he replied with an unnecessary nod.

"Were you … did you sit there all night?"

"I did."

Her frown deepened, though this time she looked thoughtful instead of confused. She'd talked to him, at least a little bit, a couple of the times her parents had pulled her from her nightmares the previous night, but Charming had no idea if she remembered it or not. Then, as if uncomfortable with the direction her thoughts were taking, Emma averted her gaze, running her eyes over the room instead.

Her gaze landed on Henry's backpack and a look of sudden realization crossed her face as she turned back to her father. "Where are–"

"Snow took Henry back to the apartment so he could change," he assured her. The conflict in her eyes did not escape him, the relief that they were coming back but the discomfort over the notion that they'd stayed with her all night, too. "They're bringing back donuts for breakfast."

At the mention of donuts, a small smile curled on Emma's lips. "She's getting at least one bear claw, right?"

"Of course," he chuckled. The hospital would feed her breakfast, obviously, but there was no coming between Emma Swan and her bear claw.

Before either of them could get into a discussion on the wonders of bear claws, Dr. Whale stepped into the room. "Ah, nice to see that you're awake, Miss Swan," he said as he removed the chart from the rack at the foot of the bed. "How are you feeling this morning?"

She glanced at Charming out of the corner of her eye. He gave her a little nod of encouragement, telling her to tell the doctor the truth. "Like an elephant is sitting on my chest," she answered honestly.

Dr. Whale frowned at that. "Pain or pressure?"

"Both?" she replied, her tone hesitant. "I feel like I can't take deep enough breaths because something's in the way, but when I try to take deep breaths to make up for it, it hurts … sharp pain."

"All right, let's take a look here."

Charming watched as Dr. Whale did a quick physical exam. He checked her temperature and when he asked Emma to take a couple of deep breaths, she shot her hand out to latch onto her father's. Before he even had the opportunity to be surprised, he grasped her hand, mindful of the IV.

She squeezed his hand – hard – as she did as Dr. Whale asked. Charming noted with more than a tinge of concern that the whistle in her breath had grown louder now that she was awake and talking. Dr. Whale sported a frown on his face as well as he removed the stethoscope from his ears and hooked it over the nape of his neck. "Your lungs still sound wet. I'll bump up your pain meds and order more fluids." Emma wrinkled her nose, which Dr. Whale didn't see because he was checking the monitor at her bedside for her vitals. "Your o-sat's still a little low, too, so I'm keeping you on the oxygen for the time being."

"Wonderful," Emma muttered, rolling her eyes. "How about my temperature?"

"102.7, so it's on its way down."

"But not enough for me to go home."

"Nope, sorry," he replied, sounding not at all apologetic. He met Charming's eyes, and the two men shared a smirk. Though Charming still couldn't stand the man, he had to admit that he was handling Emma's crankiness like a champ. "I'm afraid that you're a guest at our lovely establishment until your fever breaks."

"Great."

"Hey, you're lucky," he replied, the smirk still on his lips. He marked notes down in her chart and replaced it in the rack. "I could make you wait until your chest x-ray is clear."

Emma's eyes widened, and Charming had to work hard to swallow a snicker. Whale had told them all yesterday that sometimes it took weeks to get a clear chest x-ray. "I'd kill all of you," Emma groaned.

"That's the only reason why I'm not," he chuckled. "Not to worry, Miss Swan. You'll be out of here in no time."

After giving both her and Charming a smile, Dr. Whale stepped out of the room to continue his rounds. Emma heaved as deep a sigh as she could manage and leaned her head back against the mattress. "I just want to go home."

"I know you do, kiddo," Charming told her, wincing in sympathy. He couldn't resist the urge to brush a finger down her cheek. She looked up at him, somewhat surprised by the affection. "You know, you're a lot like me when I'm sick. I'm an awful patient, too."

"Really?" she asked. Then she blinked in realization and smirked at him. "Prince Charming is a horrible patient?"

"Yes indeed," he chuckled. "Your mother hadn't seen me sick yet when she gave me my nickname."

"This sounds like a story I need to hear," Emma said as she snuggled a little more deeply under the covers.

Charming smiled at her, touched that she was asking for a story from him. "Just after the wedding, I came down with a cold not unlike the one you had a couple weeks back."

"Let me guess," Emma interrupted, "she was just as annoying with you as she was with me?"

"Pretty much," Charming allowed, but only because the smirk on her face softened her words. Though the words indicated aggravation, underneath them he could hear how touched she was. "Just like you, though, I knew it was coming from a place of love. Still, when I don't feel well, all I want is to be left alone. And I refused to admit that a simple cold was making me miserable – just like someone else I know." He shot a pointed glance at his daughter. Her cheeks flushed as she gave him a sheepish grin.

"So, for two whole days, I coughed and sneezed and suffered through a throbbing headache," he continued. "She fussed because she was worried, and I was annoyed because … well, I didn't feel well and she was fussing."

"Sounds about right," Emma murmured, her eyes drifting closed. She forced them open after a long moment and sat up a little straighter.

"Emma, you need to sleep–"

"No," she mumbled with a shake of her head. "Not until after I eat my bear claw." Charming couldn't help but chuckle at that. "And since you're the only one here, that means you get the lovely and important task of keeping me awake."

"And just how do you propose I do that?" he asked with a gentle smile at his daughter.

She shrugged. "Check the pockets of Henry's backpack. The kid keeps all kinds of things in there."

He did as she asked, crossing the room to the small settee under which lay Henry's backpack. Since he knew the main pocket held a change of clothes for his daughter and some toiletries, he bypassed it entirely. The right side pocket was empty but in the left, his hand wrapped around a small rectangular package. A deck of cards, he realized just as he pulled it free. Grinning, he held the deck up for his daughter to see. "Fancy a couple hands of five card draw?"

"You're on," she replied with a tired smile.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note:** I just couldn't resist the cute. As always, I apologize for nothing. ;)

* * *

Less than five minutes after her father sat back down in the visitor's chair, Emma discovered that attempting to play card while feverish and sick was not exactly the easiest thing in the world. She accidentally threw away a three of a kind while going for a flush in the first hand and banked her hope on a straight in the second and ended up with nothing to show for her troubles.

After the third hand, in which Emma had nothing but a pair of fives to his jacks over eights, David took pity on her and asked if she minded switching to War.

War was good. War was relatively mindless. It all boiled down to the shuffle of the cards and the luck of the deal.

It was when he was reshuffling the cards for their game of War that she finally became aware that her baby blanket was bunched up under the hospital blanket. She only contemplated its presence for a minute before deciding that her mother had more than likely brought it for her. Which, on the one hand, was kind of annoying because holy crap, she was not three years old and didn't need a blankie. But on the other hand, she was in the hospital and felt like utter horseshit and the blanket did sorta kinda help a little bit.

Yeah, she felt more than a little ridiculous for feeling that the blanket helped, but there it was. So she simply fixed it, draping it over her legs instead of keeping it bunched up at her side. She still kept it hidden under the hospital's blanket, though, because the fact that the sheriff of Storybrooke was sleeping with her baby blanket was probably not something that should get out.

She and David were three-quarters of the way through the first game of War – and Emma was winning – when Snow and Henry stepped back into the room. They both looked relieved when they discovered that she was awake. She gave them both a weary little smile of greeting, which widened when she spotted the pastry box in her mother's hand. Those had to be the doughnuts; it was almost bear claw time.

The hospital had sent her up a breakfast tray in the meantime, of course. Scrambled eggs and buttered toast with a small box of Cheerios on the side. (Which, Cheerios were so bland. Froot Loops would have been a much better choice, taste-wise. Health-wise, probably not, but still.) It had tasted all right, as hospital food went, but nothing would ever be able to compare to her bear claw.

All right, perhaps she was exaggerating a tad. She figured she was allowed, what with the whole being in the hospital thing.

Speaking of being in the hospital, she really wished her fever would break already so Dr. Whale would release her. The oxygen had started to dry out her nose and the tape holding the IV needle in place was beginning to irritate her skin. And that wasn't even taking into consideration the fact that she had a freakin' _needle_ stuck into the back of her goddamned hand.

She'd totally had it with the hospital, so yeah, she was taking her fun where she could get it and getting excited over a bear claw. Sue her.

Snow must have been able to read the excitement on her face because she smirked at her. "I think someone's hungry."

"_Someone_ just wants a bear claw," Emma clarified.

Her mother laughed as she set the box on the rolling table next to Emma's breakfast tray. "You two are playing War?"

"We were playing poker but it seems that concentration is a little hard to come by one when has pneumonia," David explained through a chuckle. Emma stuck her tongue out at him, which caused Henry to muffle a giggle behind his hand.

Snow, however, pursed her lips. "Why are you playing cards at all?" she asked her daughter as she reached her hand forward to feel Emma's forehead for her fever.

Emma rolled her eyes but as Snow's comparatively cool hand came to rest on her burning forehead, she found the touch … comforting. And really, really cool. It felt nice to have something ease the fire for even a moment, so nice in fact that Emma found herself leaning forward into her mother's palm.

The realization startled her enough that she gasped and pulled away. Her eyes immediately found her mother's, looking for an indication that Snow had noticed. From the kind smile on her face, Emma gathered that she had. That kind smile also told her that she understood, both her initial unconscious need for comfort and the following conscious need for space.

Luckily for Emma, Snow didn't call attention to their little shared moment. She simply brought her hand down to her side and gave her daughter an indulgent shake of her head. "You're still burning up, you're sitting in the hospital connected to oxygen _and_ an IV, and you're playing cards?"

"If you recall, I'm only in the hospital because you all dragged me here pretty much kicking and screaming," Emma cheekily reminded her mother. "And I'm playing cards because I was waiting for my bear claw."

Snow's furrowed brow indicated that she did not understand the connection between playing cards and waiting for breakfast pastry. It was only when Emma hid a sudden yawn behind her left hand while digging into the doughnut box with her right that she understood. Her ridiculously stubborn daughter had roped her father into playing cards so she would stay awake long enough to eat her bear claw.

Emma watched the realization dawn on her mother's face. She winced, awaiting the parental fallout, but Snow simply heaved a sigh and asked, "Who's winning?"

"I am," Emma replied proudly. Granted, winning in War required no skill whatsoever, but she was sick, damn it. Once again, she needed to take her fun where she could get it.

"She's not just winning," David said as he held up the pitiful remains of his half of the deck, giving Emma a little wink as he did so. "She's wiping the floor with me."

A grin formed on her lips, which she quickly hid behind a bite of the bear claw. The pastry was delicious, sticky, and sweet, and it was a far better breakfast than hospital scrambled eggs and toast. And Cheerios. She couldn't forget the Cheerios.

As she took her second bite, she caught Snow surreptitiously peeking under the plastic dome covering her breakfast plate. She cleared her throat and swallowed a snicker when her startled mother looked over at her with a deer-in-headlights expression. "I-I just wanted to see what they fed you," she stammered.

"No, you wanted to see if I ate."

Snow's fair skin sometimes did her no favors, and this was one of those times. The color rushed into her cheeks, making it quite obvious that she was blushing. "Well, you didn't eat much yesterday," she huffed, launching into a somewhat unnecessary defense. "I just wanted to make sure you're eating when you can."

"Believe me," Emma said, holding up the bear claw as proof of her point, "I'm eating."

She was eating just fine, but her energy was waning. Even three-quarters of a mindless game of War had taken a lot out of her. Damn it, she really hated being sick. It felt like all she'd done for the past twenty-four hours was sleep. And have dreams … awful dreams, from what little she could remember of them. She liked her sleep but enough was enough. And the worst part was she honestly felt like she could sleep for another twenty-four hours.

Hell, not just for another twenty-four hours. Try for the next week. This shit was _awful_.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Henry reached into the pastry box for his old standby, a cinnamon doughnut. Then he took a seat at the foot of her hospital bed, catching his dribbling powdered cinnamon sugar in a napkin. "When you and Gramps finish your game, can you and I play?" he asked her, his eyes shining in anticipation.

Honestly, after she finished the game with her father, she had planned on turning on the TV and not doing much of anything. She didn't think she had the energy for another game in her.

From the sympathetic look on David's face, he must have figured as much. So once again, her father swooped in for the rescue. "Here, bud," he said, vacating his seat in the chair. "You can take over for me. Maybe you can even turn the tides of battle."

"Thanks, Gramps!" Henry exclaimed. He hopped down from the bed and carried his doughnut over to the visitor's chair.

_Thank you_, Emma mouthed to her father over her son's head.

_You're welcome_, he mouthed back, giving her a smile.

"All right, Mom," Henry said as he picked up his grandfather's pathetic hand. "I'm going to claim victory for Gramps." Then, after a brief pause, he looked up at her with a somewhat sheepish expression. "Um, how many aces do you have?"

"Three of them" she replied, swallowing a chuckle.

"Oh," he murmured, his face dropping at the sheer size of the War mountain in front of them. Then he set his shoulders and looked up at her again, determined. "I've got my work cut out for me, then! I've still got one ace, though, so winning's not impossible. I'm just the underdog."

All three adults stifled giggles. "Yeah, kid," Emma replied, giving her son a soft smile. "Looks like you are."


	11. Chapter 11

As it turned out, life did not always work like feel-good sports movies … when it came to the game of War, at least. Sometimes the underdog lost.

Oh, Henry held his own, all right, and he held it quite well. But when Emma captured his singular ace in a war of twos, of all things, the game was pretty much all over. He rallied for a few minutes, his eight taking her seven or her five surrendering to his ten, but eventually her face cards and the aces captured everything in Henry's hand.

A slightly triumphant grin pulled at Emma's lips when she took her son's last card. Henry, on the other hand, jutted his lower lip out in the tiniest of pouts but it was one that Emma recognized. It was his dreaded warm-up to the first stage of Puppy Dog Eyes.

Snow, who'd settled on the settee with her husband in an effort to give mother and son a bit of space, watched with amusement as Emma rolled her eyes, heaved as much of a sigh as her aching chest muscles and fluid-filled lungs would allow, and shuffled the deck. "One more game, kid, and that's it," she said, looking her son in the eye with a look that was probably meant to be stern but was instead indulgent.

The boy's tiny pout grew into a thrilled smile. "All right! Thanks!"

Charming caught his wife's eye, and they shared a smile. Although Emma had indeed offered to play another game because Henry was disappointed that his turn ended so quickly, she'd also done so to keep herself awake a little while longer.

"She looks better today," Snow murmured to Charming, her voice soft enough that Emma couldn't hear. She didn't even want to imagine the fit her daughter would likely pitch if she caught them discussing her as if she wasn't in the room.

"She does," Charming agreed, his eyes focused on his sick daughter. "When she's not talking, it sounds like she's breathing a little better, too."

That was true as well. Her breathing only sounded labored now after she'd been talking, which was quite the change from the day before. Her coughs were still wet and raw, however, and they were still painful, if her facial expressions were anything to go by. Every time Emma coughed, Snow cringed in sympathy.

At least Dr. Whale had ordered a higher dosage of her pain medication. While the extra medicine was more than likely contributing to her sluggishness and sleepiness, it was also helping her to take deeper breaths.

Out of the corner of her eye, Snow caught Charming watching her watch Emma. When he reached for her hand, she allowed him to take it. The rational side of her knew that Emma would be just fine with some antibiotics, fluids, and rest. The emotional side of her, however, could not get over the sight of her baby girl sitting in a hospital bed with an oxygen tube in place under her nose and an IV line coming out of the back of her hand. And on some level, the Mary Margaret in her could not get over the sight of strong and independent Emma Swan doing the same. Her emotional side needed her husband's support, even if her rational side felt a little silly for doing so.

Charming had always been able to read her, and he did so now. A held hand wasn't enough, so he leaned over and pressed a soft, supportive kiss to her cheek. She tightened her grip on his hand in response and turned her head, ready to meet his lips with her own.

The moment was broken by a weak groan from across the room. "Guys, seriously, can you take it easy with the PDA? I'm in the hospital, here. Isn't that enough?"

Both parents chuckled at their daughter's attempt at humor. So many things that had come out of Emma's mouth in the past twenty-four-ish hours had been so unlike Emma that it made Snow quite happy and relieved when very Emma-like things came out of her mouth. In deference to their daughter's wishes, they put the kibosh on the kissing, though they did remain holding hands. The physical contact gave them both some desperately needed comfort and support.

The game of War between mother and son raged on. As far as Snow could tell, it was neck and neck. Emma would win a hand, Henry would win a hand. Face cards and even the aces kept getting won and lost in wars. Just when it looked like Emma was down for the count, she would win a war that pushed her back in the running. Snow quickly decided that watching them play was almost as amusing as playing herself.

After a while, though, the combination of the pain meds and Emma's exhaustion began to get the better of her. It started slowly, with Henry having to nudge her so she'd pick up her cards when she won a round. Soon enough, her eyelids started to droop.

She shook her head and tried to focus on the game but she found the task pretty much impossible. Henry must have gathered as much because he recaptured her attention with a gentle, "Mom?"

"Hmm?" Emma asked, lifting her head and blinking at her son.

"We can stop if you want," he told her. He held out his hand for her cards.

Emma wrinkled her nose and shook her head again, stubborn until the end. Still, she didn't argue when Henry slipped the cards from her hand. "Maybe just for a little bit, okay?" she murmured.

"Sure, Mom," Henry replied while hiding a smile.

And that was Snow's cue. She released her husband's hand, stood up from the settee, and crossed the room. Emma only allowed fussing like this when she was half-asleep, and Snow was not about to let this opportunity pass her by. She fluffed the pillows behind Emma's head before whispering, "Lie back, sweetie."

Though Emma wrinkled her nose again at the pet name, she did as instructed without a word of complaint. She simply must not have had the energy to argue, because her eyes closed the second her head hit the pillow. Snow gave her a moment to settle into a light sleep before she chanced brushing a lock of hair off her forehead and tucking it behind her ear.

Emma sighed softly at her mother's touch, her eyelids fluttering open. She smiled at Snow just as her eyes drifted closed again. Smiling herself, Snow ran her thumb down Emma's still far too hot cheek and tried to ignore the leap of her heart when Emma turned her head into her touch.

She eased down in the visitor's chair and simply watched her daughter fall into a deeper sleep. It was a few minutes before Henry chanced whispering, "Gramma?"

"Yes, Henry?" Snow whispered back.

"Can we go down to the gift shop? I grabbed my allowance money from my room when we went home and I want to get her something."

Charming and Snow shared a smile, touched that their grandson wanted to give up some of his hard-earned money for his mother. "I'll take you," Charming offered, standing up from the settee.

Snow sent her husband a grateful look. Though she would have loved to take her grandson down to the gift shop, she didn't want to leave her daughter's side just yet. The hour and ten minutes she'd spent away from her this morning had been far too long. A little bubble of separation anxiety had begun dancing in her stomach the second she stepped out of Emma's room and had grown into a churning well by the time she returned.

She couldn't leave Emma again just yet, not until her fever came down a bit more and she was off the oxygen.

Charming and Henry left the room, promising to be right back. Alone now with her daughter, Snow simply watched her. Sometimes she could hardly believe that Emma was hers. The precious baby she'd handed to Charming so he could get her to safety had grown up, and they had missed it all. They'd missed everything, and it was so hard to reconcile the little baby she'd known for five minutes with the woman she'd come to know as Mary Margaret. And yet other times, she would look at Emma and everything would feel _right_. She really did have Snow's chin … and her eyes. She had her mother's fair skin and her father's coloring. She had her father's temper and fight and her mother's strength. She had their loyalty and their stubbornness and their determination.

She _was_ theirs, and she was everything Snow could have ever hoped she would be.

A soft whimper drew Snow from her reverie. Emma's sleep had grown restless, and her head was turning from side to side as if fighting off images Snow couldn't see. "Shh, sweetie, it's all right," Snow murmured, reaching through the bed rail to grasp Emma's right hand.

Emma's whimpers slowly tapered off and her breathing evened out. Then, with a twitch of her fingers – or a squeezing of Snow's hand around her own, Snow couldn't tell which – she calmed completely. Snow waited a moment before trying to slip her hand free, but Emma's grip simply tightened again.

With a touched smile, Snow stopped trying to pull away. Clearly her daughter needed this, needed the comfort of physical contact. She simply shifted the chair closer so she could sit a little more comfortably while holding onto her daughter's hand.

Every time Emma began to get restless, Snow would give her hand a gentle squeeze. The gesture would calm her, at least for a minute or two. Snow wished so hard that her daughter could get some real, restful sleep but between the fever and the pneumonia, she knew it was pretty much an impossibility. Once Emma's fever broke, she would sleep better, but not until.

Henry and Charming returned to the room after twenty quiet minutes. Charming held in his hand a small box of chocolates that was sure to satisfy Emma's sweet tooth, and Henry was carrying a fluffy brown teddy bear dressed in a white hospital gown with baby blue polka dots and with a small happy face Mylar balloon on a stick sewn to its hand. "I know she's going to think it's silly," the boy admitted as he showed his grandmother his purchase, "but I couldn't help it."

"I'm sure she'll love it," Snow assured him with a smile.

But her grandson, it seemed, had inherited his mother's sarcasm along with her stubbornness. He arched an eyebrow at his grandmother and smirked. "She won't love it. She'll think it's ridiculous, but she'll tolerate it because I gave it to her."

Snow and Charming exchanged an amused glance. That was certainly the truth. "You're absolutely right, sweetie," Snow told him, swallowing a chuckle.


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note:** I am home sick from work with a migraine, so y'all get a new chapter because your kind reviews always make me feel better. ;) Seriously, though, you all are awesome. Thank you so much for your kind words and support.

* * *

Emma had only slept for a little over an hour when Dr. Whale stepped into the room to see if the higher dosage of pain medication was making her feel any better. "I see it's at least helping her sleep," he said to her still worried parents. "That's a good thing; getting rest is crucial for her."

As if on cue, Emma stirred. Charming wasn't sure whether she sensed Whale's presence in the room or if she'd roused simply because she heard a different voice. Either way, she blinked her eyes open and, when she spotted the doctor, sat up a little straighter on the bed. "You're going to let me out of here now, right?" she asked, her voice still thick with sleep.

Everyone in the room save Emma swallowed chuckles. "Unfortunately, you're not quite ready for release yet," the doctor said as he drew a digital thermometer from his laboratory coat pocket, "but let's check just to be sure."

He slid a protective plastic sleeve over the tip and handed her the thermometer. She placed it in her mouth, and, while waiting for the beep, he checked the monitor beside her bed for her vital signs and marked them in her chart. Charming smirked when he noticed Emma crossing her eyes in an attempt to make out the reading on the thermometer. Even with all her careful attention, Dr. Whale still managed to snatch it before she could when the device beeped.

"You're down a touch to 102.4," he said, pocking the thermometer and tossing the plastic sleeve in the wastepaper basket in the corner of the room.

"So I'm not going home?" she asked through a soft sigh.

"Sorry," he replied, giving her a calm smile. "How are you feeling otherwise?"

"Tired, mostly. I think I'm breathing a little bit better, though."

He nodded. "You must be; your o-sat's come up. I'm going to try taking you off the oxygen for a bit. If that level holds, I'll be able to make the change permanent."

Emma's eyes brightened at the news that she was showing improvement. Clearly, anything that made her feel one step closer to getting the hell out of the hospital thrilled her.

A tender smile on his lips, Charming watched as Dr. Whale removed the tube from Emma's nose. He eyed the monitor next to her bedside, making sure that her oxygen saturation wasn't going to drop drastically. Satisfied, he unhooked the tube from behind her ears.

She used her right hand to rub her nose, which must have felt dry after the oxygen treatment, and then teasingly asked, "The IV can come out, too, right?"

"Nice try, Miss Swan," he chuckled. The amusement fled from his face when he caught her removing the pulse oximeter from her finger. "Uh uh, that needs to stay on for a while longer." He clipped the device back onto the index finger of her left hand. "If your o-sat remains where it is, then I'll let you take it off."

Emma let out a short, annoyed breath through her nose.

"Either you keep the clip on your finger or I send a nurse in here every fifteen minutes to take a reading," Dr. Whale told her, his voice stern. "Your choice."

When Emma grumpily crossed her arms over her chest with a huff – because no damn way was she allowing a nurse to check on her every fifteen minutes – Dr. Whale smirked at her. "That's what I thought." Over her head, he caught her parents' gazes and gave them a wink. Charming had to bite his lower lip to hide an amused smile. Once again, the doctor was handling her grumpiness quite well. "I'll be back to check on you again in a couple of hours," he told Emma.

"Thanks," she said as she leaned her head back against the pillows. As much as she wanted to pretend that having pneumonia was no big deal, she clearly didn't have the energy to do much beyond talking. After Dr. Whale left the room, she turned plaintive eyes on her parents. "I don't want to be here anymore."

She sounded so small and vulnerable and _young_ that Charming winced. "I know you don't, kiddo," he said softly as he leaned forward in the chair to brush a lock of hair off her sweaty forehead. "I wish you could get out of here, too, but Henry and I have some things for you that might cheer you up in the meantime."

The mention of potential gifts perked her right up. Neither Charming nor Snow could hide their amusement at their twenty-eight-year-old daughter getting somewhat excited over presents. "I already got a bear claw today. What else could I possibly need?"

Henry stood up from his seat on the settee and pushed aside his backpack, which had been hiding the teddy bear from view. He picked up the bear and carried it over to his mom's hospital bed. "I know getting this for you is kind of silly," he said as he held it out to her, "but when I was little I always liked having my stuffed animals around me when I was sick. They made me feel better."

A touched smile curled on Emma's lips as she accepted the teddy bear. "I remember you saying that," she said softly. She gave the bear a gentle squeeze, making Henry smile as well. "Thanks, kid."

"You're welcome." He grinned at his mother and then, while her attention was still focused on tucking the bear beside her on the bed, winked at his grandparents. Sure enough, though a teddy bear wasn't exactly Emma's cup of tea, she'd accepted it no questions asked because it had come from Henry. Charming didn't even want to imagine the hell that would have broken loose if someone other than Henry had tried giving it to her.

Not that he had time to dwell on it because it was now his turn to give his daughter a gift. "And I have something for you that's not quite as silly," he said as he handed her the chocolates.

Just like when Dr. Whale had taken her off the oxygen, Emma's eyes brightened. She eagerly pulled the cellophane wrapper off the box. "You're enabling my sugar addiction?"

"I am indeed," he replied, swallowing a snicker.

Emma's eyes darted to her mother. "And you're allowing him to enable my sugar addiction?"

"Only because you're in the hospital," Snow easily returned, a playful smirk pulling at her lips. "The second we take you home, though, I will resume planning your sugar intervention."

That got Emma to smile. "I so don't need a sugar intervention."

"The bags of M&M-laden 'trail mix' and the boxes of Lucky Charms and Cocoa Puffs and Froot Loops lining our cereal cabinet say otherwise," Snow chuckled. "Oh, and let's not forget the bear claw devotion that's beginning to border on addiction."

"There's an eleven-year-old boy living in our apartment who loves those cereals," Emma reminded her mother, handily avoiding the other arguments. She looked to her son for backup.

Before Henry could even say one word, however, Snow playfully shot back, "And a twenty-eight-year-old woman who has no qualms about helping the eleven-year-old boy demolish those cereals."

Emma, apparently, had no good retort for that. She simply shrugged and gave her mother a weary smile. Then she opened the box Charming had given her, chose a chocolate after a moment of deliberation, and hesitantly bit into it. Upon discovering that she had chosen a caramel, she grinned.

"So what are we going to do now?" she asked after she'd swallowed. "I mean, I'm pretty sure I'm not going to be able to talk any of you into, you know, going home, and the four of us sitting in here just looking at each other is going to get awkward after a while."

The run-on sentence winded her slightly and she had to pause to catch her breath. Charming noted the whistle in her breath had returned; it seemed to only show up now when she exerted herself. Definite improvement over the day before.

After a moment, she narrowed her eyes at her son in thought. "Weren't we playing cards?" Henry nodded at her, a kind smile on his lips. A look of sheer embarrassment crossed her face as she thought back enough to put two and two together and figure out she had fallen asleep in the middle of their game. "I totally passed out on you, didn't I?"

He nodded again, the smile still kind but now holding traces of amusement. "It's okay, Mom. You're sick. I kind of figured it was going to happen."

She opened her mouth to say something in response but coughed instead, a deep, wet, and rattling cough that made Charming sit at attention. Snow jumped up from her seat while instructing Henry to retrieve the box of tissues from the bathroom.

The boy ran off to do as he was told, and Charming could only watch as Snow expertly took over. She ran her hand over Emma's back while softly instructing her to remain calm and to take slow breaths. Emma continued to cough with heaving gasps in between in an effort to reclaim precious oxygen.

Oxygen. Charming had learned by now which number on the monitor represented his baby girl's oxygen saturation level. When he saw that it had fallen by one percentage point, his heart dropped into his stomach.

Henry returned with the tissues and Emma spit into three of them before she was finished. "That's it," Snow murmured softly. "Get it out of your lungs, sweetie."

"That's … disgusting," Emma panted, her voice raspy from the coughing and the effort. To Charming's immense relief, her oxygen saturation regained the point it had lost during her coughing fit.

"Perhaps, but it's also a good sign," Snow informed her. "All of that needs to come up, Emma."

Emma slumped back against the pillows, completely wiped and unconsciously using the teddy bear as an arm rest. "I'm so damn tired of this."

The utter weariness of his baby girl's voice tore at Charming's heart. His daughter was sick and he couldn't make her better and he _hated_ it. Absolutely detested it. It made him feel so helpless, sitting here in the hospital and watching as his daughter suffered. And there was not a single thing he could do about it.

Or was there? He couldn't magically make her better or take her illness on himself, but he could try something. He met his wife's eyes. Without either of them saying a word, she knew exactly what he wanted to do. A smile pulled at her lips as she nodded, silently telling him to try to comfort their daughter – and their grandson, since he still looked a bit spooked from watching his mother's coughing fit – as best he could.

"How about I tell you a little story, hmm? Try to take your mind off of it?" Emma looked dubious. He smirked to himself; of course she would. "Come on, it worked when you had the cold, didn't it?"

At that, her features softened. Her family had come together and told stories that day, and though she didn't like admitting it, the activity that day had indeed helped take her mind off her illness. "Are you going to tell a real story or make one up?"

"Whichever you want me to do."

Emma and Henry exchanged a glance, and Charming could almost see them reaching the exact same conclusion at the exact same time. His true story was already the stuff of their fantasy; anything he made up simply wouldn't be able to hold a candle to a real-life story. "Real story, please," his daughter requested with a soft smile.

"All right, then, real story it is," Charming replied, smiling back. "Everyone make yourselves comfortable."

Snow reclaimed her seat in the visitor's chair on the other side of the room while Henry settled himself at the foot of the Emma's bed. Emma, meanwhile, adjusted first her baby blanket over her legs and then the hospital blanket on top before fluffing the pillows behind her head. Once she was situated, her left hand came to rest in her lap while her right absentmindedly ran over the teddy bear's soft fur.

Charming and Snow shared an amused glance. "Now that everyone's seated comfortably," Charming said with a tender smile, "we may begin."


	13. Chapter 13

There were many, many stories in Charming's repertoire, so many that he was having a hard time deciding which one. It needed to be something that would soothe his daughter but also something that would entertain his grandson.

In the end, he decided not on a story of dashing heroics or daring rescues but simply an ordinary story about a not-so-ordinary day on the farm when he was about eight years old. Judging by the way Henry was staring at him in rapt attention, he'd made the correct choice.

"They were _all_ gone?" Henry asked, his eyes wide with amazement. "Every last one of them?"

"Every last one," Charming confirmed with a smile at his grandson. "It seemed that someone – and by someone, I of course mean me – had forgotten to latch the pen after rounding all the sheep up the previous night. When I went to feed them in the morning, I found the pen completely empty. They were all roaming the fields, having a grand old time. Had been for hours."

"Oh no!" Henry giggled.

"Oh yes." He flicked his gaze to Emma. She had been hanging on his every word when he first started the story but now it appeared as if she was struggling to keep her eyes open. Good; that had been at least part of the plan. He smiled to himself before continuing. "It's a lesson every child who grows up on a farm learns at one point or another: latch the pen once, check it twice."

Emma gave her father a sleepy smirk. "How long did it take you to get them all back into the pen?"

"Hours. Most of them did go back into the pen without a struggle. Truth be told, I think they were all kind of tired from their nighttime activities." Henry snickered, making Charming smile. "Lulabelle, though … she was the stubborn one. I chased her for over an hour before I finally got her to go back in."

"Wait a second," Emma said, her little snort of amused disbelief getting lost in the utter weariness of her voice. "Lulabelle? You had a sheep named Lulabelle?"

"Lamb, actually," Charming chuckled. "She was still young at the time. As a matter of fact, I'm the one who named her Lulabelle. She was born premature and almost didn't make it. My mother and father had to bring her into the house to take care of her, and I became rather attached to her. She actually became a bit attached to me, as well, which is why I had such a hard time getting her back in the pen. She thought I was playing with her."

"I think that might just be the cutest story I've ever heard," Snow said, smiling across Emma's hospital bed at her husband. "How come you've never told me that one before?"

"Oh, whoa, hold on!" Henry exclaimed, his eyes sparkling. "Did she ever follow you to school, by chance?"

The adults all looked at each other with slightly confused expressions. "I was 'home-schooled,' remember?" Charming reminded him.

After a moment, Emma got it. She rolled her eyes and gave her son's leg a gentle kick through the blankets. "_Mary_ had a little lamb, not David."

The boy shrugged, a teasing smile on his lips. "The names could have been changed to protect the innocent."

That got everyone to chuckle. "And in answer to your question," Charming said, addressing his wife, "I had to save some stories for story time, didn't ?"

"I suppose so," she replied with a gentle smile.

"That means you have more, right?" Henry asked eagerly.

Again, Charming darted his gaze to his daughter. She appeared half-asleep as it was; there was no doubt in his mind that she would not hear the ending of any story he told next. He raised an eyebrow at her in silent question, and she gave him a small but agreeable smile in return.

He didn't know whether she thought she would be able to keep herself awake long enough to hear the whole story or whether she was allowing him to talk her to sleep. Either way, she'd given him the go-ahead, and he was not about to question it. Story time was not something that happened as frequently as he would have liked. "Did I ever tell you about the time I found a baby duck in the chicken coop?"

From Snow's raised eyebrows, he gathered that this was another story from his childhood he'd neglected to tell her. It was Emma's response that made them all laugh, though; she gave a quiet sigh and said, "You're killing us with the cuteness, here, David."

Charming exchanged an amused glance with his wife before launching into the story. To this day, he didn't know how or when the male duckling found its way from the little pond down the road to the chicken coop, but he had been there long enough that the hens had grown quite protective of him. "They pecked at my hands whenever I tried to get near him," he recalled with a soft smile. "By that point, they'd taken him in as their own."

"Did you ever end up getting him back to his family?" Henry asked. After a glance at Emma told him her eyes had closed, he snatched a chocolate from the open box on her tray table and popped it into his mouth.

"I couldn't find any sign of a duck family when I went down to the pond," Charming told him while giving his grandson a warning look. Regardless of whether or not Emma was asleep, she would not take kindly to anyone stealing her chocolates. (Although, Henry was indeed the one she'd most likely let get away with it.) Henry smiled sheepishly as he put the cover back on the chocolate box.

"I did find fox tracks, though," Charming continued. "Best I could figure was that a fox had raided the nest and the duckling was the only one that had escaped. I begged my parents to let him stay with the chickens, and they agreed. So for a while there, we had a bunch of chickens and one duck."

Just as Charming had thought, by the end of the story, Emma was completely out. The hand that had been running back and forth over the teddy bear's fur had stilled on top of the bear's head. He exchanged a smile with Snow before leaning forward and gently removing the teddy bear from his daughter's side.

As he was guiding her hand down to rest on the mattress, she whimpered softly. Charming froze. After a beat, she simply turned on her side facing him, her right hand sliding beneath the pillow and her left elbow resting on her hip. She exhaled softly through her nose and went still.

Charming let out a breath of his own in relief as he placed the teddy bear on the small night table next to her bed.

"Gramps?" Henry whispered. Still seated at the foot of the bed, he hadn't taken his eyes off Emma. Without the distraction of his grandfather's stories, the boy's worry and concern for his mother was written across his features. "How much longer is she going to have to be here?"

"I'm not sure." Charming wished he could give the boy more reassurance but he also wanted to be honest with him. "I wish we could take her home, too, but we have to let the medicine do its job."

Henry nodded without tearing his gaze from Emma.

Charming and Snow exchanged a troubled glance over the boy's head. Perhaps allowing him to spend so much time at the hospital hadn't been such a good idea. It was too late now to rectify that, though. Now that they'd let him stay this long, there would be no talking him into going home without Emma.

Still, their grandson needed a break, some time away from his sick mother's bedside so that he could decompress. "Come on, Henry," Snow said as she pushed herself to her feet. "How about we go for a little walk, hmm?"

"Where are we going to go?"

"Maybe down to the cafeteria to get something to drink? If I remember correctly, they have real cocoa there, not just vending machine cocoa."

A soft smile curled on the boy's lips. "That works for me." He carefully hopped off the bed, watching his mother to make sure she didn't stir at his movement.

"We'll be right back," Snow whispered to Charming, who gave her an understanding nod. She and Henry tiptoed from the room, and Charming leaned back in the chair to keep watch over his sick daughter.

For a while, all was quiet. Snow and Henry didn't come back right away, which Charming figured was killing Snow. Still, they both knew that their grandson needed the time away from the room. Henry was quite clearly bursting with love for Emma, but it wasn't an easy thing to keep watch over someone in the hospital. It was hard enough for an adult, never mind an eleven-year-old. Charming was sure that Snow would be able to reassure him that although it may not look or feel like it at the moment, Emma would be just fine.

And then, just like every other time she'd fallen asleep, Emma began to grow restless. She squirmed, kicking her legs and turning her head, and scrunched up her face at whatever images her subconscious was throwing at her. "No … don't ..."

The memory of his baby's awful dreams from the previous night fresh in his mind, Charming leaned forward and lightly brushed his thumb across her forehead. "It's all right," he whispered. It was his hope that he would be able to cut through the dream without waking her fully. She needed the rest. She needed _real_ rest.

"No, please … I promise ..."

"Emma, it's all right. It's just a dream."

She curled into herself, making herself small on the bed. "I'll be good … I promise … please don't make me leave."

Tears sprang into Charming's eyes. His poor baby girl had been through so much, suffered through so much disappointment and abandonment and heartache. Who was she begging not to make her leave? How many times had she begged? How many different people had she begged before she stopped, before she realized that begging to stay didn't work?

Gods, he hated some of the people in this world. The people who were supposed to protect his baby because he couldn't, the people who'd done nothing for Emma, the people who'd never seen her as a little girl with feelings and hopes and dreams and who'd only seen her as an object. As a name on a folder or a check in the mail.

She was a _princess_, damn it. She was _his_ princess, and this world had treated her as if she were nothing. As if she weren't worthy of love and support. It was wrong, completely and utterly wrong, and it _gutted_ him. "I'm not going to make you leave, sweetheart," he murmured around the lump in his throat. "You're going to stay right here with me, all right? You're not going anywhere, not anymore."

On some level, some unconscious level, his words must have reached her. She stopped squirming, the tension in her body relaxing. "That's it," Charming continued to whisper. "Everything's all right now. You're safe with me."

And within a minute, she was completely calm.

Charming let out a heavy breath. _I'm so sorry, Emma_, he thought as he once again brushed his thumb along her forehead.

Her skin was still hot, still so very hot. And Charming had had enough. Perhaps waiting for a fever to break was how it worked in this world, but he couldn't sit idly by anymore. This fever was making his daughter relive her most painful memories every time she went to sleep, and he'd absolutely had enough.

There was nothing that said that modern medicine and the Enchanted Forest way of doing things couldn't work in concert. With brand-new determination, he stood up from the chair and took Emma's unused "throw-up bowl," as Henry had called it, into the bathroom. He filled the metal basin with cold water, tore off a length of paper towel, and took everything back out to his daughter. He couldn't do much for her pneumonia, but he could damn well try to help her fever go down with a compress. After this latest nightmare of hers, he wanted it gone.


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note:** Thank you so much for making this my most reviewed story ever. You all are seriously so amazing. (And I know I say that all the time, but it's the truth!)

* * *

As she and Henry approached the doorway to Emma's hospital room, Snow heard quiet murmuring coming from somewhere inside. She paused in place, causing Henry, who hadn't quite been paying attention, to almost crash right into her. He stopped short with a gasp, and Snow cringed in apology. If he'd taken one more step, she would more than likely be wearing the cocoa they'd brought back for Charming and Emma.

"Sorry," she whispered to her grandson. She motioned for him to hang back a little before slowly stepping through the doorway of her daughter's room. Inside, her husband was speaking softly to his sleeping daughter while gently patting her forehead with what looked like a wet paper towel.

Snow couldn't hear what he was saying, but her heart skipped a beat nonetheless. The sight of her husband comforting their sick little girl touched her more than words could express. And yet, there was something very bittersweet about it, thinking of all the time lost and all the fevers he didn't get to soothe.

After a long beat, Snow's own separation anxiety began to get the best of her. Something had happened while she and Henry were down in the cafeteria. Charming wouldn't be treating Emma with the compress otherwise. She waved Henry forward, relieved him of the cups of cocoa, and tiptoed into the room with her grandson at her heels. Charming looked up at their entrance, his slightly frantic expression morphing into one of relief. Snow smiled at him and waited for Henry to settle on the settee with a hand-held video game before handing Charming his cocoa. She set Emma's on her tray table and reclaimed her seat in the visitor's chair. "What's going on?" she whispered, nodding towards the wet paper towel in his hand.

"I couldn't just sit and watch her anymore," he admitted. "I felt like I needed to be doing something."

And all at once, Snow got it. "She had another nightmare, didn't she."

It was not a question. Charming met his wife's eyes and gave her a pained nod.

Snow cringed. She understood exactly how her husband felt because she'd felt the exact same way the previous night. When Emma had begged someone in her sleep not to send her back, the only thing Snow had wanted to do was wrap her in her arms and hold her until all her pain went away. A child should not have to beg for a place in anyone's heart, and yet her poor baby had done nothing but beg for her place. And she'd never found one. Not until she was twenty-eight and her own long lost son dragged her to a little town in Maine.

The only thing Snow had been able to do the previous night was pull her from the nightmare, which was not nearly enough. The nightmare was gone, yes, but Emma's nightmare was rooted in her reality, a reality Snow could never fix. Emma had lived through nothing but pain and heartache, and nothing could ever change that.

As her mother, Snow was devastated. So yes, she completely understood Charming's need to do something for his daughter. She felt that exact same need, every second of every day. And she felt it even more so during times like this, when the consequences of the curse hit them all straight in the gut.

For a while, everything was quiet. Henry had silenced his video game, so the only sounds in the room were the occasional whimper from Emma and Charming's gentle murmuring in response. Once again, a bittersweet feeling gripped Snow's heart.

Her husband was a fantastic father, and he would have been a wonderful daddy to Emma had he had the chance. There was also no doubt in her mind that a tiny Emma would have had him wrapped around her little finger. He doted on her now, as much as she would allow him to, at any rate. Snow could only imagine just how much he would have spoiled his little princess.

Charming's soft gasp drew her from her reverie. She straightened in the chair but before she could even open her mouth to ask what was wrong, she saw what he'd seen. A fine sheen of sweat covered every inch of Emma's exposed skin and she had begun to shiver in her sleep. Snow and Charming exchanged a relieved glance as he pulled the blanket up tighter around Emma's shoulders.

Nothing was wrong, nothing at all. Emma's fever had finally broken.

"What is it?" Henry asked, pausing his game and looking up at his grandparents with a cautious expression.

"Your mom's fever broke," Charming replied, turning a smile on his grandson.

Henry beamed. "Does that mean we can take her home now? Dr. Whale said she could go when her fever broke."

Snow exchanged another glance with her husband, this one cautious. Dr. Whale had indeed said that but Emma's fever was only part of the problem. The doctor wasn't going to want to release her until he was sure her pneumonia was under control and improving, and Snow had a funny feeling that neither Henry nor Emma had thought of it that way. "We'll see, Henry," was all she said in response.

A look of understanding crossed the boy's face as he nodded. Then, after sparing a concerned glance at his mother, he returned his attention to his video game.

Emma slept peacefully for the first time in hours. The news of her fever breaking had lifted a tension in the room, tension Snow hadn't even realized was there until it was gone. She felt … lighter. She knew Emma wasn't out of the woods just yet, but one hurdle had been cleared, at least, pardon her mixing of metaphors.

Before Snow knew it, the mostly sleepless night she and Charming had spent started to catch up with the both of them. Charming was dozing off in the chair across from her, and she'd caught herself drifting a couple of times. She tried desperately to keep herself awake until a young voice whispered, "It's okay, Gramma. I can watch her for a little while."

Snow gave her wonderful and caring grandson a weary but grateful smile before allowing her eyes to close.

She woke up some time later to Dr. Whale removing Emma's chart from the foot of her bed. "Sorry," the doctor whispered. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's okay," she replied, repositioning herself in the chair. A glance around the room told her that Charming was still asleep, as was Emma, though she'd turned onto her back and appeared to be stirring. "Her fever broke."

"So Henry told me." Whale winked at Henry, who beamed back at him. After he finished recording her vitals, Dr. Whale returned the chart to the rack and stepped around the bed to gently remove the pulse oximeter from Emma's finger. "Her o-sat's stable," he explained when Snow raised her eyebrows at him.

_Good_, Snow thought as she smiled at her sick baby girl. One more thing that was going in the right direction.

"So, she can go home now, right?" Henry asked excitedly.

Snow and the doctor exchanged a glance. "Not quite yet," Dr. Whale said, letting him down as gently as he could. "I have to make sure her lungs are clearing before I release her, and with the breaking of her fever, she still needs the fluids."

"Do you think she's going to need another night?" Snow asked.

"Probably."

"She's not going to like that."

"I'm not going to like what?" a groggy voice mumbled. Emma dragged her eyes open and frowned at her mother.

Snow and the doctor exchanged a troubled glace. After a moment, Emma woke up enough to realize that Dr. Whale was in the room and sat up a bit. "Who said we were talking about you?" Snow asked while giving her a smile, hoping against hope that a distraction would work.

Going off the expression on her daughter's face, it didn't, but she also clearly didn't have the energy to argue with them. She leaned her head back against the pillows and got herself situated comfortably. Only after did she realize that the pulse oximeter was missing. "So, the IV can come out now, too?" she asked teasingly.

The sound of his daughter's voice drew Charming from his light sleep. He gave Whale a nod in greeting before glancing across the bed at his wife. When he raised his eyebrows in silent question as to whether Emma was going to be released, Snow shook her head. He winced, mostly because he knew Emma wouldn't take kindly to the news that she would have to remain in the hospital a bit longer.

"Nice try, but no," Dr. Whale said with a chuckle. "Though now that you're awake, let's get a check on your temperature."

He prepared the thermometer and handed it to her to put in her mouth herself. When it beeped, she pulled it from her mouth and glanced at the display. Her nose wrinkled but when she handed it over to Whale, there was a small spark of hope in her eyes. "Down to 100.9."

"That you are," he replied, his tone cautious. "But even though it's going down, it's still a fever. It could always spike again, which means–"

"You're not letting me out of here, are you?"

"No, I'm not."

Emma's eyes narrowed as she glared at the doctor. "You said last night _and_ this morning that I could go when my fever broke. You said that–"

A coughing fit interrupted her. Charming jumped to his feet before Snow could and began rubbing his daughter's back. Henry snatched the box of tissues from the little table beside her bed and handed it to Dr. Whale, who held it out to her. She grabbed one after the other to spit into, four of them this time before she was done.

When she was finished, she slumped back on the bed, winded. "That's why I can't let you out of here just yet," Dr. Whale told her softly as he gathered her used tissues in his gloved hands and discarded them for her. "You're on the mend but you're not quite there yet."

"Of course I'm not," she muttered, defeated.

Snow and Charming exchanged a troubled glance. They'd expected her to react with anger; instead, after her initial flash of anger, she'd responded with discouragement.

"You know the drill by now," Dr. Whale said apologetically. "I'll give you a couple of hours and then check back in."

"Thanks," she said through a resigned sigh.

After Whale left the room to continue his rounds, Snow once again met her husband's eyes. Both their hearts were breaking for their baby, but neither one of them really knew what to say to her. Ever since Emma had gotten to the hospital, her emotions had been all over the map. She'd be clingy one minute and then pull away the next, which made it all the more difficult for either of them to know what to do or say to comfort her. Still, Snow nodded to her husband, telling him she would try. "It's just for a little while longer, Emma," she said, reaching forward to brush Emma's hair out of her eyes.

"I hate hospitals," Emma murmured, her voice soft. She sounded so small and vulnerable that Snow once again had a flash of the little girl she had never known.

And so she responded in kind. "I know you do, sweetheart."

Then something changed, and Emma seemed to come back to herself. The walls went back up, and the sarcasm that made up a good chunk of her defense mechanism kicked into high gear. "We're going to have to do something about these pet names," she said, giving her mother a wry smirk. "You're becoming far too comfortable with them."

Snow sat back, exchanging another glance with her husband. He'd seen it, too; he'd watched his daughter erect the walls in the blink of an eye. He nodded at his wife, silently telling her to play along with it for now. As hard and as painful as it was to accept, their connection as a family needed to happen at Emma's pace. Not enough pushing would discourage her from opening up to them but pushing too much would shut her down, possibly indefinitely.

Snow returned her husband's nod before smiling at her daughter. "How about we make a little compromise? We get to call you by pet names for as long as you're in the hospital, but after that, we take it on a case-by-case basis."

And there, Snow saw a tiny crack in her daughter's walls. A small but touched smile, one that she probably wasn't even aware of, curled on Emma's lips as she said, "Deal."


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note:** I'd apologize for any daddy/daughter feels this gives you, but I think we all know by now that I'm never sorry. ;) Plus, it totally wasn't my fault, as once again, these two have written themselves.

* * *

With Emma's fever broken and her core temperature on its way down to where it belonged, she had begun feeling much more like herself. On the one hand, Charming was relieved to see the spark and fire return to her eyes. It had pained him to see his usually strong and vibrant daughter so disoriented and weak. On the other hand, now that she was feeling more like herself, her impatience with being in the hospital and everything that went along with it had grown exponentially.

She was bored. She was tired. Her chest hurt. The tape holding the IV in place on her hand was irritating her skin. The coughing fits, when she did have them, irritated the crap out of her. She just wanted to get the hell out of the hospital, because really, she didn't need to be here anymore.

Or so she said. In great, whining detail.

Charming had thought his daughter was crabby before, but her earlier crabbiness was nothing compared to what it was now. She was giving Grumpy a run for his money. Hell, she was about to single-handedly lay claim to the title of Princess of Crankiness.

He probably shouldn't have found it as amusing as he did.

"This is so _stupid_," Emma grumbled as she lightly raked her nails over the back of her left hand. She flinched in pain when she ventured too close to the IV needle, and Charming winced right along with her. That was not the first time she'd done so, and she was going to give herself bruises if she wasn't careful. "I can sit in bed at home."

"You can, but you wouldn't," Snow sternly reminded her, which was the truth. At least here in the hospital, she was pretty much confined to her bed. Even something as seemingly simple as getting up to use the restroom was a project and a half because she had to drag the IV stand with her. If they took her home, she would be up and down against everyone's wishes because Emma Swan boasted little to no patience and had quite the independent streak in her. "And you wouldn't be drinking the water you need to at home, either."

"I'm not dehydrated!" Emma cried.

"You would be were it not for that IV," Snow said. "You've been sweating off and on for over twenty-four hours, Emma. You need to replace that hydration." Emma rolled her eyes and scratched at the tape again. With a frustrated huff, Snow grabbed Emma's right hand and held it still. "Stop scratching it."

"It's _itchy_."

Snow released Emma's hand, inhaled deeply through her nose, and held the breath in an effort to gather her patience. Charming, meanwhile, bit his lower lip to hide an amused grin. He must not have hidden it quickly enough because Snow shot him a glare that plainly said, _Don't encourage her_.

Emma kept her hand still for all of five seconds before once again scratching at the tape. Snow shut her eyes for a brief moment and then wearily met her daughter's gaze. "Are you sure you don't want to try to take a nap?"

Charming once again hid a smile. His wife's suggestion was how an exasperated parent handled a cranky toddler. Although to be fair, Emma was sort of behaving like a cranky toddler.

"I've had it with naps," Emma grumbled, causing Charming to raise his eyebrows in surprise. Emma typically loved her sleep. Sometimes getting her out of bed in the morning was worse than getting a teenager out of bed. "All I've done since I've gotten here is sleep."

"You're sick. You're supposed to sleep."

"I'm tired of sleeping."

Snow pressed a hand to her forehead. "You were just saying five minutes ago that you were bored and tired."

"I am, but I don't want to take a nap."

Before the back-and-forth between mother and daughter had the chance to degenerate into an actual argument, a little voice interrupted them. "Mom? I could go get you some more cocoa, if you want."

Emma's eyes lit up at the thought of cocoa while Snow's lit up in relief. Charming sent his wonderful grandson a grateful smile. "More cocoa would be great, kid," Emma said, a small smile on her lips. "Thanks."

"Okay." Henry smiled back at his mother then stepped up next to his grandmother's chair. "Will you come with me, Gramma? I don't think I remember the way to the cafeteria all by myself."

Not that any of them would have let him go to the cafeteria by himself, anyway. Still, Charming's smile widened. That little boy had the wisdom of Solomon. He'd been able to tell that his grandmother needed a break, and ever the diplomat, he'd given her the perfect opportunity to take that break without causing hurt feelings.

As frustrated as Snow was, though, she still seemed to struggle with the idea of leaving Emma. When she'd left with Henry before, Emma had been asleep. It must have been easier for her to leave then, easier to walk out that door knowing that Emma wasn't aware she was leaving. After their baby's nightmares, Charming could see why Snow would have trouble with the idea of Emma watching her walk out of the room.

After a long beat, her need for a break and her grandson's need for accompaniment won out. She stood up and slipped her hand into Henry's. "We'll be right back, okay?" she said to Emma.

When her daughter nodded, she turned to her husband. "Do you want us to bring you back anything?"

"No, thank you," he replied.

Snow nodded and, with a reassuring touch to Emma's shoulder, allowed her grandson to tug her out of the room.

Charming and Emma sat in companionable silence. After a moment, he noticed that she had started rubbing the back of her hand as a substitute for scratching. "Emma, stop," he said, keeping his voice gentle. "You're going to end up with bruises if you keep at it."

"It's really freakin' itchy," she said, her voice verging on a whine.

A quick glance at her hand revealed red splotches on her skin. He couldn't quite tell if she was developing a rash or if the redness was simply from scratching, but it was clear that _something_ was going on.

He had no idea whether he should be doing this himself or not, but he braced his daughter's hand on the mattress. Very carefully, he removed the tape from her skin and reapplied it a little further down towards her wrist. "Now that patch of skin has a chance to breathe a bit, okay?"

"Thanks," she said softly, a small but grateful smile pulling at her lips.

For a little while, neither of them said anything. Emma leaned her head back against the pillows as she sat lost in thought. Charming was content to just sit with her and enjoy the relative peace that had settled over the room in the absence of his daughter's – admittedly amusing – complaints.

Emma was the one who broke the silence. "David?"

"Yes?"

She looked over at him with a slightly sheepish expression on her face. "I'm sorry you guys have been stuck here with me."

Her words cut straight to his heart. "Hey, none of that," he said softly but sternly, looking her in the eye. "We are not stuck here with you, Emma. We're here because we want to be here. We're here because we love you. We're here because you're sick, and we're not going to let you deal with it on your own."

Emma's eyes widened ever so slightly before she averted her gaze. Charming was once again struck by the realization that she hadn't had any of this before. She'd never had someone stay with her because they loved her. She'd never had someone sit with her while she slept, ready to comfort her after fever-induced nightmares or offer her support and love simply because she needed it.

She'd thought they had remained with her out of some sense of family duty and that her illness was inconveniencing them. She had no clue that they'd stayed with her because they _wanted_ to stay with her.

"Emma, listen to me," he said, gently lifting her chin with his finger to once again force eye contact. "I know this is hard for you to believe, but we love you. We just want to be with you, no matter where you are. If Henry was sick and in the hospital, would you want to leave him there by himself?"

"No," she whispered around the lump that had formed in her throat.

"Then why would you think that we could leave you here by yourself? Everything you feel for Henry, we feel for you. Everything you want for Henry, we want for you. Everything you would give your heart and soul to keep from hurting Henry … we would do the same for you." He had to blink back tears of his own when he saw his baby girl's eyes glistening. "Family isn't just duty and responsibility. It's love and comfort and support. It's being there with and for someone because you love them so much that you can't imagine being anywhere else."

The tears in her eyes finally spilled over and trickled down her cheeks. Charming gave her an apologetic smile as he dried her cheeks with the side of his thumb. "I know that was really unfair of me to lay that on you when you're sick, but I want you to understand, Emma. We're here because we want to be here with you, all right?"

She nodded, sniffing back the rest of her tears.

"That's my girl. Now, will you do me one more favor?"

"Depends on the favor," she joked, trying desperately to force the conversation back on a comfortable keel.

He smiled at her. "Can you stop being such a noodge? You're driving your mother up the wall."

Emma blinked at him for a moment before chuckling. "I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to be a noodge. It's just that I really hate being here."

"I completely understand, kiddo. You and I are a lot more alike than you realize, remember? And I agree with you: being in the hospital totally sucks." When she arched an eyebrow at his turn of phrase, he shrugged and gave her a cheeky grin. "What? I'm borrowing your vocabulary. My point is, in case you've forgotten, David Nolan spent a bit of time within these walls. I'm more than willing to give you some hospital survival tips, if you'd like."

She smiled. "I'd like."

"All right, then." Charming stood up from the chair and rounded her bed. He picked up both the teddy bear and the deck of cards from the night table before sitting back down. With a sardonic smile, he handed her the teddy bear first. "Tip Number One: you never know when you're going to need a friend, so always try to have one handy."

Emma playfully rolled her eyes as she accepted the bear. "I'm not seven. You can quit it with the dad jokes." Still, just like before, she tucked the plush bear beside her.

"Okay, okay," he chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. Then he slid the cards from their box and began to shuffle them. "Tip Number Two: always have something to help alleviate boredom. You think you're up for another game of War?"

A small smile curled on Emma's lips. She did, however, have a cranky reputation to uphold so she gave him a nonchalant shrug and a nonchalant answer. "Yeah, sure, why not?"

Charming smirked at her. "Good. Although, War can kind of get boring after a while. Want to make this a little more interesting?"

"How so?"

He nodded towards the box of chocolates on her tray table. "Every time we have a war, we play for the cards and a chocolate."

Her eyes once again lit up. Did he know his daughter or what? "Oh, you are _so_ on."

Another chuckle escaped his lips as he dealt out the cards. "Let the battle begin."


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Note:** This chapter ran away from me, too. Oops! It was just too fun. :)

* * *

From the moment Emma had won her first war – and thereby her first chocolate – she decided that her father's little twist in the game needed to become a permanent variation, at least in the Charming household. Though her chest still hurt and she still felt like she could sleep for the next week and a half and she was of course still stuck in the damn hospital, she had to admit to having a fair bit of fun at the moment.

Not that she was having any real luck with her actual gameplay. Her father was wiping the floor with her this time, but as long as she kept winning wars, she didn't particularly care.

They'd decided not to look at the information stamped on the inside of the box top as to which chocolate was which when the time came to add one to the cards up for grabs. David was under strict instruction to simply grab the first morsel his hand hit. (Emma was originally going to be in charge of choosing the chocolates but after another small coughing fit, they decided it would probably be wise to let the healthy person in the room handle the food.) He'd been choosing well, too; the only chocolate Emma had lost was the coconut cream, which was just fine with her. Coconut was not exactly her most favorite flavor, not when there were truffles to be had. Oh, and the buttercreams: vanilla and raspberry and peppermint and chocolate ...

Damn, now she was getting hungry. She dipped into her spoils, snagging another caramel and biting into it. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught David smirking at her. "What?" she asked around the caramel. "We never said we couldn't eat the chocolate once we won it."

"Very true," he chuckled, collecting both her eight and his jack that had captured it.

After a couple more hands, most of which Emma lost, Henry happily bounded into the room. "We're back!" he exclaimed, a wide smile on his face.

Snow trailed after him with yet another cup of cocoa in hand. She looked much calmer than when she'd left but clearly the time away from her sick daughter had weighed on her mind. "How're you feeling?" she asked as she handed off the cup while simultaneously feeling Emma's forehead for her fever. "You're still a little warm but nowhere near as hot as you were earlier."

It was on the tip of Emma's tongue to insist that she was fine. However, the fact that she was sitting in a hospital bed still hooked up to an IV kind of disproved that point just a tad. "I'm all right," she replied instead, giving her mother a smile that was equal parts gratitude for the cocoa run and apology for her earlier crabbiness.

Snow's smile in return indicated acknowledgment of both the gratitude and the apology. "Good. Any more coughing fits?"

"Just one," David answered. Emma scrunched her nose. She would have preferred not to have any but such was life.

"Oh, whoa, wait up!" Henry cried, stepping up next to his grandmother at the side of his mother's hospital bed. "Are you two playing War for chocolate? I want to play War for chocolate, too!"

All three adults chuckled at that one. Emma arched a questioning brow at her mother, who gave an indulgent roll of her eyes in return. Yes, Henry had babbled her ear off down in the cafeteria. Perhaps that was enough cocoa for her son today; the kid was sugar-high. "After David and I finish up here, you and I can play, kid," Emma assured him. "And I'll try not to fall asleep in the middle of the game this time."

He giggled at her before practically skipping back to the settee to wait his turn, Emma's phone in hand. She only had a couple of games on her phone but Henry seemed to really enjoy the Text-Twist-ish one, so she let him play it whenever he wanted. Snow joined him after a moment, peeking over his shoulder every so often at the phone since watching her grandson play a word game made her inner schoolteacher jump for joy.

Emma may have been winning enough battles to keep her sweet tooth satisfied but her father was most definitely winning the war. Since he had all four aces along with most of the face cards, it didn't take him long at all to capture the rest of his daughter's cards. "Ah, well," she sighed when he swiped her final card, her trusty nine of clubs. After a quick glance at her tray table and a swift counting of her spoils, she added, "I still got five chocolates out of the deal."

"Six," he corrected, winking at her. "You ate a caramel, remember?"

"So I did," she replied, frowning. How the hell had she forgotten that? Those caramels were delicious! Ugh, she was totally blaming her lapse of memory on the pneumonia.

"My turn now," Henry reminded everyone. He leaped off the settee and grinned when his grandfather vacated his seat on the visitor's chair. David handed the cards off to Henry, who immediately handed them over to Emma because he couldn't shuffle cards. (Emma had watched him do it once. It was pathetic. She'd been trying little by little to teach him, but then she'd ended up in the hospital.)

It wasn't until Emma watched her father ease down on the settee with her mother that she realized how _tired_ they both were. Had either of her parents gotten any sleep last night? Her memories from the previous night were vague at best but she was reasonably sure at least one of them was awake every time she was.

And that was on top of them being cooped up in this little room just as much as she had. Well, all right, her room was actually bigger than most hospital rooms, but that was beside the point. Snow had only gone home long enough to take a shower and change her clothes while Henry was doing the same, and David hadn't gone home at all.

They'd been staring at these four walls for over twenty-four hours while caring for her. It was … touching. And unfamiliar, but mostly touching. But still, they needed a break, too, and while Emma may not have been able to get up and go somewhere for a change of scenery, her parents sure could.

Now the question was, how in the hell could she politely kick two exhausted and worried parents out of their sick grown-up child's hospital room? She began shuffling the cards, trying to keep her voice even as she asked, "Can you guys do me a little favor?"

"Anything," Snow replied, standing up and stepping over to the bed.

Emma smiled at her before turning the same look on her father. "Go get something to eat, the both of you. It's almost dinner time. And I don't mean go down to the cafeteria, either. Go to Granny's and get some non-hospital food."

Snow glanced at her husband, who had also stood up when he heard his daughter's request. "Emma, we talked about this," he said softly.

"I know we did, and I really appreciate that you want to be here with me, but you've both been watching over me since yesterday morning and you need a break." Emma darted her eyes to Henry, who nodded in response to her silent question as to whether he was okay with them leaving. In the event of a coughing fit, he'd either have to help her or call for the nurse, but he was willing to handle it should the situation arise. "I'm feeling at least somewhat better; Henry and I will be fine for an hour. Go have some married people time."

She paused, frowned, and added. "Just, you know … not like that. Or if you do, don't tell me about it. I've been traumatized enough, thank you."

David and Snow exchanged a slightly embarrassed smile while Henry asked, "Not like what?"

"Never mind," Emma said quickly, because yeah, she was _so_ not ready to explain that one. She returned her attention to her parents. "So, are you two going to deny a sick girl's request or what?"

"Oh, that was low," David chuckled,sharing a touched look with his wife. "How can we say no when you phrase it like that? If you're absolutely sure, of course."

"I'm absolutely sure." Then, something new hit her. If her parents were going to Granny's anyway … "And can I ask for one more thing while you two are out?"

"Of course," Snow replied softly.

"Will you bring me back a piece of Granny's chocolate cake?"

David bit his lip to hide an amused grin while Snow eyed the box of chocolates and the empty cocoa cups along with the still warm one she'd just brought back for her daughter. "Don't you think you've had enough chocolate today?" she asked, her nose wrinkling slightly at the sheer amount of sugar and calories her daughter had already consumed. Considering Emma hadn't been awake for much of the day, that was saying something. She might as well have bought stock in Nestle.

"There's no such thing as enough chocolate, Gramma," Henry spoke up through a giggle.

"The kid speaks the truth," Emma nodded, looking plaintively at her mother. She playfully stuck her lower lip out in a tiny pout. The expression turned her into a hopeless puddle whenever Henry used it; she just had to hope it would do the same to her own mother. "You said you weren't going to plan my sugar intervention until I got out of here, so chocolate cake should still be fair game. Please? Pretty please with a cherry on top?"

At that, no one could hold back their laughter. As a matter of fact, Snow and David both looked relieved that Emma finally felt well enough to joke with them like this.

Truth be told, the joking came relatively easily. It was everything else that was practically impossible.

"I guess we can bring you back a piece of chocolate cake," Snow sighed, brushing a thumb down her sick daughter's cheek, "but only because you're in the hospital. We'll bring back some dinner for Henry as well. The hospital will feed you but not him, and don't even think about giving him your dinner and telling me you ate it."

Emma wrinkled her nose, which Snow answered with a knowing smirk.

Even though her parents agreed to it, it still took them a few minutes to work up the nerve to walk out the door. After multiple assurances that they would be back within the hour, they left the room. Emma idly wondered how many times they looked back over their shoulders as they headed down the hall.

"I thought they'd never leave!" Henry teased as soon as they were out of earshot.

"Yeah," Emma murmured. She couldn't deny that a part of her was touched that they had been so hesitant to leave. She'd noticed it earlier, too, when Henry had asked Snow to accompany him down to the cafeteria. Even though their reluctance was kind of ridiculous in the grand scheme of things – because, really, she wasn't a little kid and she could totally handle a few minutes to an hour without them – it also felt _really_ nice. Not many people had ever been reluctant to leave her. In fact, leaving her seemed to be quite easy for most everyone she'd met.

Until now. It was a weird feeling – mattering to someone like that – and it made for some rather maddening moments, like just now when she'd had to pretty much force her parents to take care of themselves for an hour. But it was also something she'd been searching for her whole life. Something she didn't even know was missing until she found it.

A nagging feeling struck her then. Wasn't she supposed to be doing something? Oh, right. War for chocolate with Henry. She shook herself from her reverie and finished shuffling the cards. She dealt them out and they played for a while in companionable silence. Soon enough, Henry asked, "Mom?"

"Yeah, kid?"

"I'm glad you're starting to feel better."

She gave him a soft smile. "Thanks. I am, too." Only then as she really looked at him did she finally see the toll the past day and a half had taken on her son. His smile was so easy and his relief was written across his face but there was still concern swimming in his eyes. "Oh, kid, I'm so sorry I worried you."

"I wasn't worried," he said quickly.

Emma smirked at him. Sometimes, like right now, there could be no question that he was her kid. "Superpower," she reminded him.

And just like that, his resolve crumbled. He shot up from the chair, climbed up onto the bed, and wrapped her in a tight embrace. She hugged him back just as tightly, running her right hand up and down his back and leaning her head against his. "It was really scary," he admitted, whispering it into her ear. "I mean, I knew you were going to be fine once we got here, but it was really scary at first."

"I'm sure it was," she whispered back. She remembered when one of the younger kids in one of her group homes came down with a particularly nasty ear infection. His fever had spiked dangerously high in the middle of the night, leading the director to have to take him to the emergency room. It _was_ scary, being so young and so helpless, watching someone who was so sick.

He stayed in her embrace a moment longer and then pulled away, giving her a hopeful little smile. "But you're feeling better now, right?"

Though she wasn't nearly a hundred percent – she was edging toward sixty, she'd say – she did feel quite a bit better than the day before, at least. "I am."

His smile grew wider. "Then that's all that matters."


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's Note:** This is indeed the second update in two days. I was going to hold this until tomorrow after work but I got impatient so ... happy (early) holidays. ;)

* * *

Snow released a heavy but relieved breath when she and Charming stepped through the doors at Granny's and discovered that the diner wasn't busy. It was a little early yet for the dinner rush, which in Snow's mind was a very good thing indeed. Separation anxiety was very real, after all, and there was no way she could have a leisurely dinner while her pneumonia-riddled daughter sat in a hospital bed.

"What are you two doing here?" Red asked the second she spotted them. She dashed up to them and wrapped Snow in a hug. "I mean, I'm always glad to see you, but … does this mean Emma's out of the hospital?"

"No," Snow admitted, leaning into her friend's warm embrace. "She's doing better, though. Well enough that she practically shoved us out of her room to go get something to eat."

Red pulled away from Snow and took her hands instead, a soft smile on her lips. "You've been taking care of her nonstop since yesterday morning," she gently reminded both worried parents. "She's simply trying to return the favor, in any way she can."

Then, with another kind smile, she led Snow and Charming to a booth and handed them menus, not that either of them needed one. It didn't take Snow very long at all to decide on baked stuffed chicken with roasted potatoes. Charming ordered Granny's not-so-homemade lasagna, because homemade or not, it was delicious.

With their orders placed, there was nothing for the two of them to do but wait. Snow glanced up at the clock every few seconds. It would have been rude were Charming not doing the same thing.

Time was positively _crawling_. "I still can't believe she kicked us out of her room," Snow mumbled after trying in vain to think of anything but her sick daughter.

"She was right, though," Charming said to her. He sipped the glass of soda Red had brought him. "We need this break. I don't know about you, but I was starting to get a little stir-crazy."

She met his eyes with a slight frown. "Stir-crazy is an apt term. We do need the break and we do need to eat something other than hospital cafeteria food, but … maybe this wasn't such a good idea. I'm itching to get back there with her."

"I am, too," he admitted with a slightly sheepish yet still gentle smile. "Is this what new parents feel like the first time they leave their infant with a sitter?"

A smirk pulled at the corners of Snow's mouth. "Probably." Another glance up at the clock told her they'd only left the hospital twenty minutes ago. How on earth was she going to survive another forty minutes away from her sick baby?

Red delivered their meals then, drawing Snow's attention away from the clock. She thanked her friend for the meals and asked if she could put in a to-go order to be prepared while they ate. Of course, she could, and when she ordered a cheeseburger with a side of fries and a piece of chocolate cake, Red smirked and didn't even have to ask which item was for which missing family member.

After Red left to put in the to-go order, Snow looked up at Charming almost plaintively. As if reading her mind, he softly said, "We'll eat fast."

And eat fast they did. They didn't wolf down the food quickly enough to give them heartburn but they didn't take their time over the meal, either. Red delivered their to-go order, and after they were finished, they settled the bill. As they were waiting for their change, Snow once again glanced up at the clock. Forty minutes had passed since they'd left the hospital. Emma had told them to take an hour but … "Do you think she'll be annoyed if we go back a little early?"

"Probably," Charming replied with an amused chuckle, "but she'll just have to deal with it."

Snow smirked at that. Her husband certainly talked a good game but their little girl had him wrapped around her little finger. He would do just about anything to avoid upsetting her, though as yesterday afternoon proved, he was not at all afraid to get tough with her should the need arise.

Soon enough they were heading back to the hospital. Charming slung his arm around his wife's shoulders as they walked, takeout bag in his other hand. The silent support was lovely, and Snow felt herself relaxing for the first time since breakfast the morning before.

The closer they got to the hospital, however, her separation anxiety kicked into high gear, rumbling low in her stomach and making her heart pound in her chest. Yesterday she'd answered the door to find her baby pale, sweating and feverish and she'd watched her go from bad to worse over the course of the afternoon. And although Emma was doing much better today than she was the day before, she was still quite sick.

Snow's overactive and worried mind had filled in the time she'd missed this evening with every worst-case scenario imaginable. Emma having a coughing fit and being unable to stop it with slow, careful breathing. Emma's temperature spiking again, shooting up higher than the day before, well into the danger zone. Emma coming down with a complication of the pneumonia and ending up sicker than she she was before.

Of course, nothing of the sort had happened in the forty-seven minutes they'd been gone. Snow and Charming arrived back in the room to find everything calm … exceedingly calm. Henry sat in the visitor's chair next to his mother's bed, his attention mostly focused on the game he was playing on her phone. Dinner must have been served at some point while they were gone because a covered plate sat on a tray on the rolling table.

As for Emma, though she was sitting up in bed, she was fighting sleep hard, forcing her eyes open every time her head lolled to the side. The television was on and tuned to an airing of … _Back to the Future_, if Snow remembered correctly. Emma had made her watch it one day back when she was Mary Margaret after she'd admitted that she'd never seen it. Emma had proclaimed that a travesty that needed to be rectified as soon as possible because how did someone go through life without ever seeing _Back to the Future_?

Henry looked up from the phone when he saw his grandparents in his peripheral vision. He stood and approached them, smiling as he put his index finger to his lips. "We at least made it through the whole game this time," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "And I made sure she ate a little bit, too."

Snow smiled back at her wonderfully caring grandson. "You did a lovely job, Henry," she said, keeping her voice as soft as his.

Charming was smiling as well. "That you did. What's with the TV?"

At that, Henry's smile turned sardonic. "She thinks she's watching it."

Snow and Charming both swallowed snickers. Charming handed the take-out bag to his grandson, who grinned a thank you before taking the bag to the settee to eat. The worried parents both crept over to opposite sides of their daughter's hospital bed and eased down in the chairs. Emma's eyes had closed again, so Snow chanced slipping the remote control from her hand. When she didn't flinch, Snow turned off the television.

At the interruption of the noise, Emma's eyes snapped open. "Hey," she groggily mumbled, "I was watching that."

The only thing Emma had been watching was the back of her eyelids, but Snow didn't find it prudent to mention that. Instead, she simply turned the TV back on while giving her daughter an apologetic smile. "Can't you recite this movie along with the actors by now?"

"Not the point," Emma murmured, her eyes already at half-mast. She hadn't asked about her piece of cake, and Snow was not about to remind her of it. Her clearly exhausted daughter needed sleep and if she remembered that she was owed chocolate cake, she would only force herself to stay awake so she could eat it. Although, speaking of food …

Snow's eyes darted to Emma's dinner tray. She'd have to check how much Emma had eaten … once her daughter had fallen asleep, of course.

She glanced across the bed at her husband, whose attention was focused solely on his daughter. Though some tense concern still showed on his face, his posture was a little more relaxed than when they were eating. She clearly wasn't the only parent who had suffered from separation anxiety. In fact, it had probably been worse for Charming since dinner was the first time he'd left the hospital.

For a while, they sat in comfortable silence. Henry ate his dinner while Snow and Charming watched over their sick baby girl. Emma, stubborn as the day was long, tried her hardest to stay awake long enough to watch a movie she'd probably seen a hundred times already.

Just after Marty's line to his future father about how he should most definitely swear during their set-up rescue of his future mother – which had surprisingly elicited an actual, honest-to-goodness giggle from Emma when Snow watched it with her the first time – Emma's eyes finally slid closed. When Emma didn't open them again after a minute or two, Snow began tracing soothing circles over the back of her baby's right hand.

For a brief moment, it appeared as if her action was going to work the way she'd hoped. Then Emma jerked herself awake and shook her hand out from underneath her mother's. "Stop. You're trying to make me fall asleep."

"Kiddo, you need to sleep," Charming murmured back to her.

"Don't want to," she mumbled, a vaguely petulant edge to her voice.

Snow and Charming exchanged a troubled glance. Judging by her tone, this wasn't like earlier when she'd refused to take a nap just to be ornery. No, the plaintive, almost pleading tone had mentally sent Snow back to the day before when she insisted she wasn't going to the hospital.

Something was wrong. Something was keeping Emma from allowing herself to fall asleep, something deeper than her desire to watch _Back to the Future_ for the hundred and first time. And for Emma's sake, they needed to get to the bottom of it. Charming nodded at his wife, telling her to go first. "Why don't you want to go to sleep, Emma?" Snow asked softly.

Emma shrugged in response, her attention mostly focused on keeping her eyes open and trained on the TV. Snow exchanged another glance with her husband, who once again nodded. _Keep going_, he was silently telling her.

But Snow had another idea. She shook her head at Charming, while telling him with her eyes to trust her, then sat back in the chair and waited. Soon enough, Emma's eyes drifted closed again and Snow turned off the television. Though Emma opened her eyes, she no longer had the energy to protest. "Go to sleep, sweetie," Snow whispered to her.

Emma stubbornly shook her head.

"Are you afraid of the nightmares?"

Although Emma's face remained completely passive, she flinched. Ah, so it _was_ the nightmares, Snow realized, her stomach sinking. Any other parent would have been able to tell any other child that nightmares were just dreams and that they couldn't hurt her. But Emma wasn't dreaming normal little-kid nightmares about monsters in the closet. She wasn't even having normal adult nightmares about being chased or forgetting to study for a test that made up ninety percent of her grade. No, Emma's nightmares were memories. Horrible, soul-crushing memories of horrible, soul-crushing moments that she'd somehow found it within herself to survive.

Emma's nightmares were of people leaving her, of people sending her away. Of people never being there for her, because no one ever was. No one until now.

Swallowing hard, Snow said, "We'll wake you if you start having nightmares." Taking a chance, she slid her hand underneath Emma's and gripped it lightly. On the other side of the bed, Charming did the same, mindful of the IV. "We're right here, Emma, and we're not going anywhere."

"Other people promised me that, too."

Her daughter's soft murmur, thick with both sleep and pain, made Snow's breath catch in her throat. She looked up at Charming, who was swallowing hard in an effort to keep his composure. Emma was three-quarters asleep and was wholly unaware of not only what she'd just said but also how it cut both her parents to the quick.

"We're not other people," Charming assured her, softly but sternly. "You're ours, Emma, forever and for always. We love you, and we will never leave you."

Emma didn't respond, not in words. Instead, she gave each of her parents' hands a light squeeze before closing her eyes and snuggling deeper under the covers. And in that moment, Snow knew: they'd gotten through to her, and she trusted them.

She trusted them to wake her before the nightmares had a chance to take hold. She trusted them not to leave her.

Snow and Charming met each other's eyes and shared a touched smile. Then they sat back while Henry finished his dinner and sneakily swiped a fingerful of frosting from Emma's chocolate cake. Neither of them, however, released their grip on their daughter's hand, even when her own grip relaxed as she drifted off into a deeper sleep. They'd told her they weren't leaving her, and they meant it.


	18. Chapter 18

**Author's Note:** Well, holy crap, you guys. Over 300 reviews?! You all are much, much too kind. Thank you so much! Also, shoutout to nahbois68; your idea in your last review was too cute not to use. Thank you! ;)

* * *

Henry had been playing the word game on his mom's phone for a while now but for some strange reason, it all of a sudden closed on him. Every time he tried to reopen it, it would just close right down again. At first he couldn't figure out why but then he checked her battery level: 8%.

Oops. Apparently playing the game had required more battery power than he'd thought. He poked around in his backpack, hoping against hope that his grandmother had thrown the phone charger in with the stuff she'd packed for his mom.

No such luck. Dang it.

He set the device down with the intention of admitting to his grandmother that Emma's phone was almost dead due to a certain someone's addiction to word games. The words died on his lips, however, when he discovered that he was the only one in the room who was awake. He'd known his mom was sleeping but apparently while he'd been playing, his grandparents had dozed off in the chairs on either side of Emma's hospital bed. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth when he realized that they were both still holding her hands.

The scene in front of him would have made such a cute picture. _Well_, he thought with a smirk. His grandparents would think it was cute, at least. His mom would probably be really embarrassed.

The thought made him giggle. Maybe …

He grabbed Emma's phone, tapped the screen to bring up her camera function, and crossed his fingers. Yes! There was still just enough battery power to take a picture.

With a mischievous grin, he framed the shot and, after making sure the flash was off, snapped the picture. Oh, he couldn't wait for his mom to find that one when she scrolled through her photos!

Of course, he would probably end up showing it to her way before she found it on her own. It was too good not to tease her with it. When she was feeling a little better, of course.

Speaking of, seeing as he was the only one awake, he should probably check on her. He set her phone down for good this time and crept over to the side of the bed. She seemed to be somewhat restless; her brow was pinched and she was fidgeting a little under the blankets. Was she having another nightmare? Before he could do anything to help her, she slipped her hands from her parents' grips and turned onto her right side, facing him and Snow.

For a split second, he thought she was going to tuck her left hand under the pillow. He cringed, waiting for her hiss of pain when the IV hit the fabric, but then let out a soft breath of relief when she simply rested her hand on top the pillow by her face. She let out a soft breath of her own and then went still.

"She all right?" a whispered voice asked from beside him.

He glanced over to the side to find his grandmother blearily blinking up at him in the semi-darkness of the room. "She's fine. I didn't wake you up, did I?"

"No," Snow assured him. "She did when she moved."

He smiled and returned his attention to his mom. Though she wasn't a hundred percent better yet, she was doing so much better than the day before. He very carefully sat down at the foot of the bed, giving his grandmother some time to wake up a little bit before he asked, "Gramma?"

"Yes, Henry?"

His question came out in a rush. "Mom sounds like she's breathing a lot better now and she only coughed a little bit when you guys were gone. Dr. Whale looked happy when we told him that. So … do you think she'll be able to go home tomorrow?"

Snow's kind expression grew impossibly kinder. "I'm not sure, sweetie," she said, softly and cautiously. "I hope so, but ..." She looked past him for a second. "Will you hand me her chart?"

Henry turned to grab the chart from the metal rack at the foot of the bed. He handed it over to his grandmother as request, a frown on his face. "You know how to read one of those things?"

"A little bit. I volunteered here for twenty-eight years as Mary Margaret. There are some things I picked up sort of by osmosis."

"What's osmosis?"

She smiled up at him before returning her attention to the chart. "It's a science thing you'll learn about later." After a moment of reading through the notes and other scribbles in her daughter's chart, she sighed softly. "Dr. Whale hasn't taken her off the pain medication yet. I mean, I can see why he hasn't, because she needs to be able to breathe, but I also imagine he would want to either lower her dosage or take her off it entirely to make sure she can breathe without it before he releases her."

"So she might not get to go home tomorrow?" Henry asked with a small pout.

"I don't know," she said, giving him a small, comforting smile. "I'm sure it depends on how tonight goes." She handed the chart back to him to put away. He did so, and when he turned around to face her, she continued, "But even if she does go home tomorrow, Henry … that won't mean she's all better."

"I know. Pneumonia takes a long time to get over completely." Snow raised her eyebrows at him in surprise, and he gave her a sheepish shrug in return. "I looked it up on her phone. Anyway, I know she won't be all better but at least she'll be home."

Snow smiled at him but before she could say anything, a soft whimper cut through the relative silence. Emma was getting restless again, though this time it was not because she was growing uncomfortable in her current sleeping position. Snow frowned, as did Henry. He thought she wouldn't have the nightmares as much now because her fever broke.

"It's all right, Emma," Snow whispered, leaning forward and brushing a lock of hair out of her daughter's eyes. "You're safe here with us."

There were a couple more quiet whimpers before Emma's eyes snapped open, startling both Snow and Henry. She sat up, her gaze frantically darting around the room. The second she spotted Henry, the tension in her shoulders relaxed.

_Her nightmare was about me_, Henry thought, his eyes wide in realization. Sensing that she needed physical as well as visual reassurance, he crawled forward and wrapped her in a hug. She tensed at first, though whether she was surprised by the hug or still disoriented from the nightmare, he couldn't tell. After a moment, she relaxed into the embrace, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing as tightly as her weakened body would allow. For a brief second, she buried her nose in his hair, and he smiled.

"I couldn't find you," she whispered into his ear. "I was looking all over for you but I couldn't find you."

He held her in the embrace for a moment longer and then pulled away. He could have hugged her all night but he knew she would start to get uncomfortable after a while. "I'm right here, Mom," he said, taking her hand instead to help prove his point. "I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere."

She nodded and squeezed his hand before releasing it and lying back against the pillows. Her eyes were already drooping closed again; honestly, even though her eyes were open and she'd talked to him, Henry wasn't sure she was all that awake to begin with.

Since he figured there was no way she would remember any of this when she woke up in the morning, he felt comfortable leaning forward and giving her a soft kiss on the cheek. "I love you, Mom."

"Love you, too, kid," she slurred, her eyes closed completely now. Yep, just as he thought; she was already mostly asleep again.

It wasn't until she was sure that Emma was completely asleep that Snow turned a smile on her grandson. "You're very good with her."

He shrugged as if it say it was no big deal, because really, it wasn't. All he wanted was to make his mom feel better. "I was just doing what Gramps did for me. We can't light a candle in here, though."

"No," Snow said, her smile growing kinder, "we certainly can't."

It was then that he noticed how tired his grandmother looked. And while he was getting a little tired himself, he knew he could stay awake a while longer. From the looks of things, his grandmother couldn't. "Go back to sleep, Gramma. I'll watch her."

"Are you sure?"

He nodded. "If I need you or Gramps for anything, I'll wake you up." At the mention of his grandfather, Henry's eyes darted almost involuntarily to the man at the other side of the bed. Though it didn't look like he'd woken up at all, he'd already reclaimed his daughter's hand. Henry smiled.

"All right, just a little while longer," Snow replied, recapturing his attention. She gave him a touched and grateful smile as she made herself as comfortable as possible in the chair. After getting herself settled, she reached out to rest her hand on top of Emma's.

Henry blinked in surprise when Emma seemed to relax even further under her parents' touch. Now that he thought about it, her nightmare didn't start until she turned over and lost physical contact with them. Maybe she needed their touch. Maybe their touch was what was keeping her nightmares at bay.

Of course, in the morning and the cold light of day, she would deny absolutely everything until the cows came home. Emma Swan did not need physical contact with _anyone_ to feel safe … or so she'd say. _All the more reason to show her that picture_, Henry thought mischievously.

Once he was sure his grandmother was asleep, Henry hopped off the bed and crept over to his backpack to find something else to do. He couldn't play the word game on his mom's phone anymore but he still had his own games. He grabbed one of them – some sort of airplane game that he wasn't very good at because he didn't play it all that often – and carried it back to his mom's bed.

Just like before, he climbed up on the foot of the mattress and settled down with his game. He wanted to be close to her in case she needed him again.


	19. Chapter 19

A quiet, repetitive mewling slowly drew Emma from a heavy slumber. Who was whimpering, and why wouldn't they stop? Was it Henry? If it was Henry, he needed her, but her eyes were so heavy and her head was so foggy and she couldn't seem to make her body respond to her commands of _get up, get up, go check on him now_.

A soft thumb ran along her cheek and a hushed but comforting voice began to drown out the whimpering, and she realized to her horror that the whines were hers. She instantly forced herself into silence. The thumb continued its soothing caress and the soft voice continued to murmur comforts to her: "You're all right now. It's okay."

The words repeated over and over like a mantra, a calm and reassuring mantra that relaxed her to the point that sleep was claiming her again. She snuggled deeper under the blanket, tugging it tightly around her shoulders. As she inhaled, however, a sharp pain in her chest brought her back to wakefulness. Her eyes flew open as her hand shot to her chest.

Her mother's kind face filled her field of vision, her brow pinched and her eyes troubled. "Are you all right?" she asked as she removed her hand from her daughter's cheek.

"I'm fine," Emma grumbled as she tried to sit up. She was still so damn tired but she was awake now and she was going to stay that way, come hell or high water.

After watching her struggle for a moment, Snow swooped in for the rescue. She lightly grasped her daughter's arm and gently pulled her upright. Emma winced in pain, causing Snow's expression to fall even further. "What's the matter?"

"It's nothing," Emma replied, dismissively shaking her head. "It's just … my chest hurts again."

"Dr. Whale took you off the pain medication," Snow told her softly. "You did well overnight so he decided to try taking you off of it to see how you would do without it."

There had to be some kind of happy medium between medicated and not. The medication made her sleepy and she hated it, yeah, but at least she could breathe like a normal person, and … wait a second. Overnight?

Emma blinked as she glanced around her surprisingly bright hospital room. The hell? The last thing she remembered, she'd just finished dinner and had found _Back to the Future_ on TV. "Watch and learn," she'd said to Henry, because losing herself for couple of hours in _Back to the Future_ whenever she had the opportunity was one of the few bright spots in her childhood.

"What time is it?" she asked her mother now.

"Just after seven-thirty."

She blinked again. Seven-thirty … in the morning? That meant she'd slept for, what, more than thirteen hours? Holy crap!

In all those thirteen hours, had she had any nightmares? She didn't remember having nightmares. Not really, anyway, nothing like the night before. Maybe she'd had one or two – she had vague recollections of trying to find Henry in some kind of dungeon, but beyond that, nothing.

What on earth had her family done while she slept for thirteen hours? A swift glance around the room told her that Henry was asleep, curled up on the settee in the corner. Her father dozed in the chair at her bedside. They … had they stayed with her again? She fidgeted uncomfortably, smoothing the covers over her legs to hide her baby blanket. Somehow it had become uncovered during the night.

"What's the matter, Emma?" Snow asked her, reaching forward to help her arrange the covers.

"Nothing," she mumbled. "It's just … did you all spend the night here again?"

"We did," Snow confirmed. She touched her daughter's hand, capturing her wandering attention and forcing eye contact. "You were really out of it last night, so I don't know if you remember, but we promised we weren't going to leave you. We meant it, Emma."

She hadn't remembered. Not really. She could only recall snatches of conversation; she did remember her father telling her that they were with her because they wanted to be. She remembered her mother telling her that they weren't going anywhere and that she was going to get sick of them. Was that from last night, or the night before?

Either way, they really meant it. They hadn't left her. It was the morning of her third day with pneumonia, and none of them had left her side. They'd cared for her, and they'd done so happily.

It was so … _foreign_ to her, this notion that people would willingly put their lives on hold for her. And yet, all three of them had. When she was younger, being sick meant being handed a glass of water and a plate of saltines and being sent to bed. Someone would poke their head in to check on her every so often, and more often than not, that someone was one of the other kids. One of her foster mothers used to like to sing to the children in her charge when any of them were sick, but in Emma's experience, she was the exception to the rule.

And then there were her parents and son. They'd stayed with her throughout everything. She didn't think there had been a single moment since David brought her home from the station that she'd been alone. On the one hand, that realization made her supremely uncomfortable, simply because she was so unused to it. On the other hand, it also felt _really_ nice to have people who cared about her so deeply.

A soft hand wrapped around hers, drawing her from her reverie. "Does your chest still hurt?" Snow asked, unable to hide the concern in her voice.

Why had she asked that? It took Emma a moment to realize she had once again pressed her left hand against her sternum. "A little," she replied honestly, squeezing her mother's hand. Wait a second, why was she squeezing her mother's hand? Damn being sick. "I can breathe fine. It's just the deep breaths that are a problem."

"Hey," said a groggy voice from her other side, "you're finally awake."

David was still blinking awake himself, stretching out the kinks that formed from sleeping in a chair all night long. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Henry stirring on the settee as well. The kid would up soon, too. "So are you," she replied, a wry smirk on her lips.

Her father smirked back. "Touché. How are you feeling?"

"All right, I guess," she shrugged. "I don't feel as … foggy anymore, anyway."

"Well, that's definitely a good thing," Dr. Whale said by way of a greeting as he stepped into the room. Henry sat up on the settee, rubbing his eyes, but still managed to give the doctor a bleary smile as the man approached his mother's bed. His first order of business was to pull the thermometer from his lab coat pocket, slip on the protective film, and hand it over to Emma. "I imagine you're pretty much an expert at this by now."

She most certainly was. She stuck the tip of the thermometer under her tongue and waited while Dr. Whale clipped the pulse oximeter on her finger again. Oh, whoa, wait a second. She thought she'd gotten rid of this piece of medical equipment for good!

Her confusion and anger must have been written across her face, because he gave her an apologetic smile. "It's just for a few minutes. I need to check your oxygen level since taking you off the pain meds."

She nodded; she supposed that was okay. When the thermometer beeped, she removed it from her mouth and glanced down at the display. 99.6, which barely counted as a fever. She handed the thermometer to Dr. Whale, an almost self-satisfied smirk on her lips.

"Good," he said as he marked down the reading in her chart. Then he removed the plastic film, tossed it in the trash can, and tucked the thermometer back in his pocket.

That was all she was going to get? A single word? Considering her temperature was nearly 104 a day and a half before, she thought that 99.6 was pretty much a freakin' _miracle_.

Whale smirked at her, and she realized she must have been glaring at him. Oops. "You're doing well, Emma, considering your condition when you arrived. However, before you ask, no, I'm not going to release you yet. We just took you off the pain meds; I'dlike to observe you for a little while longer before I send you home."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "How much longer is 'a little while?'"

"That depends on how you do without the meds."

Well, there was nothing like an indeterminate time table to make her feel at ease.

It was only then that she noticed that her IV, though still in her hand, had been capped. Had they taken her off the antibiotics, too? "A nurse will be around with your antibiotics," Whale told her when he saw her frowning at the back of her hand. "You can't go home with the IV, so we're switching you to pills. Believe me, Ms. Swan, we don't want to keep you here any longer than we need."

At that, she smiled. Progress was progress, she supposed. It was certainly better than nothing.

He smiled back at her as he tucked her chart back in the rack at the foot of her bed. "I'll be back during mid-morning rounds. If all goes the way I hope it does, I'll be able to release you this afternoon."

All of a sudden, it was like a dark cloud that had been hovering over the room lifted. The family shared a smile. "Thanks, doc," Emma said.

"You're quite welcome," he replied, giving her a smile before turning and leaving the room.

As soon as he was gone, Henry leaped off the settee and ran forward, hopping up on the foot of her bed. "This is awesome, Mom!"

It really was, wasn't it? "Thanks, kid."

Now she turned her attention to her parents. Throughout the doctor's visit, Snow hadn't released the light hold she had on her hand. She had no idea where it was coming from but she reached her left hand out for her father's. He gave her a touched smile as he slipped his hand into hers. "Thank you all for staying with me."

"No thanks necessary, Emma," David said, lightly squeezing her hand. "We wouldn't think of being anywhere else."

His words went straight to her heart. When she felt the telltale tickle in the back of her throat that told her tears were imminent, she knew she had to put an end to the emotion right here and right now. "You know what I just realized? I never ate my chocolate cake last night, did I?"

And she as she'd hoped, everyone chuckled. David and Snow released her hands, which allowed her to lean back a little more comfortably against the pillows. "No, you didn't," Snow replied, smirking at her daughter, "but don't even think about having chocolate cake for breakfast. I've made many allowances over the last couple of days, but that's where I draw the line."

Though Emma muttered a faux-defeated, "Damn," she couldn't hide her amused smile.


	20. Chapter 20

**Author's Note:** First of all, there is indeed a Supernatural reference in this chapter. Phrases from TV shows, especially ones I found amusing, have a way of infiltrating my vocabulary. ;) Second of all, thank you so much for all your kind reviews and for your follows and favorites on this story. I'm still completely blown away by your response to this little (*eyes word count* heh, "little") tale of mine. (Seriously, the review count on this thing is nutsy, and I adore it. :)) I can only hope that I've given you at least half the enjoyment that you've given me.

* * *

Emma was happy to report that her second morning in the hospital was far more peaceful than her first. No coughing fits, only a couple of small, not-at-all-wracking coughs here and there. No ridiculously high fever. No wheezing, although her breathing still became slightly labored after talking a lot. And no nightmares, though that was owing mostly to the fact that she absolutely refused to fall asleep, no matter how exhausted she still was. She'd spent the better part of the past couple of days asleep, and the lost time was getting to be a bit disconcerting for her.

If it was this disconcerting to miss most of the last couple of days, how in the hell did her parents and everyone else in Storybrooke handle missing twenty-eight whole _years_? Ugh.

Anyway, since she refused to fall asleep, she needed _something_ to keep herself occupied, so she engaged her family in activities. Not strenuous activities, obviously, because she was still pretty much confined to her hospital bed, but plenty of games of Go Fish and Old Maid were certainly had. Unfortunately, there were only so many rounds of Go Fish and Old Maid one could play, and the family began to grow bored of the games. Henry threw out Spit as a suggestion, which Snow vetoed after a glance at Emma. "It's only a two-player game, Henry," she'd said, although Emma somehow knew the real reason she'd denied the game was because it was too fast-paced for the hospital patient.

Just as Emma was about to suggest blackjack, the inappropriateness of teaching an eleven-year-old a casino game be damned, an orderly stepped into the room with her lunch tray.

Lunch was good. Lunch was fabulous. And after lunch? She would _finally_ get the chance to savor that delicious piece of chocolate cake she was owed from last night.

Yes, Snow had actually made her wait until lunchtime. Emma's only half-teasing pleas for dessert following breakfast were denied on account of eight o'clock in the morning being too early for cake. Which, no, it wasn't, but Emma hadn't had the energy to quibble.

The arrival of Emma's lunch tray must have also signaled Henry that it was time to eat because the room was soon filled with pleas of, "Can we go down and get something to eat, too? I'm _starving_!"

Snow and David glanced at each other, trying to determine which of them was going to accompany their grandson down to the cafeteria to bring back food for everyone who wasn't Emma. "I'll take him," Snow eventually murmured before pushing herself up from the chair. She turned her attention to Emma, tucking an errant lock of hair behind her daughter's ear. "We'll be right back, all right?"

Emma nodded a little uncomfortably. This whole being hesitant to leave her thing was getting weird. Still nice, but yeah, a little weird. Had she really been that … clingy? She didn't remember much about the previous couple of nights. She remembered bits and pieces of some of the nightmares … faceless people leaving her in a cold, dark room; her parents walking away from her and leaving her in the darkness as well; a little girl, holding a suitcase on her lap in the back seat of a social worker's car, who didn't understand why she couldn't stay where she was. Had she acted on those nightmares in real life? Begged out loud for them not to leave her? She must have, because the aftereffects clearly lingered.

David shot his wife a grateful smile and watched as she and their grandson left the room with the promise of bringing back lunch. Then he wheeled the tray table closer to Emma so she could eat comfortably.

She smiled at him before removing the plastic dome from the plate. The comforting aroma of a grilled cheese sandwich filled her nostrils. Hospital grilled cheese was nowhere near as good as Granny's grilled cheese – and Henry said that Emma's grilled cheese was better than Granny's, though the two of them had never mentioned that a single living soul – but it was still grilled cheese, which meant that it, along with the requisite cup of tomato soup, was pretty much the most perfect lunch ever.

Despite it being a perfect lunch, she ate slowly. She didn't have all that much of an appetite, which was weird because she'd certainly had one the day before. Maybe being in the hospital had made her listless.

"You still feeling all right?" David asked her after she'd forced down a couple bites of sandwich.

"Yeah," she nodded. Truth be told, she was completely wiped and it was becoming an effort to hold her head up but no one needed to know that.

The tiny smirk on her father's lips, though, told her he had some idea. "It's okay to admit that you don't feel well, you know."

She shrugged. "I'm sitting in a hospital bed; I think it's quite clear that I don't feel well."

The smirk softened into a smile. "It's also okay to admit that you're feeling worse than you want to let on. You don't have to be afraid to lean on us; we're not going to let you fall, and we're not going to let you down, either."

Well, _that_ was a little bit more than she was anticipating for lunchtime conversation. She tore her gaze from her father's and picked up her sandwich again, desperate for something to do to shift the focus of the conversation.

David gently took the sandwich from her hand and placed it back on the plate, forcing eye contact with his daughter. "We love you, Emma Swan, and someday, I hope you'll understand the depths of our love for you. But for right now, just know that we'll always be there for you, no matter what."

Great, now she was tearing up. Wonderful. She blinked quickly and sniffled back the tears before they could fall. "I do know," she said to him after taking a moment to regain emotional control. "The past couple of days have proved that to me. Hell, the only time you left was because I pretty much browbeat you into it. I was never alone, was I? Since I got sick, I mean."

"No, you weren't," he said softly. "Someone was always watching over you, from the moment I brought you home from the station."

"Thank you," she replied, swallowing hard because damn it, a lump was forming in her throat. "I've, um, never had that before."

David's eyes glistened at that admission. "Well, you have it now, Emma. Now and forever."

Their quiet moment was interrupted when Henry and Snow returned to the room carrying their cafeteria lunch, giving Emma and David barely enough time to shake off their emotions.

Henry's incessant chattering to Snow made Emma raise her eyebrows. That kid had far too much pent-up energy. That was what happened when an eleven-year-old spent close to forty-eight hours in one little hospital room, she supposed.

The family had just gotten their food distributed when Dr. Whale stepped into the room. It wasn't time for rounds yet, which – Emma hoped – could only mean one thing: "Please tell me you're here to release me."

"As a matter of fact, I am," the doctor replied through a chuckle. Emma could feel the smile curling on her lips. "No relapses, no temperature spikes, no more of those coughing fits … I feel comfortable letting you go home."

He paused, and Emma sensed there was a "but" coming. "All right," she sighed, "drop the other shoe."

Whale smirked at her. "I am, however, giving you a home care plan, one that it is imperative you follow."

He handed her a packet of papers, which she scanned over. The main crux of the care plan seemed to be a _lot_ of rest. Sweet Peter on a Popsicle stick, she did not have the patience for this crap.

Her displeasure must have been written across her features, because Snow said, "She'll follow it." Her voice was stern and her eyes were focused directly on Emma. "We'll make sure that she does."

Emma glared at her mother because holy crap, she was not a toddler and could certainly follow simple directions on her own. She didn't want to follow the directions, obviously, but she still took umbrage to Snow pulling the mom card. Even though it was well within her right to pull the mom card, seeing as she was in fact Emma's mother.

This whole family thing made Emma's brain hurt.

Snow simply took her glare in stride and answered it with a smug smile of her own.

Whale's eyes darted between mother and daughter as a wry smirk tugged at his lips. "All right, then," he agreed, refocusing on Emma. "I'll go process your discharge papers."

"Thank you," Emma said. She sincerely meant it, too, because she knew he could have held her a lot longer, at least until her chest x-ray came back clear.

He gave her a smile before leaving the room to get her paperwork going. Henry set his sandwich down and launched himself at Emma, wrapping her in a tight hug. "I'm so excited you get to go home!"

"I am, too," she replied honestly, holding her son in the hug. Her parents were beaming, relief mingling with excitement on their faces.

And all of a sudden, Emma began choking up. The love her family clearly had for her was overwhelming and for the briefest of seconds, she couldn't breathe.

She shut her eyes to staunch the tears and took careful, deliberate breaths. By the time Henry pulled out of the hug, she'd regained complete control. "Hospitals suck out loud," she added, hoping to downplay her previous admission that she was excited to be going home.

It clearly didn't work. Both her parents and even her son gave her knowing smiles that told her they'd all figured her out.

Damn.

* * *

"The first thing I'm doing," Emma wearily declared as she stepped over the threshold of her family's shared apartment, "is taking a long, hot shower."

Charming and Snow shared a smirk over their daughter's head. Snow had entered the apartment ahead of her while Charming had climbed the stairs behind her, mostly because although Emma was loath to admit it, she was still quite tired and lying in bed for three days had left her weakened. The truly troublesome and dangerous elements of her illness were behind her, but pneumonia was a particularly nasty beast, and it lingered.

That being said, neither of them had any intention of denying Emma the pleasure of a relaxing shower. After all the togetherness of the past few days, she also probably needed a few minutes to herself. There was plenty of time to cater to her after she was finished.

Not that she wanted them to cater to her, but they weren't going to give her much choice. The home care plan Dr. Whale had prescribed specifically stated that she was to take it easy and rest as much as possible. So she was going to have to get used to her family doing things for her, at least for the next few days.

Now, however, was not the time to get into that. After closing and locking the door behind everyone, Snow headed upstairs to retrieve a change of clothes for Emma. The only thing Emma had been carrying was the teddy bear, so Charming slipped it from her hand and waited until she shrugged her jacket off before taking that as well.

It took her almost a full minute to realize that she had been divested of possessions, which only proved how sick she still was. "I can put my own stuff away, you know," she grumbled.

Luckily Snow came down the stairs then, holding out a pair of yoga pants and a t-shirt to her daughter. "Go take your shower, sweetie."

For a beat, Emma didn't move. Then she took the clothes from her mother's hand while narrowing her eyes at her and scowling. "You said you would stop the pet names once I got out of the hospital."

Once again, Snow and Charming exchanged an amused glance over her head. Henry at least had the decency to muffle his snort of amusement with a cough. Her Royal Crankiness was out in full force, it seemed. The next few days were going to be interesting, if nothing else.

"I believe what I said was that we'd take it on a case-by-case basis," Snow replied as she ushered Emma towards the bathroom. She pulled a towel out of the linen closet and held it out to her as well. "You're still sick, ergo I still get to call you by pet names."

Emma huffed as she took the towel from her mother's hand. Then, without another word, she stepped into the bathroom and closed the door. Snow smirked to herself.

"You're aggravating her," Charming informed his wife a touch unnecessarily.

"She's exhausted," Snow countered. "_Everything_ is aggravating her. She'll be less grumpy after she gets out of the shower."

"How do you know?" Henry asked.

"Never underestimate the healing properties of a hot shower, young Sir Henry," Charming teased. Henry, who still viewed showers as pesky things he had to do before he could play more video games, wrinkled his nose.

True to Snow's suspicions, Emma was indeed far calmer when she stepped out of the bathroom, freshly showered and changed. Her dirty clothes were in her hand and the towel was still wrapped around her hair. Snow rushed forward to take her clothes from her to put in the hamper upstairs. "I can do that myself," Emma sighed, her resignation to the parental hovering apparent in her tone.

"I'm well aware," Snow told her. "However, you are also asleep on your feet and the only thing you're going to do is go lie down in my room."

"Ugh, really? I just spent the last three days in bed! I can't believe that I'm saying this, but I'm tired of beds. Can't I at least sit on the couch for a while?"

Snow hesitated just a moment, but it was apparently long enough for Emma to come up with a perfect argument. A sly smirk curled on her lips as she said, "Dr. Whale's instructions don't say _bed_ rest; they just say rest. Sitting on the couch is rest, and if you let me stay out here, I promise I won't complain about you guys doing things for me for the rest of the day."

Oh, she had no idea what she was promising. Although, since she offered … "Well, when you put it like that," Snow replied, smiling at her daughter. Then she turned her smile on her husband. "Charming, will you get her set up on the couch, please?"

Emma opened her mouth, but Snow shook her head at her, stopping her impending argument in its tracks. "No complaining. You promised."

The look on Emma's face was priceless. She was annoyed but she was also busted, and she knew it. "Fine," she huffed, handing her mother the towel before turning to her father. "I guess you're helping me get set up on the couch."

Snow waited just a moment to make sure Emma was really going to let Charming sit her down and get her settled and then headed up the stairs with her daughter's dirty clothes, the used towel, and Henry's backpack. As she was unpacking her daughter's things, Henry bounded up the stairs, pulled something from Emma's bottom dresser drawer, and ran back down the stairs with nothing more than an excited, "Hi, Gramma!"

Well, that boy was certainly up to something. What that something could possibly be, Snow had no idea.

When she arrived back downstairs carrying Emma's baby blanket in her hand, she found that although Charming had indeed gotten Emma situated on the sofa, she had refused to lie down. She was instead sitting up facing the television with her legs stretched out in front of her and her feet resting on the coffee table. Ordinarily, Snow would chide her for putting her feet on the furniture but she supposed she could make some allowances for her sick baby girl.

An open DVD case sat on the coffee table by Emma's feet. That must have been what Henry had retrieved from upstairs. Somehow she knew what it was before she even picked it up to check: _Back to the Future_.

"I figured since Mom didn't get to see the whole thing last night, we could all watch it this afternoon," Henry explained when he caught Snow inspecting the case. He'd already snuggled up to Emma's side, and she was absentmindedly playing with a lock of his hair.

Snow smiled at him. "I think that's a lovely idea, but do you know what a movie afternoon like this calls for?"

The boy frowned but then his eyes lit up as he turned an excited smile on his grandfather. "Gramps' popcorn!"

Emma even smiled at that. Charming made the best stove-top popcorn of anyone they knew. "It would be my pleasure," he said, rising from the sofa and heading toward the kitchen. Henry leaped up as well, eager for a chance to learn from the popcorn master.

Snow, however, kept her attention on Emma. Her poor daughter was _so_ tired but she was trying desperately not to let it show. After a beat, Snow stole Henry's seat next to her and tucked a limp curl behind her ear. "You still doing all right?"

"Yeah," she said with a halfhearted shrug.

No, she wasn't, but Snow wasn't about to argue with her. She simply handed over the baby blanket, which neither of the boys had noticed she'd been carrying. Or if they had, they hadn't made it known. "I thought you might want this."

A smile tugged at Emma's lips as she accepted the blanket. "Thanks." Just like in the hospital, she draped it over her legs before covering it with the quilt Charming had spread over her. Unlike in the hospital, though, she kept it within reach, running her fingertips along a length of deep purple satin ribbon.

Snow stared at Emma as she tried to gather the courage to say what she wanted to say. It was something she'd needed to say from the moment Charming brought a feverish and shivering Emma home from the station, and now, when it was quiet and Emma was amenable, it seemed like the perfect time. "Emma?"

"Hmm?"

"The next time you don't feel well, will you please tell someone? I know you're used to dealing with things on your own, but you don't have to anymore. Plus, when dealing with things on your own, it's very easy to get in over your head, especially when you're trying to deal with illness. If we hadn't been watching you, things could have gone really bad really fast."

At first, Emma appeared surprised but then her expression softened as Snow's words sank in. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "It's just … I was alone my whole life. I'm not used to having other people, and I'm used to having to take care of myself. It's … it's …" She trailed off, frowning at her inability to find the correct words.

"It's a hard adjustment to make," Snow said, giving her an understanding smile. "I get it. I just want you to know that we _will_ be there for you. You can trust us."

"I do trust you," she replied, her voice beginning to tremble with emotion. "I'm just … sometimes I'm a little afraid, I think. I'm not used to this family thing and I don't know how to do it and I don't want to screw it up, and–"

At that, Snow grasped her daughter's hand and squeezed tightly. "Oh, sweetheart, there is not a single thing you could do to screw it up. Not a single thing. We're your parents; it's our job to be there for you no matter what. It's our job, and it's also our pleasure. You're ours, Emma, our pride and joy, and nothing will ever change that, all right?"

Emma blinked rapidly, a telltale sign that her eyes were tearing up. She swallowed hard and squeezed Snow's hand back. "All right," she whispered.

Snow smiled at her, ran her thumb down her cheek, and said after a beat, "So, _Back to the Future_, huh?"

That got Emma to chuckle, and instantly the conversation was brought back to a comfortable-for-Emma level. "It's a new classic," she teased.

The air in the apartment now smelled of freshly popped popcorn. Charming had just poured the snack into a bowl and was tossing it to coat the kernels in butter and a sprinkling of salt. As Henry headed back to the sofa, Emma asked him to bring her phone with him.

He sheepishly brought her both her phone and the charger. She didn't even question it, just asked him to plug the charger into the wall for her.

He did so and plopped down on the sofa next to his grandmother. Charming squeezed in at the other end and handed the popcorn bowl to Snow. If he'd handed it to Henry, no one else would have gotten more than a handful. Henry started the movie while Emma checked her phone for who knew what. After a moment or two, she exclaimed, "Oh, whoa! Henry, why the hell did you take this?!"

From the sound of Henry's giggle, Snow gathered that whatever it was had to be good. She snatched the phone from her daughter's hand and found herself staring at a picture of her, Emma, and Charming all sound asleep in the hospital room. She and Charming had the chairs pulled close to the bed and were holding Emma's hands.

Snow thought that the picture was remarkably sweet, herself. Charming, who had leaned over to peek over her shoulder, agreed, if his facial expression was anything to go by. Emma, though, was clearly mortified. "Aw, I think it's cute," Charming teased, reaching across both Henry and Snow to lightly tug on a lock of Emma's hair.

"It's not cute!" Emma protested. "It's embarrassing!"

"Oh, come on, Mom," Henry teased, grinning at her. "Pretend I'm the one lying in the bed. Wouldn't you think it was cute then?"

From Emma's pursed lips, Snow gathered that her answer was yes and she was not at all about to admit it. To help her daughter save face, Snow closed the picture and set the phone on the coffee table. "No phones during family time."

Though Emma shot her mother a brief grateful look, she still huffed to keep up appearances.

The family quieted down as the movie began. Of course, the only one of them who was under any delusion that Emma would be able to stay awake long enough to watch the whole thing was Emma herself. True to everyone's suspicion, she was snoring before Marty traveled back to 1955.

And true to form, her family stayed with her. Neither Henry nor Charming had seen the movie, aside from the snippets they'd seen the previous night, and were perfectly content to stay squeezed on the couch with her while it ran. Snow took her attention off of it long enough to straighten the blanket covering Emma, tucking her in as much as she could, and to give her a light peck on her blissfully cool and no longer fevered cheek. "Sleep well, sweetheart," she whispered, her heart warming when Emma snuggled closer to her, unconsciously responding to the comfort. "We'll have you feeling better in no time."

And they would. With the love of her family surrounding her, there was nothing Emma couldn't overcome.


End file.