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Emma Swan finally found her fairytale (lostfairytale) wrote in wariscoming,

Emma knew that instinct. When touch meant pain or sadness and not the warm comfort of your mother's arms. And she simply held him tighter against her on the walk to her room. She had failed this boy for eleven years. Maybe not this her, not the one who had been dragged back to Storybrooke by her Henry. But some version of her somewhere had given him into Regina's care. She was the one who had decided on a closed adoption, it had been her who'd thought letting someone else raise her baby would've been better for him, and it was now Emma who would help him, even if technically he wasn't hers to help.

She felt the moment the fight drained from his body. When the thrashing stopped and gave way to a stiff, almost cold reception. And she didn't let go. She couldn't. She was stronger than he was and she had to hope some of that could go from her into him. She had to pray that just a hint of the stubborn, strong-willed ways that made up Emma Swan could sink into her son.

And then she felt them. Those small, too thin arms wrapped around her, holding on as if she were the last link to his sanity. Or the one thing that could push him over the edge. She kissed the top of his soft brown hair and and closed her eyes, trying to find some courage. It was one of those times she could really use her own mother. But the Seal had decided she had to handle this alone, and she would. She had to. For Henry.

"This wasn't the life I wanted for you," she began quietly, filling the silence with what she hoped would eventually be comfort. "When I gave you up. I knew I wasn't ready for a baby. I had a pretty crap life growing up, I wanted better for you. A mommy and a daddy who could love you and give you things and you'd never want for anything." She sighed, then, realizing that she'd so nearly succeeded. Regina had been wealthy, yes, and powerful. No, he didn't have a dad around, but there'd been plenty of good men who could have helped him. Graham had been good to him, even if part of his being around was merely the Queen's blackmail and control.

But that woman, the one who'd taken him in to raise and to love, had reduced her baby boy to this. Called him crazy, made others think he was crazy, all because he knew the truth. "I love you, kid. I always have. From the moment I found out you were coming into the world, I loved you. I wish I could take this away, make it not hurt anymore." Love was still a difficult word for Emma to say, but not with Henry. With Henry, and with Aislinn, too, it came easily. Maybe that was a mother thing, the unconditional love that came from giving birth to two small bits of perfection in an otherwise imperfect world.