So I know that very similar ideas to this have been done before but I promise to try to make this as unique as possible. Just had to write this because I am a super big sucker for Daddy!Charming and little!Emma fics. Also... Yes, some (hopefully most) of you will recognize Emma's case worker but I promise this is not a crossover but rather just a nod to my favorite children's book and movie.

Disclaimer: If it was mine there would be a lot more Charming family, a lot more angst, and way less other characters.

"Just a lost little girl who didn't matter and didn't think she ever would." -Emma Swan (3x02, Lost Girl)

"Alone, listless, a breakfast table in an otherwise empty room,
Young girl, violence, center of her own attention..."
-Pearl Jam's Daughter;

Emma Swan doesn't cry. Left arm cradled to her chest, a ratty old long sleeved shirt covering the worst of the damage, she is careful to be noiseless as she pulls out a box of stale cereal and pours some into the cleanest bowl she can find in the sink before sitting on the kitchen floor to eat the dried out semisweet circles. The milk in the fridge calls her name but she knows if she were to take some that it would be too noticeable and she would be punished for taking more than her fair share (which most days equated to none). Her blond curls fall across her face as she sucks at the cereal, making sure not to crunch for fear of making too much noise, and she is blatantly aware of the fact that she needs a bath and if she isn't careful the school nurse is going to notice and tell her case worker that she's coming to school unclean. Her arm pulsates under her shirt and she knows there's something wrong with it, something drastically wrong, but she can't tell – it will only be worse if she tells.

She can't go to another home, she won't. She's only eight and the number of houses she has been in has already reached the double digits. Her ninth birthday is only weeks away and another house, another birthday... She's too old, too much trouble, and another mark on her case is another mark against her chances of ever getting adopted.

At a quarter until seven, she places her empty bowl carefully in the sink and tucks the box of stale cereal back into the cupboard before she shoulders her book bag and slips out the door to head toward school. Fall is setting into Maine and the sun is just starting to make the sky purple as Emma trudges down the street toward her school. Emma loves school – no matter what town she was in, no matter how many places she was sent to, at least school hardly changes between each place. The doors are unlocked when she reaches the building and she carefully slips inside and makes her way to the library where the old librarian sits at her desk, quietly flipping through a book before she has to go greet the children who came by bus. Emma offers her a small smile and a little wave. The old woman smiles back at the third grader. "Hello Emma."

"Hi," she whispers. "Anything new come in?"

"Not this week," the woman tells her as she removes her glasses and looks at the girl. "Emma, are you alright?"

"Yeah," she replies quietly with a shrug as she casts her gaze to the floor, pulling her sleeves down over her hands. "I'm going to go read."

"Alright, dear." The librarian dismisses her with a small wave but Emma feels her eyes on her until she ducks behind the tall stacks of books.

She wanders aimlessly, her fingers running over the spines of the dusty tomes before she finds one that strikes her fancy. The children in her grade aren't technically allowed into that portion of the library as it's reserved for the two older grades who were less likely to destroy the fancier books but the librarian makes an exception for the veracious reader that is Emma Swan. The book is heavy and she has to take all the weight on her right arm as she makes her way to the back of the library where a series of risers built into the wall were; Emma climbs the steps to the very top and drops her book bag on the riser below her before squeezing herself as far back in the corner as possible, propping the book against the crux of her thighs as she cracks the spine.

Emma Swan is good at making herself invisible. She flies under the radar as often as she's permitted, hiding behind books and careful words and, far too often, silence.

The eight year old reads until the bell rings and she can hear the raucous thunder of children in the hallway as they make their way to the classrooms. She finds her way to the front of the library and checks out the book with little fanfare, tucking it into her bag and making her way to her classroom after the halls have mostly emptied. She settles into her desk just before the second bell rings and tucks her arm between her seat and the desk, praying that the teacher won't notice.

Hours later, after practicing cursive and times tables and reading aloud, when the class breaks for lunch, Emma is pulled out of line by her teacher and given a hall pass to make her way down to the nurse. Emma's stomach churns as she makes her way down the hall toward the front offices where the nurse's glorified closet turned clinic sits; she doesn't want to change houses again and she desperately wants to go to lunch – her one guaranteed full meal.

Miss Kissinger, the nurse, is a kindly old woman with dark hair and wire rim glasses that she peers over as she takes in the sight of Emma Swan. At eight years old, the blond is all lanky limbs and a sallow stomach clad in ill-fitting clothes with limp greasy curls that fall in her face no matter how many times she tucks them behind her ear – among a class full of well dressed and well taken care of eight and nine year olds, Emma stands out like a sore thumb. "Emma," the woman addresses her. "I'm sure you're hungry and I'll let you get to lunch in a few minutes but first we need to have a discussion."

"I'll take a shower tonight," Emma interrupts. "Please, Miss Kissinger. We've been busy this week and I haven't had time but I promise I'll shower. Don't call my case worker."

"Emma," the nurse sighs. "Honey. This isn't about your hair or how you smell, sweetheart. Some teachers are worried about your arm, dear, and why you're holding it like that."

"I slept on it funny," she lies while looking at the floor, twisting the toe of her holey gym shoes into the floor. The lights of the office flicker and Emma feels tingles all the way down to her fingertips as she tries to avoid the concerned gaze of the school nurse.

"Let me see your arm," the nurse orders her gently.

Emma huffs and rolls her eyes before yanking up the sleeve of her shirt and biting her tongue in order to not hiss at the pain. Vibrant purple marks in the perfect shape of a grasping hand litter her arm but perhaps the most concerning fact of all is the bone that's just ever so slightly out of place, evident by the slightly offset angle of the adolescent's arm. "It's no big deal," Emma tells the nurse, lying as bred into her as breathing. "I was falling and my foster dad caught me."

"Emma," the nurse hisses her name as she carefully reaches out to inspect the offended limb. "You're lying."

"Please," Emma pleads as her lower lip starts to tremble. She doesn't cry. She won't cry. "Please, Miss Kissinger. I can't be sent back again. I'm almost nine and I'm already on house number twelve. I can't move again. Please. I'll be sent to a group home if there's no homes with rooms. No one will adopt me if I get sent back again. Please. Please. Don't call my case worker."

"Oh sweetheart," Miss Kissinger sighs heavily, the kind of sigh that's thick with sorrow and pity – the kind Emma hates. "I have to, Emma. We need to take you to the hospital, sweetheart. Your arm is broken – I'm sure of it. And that man... He can't be allowed to hurt you. You can't go home with him. I can't allow it."

That is the straw that breaks the camel's back. The third grader crumples to the ground by the nurse's desk and pulls her legs up to her chest as she sobs silently, years of abuse and mistreatment having taught her how to cry without making a sound. Miss Kissinger looks at her forlornly before turning to make the necessary calls – knowing that eight year old Emma Swan probably hates her but it's for the better.

–

David Nolan is hard at work scrubbing down the kennels while the dogs are getting their daily reprieve in the fenced in yard outside when the desk phone rings; he listens halfheartedly as he scrubs at the floor, hearing the secretary make pleasantries before his name is mentioned and he quirks an eyebrow. He's called over and he drops the mop in the bucket of dirty water as he makes his way out of the kennel and over to the phone hanging on the wall, picking up the line the secretary had indicated. "Storybrooke Animal Rescue – this is David Nolan speaking."

"Mister Nolan, it's Matilda Honey with the Department of Children and Family Services." His heartbeat skitters when he realizes that it's the case worker who had came and did a home study three months prior when he had signed on to be a foster parent. "Mister Nolan, I've got a case that's kind of a special one and I think you might be the right fit."

"Sure," he says without question. He's read all the information, he knows the horrors that foster children can be put through.

"I know it's you first placement," the woman tells him. "Normally I don't give first timers a tough one out of the gate but... Emma... I think you and Emma might be a good fit."

"Emma," he breathes the name and it sounds familiar on his tongue. He'd signed on to be a foster parent after his divorce to Kathryn had been finalized for a year – his life felt empty and he had always wanted a child, there was no guarantee that he would ever have a nuclear family and he was in the position to provide a stable life for a child in need so he had signed the papers without hesitation. "When are you bringing her?"

"Here's the thing," Miss Honey explains. "Emma's currently in the hospital – she had to have surgery to fix a broken arm. I'll explain that in further detail when you get here. But they're not going to release her until tomorrow so I thought if you could get to Augusta tonight then I could brief you on the case and you could meet Emma and if all goes well she'll go home with you tomorrow."

"Sure," he tells her. "I'm off work in twenty minutes. I can be in Augusta by seven."

"That would be perfect," she tells him. "We're in the pediatric ward of Augusta General. It's on the second floor – room two-seventy-one."

"Got it," David promises her. "I'll be there as soon as possible, Miss Honey."

"Matilda, Mister Nolan," she instructs. "Miss Honey is my mother. Emma and I will await your arrival."

David rushes through the last of his work and manages to clock out ten minutes early – the office staff chuckling at his giddiness as he races out to his truck. He stops by his house for a lightning quick shower and to pack an overnight bag, snagging the stuff teddy bear from the spare bedroom that he'd bought when he signed the papers as he darted out the door. The teddy bear rides shotgun in his truck as he makes his way to Augusta and his mind wanders as he contemplates what little Emma might be like and just how her arm had gotten broken. If the case worker was calling from the hospital for a brand new placement then whatever had landed Emma Swan in the hospital could not have possibly been a good thing.

He parks far out in the lot as to not take any crucial parking spots but can't stop himself from practically racing into the hospital – going for the stairs instead of the elevator as he races toward the second floor. The room is easy enough to find and Matilda Honey stands in the doorway talking on a cellular phone with her arms crossed as he approaches and gives her a small wave that she returns with a smile. Pausing a few feet away to give her privacy, the teddy bear dangling from his fingertips, he waits for her to finish the phone call and when she does she chuckles at the sight of him. "Mister Nolan, let's talk for a second."

"Sure," he agrees and follows her a few feet down the hall into a small alcove housing a water dispenser and cups that the nurses must dole out.

"I just got off the phone with my superiors," she tells him. "They okayed my placing Emma with you but Emma's not a typical case – we try to find long term situations for as many fosters as we can, you know? But Emma's had a string of bad luck. She's eight years old – nine on the twenty-second of October and yours will be her thirteenth placement."

"Thirteenth," David repeats with an eyebrow raised. How could such a young child go through so many homes?

"Emma was an orphan case," she explains. "She was found abandoned on the roadside when she was just a few hours old. At six months, she was placed with the Swans and they were adoption tracked until they found themselves pregnant and without the funds to care for two children. When Emma was three she was placed back in the system. In the past almost six years that I've been handling Emma's case... It's never been her fault, Mister Nolan. She's a good girl but she's seemed to be placed with all the worst people or the most crowded homes unable to take her for very long."

"How did she break her arm," he asks quietly but he fears he knows the answer.

"Emma was removed from the custody of her foster father yesterday during school hours," Matilda Honey explains. "She was found with a broken arm and bruises in the shape of hand prints by her school nurse. Upon further examination we found further evidence of physical abuse." The woman sighs and David sees the weariness radiating off her. "Mister Nolan... I am good at my job, sir. Emma's the one case that I've never been able to place perfectly so I'm asking you to prove me right. She's a good little girl and she deserves a good home. She had a breakdown when the nurse called me yesterday – terrified that being placed in another home at her age meant that she would never be adopted. Obviously I'm not asking you to adopt her but... She needs a good home, David."

"I can do that for her," he swears. And he means it. Tears have pooled under David Nolan's eyes and his heart is absolutely shattered for this girl that he hasn't even met yet but swears he loves already – this little girl who has been perpetually screwed by the system. "Can I meet her?"

"Of course."

–

Emma sits upright in the bed with her arm in a sling – there's no cast yet, the doctors said they'd put one on tomorrow and she could pick the color. She has a book propped on her knees and she hunches over, turning the pages as quickly as she can read them. Her case worker bought it for her after she came out of surgery and promised her it was a good one – Miss Honey liked reading as much as Emma did and the only good part about moving homes was that the woman often brought the child some new books to keep her mind occupied until she settled into the new place. She had promised Emma that there was a new foster parent coming right away and she swore up and down that this was a good one but Emma knew what that meant, overcrowded and a short stay because the good ones never lasted.

"Hey bookworm," the case worker teases as she opens the door the room. A man steps in behind her and he gives Emma a warm smile as she eyes him skeptically. "Emma Swan, this is David Nolan. David, this is Emma."

"Hi," she breathes as she closes the book around her finger so she doesn't lose her place.

The man with hair just a little darker than hers, bright blue eyes, and a weirdly familiar smile steps over to her bedside and takes a seat on the stool the doctor left when he checked her arm. "Hi Emma. How are you feeling?"

"Not so bad," she tells him with a shrug. "Miss Honey said the doctors gave me the good stuff – whatever that means. It makes my head all fuzzy and slows down my reading but nothing hurts."

David gives her a grin at her rambling words before holding out a teddy bear to her. "This is for you – unless you're too big for stuffed animals."

"No," she promises and pulls the bear from his hand with her good arm, clutching it to her chest. "But it's really mine?"

"Yeah, kid," he promises and she knows he's telling the truth, can feel it down to her bones. "All yours."

"Thank you," she breathes. She hasn't had a new toy that was all hers in forever – she usually had to share or she got stuck with rejects from the Goodwill bin but this was all hers and as she nuzzled the soft fur she could smell how brand new it was. "How many other kids do you got?"

"None," he tells her. "You're my first placement."

She darts her eyes to her case worker. "I ain't his training wheels."

"Emma," Matilda sighs her name in that exasperated way that she usually tries to hide. "Mister Nolan is a good man, I promise. And you're not his 'training wheels'." She approaches the opposite bedside and pushes the blond hair back from Emma's face. "Emma, this could be a really good home for you if you let it be. So... You can go with Mister Nolan and be the only kid in a really nice home or I could take you to the group home."

"I'll go with Mister Nolan," she relents.

He chuckles. "You can call me David, Emma."

"Okay," she whispers and hides a yawn into her bear. "I'm reading Swiss Family Robinson – have you read it?"

"Isn't that a little advanced for an eight year old," he asks.

"Emma's a very advanced reader," the caseworker explains.

He nods. "Yes, Emma. I've read it but I think I was in high school – not third grade when I did."

"Will you read to me," she asks – her voice barely above a whisper. "The medicine is making me sleepy and it's hard to focus on all the words."

"Plus you lost your reading glasses," Matilda rats on her.

"And that," Emma agrees.

David chuckles and plucks the book from her lap. "Of course I will read to you. After we go home tomorrow, we'll have to make a trip to the library and get you set up with a card so you can get some new material."

"I get my cast tomorrow," Emma mumbles sleepily. "Do you like green?"

"I love green," he tells her.

The blond haired child smiles. "I'm getting a green cast."

"What are you going to name your bear," he asks. Emma Swan is fascinating; she's obviously exhausted but fighting the pull of sleep hard as she snuggles with the bear and keeps talking.

"Nip," Emma tells him; she was referring to the monkey the Robinson family had adopted in the book. "I'll name him Nip."

"I like it," David told her and then he began to read.

It didn't take long for Emma to drift off to sleep with Nip tucked under her good arm as the pain medication delivered by the IV filtered through her veins. David closes the book and tucks it in beside Emma in the bed so she could find it easily if she woke then he brushes the hair back from her face before bringing the bed sheet up as much as her angle would allow. Matilda watches him with a hawk eye before once again intruding upon the moment. "Don't expect it to go this smoothly once the medicine wears off," she warns him. "Emma's a good girl but she's been through hell, Mister Nolan, and it won't always be this easy to take care of her. She's stubborn as an ox and the most contrary eight year old that I've ever met – she'll push your buttons."

"That's okay," David promises without his eyes wandering from Emma. "I'm ready for anything she can throw at me."

"You really are," the case worker sighs. "I'm going to have you sign some papers and then I'll get out of here for the evening. You're welcome to stay with Emma – I'll have one of the nurses bring you a wristband once we've got everything squared away. I'll come tomorrow morning before they release her to help ease the transition but then you'll be good to go. I'll come check on her in Storybrooke in a few weeks unless you deem it necessary to call me before then. After that... We'll work out a schedule for follow ups but unless something else pops up that'll be about it. Welcome to life as a foster parent, Mister Nolan."

He looks at Emma Swan and then her case worker with a smile. "Show me where to sign."