Killian looked up from his book; Elizabeth was standing in the doorway, her ink-black curls mussed from sleep, clutching her stuffed frog tight. “Sweetheart, you’re supposed to be in bed,” he told her, closing his book and opening his arms to her.
The five-year old hurried over to him, climbing into his lap. Killian grunted as her knee hit tender places; she was all angles and knees, his little girl, and wild with them she was. “Had a bad dream,” she mumbled into his chest, her arms around his neck tight.
(She had bad dreams often, ever since Leroy had let them out of his sight during the last villain fight, and Elizabeth and David had seen Emma and Killian almost killed) (He didn’t think he’d ever forgive the dwarf for the incident, but it did help that the dwarf would likely never forgive himself for it either)
He shifted Mr. Frog away to breathe better. “Dreams are just that, my own sweet lass. They’re the movies in your mind.”