Catching Up

by misscam

They're home, Snow keeps reminding herself. Whatever that means now, curse broken, the Enchanted Forest ruined, daughter as old as her parents and a husband she hasn't slept with in 28 years. [Snow/Charming Charming family stuff.]

Catching Up
by misscam

Disclaimer: Not my characters, just my words.

Author's Note: Set right after 2x09 and goes a little into 2x10 with some missing scenes. Written on a request for mtsmvfn, who wanted a scene with Snow's ring getting on the right finger and for operaballerina, who wanted more Snow/Charming having sex since there aren't enough fics with that. So yes. This fic happened.

II

They're home, Snow keeps reminding herself. Whatever that means now, curse broken, the Enchanted Forest ruined, daughter as old as her parents and a husband she hasn't slept with in 28 years.

Home.

Dinner at Granny's is a quietly jubilant affair, Henry talking through most of it, Red feeding them far too much food and Snow trying to return all the smiles and feeling it more and more tiring to do so.

Oh, she is happy, it is not that. She is so happy she think she might burst with it, her whole family safe and her daughter so radiantly happy too. But it has been a long day and a long few weeks and exhaustion seems to have caught up with her and slammed into her.

There is Charming's thigh pressing against hers under the table too, his hands sometimes coming to rest on her knee, both making her acutely aware that her husband is right next to her and it's been 28 years. Her body seems to hum with that too, battling exhaustion.

It is a relief when Charming softly suggests it's time to go home. She chimes in happily at Red's suggestion of a more proper coming home party the next night, and even Emma seems touched at the idea. It's a barrage of hugs as they leave, Red's longest of all.

Charming smiles at that, pressing a hand to Red's back, always so willing to love her chosen family as his own.

And so they walk home as the dark is starting to seep into Storybrooke. It it quiet and peaceful and safe, and she lets the feeling of that seep into her. Everything has been such a struggle – Mary Margaret too, 28 years of battling insecurities and a strange sense of loss – and she longs for it to end.

Maybe this is it. Her family brought back together. True, they haven't been a family yet, but Henry and Charming seems to have bonded while she was away, judging by their easy banter and the fact that Henry has been staying with his grandfather the whole time. (That Regina would let him, she files away to consider for another day.) Emma and her father keeps exchanging slightly awkward but open glances at each other, and she thinks all they will need is time.

Maybe they can finally have it. Finally catch up like it never seems they have time to do, always another crisis to deal with.

She steps into her loft with a soft sigh, and she can see Emma's shoulder slump a little too. Home. Their home, and now Henry and Charming's too. She can see the signs of others having lived here sure enough.

"Welcome home," Henry says eagerly, and Emma hugs him. Snow just watches, feeling Charming's arms come around her from behind, him pressing a soft kiss to the side of her neck as she leans back into the embrace.

Emma looks up at them, making Snow wonder a little how this must look; Mary Margaret and David's rather disastrous affair suddenly turned into loving gestures and kisses to break curses.

"You take the bathroom first," she says instead, Emma looking grateful at the suggestion.

"Henry and I will clean up and make the beds," Charming chimes in, Henry looking pleased at the suggestion and responsibility.

As the men busy themselves and Emma takes the bathroom, Snow takes the opportunity to find clean clothes and something to sleep in. She makes a mental note to do something about Mary Margaret's wardrobe, noticing from what Charming has left here that he's certainly taken the chance to do something about David Nolan's.

"It's yours," Emma says from behind her, making her almost drop the clothes in surprise. So. Her daughter has picked up a few family skills; Charming used to be able to do that in the castle far too often.

"I'm going to take Henry to bed," Emma goes on, setting her shoulders slightly. "So, goodnight."

"Goodnight, Emma."

"Mmhm," Emma murmurs, balling a hand for a moment, then very carefully reaching out and squeezing Snow's shoulder. With that she walks away, leaving Snow to look after her and feeling her heart beat a little more sharply.

Oh.

She walks past Charming wishing Henry a good night, catching the easy smile on both their faces before reaching the bathroom and closing the door after her. Well inside she leans her hands against the sink for a moment, closing her eyes to everything.

Home. Whatever that means now, she isn't sure the idea has quite caught up with her yet. Her daughter and her husband and her grandson in a loft in an uncursed Storybrooke, is that it?

Warm water is wonderful, and she turns it on even more than normal, making her skin redden a little and feel warm to the touch. It fogs the room up a little and clings to the mirror, but she has no desire to look at her reflection anyway. She brushes her teeth too, relishing the feel of it.

When she finally finishes, most of the lights have been turned off in the loft. She can hear soft noises from above, telling her Emma and Henry are settling into Emma's room.

Charming is of course waiting for her, as she knew he would. He's changed to what must be sleepwear – a t-shirt and sweats – just as she has, watching her as she comes out of the bathroom with bright, bright eyes. He doesn't say anything as she simply walks over to him, burying her head against the crook of his neck as his arms go around her.

"You're home," he murmurs, sounding a little in awe of the idea.

"I'm home," she agrees, talking his hand as he walks over to the table and chairs, watching her sit down and then sitting down across from her. He's made tea for them both, and she frees her hand from his for a moment to take a long sip, then another.

"I missed you," he says, watching her face intently.

"I missed you," she says, putting her hands on his. He looks down at them, and she notices his brow furrow a little.

"My mother's ring," he says softly, and she looks down at her hands too. Yes. His mother's ring. Even as Mary Margaret, she still wore that. The curse took much from them, but it couldn't remove everything. "It's in the wrong place."

He keeps her hands in his, slipping down from the chair onto the floor on one knee. For all she suspects what is coming, she still draws in a sharp breath.

"Will you be my wife again?" he says simply.

"What do you think?" she says after a beat; he grins at the recalled memory, softly taking the ring off her. She watches him as he looks down on the ring for a moment, the silver and gemstone twinkling in the faint light of the apartment. Then he slides in onto the right finger on the right hand, her ring finger, looking up at her with an expression that makes her breath catch again.

"Snow," he says, the longing in his voice so palatable that she reaches for him without thinking, pulling him up to her and crashing her lips onto his. It isn't a gentle, sweet kiss; it's 28 years apart in a kiss, need and want and something akin to desperation. She moans into it, digging her fingers into his neck while his mouth covers hers and his tongue is brushing against hers. It's not enough, and he angles his head slightly to deepen the kiss even more.

He's still on his knees, leaning up while she sits and leans down, her back protesting it all the while. He seems to realise the discomfort of the position, moving his hands around her and lifting her with him as he stands up, never breaking the kiss.

He doesn't put her down and she links her legs around his waist, drawing a hand along his arm and feeling his muscles strain slightly. Always so much strength in him, physically and otherwise. She loves that in him as well as envies it a little, drawing from it when she feels her own faith faltering a little.

She bites down a little on his lower lip, he tugs at her upper lip, the kiss having turned to kisses as they move towards the bed at his pace. When he lowers her to the blankets, her body seems to sink into them.

A bed. Oh, a bed. She sighs into his mouth at the feel of it, and he pulls back a little to watch her face. She knows he must read the exhaustion on it; she can feel it in her very bones, after all. It is as if all her energy was focused on getting here, getting home, that she has nothing left when she got here.

"You need sleep," he tells her softly, putting a hand to her cheek and drawing his thumb across her lips.

"Charming..."

"You do," he says more firmly, pressing a kiss to her eyelids as she closes her eyes. She would protest him more, but she knows he is right. Already, her mind feels heavy and her body seems slow to respond.

Charming lifts the blankets and helps her slip underneath them, following a moment later himself. She moves into him a little blindly, letting him adjust them both until she's draped across his chest and her leg is resting between his.

"Sleep," he says softly, and she leans up to kiss him a little clumsily before she lowers her head to his shoulder again. Already, she feels half asleep, but she forces herself to stay half-awake a few moments longer, reveling in the sensation of him in her bed again, so familiar and yet so distant. 28 years. 28 years without it, and yet it's almost as if it was yesterday.

"I love you," she murmurs; his whispered return against her skin is the last thing she remembers before sleep claims her.

II

She wakes a few times during the night, once to find Charming still awake and merely looking at her, pressing a kiss to her forehead as she slipped back to sleep, the second to feel him shift in bed and mutter her name, calming the moment she touched his face.

When she wakes to morning light though, she is alone in bed and the sounds from the kitchen tell her she might be the only one not there. Sure enough, as she opens the curtain after putting on a robe, she sees Charming dressed and handing out toast, Henry and Emma sitting by the counter and eating happily.

"Good morning, grandma!" Henry calls, and Charming's smile seems to reach all the way to his eyes as he looks at her.

"You could have woken me," she tells him firmly. He shakes his head just as firmly.

"Needed your sleep," he says, offering her a toast almost like a peace offering. She takes it, drawing her thumb across his as she does.

"So did I," Emma says dryly. She gives Henry a firm glare. "You really should take a cue from your grandfather, kid."

Charming draws a sharp breath while Emma seems to realise what she's said and halts a little. Henry's grandfather is one step from calling him her daughter, which Emma hasn't really done yet.

"Sorry," Henry says, oblivious to the awkwardness around him. "Gramps has been teaching me a lot of stuff while you were gone, though."

"Has he?" Emma asks, finally lifting her gaze to look at her father. It makes Snow ache a little for the both of them, both of them so wanting and not quite sure how to make a start.

"He's a great kid," Charming says, and it seems to ease some of the tension, because Emma smiles at that. He smiles back briefly, then walks over to the table and chairs where his leather jacket is hanging, grabbing something and then holding it out.

The sheriff's badge.

"I filled in while you were gone," he says, looking at Emma carefully as she looks at his hands. "This is yours."

"Thank you," Emma says sincerely, and he shrugs a little as her hand close around the badge in his hands. Their gazes lock and something undefinable seem to pass between them as she takes the badge from him, a sort of recognition, and Snow thinks this, this is it.

This is the start.

"We better get going, kid," Emma directs at Henry, who looks up expectantly.

"Where are you going?" Snow interjects, walking over. She knows it's a tad silly to feel protective over Emma here, in ogre-less Storybrooke, but she still can't help it.

"Henry and Emma are going to get some supplies for the party tonight at Granny's," Charming tells her. "I think they're planning on making tacos."

"The best tacos in Storybrooke," Emma corrects, smiling softly. "I have to go by the station and do some other errands too. We'll be back before dinner to make tacos for the party."

"You're bringing Henry?" Snow asks, and the boy beams up at her.

"He wanted to," Emma says, trying to sound nonchalant, but failing quite badly.

"Of course he did," Snow says, smiling at the obvious joy in her daughter's eyes. It makes her happy too. "You two have fun."

Henry hugs her as Emma finds his coat and a warm sweater for herself, giving Charming an awkward smile and nod before daughter and son exit, the sound of their laughter slowly fading away.

Charming's hands come to rest at her shoulders as they both watch the door for a moment, not needing words. She knows that he is filled with the same bittersweet feelings she is, feeling the joy of what they've regained now and the sadness for what will always be lost.

Finally she turns to look at him, putting a hand on his chest.

"Sheriff and grandfather," she observes. "You have been busy while we were gone."

"Missed you every second of it," he says, leaning his head down a little.

"Mmhm," she acknowledges, tilting her head up a little and rubbing her nose against his. "We should probably talk about everything that has happened while we were apart. Catch up."

"We should," he acknowledges, his face holding an expression that tells her he's got another sort of catching up firmly in mind. As she does. "But we're not going to right now, are we?"

"What do you think?" she says teasingly, barely getting the words out before he is kissing her, nibbling at her lips as she puts her hands around his neck. She can feel his body press against hers, his hands going to her waist to press her even closer.

"Snow," he murmurs affectionately against her lips.

"Mary Margaret," she corrects, and he lifts his gaze from her lips to her eyes. "We should probably use our Storybrooke names as much as possible. It would be easier. Emma already finds all of this weird enough. She doesn't need us addressing each other as Snow White and Prince Charming."

"That's probably true," he says,a soft chuckle in his throat as she presses a kiss to it. "They're a part of us as well, Mary Margaret and David. Just not all we are anymore."

"Yes," she agrees, watching him swallow as she steps backwards towards the bed, holding out a hand to him, something Mary Margaret alone probably wouldn't have dared.

Just as David Nolan alone never held his shoulders so straight and walked so resolutely as Charming – David, she reminds herself to think of him as David given what she just told him – now does, taking her hand and following her as she guides him to the bed. The curtain is still open and the room is full of light, and somehow that is right too.

This isn't some affair they need to hide. This is their marriage. Again.

As she pauses at the edge of the bed, David's fingers are already on her shoulders, slipping the robe down. His gaze caresses her skin as his hands lock around her wrists, lifting her arms above her head. She forces herself to stand very still as his hands move down again, fingers brushing her sides before settling on the hem of her slip.

Of course he's seen her naked before – in candlelight, in moonlight, by the feel of his hands in the dark – but she still feels conscious for a moment as he begins to peel the cloth off her, watching her intently all the while. She exhales as he pulls the slip fully off, dropping it to the side, and his gaze when he meets hers again is so loving it takes her breath away.

He kneels down as his hands settle on her hip, his mouth on her stomach while he pulls her underwear down. Her head tilt a little backwards as he continues kissing her skin, a hand supporting her back as she fumbles and steps out of her briefs, leaving her wearing nothing but his hands and his mouth.

"Char..." she starts, biting it back forcefully, watching him smile as he rises to his feet again. "David."

"I love you," he says simply, a hand moving to her breast and kneading softly, the other moving to her back and simply holding as he lowers his head and kisses her again. Softly at first, so it is she who slants her mouth and draws her tongue across his lips, making him moan.

She digs her fingers into the cloth of his shirt as she deepens the kiss, pressing herself against him as much as she can manage with him fully dressed. She bites down on his lower lip a little to remind him that's not fair, and he pulls away with a small smirk.

She takes the opportunity to sit down on the bed, scooting back against the pillows as he regards her.

"Your turn," she says a little hoarsely. He seems to take the hint, working the buttons of his shirt, then pulling it off, moving to unzip his jeans and step out of them; she watches all the while. He is as she remembers, smooth chest and hard muscles from riding and fighting that she can remember drawing her fingers across so many times.

The memories make her breath catch a little as he steps out of his underwear and she reaches for him; he practically falls into the bed as they almost crash into each other, the force of it pressing their lips together harshly. She parts her lips after a breath and then he is drawing his tongue across her teeth while she digs her fingers into his forearms.

His body settles across her, a leg pressing down between her legs and parting them to take some of the weight of him off her. At least that's what she thinks until she can feel his hand move down across her stomach and between her thighs.

Oh. Oh. Oh yes, and she moans into his kiss as his fingers move expertly, his thumb drawing circles and applying light pressure that makes her buck a little. Even more so when he lowers his head and closes his mouth over her left breast, adding to the rush of sensations.

She tilts her head back, her back arching into him seemingly of its own volition. The combination of his fingers and his mouth – now slipping over to her other breast – is making her breathing increasingly shallow, and she digs her fingers into the sheets to avoid digging them painfully into his flesh.

She loses the sense of time a little. When he finally lifts his head to look at her again, a finger still inside her, she knows her cheeks are more than a little flushed. He grins at it, so she lifts her head and kisses him, his lips still curved under hers. She presses herself up against his body, putting him off balance enough for a moment to flip him over and underneath her.

He doesn't fight her as she puts his hands above his head – from experience and knowing she isn't above tying him up if that is what it takes - merely watches her as she settles herself between his legs. He does draw a sharp breath as she draws her fingers down the length of his growing erection, then clenches his jaw as she begins stroking him. He watches her through lowered eyelid as she slowly increases her pace; only when she lowers her head to take him in her mouth does his eyes close and he makes an intelligible noise. His body is tense, so tense as she continues, every now and then pausing slightly to watch the expression on his face.

"Snow," he moans, and she doesn't have the heart to correct him for the name. Instead she pushes herself up, straddling him as he lifted himself up enough from the pillows to kiss her. It's a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss as he settled his hands on her hips, lifting her a little as he positions himself and then thrusts into her.

She isn't sure if it's him or her moaning, just that the sound reverberates on both their tongues as he holds still and she adjusts to the feel of him again, yet again feeling that strange mix of being so familiar and so distant. For Snow and Charming it's been a few months since the pregnancy made them take a pause, but then there is 28 years of Mary Margaret too.

It is she who finally moves again, pushing herself upwards a little and then down again, he thrusts in response. They don't break the kiss, linking hands too as they find a rhythm between their bodies. This too, she thinks is a bit like riding a bike, losing herself in the familiarity of it all.

As always, she is more impatient than him, egging him on while he tries to make it last, and as always they end up somewhere between, making love with a touch of fucking. One of his hands slip between them at the end to push her over the edge right along with him too, and she isn't actually sure which of his names she calls out.

He collapses backwards against the pillows; she falls with him while panting. She can feel her heartbeat in her skin as she settles her head on his chest, feeling his as well. His breath is rapid and as she presses a kiss to his chest, she can taste the faint salt of the sweat clinging to his skin.

He draws the blankets fully over them both as they lie in silence for a while, she half draped across his front and he with an arm on her back. She may even drift off now and then, she isn't sure, the edges between awake and sleep seeming a bit hazy. It doesn't matter. It's a lull and she lets herself rest in it.

Finally she pulls away, picking her slip and briefs of the floor and putting them on while David looks at her fondly.

"What are you doing?"

"I only had a piece of toast before you started feasting on me," she tells him mock-sternly. "I'm having some breakfast and a morning shower."

He smiles at her as she walks away, putting his hands over his head as he leans back against the pillows. He looks so wonderfully right in Mary Margaret's bed it makes her heart ache a little that there's been 28 years without him there, but at least she can now make sure there's more than 28 years to come with him there.

After a few pieces of bread and a glass of milk, she takes her time in the bathroom, enjoying running water again. When she finally exits, David is lying on his side in her bed, clearly thinking. As she slips in under the covers next to him, his clear blue eyes fix on her and seem to brighten.

He smiles, and she smiles, and then she edges closer and they're kissing again, kissing lightly and teasingly and still leaving her a little breathless when he pulls back.

"What are you thinking?" he asks.

"That it's good to be back," she says a little breathlessly. Already she can feel her body respond to being close to him again. 28 years really was too long to wait for this again, she refuses to wait 28 years for the next one.

"Yeah?" he asks, moving towards her and pulling at the covers, mind clearly on the same as her.

"Uh huh," she acknowledges, helping him adjust position.

"And what are you really thinking?" he asks, running his hands up and down her arm without breaking his gaze.

"Twenty-eight years is too long to wait between..." she begins, the rest swallowed by his kiss as he leans down; she puts her arm around his neck just as the door slams open and Henry and Emma's voices drift into the room.

Oh, she has time to think. Fuck.

(And fuck interrupted, too.)

II

The party at Granny's is in the end not quite everything they could have hoped for (Regina's unexpected attendance for one thing), but it is rather good and filled with food and drinks and laughter (and reused signs, she notices).

David is happy, and Henry is happy, and Emma is too, even if she comes back in after Regina has left with a slightly guarded expression, Snow sees. David notices it too, excusing himself to walk over.

She listens to Red with half an ear as she watches her husband and her daughter; David says something, Emma shakes her head, David says something else and Emma seems to straighten, then finally nods. Even smiles, and Snow catches her husband's gaze across the room. She holds it as he walks across the room to her, putting his hands around her waist as she leans into him.

They stay in that half-embrace for a while, just watching everyone around them. Every now and then, Snow can feel Emma shooting a glance at them, something almost like a smile on her lips. She seems to be getting used to the idea of David and Mary Margaret take two, a marriage.

They can do this, Snow thinks. They lost 28 years but they can do this. They can catch up, David and Mary Margaret can have a marriage, and Emma can have parents and be a daughter and a mother both. They can do this. Here, in Storybrooke.

They can make a home here.

"What are you thinking?" David says in a low voice, lowering his head slightly with his eyes on her face, clearly having picked up something from her expression.

"That I'm home," she says simply, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before tucking her head under his chin.

Home. Whatever that means is entirely up to her to decide, after all.

II

(In the morning, another crisis catches up to them again - as usual.)

FIN