AN: Be forewarned. It's fluff. It's all just fluff. There better be some David/Emma bonding in the new year, dammit.
It doesn't take Emma long to realize that this David, and the David Nolan of the past year, are two completely different men.
She is careful about watching him. It starts with the few days after their return, when he gives her back the Sheriff's badge and mentions that he is going back to the Animal Shelter for his old job back. She can feel Mary's eyes on her the entire time, can feel how her heart skips in her chest at the idea of him being somewhere strange, alone, for an entire day and before she stops to really think about it, offers him the position of Sheriff's deputy in Storybrooke. He's flustered, and obviously pleased, but he plays it off as uncertain and as not wanting to seem pushy.
"But I do really need someone," She insists, flipping her badge in her hand as she pours herself a tumbler full of coffee. "I mean, Ruby helped for awhile but it wasn't really her thing. Pay's decent, there are benefits. But, it's up to you."
He takes it without further prodding. He does not want to intrude on her life too much. He hopes his looks are never too long, that his gaze never lingers enough to make her uncomfortable or to even notice. He knows she and Snow have bonded much more than he has ever had the chance to do, between the almost year she was here with Mary Margaret, and the few weeks they spent back home. He quells the jealousy that sparks within him with rationality and pragmatism, but he will not deny that the offer of the position of deputy has made him feel like he is floating. He hopes, somehow, that maybe this is her way of wanting him around, of wanting him in her life.
But he will not, for the life of him, press it. He sees Snow's desire written plainly on her face, and despite whatever the two of them had shared in their home realm, Emma is still obviously a bit uncomfortable with the whole my-roommate-is-now-my-mother scenario. He doesn't want to make her feel like that; he wants to get to know her for her, as the woman she is, so as she offers him the position, he waffles just enough before accepting, fighting to remain aloof and calm while all the while screaming inwardly.
He offers to drive, which she nixes for the first week or so, wanting to retain some semblance of control and authority in their arrangement. She can feel the townspeople watching them sometimes for longer than they normally would, innately curious in the presence of the bizarre kinship. She shakes it off, and faces it head on most of the time with a blank stare and raised eyebrows. It usually stalls the questions.
She finds herself staring at him, though, for a bit longer than she would normally do in another sort of situation. She tries to be stealth about it, and she doesn't think he can tell; when he does think he catches her, his own mind denies it because he does not want to allow his heart to hope she may be just as curious as he is.
She notices the way he stands when he talks to people they question, for things ranging from parking citations to break ins, and it amazes her at the presence he just possesses, as opposed to how old-David was hapless and just off; this new-David...with his hands on his hips, his chest strong and head high, is a force to be reckoned with. He is a man who you can see yourself following.
She wishes she knew this type of man growing up.
She shakes those thoughts away as quickly as they come. That will do them no good; no good at all.
It takes a few weeks of casual conversation and finally giving him half of the driving privileges before she begins to notice things. The first time is in the middle of the week, for their lunch, and it strikes her, as he has left for Granny's to retrieve it, that she hasn't given him the order.
"Dammit." She growls, grabbing for her phone to send him a hurried text. As she presses send, he walks through the door, two white, greasy bags in one hand, a drink carrier in the other. He tosses it on her desk as she eyes it warily, half disappointed that she was too late to remember to tell him what she wanted.
When she opens the bag, she finds it didn't seem to matter.
Grilled cheese (extra cheese), tomato, bacon, a side of tomato soup, and of course, a Styrofoam cup full of hot chocolate, the scent of cinnamon complementing it perfectly. She gapes at it, but he doesn't see her expression as he digs into his own meal.
"I didn't tell you what I wanted."
He looks up, dumbfounded with a hunk of sandwich stuffed to one side of his mouth. He gapes for a moment before speaking, then allows himself to swallow before stuttering out a response. "I, uh...I just. I mean, you usually get that, at least once a week, and you haven't yet so I assumed...I mean, if it's wrong..."
But it's not wrong. It's exactly what she had been wanting, and it makes her just a bit uncomfortable that he seemed to have picked up on it.
Not uncomfortable enough that she's not going to eat it though. She smiles as she takes a big, gooey bite, assuring him that, no, no, it really is what she wanted.
It may make her uncomfortable that he's able to read her that easily.
But...it makes her just a bit pleased, too.
There was nothing like the northeastern winter to make her wish that the Enchanted Forest could've coincided parallel to say, um, Key West.
They receive a call shortly after they reach the office about an accident out near the toll bridge, and head out together to deal with the parties involved separately. He hands her a travel mug of coffee-milk and two sugars already mixed in-before they head to the patrol car. She sips the warm liquid in quiet contentment; just as she likes it. She sighs to herself; she's going to have to start reciprocating this soon.
By the time they get to the site of the accident, there is a middle aged looking woman-a Mrs. Hubbard-standing outside her station wagon that has three little faces pressed up against the back window; the other is a younger looking kid who seems to have rear ended her. She looks to be barely containing her fury, and he just looks scared shitless. Without even having to say a word, she smiles at her father and tells him that he should take the lady with the kids; he's good with children and he has a gift at calming people down; she, on the other hand, has been the terrified kid (although she doesn't say this to him), so she'll take the kid. He seems almost embarrassed at her compliment, but she very much means it.
Plus, Mrs. Hubbard looks like she is pissed.
She rubs her hands together quickly to generate warmth, inwardly cursing herself that she yet again left her woolen gloves on the arm of Mary Margaret's living room couch. She is cupping them together and blowing on them as David walks by her, flipping his keys in one hand while he tosses her something with the other, not even blinking an eye as he moves to speak with the woman involved. Emma catches it out of instinct and her eyes widen as her hands wrap around the smooth surface, a pair of seemingly new leather gloves in her hands. She looks up quickly, almost in question. He's not even watching her.
They're women's gloves.
He brought her gloves.
...how the hell did he know?
"You're always leaving them." He explains when she mentions it later, a small smile on his face as they pull away from the scene. She's half irritated-she doesn't need someone making sure she bundles up. "It's 25 degrees out though, Emma. You need to have gloves. I bought them weeks ago. They've been in the glove compartment waiting."
She doesn't really know what to do; she doesn't want to be rude or ungrateful. She certainly doesn't want to hurt his feelings. So she thanks him softly, and he smiles back at her without another word. And that's all there is to it.
It gets a little awkward soon enough though. She's a red-blooded American woman, and Killian Jones has been less problematic than usual, although no less antagonistic. At the moment, he is leaning across the desk, fingers splayed on the polished wood as he leers down at her. Her expression is exasperated, but she cannot deny that her heart beat begins to pick up just a bit as she gets a whiff of some cologne he seems to have discovered on this side of reality. Definitely better than eau de haven't-bathed-in-a-month. She can't deny she's looking back up at him with a hint of a grin as well.
She hears a cough, a clearing of a throat loud enough to draw their attention and the sound of a binder hitting a desk, being dropped from a decent height. She closes her eyes tightly, oddly embarrassed over...well, nothing really, but the cat got the cream grin Hook is wearing will definitely not be helping.
"Ah, Mr. Nolan," The pirate purrs, drawing to his full height. "The sheriff was just advising me on how I could be more...involved, in the fair town of Storybrooke." He sticks out his good hand, which David looks at as if it is a disgusting thing, before taking it very tightly and releasing gruffly. Killian slides a curious glance toward Emma, then back to the Prince. "I appreciate how we all seem to have gotten past that whole...witch, hindrance. Messy buisness, really."
"Understatement, but yes." David deadpans. "I'm happy to see you'll becoming a productive member of our town." He smiles tightly. "I didn't mean to interrupt. Please, continue. I have some paperwork to do."
"No, no. I was just leaving." He turns back to the Sheriff, who has been watching the entire scene with quiet amusement, leaned back in the chair with her hands in lap. "Good day Sheriff."
"And you, Captain."
David didn't waste any time before spiriting back to his desk, already bent over it scribbling haphazardly. She sits, her hands on her lap in front of her.
"He just needs some help. He's still new to the town." She points out to him, and she stifles a laugh as she watches his frown deepen. He meets her eyes fleetingly over the computer screen, looking away quickly as he realizes it. "David, it's nothing. And I'm an adult, I can handle him."
"I didn't say anything. I know you can take care of yourself." He insists, but his voice is tight and a little too restrained. He shakes his head, muttering that it's fine, it's nothing, he doesn't care. But as the silence carries on, she can hear him muttering unintelligibly to himself...and she's pretty sure she hears the word "pirate" float through the air with an exasperated sigh.
She bites her lip to keep a laugh from escaping. His begrudging abandon of the situation fills her with amusement when she would've expected it to irritate her excessively.
Instead, surprising to even herself, it doesn't seem to bother her in the least.
Things change drastically after she and Henry return from New York to find Baelfire, son of Rumplestiltskin. Emma is short with everyone, brusque with the answers to questions about the sights they may have seen, the man they have brought back to the town. She avoids the pawn shop as if it may be a refuge for plague, and Henry seems just out of sorts, uncharacteristically limited in his tales of the city and of the strange newcomer who has rocked the foundation of the town's perception.
Mr. Gold, has a son.
David has learned to take such shocks in stride, and so, as he arrives one morning back from retrieving breakfast from Granny's, he's not quite too shaken to see the man's car out front. After all, he is still new to town, and it's reasonable-he rationalizes, considering Hooks interest in Emma's position-that a newcomer may consult the Sheriff regarding their role in the town.
"...not welcome..."
The sharp tone of a ladies voice causes him to draw up tightly. He freezes in the interim of the hallway, unsure if he wants to interrupt, unsure that he doesn't. He can't quite hear that well, can't make out exactly what they're saying, but he can hear a deeper voice of a man's, but it is not aggressive; rather, if at all possible, it seems quite pained.
"I don't fucking care!"
He hisses under his breath. Well, that is most definitely his daughter's sharp tone, the loud thump accompanying it probably her palm hitting the desk. He can't make out much more; just "out of here", and "your decision", and "my father". There is a silence, then a retreating shuffle before he hears more muffled voices and the swinging of a glass door. He stands back, ready for whatever is to come through the door.
Neal Cassady, as the name has been circulated around town, busts through the double doors, an indignant expression, and quite noticeably, a blazing pink mark upon his face. David struggles to quell the unexplained rise in his chest, and steers himself to merely nod at the man, trying to keep his expression steady. Neal nods back, avoiding eye contact, and before he can say anything, he is gone.
When he enters the office, it is uneasily quiet, and Emma is sat behind her desk, stock still and straight up, filling out notepads with nothing that seems worth anything. He clears his throat, much like he had done when the pirate was around, and drops the breakfast sandwich on her desk. She takes the paper sack with a thank you grunt, and digs in, swiping the glass of orange juice he has offered as well.
"It's nothing." He hears her insist, unprompted, as he sits. "Just the new guy in town, causing trouble. Like Hook."
Like Hook. Like the guy she knew David wouldn't like. She doesn't like the new guy.
Now it's up to him to figure out why.
...
If only it took that long.
He realizes that Mr. Cassady and his daughter have to have a history. When his name is mentioned, when even Mr. Gold is referenced, it seems she flinches; her face grows red-either from embarrassment or something else-when she is asked about him, and she evades the questions at every turn, changing the subject. David says nothing, but he takes note. And a few days after he's heard the confrontation from the office, Neal breezes in shortly after lunch, his expression determined and hard set. Emma is set up behind David, in her office with a door which remains wide open for easy communication, but at the sight of this man hastily approaching, David cannot fight the churn in his gut. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her stiffen. He may not know quite what it is, or the details of the situation but something is not right.
He's not sure if it will be okay with her, or if it's even really his place, if they're there yet. But he'll be damned if he lets it go on any longer.
He stands slowly, pressing down on the desk as he straightens up, gaining at least four inches on the darker haired man in front of him. He clears his throat, stepping in front of his path as Neal tries to circumvent the deputy and go straight into the Sheriff's office. He scowls, but he does not flinch.
"Can I help you, Mr. Cassady?"
Neal squints, as if unsure to answer, but does not move to a more submissive stance. Instead, he allows his arms to settle on his hips and almost appears to jut his chest forward. "I'm here to talk to Emma."
"She's busy."
There's is barely even a beat between the two statements, and he can see the verbal whiplash play across the newcomer's face. Even in the corner of his eye, he sees Emma's expression change, her eyebrows raising as she seems to key more into the conversation.
"It's about Henry. I want to see him."
Neal's expression never wavers, and David stills his own to match. His heart, though, is falling. Henry.
Henry.
It is not difficult to understand, and as little-well, really, no-proof he has, he can see in this man's eyes...hell, he can see in the way Emma has responded to this man's presence in this town. There would be only one reason he would demand such a thing. There would be only one reason for the determined look upon his face. David wonders if this is the expression that rests on his own face when discussing his wife, daughter or grandson.
It does not matter. It is Emma's business, to be sure. But Emma is busy. And work is not the place to settle this. This place to settle this is on Emma's time, and Emma will decide when she is ready. And David is determined to make sure Rumpelstiltskin's son gets that message loud and clear.
"She's busy right now. She's working. She's the Sheriff. You're gonna need to work this out outside of office hours."
Neal seems to be quite irritated, but he shifts with a rough sigh. "Look, Mr. Nolan..."
"No, you look. She. Is. Busy. Is there something you don't understand about this? You are not seeing her today." He states pointedly, squaring off with broad shoulders.
Neal settles back, the body language of the Prince making it clear that he won't be getting passed him. He scowls.
"Fine." He spits at him. "But. I really need to speak with her. Please. Can you...give her the message to call me? And see that she does?"
David cannot help but think of his grandson, of his uncharacteristically reserved nature since he and Emma have returned, of his almost mopey turn...even of Emma's moodiness. So he nods. "I will do what I can."
Neal looks almost relieved. He thanks him, after shooting a poignant look at the glass paneled Sheriff's office where Emma remains, her nose in her notes and acting aloof. He is gone after a nod and a handshake, and not wanting to push it, David steels himself to his chair, acting as if the confrontation hasn't even occurred.
"Thank you," He hears softly, the soft voice barely above a whisper. When he cranes his neck up to acknowledge the words for a moment, he sees her eyes are still planted on the sheet in front of her. "He...we just...I can't really tell you..." She shakes her head, her throat working as she swallows hard. "Just, thank you."
He smiles softly, almost a smirk as he settles back in his own seat and begins to fumble with the keys of his computer in an attempt to seem busy. He doesn't meet her eyes. "It's nothing, Emma, I'm the deputy. It's what I'm here for."
It's what I'm here for. She hears it in his voice, though, of being pleased with one's self for being useful, of pride and contentment. She wonders if it's because they've grown closer; or maybe it's just because David's finally getting to fill a spot in her life he never quite knew if he'd be able to. She thinks to herself, you know having a deputy...it's not too bad.
In fact, she thinks with a smile, it's everything she's always hoped it would be.