II
Interlude
Belle
II
At the end of the world, what she remembers is the smell of flesh. She closes her eyes and the ringing in her ears drowns out the sound of the world ending, but she can't turn off her nose.
Human flesh burning. A terribly sweet smell that makes her gag, that fills her mind and makes her want to scream. People are dying and she can smell it. People are dying and she wishes she was dead.
Maybe she is dead. Maybe this is hell, her hell.
She doesn't know how much time has passed when the door opens and a man offers her a hand. His name is Jefferson. She doesn't know hers.
She takes his hand numbly and lets him lead her out, listening to his ramblings about how she has to find Gold, how Gold can fix this if he cares, how she is what Gold cares about.
Outside, the sky is burning and it's raining ashes.
This isn't hell, she realizes. This is something far more terrifying, because no one could have done anything terrible enough to deserve this.
II
Chapter Two: Conversations after the end of the world
David
II
In some ways, having no memories of the time before helps to deal with the end of the world, David has come to conclude. Whatever he had in the world before this one, he can't remember it, so he doesn't feel the loss so keenly. It's more vague – a sense that something is wrong, a general sense of grief, the shadow of despair that hangs over them all.
He's also more aware of what he does have now. There's Graham, who came to help him get Emma out and became something like a friend over the last few days. There's Emma, who has become precious to him from the moment he saw her look up at him. There's the little group they've gathered, a growing community in the ashes of civilization.
And there's Mary Margaret Blanchard. He doesn't quite dare think about who she might be to him yet. He just knows that it will be something.
He watches her now, as she's greeted by the others in the town hall (as Belle was before her, now being offered some soup by Gold). Ruby hugs her, Granny gives her a comforting pat on the arm, Leroy simply gives her a look and returns to the bottle, Smee and Sean barely even look at her and Sidney keeps his eyes on her far too long for David's liking. The others at the camp will have to wait since they're out looking for more survivors and supplies.
"Do you want me to get her a cot close to you and Emma?" Graham asks and David realizes he's been staring and hurriedly looks at Graham instead. "In case Emma wakes up hungry during the night?"
He hadn't thought of that, David has to admit, but it makes perfect sense. The thought of Mary Margaret sleeping close sparks quite a few other thoughts too, but he puts them firmly away.
"I'll ask her," he says instead. Gently, he approaches Mary Margaret and Ruby, who are talking together with hushed voices. They seem friendly, so perhaps they were friends before.
"David. Emma," Ruby says, smiling ever so faintly at what must be a familiar sight of him carrying Emma. He knows he could put her in the crib he's put together, but somehow he prefers carrying her most of the time. It's as if he fears she will disappear if he puts her down.
(A silly thought, perhaps, but he is a man who woke up to the world burning.)
"Ruby," he says softly. He can see from the dark circles under her eyes that she hasn't slept much. She cried over Gus' corpse for a long time, he knows, and they also said she ripped the man who attacked them limb from limb. Looking at her, it's hard to imagine such viciousness, but this is a new world. "Mary Margaret."
Mary Margaret meets his gaze and then looks down, a gesture he's noticed her making a few times now.
"I was wondering if you would like to sleep near me and Emma," he says hurriedly. "If you're still willing to feed her, it might be easier that way if she wakes up during the night."
"Of course," she breathes, nodding for emphasis.
He nods over at Graham, who nods back and disappears to find whatever they have for Mary Margaret to sleep on.
"I can show you where it is," he says to Mary Margaret.
"I'm going to see if Granny needs a help," Ruby says, glancing at Mary Margaret. "I'm glad you're here, Mary Margaret."
"Me too," Mary Margaret says gently. As Ruby walks off, she glances around the camp they've made here at the town hall. It isn't much, he knows. But the building still has a roof and is still standing, which is more than can be said for a lot of other buildings. And it's large enough to house their little group even if it's not ideal and it is rather cramped in some quarters.
The smell of ashes and death no building can keep out, but he's almost stopped noticing it by now.
"This is..." Mary Margaret says, clearly trying to find a polite way of saying 'not bad under the circumstances'.
"Yeah," he agrees. He shifts Emma into the crook of his arm, offering the other to Mary Margaret. "Let me give you the tour."
She hooks her arm in his and he walks her across what once was a driveway and now holds a campfire they cook and boil water at and keep the cars they have in working order or are trying to restore too. Gas will become an issue, he knows, but he leaves that worry for when they get to it.
"Is the mayor one of your group?" Mary Margaret asks.
"No," he says. "Her manor is one of the houses that have burned to the ground. Graham tried to look for her, but he says he found no trace of her. If she survived, she hasn't made her way here."
"Oh," Mary Margaret says. She looks thoughtful. "I was a little terrified of her, but I'm sorry if she's gone."
She must have a big heart to grieve even those who frightened her, he thinks. But then, he already suspected that from how easily she took to Emma and how she dealt with the kid who was trying to hurt her.
"Did you have any you lost?" he asks. He has seen the ring with a green stone on her finger, but he has also noticed it's not on her ring finger.
"I didn't have any family left," she says. "But I worry about my pupils. I don't know if any of them..."
She trails off and he can't quite hide a shudder. He's seen dead children on his trips with Graham. So many dead, often shielded by their parents to no avail. There was only the one girl they found alive. Young Grace. She still wakes screaming in the night, but then, so do many adults.
At least Emma is alive, and he looks down at her for a moment, drawing comfort from the sight of her.
"You were a teacher?" he asks after a moment.
"Yes," Mary Margaret replies. She bites her lip. "I'm not sure how useful that makes me."
"As far as I'm concerned, just being Mary Margaret makes you very useful," he says sincerely. He pushes open the door to the town hall, and they walk into the dark building. With the electricity knocked out, it's as dark inside as outside. It's not much warmer either, and he knows that come winter they may have another problem on their hands. If they survive that long.
It's hard to think about the future when the past went up in flames and the present is all ashes.
Mary Margaret looks at everything they've stacked up inside as he leads her through. There are tools and clothes and even food. It feels almost ghoulish to take items from the buildings where they find no survivors, but then, the dead have no use of it.
"There are a few things from my apartment we could bring here," Mary Margaret suggests suddenly and he glances down at her. She's survived for days on her own and managed to defend herself, he remembers. She's tough.
The 'we' is not lost on him either.
"We should do that," he agrees. "This is where I sleep."
She looks at the small area he's tried to make into a bedroom for himself and Emma, shielded from the rest of the room with a half-burned tarp and some broken furniture. It's not much, he knows, but he still feels strangely shy as she regards the small crib he's constructed for Emma.
He eases Emma into it, and she makes that noise she makes every time he lets her go. It strangely heartbreaking and heart-warming at once.
"It's not much," he says in the silence. "If you'd rather sleep with Ruby and Granny, I'll understand."
"No," she says quickly. "I want to sleep here. If that's okay."
"That's more than okay," he says sincerely and she smiles hesitantly.
She's taken his hand, he realizes. He glances down at how her small hand fits in his and how their fingers intertwine as if by instinct.
"I found this," Graham says from behind them. For once, David almost wishes his friend wasn't quite as good at finding stuff fast as he seems to be. He squeezes Mary Margaret's hand softly before letting go and turning around.
It's not exactly luxury, but the mattress looks whole and relatively clean. He helps Graham move it to the floor, shifting the cot a little to make room. It will be snug sleeping, but Mary Margaret doesn't seem to mind.
"I'll take the mattress and you can sleep on my cot," he suggests and Mary Margaret looks ready to protest so he holds up a hand. "I insist."
"Don't argue with him," Graham says. "He's stubborn."
"So am I," Mary Margaret says boldly, and he thinks he rather likes boldness and stubbornness – at least with her.
"Ava and Nicholas showed up so I gave them our last cot," Graham says after a moment and Mary Margaret looks delighted at that. "Sean's looking after them for now."
"I told them to come here. I hope you don't mind," Mary Margaret says.
"Not at all," David says reassuringly. He thinks he will have a talk with Nicholas about hurting others, though. "Do you want anything to eat, or...?"
"I actually wouldn't mind resting," she says and he curses himself for not thinking that she might be exhausted earlier. He certainly is, his body frequently reminding him he is just out of a coma – he just chooses to ignore it.
"Of course. I'll let you get settled in peace and be back later," he offers. "Emma should sleep but if she wakes up..."
"I'll handle it," Mary Margaret says sweetly.
"Right," he says awkwardly. He offers her a faint smile before walking out with Graham.
"One of the patrols is back," Graham says as they head out into the not-particularly-fresh-air. "Another building cleared. One survivor, though he's in pretty bad shape. Ruby's looking after him. The other isn't back yet. And Gold's looking for you."
"Great," David murmurs. He really can't make heads or tails of Gold. The guy treats everyone with the same lack of respect, yet he seems to have a strange trust in David despite the whole coma and amnesia thing. It almost makes David suspect that Gold actually knows who he is very well. "I'll go talk to him."
"Do that. Then get some rest," Graham says gently, patting his shoulder.
David finds Gold by the fire, the older man staring into the flames as if they hold answers. The flickering light makes his skin seem almost golden and the image seems strangely familiar for a moment. He looks old too, as if he's lived centuries rather than decades.
"I thought she was dead," Gold says without preamble. He must mean the woman they found in the shop, David thinks. Belle. That was her name.
"Who was she?"
Gold closes his eyes for a moment. "It's more what she might have been, dearie. But I didn't let her. I didn't think she could truly love me."
David bites back quite a few questions. For one thing, he's not sure he would actually get an illuminating answer rather than one just creating more questions, and for the other, he really has no right to ask. Not yet, anyway. Perhaps one.
"Maybe you have a second chance now?" he suggests instead.
"Second chances after the end of the world? You are quite the optimist, aren't you?"
David refuses to take the bait. "What do you want, Gold?"
Gold straightens up and the teasing attitude vanishes as if going up in smoke. "Belle's like you. She has no memories of this world. I don't want her to feel alone. Could you just... Just talk to her sometimes?"
It's a strangely selfless and sincere request, David thinks. Perhaps there is more to Gold than he assumed, and he gives Gold a long, thoughtful look.
"I'll talk to her," David offers. "If she wants me to."
Gold nods, looking up at David solemnly. "I'll owe you one. How's your charming little baby holding up?"
"Fine," David says, watching the way Gold's eyes glint. "Why do you care so much about her?"
"I'm a fan of fatherhood, dearie," Gold says softly. "She has a very charming name too. Emma. The moment I heard it, I knew she was destined for great things."
David remembers Gold's odd expression at hearing the name. Come to think of it, it was after that that Gold really started coming to him.
"Right," David says neutrally, but Gold merely smiles as if amused. "I'll see you tomorrow, Gold."
"Give that fair schoolteacher of yours my best wishes," Gold comments, giving David a knowing look.
"She's not... Mine," David says awkwardly.
"Give it time," Gold simply says and turns his attention back to the flames. David leaves him there, feeling the events of the day begin to seriously cash in on the checks his body has been writing.
But no rest for anyone in a wicked world, it seems, and David finds Belle sitting on the hood of one the wrecked cars, looking lost.
"Hey," he says.
She looks up at him. "Hey. You're David, right?"
"Yeah," he says. "At least I think so. I was in a coma. I don't really remember."
She looks surprised at that, then thoughtful. "I was in the asylum. I don't remember anything, not even if I really was crazy or not."
"I just woke up to the world ending," he says and closes his eyes at the barrage of memories slamming into him. He has to take a deep breath before continuing. "If that isn't crazy, I don't know what is. I don't think any of us are entirely sane any more, Belle. You're not alone."
She leans her head against her knees. "Or we're all alone now."
He isn't quite sure what to reply to that, so he simply leans against the car and watches the distant fires with her. The horizon is fogged by smoke from something burning far away. Graham has told him he suspects it's Boston on fire. He can't even imagine the scale of destruction there or perhaps he doesn't want to.
"Are you hungry?" he asks, as his stomach sharply reminds him that he actually is.
Belle closes her eyes. "Is it anything involving cooked meat?"
"I think it's soup made out of canned vegetables," he replies.
"Okay," she says softly, closing her eyes for a moment. "I can't stand the smell of burning flesh."
He doesn't ask why as they head towards the eating area, as he has a fair idea and it's not one he'll force her to relive unless she wants to talk about it.
They have a quick bowl of soup with Leroy, who seems to be spicing it with vodka. Afterwards, he leaves Belle with Leroy as the two seem to find some solace in each other's quiet company. The fact that Gold is watching isn't lost on David, and he has a feeling it's not lost on Belle either.
He uses a little water to clean himself quickly, mindful that they have a limited supply. (Fresh water, another future issue, along with pretty much everything else they have. So many future issues it's hard to do anything but live in the present and not think ahead. Still, he knows they will have to eventually.)
Sean and Sidney are taking a night shift, keeping an eye out for fires nearby, looters or any other aggressors. David gives them an encouraging pat on the shoulder before heading inside.
For all his exhaustion, he still pauses as he walks into the small 'room' he's made for himself and Emma – and now Mary Margaret – and just watches. Emma is sleeping, and so is Mary Margaret. She's sleeping on the mattress, though, and he smiles faintly at that. Stubborn. Then again, he thinks he might be quite stubborn too.
Gently, he wraps the blankets more firmly around her and lifts her up onto his cot. She doesn't wake, simply sighs in her sleep, with her lashes dark against her pale skin. She is beautiful, he has to admit to himself. The small cut over her eye and the bruise on her neck doesn't change that. They will all carry scars in this world.
He slips out of his tattered jeans (not really his – he woke in a hospital gown, but Graham had a few extra pairs that are slightly too tight but usable) and takes his shirt off, then lies down on the mattress with a sigh. His body hurts. His shoulder aches almost as much as his head, but today has been worth all the pain.
It feels like he's found something he didn't even know he was looking for.
He listens to the sounds of Emma and Mary Margaret sleeping until he falls asleep himself, and the familiar nightmares take over.
II
Screaming.
He bolts upright instantly, the sound tearing through his sleep. For a second, he's back at the hospital, waking to flames and screams and death, so much death.
Panting, he realizes it's Emma crying, and that Mary Margaret has already woken up and is standing by the crib with the blanket draped around her like a cape. He watches, utterly unable to look away, as she picks up Emma and pulls down her top enough to put the baby to her breast.
She blushes when she notices that he's awake, but she meets his gaze straight on and lifts her chin. There is something almost regal in her attitude and he finds it impossible to look away from.
Emma is making soft noises as she sucks and he sits up on his knees as Mary Margaret sits down on his cot with Emma in her arms.
"Sorry," he says, not quite sure what he's apologizing for. Maybe for staring, or maybe for the baby waking her.
"Don't be," she says softly. "Feels like we have too much to be sorry for already."
"Yeah," he agrees. Far too much. Millions of things, millions of deaths. "I try not to think about it. If I started I wouldn't..."
"Wouldn't be able to stop," she finishes for him and her green eyes are luminous with tears. She bites her lip and without even thinking – as if it's just natural – he leans forward and presses his forehead against hers.
She exhales at the touch, her breath so close he can feel it brush his lips. She doesn't move away, simply closes her eyes. Emboldened, he kisses her eyelids softly, wishing he could kiss her tears away too.
He isn't sure how long they remain like that, forehead to forehead with Emma between them, only that it isn't long enough. Eventually, Mary Margaret pulls away and he sees that Emma has fallen back asleep.
"I'll change her diaper," he says and Mary Margaret eases Emma into his arms. He feels rather self-conscious as Mary Margaret watches him change Emma, more aware than ever of just how little he knows about raising a baby. If he's ever had one, he can't remember it.
He puts Emma back into the crib when he's finished, then slips out quickly to discard the diaper with the rest of the trash. He knows he will eventually have to make cloth diapers for her, as the packages of diapers Graham managed to find in the half-burned convenience store won't last.
Mary Margaret is still sitting on his cot when he comes back, her blanket wrapped around her as she watches Emma sleep. He sits down beside her, pulling his own blanket around his legs. The silence isn't uncomfortable, he finds.
"I seem to have fallen asleep on the mattress and woken up on the cot," she says after a while. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"
"It's a complete mystery," he says and is rewarded with her lips turning up slightly.
"I would offer it back to you but I suspect I would just wake up to another complete mystery," she comments and he can feel his own lips turn upwards too.
"Sounds likely."
She doesn't quite chuckle, but she does make a soft noise of amusement. He likes the gentle teasing, he finds. She feels so right, she and Emma, in this world of wrong. From the way she looks at Emma, he's pretty sure she feels the same way about their baby girl (because Emma feels like theirs now), and from the way Mary Margaret looks at him...
Her eyes are bright as he gazes at her and he can't look away. Neither can she, it seems. They seem almost magnetically drawn to each other.
"David," she says. How she can manage to make his name sound so intimate, he has no idea, but then, he finds it hard to say her name in a way that isn't a caress himself.
So he doesn't try to. "Mary Margaret."
Her lips part slightly as he leans closer. He thinks about kissing her, like he's wanted to since he took her hand and felt something spark. It's a strange thing, the fact that they met less than a day ago and it still feels like he knows her and she knows him.
"I could kiss you right now," he admits, his voice slightly husky even to his own ears. She doesn't look away.
"You should kiss me right now," she says instead and his breath catches. Then he does.
She tilts her head upwards to meet his kiss, her lips slightly parted as he brushes his lips feather-light against them once, twice, three times and then he slants his mouth across hers and feels the heat of her mouth.
It doesn't feel like a first kiss, he thinks dimly. Not that he remembers any first kisses, but this feels familiar in a way his mind can't put to words but his body hums with.
He lifts his hand to her cheek, caressing it gently while kissing her deeply. She moans at the back of her throat, brushing her tongue against his and trying to press herself even closer.
They're both breathless as they pull apart, leaning their foreheads against each other. He can see her chest rise and fall and see the faint moisture clinging to her swollen lips, and it's all he can do not to kiss her again. Instead, he moves his hands to her ear, caressing her earlobe with his thumb.
"It's still dark outside," he finally manages. "We should get some sleep."
They'll need it in the morning, he knows – even if he would like nothing more than to stay awake with Mary Margaret and just be with her until morning (and maybe kiss her a million times more).
She nods, and he reluctantly stands up and moves the few feet to his mattress. She watches him as he lies down before lying down on her side.
"Goodnight, David," she offers.
"Goodnight, Mary Margaret," he replies. She watches him for a moment longer, then finally closes her eyes. Only when he's sure she's fallen asleep does he allow himself to drift off too and let sleep (and the nightmares) claim him.