The End of the World (and After) Chapter 5: The richest man in what remains, an once upon a time fanfic

Interlude: Ruby

Ruby has always dreamed of the world, refusing to think that Storybrooke was it. She has always wanted to travel, to escape, to see something beyond the tight frames of her life.

A dream, her dream.

It dies as the world does, and she can only watch. Can only watch as Granny clings to her and the sky burns. It is silent at first, a brilliant bright destruction in complete eerie silence.

They're going to die, Ruby thinks. In that moment, she even accepts it. It seems so impossible that anyone can survive anything like this, that there can be something after.

"I love you, Granny," she whispers.

"You're not dying on me," Granny replies, a promise and a threat both. She presses Ruby closer as the wave of destruction comes at them with a roar.

The dream dies. But Ruby lives, with nowhere left to go.

Chapter five: The richest man in what remains of the world

David

Even the end of the world can become routine, David finds. At least that's what he's starting to develop as the days and weeks pass: a routine.

He wakes up with Mary Margaret, always caressing her face with his gaze as the first thing he does every morning. Like him, she doesn't always sleep peacefully, and there are mornings he can almost see the nightmares on her face.

He always ends up touching her face sooner or later, trying to ease away her pain with his touches. Sooner or later her lips curve into a faint smile, and he knows she's awake. He kisses her then, slowly and lazily with his eyes half closed. How long it lasts always varies, but sooner or later Emma cries and Mary Margaret smiles softly against his lips before getting up.

Watching her breastfeed Emma has become routine too, but never dull. He loves watching the way Mary Margaret cradles (what he now dares think of as) their daughter and listen to the noises Emma makes. He still offers to leave every time, though not always with words. But he always waits for her shy inviting smile before he sits next to her and rests his head against hers and they watch Emma together.

They kiss sometimes then too, soft pecks and nose rubs in joint happiness over the little life they're now (so very much) caring for. Somehow, despite not having any memories of his previous life, he just knows this is all he could have wanted in life. It's a family, his family.

He's still the one to change Emma's diapers in the morning, something he doesn't exactly enjoy in itself, but something he enjoys for the feeling of doing something for her. It feels like something a father should do, and he's doing it.

And then, then he just holds her in his arms. Every morning without fail, it's like this, him and Emma and a moment together.

"Emma," David says, and the baby looks up at him. "That's right, that's you. Em-ma. The best name in the whole world – apart from David and Mary Margaret, they're equally best."

Behind him, he can hear Mary Margaret's soft chuckle of amusement, but she doesn't comment or join in. It's as if she wants him to have time with just him and Emma, that it matters to her that Emma is as much his as she is Mary Margaret's.

"I'm David," he says. "Da-vid. And that's Mary Margaret. Mary Mar-ga-ret. She's just as beautiful as you, but don't tell her I said that."

Emma coos as if she agrees.

"We have two even more awesome names," he goes on, as Emma's fingers close around one of his fingers. They're so small, he marvels. So tiny compared to his. "That's right, we have secret names only you will be allowed to call us."

He leans forward and kisses Emma's forehead, feeling the tiny wisps of hair against his lips.

"It's mom and dad," he whispers, and he can hear Mary Margaret draw a sharp breath. "Only you can call us that in the world wide world, Emma. Isn't that awesome? And I'll tell you another secret – you can call us that your whole life. We'll always be your parents."

He stands up, walking over to Mary Margaret with Emma in his arms. Mary Margaret is crying, he notices, tears clinging to her eyelashes, but she smiles through them.

"So I'm David and dad, and this is Mary Margaret and mom," he says, and Mary Margaret clutches his arm and swallows.

"You forgot another secret name," she says. "Emma, sometimes mom and dad will call you daughter. And we'll be the only people in the world allowed to call you that."

"Daughter," David says, his voice sounding choked up even to him. Yes. David and dad, Mary Margaret and mom, Emma and daughter, all the names that matter.

When all the morning chores are done, they always put Emma in the sling Granny and Belle have made for Mary Margaret to carry the baby, and then link hands and walk out together to have breakfast with the others.

He still notices that they get a few looks most mornings. Gold always watches, a half-hidden smile as if he finds something secretly amusing or pleasing. Others throw more discreet glances, probably wondering just what the story is. It's quite a tale, after all, the one about the schoolteacher and the coma patient and a baby, and the family they're making together. Not quite a fairy tale perhaps, but those are in short supply these days.

This is a world with no happy endings, after all, just a world's ending instead.

After breakfast, there are always a million things to do. There are patrols to organize, salvage teams to send out (always armed now, after the incident with Spencer's men), items to be repaired or broken into parts they can use, cooking, cleaning, looking after the wounded they've found, the occasional burial and a million other things to deal with.

Mary Margaret is very good at organizing, he quickly discovers. Perhaps not surprising, since she is a teacher, but sometimes he thinks he sees glimpses of something else too. Graham starts going to her as much as to David, and David himself also goes to her. Even Gold does, and David wonders at that.

He wonders at himself too. Whenever something happens or needs to be decided, they all come to him or Mary Margaret. That's the strange thing. Sean bristles at it, Leroy is never gracious about it, but they do come to him or Mary Margaret. He's the amnesiac coma patient, and yet they come to him.

"Why are you doing this?" David asks, and Graham pauses at the door. "You're the sheriff. People would respect that. You don't need me."

"You would respect that," Graham agrees. "Plenty of others wouldn't. Albert Spencer doesn't."

"Albert Spencer doesn't respect anything but power," David says darkly.

"And you think you don't command power?" Graham asks, raising an eyebrow. "You don't know yourself very well then."

"And you do?" David asks. "You told me that you had no idea who I was before."

"You're right, I don't know who you were before," Graham says. "I know who you are now. You're the guy who saves and adopts a baby right out of a coma. You're the guy who steps up. You're the guy who helps. You're the guy even Gold has respect for. You're the guy Mary Margaret Blanchard shoots the former district attorney in the shoulder with an arrow for."

David smiles sheepishly at that, remembering the sight of Mary Margaret with her bow and arrow, looking like some sort of long-lost archery princess in schoolteacher clothes.

It was one of the most attractive things he's seen in his life. (Of course, given the whole lost memories thing, he can't remember all that many, but still. In his limited list of attractive things he can remember, all points involving Mary Margaret in some way, that one is very high up.)

"You might be a man without memories, but you know who you are," Graham goes on. "I'm the sheriff. I enforce the law. I don't make it. And between you and Albert Spencer, I choose your law."

"I don't..." David starts, trailing off.

"The sheriff is right," Gold says, stepping into the room. "You command power, Mr. Nolan. You can't help yourself. It just... Charms its way out of you. You could have been born a shepherd and would still have been destined to be a prince. The sheriff is right. You step up."

David sighs, rubbing his forehead. "So what, I'm supposed to rule on the basis of what? Your recommendation?"

"Oh no," Gold says cheerfully. "You and I will disagree and you will go against me. That will just command more respect among the others. Don't worry. I won't take it too personally. But you will lead, Mr. Nolan. You and your fair Miss Blanchard. You won't be able to help yourselves."

With that, Gold steps out again, while Graham remains.

"He's right, much as I dislike him," Graham says frankly, and they can hear Gold's chuckle in the distance. "You're a leader, David."

David sighs, then bends his neck slightly as if in defeat. On some level, he knows Graham is at least partially right. He can't help but step up. He doesn't even know why, except it's partly just himself. The other part is the way Mary Margaret looks at him and holds his hand and steps up right with him.

Mary Margaret always comes to him with lunch when he's not out on a patrol or a salvage operation. He always looks forward to that. Not for the food, he can go hungry if he has to, but he finds himself starving for her company when he hasn't seen her for a while.

The sight of her always makes him smile. Usually he walks over and takes her hands, leaning his forehead against hers while whispering how much he's missed her. Other times, especially when he's tired or emotional, she sits on his lap and cradles his face and kisses his temple until he feels alive again. And sometimes when no one else is around, he greets her by picking her up and kissing her, her lips soft and yielding against his.

"David," she says, and he swings her around and kisses her again. "David, the food!"

"You're far more delicious," he says teasingly, and she blushes and smacks her hand against his chest. "You are."

To prove it, he kisses her again, and again, tasting her lips with soft nibbles. She moans softly, a delicious sound he swallows as she parts her lips and he deepens the kiss. They kiss, and kiss, and probably cross well past the border of making out before he reluctantly pulls away.

She wraps her arms around his neck as he slowly lowers her back on her feet, giving him an attempt at a stern look.

"Sorry," he says sheepishly.

"You should be," she says teasingly. "You didn't even give me the chance to say hello."

"You're right," he agrees, tucking a few strands of her hair behind her ear. "Hello, Mary Margaret."

"Hello, David," she says seriously, then laughs as he picks her up again and kisses her; not letting her down for a long, long time.

Everyone seem to be finding their roles in their small community as time passes. Ruby and Granny are organizing and looking after the food. Sean deals with patrols and guards, while Leroy and his growing group of boys deal with salvaging anything useful.

Dr. Whale deals with the wounded and the dying – at least when he's not drinking with Leroy or quietly watching Ruby (and at first Mary Margaret, but a few stern glances from David ended that habit rather quickly).

Belle spends her days looking after Ava and Nicholas, quite often reading to them (at least David now completely understands why Gold sent him out to get books) or teaching them to cook together with Ruby. Granny helps out too sometimes, but the persistent cough she's developed is worrying David. Dr. Whale can only do so much, though he does try, for which Ruby seems grateful.

And every day without fail, David finds time to sit down with Belle. They talk sometimes, but there also days where they just sit in the silence and that's all right too. It's still nice to have someone there, someone who's suffered the same loss and knows what it's like without memories.

Gold often hovers in the area, but never interrupts. It's a strange thing to see a man so sure in his own power so unsure in the grip of an obvious attraction.

"How does it work?" Belle asks him one morning, and he glances over at her. "You and Mary Margaret, I mean."

"Me and Mary Margaret?" he repeats.

"Yes," she says. "You and Mary Margaret."

"Are you asking... Dating advice?" he says. She blushes slightly, but doesn't look away.

"It just works," he says after a moment. "She feels... She feels right."

"Even if you don't remember?"

"Even if I don't remember," he says. "I lost my memories, not my heart."

Belle glances over at Gold, who meets her gaze and softens. Just for a moment, but in that moment Gold looks so vulnerable that David is taken aback. It's quite touching too, that Gold has a heart even if he hides it well.

"Everyone is afraid of him," Belle says quietly, as Gold averts his eyes. "Even you, though you hide it better than most. I'm not. I don't understand why."

"I don't understand why I'm so drawn to Mary Margaret," he admits, choosing to ignore the part about being afraid of Gold. He isn't really. He's just afraid of what Gold might do sometimes. "I just know I am."

"So you two are...?" Belle asks curiously, but without judgement.

"We're..." He trails off, trying out different words in his head. Friends, yes, but that only describes a part of it. Lovers, not yet. Dating, sounds far too casual for what they have. Boyfriend and girlfriend, yes, but that makes him feel as if they're teenagers. In love, yes oh yes, but he isn't sure he wants to voice that aloud to Belle before Mary Margaret.

Family, his mind screams at him.

"Family," he says, feeling dizzy. "We're family."

"How do you know you didn't have one already?" Belle asks after a moment.

He shrugs. "I don't, really. I wasn't wearing a wedding ring and no one has recognized me so far, but I don't know for sure. I just... I just know that whatever I felt in the past, what I feel right now is true."

"True love," Belle says, but without any jealousy, just a touch of longing. "I guess if it was easy, we'd all have it."

"I wouldn't count you out yet," he says, as he sees Gold unable to help himself and glance over at Belle again. Belle looks up, and this time, Gold doesn't look away.

"Maybe," she says, but her eyes are bright and brave.

As the weeks pass, they begin to discover that survival isn't enough. It's a start, but they all want something more. Something to hold on to. Something to live for.

Belle reads to Gold. Whale watches Ruby. Granny watches Ruby with a (grand)mother's loving gaze. Sean watches the picture of his ex-girlfriend he has in his wallet. Graham hunts for survivors with a quiet determination, as if his heart is lost to saving others. Leroy nurses his bottles as if they can nurse him right back to health.

They all want something.

What he wants exactly, David isn't sure, only that it involves Emma and Mary Margaret. That, there is no doubt about. No doubt at all.

At the end of each day, that's exactly what he has. Hands linked, he and Mary Margaret take Emma and walk into their little room and it's just them – a little family all to themselves. He lives for the evenings and for the peace he finds there.

He's started to build things for their place now, stuff he salvages from buildings or make out of parts from what they've salvaged. A small bookshelf for the three lonely books they have. A tiny stuffed toy. A better crib. Another blanket for their bed, which he extends to give them more space. (They sleep all curled together in any case, but still.) He thinks about carving toys for Emma, or a mobile over her crib.

He even thinks about building them a house somewhere, just for the three of them. A timber house. Perhaps as part of a farm, or in the forest where they might hunt and find food. There are several options.

But all of them include making a life with Mary Margaret and Emma.

He's head over heels, he knows, and twice over at that.

If Emma is in the mood in the evening and isn't too tired, they play with her. He's begun to learn the noises she makes when she's happy, and the noises she makes when she's sad or hungry. It's a language, just without words, so he's fairly certainly he will be fluent in Emma-ish before long.

Other days they just hold her, and that is a sort of quiet joy that threatens to choke him sometimes. It seems all the more potent when framed by all the sadness around them. He can live through the end of the world. He's not sure he could live through losing them.

Emma in his arms and Mary Margaret pressed against his side; David can't think of anything that makes him happier than these moments.

Emma makes happy noises as she curls her fingers around one of Mary Margaret's too, as if she agrees with him.

"I think she'll have you chin," he tells Mary Margaret, as he runs a finger down Emma's cheek. Emma makes a happy noise at that, kicking slightly in his arms.

Mary Margaret gives him a look that is half pointed and half wistful, but she does lean closer to Emma as if to look.

"See?" he says softly.

"I think she has more of your forehead," she counters and as Emma furrows her brow, he purposely does the same. It makes Mary Margaret grin, so he steals a kiss while her lips are still turned upwards. The thought that he might give her moments to smile and moments to feel happy makes him happy too.

"She's beautiful just as she is, whoever's chin or forehead she has," he says after a moment.

"Why do you think anyone would give her up?" Mary Margaret asks softly.

"I don't know," he says. "I hope it was to give her her best chance. I can't imagine giving her up for anything else."

She kisses his shoulder, then leans her head against it.

"I hope we can give her just that. For their sake too," he says. "It must have broken their hearts giving her up."

She sighs, closing her eyes for a moment. "What do we have to offer her, David? We don't even have a world left to raise her in."

"So we make a new world," he says. "We have already started. Have faith."

"In you?" she asks, and he shakes his head slightly.

"In us," he stresses. "You and me. Graham. Ruby. Belle. Gold. Sean. Leroy. Whale. All the others we've found or who have found us. In Emma."

Despite everything, he wants to believe that something better is possible. That they can be together. That they can raise Emma. That they can be a family, a family that found each other even after the end of the world.

"I want to," she admits.

"I want you to too," he says and their hands link on top of Emma's blanket and hold.

Every night after she's fed Emma, Mary Margaret crawls under the blankets with him and they hold each other. They kiss; sometimes slowly and leisurely, sometimes as a sort of comfort for too much hurt, sometimes with a barely restrained passion that won't stay restrained forever, sometimes with such affection and love it's as if they've been married for years.

They don't go beyond that. Not yet. That yet is getting closer and closer, though, he knows that from the way she touches him and he kisses her, but somehow he doesn't want their first time to be rushed and quiet under the blankets with Emma just a few feet away.

So they simply sleep together, sometimes facing each other and sometimes on their sides with her wrapped in his arms and resting her back against his chest. Either way, they fit each other, in sleep as in everything else.

And when he wakes from a nightmare or she does, the other is always there to offer comfort and reassurances.

"Tell me about it," he says, kissing her eyelids before she opens her eyes to look at him. The nightmare is still haunting her eyes, and he wishes he could drive it away to never return.

"I was crying," she says quietly. "You were there. Emma was gone. There was blood, so much blood. I couldn't wake you."

"I'm here," he murmurs, kissing the tears lining her cheeks. "I'm here, Mary Margaret."

"You're here," she repeats, digging her fingers into the cloth of his t-shirt. "Emma, is she..."

"Emma is fine," he assures her, lifting his gaze above her. "She's sleeping. She's probably dreaming about slaying dragons and saving the day."

Mary Margaret smiles faintly. "Not dressing up as a princess and dancing, then?"

He shrugs. "She can dream about both."

"How very gracious of you to allow your daughter to not just be a daddy's girl," she jokes. He smiles, kissing her lips until he feels them turn upwards in a soft smile.

"She'll be a mommy's girl too, just you wait," he says firmly.

"You think so?"

"I know so."

She touches his cheek tenderly, looking at him with a strange mix of sadness and affection.

"David," she says, biting her lip as if she wants to say more. Instead, she leans forward and kisses him. He kisses her back eagerly, determined to reassure her in any way he can. She lifts one foot to rest across his hip and pull herself even closer to him, and he puts a hand on her back to press her more firmly against him.

They kiss; kiss and kiss, drinking each other in until they're both breathless and flushed and pull apart slightly just to breathe.

"Do you ever think about it?" she asks, as she rests her forehead against his. "Your previous life?"

"Nothing to think about," he says quietly. "Whoever I was in that life... He's gone. That life is gone."

"What's that like?" she whispers, looking at him as he draws his fingers across her cheek.

"It's like I woke up in some strange land," he admits, and her eyes are bright with pain for him. "I don't remember before at all. Not even flashes. It's all blank."

"That sounds lonely," she says sadly.

"No," he says simply, smiling faintly. "I have you. I have Emma. I'm the richest man in what remains of the world."

She blushes, then lifts her hand to his cheek also. Gently, she leans forward and kisses him and David doesn't care about the memories he's lost. He cares only about the ones he's making.