II
Interlude: David
II
The cries wake him.
The end of the world itself doesn't; he sleeps through that. He only wakes later, in the terrible, terrible silence that is only broken by one thing.
There is a baby crying.
He doesn't think; he just moves. He gets up, his legs almost giving in underneath him, forcing him to hold on to the bed. He glances down to see a name scribbled on the clipboard attached to the bed. David Nolan. He can't remember being David Nolan. He can't remember anything.
The baby wails, and his will overrules his body and he walks and follows the sound as if by instinct. He has to. He isn't sure why, he just knows he has to find this child. He has no idea where this trail of destruction started, but broken glass and the occasional dead body litters the floor.
The baby is still wailing as he steps into the room, almost falling. His shoulder aches terribly, and his head is pounding. But all of that fades as he leans down and looks at the baby.
Emma, a name stitched along the wool cloth she is wrapped in tells him. Emma. He feels breathless and his head light as he picks her up, and she quiets right away. It is as if she's been waiting for him.
She's beautiful, and settles into his arms as if she belongs there. The weight feels almost familiar, as if his body remembers something his mind does not.
"Hey Emma," he says quietly, feeling as if she's stolen his heart like a baby bandit. "I found you."
At the end of the world, David wakes up to find his daughter, and is caught.
II
Chapter six: Love like it's the end of the world (it is)
Mary Margaret
II
Sometimes, Mary Margaret reckons, David Nolan is an utter idiot. An utter idiot she cares so much for it staggers her sometimes, but nevertheless an idiot. Which probably makes her an idiot for falling for him too, making them the two idiots.
"He's out collecting firewood?" she repeats, and Graham rubs his neck and looks sheepish. "There's a storm coming!"
Around them, people are preparing for just that, getting all vital supplies inside the town hall and covering up what they can. The threatening clouds seem to have appeared out of nowhere, conquering the sky violently and angrily.
"There wasn't one this morning when he went out," Graham offers as a defence on David's behalf. "We don't exactly get weather forecasts these days and the weather has been... Unpredictable lately."
That's putting it mildly, Mary Margaret knows. Black rain one day, burning sun another. And the winter ahead of them she doesn't even want to think about.
"And it wasn't just firewood," Graham continues. "He was going to find wood for... He was going to carve some toys for Emma, Mary Margaret. It was going to be a surprise."
"Oh," Mary Margaret says, feeling some of her anger getting overwhelmed by a surge of tenderness. Oh. Of course the idiot would do that.
"And Gold told him he had a cabin up in the forest. I think he wanted something retrieved from there," Graham adds.
Mary Margaret just sighs. Of course Gold would be involved too.
"Get the truck," she orders Graham. "I'm going to ask Ruby to look after Emma, then we'll find David and get him back before the storm hits."
"I can help look after Emma," a voice behind them says, and Mary Margaret turns to see Belle there with Gold in tow. "I would be happy to."
The eagerness on Belle's face makes Mary Margaret soften. She knows Belle and David are friendly, but she also knows that Belle is searching for something to define herself by since she has no memories. David has already found that in Emma (and herself, Mary Margaret almost dares to think).
"Thanks, Belle. I would appreciate that," she replies, then shifts her attention to Gold. "What exactly is David trying to retrieve for you?"
"A cup and a shawl," Gold says and Graham raises an eyebrow. "I appear to have left them at my cabin before I realized their true value."
"Which is?"
"They has sentimental value only. It's just a chipped cup and an old shawl, Miss Blanchard," he says, glancing at Belle as if to gauge her reaction. Belle looks curious, but that only makes his shoulder slump.
The fact that Gold wants it retrieved tells Mary Margaret it is nothing insignificant at all. Gold has his own reasons for everything he does, that she is getting more and more certain of. And this one at least partially involves Belle.
Gold smiles faintly as he looks back at her, as if he can tell by her expression that she's not buying his story and rather likes that.
"Okay," she says, turning towards Graham again. "Let's find David."
II
It's already raining as they drive into the forest, and the wind is starting to pick up. The forest feels dark around them as well, fallen trees littered among those still standing. Ashes cover some trees like snow, blanketing them in destruction.
It makes Mary Margaret want to cry, but she bites it back and thinks of David instead.
They're fairly deep inside the forest when they spot the sheriff's car parked by a fallen tree that is blocking the road ahead. David must have stopped here and walked the rest of the way, she figures, as she steps out of the car and is greeted by wind and rain.
"David!" she calls. "David?"
"David!" Graham calls as well, but there is no answer. "He's probably taken shelter in the cabin if he noticed the storm was coming."
She nods furiously, not wanting to consider the other options. "We can..."
"Hello?" a thin voice calls, and Mary Margaret turns around to see a young boy emerge from the forest. "Can you help me?"
Graham is already moving, and Mary Margaret quickly follows. The boy is shaking as the wind and rain whips at him, but he still holds his head up high as they reach him.
"I think she might die," he says as they draw nearer. "We ran out of food so dad went to get more and never came back. I just have her now. She can't die."
"She won't die," Mary Margaret says reassuringly as they reach him. "Where is your mother?"
"She's not my mother," the boy says, taking Mary Margaret's hand and leading her along. His hand feels cold in hers and she wonders how long he's been alone in the forest.
"There she is," he says, sounding on the verge of tears. There is a woman wrapped in blankets underneath a tree, looking pale and with a nasty burn visible on her shoulder.
"Regina," Graham says, his breath catching.
"Mayor Mills," Mary Margaret says in wonder.
It is. As Graham hurries over, lifting her into his arms, Regina opens her eyes and looks right at Mary Margaret.
"You," Regina says faintly and in wonder. "You saved me."
Before Mary Margaret has time to respond to that and the uneasy sense of deja vu, Regina closes her eyes again and her head falls back against Graham's arm.
"We should get her back to camp and let Whale have a look at her," Graham says, hurrying towards the truck in long strides. Mary Margaret follows, still with the boy's hand in hers.
"Whale is a doctor," she says, and the boy looks happier at that. "What's your name?"
"Owen," he says.
"I'm Mary Margaret and he's Graham. We're looking for a guy named David, have you seen him?"
The boy shakes his head. "I haven't seen anyone since dad left. I've been slowly moving Regina from our camp to find someone to help us."
"And you found us," Mary Margaret says, squeezing his hand in comfort. "We have a large camp in town. Maybe we can help find your father too."
"Do you have food?" he asks, looking a little ashamed to ask. "I'm so hungry."
"We do," she says, as they reach the truck. Graham is already easing Regina into the front seat, then glances over at Owen and her.
"You take her and Owen back to camp," Mary Margaret orders. "I'll find David."
"Mary Margaret..."
"Not a discussion, Graham," she says firmly, a part of her marvelling at herself. She isn't even sure where this is coming from, apart from concern for David. "David and I can seek shelter at the cabin when the storm hits. I will find him."
He glances at the shivering Owen and at Regina, then reluctantly nods. She helps Owen into the front seat next to Regina, then closes the door and sets off up the road again as she hears Graham drive off behind her.
The wind is starting to howl, and the rain is lashing at her. She's already soaked, but she doesn't care.
"David!" she calls, barely hearing her own voice over the wind.
Her legs ache and she's soaked to her bone by the time she reaches the cabin, and the door flies open. It's David, and she nearly collapses in relief at the sight of him. He did take shelter in the cabin after all. He's safe. He's fine.
He looks torn between surprise and delight at seeing her, before his face turns to worry and he races to meet her. The moment he reaches her, he pulls her into his arms, wrapping himself around her as if trying to shield her from the rain with his body. As a result, he's also dripping wet by the time they get indoors.
With the wind, it takes a few tries before he gets the door closed and latched properly, especially since he refuses to let go of her.
She clings to him as he begins leading her towards the small fire he's started in the fireplace, rubbing her back. She can see his backpack propped by against the wall, looking quite filled up.
"Mary Margaret," he says as she buries her face against his shoulder. "You're here."
"Of course I am," she says quietly. "Did you really think I'd let you stay out here alone in a storm?"
"I guess not," he says, pulling back slightly to look at her. She must look a right mess with the rain and the wind, she reckons, but he still looks at her as if she's the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.
"Graham was with me," she says. "We found two survivor in the forest, so he's taking them back to the camp."
"And you found me," he says softly, cupping her cheek and smiling.
"I will always find you," she swears, and he nods as if he believes her. "Emma is fine, Belle and Ruby are looking after her."
He nods again, still staring at her in wonder. Outside, they can hear the thunder starting, and the flashes of lightning even light up the cabin for a few moments.
"We should probably get out of these clothes," she murmurs, remembering that they're both soaking wet.
"Yes," he says huskily. "We should."
His eyes are dark with desire as he looks at her, and she knows that the wet clothing is clinging to every curve of her body, just as his is to him. She can feel the heat rise to her cheeks, but from desire rather than any sense of shame.
She has none with him. It feels so very right, this pull between them, this affection, this desire, this...
Love, she thinks and her breath catches.
Whatever he sees on her face, it's clearly an invitation. He leans forward and she closes her eyes, parting her lips slightly as she feels his breath brushing them. A moment later it's his lips, the touch soft and gentle while he steps closer and cups her cheek.
He caresses her upper lip with his own first, before catching her lower lip and sucking lightly on it. She digs her fingers into the wet fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer as he keeps brushing, nibbling and sometimes just pressing his lips against hers.
"Mary Margaret," he whispers lovingly, his fingers caressing her ear.
"David," she says, her voice thick with desire even to her own ears. He seems to hear it too, making a throaty moan and parting his lips.
His hands move to her waist as she deepens the kiss, exploring his mouth leisurely. She pauses only to allow him to pull her shirt off her and then take his own off, before crashing her lips onto his in her eagerness to resume the kiss. She can feel his hands trace the curve of her spine before unhooking her bra, pulling it off her while his tongue meets hers.
His chest rises and falls against hers as she links her arms around his neck and presses herself even closer. He moans, stroking the sides of her breasts with his thumbs before sliding his hands down her sides.
When he lifts her up, she locks her legs around his waist and begins tracing the line of his jaw with open-mouthed kisses. Moments later she feels the wall pressing into her back and he's grinding against her, and she scrapes her teeth against his collarbone in response. She kicks her shoes off, hearing them fall to the ground with a thump that sounds strangely distant, her heartbeat thundering in her ears and drowning out other sounds.
His eyes close as she moves to trace the scars across his chest with her mouth, flicking her tongue against his skin as well. They don't mar him, she finds. They're a part of him just like his kindness, his anger, his protectiveness, his broad shoulders, his bright blue eyes that always seem to capture and hold her, and on and on; all those things that draw her to him.
His face is bright with pleasure as she pulls back slightly to look at him, and she lovingly kisses the scar on his chin also. The sensation of it against her lips sparks an odd sensation of possessiveness, and she cups his head in her hands and peppers kisses across his face; his forehead, his nose, his cheeks, the scruff along his jaw, his eyelids and then the scar again.
He makes a noise at the back of his throat and then catches her lips with his own again, kissing her while slowly lowering her to her feet. He steps out of his shoes, kicking them away with an impatience that she's pretty sure she matches. His jeans follow, though not without curses due to them being wet and tight and seemingly fond of his skin. (So is she, so she can understand the attraction.) His underwear is last, and she takes the opportunity to trace the curve of his buttocks as she helps him pull it off.
He makes a low noise that is almost a growl as she boldly moves her hand along the length of him. She can feel him harden as she continues with slow strokes, his head falling against her shoulder and his mouth settling on the skin by her collarbone. She isn't sure whose breathing is the more shallow after a minute, his or hers.
"Mary Margaret," he groans, his voice thick with desire and frustration. He catches her wrists in his hand, lifting them above her head and preventing her from continuing her slow teasing of him.
He looks at her through lowered eyelids, clearly trying to regain some sort of control. She sighs, then whimpers as he lifts his free hand and cups her breast, circling her nipple slowly with a finger. He watches her reaction, bending his head to kiss the line of her neck before moving downwards and finally letting go of her hands.
He's seen her breasts countless times when she has been breastfeeding Emma in front of him, even touched them gently on occasion, but this still feels different. This is lust and want, and when his mouth settles on one of her breasts, she drags her nails across his back. His tongue flicks against her nipple and she's very glad her body is locked between the wall and his body, or she isn't sure she would be able to stand upright.
But she wants more. Wants him, wants him inside her and around her and with her. As she fumbles with the zipper of her jeans, she feels his fingers tease the skin just above her waistline before moving to help her.
Her jeans are wet as his were and clinging to her skin with the same insistence, which, combined with both of them being unwilling to break the kiss, makes getting them off harder than it might have been otherwise. They do manage in a combined effort, and her underwear proves easy to discard by comparison. Slowly, he lifts one of her legs up to his hip and holds it there, moving his free hand down between her legs.
She whimpers into the kiss, then bites down on his lower lip as his fingers stroke gently. It's overwhelming and yet not enough, and she presses against his fingers. She can feel his lips curve into a smile against hers, as if he finds her impatience endearing.
He breaks the kiss to let them both breathe for a moment, pressing his forehead against hers at the same time as pressing a finger into her. She parts her lips soundlessly, feeling her cheeks burn. She clings to him as he caresses with his thumb while moving his finger slowly in and out, adding another one after a few moments.
"David," she breathes.
"Yes," he says, kissing her burning cheeks lovingly and extracting his hand.
"I want you," she manages to say, knowing he can surely tell, but feeling a need to say it anyway.
"I want you," he says in return, kissing her hard and lifting her up again. She encases his mouth with hers, egging him on. She wants him. She really, really wants him, the desire in her impatient and needy, as if she's been waiting for far too long.
He seems to be able to read her body just like he reads everything else in her, thrusting into her with a speed and force that she welcomes. She locks her legs more firmly around his waist, not caring that she'll probably bruise from the wall at her back as he rocks into her.
She clenches her muscles around him and bites down on his lower lip, making him growl and up the pace just like she wants. Yes. Yes. She scrapes her nails against his scalp as pleasure mounts and mounts in her, and when he snakes a hand between them and presses against her, her orgasm comes hard and fast.
She's dimly aware of David pushing into her a few more times before coming as well, his body shaking with the force of it. He can't keep them upright any longer, and they slump down together on the floor against the wall.
He pulls her against his side while gasping for breath, and she tucks her head under his chin. She can feel his heartbeat and the heat in his skin, and feels a strange sort of pride at being the one to have caused that.
As her own breath begins to steady, David's fingers move across her skin, caressing her arm and then shoulder, moving across her chest and up her neck, before lingering at her ear. He looks happy and sated when she glances up at him, and she kisses the underside of his jaw softly.
In the distance, they can both hear more thunder roll across the sky and the rain and wind isn't letting up against the window.
"I guess we're stuck here for a while," he murmurs softly.
"Mmm," she agrees. She thinks guiltily of Emma, but their daughter will manage a few hours without them in Red and Belle's company.
"Are you cold?" he asks softly, rubbing her arms.
"No," she says.
"Not taking any chances you will be," he says, kissing her head before pulling them both up on their feet. She stands still while he picks up a blanket, wrapping her up gently while kissing the back of her neck and her shoulders. She watches as he first spreads their wet clothes out near the fire, then finds a blanket for himself as well, wrapping himself in it casually. Finally he wraps his arms around her too, her back resting against his chest.
He lowers his head to rest his cheek against hers, his light scruff probably leaving marks on her skin. She doesn't care. She caresses his arms that are locked around her waist, enjoying the sensation of his skin against her fingertips.
"You can take the armchair if you want," he says, and her gaze falls on the armchair in the corner. There is one other chair in the room, but it's a far less comfortable deck chair.
"Not without you," she counters and he chuckles, probably remembering the cot incident that ended with them sharing.
"As you wish," he says, and she laughs as he turns her around in his embrace and then lifts her off her feet. She cups his head in her hands, kissing him as he swings her around and slowly moves towards the chair.
She doesn't break the kiss as he sits down in the chair, arranging her across his lap and making sure the blanket still covers her. She is dimly aware of his hands moving inside her blanket, but she still gasps into the kiss as he cups a breast and moves his thumb across her nipple. With his other hand, he caresses her thigh slowly as if savouring the feel of it.
He kisses her leisurely too. His lips brush, peck, nibble and tug at hers while his hands roam her body under the blankets, making her feel breathless and wonderfully warm.
He pulls back slightly, rubbing his nose against hers. "Mary Margaret?"
"Mmm?" she sighs, not having the breath for anything else. She can see him push his tongue out between his lips, looking hesitant.
"I love you," he blurts out and she draws a sharp breath. "I know it's crazy but..."
"Don't," she says, pushing her finger against his lips. For a moment, he looks absolutely crestfallen and she realizes he thinks she means the don't as a reply to his declaration of love. "No! I mean, don't say it's crazy because then we both are."
His face is bright with hope. "You...?"
"I love you," she says, and his smile is radiant. She smiles back, and they grin at each other in a way she's pretty sure would be a poster for idiots in love. She doesn't care, and she kisses him and feels the curve of his lips against hers.
They probably both are crazy, she thinks, given how intensely they feel about each other despite only having met recently. She isn't really one to believe in love at first sight, but she has no other explanation. They may have said it for the first time just now, but it certainly hasn't been the first time she's felt it or seen it in his gaze. She loves him. He loves her. It's true.
He tilts his head, slanting his mouth across hers as she parts her lips and meets his tongue with her own. She can feel the throaty moan he makes as much as hearing it, and she chuckles into the kiss and draws her thumb across his cheekbone lovingly.
She breaks the kiss to shift position, standing up briefly while he rearranges the blankets and allows her to straddle him before wrapping the blankets around them both this time, leaving only skin between them. He leans back in the chair as she runs her hands down his smooth chest, watching her with bright, blue eyes.
She leans down, hearing him moan softly as her breasts brush against his chest, and catches his lips with hers. She kisses him softly, caressing his lips with hers while he traces the curve of her back with his hands. They stay there as he sits up, pressing her against him as she deepens the kiss.
She can feel that he is already hard underneath her, but grinds against him nevertheless, just to make sure. (And maybe to tease just a little.) He groans, dipping his fingers down and brushing ever so lightly. It's enough to make her head fall backwards, and his mouth moves down her chin and her neck, pausing to suck every time she moans. His fingers don't let up either, rubbing and brushing slowly and lightly.
She lets out a whimper at the sudden loss when he extracts his hand, and he lifts his head and kisses her gently. She can feel his hands on her hips, lifting her up and she holds still while he adjusts underneath her. Then she lowers herself onto him and they both moan at the sensation.
The previous time was lust and want, so much want. This is too, but more relaxed and more certain, almost leisurely and languid. He lifts a hand to her cheek as she rocks on him, bringing her forehead to rest against his. She can feel and hear his breath as they move together, how it catches when she clenches her muscles around him, how he holds it when he's as deep inside her as he can get, how it grows increasingly shallow as she moves up and down slowly.
She caresses his lips with her thumbs as he watches her through lowered eyelids, his quick breaths a contrast to his slow thrusts. She can hear herself too, alternately panting and moaning, both fighting and enjoying the pleasure as she tries to hold on. It's quite strange how well their bodies seem to know each other, she thinks dimly, because he seems to know exactly where to touch her, as she does with him. So when he presses his fingers against just the right spot and she clenches her muscles around him, they both come.
David falls back against the back of the chair and pulls her with him as his hips jerk and her body shudders. She's fairly certain she will be quite sore both from this and their earlier go against the wall, but it feels more than worth it.
He is worth it, she thinks, caressing him with her gaze. His hair is mussed, his cheeks are red, and his skin bears the marks of her fingers and her mouth. He's absolutely beautiful like this, and so very much hers. She isn't sure where this strangely possessive thought comes from, except that it frequently seems tied to him and Emma. Her David. Their Emma.
"I love you," he says softly as he notices her gaze, seeming to enjoy the taste of the words. He smiles, and she kisses him happily, laughing into the kiss with the sheer joy of it.
Love, she thinks faintly, as the kiss deepens and his lips part against hers. Whoever thought you could find that at the end of the world?
II
It's a few hours (and quite a lot of fooling around) later when David stirs behind her, kissing her shoulder lazily and adjusting the blanket around them. "I think the storm is over."
"Mmm," she agrees. They're resting on the floor near the fire, David having made a make-shift mattress out of chair pillows and blankets. With his body pressed against her back, she feels warm and comfortable and completely spent. "David?"
"Mmm?"
"Don't do that again."
"Get caught in a storm? Wasn't planning on it, even if it did have some unexpected perks."
She bites back a smile, shifting to lie on her back and look up at him. He gazes at her with such love she feels breathless before he dips his head down to kiss her lazily. She laces her fingers in his hair, pressing herself against him.
He groans, then reluctantly pulls away and rubs his nose against hers.
"We better get back before Graham sends out a search party," he says, and Mary Margaret nods. She still steals another quick kiss before David gets up and starts gathering their clothes. The clothes aren't completely dry, but Mary Margaret doesn't particularly feel like walking back wrapped in a blanket, so they will have to do.
Outside, the sky is still cloudy, but the rain and wind has died down somewhat. It's just a faint drizzle as they start making their way down, David taking the backpack and Mary Margaret the box of items Gold wanted from the cabin.
The sheriff's car is still parked where it was, but it isn't alone. The truck is just pulling up, and David sends her an amused glance.
Of course it's Graham, looking relieved at the sight of them.
"You are both complete idiots," he announces as he steps out of the truck, and Mary Margaret bites her lip to keep from smiling.
"Nice to see you too, Graham," David says drily, hoisting the backpack into the back of the truck. "How are the two survivors you found?"
"Regina is dehydrated and has some serious burns, but Whale is sure she'll survive. She's resting now. Owen is refusing to leave her side. She was saying your name a lot, Mary Margaret."
"Me?" Mary Margaret says, and David shoots her a glance. "Regina is Mayor Mills. But I don't know her all that well, we just bump into each other sometimes."
David shrugs. "Maybe she's grateful you and Graham found her."
She nods slowly, but still finds the idea slightly strange. Mayor Mills has scared her as long as she can remember, though she isn't sure exactly why. David still seems to pick up on it, squeezing her hand wordlessly.
They drive back to the camp with Graham taking the sheriff's car and she and David taking the truck. As they reach the town, Mary Margaret can see that the storm has left a mark on the already battered town. A few houses that were barely standing have collapsed, and the debris from the ruins has further spread with the wind.
The camp seems to be in good shape though, only a few wrecked cars having become overturned. As they drive in, Gold and Belle with Emma in her arms are waiting for them.
David lights up at the sight, parking the truck and more or less jumping out. Mary Margaret can hear Emma make happy noises as Belle holds her out and he lifts her up.
"A father's love," Gold observes. "Very charming, don't you agree, Miss Blanchard?"
She doesn't reply, instead lifting out the box of things David had gathered at the cabin and dumping it unceremoniously into his arms. "You owe him for this."
He looks at her, then nods. "Yes. It will be repaid in time."
Somehow, she finds herself believing that.
"Be careful, Miss Blanchard," Gold goes on. "Spencer is planning something."
"How do you know that?" she asks, feeling something cold and sharp in her stomach. It might be fear.
"I have my sources," he replies, and she nods reluctantly. Of course he does.
Taking a deep breath, she walks over to where David is holding Emma. He smiles at her, shifting the baby into her arms. Emma coos happily at that too.
"I think she missed you," Belle says. "She cried a lot."
"Sorry, Emma. Mommy and daddy had an adventure," David says softly. "Daddy got trapped by the storm in the forest, but mommy found daddy just like daddy found you. We always find each other. You never have to worry."
"Always," Mary Margaret agrees, as Emma catches a finger with her hand and holds on. David looks at them both, bright blue eyes filled with love. He's been the first to make one love declaration today. She's going to be the second, she decides. "Mommy and daddy love you, sweetheart."
She can hear David's breath catch. Then he puts one arm around her as he steps closer, resting his other hand on Emma's head.
"We do," he agrees thickly; and Mary Margaret knows that with all the love she's found now, she's quite, quite caught.