II
Interlude: Albert Spencer
II
As the world ends, Albert Spencer stands and watches it and feels his anger rage along with the fire.
This isn't how it's supposed to be. The world is supposed to have rules, order and law. It's not supposed to end. It's not supposed to burn.
The world ends.
Albert Spencer decides to make his own.
II
Chapter eight: I've come to burn your kingdom down / so howl
David
II
This, this is a good morning, David decides.
Mary Margaret sighs happily as he kisses her again, running her hands up and down his chest.
"This is definitely better than getting a few more hours of sleep," he whispers against her lips, and she chuckles. Yes. He could happily do this every morning rather than sleep, he thinks, as Mary Margaret tugs at his bottom lip.
"As charming as this scene is..." a voice says from the door, and David breaks the kiss hurriedly. He turns her head to see Gold standing in the doorway,
for once looking completely serious. "We have problems. Spencer is coming."
"What?" David says, fumbling for his shirt and jeans. He lets Mary Margaret cover herself with the blanket while he extracts her clothes from the pile as well. Gold has turned his back like a gentleman, but Mary Margaret is still blushing furiously.
"I had a man in Spencer's camp," Gold says as David pulls his jeans on. "Jefferson. He's been watching them for weeks, occasionally sabotaging on my orders. But a few days ago some guy stumbled into their camp from the woods and they thought he was one of your guys. Shot him dead. Now Spencer has whipped them into a frenzy and they're coming to burn the town hall down."
David curses. Mary Margaret has managed to dress herself and is already reaching for Emma, lifting the baby up into her arms.
"Okay, alert Graham and Sean, it's code Albie," David says. He glances down at Mary Margaret's pale face and gives her a quick, reassuring kiss.
"Graham and Sean already know," Gold says quietly. "We're evacuating. Get what you need for Emma. The child has to live."
"Can't we stop them?" David asks, grabbing the first backpack of emergency supplies they have packed for this.
"They're setting fires and they're armed," Gold says. "Even if we drive them back, the fire will spread here and a different kind of fire will follow. Better not to waste any lives on a lost cause. They're using their remaining petrol to do this, so it will set them back. They will have enough to deal with soon enough."
"What do you mean?" Mary Margaret asks, clutching Emma closer as David helps her with her backpack and then grabs the crib and shoves some of Emma's stuff into it.
"With this racket, they'll wake the sleeping dragon," Gold says simply. David glances over at him, wondering if that is code for pissing off Gold or something.
"We're ready," he says instead, and they hurry out of the building. Outside, code Albie is in full effect, all working cars being loaded with supplies and people. And as Gold warned, David can see fire and smoke not too far away. They really are setting the buildings on this street on fire, he realizes, and balls his fist.
Spencer. If they didn't have advance warning, this would probably have been a massacre.
Mary Margaret gasps. "This is my fault, I shouldn't have shot him, I shouldn't..."
"No, Miss Blanchard," Gold says, and it's almost kindly. "This was always going to happen. A man who sees himself as a king won't tolerate a prince charming in his town, particularly one who won't kneel."
David clenches his jaw. He can see Sean helping Regina and Owen onto the truck, Belle and Ruby helping the children onto the other. Several cars stacked with food and other supplies are already moving out.
"Where's Graham?" he asks.
"Driving the first car with the water tank," Gold says. "I believe he said you had discussed moving to the farms outside of town and that you were to head there."
They did discuss that, David remembers. "Right. Is everyone else out?"
"Yes," Gold says. "You're the last. We're ready."
"Is the parting gift for our invading hordes ready?" David asks, clutching Mary Margaret's hand. He had so hoped it wouldn't come to this. He had even started to think it wouldn't with the peace and quiet the last few weeks.
"Yes," Gold says darkly.
David sighs, giving the town hall one last glance. It's been like a home the last few weeks, the only real home he can remember. But then again, his true home is with him, is with the people he loves. Like Mary Margaret and Emma.
"Let's go then," he says.
Just in time, as it turns out. The three of them are barely all loaded into the last car when they can hear a bottle being thrown over their barricades, and then another. Moments later, flames begin licking up one wall of the town hall.
Emma cries, and David can hear Mary Margaret murmur soft reassurances as he puts his foot on the pedal and speeds off through the emergency exit gate they've made. As he glances in the rear view mirror, David can see the fire begin to spread behind them.
Even Gold looks angry, shaking his head as if he finds all this destruction distasteful. David focuses on driving, following the line of other cars well ahead of them. Emma is still crying softly, and he can hear Mary Margaret trying to steady her breathing.
Albert Spencer. They're going to have to find a way to fight him, without resorting to similar tactics.
He does feel a slight satisfaction when he minutes later hears the faint explosion in the car they've rigged, spewing all the wreckage down the street. That will litter the road for miles and delay Spencer in coming after them that way unless they go on foot.
It was Mary Margaret's idea originally, and he can see the flash of grim satisfaction on her face as he glances over at her.
They drive on in silence through the morning, eventually reaching Storybrooke's farmland. The destruction is far less noticeable out here, David notices. Ashes are covering the fields and it will be one hell of a task to move it all, but they can farm here. Maybe come spring, and they would be able to survive on their supplies through winter in addition to what they can hunt and scavenge.
Several buildings are still standing, among them a giant barn surrounded by several farm houses. It's there that the rest of the cars have pulled over, and so David does the same.
Sean is already directing people, nodding at David as David unloads the crib from the car and Mary Margaret steps out with Emma.
"These farms looks abandoned," Sean says. "I'll divide housing and send out scouting parties, but I think this might be the place to settle. It's open ground, we'll see anyone approach from miles away."
"Right," David says, glancing around. "Where's Graham?"
"He's not here," Gold says calmly, and David turns around to see the older man lean on his cane.
"What?" Sean says. "You told me that he..."
"I lied to you and Mr. Nolan," Gold goes on, and David gets a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Jefferson alerted the sheriff of the impending attack before anyone else, and Graham ordered him to alert me while he set off to delay Spencer's mob for as long as he could. He saved lives."
"No..." Mary Margaret gasps, but in grief and not disbelief. David can believe it all too well himself. It sounds exactly like the sort of thing Graham would do.
Graham...
No, no, no.
"You lied to me!" he directs at Gold, feeling his tears streak his cheeks and not even caring.
"You would have run off in an attempt to save him and would have died with him," Gold says frankly and quietly. "I need you alive."
"I'm going back for him." David says, and he can feel Mary Margaret's gaze on him. "Mary Margaret, I have to. It's Graham."
"I know," she says, leaning up to kiss him fiercely. He meets it with equal desperation, trying to will all his love for her into one kiss. They're both breathing hard when they pull apart again, and Emma is crying softly.
"I love you both," he whispers, pressing his forehead against Mary Margaret's. He touches Emma's head gently, then leans down to kiss his daughter's forehead. "I will find you again."
"Or I will," Mary Margaret promises, pressing her lips against the hollow of his throat. He swallows and nods. He doesn't doubt that in the least. Softly, he shrugs his backpack off and leaves it at her feet. He won't need that. He does strap his sword on, and then his gun, though.
He might need them.
Gold is still standing by the car as David turns around again.
"Are you going to try to stop me?" David says angrily, but Gold shakes his head.
"It will be too late to help him," Gold says. "But I know you will do this to ease your conscience and know you did what you could. You can blame me afterwards if you feel better. I can handle it. Just get out of there fast, Mr. Nolan."
With that, Gold steps away, and David gets back into the car. He can see Mary Margaret, Gold and Sean look after him as he drives off, but he refuses to let himself think about it being the last time he sees them.
Instead, he focuses on driving and tries to formulate a plan. The town hall will probably still be burning, but Spencer might have people there looking for survivors. He'll have to approach carefully.
He can see the smoke curling up into the sky as he drives nearer. There is a fire all right, a violent, angry fire. It might even spread out of control, David reckons. In Spencer's eagerness to get at David, he might just have damned himself as well and burned his own kingdom too.
At least it will be enough to worry him for a while. That is something.
As he pulls into the town, David leaves the car behind a house that is out of line of fire, deciding to approach on foot the rest of the way. The heavy smoke is blanketing the town, and he uses it for cover as he slowly makes his way deeper into the town. He can't see any of Spencer's men, and given the smoke he can well understand that. It makes him cough and makes his eyes water,
The town hall is burning like a bonfire, and he circles around to get to the street on the other side. Apart from the roar of the flames, the town is eerily quiet. It is almost like that day when the world ended all over again, and it makes his mind scream at him.
He bites it back, forcing himself to keep going. Finally, after what feels like forever, he peeks into the main street and sees the trail of destruction Spencer's mob has brought. Two of them lie dead, he sees, and judging by the blood, others have been wounded.
And there, on the other side of the street, lies Graham. It has to be, David knows, as he moves hurriedly over to the body. His heart still sinks as he sees that it is indeed Graham. There is a pool of blood around him, and David already knows there is no saving his friend. There probably was none the moment Graham decided to delay Spencer.
"Graham," he whispers brokenly, lifting Graham's head up from the ground and leaning his forehead against his own. "What did you do?"
There is no answer, but there is a strange look of peace on Graham's face. It's almost as if he's sleeping, having good dreams unlike the nightmares David knows his friend had been struggling so much with.
"Graham..." he says, wishing he could find the words to make a proper eulogy, but they seem stuck in this throat.
He weeps then, cries until he's out of tears. This is his friend, the first friend he can remember making since the rest of his life is lost to him. This is Emma's uncle, because if David can claim to be her father from love, than Graham can claim to be the uncle. This is the man who brought David to other survivors, starting the whole community they have now.
This is Graham.
He sits quietly for a few more minutes, then sighs. It's time to go home.
Gently, he picks up Graham's body and starts carrying it down the street. Spencer might leave his men behind. David doesn't intend to.
II
By the time he gets back to their new camp, it's almost dark again. Sean has clearly worked his organizing skills, because fences are already being built, cars have been moved and houses have been moved into. It almost looks like a small village.
Gold is waiting for him with Sean and Leroy. At the sight of Graham's body, Gold just nods slowly, Leroy curses and Sean closes his eyes.
"We'll have a funeral tomorrow," David says quietly.
Sean nods. "I'll look after the body until then. He was my friend too, David."
"Yeah," David agrees thickly, as the younger man lifts Graham's body up and begins walking towards the barn with it.
"Sean gave your family the smallest farmhouse," Leroy says quietly. "Mary Margaret is there with Emma."
Mary Margaret, David thinks, and longs for her so much it aches. But he turns to Gold first, and Gold meets his eyes calmly.
"I understand why you did it," David says darkly, forcing back his anger. He does understand. Under certain circumstances, he might even have done something similar. "But if you ever lie to me like that again..."
He doesn't even have to voice the rest of it out loud. Gold simply nods, as if getting it. And with that, David walks towards the smallest of the farmhouses. It is a lovely house, even if it looks abandoned like the rest of them. The paint is peeling off and the roof has lost several tiles, but he can fix all those things. It can be a good house.
It can be a home.
He owes Graham that, he reckons. To make the best out of what Graham was apparently willing to die for.
Mary Margaret is waiting for him inside, just existing the bedroom as he enters. As she spots him, she takes a few steps forward and then just stands in the middle of the rather empty living room with teary eyes, and he walks over in three quick strides and clings to her. She tip-toes to let him bury his head against her shoulder, rubbing his back in comfort. She says nothing. She probably knows there is nothing to say, no words to offer that will fix this.
He breathes her in, pressing her closer. She's crying, he realizes, and he pulls back to cradle her head in his hands. She smiles sadly at him as he uses his thumbs to brush away her tears.
"David," she says softly, his name a caress in her mouth. Tenderly, she presses her lips against his, and he draws a slow, shuddering breath.
"Is Emma...?" he asks.
"In the bedroom," she replies quietly. "Leroy helped me set up the crib there. She's sleeping now, but she was crying for you earlier."
He longs for Emma too, and Mary Margaret seems to see it on his face, because she takes his hand quietly leads him into the bedroom. It's empty apart from the crib and a chair next to it. Mary Margaret must have been sitting there, he realizes, probably drawing comfort from their daughter just as he wants to.
He sinks down in the chair and leans his head against the edge of the crib and watches Emma sleep. Mary Margaret leans against him, caressing him and touching him comfortingly, even if she must be feeling her own grief.
"He won't get to see her grow up," he mutters brokenly. "He helped me save her and he won't get to see her grow up."
"I know," Mary Margaret says quietly, kissing his head. He tilts his head to look at her, seeing the pain on her face. She's grieving her own loss and grieving his at the same time, and his heart aches for her.
He pulls her onto his lap, covering her hand with his own as she presses it against his chest above his heart.
"I'm sorry," he says quietly. "He was your friend too."
She nods, and he kisses her eyelids as she closes her eyes. They sit like that in silence for a few minutes, only interrupted by Emma occasionally making a soft noise in her sleep.
Mary Margaret eventually stands up, cradling his head against her stomach for a moment.
"You're bloody," she says, and he realizes he must have gotten some of Graham's blood on him.
"Sorry, I'll go wash up," he offers, but she shakes her head.
"Let me do it," she says quietly, and he takes her hand and follows her into the bathroom. She's already brought a few buckets of water there, he notices, and directs him to stand while she undresses him. Her hands stroke his skin as she does, loving comforting touches. She cleans him in the same way too, gently and tenderly and pausing sometimes to kiss his skin.
It's comforting, and he lets himself feel it.
When she's satisfied, Mary Margaret finds him a set of clean clothes from the backpack, and then they step out of the bathroom and into the silent and darkening living room.
He finally gives the house a proper look. There is a kitchen, he notices, though all the appliances seem long gone. Not that any of them would work, since they have no electricity to begin with.
There is no furniture, only dust and empty walls.
"What do we need?" he asks, and Mary Margaret gently cups his cheek. "I need something to do right now, Mary Margaret. What do we need?"
"A bed," she says quietly. "Maybe a bench or something else to sit on. A table or two and some shelves eventually. We have a closet."
"Right," he murmurs, kissing her forehead. "I'll head out to the barn and see what we have to work with. Looks like Sean has set that up as the storage."
"I'll come with you," she says quietly. "I need something to do too, David. I'll find something I can take back here and do while I watch Emma."
He nods, taking her hand and sliding his palm against hers in a gentle caress before intertwining his fingers with hers. Hand in hand, they head outside.
They find Sean in the barn, and David discovers he was right. It has become a storage unit, littered with everything they managed to bring with them. And in the corner, Sean has covered Graham's body with a sheet.
There are already flowers around it, and David supposes the word has spread quickly. He swallows the lump in his throat that threatens to choke him.
"How much did we manage take with us?" he asks as Sean walks up to them, eyes red and puffy.
"A lot," Sean says quietly. "Most of the food and the water and the tools. It's a good thing we were prepared and had most of the cars preloaded. But we don't have much gas left for most of the cars we used. Whale and Ruby are out scouting the nearest area."
David nods tiredly. "What do we have of furniture or materials?"
"In the back," Sean says. "Just take whatever you need. There is a collapsed barn not far from here. I sent a couple of people to bring back planks and anything else that's useful. We'll have enough building materials."
"You found a good place for us, Sean," David says, patting Sean's shoulder. But Sean just looks slightly uncomfortable at that.
"I didn't find it. I just followed the wolf," he admits, and looks down. "I don't know why. It just seemed like it wanted me to follow it."
"Oh," David says, exchanging a glance with Mary Margaret. Huh. "Well, it was a good find either way."
In the distance, a wolf howls and David wonders.
II
It's late at night when David takes a last look over their new camp, feeling exhausted. It's already shaping up and because of the contingency plan he, Mary Margaret, Gold, Sean and Graham set up, they have managed to bring most of the vital supplies with them.
They have building materials. They have farmland. They have food and water. And they have people, the best people David knows.
This, this is going to be there new home, David decides. Their kingdom, as Gold likes to call it.
In the distance, something roars, and he turns to look towards Storybrooke. It looks as if it's still burning, and he can see a fireball shoot up.
"Best to let sleeping dragons rest," Gold says next to him, and David glances over at him.
"What do you mean?"
"Just that."
David lets it go, not feeling particularly like picking at Gold's riddles until they make sense.
"I am sorry about the loss of your friend," Gold goes on, and it actually sounds sincere by virtue of not trying hard to sound like it. "Albert Spencer always paid the price for his arrogance and he has this time too. Look at his kingdom burn."
David glances back at Storybrooke again, wondering just what is going on over there. But he cannot do anything about it tonight.
"Goodnight, Gold," he says instead, and heads towards his little house.
It's already becoming a home. There is a table and chairs there now, something Leroy and Mary Margaret put together. There are planks they've cut for the shelves they're going to put up, and a couch Mary Margaret is going to change the fabric on.
The small collection of books and other items they've collected and either brought with them or had on the prepared trucks are scattered around the living room. It's a start.
And in the bedroom where Mary Margaret is already sleeping, there is the twin bed they've put together and stuffed with hay and put a couple of a mattresses on top. Emma's crib is in the corner, shielded from the rest of the room with a tarp he's hung up. He's going to make Emma her own bedroom, he's already decided. He'll make her a room and fill it with as much as he can to show her how loved she is. He'll want her to fall asleep every night knowing she is loved.
And he and Mary Margaret will always know that she was loved by one other too. Loved enough to die for.
He discards his clothes by the bed and crawls naked in under the blankets, gently pressing himself against Mary Margaret. Her skin is soft against his, and he sighs at the sensation.
She makes a soft noise as he wraps his arms around her, and turns in his embrace to face him.
"Sorry," he whispers, drawing slow circles on her skin with his thumbs. "I didn't mean to wake you."
"I wanted to be awake," she replies quietly, shifting closer and brushing her nose against his. He can see the dark circles under her eyes, and the redness that tells him that she, like him, has cried several times today. The visible signs of her grief only make her more lovely, even as it breaks his heart to see, as it is another sign of her loving and caring nature.
She looks at him, and he can read the same naked need on her face as he can feel in himself. So he kisses her, wanting desperately to seek comfort in her and comfort her at the same time.
They kiss each other lightly and tenderly, brushing lips just as their hands brush skin. She's warm and smooth against his palm and fingers, the different textures and curves of her skin becoming mapped by touch.
Under the blankets, it feels like a cocoon, like he's wrapping himself in her and closing the world off. He can only hear her; her soft sighs, her breathing mixed with his and the faint echo of her heartbeats in her skin. She moans too, as he slants his mouth across hers and their tongues brush each other.
It feels almost like making love with their hands and lips before their bodies, kissing and touching and taking their time until they're both flushed and breathless. He can hardly breathe at all when she strokes the length of him, first with a finger, then with her hand.
Gently, he shifts her to lie underneath him, bending his head to kiss her neck. She arches into him as he moves his mouth across her skin, kissing there, sucking there, biting lightly there. When he glances up at her, he can see her biting her lip hard, and then he lowers his hand between her thighs and she gasps.
He keeps his hand there while he lifts his head to reclaim her lips, kissing her just as gently as his fingers caress her. Her moans and sighs into his mouth cause his own breath to catch until he's not sure who's breathing is more shallow, hers or his.
They look at each other as he adjusts position and then sinks into her slowly, so very slowly, the pleasure of it almost painful. She draws a sharp breath, pressing her forehead against his before kissing him again. They kiss, kiss and kiss as he thrusts and she meets every one. He can feel her breasts brush his chest every time he moves, and all he can feel is her; her skin, her body, her lips, her warmth, her love.
Her. Mary Margaret, and he gasps her name as he shudders and comes. She is silent when he coaxes her along moments later, biting into his shoulder with the force of it instead.
She kisses the teeth mark she's left afterwards, as he shifts to lie on his back and have her curled against his side halfway on top of him and one leg between his. She lowers her head to his chest while he caresses her back, and they lie in the silence for a while.
"I love you," he says after a while. He knows he's said that in so many other words today apart from words and that she probably knows, but he still feels like he should say it at least once every day.
She kisses the scruff on his cheek softly. "I love you, David."
He doesn't deserve all this, he thinks dimly. He doesn't deserve the kind of sacrifice Graham made today, the kind of love Mary Margaret offers, the kind of daughter Emma is. He feels unworthy of it, but it only strengthens his determination to be worthy.
He's going to be the best father he can. The best leader he can be. And for Mary Margaret, the best...
Mary Margaret looks up at him and he thinks about a question he should ask her very, very soon.
For now, he dips his head down and kisses her gratefully, feeling her presence as a comfort and a resolve both. He's going to do this. For himself, and for Graham.
And somewhere in the dark, a wolf howls, almost as if it agrees.