The End of the World (and After) Chapter 12: Time calls your name, an once upon a time fanfic

Interlude: Mary Margaret

Before the end of the world, Mary Margaret walks around with the strangest sense of having lost something.

She feels hollow. Empty. It is as if something has been ripped from her, and her body feels it. She aches. She hurts.

But she can't remember losing anything. She's Mary Margaret Blanchard. All she has now is what she's ever had, a lonely life while looking for true love in all the wrong places and a dedication to children while longing for her own.

That's all she can remember, and yet her heart doesn't seem to recognize her memories.

The world ends.

Mary Margaret finds what she can't remember losing.

Chapter twelve: Time calls your name / you're not the same

David

They all have nightmares sometimes. It's almost impossible not to, given what they've seen and lived through.

David's nightmares always seem to be the same. There is blood, there is pain, and there is Emma gone from him, from them. There is Mary Margaret crying over him, trying to kiss him back to life.

The dream always ends there, leaving him to wake up with a painful gasp. Sometimes, Mary Margaret is awake, cradling his face and kissing him softly until he feels alive again. Sometimes, she is sleeping and he pulls her closer and kisses her skin until he knows he's not dying.

And the nightmare loses its power for now, hiding at the back of his mind and biding its time.

And time seems to pass, as time is meant to.

With spring turning to summer, they become farmers. Not just farmers – Mary Margaret and Ruby turn out to be quite good hunters, and Sean does well with trapping – but farming becomes the bulk of the work and the activity. They sow. They repair fences and make meadows for their livestock. They farm.

David likes it, he finds. He enjoys watching the sheep, seeing their crops begin to grow and even finds he doesn't mind the hard work. Maybe he had a farm in that life he doesn't remember, or maybe it just feels natural to him.

They still scavenge from the outskirts of Storybrooke (he doesn't want to risk anyone going further for now, especially with the faint shaking that sometimes seems to emanate from there) as well as farms further away. There is no sign of others, and it strengthens the sense that it's just them and nothing else left of the world.

It probably can't last and maybe sooner or later the world (what remains of it) will come to them. But for now, this is their life.

It's not a bad one.

"You caught a deer again," David says admiringly as he regards the deer carcass that Sean and Ruby are hanging up, and Mary Margaret blushes faintly as she walks over to him. "Are you sure you weren't some badass archer in a former life?"

She gives him a pointed look, but she can't hide the pleased smile that is making her lips curve.

"It was an easy shot," she says and he scoffs in disbelief. "It was! I think a wolf had spooked it. It wasn't looking at me at all."

The wolf, he thinks faintly, and something howls in his mind for a moment. Then it passes, but Mary Margaret still gives him an odd look.

He smiles at her, then steps closer and pulls her into his arms. She leans into it, resting her forehead against his.

"My archer wife," he says fondly, and she smiles as he steals a kiss.

"My farmer husband," she counters, stealing a kiss right back. "Oh, and Emma's knight in jeans and t-shirt."

He smiles at that, knowing he would happily take up a sword to defend Emma any day. "That would make you queen to our little princess."

"What a child you will have," Gold says, and they glance over to see him standing a few feet away and regarding them with a look that seems to be half fondness and half possession, as if he's somehow claimed ownership. "Archer, farmer, knight and princess. A child from true love. Who knows what she might do?"

David narrows his eyes. He has noticed Gold's fixation with Emma, and has wondered if Gold has lost a child or something similar to be so interested.

"Don't worry, dearie," Gold says as he notices the look David is giving him. "I am simply invested in your future. In her future."

"Why?" Mary Margaret asks, looking so fiercely protective it makes David's heart skip a beat. She's so very Emma's mommy, every inch of her, and it becomes her.

"Because she is the future," Gold says, and David wonders at that.

The future. He thinks about it sometimes, lying awake with Mary Margaret draped over him, caressing her skin slowly. He isn't sure if there is a future in this world. There is survival, but beyond that?

What do they have to offer Emma? Love, yes. So much love. A sort of shelter, yes. He's trying to make that for her, for Mary Margaret, for them all. A life, yes. A place where she can grow up and become a woman.

But a future?

He doesn't know about that, and it worries him.

It used to be Graham that Sean would go to, but with Graham gone, it slowly becomes David more and more.

"Dad kept talking to me about my future," Sean says darkly, and David gives the younger man a soft pat on the back. "That's why, when Ashley became pregnant, he convinced me I had to stay away. For my future. What future?"

"Sean..."

"Ashley could have been my future," Sean says, a world of regret in his voice. "Dad's dead, my future is in ruins and Ashley's missing. I should have been there for her. Maybe I could have saved her and saved our child."

"Maybe she has survived somewhere else," David says comfortingly. "I know you're still looking for her. That's why I haven't said anything about your 'secret' trips to Storybrooke."

"You know?"

"Of course."

Sean scoffs, but even so, there is a faint look of longing. "Graham always used to say you were soft-hearted and unashamed of it."

David thinks of Graham and feels a sharp tug to his heart. "He was right."

Sean nods slowly. "Thanks, David."

"When you find her... Don't let her go this time."

"I won't," Sean promises quietly, then looks up at him. "You're lucky, you know."

David thinks about how he would feel losing Emma, losing Mary Margaret, and baulks at even the thought. No. No. He could never lose them. He would rather die; he would die for them, in fact.

"I know," he manages to say, glancing over at Emma crawling towards Mary Margaret in the grass. His family. "Believe me, I know."

It's a good summer. Sunny, yet with enough rain that the crops seem to thrive. The hunting is bountiful too, and Leroy and Sean finally take a trip to the harbor and returned with canned fish and fishing equipment and even a shipment of clothes they've found. (Which is good, since their clothes are getting worn and they don't exactly have shops to browse.)

It's good. It's all pretty good, almost as if by magic, except of course that magic doesn't exist. Perhaps it's simply luck. It certainly feels sometimes as if the moment he found Emma, his luck changed. He found Mary Margaret afterwards, a happy ending in all the misery. They made a home.

They did lose Graham, a loss that still pains him. But he has to admit that all things considered, they've been very lucky. The world ended, yet here they are, living on after it. Perhaps there is hope for happy endings after all.

Maybe that makes Emma his good luck charm in addition to being his beloved daughter that he couldn't possibly love any more, that is his in all the ways that matter, that is family by heart even if not by birth.

No parent should have to miss their baby's first steps, David thinks, and he is there for Emma's.

"Come on, Emma," Mary Margaret coaxes and their baby girl looks at her kneeling a few steps away with a pout. "Come to mommy."

"Walk to mommy," David echoes, helping Emma stand up and kissing her head. "It's just a few steps. You can do it. You're Emma, the boldest snow-dragon-slaying princess in all the lands, you can do it."

Emma looks ready to have a crying fit. Then her jaw sets in a way he knows his does too, determination radiating from her. Slowly, slowly, she lifts one foot and puts it down.

He lets go, and this time she doesn't fall. She takes another step, and another, and then she falls into Mary Margaret's arms.

Mary Margaret beams, lifting Emma up and hugging her again and again. He laughs happily, taking a long step towards them to hug them both. He thinks he might burst with the happiness and the pride of it all. His baby girl, walking.

"Your first steps," he says to Emma, who babbles happily. "You're going to be walking around making trouble for mommy and daddy and having adventures in no time."

"David," Mary Margaret laughs. "Don't encourage her."

He adopts an expression of exaggerated sadness, which only makes Mary Margaret laugh more.

"Don't listen to mommy," he whispers conspiratorially to Emma. "She makes trouble for daddy all the time and she's very fond of adventures."

"Mama," Emma says, as if she agrees.

"Exactly," he says, smiling at Emma and then at Mary Margaret. "You're going to be just like your mother, I know it."

"I don't know," Mary Margaret says, giving him a look that despite being fairly innocent, still manages to make him think rather indecent thoughts. "I think Emma will be a lot like her father."

He pulls her even closer, brushing his nose against her hair for a moment and drawing a satisfied breath.

"I guess we'll find out," he says affectionately, kissing Mary Margaret's temple and then the top of Emma's head.

They're going to be there every step of Emma's way, after all; somehow, that feels just as it should be.

He can't quite figure out Regina.

Oh, her love and growing affection for Owen is plain for all to see, and it is rather like watching someone become a mother in slow-motion. But her attitude towards Mary Margaret is a mystery. Sometimes, Regina is just cool and aloof and he thinks he can even detect a hint of anger behind her walls. But other times she seems to look at Mary Margaret in a way that seems like longing and maybe even affection.

Odd. It is almost as if she's two people at once.

Maybe they all have a certain amount of duality to all of them, though. There is a part of Mary Margaret that seems to come out now and then, a fierce, protective and bold woman that makes his heart race and a part of his mind sigh happily.

He even lures it out of her sometimes, kissing her until she jumps him and links her legs around his hips, the force of it pushing him backwards against a wall as she encases his mouth with hers.

He likes that part of her; he likes it very, very much and always kisses her back just as fiercely.

And he can't deny there is something in him too, something almost arrogantly sure of itself, a part of him that makes him wonder just who he was with his memories intact.

So perhaps Regina isn't all that peculiar after all. Yet he can't help but wonder which part of her will come out winning.

"David," Regina says stiffly as he sets the box of supplies for her, Owen, Belle, Nicholas and Ava down on the table.

"Good morning, Regina," he says in a friendly tone. "Owen still doing all right?"

"Yes," she says, and her face softens. "He liked the toy horse you carved for him very much."

"I'm glad," he says. She looks at him as if trying to detect any sense of insincerity, and he wonders what makes it so hard for her to trust simple generosity. "How are you holding up, Regina?"

She looks at him for a long moment. "You really don't remember, do you?"

"Remember what?" he asks, feeling his head spin for a moment.

"I knew you," she says slowly, as if weighing her words. "David Nolan. I didn't think you would ever wake up."

"You knew me," he says intently, stepping closer. "Did I... Did I have anyone?"

She smiles, but there is no joy in it. "That would have been a terrible blow to Mary Margaret, wouldn't it? If you were actually married, if you were weak-willed and not half the man you are now, unable to trust yourself to make the right choices. It would have broken little Mary Margaret's heart."

He feels dizzy, breathless, his mind for a moment seemingly someone else's. David Nolan, David Nolan was... What? He can't breathe, and a part of his mind seems to howl at him.

"No," Regina says quietly, almost sadly. His mind clears. "No. David Nolan had a mother he had lost years ago, a stepfather he had fallen out with and a former fiancé he had never really loved. Mary Margaret is your only wife."

"Oh," he says, closing his eyes for a moment and feeling strangely relieved, as if he's escaped something. "You're sure?"

"Yes," she says quietly. She closes her eyes, drawing a deep shuddering breath before opening her eyes again. She looks strangely relieved, he finds. "Yes. I'm sure. You can stay your charming self with your little family, there is nothing stopping you."

"Thank you," he says sincerely, and she gives him a ghost of a smile.

Emma is sleeping on a blanket in the grass, her toy sheep tucked against her chest, as he gets home, with Mary Margaret hanging up the laundry just a few feet away. He admires them quietly for a moment, his golden baby girl and his dark-haired beauty. His family.

Mary Margaret turns around just as he reaches her, smiling up at him.

"David, hi. I was just..."

He pulls her to him and kisses her, lifting her up and swinging her around. She laughs into the kiss, the sound of it delicious as he tugs at her lips and she parts them willingly. He feels breathless, and makes sure she is too before he lowers her back on her feet.

"David," she says, a failed attempt at stern given that she's smiling and that her cheek is warm against his hand.

"You did get to say 'hi'," he defends himself with.

"But you didn't," she points out, biting her lower lip in that way that always makes him want to suck on it.

"You're right," he says, angling his head. "Hi."

The kiss is soft and gentle this time, brushing their lips together almost teasingly until he does exactly what he's been wanting to; he catches her lower lip between his and sucks softly, making her moan into his mouth.

She remains pressed tightly against him even as they break the kiss, rubbing their noses together and linking hands.

"What's going on?" she asks him, and he has to smile fondly at the way she always seems to be able to read him.

"Apparently Regina knew me before the coma," he says, and Mary Margaret bites her lip again. He knows that sometimes, she has feared that someone else might have a claim on him. "She said I didn't have a family."

"Oh," Mary Margaret says breathlessly. "I'm sorry."

"No," he says firmly, caressing her ear lovingly. "Don't be. I found my family. I found Emma. I found you."

'I will always find you,' his mind hums with for a moment, then it is gone; and he kisses Mary Margaret again until he forgets that strange, stray thought.

Whenever he holds Emma, he feels happier than he can put to words. And when Mary Margaret is there with him, he's pretty sure there are no words that could ever do it justice.

Family. He thinks that might be all he's ever wanted. He might not remember, but he still knows in a way that feels bone-deep, just like being with Mary Margaret always feels right.

He might not remember. But he trusts his heart, and Emma and Mary Margaret have both claimed it.

"Good morning, Mr. Nolan," Gold says, and David glances up to see Gold standing a few feet away. He straightens up from the vegetable patch he's been tending, feeling his back groan in reply.

"Morning, Gold," he says. "What can I do for you?"

Gold looks strangely hesitant, none of his normal confidence. "You and Mary Margaret... How does that work? How..."

David has a flash to Belle asking him something similar just weeks ago, and bites the inside of his mouth to keep from smiling faintly. How did he become the go to dating counsel when his dating experience (that he remembers) is all of one, he has no idea. Okay, that one is staggeringly successful despite not being dating in the traditional sense, but still.

"How do we make it work?" he asks.

"Yes."

"We love each other," he says softly, and Gold nods as if he knows that. "We trust that love and we're honest with each other."

Gold looks as if he's staring at something far away. "A woman once tore out her own heart rather than be with me. Figuratively, of course."

"Right," David says, wondering what else hides in Gold's past. "But that wasn't Belle, was it?"

"No," Gold says quietly. "Belle is... Belle was a brief flicker of light in the darkness, once."

David nods slowly. "What happened?"

"I let her go. I thought she was dead for a long time."

"You honestly want my advice?" David asks, and Gold looks at him.

"Yes. You and Mary Margaret have love enough to bottle it," Gold says, his eyes glimmering for a moment.

"Love might not be easy, but fight for it anyway. Because once you have it, it can't be replaced."

Gold seems to consider that for a few moments. "Spoken like a true Prince Charming. Thank you for the advice, Mr. Nolan."

David watches him go thoughtfully. Gold has a depth beyond the persona he puts on, David is well aware by now. He can't quite get past Gold's walls himself (apart from the occasional glimpse like now), but he knows Belle is lying siege to them quite effectively and with a quiet determination.

And while anyone who thinks they know Gold might think that a hopeless battle, David is getting to know Belle and thinks that maybe, maybe the odds are far more even than people suspects.

Sometimes, Belle or Ruby gets to babysit Emma and David and Mary Margaret have date nights or date days together. Just the two them, devoting some time to each other between work and raising Emma.

This is a date day.

Mary Margaret smiles as he takes her hand, leading her further into the forest. It's a warm, sunny summer's day, the sort of day made for picnics and kissing one's wife in the grass.

Good thing he has plans for both.

The forest is quiet as they walk through it, sunlight streaming through the leaves and occasionally catching them as they pass. Framed by the sunlight, Mary Margaret looks out of this world, as if she belongs to another and is simply on loan to this one.

Yet she is here with him, and he pauses in a patch of sunlight to kiss her; tasting the warmth of summer on her lips. She links her arms around his neck and kisses him right back, the picnic basket pressed painfully between them but neither cares.

It takes several kissing pauses before they find their way to his intended destination; a small lake surrounded by trees. Mary Margaret smiles as she spots it, watching him as he puts down a blanket and then their lunch with great ceremony.

"You're never going to stop doing this, are you?" she asks fondly.

"Do what?"

"Be Prince Charming. Do this sort of thing. Woo me when you already have me."

"Never," he promises, and she pulls his head down and kisses him fiercely. He pulls her body against his in response, making her give the sort of throaty moan he's gotten used to from her, but still makes his pulse quicken. As he parts his lips, she practically licks into him, tasting him and making him moan in encouragement.

He lets his hands roam the shapes and curves of her body, pausing whenever he finds exposed skin. She makes soft sighs in appreciation, and he's becoming increasingly determined to draw other sounds out of her too.

She is panting lightly as she pulls away, and he lifts his arms obediently as she tugs on his shirt. She peels it off slowly, kissing her way up his chest as she does until the shirt falls to the ground and he catches her lips with his again.

He loves kissing her, he thinks distantly. He loves the sensation of her lips against his, be it softly, lightly, teasingly, demanding or with so much desire it heightens his too. He loves the warmth of her mouth and the way her tongue explores his mouth. He loves the familiarity of it all, the sense of having kissed her a thousand times before, and the always present want, the sense that he could kiss her a million times more and it wouldn't be enough.

Her head falls backwards as he lowers his mouth to her neck, sucking lightly on her skin while pulling at her top. He yanks it off far more impatiently than her and she chuckles, the sound of it reverberating against his lips.

He discards her bra with the same impatience, lowering his head to her left breast as she arches into him. She makes a variety of impatient, encouraging noises as he flicks his tongue across her skin, then sucks lightly and even catches her nipple between his teeth briefly.

Her cheeks are flushed as he lifts his head again, her breasts rising and falling tantalizingly with her uneven breath. She watches him, then lowers her hands to the waistline of his jeans. He watches in fascination as she unzips his fly and pulls his jeans down past his hips, then hooks her fingers into his boxers.

He swallows, his mouth suddenly dry as she pushes his underwear down too, kneeling down by him. She looks up at him, a brief almost wicked smile, and then her mouth is on him and he pretty much whimpers her name.

He's fairly certain the noises he's making are about as undignified as they come, but he doesn't care. She alternates between licking him and brushing her hands along the length of him, and taking him more fully into her mouth; all of it is maddening. He watches her too, unable to tear his eyes away from her, especially the way she sometimes glances up at him to gauge his reaction.

He's hard and panting by the time she stands up, looking at him through lowered eyelids. He takes a moment to compose himself, then efficiently steps out of his shoes and jeans and underwear before pulling impatiently at her leggings.

She grins, but her lips quickly part in a soundless gasp as he slides a hand down between her legs, palming her, and yes, turnabout is decidedly fair play, he decides. Her head falls against his shoulder, and he uses his other hand to shift her until they're standing on the blanket. Gently, he lowers them both down, Mary Margaret underneath him and him slightly on his side.

She closes her eyes as he yanks her leggings and underwear completely off, pressing against the palm of his hand. He dips his head down to kiss her leisurely, her lips parted against his as he draws circles with his thumb and very, very slowly presses a finger into her.

She arches and then bucks against him, her nipples hard as they brush his chest. He doesn't let up, kissing her and using his fingers inside her until she bites down hard on his lower lip.

"David," she says into his mouth, all want and desire and need, and so, so much impatience. He chuckles, then groans as she presses herself more firmly against him. He imagines she can feel how hard he is pressing against her stomach and is deliberately egging him on.

Right then. If that's how she wants it, if that's how she's making him want it...

He lifts her leg past his hips, removing his hand and thrusting into her hard and quick. She lifts her other leg in response, drawing him in deeper and sucking on his bottom lip. Her fingers are twisting and pulling at the hairs at the back of his neck, and he can feel the sharpness of her nails every time he thrusts hard and deep into her.

His hands roam her body greedily, enjoying the feel of her skin and the friction between their bodies as they move at an increasingly frantic pace. The sun is warm on his back and she's warm underneath him, and he has to close his eyes against the blinding heat as he buries himself in her and comes hard and fast.

Mary Margaret kisses his shoulder soothingly as he slowly regains his senses and sense of time and place. Her body is still tense underneath his, poised, and so he lowers his hand between their bodies, and claims her lips in an insistent kiss. Stroking her, caressing her, it doesn't take him long to bring her over the edge, her body shaking with the force of her orgasm.

Yes, he thinks possessively, the part of him that seems to think he owns her as much as she owns him coming to the surface again.

She kisses him softly as she recovers, shifting over to her side. He moves his arms around her, holding her close as they lie in the sunlight. Their clothes are scattered around them in the grass, but he feels no particular need for them with the warmth of the sun and the shared heat of their bodies.

He falls asleep like that, blanketed in her and in the sun.

He dreams about her. His wife.

It's summer and he's kissing her underneath the trees, flowers in her hair and sunlight on her face. Her lips are soft and yielding, almost teasingly so, as he knows it's only a matter of time before they become far more demanding and insistent.

He wants her. Wants her here and now, in the grass, in the sun, in the summer that is the start of their lives together.

He would tell her that, but he's fairly certain she already knows from the way his body is pressing against hers, the way she tugs at her lips, the way he caresses her skin with his fingertips.

"Snow?" he murmurs, a question he already knows the answer to.

"Charming," she murmurs back. "Yes."

"Snow?" he murmurs, waking abruptly and squinting against the sun. It was just a dream, he realizes, another strange dream. He's David. David, and his wife is... Isn't there. He's alone on the blanket, he realizes, and looks around in alarm.

Mary Margaret is standing in the lake, water to her waist. His breath catches at the sight of her, like a siren that he could never resist.

As she notices his gaze on her, she blushes slightly but doesn't move. He gets on his feet and walks towards her, and she stays perfectly still and just waits.

When he reaches her, he pauses for a moment, just letting his gaze travel her and the way drops of water clings to her skin. She bites her lip as he lifts his gaze to her face, still just looking.

"Hi," he says softly.

"Hi," she says, a smiling tugging at her lips as if she knows what follows. She's right of course, and he lowers his head and kisses her lovingly. She tip-toes to meet the kiss, but he gets a better idea, lifting her up instead. She locks her legs around his waist as he keeps kissing her, walking them further into the lake until they're deep into the water. It's warm, though not quite as warm as the air, but still warm enough to feel comfortable.

They kiss each other thoroughly, her mouth encasing his and her tongue brushing his again and again. He feels breathless and yet unwilling to break the kiss, breathing her in. The water makes her skin slick under his palms and fingers, and the way she's pressed against him and grinding slightly against his hips is making him increasingly hard.

"Mary Margaret?" he prompts.

"David," she murmurs against his lips in response, knowing what he's asking. "Yes."

She gasps into the kiss as he lifts her up and then lowers her on him inch by inch until he's buried deep inside her. Her muscles clench around him, making him groan into the kiss. He uses his hands to support her, enjoying the curve of her buttocks against his palms as he moves inside her in slow, languid strokes, occasionally lifting her to then slide into her again in one long push.

They take their time, making love almost lazily, kissing each other leisurely and enjoying every sensation until they're drowning in it. He manages to coax her over first this time, making her bite down on his shoulder as she shudders and comes. She clings to him as he follows, murmuring something in his ear that he's too lost to hear.

She bites his earlobe softly as he begins to breathe normally again, then pulls back to look at him. Whatever she sees in his face makes her smile, kissing him with her lips turned upwards.

"I suppose we should get back," she says softly, but he shakes his head.

"We have to dry off first," he points out, bobbing her up and down in the water as if to make his point (and enjoying the feeling of her body moving against his as a bonus). "Since you lured me into the lake like some sort of siren and all."

"Mmm," she says, making a slightly husky moan as he lowers his head to the point where her neck meets her shoulder and sucks lightly on her skin. "That might take some time. Any ideas how we'll pass the time?"

He does, as it turns out.

They're both quite sore with bruises and marks in interesting places as they finally head home, the sun low on the horizon. Belle takes a look at them and seems torn between amusement and embarrassment, but does an admirable job of keeping a straight face.

"Emma was a complete doll," she assures them. "Regina and Owen came by and read to her. Jefferson came by and gave her a hat."

"A what?" David asks, confused.

"A hat," Belle says. "I know, I found it a bit odd too. But he insisted she had it, and it was just a hat, so I didn't see the harm."

"Don't worry about it," Mary Margaret says kindly. "Thank you for looking after her."

"My pleasure," Belle says sincerely, and for a moment her face is bright with longing. David squeezes her shoulder comfortingly; he didn't even know how much he wanted a child until he suddenly had one, but now he can't imagine his life without her.

As Belle heads home or to Gold's (David isn't sure), Mary Margaret takes his hand and they pad into Emma's bedroom together. Their daughter is sleeping, looking peaceful and happy. Her sheep is firmly placed in a top hat, which David supposes must be the hat Jefferson gave her, apparently in Emma's thinking a good bed for a toy sheep.

Mary Margaret leans down, tucking a golden curl behind Emma's ear. She looks so motherly doing it it's impossible to imagine her as anything but a mother, Emma's mother.

"What is it?" Mary Margaret asks, noticing his gaze.

"Just looking at Emma's mommy," he says and she smiles at him with such happiness it makes her look even more beautiful, even though that should be impossible.

"Charming," she jokes softly, and he blinks at her for a few moments, his mind buzzing.

"Right," he says, and wonders at just how right it does feel.

He dreams again. Emma is in his arms in the dream, and he knows he has to protect her. He just knows, knows it as surely as she is his daughter.

There are men trying to hurt her in the dream, but he takes the hurt for her. He bleeds for her and is ready to die for her.

Emma. His baby girl.

He has to let her go.

"Find us," he begs her.

He lets her go then, and it is far more painful than the wound that follows, the one that leaves him bleeding on the floor. Dying, unable to open his eyes even when his wife finds him and pleads for him to come back to her.

He can't even tell her he would happily die a million times for her, for Emma, for his family. Oh, how he wants to come back to her, wants to find Emma, wants to...

Wants to live.

Emma is crying.

He blinks, for a moment completely disoriented and expecting to wake up on the floor. The dream unravels sharply, leaving him only with a strange sense of unease and no clear memories of it at all. As his brain starts to clear the fog in his mind, he realizes he is in bed with Mary Margaret in his arms, and with the sound of Emma softly crying coming from her room.

He groans, then slips out of bed, pausing only to kiss the back of Mary Margaret's neck. She sighs, but sleeps on, and so he pads bare-foot in his pyjamas pants into Emma's room.

Emma stops crying the moment she sees him in the dim light, lifting her arms towards him. He smiles tiredly, then lifts her up and sits down in the rocking chair. He can see tears streaking her cheeks, and he brushes them away gently.

Emma settles against his naked chest, making a few soft noises as he kisses her head.

"What's the matter, baby girl?" he asks softly.

"Dada," Emma says.

"Yeah, daddy's here," he confirms, tucking a few strands of her blonde hair behind her ear. "Did you have a bad dream?"

She makes a noise he takes as a yes, and he strokes her back gently.

"I know," he says, remembering his own nightmares. His eyes fall on the nearby candles they light when reading to Emma late at night, and carefully he stands up and finds the matches.

She associates the candles with something good, he knows. With story time and mommy and daddy. He can use that.

Emma watches him as he lights one, sucking at her thumb.

"We light this when we tell you stories," he tells her softly. "It's a good candle; a magic candle. It will capture the nightmares. It keeps them away."

If Emma understands him or just finds the sound of his voice comforting, he doesn't know. But she rests her cheek against his chest and blinks her eyes sleepily as she looks at the candle.

Gently, he sits back down in the rocking chair.

"Daddy will watch over you," he says, kissing the top of her head again. "Go back to sleep, Emma."

She touches his eyelids as if telling him the same thing, and he smiles faintly. Yes. He'll sleep for as long as is needed if she wants him to.

He rocks back and forth slowly, and he can tell from Emma's slowing breaths that she is close to sleep. When he's sure she's asleep, he tilts his head and manages to blow out the candle. He doesn't move though, feeling his own eyes slide shut.

He sleeps.

"David," Mary Margaret says softly, and he opens his eyes to see Mary Margaret looking down at him and wearing one of his shirts. She's smiling, and the love he sees in her eyes makes it impossible not to smile back as she leans down and gives him a light peck. "Hi."

"Hi," he agrees, glancing down to see Emma still sleeping against his chest. She's drooled slightly on him, but she is still sleeping soundly. "Is it morning?"

"No," Mary Margaret replies. "It's still early."

"Right," he murmurs, easing out of the rocking chair. He kisses Emma's head as Mary Margaret does the same, and then he very, very carefully lowers Emma back into her small bed. "She had a bad dream."

"Daddy to the rescue," Mary Margaret says fondly, taking his hand and leading him back to their bedroom. She closes the door softly, making him sit down on the side of the bed while she gets a piece of cloth and wipes Emma's drool from his chest.

"Mommy to the rescue," he jokes, then scoots back onto the bed as she climbs into it, straddling him. She leans down as he lifts his head, their lips lingering inches apart.

"Hi," he says, and kisses her. Her lips part lightly against his as he catches her lower lip between his lips, and he can feel the faintest touch of her tongue meeting his. He groans at that, slanting his mouth across hers and kissing thoroughly her until they're both breathless.

"Hi," she agrees as he pulls back, faint moisture from his mouth clinging to her lower lip. It makes him brush his lips against hers again, and again, and she laughs softly against his lips.

"I love you," he says, cupping her cheek and kissing her nose.

"I love you," she says, and he knows she does even as he still marvels at it. Mary Margaret. This woman he would go to the ends of the world for, but who instead found him at the end of the world. Without her, without Emma, he isn't sure what sort of man he would be – except less of one, because they always inspire him to be more.

"David," she says, looking at him as if she can read his mind or his very soul. "Don't."

"Don't what?"

"You're the best man I've ever known," she says fiercely. "Don't think anything less of yourself."

"No?" he asks, his hands moving to the hem of the shirt she is wearing, gently yanking at it.

"No," she says decisively, a royal command as she lifts her arms and he pulls the shirt off her. She sighs contently as he pulls himself up flush against her, her breasts pressing against his chest. "I know you."

"You do," he agrees, flipping her around and pressing her into the mattress while keeping most of his weight on his elbows. "Around you, around Emma... It's as if I come into focus. Does that sound crazy?"

"No," she murmurs, her eyes very green and familiar as she caresses his face with her gaze. "That sounds familiar."

He kisses her then, slanting his mouth across hers and enjoying the familiarity of his wife in their bed, their daughter asleep in hers and his whole family right with him; almost like a dream come true, really.

They all have dreams sometimes, really. Most of them mean nothing, just images conjured while sleeping. But that isn't true of all.

David's dreams are becoming more insistent, slowly pushing at him as if something is trying to break through. But for now, they remain just that; dreams.

And in David Nolan, Charming sleeps and waits, bidding his time.