A/N: for followsrabbit on Tumblr.

The diner buzzes with the fading chatter of the remaining party guests. Sitting tranquilly in their booth, David tightens his hold on his wife, his arm draping over her shoulders as she holds their newly christened son. Leisurely, with his vacant hand, he turns the pages of Henry's story book. Snow had suggested they start from the beginning, allocating their (supposedly) altered histories. When he reaches a page featuring an illustration of his and Abigail's carriage riding through the woods, he pauses, feeling a unusual twinge in his gut. He looks over at Snow, who is too distracted by the bundle in her arms to even catch his reaction.

David moves on, shaking his head and turning the pages with a renewed purpose. He wonders how he and Snow originally met; how they were supposed to meet before Emma and Hook intervened. Briskly flipping through the contents of the book, his wife stops him abruptly. She sighs happily, staring down at the image of her daughter in her gorgeous gown at her first ball.

"I wish I could have seen it," she mutters, fingers tracing over the drawing. David follows her movements, watching as she touches along Emma's extended arm and onto the shoulder of her dance partner.

Princess Leia, he thinks with a smile that gradually fades into something more serious. And Prince Charles.

.

.

All he sees is gold.

The king's done an admirable job of decorating around the permanent state of his castle, that much David—James—can admit. The hall is brimming with so many people, replete with innumerable tables lined with food samplings and wine goblets, engulfed in so much music and life that it distracts from the flecks of gold that peak out from the floor and the walls and the ceiling and the pillars. But David notices, and feels as though no one in the entire realm feels as miserable as he.

He glances over at his fiancé, observing her rigid posture and bored expression. No, he amends. There's someone else who feels just as I do.

David reluctantly paces towards where she stands, lingering by a tray of h'orderves when she makes eye contact with him. Or rather, glares at him with such contempt that he loses his nerve.

He decides to stand back, smiling kindly at the lords and ladies who congratulate him on his engagement. David recognizes none of them, and feels a pang of guilt at the thought that some of these people might have known his deceased brother; may have actually been the man's friends. He hates disappointing them.

Suddenly, he spots a splash of red materialize on the dance floor. A blonde woman in a long-sleeved, elegant dress gracefully holding on to her partner's shoulder. She appears nervous, eyes downcast on the rare instances when they're not affixed to the man before her (a dark-haired fellow in a brown coat and black vest with a stiff left hand).

Then she's grinning. And laughing, and beaming as her partner twirls her and guides her. The pair converse as they dance, bodies a respectable distance apart but gazes filled with such affection that David feels like he's intruding on a private moment. Still, he can't look away. He takes note of the way the apples of her cheeks jut out and how her teeth sparkle under the candlelight, the way the man never takes his eyes off her.

At some point, the couple forgo the waltz's steps and merely sway in place. The man says something of particular interest to the golden-haired woman and her face relaxes. David is captivated. He thinks on the tales his mother would tell him as a child, back in their modest home. Stories about princesses and knights, about lavish ceremonies and love at first sight. About True Love.

And finally, he gets it. He's seeing it firsthand.

David peeks to his side, finding Abigail with the same sour demeanor as before. He lets out a long-held breath and approaches her, determined to at least strive for what the woman in red and the man in brown have.

"Would you care to dance?" he offers courteously.

"My feet are killing me," she replies coldly.

It was worth a shot.

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.

He stares at the fire at the center of their campsite, trying to busy himself while he waits for the bandit Snow Whiteto return. The bark of the damp log on which he sits digs uncomfortably into David's backside, while his exhales mist in the chilly air. His attempts to lean against his knee casually don't seem to fool his companion (a man by the name of Charles, whom David came to recognize as one of the many guests at the ball held in his honor the previous evening). Prince Charles looks at him sympathetically, but David remains silent.

The cut on his chin still stings, and David dabs at it distractedly. His efforts to capture the thief earlier that day turned out to be in vain. Snow White no longer possessed his mother's ring; this Princess Leia did. The rage he had felt yesterday and that morning has since transformed into an abiding frustration at his current situation. Matters were getting too abstruse for his liking. Simplicity was always something David had favored, and all he wants to do was get back to his life, where an indifferent spouse and false identity await him...

The alternative to this journey, David is coming to realize, don't appear so appealing after all.

Charles pokes at the embers, then asks David about his upcoming nuptials. He goes with his rehearsed answer: he's marrying King Midas' daughter. What's there not to be excited about? But Charles continues his line of questioning, unconvinced. It isn't the first time somebody's inquired about his wedding, but it's the first time David feels comfortable with being honest with his answer. More than that, he feels as though this man he just met actually cares about what he has to say.

David confides that he'd always thought he'd marry for love. It's a sacred thing to him, something he doesn't want tainted by necessity or pressure from those around him. But the more time passes, the less certain David becomes; the less hopeful he becomes. "This whole ordeal," he acquiesces eventually, "makes me wonder if there's even such a thing as True Love."

To his surprise, Charles understands. "I once felt as you did," he says, and David perks up. "All it took was meeting the right person and everything changed."

"Princess Leia?" David recalls the way Leia—the woman in the red dress, he presumes—and Charles danced the night before. "The one we're rescuing?"

Charles nods in confirmation. "I'd go to the ends of the world for her," he states confidently, yet so very matter-of-factly that David wonders if Charles is aware of the weight of his words. "Or time," he murmurs as an after thought, like a private joke.

And when the man speaks about the powerful, irrevocable effect love can have, David can't help but believe him. His mood improving, David indulges in his curiosity.

"And she for you, I take it?" David is so sure of what the man's response will be—that of course she would go to the same lengths as he would for her—but Charles only chuckles and looks away.

"I don't know."

David moves back, palms outstretched in a way that illustrate his confusion—though Charles is so engrossed in the dirt beneath his feet to even notice—very much interested in the apparently complex relationship between Charles and Leia (and here he thought their obvious connection could overcome any impediment). "What's the problem?"

"There are many complications," Charles explains. And David gets it. Ever since that wizard imp—Rumpelstiltskin was his name—showed up on his family's farm with his proposition, David's life has been nothing short of complicated.

"Family?" he supplements with a laugh. David goes on to relate his own troubles involving his father—who isn't even really his father—forcing him to play his part and marry Abigail. Charles angles his body in his direction, leg scooting closer subtly as they continue to talk companionably. David feels like a weight is being slowly lifted off of him, finally at liberty to complain about the matters that have been straining him for weeks.

He imagines that, were his twin brother still alive—or if they had never been separated in the first place—this is what it would have been like: speaking freely about his stresses without fear of judgement or disapproval. Perhaps it's the quiet atmosphere, the peaceful calm before the storm he is sure will arrive along with Snow, but the man beside him has a way of making him feel at ease.

Charles relates that Leia's family—more specifically, their disapproval of him as her suitor—are among his concerns. David finds the idea ridiculous.

"Given the lengths you've gone through to save her," he says studiously, contemplating of any probable scenario that might warrant distrust in the man next to him. At the moment, none come to mind. "They'd be crazy not to."

At that, Charles smirks, his eyebrows arching upward. "I hope you remember that."

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David can't breathe. The Evil Queen's laughter echoes below, along with the crackling of the flames that had put an end to Snow's life. He feels a tightness in his chest. His breaths are shallow and his fingertips are becoming numb, this forcible physical reaction enhanced by his inability to explain it. He had known the woman for less than a day, had fantasized about turning her in and getting back his mother's ring, and yet he mourned her in such a way it scared him.

(Later, he'll know better. Locked away in the same cell he had rescued Leia from, Regina's promise of finally killing Snow White replaying in his mind to the point of insanity, David will feel that pain again: as if his heart was being ripped right out of him. He'll know it's because his True Love is in danger, his sorrow at being unable to aid her manifesting itself into something palpable.)

As he calms down—chalking it up to this being the first time he's ever actually witnessed a person be executed—David begins to look around and observes that his comrades share in the same stunned silence as he. The woman in the scarlet cape—the wolf girl—fists the material, jaw set tight as she walks past him. In the corner linger Charles and Leia, bodies huddled together.

Charles shifts his position and leads them away from the window, arms twisting so as to never let go of the princess. Her cheeks are stained with streams of tears, eyes unfocused and movements sluggish. David is taken aback by how shaken Leia seems, and thinks that, if Charles wasn't bolstering her upright, she'd likely collapse onto the marble ground at any moment.

Leia looks how David feels.

"We have to go," Red calls out, voice choked and rasped.

Leia nods along weakly, walking with a bit more energy than before. Charles holds her closely to him, clutching at her shoulder as she leans against his chest. Their footfalls are steady and synchronized, and despite Red's insistence that the pair go faster, David chooses to hang back with them. He's suddenly struck by the urge to cradle Leia's head, to embrace and reassure her. Again, David doesn't understand why he feels this way; this intense need to thoroughly console a woman he only just met.

His only comfort is watching the manner in which Charles rubs her back, the way he supports her until Leia is able to make it on her own. She doesn't need me, David thinks. She's got him.

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He stands by the balcony of his quarters, overlooking the large expanse of water that surrounds the castle. The candles flicker in the evening breeze, the room quiet except for the faint sounds of the festivities below. With crossed arms and squared shoulders, David is lost in thought. His mind is consumed with visions of midnight hair, a dirt covered face, a hand cheekily raised with his mother's ring glimmering in the fading sunlight.

He's spent nearly the entire day in stoic contemplation, and Snow White is the only thing that Prince Charming can think about.

The door creaks open but David doesn't turn away from the view. There's only one person who bothers to visit him—or, more accurately, regularly scrutinize his every move—and so he only acknowledges his guest when his name is called.

"How goes the feast?" David asks with a huff, slowly adjusting his posture but failing to conceal is disinterest. He paces towards the small table set at the center of his bedchamber as King George places a heavy item upon it.

He is presented with a crown, something meant to elicit a positive response from him. It's a gift from King Midas, and David scans the sculpted gold with the same disgust as he did Midas' palace. It's enough to feed the land's inhabitants for an entire winter, and yet it's being wasted on a headpiece that ultimately means nothing. He vocalizes his opinions, but they are met with stern argument.

King George reminds him of his engagement to Midas' daughter (as if David could ever forget) and emphasizes the importance of the alliance that would come from the imminent union. "Show some enthusiasm."

"Enthusiasm wasn't part of the deal," David retorts without missing a beat. He's accepted his fate, has made peace with the path his life will take. But he is tired of the deception and disillusionment; it's a business transaction, and David has honored his end of it.

"I want your heart," the older man states bluntly. "Not just your honor." And David, with some hesitation, attempts to reassure him.

"My heart shall belong to Abigail," he says with obvious resignation. He makes to return to his post by the balcony, but the king isn't so easily persuaded.

"You think I'm a fool, don't you?" The severity of his father's inflection startles him. He turns around to find steely eyes staring back. The king accuses David of loving another, which David only half-heartedly attempts to deny. "Who is she?"

"I met her on a journey," David confesses. "We haven't seen each other since, but"—he pauses, a smirk playing on his lips as he catalogs the seemingly insignificant moments shared between himself and Snow—"she stayed with me."

His proclamation provokes an unsparing speech from King George about the prince's responsibilities and expectations, demanding David forget the woman whose made such a lasting impression. The former shepherd bites back, suddenly emboldened by the strength of his feelings. The king's words fall of deaf ears, and the more he speaks, the more David becomes inspired to fight back.

"Do whatever it takes to get her out of your head," King George warns, his deep timbre hardening his threat. Nonetheless, David remains unwavering as his father approaches him, crowding him into submission. "Because nothing is going to stop this wedding."

Appeased by David's silence, the tension between them gradually dissipates as the king steps backward. The moment the monarch takes his leave, David makes his decision. Cluttered among the distant melodies of flutes and harps, a familiar voice begins to surface from the back of his mind; words that, like the enthralling Snow White, have stayed with him.

All it took was meeting the right person, and everything changed.

Charles was right.

David scurries towards his desk, sitting at the edge of the chair and hastily taking hold of a quill before hurriedly dipping it in ink. As he places a piece of parchment in front of him, David finds he can hardly hold his writing utensil still. He feels restless and excited and hopeful. There's a shift in the world, a clandestine earthquake that's awakened something unconquerable within him.

He starts to write his letter and takes a leap of faith. Dearest Snow...

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The leather clings to his thighs as David trudges through the forest, drenched and bone weary. His vest puckers and crinkles as he strides along, his heavy breaths clouding his vision. Despite his exhaustion, David feels overwhelmed with exhilaration after defeating the siren (her bleeding corpse sinking further into the water's depths will haunt him for nights to come, he knows, but he cannot bring himself to regret actions taken to rescue Abigail's True Love).

He succeeded: he has retrieved the water from Lake Nostos and he's alive.

As he makes his way uphill, where his horse awaits, David's thoughts flash back to his last meeting with Snow White. He can envision with absolute clarity the press of her hands into his, the tearful sheen in her eyes, her (false) words of rejection before leaving his side. The memory still causes him pain, but David finds that his love for her has not wavered.

The moonlight bathes the foliage ahead of him in a soft glow, his feet occasionally slipping against the fresh mud. It reminds him of his most recent camping excursion—David chuckles when he considers just how much has occurred in just a matter of days—and his conversation with Prince Charles. The man's affirmation replays in his mind, as it has since their encounter: I'd go to the ends of the world for her.

He had viewed the declaration with skepticism at the time, and with even greater disbelief that anyone would be so steadfast in spite of being uncertain if such devotion was reciprocated. But, as David is learning, the deepest forms of love are selfless in nature. He would do anything for Snow—just as Charles would do anything for Leia—no matter what, and without expectation.

Reaching his steed, David wraps his cape around his shivering shoulders and combs his fingers through his slick hair. As he takes in his surroundings, marveling at the beauty of the nighttime woodland, David feels unlike he's ever felt before: empowered and heroic, as though his life had new meaning.

He vows to find Snow White, because a love like theirs must be fought for.

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It's early in the morning when David heads back to Granny's, eager to get him and his wife a full platter of breakfast before the start of their day. The sky is overcast, the clouds signaling a possible rainstorm (or maybe, as David tugs the collar of his jacket tighter around his neck, even a bit of snow).

He's barely passed the front gate before Henry bounds through the door, the tiny bell ringing wildly with the force. Notebooks and loose-leaf spill from his grasp, and David catches them before they scatter along the ground. They laugh at his clumsiness before Henry cheerfully explains that he's excited—which David notes is an understatement—to go back to school.

"My mom's still inside," replies Henry when asked of Emma's whereabouts. David ruffles his grandson's hair before heading indoors.

The diner contains only a sprinkling of patrons, and he spots the back of his daughter's head easily as she slides out of the middle booth while taking the last sips of her coffee. Across from her sits Hook, whose eyes follow her movements, and when she makes to stand, he does as well. They exchange a few parting words, Emma balancing on the heels of her feet with her hands tucked into the back pockets of her jeans, and Hook slanting his head as he smirks at her.

David averts his gaze for a moment, feeling as he did at his engagement party, intrusive and awkward. He briefly wonders if this is how Emma feels when in the presence of his and Snow's public displays of affection. But David looks up when he hears Emma giggle, her broad smile evident even from behind. She places her palm against Hook's chest and gives him a chaste kiss before departing.

"Hi," she greets David with obvious surprise, grin still present on her face. "Good morning, dad." His heart flutters at her use of the term, warmed by the endearment in her tone. She tells him of her day's plans, the first of which includes re-enrolling Henry into the town's high school (she shudders at the prospect of dealing with all the paperwork).

They chat amicably until Emma notices the time and exits the establishment. "See you later, Leia," he calls out after her teasingly. He catches the exasperated shaking of her head before she disappears from view.

When he turns back around, David watches as Hook's body relaxes into the seat, his ringed hand idly turning his cup on it's saucer. He appears lost in thought, his thumb tracing over his lips in a daze. David takes in a deep breath before heading towards the pirate, joining him in his booth without preamble.

"I remember you, you know," he says, placing his elbows on the table. "Prince Charles."

Hook visibly gulps but makes no other outward sign of his nervousness, and David feels a hint of pride that he's still able to elicit such a response from the famed swashbuckler. Hook sits up a little straighter as he gives David a strained smile.

"Do you now…" he replies, trailing off as he tries to read David's expression. "Well, I'm always glad to make an impression."

"Oh, you did." Hook's brow wrinkles in anticipation and David realizes he has to adjust his harsh intonation. Old habits die hard. "More than you know," he admits, voice softening. "Charles was… an honorable man, and very brave."

Hook scoffs at that, waving his hand in the air dismissively. "I was merely playing a part, mate."

"Maybe so," David says, undeterred by Hook's modesty. "But if it hadn't been for you—"

"I was just doing what was right," Hook interrupts. His body goes stiff as he stares back at David, a silent request to end the topic of discussion. But David knows a hero when he sees one, and so he is persistent. Whereas before he may have been resistant to seeing beyond the villainous façade, he can now recognize a man who perhaps can only reveal his true character under the protection of disguise.

"You know, when Emma broke the curse, the first one," David begins. "When everyone got their memories back, I was so… relieved that she was safe. But," he stops, looking meaningfully at Hook, feeling like he did back in the Enchanted Forest that night, "I'd always had this worry for her well-being. I knew her mother and I would do anything to protect her, and that she's more than capable of taking care of herself."

Hook snickers in agreement. "Aye, that she is."

"But," David continues, "sometimes I asked myself if she would ever be truly happy." Hook quirks his head in confusion, fully engaged. "I mean, I think about what Snow and I have, and that's all I ever wanted for her… My point is"—he inhales sharply—"I don't think I have to worry anymore."

The pirate looks down, suddenly very interested in the texture of his pants. "And why's that?"

"I remember what you said, and what you did for my family," David encourages him, giving the man an approving nod. He stands by the words of his younger self to his one-time friend. "And I remember what I said. I'd be crazy not to," he comments knowingly.

Hook regards him with wide eyes, his mouth agape until he regains enough sense to close it. He scratches behind his ear and grins. "Thank you," he responds with the utmost sincerity, bringing forth memories of their toast in the jungles of Neverland.

"Now," David remarks, clearing his throat. He pulls out a folded newspaper from the inner pocket of his jacket, slamming it against the table top. "No daughter of mine is going to date a man without a job." He pushes the newspaper towards Hook, who eyes it warily. "Let's go."

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