Just something to keep you going until the inevitable update of forever and a lifetime - I started watching OUAT again so it may come sooner than you think...

David was, once again, left alone with his coffee and cereal in the kitchen after Snow bustled back upstairs, a carefully balanced steaming mug of tea in one hand, and a plate of dry toast in the other. As he took a sip from his own mug, it occurred to him that for the first time in a while, he was going to be left alone with his daughter.

His memories of being just David Nolan, the ordinary man with an ordinary life, were strange and dreamlike, but he remembered meeting Emma Swan and he remembered being the first one to take care of her – Snow fell into motherhood without missing a beat, like she had known Emma her entire life, but David had never been able to quell the small, proud feeling deep within that stemmed from Emma being his little girl, first. Before Snow, before the curse was broken, before the truth had come out, she'd gravitated to him and him to her, however unconsciously, and that was enough to silence the nervousness bubbling in the pit of his stomach at the idea of being alone with her for the first time since the curse had been broken.

Footsteps on the stairs announced his wife's arrival. ''She's still in the bath,'' Snow reported, taking her coat from the rack and pulling it on, ''she's very pale, David. I'm worried.''

She was biting her lip, fiddling with the strap of her bag and glancing nervously back at the stairs. David shook his head.

''Don't worry. I'll take care of her.''

''I know you will,'' she answered quickly, stepping forward to meet him halfway from where he'd stood from the bar stool, resting her forehead against his chest and sighing deeply. ''She's seen so much garbage, she's been hurt so much – I just want her to feel safe, and healthy, and happy, not...''

''It's just a cold, honey. And she's here with us, safe and sound. She won't suffer alone.''

Over the course of their three months and counting stint in parenting, they'd heard enough horror stories of Emma's life to last an entire lifetime – more hurt, loneliness, and suffering than anyone, let alone a child, should have to endure. Emma didn't always open up easily, her green eyes still narrowing and face closing down sometimes if a memory hit her or something poked a nerve, and the fact that she'd been through enough to even develop such a coping mechanism made David – hell, he knew it made Snow, too – want to punch a wall in helpless frustration.

''Go to work,'' he advised, bringing a hand up to card through Snow's hair. ''She'll be fine – she can sleep on the couch all day and watch the old movie channel. She'll be happy as a clam.''

Snow shook her head, although a smile played at her lips as she straightened from their embrace. ''And you'll be right there next to her – make sure she drinks plenty of tea, that's always good - ''

''Snow,'' he cut her off, pressing a kiss to her forehead. ''We'll be fine. I can handle Emma. I'll even make sure she eats fruit.''

''No Oreos,'' Snow said as she pulled her beanie on, ''or Doritos. I swear, it's a wonder that neither of your arteries are clogged to death - ''

''Have a good day at work, darling.''

Snow narrowed her eyes at him. ''There's kale in the drawer on the right.''

David barely managed to repress a small shudder. ''I know. I love you.''

''I love you too.'' She darted forward to press a quick kiss to his lips before steeling her shoulders and closing the front door behind herself, leaving the apartment in silence.

Kale. Mary Margaret the school teacher was a fan of green smoothies; something that hadn't changed when Snow White had come through. He knew Emma liked them too, sometimes, though not as much as she favored milkshakes, or, as Snow had pointed out, Oreos.

There were virtually no dishes, everything having been washed the evening previously, and the thirty seconds it took David to rinse his mug and bowl and situate them in the dishwasher did nothing to kill time. Silence reigned again once he'd finished, the early morning light filtering through the windows and the quiet hum of the building's heat running in the background. Upstairs there was a soft thump followed by the sound of water trickling down through the pipes from the bath draining. The thing about the apartment was that privacy wasn't always a thing when you could hear every little movement at any given time – it was worse upstairs; if Emma so much as stepped out of her bed it sounded thunderous, and she'd informed them (slyly, weeks after moving in) that she could generally hear any conversation that took place anywhere downstairs, much to he and Snow's mild chagrin.

He waited, walking slowly around the open floor, straightening the blankets on the couch and the fruit Snow had arranged in a basket on the table. When he heard the bathroom door shut, and footsteps padding a little hesitantly above him, he bit the bullet.

His own footsteps on the stairs were heavy, deliberately so, to give her a decent moment's warning that he was coming up. ''Emma?'' he called out, once reaching the door, rapping on it softly.

''Ugngh,'' was the eloquent, slightly muffled response from within.

''I'm going to take that as an invitation to open the door.'' When no further response came, he twisted the knob, gently pushing the door open and feeling a wave of hot air wash over him. She must have flicked all of the heating vents wide open; it was like a sauna.

He wouldn't think it to look at her, however. Emma's blond hair was dark from water and hanging limply across her shoulders. She'd piled on at least three blankets in addition to her favorite fluffy robe and was sitting at the center of the bed, a few pillows pushed behind herself, face a little gray and teeth chattering.

''Oh, Emma,'' he found himself sighing, stepping closer to the bed.

''Don't tell me – I look terrible.'' Her voice was scratchy and stuttering, but she flicked her gaze to him and he could tell she was trying to muster a smile.

''Hey, you said it,'' he teased back, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. ''You've got to get your hair dry or you're going to freeze to death.''

''Couldn't find a towel,'' was all she said, burrowing even deeper into her blanket cocoon.

She looked like a child – a little girl peering up at him with her slightly bloodshot green eyes and stray bits of drying blond hair, her body under the mound of covers jerking as she shivered violently.

''Can you sit up?''

Never let it be said that Emma Swan didn't have the tenacity of both her parents times a hundred. Clenching her jaw against the shudders, he watched her eyes steel and her arms come from the blankets to push up beneath herself, swaying slightly as she came to sit fully so that she was facing him.

''The heat's still on, right?''

He nodded. ''I know you're cold, sweetheart, but you're gonna overheat with all those blankets.''

She looked dejected. ''It won't go away. Not even in the bath.''

''I know,'' he reassured, I need to take your temperature, okay? And I want you to drink some water. In fact, I think your mother has some Tylenol downstairs...''

He stood. Emma reached out a hand to grab his arm before he could walk away. ''I want to stay on the couch.''

''You need to rest.''

''I can rest on the couch! We can watch TV. Please?''

Even through her fever bright eyes she knew she was weakening his resolve. He could see that telltale twinkle as she gazed up at him, and he grinned in defeat.

''She has you wrapped around her little finger,'' Snow had accused him many times over the past few months – with absolutely no small amount of glee – and he knew that Emma knew it.

''Alright, you win,'' he said. ''Do I need to carry you, too?''

''Hey, you said it,'' she threw back at him, shuffling around as she carefully extracted herself from her blankets.

''The floor is freezing,'' she added as soon as her bare feet touched it.

''Well, you better walk fast, princess.''

It was a testament to how sick she was that she didn't put up her cursory bluster at the nickname.

''Temperature, water, Tylenol, and then you're not moving from that couch.''

''Yes, dad.''

Downstairs, Emma followed him obediently as he dug through the bathroom for the medicine, filled a glass of water, and watched carefully as she drank the whole thing. ''It hurts my throat,'' she said reproachfully.

''And it'll make you better faster,'' he countered.

One half of the couch folded out into a double bed, and David made quick work of snapping it into place, piling the pillows onto it and dotingly layering a few of the blankets over Emma once she'd flopped onto it.

''I'm not a baby,'' she fussed after he began to tuck the blankets beneath her feet.

''But you're my baby,'' he said, chuckling as she spluttered a little on the sip of water she'd just taken. ''Just sit back, Emma. Try to sleep.''

''I've been sleeping all night.''

''You're pretty contrary for someone who isn't a baby...''

She scowled prettily at him, the expression melting from her face a brief moment later. ''Can you put on TCM? Please?''

''I don't know, can I?''

''Really? That old hat?'' She yawned largely, leaning her head to rest against the arm of the couch. ''Enough with the dad jokes, Dad.''

And so they spent most of the morning knee deep in Cary Grant movies – they caught the ending of To Catch a Thief, and blew through Philadelphia Story, North by Northwest, and His Girl Friday by one. Emma slept fitfully, and after the first time she coughed herself awake, panicking from the lack of breath and empty water glass, he settled himself on the couch next to her after phoning Graham and being assured he could hold down the fort for the day.

Snow called only once, which was far less than he expected.

''She's fine, she's sleeping,'' he reported, leaning against the doorway of the kitchen and watching as Emma snored gently from the couch.

''You found the Tylenol?''

''And she took it. Twice.''

''I'll be home for dinner – should I grab something from Granny's?''

''Mhm,'' he said, turning to open the fridge and shake his head at the contents. ''I can make pasta, pasta, and...pasta.''

''Granny's it is,'' his wife said, amused. ''The usual?''

''The usual,'' he confirmed. ''See you soon. I love you.''

''I love you too.''

It was nearing one thirty, and outside the rain pattered down relentlessly. It had begun at around nine, the cloud cover and fog thick over the town. David settled himself back down onto the couch, yawning and stretching his feet out to the coffee table. Snow would shove them off in an instant, but she wouldn't be here until five.

The rain, Emma's snores, and the drone of the television sent him nodding off, the heat switching on moments later and lulling him into a gentle slumber.