princehonorable | (no subject)

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He's beginning to feel like there's a chance he'll see the makings of a real bed sometime soon. He says that every morning, but he truly believes it. With every passing day, his legs tremble a little less -- he can manage going a little farther -- and the pain doesn't last so long. He can take deeper breaths, he's remembering more, and it's all coming together to make him feel healed. David thinks he actually might be all right.

That still keeps him pent up in the clinic for most nights, just in case he needs a doctor's help before the morning's out. It gets a bit lonely, he won't lie. So, now, as the evening winds down, he has to start thinking about dinner again. Maybe he'll go to the kitchen and see if he can't strike up some conversation with someone else who doesn't have any plans for the evening.

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"Okay," she agrees, still eyeing him with a minor note of trepidation - but she isn't about to impose limitations on him because of what she thinks he may not be able to handle. If he wants to try this, then she's not going to stand in the way of letting him. And she'll be here, anyway, in case he needs to stop and take a break. "It's not very far. No more than the distance that one of your normal routes would take you." In fact, they're making faster time than she'd originally predicted - she can recognize one of the trees she'd used as a landmark to remember how to get back to the spread.

"I'd go anywhere if I got to go with you," he swears, genuine and delighted to be walking alongside Mary Margaret at all. He's had fears, ever since that love-struck and strange day, that she would realize that her feelings weren't solely for him, but for other men, as well.

"You say something like that and you might end up in some tricky situations," Mary Margaret teases, resting her fingertips lightly against his bicep in something of a closer hold. "Who knows what kind of dealings we could end up in? I promise not to put your life in too much danger, though." She's joking, but there's a sense that feels more familiar to her, some kind of deja vu.

"If our lives were in danger, I'd fight until the very end," he swears, more devotedly than he's ever sworn to do anything in his life. "You're worth that and so much more," he insists. "But I think our greatest foe will be the weather, here. It rains so often."

"Not on those legs, you wouldn't," she murmurs, gently leaning into him with a tiny smile. "Well, hopefully we can make it there before that happens. I hadn't exactly prepared a contingency plan in case of rain."

"And what's wrong with my legs?" he challenges, knowing the obvious answer, but wanting to tease, nonetheless. "Is that a dare, Mary Margaret? Should I show them off just to see if there's something you like about them, after all?" he teases, reaching down to thread his fingers with hers.

"I should've known you'd be a handful of a patient," Mary Margaret replies, shaking her head. She's used to patients flirting with her; it had happened every now and then back at the hospital in Storybrooke. But it's different when he does it, the words playful enough to make her stomach do flips, and she hides her smile when he takes her hand. "Honestly."

"Honestly," he echoes, mimicking her tone as softly and gently as he can, sliding one hand to the small of her back in a momentary tease that he needs her help to walk along the path. "Well? Are they nice? My legs?"

"Are they? I'm not sure. They're usually so covered up by the time I come around, so I really can't say for sure," Mary Margaret replies, turning his hand over in hers, running her fingertips over the ridges of his knuckles. "Why? Do you honestly want my opinion?"

"Maybe when we arrive at our destination," he says, squeezing her hand gently to assure her that he's not going anywhere. "Where are you taking me?" he asks, a bit wary of what's waiting for them. "I'm not sure how much I like surprises. I can't remember anything, remember?"

"We're closer now," she promises, stealing a glance at their hands, her own taking hold of his a little more. His next question earns a thoughtful hum and a tilt of her head, and she tries to consider what she knows about him already. "I think," she murmurs, "that you like surprises, but only if they're the good kind. And this one definitely is. I hope."

"Only the good kind," he agrees, because there's a tumultuous air that hits him right in the stomach. He doesn't know why, but the notion of being caught off guard strikes him and sends a panic right through his spine. "Tell me where we're going?" he pleads, a desperate look on his face.

"It's okay, David," she replies, frowning at the look of worry that suddenly filters through - for a minute, she thinks he's teasing her, but he's been struggling too much lately to do that and have it be a joke, been remembering so much all at once. "I set up a picnic for us, at the end of the path here. That's all."

He exhales, unaware he's been holding it in up until this very moment. "I don't know why I was getting so tense," he admits, aware that he has a lot wrong with him, but this is just the top of the barrel. "You made us a picnic?"

"I made us a picnic," Mary Margaret says, throwing her free arm out somewhat haplessly as she gives him a small sigh. "And now you know, but you would've found out in about one more minute anyway, because it's right up there, blanket and all."

He reaches out to catch her arm when she gestures in the way she does, a soft look of wonder on his face, like he can't believe this incredible woman before him would do such an amazing thing -- for him. "Mary Margaret," he breathes out, awed by her. "You're incredible."

She looks down at their hands as he utters the words, shaking her head slowly, her smile more bashful than anything else. "It was nothing, I just - I wanted to do something for you, since you've been working so hard lately. For us," she adds, the last two words slightly softer than the rest.

He wants to say that he's doing what he is for more personal reasons, but the truth is that he's struggling so hard to remember because he wants to remember her. "Mary Margaret, can I ask you a question?" he says, his voice wary, like he's unsure about bringing this up.

She looks up at the question, sensing the tentative quality in his voice, and lets her hand slip down until she's clasping both of his securely in her own, tilting her head up to face him directly. "You can ask me anything," she softly promises, frowning in curiosity.

"Do you know if I had a child at home?" he asks. There have been these recurring dreams that he can't shake. Every night, he feels like he wakes up to the sound of an infant's cry and no matter how he tries to remember, nothing is there.

"A child?" She's as surprised as she is confused, shaking her head at the question almost instantly. "No, I - I don't think so. As far as I knew, you were only married, but - no, nothing about a child." There are times, she thinks, when she wonders if it'll ever be her turn to be a mother, and when it will happen if it ever does.

"I have these dreams and I don't know where I am, but I know for certain that there's a child in my arms," he says, so determined that it's something that's actually happened that he almost believes himself. "A little girl, I think."

"A little - " She doesn't know why it suddenly gets so difficult to breathe, only that it does, as though she's torn between crying and gasping for air, the feeling of grief so instant that it's almost enough to bowl her over, and soon it's her who's leaning on him for support, needing the safety of his embrace to fill an emptiness that seems too overwhelming to bear.

He doesn't know what's made her so vulnerable suddenly, but what kind of gentleman would he be if he weren't there to support her? He wraps his arms tightly around her, cushioning her in closely as he soothes her, closing his eyes and letting instinct take over. "Shh," he murmurs. "Shh, it's okay. She's safe. She's safe."

She takes a deep breath, gives herself a second to lean in against him, letting his words wash over her until she feels the truth in them, believes them for herself. When she pulls back, it's with a nervous chuckle, and she swipes a finger under her eyes. "I don't know where that came from. I'm sorry. You came out here for a surprise picnic, not to have me blubbering all over you."