When David came out of Emma's room, he found Mary Margaret waiting by the door to say goodnight to Emma. She gave him a smile, having heard the tail end of his conversation of Emma she had decided he was quite possibly the sweetest man she had ever come across. She walked over to Emma's bed in the darkened room and whispered a goodnight and pressed a kiss to her forehead. She closed the door and spoke quietly to David.

"Thanks for doing that. She really loved you reading to her."

"No problem. I'm pretty sure it's part of the job description."

Mary Margaret looked hesitantly at him, and then conscious they were still standing outside Emma's room, she took him by the wrist and led him downstairs. When they were in the kitchen, she leaned on the bench and looked up at him.

"Do you really believe she's your daughter?"

"Of course," he frowned at her, "Is there a reason why I shouldn't?"

Mary Margaret pursed her lips. They hadn't really discussed this yet, and she didn't really know what to say. She could see David's curiosity growing as she stayed silent.

"Mary Margaret, what is it?" he prompted, though he was unsure that he really wanted to hear what he could sense she didn't want to tell him.

She sighed and forced herself to speak.

"Emma… she's been in foster care for a long time. Her whole life, in fact."

David stayed silent, looking at her expectantly. Mary Margaret swallowed uncomfortably and pushed herself to continue.

"She was… found. When she was a newborn." She took a long pause before adding, "On the side of a highway."

David paled as he took this in.

"You mean she was abandoned?"

Mary Margaret hugged her arms around herself and nodded silently.

"And you – you think I did that?" David felt sick. He didn't know much about himself, but he couldn't imagine himself just putting a tiny baby down and walking away. He hoped he wasn't that sort of person.

"I-" Mary Margaret dropped her eyes to the ground, "I don't know. Somebody left her there. Maybe it was her mother. And anyway, we aren't even sure you are her father. I know she told you that you are, but her parents were never found… she says she met you last year, but you were in coma, in Storybrooke."

"Did you tell her that?"

"I did, but I don't think she really believed me. She is still certain you are her father. Maybe she did meet her father, or thought she did. Maybe he looked like you…" Mary Margaret trailed off and looked up at him again. "Emma's just a little girl. She's already had a hard life, and I think a very lonely one. She wants nothing more than parents who love her; a family to belong to. She went looking for her birth parents because she thinks that's how she'll get her happy ending. She believes in that so strongly I don't think anyone could convince her otherwise. "

David turned away from her and braced himself on the counter, thinking about what he'd been told. Eventually he spoke again.

"Ever since I woke up, people have been telling me who I am, about who I used to be, but I don't remember anything. No one and nothing is familiar to me. But Emma…" he frowned himself wondering if I was crazy, "I get this feeling about her. She feels… real."

David shook his head and turned back to Mary Margaret.

"I know that sounds crazy, and I can see why you wouldn't believe her but… I think I do."

Mary Margaret nodded slowly, eyes fixed on the lino again.

"Mary Margaret?" David called for her attention, when she looked up he continued, "I know this isn't very reassuring from a man with complete amnesia but… I don't think I could have abandoned Emma. I wouldn't hurt a child. I promise you."

"I know," Mary Margaret responded. "I trust you. I wouldn't have let you near Emma if I didn't. And if you ever even looked like you were going to hurt Emma, I swear to god I would kill you on the spot."

David lifted his eyebrows; she had said that in a bright, jokey way, but there was a protective undertone there that sounded just a little bit dangerous. Despite her small frame and sweet appearance, in that second he saw someone who might just have the potential to follow through on that threat. There was more to Mary Margaret Blanchard than first met the eye, he found himself intrigued.