It's that first, instantaneous thing every time you ask Emma. Of course. She's fine. That solid wall that denied being anything but fine. She rarely lets herself be anything but fine.

Which would be why Mary Margaret pressed the center of her lips together a little, waiting. Letting Emma waffle from it, to small statements, most of which she knew. While she watched the conflicted struggle on the face now looking anywhere but at her.

Which was actually a rather good sign of knowing when Emma was trying to avoid something. Not so much keep it from her, but maybe avoid even feeling or looking at the thing herself.

"To take the edge off the day?" Mary Margaret asked, still gentle. The smallest sympathetic frown at the edges of her lips. "Did it help?"