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Mar. 30th, 2012 10:58 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
notinthebookIt's not fair that she's still so wound up when she makes her way down the stairs and into the bar. She makes for the door without looking around, pushing away the thought that there are people here who must have seen her go upstairs with Michael who are now watching her leave alone.
Well, who cares? It's not like she really knows anyone here all that well. They're adults. There's nothing wrong with wanting a little company after a rough day.
(It's a little harder to convince herself everything's fine when she feels like turning around and heading straight back into that room to finish what they started, but she's adept at shoving those thoughts away and though they cling, fuzzily, to her mind, they don't keep her from walking straight out that front door.)
The apartment is dim and quiet, soothing, and she heads to her room to strip off her jacket and top, inspecting it for damage done by the dirt and grime of the day. There's a large dark blotch on the side, and she throws on a worn button-down before picking the blue top up and heading, a little gracelessly, down the kitchen.
She probably ought to know better. She's never been good at fixing things, like stains on silk, and she's scrubbing at the damn thing with a wet washcloth but when she holds it up, heart sinking, it's clear that all she's done is made it worse, and now her stupid shirt is ruined. Temper flaring, she balls up the cloth and throws it at the sink, bats the shirt away, and slumps over the counter with her head pounding and her hand rubbing over her eyes.
What a freaking disaster.
Well, who cares? It's not like she really knows anyone here all that well. They're adults. There's nothing wrong with wanting a little company after a rough day.
(It's a little harder to convince herself everything's fine when she feels like turning around and heading straight back into that room to finish what they started, but she's adept at shoving those thoughts away and though they cling, fuzzily, to her mind, they don't keep her from walking straight out that front door.)
The apartment is dim and quiet, soothing, and she heads to her room to strip off her jacket and top, inspecting it for damage done by the dirt and grime of the day. There's a large dark blotch on the side, and she throws on a worn button-down before picking the blue top up and heading, a little gracelessly, down the kitchen.
She probably ought to know better. She's never been good at fixing things, like stains on silk, and she's scrubbing at the damn thing with a wet washcloth but when she holds it up, heart sinking, it's clear that all she's done is made it worse, and now her stupid shirt is ruined. Temper flaring, she balls up the cloth and throws it at the sink, bats the shirt away, and slumps over the counter with her head pounding and her hand rubbing over her eyes.
What a freaking disaster.
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Date: 2012-04-01 04:04 pm (UTC)"But she doesn't," she continued on. Firmer sound to her voice. "Because you aren't going anywhere, and you saved Henry. Which was more than she could do, and something she can't undo with whatever she said or did after it. Don't forget that."
It was far and above, enough to punish Emma for.
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Date: 2012-04-01 04:13 pm (UTC)Instead, she smiles, looking up from her folded arms, a grateful press of her lips.
"Thanks."
Something she could do, that Regina couldn't...yeah. It's not a bad feeling, and she'd needed the reminder.
After all, she was the one Henry wanted to see after.
(That kid has gotten under her skin in ways she never could have predicted, not in a million years.)
"I, uh..." She tilts her head towards the stairs. "Should probably go sleep this off. Tomorrow's going to be busy enough already without a hangover."
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Date: 2012-04-01 04:23 pm (UTC)The reminder that no matter what the fall out she had done amazing things today. That they would not be forgotten.
"You go on. I'll be up in a few minutes."
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Date: 2012-04-01 04:36 pm (UTC)"Don't stay up too late," she warns, but it's more of a joke than anything, affectionate and fond.
"Night, Mary Margaret."
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Date: 2012-04-01 04:52 pm (UTC)Mary Margaret watched her go, turning back to the kitchen and the island against the sound of feet on the stairs. Still new, but comforting, too. Sounds instead of the silence that had once hugged this places
She picked up both of the glasses of water, emptied them into the sink, leaving the half-melted ice ubes to melt in the drain, and then set the cups in the drying rack. She'd gone to dry off her hands when her eyes had landed on the things on the counter next to the drying rack.
Working at the hospital might be out now, but that didn't mean she hadn't learned a great deal there that she'd keep apparently. Glucose, energy, and singular-path liver functions. By the time she headed up the stairs, only five minutes later, she was carrying a small plate with buttered toast.
Grateful Emma's door was still open, she stepped in, holding it out, and told her to consider at least eating half of it before she slept. That it would make the morning a little easier on her body, if not her head. Blushing a little, on presumption, but nodding and heading off to her own bed after.
Still quite ready to put this whole night to bed, but feeling surprisingly lighter, too.