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[notinthebook]

'Welcome Home' parties are kind of a drag when the guy they're thrown for disappears halfway through. 

She doesn't even notice David's gone until Kathryn comes up and asks if she's seen him -- she had, but it doesn't seem right to tell his concerned wife that the guy had been hiding out from her well-meaning celebration.  Just like Mary Margaret said, Kathryn is awfully nice, and she doesn't make a scene or fuss, but she gets a kicked look in her eyes that make Emma feel like a heel just for having a suspicion of where her husband's gone.

Not that she can judge anybody.  When it comes to relationships and what's right or wrong to do in them, she lacks a leg to stand on.

Still, she can't help suspecting, and when she drives home after a stilted but polite goodbye from Kathryn, she's anything but surprised to see the tall figure walking away from the apartment.  David doesn't have to look up for her to recognize him, but he does, and she does, and so it's another non-surprise to walk through the door, keys jangling in her hand, to find Mary Margaret hard at work apparently trying to scrub the porcelain right off a plate.

"You might want to ease up, or that brillo pad’s going to press charges," she says, not unkindly.

She gets it.  And at least Mary Margaret's method of coping is productive.

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[the_fairest]

She had startled at the sound of Emma's voice, looking up in surprise and right back down. Into the sink, her hands, the plate as she was putting it down. Feeling stupid for not even hearing the door and getting caught taking her frustration out on something. Anything.

"The dishes were just piling up."

[notinthebook]

They weren't. At least, in Emma's opinion, a few plates and coffee mugs in the sink don't constitute a pile.

She gives Mary Margaret a skeptical look.

"This have anything to do with David stopping by? I saw him sulking away as I pulled up."

[the_fairest]

Mary Margaret looked up alarmed at the first mention of his name, of him being caught there, before she was shaking her head.

"We just--" Except there was no we. "Uh. He just--"

Except it wasn't even fair to blame it all on him, was it? He wasn't the sole reason she was so frustratedly helpless at her dishes even now.

[notinthebook]

"Yeah, I know."

Shrugging off her jacket, she sits at the breakfast bar, leaning an elbow on it and giving Mary Margaret a sympathetic look.

"You’re both just."

This sucks. It sucks for Mary Margaret, it sucks for David; it even sucks for Kathryn, though she doesn't know it. "And you did the right thing."

[the_fairest]

She could barely stand, hands in the sink.
It's barely enough movement and focus even now.

"He made a pretty compelling case." Because he did.

[notinthebook]

Of course he did. Any case is compelling when you're as tied up in someone as Mary Margaret is in David: you want to be convinced. It's only hard to to not find reasons to justify it.

"But he’s still married." It's beyond weird to be the one gently reminding Mary Margaret of why this is a bad idea, but her voice is gentle. "I know – I was just at the party."

[the_fairest]

The problem wasn't that he was wrong.

 It was that he was too right, and too certain he was right, and each time he kept coming she realized she had that much less internal support holding her up right than the collapsed mine.  

She was trying her best, by her fingertips, and it was all lies and nearly being dishonest. Wrenched open every time she saw him again. 

"What do I do?"

[notinthebook]

If she's talking life-changing decisions, or philosophical rights and wrongs, Emma's pretty much exactly the wrong person to ask. Her usual gambit in this situation is just to avoid the problem until it goes away.

(Which is why she's been careful to take a look around the Bar before heading in, lately.)

If Mary Margaret's coming to her for advice, she really is screwed.

Still, she can think of one thing that might help, and Mary Margaret's her friend, and she needs what help Emma can give, so she lifts her eyebrows and gives it.

"You need to stop cleaning. And have a drink."

[the_fairest]

That wasn't even something she'd thought of. 

Mary Margaret watched Emma walk to where the few bottles of alcohol and glasses for them were. It wasn't any worse than the ideas in her head. Maybe smarter than a good third of them. She set down the plate and walked toward the dining room table. Sitting down in a chair, with a slump of her shoulders, silently.

[notinthebook]

Imagine that.

There's a bottle of whiskey in a liquor cabinet that she could swear Mary Margaret probably forgot existed, and she takes it out by the neck, along with a pair of tiny cut-crystal glasses that would be a whole lot more appropriate for champagne.

Not that either of them exactly has much in the way to celebrate.

"Here’s the thing," she says, as she pours. "I don’t know a lot about relationships...other than having many that failed. But generally speaking, if you think something you want to do is wrong, it is."

Her eyes don't leave Mary Margaret's face, though a little something unhappy twists in her own chest.

"So, you got to stay strong and he has to figure out his life." She lifts her glass, resigned. "Cheers."

[the_fairest]

Even if most of her is caught up in how decidedly unfair this whole situation is. Emma cares, she wouldn't be reminding her of all this if she didn't, right? That doesn't make it fair. 

She'd stayed home. Chosen to avoid the whole situation. To grade papers, read, sleep, mope, hang a bird house, anything else.

 He'd shown up in the yard of their building. Asking if she had fled the hospital, and volunteer work she'd been doing longer than she could remember, because of him. Talking about his feelings. And hers. Forcing her to have to say, to his face, all those needling things her heart never could forget.  

Stay strong. How small those words sounded for the task required. But she lifted her glass quickly and toasted Emma, when she realized Emma was. Following it with knocking back a gulp of whiskey that made her throat burn and caused her to cough slightly after it went down.  

[notinthebook]

She smiles, a little amused at the way Mary Margaret coughs so delicately, a faint flush staining her cheeks. The whiskey's a sweet warmth that burns its way down her throat -- it's good stuff, better than what she was drinking last week, with Michael.

Not that she particularly wants to think about Michael.

Mary Margaret's not quite looking at her directly, those big hazel eyes of hers all sad and confused, and Emma sighs, putting down her glass to watch her friend with a sympathetic twist to her mouth.

She knows that expression.

"He really got in your head, huh?"

[the_fairest]

That's actually an incredibly apt turn of phrase.

"I know it's silly," She kept looking between the whiskey and Emma, as though torn between which one to give herself more to. "And that he only woke a short time ago."

But it was if even when he wasn't here, he was there. In her mind. Refusing to be pushed away, fighting tenaciously not to let her forget.


How when even the memory of saving him became more blurred with the passing days, she could still remember the moment his eyes opened. The moment, just there, right before they opened, when she was certain of all the colors that would be in them and that they could never be closed forever. How deeply insane and desperate that was.


Mary Margaret tried to push that away, too, shaking her head, as thought somehow it were still her fault. All the things she didn't admit to. "I didn't know he'd come here tonight."

[notinthebook]

Softly; "Of course you didn't."

She's never thought of herself as much of a counselor, but somehow that lack of confidence gets tossed out the window when it comes to Mary Margaret, because she's never had someone she wanted so much to be able to comfort. And there's Mary Margaret, sitting so small and tucked in on herself, with all the delight and joy she has in all her little likes and hobbies and dreams just pulled away from her.

Making her sad is like kicking a kitten, and all Emma wants to do is make her feel better, but there's just no magic bullet cure for heartache. Whiskey dulls it, sometimes -- but then, sometimes, it just gets worse.

She leans forward, ducking her head to try and catch her friend's eyes, her own earnest. "That's the whole reason you didn't go to that party to begin with, right? You've stayed away. He's the one who came here. He started this tonight, not you."

She reaches forward, toys with her little goblet of whiskey.

"And it's not silly."

[the_fairest]

She doesn't believe that.

Which isn't to say she doesn't want to believe Emma, just that all of this is so frustrating and she feels like it's tugging at all her seams. Not as badly now as when he's standing in front of her, but the phantom ache of that feeling was still intense. No matter how many times she reminded herself.

Mary Margaret took a small drink of her whiskey this time. A slight cringe, but no cough this time time, looking over at Emma in answer to the searching look, trying to get her to look up. "How was it? The welcome home party?"

Was it as perfectly hopeful, and wanting to help, and filled with people from everywhere, as she pictured pretty much everything Kathryn did after watching her trying so hard for David in the hospital?

[notinthebook]

"It was..."

Her voice trails off as she thinks back, making a face and shrugging slightly, shoulders rounded as she slouches in the chair. "Nice, I guess. I mean, there were a bunch of people, and there were, like, little...plates of crackers and cheese. You know. Nice."

One eyebrow flickers up as her mouth twists.

"Admittedly it all got a little awkward once it turned out the guy we were supposed to be welcoming was nowhere to be found."

[the_fairest]

Awkward. It's the proper word. She feels like she should apologize. Like somehow it's her fault. Even though Emma only just said none of this was on her. It feels like it is. Like if she can't even convince herself to mean no completely, no matter how many times she sends him away, somehow she's complicate in all of it.

Mary Margaret searched for something that wasn't about her though. Or another commentary on David being --



"And Henry was there?"

[notinthebook]

"Yeah."

Regina had been in the kitchen, and that meant she'd gotten to actually spend time with the kid, hang out with him and listen to his theories about why David Nolan doesn't seem like he's quite managed to fit back into the world yet.

"Regina's all buddy-buddy with Kathryn, so they were both there."

And not that she'd ever pass up a chance to hang out with Henry, but it's weird how Regina's latched onto that family, considering a little over a week ago she hadn't had any idea who the John Doe in the hospital was, and hardly seemed to care.

[the_fairest]

Mary Margaret turned the glass, by the stem, in a part circle between the tips of her pointer finger and thumb. Something in her knotting harder at the mention of Regina.

"They've gotten closer over the last week?" She really shouldn't begrudge Kathryn a friend, but she sounds a little startled still.

[notinthebook]

"Sure seems that way."

She watches as Mary Margaret twists the glass, the way she sometimes twists that ring on her right hand, the way she sometimes twists towels if she's holding them.

Mary Margaret would be pretty terrible at poker.

"Personally, I think Kathryn could stand to have better taste in friends."

[the_fairest]

"Everyone deserves to have friends," Mary Margaret said at the rim of her glass, uncertain just which of them she was defending. Especially when both of them turned her stomach into equally unfriendly knots, for wholly different reasons. 



It was still true. 

Everyone deserved friends. 

No one should have be utterly alone. 

[notinthebook]

"I'm not arguing, but I wouldn't wish Regina on my worst enemy."

Except that Regina is her worst enemy.








...Well, she wouldn't wish Regina on herself, even.

[the_fairest]

"Maybe they'll be good for each other?" Mary Margaret shrugged, trying, there wasn't much strength if conviction in the concept of the followup. "Or Kathryn will figure out her own thoughts about it to come."

She wasn't a fan of the mayor. But aside from Henry, the woman was alone. Even if it was a void of people she'd terrified away from her with her every word. 

Watching Henry suffer from that void had been bad enough. 

[notinthebook]

"Yeah, maybe."

There's a tone of finality in her voice as she lifts her whiskey to sip at it again. She's not particularly interested in discussing Regina, or Kathryn, or whether they hang out at night and watch movies and braid each others' hair. She's not invested in any of this for anything other than the sake of the woman sitting across from her, looking so pale and so unhappy with that stubborn little frown pulling between her brows, like she's scolding herself for lack of anyone else to blame.

"...Are you okay?"

She doesn't mean right this second, she doesn't mean you look like you're gonna cry, she just means...this is hard, and what she cares about is that Mary Margaret's okay. Or that she will be.

Which is probably not possible, but she asks anyway.

There's way too much heartache in this little apartment tonight.

[the_fairest]

Emma would probably be displeased to know this little apartment has known little else than it. Perhaps, far quieter, and not always as keenly, but rarely ever to an opposite setting. 

"Yes," she says even when she doesn't feel it. Isn't even sure she will be tonight. "I just wasn't expecting him earlier." 

She had to hope, that sleeping on it, he'd come realize he had to stop. It might. He had walked away at the end. 

[notinthebook]

"Hey, that's my thing." It's more gentle than teasing, but true, too: she's not honest with her own feelings, because she doesn't know how to be, but she wouldn't suggest it as a coping mechanism for anyone else.

It sure doesn't work for her.

Wetting her lips, she frowns briefly at her whiskey before looking up again. "Want me to put the fear of God into him?" she offers, a faint little smile trying to tug past the sympathy on her face.

"Or, I mean, the Sheriff's Office. Or just me." She watches Mary Margaret, unsmiling despite the joke.

"He should know better. It's not cool, him coming by if you want him to stop."

[the_fairest]

"Oh, I'm sure that's not necessary." Mary Margaret said it quickly, and with no small note of rather sudden defense for David, if appreciating the point Emma was trying to make enough to get an awkward curve of her mouth. It's not a smile, but it's the closest thing since Emma commented on the scrubber in her hands.

"I'm pretty sure he heard me." Though whether he listened, or cared to, or was going to throw it to the wind and keep coming (his Just - remember what I said no less lost on her now as last words) regardless. "But, thanks anyway."

The last was a touch shy, back to some shyness.

[notinthebook]

"Yeah."

It's part a breath, part a sigh, part a wry little laugh. "I didn't think you would."

The tiny suggestion of a smile isn't enough to light Mary Margaret up like the ever-burning candle she sometimes seems to be, but it's something, something that isn't deep unhappiness and confusion in her big eyes.

"But in case you change your mind, I'm pretty convincing backup."

An easy smile chased with a final swallow of whiskey manage to stop that thought before it starts, fortunately. It's something she's practiced at, and she flatters herself that Mary Margaret, entangled as she is in her own miseries, hasn't noticed anything out of the ordinary.

Because there's nothing to notice.

[the_fairest]

It's still a little awkward shift across her face, racing to drink. Which if Emma rolls with, Mary Margaret can only question if she is the one making Emma feel awkward suddenly. Continually almost falling about about David Nolan since the moment he woke up.

"I'm sure you would be." She raised her glass and drank again. The burn still surprising but not as overpowering. "The second best in town now."

[notinthebook]

"I think I could be scarier than Graham," she muses, swirling her glass. The last few drops of whiskey cling there, collecting amber-colored light and sending their heady sweet scent into the air.

It's all kind of absurd, anyway, just a way to try and cheer Mary Margaret up. Mary Margaret, who will probably continue to defend David even when she won't admit that having feelings for him doesn't make her wrong.

It just makes her unlucky.

"But I think you've got this one."

Mary Margaret doesn't think of herself as particularly strong, but Emma knows the truth. It's there in the little lift of her chin, the way she straightens her shoulders when she realizes they've been curling in on her.

Plus, she's got Emma, who isn't kidding about backup even if it isn't the kind she's joking about.

[the_fairest]

"Nothing a bath and few hours of sleep can't cure, right?" Mary Margaret said, trying to sound more certain than she felt, about anything was going to be able to clear up the blue of his eyes from being right in front of her again.

Though Emma was doing a good job of getting her to stop being angry about it.

[notinthebook]

"Definitely a bath," Emma says, firm. "Some music. Light a candle or two. Relax. And then maybe a piece of chocolate before bed."

She tips a little more whiskey into her glass, gives a smile that isn't meant to be as rueful as it is.

"Cure for all ills: mental, physical, or emotional. Or at least it'll help."

It should, anyway. Mary Margaret at least isn't afraid to be alone with herself, isn't worrying what pitfalls her own thoughts have in store for her.

We don't have to do this.

Yes, they did. Just like Mary Margaret has to try and forget the guy she's so crazy about, just like David needs to quit coming around, just like she needs to watch what she does and says so Regina doesn't have any ammunition against her.

Wanting something just isn't enough. Not in this world.

[the_fairest]

Mary Margaret finished off her glass, with a flicker of eye lashes, but less of a cringe again, and set it further into the table. She didn't need anymore. She was already maudlin about the night, and would probably continue to be.

I'm choosing you.

"I should do that, then," she said, reaching up to run the finger of one hand through part of her hair, against her scalp. She tried to smile a little firmer, for her, lightly teasing. "Stop keeping up the half of our police force that chooses to work mornings."

[notinthebook]

"Yeah," she says, "come on, how am I gonna bust jaywalkers if I don't get enough sleep?"

Not that there's a great chance of her sleeping all that well tonight, but what the hell. It's not like she can lay any more on Mary Margaret -- she's got plenty to deal with already.

Getting up, she clears the two glasses, screws the top back on the bottle, and waits until Mary Margaret's gotten up to follow her up the narrow metal stairs.

"Good night," she says, her hand on the handle of her door, but she pauses, frowns, looks back at her friend.

"Just...try to relax. Things will work out. It won't seem so bad tomorrow."

Except that's a lie. Maybe not a week, a month, a year from now, but tomorrow...she shakes her head, offers a wry smile.

"See you in the morning."