notinthebook | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

It's quiet in the office.

Unsurprising, really; it's usually pretty quiet in the office, especially when Graham's out making rounds in the cruiser. She's still busy going through old files, trying to catch up on the criminal history of the town, not that there's much to look at: a few drunk and disorderlies (mostly Leroy), some break-ins, a handful of domestics. It's the usual mix for a town this size, with the one anomaly of the mine collapse.

(Her own file's in here, too: Graham had pointed it out with an all-too-innocent smile as the newest troublemaker in town, because he thinks he's funny like that.)

It's boring in here without him, and she finds herself glancing at the clock for the third time, wondering when he'll be back.

Which is stupid. He's not on a timetable, and she'll see him when she sees him.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It is during his afternoon patrol that Graham gets the phone call.

It's not exactly surprising, and it's not exactly unexpected - but for the first time, since Emma came to Storybrooke, there is a pit of guilt that settles itself in his stomach like a stone.

"All right," he says into the receiver, but his voice sounds almost half-hearted. "I'll be there."

He makes a quick stop at Storybrooke Country Bread, and then it's back to the office.

He finds Emma at her desk, looking through some of their older files.

(That pit of guilt feels like it's grown larger.)

He regains his usual easy-going composure and approaches, opening the box to reveal an assortment of just-baked doughnuts.

"Sometimes the cliches are true."

She doesn't look up when she hears the door or the faint sound of his boots on the floor, though there's a little something satisfied in the look she's giving whatever file it is she's looking through.

(It takes a second to focus and re-read the last line -- right, zoning permissions for Mr. Gold. Boring.)

It's not until she hears the whisper of cardboard and catches the faint scent of his cologne mixing with sugar and pastry, and looks up to see him giving her that entirely innocent look that sets alarm bells ringing in her head.

Her stomach doesn't knot, that's idiotic.

"Okay," she says, glancing at the donuts before settling back in her chair and looking up at him, knowing. "What do you want?"

For something like this? There's gotta be a catch.

Graham takes a breath and has the grace (though it isn't exactly insincere) to look apologetic.

Actually, he really is apologetic.

"Remember when I said no night shifts?

"I need you to work tonight."

He can already see Emma's expression changing into one of displeasure, and he almost wants to just tell her 'never mind' and call the whole thing off.

But ... he can't.

He doesn't even know why he can't, but he can't.

"Just this once," he promises.

It's the lead-in that ruins him, and she's already leaning back and watching him unhappily by the time he confesses to her needing to take a night shift.

Man, this is not how she wanted to spend her night. Not after Mary Margaret had been so unhappy and so conflicted, and someone ought to be around in case David just happens to drop by again, so she doesn't bother hiding the petulance in her voice or expression.

"Why?"

So she's complaining: who cares? It's not like she has to be anything other than herself around Graham, there's nobody here to sugarcoat it for.

Honestly, Emma's petulance is almost endearing.

Which doesn't exactly help.

But Graham presses on with what is probably one of his weakest lies to date (not that the entire thing is a lie in general, but it certainly isn't true of tonight).

"I volunteer at an animal shelter?

"And the supervisor's sick - and someone needs to feed the dogs."

Well, it's a reason. It's even a good reason, though she doesn't have to be happy about it, so she heaves a breath, lips pursing.

He kind of looks like he's expecting her to put up a fight, but it's honestly such a nice thing for him to doing and he's such a nice guy who's done such a hell of a lot for her that she really can't argue, though her tone of voice lands easily in the category of barely appeased resignation.

"You're very lucky you bought a bear claw," she says, still all petulant reluctance, though there's almost something like a smile when she reaches for the pastry and takes a bite.

It's a lot clearer when she looks up at him again, but before she can say anything else, there's a flurry of red and purple at the door and Mary Margaret's breathless voice.

Her lunch break is not long enough. The station is not close enough. Her car can't drive fast enough. There's no way to figure out how to walk even. Not when she feels like all her pieces are trying to fly away at the edges, break open at the seams, explode.

David left Kathryn. David wants to be with her.
She can't handle breathing or her own heart beat.
She needs Emma to stop her before she explodes.

She can't even get enough air, when she's calling out, "Emma, can I talk to you for a minute," barely even looking up at Graham standing in front of her before back to Emma again.

Edited 2012-05-15 02:46 (UTC)

Graham glances from Mary Margaret to Emma, knowing full well that his part in this conversation is over.

At least ... well, at least Emma will take care of patrolling tonight.

He closes the lid of the doughnut box and sets it down on her desk. In case she wanted another, of course.

"I'll just go ... patrol my office," he says, excusing himself with a slightly self-effacing expression.

"Thanks," she says, swiveling towards her desk, looking for a spot to put her donut down as he walks away.

It's not until she glances up at Mary Margaret that she realizes there's something else going on.

Why hadn't she noticed before? Just because Graham was there, and she wasn't paying full attention to the rushing tempo of Mary Margaret's voice? Why did he leave?

But it only takes that one glance to see what Graham saw, that this is something for her to hear, only, and though she glances after him, it's just to make sure he closes his door before she turns to Mary Margaret, eyebrows lifting in a silent question.

She can barely managing standing still when she's trying. Giving Graham a tight-lipped, incredibly grateful, can't even stay on his face, for looking back to Emma that rapidly, smile. She turned around, almost leaning against Emma's desk, watching as Graham opened the door to his office, only to not even be able to settle that much.

She couldn't stop playing with her hand, either. Shifting back and forth. Settling on Emma's face, with an inability to even know where to start. It just exploded out finally, "He left his wife."

Mary Margaret had meant for there to be lead up. Not for her heart to jump into her throat at hearing herself say those words. Aloud. Finally. Real. Not Regina. Not David.

"David. He left her." The words wouldn't stop. She could barely contain herself to one space. "He left Kathryn!"

Mary Margaret looks like she's about to jitter right out of her neat little cardigan, she's so antsy, and Emma's eyes are big with curiosity as she watches and listens, surprise making her eyebrows skyrocket at the words that come blurting out of her friend's mouth.

David actually left Kathryn?

Wow. That's a lot more decent of him than she'd given him credit for. Not so great for Kathryn, maybe, but at least he isn't drawing it out and sinking deeper into the lie.

Not that Mary Margaret's making much sense, and she keeps going before Emma can respond, so Emma lifts a hand, trying to calm her rush of words.

"Hey, slow down."

But she can't. She can't slow down, because -- "He did it for me."

That's the next biggest part. The part Regina wants her to feel the most terrible about. The part David wants her to feel most special about. The part Emma has to stop her from exploding both ways because of.

"He wants me to be with him." Oh god. All the words. She couldn't stop all the words. Mary Margaret was pacing behind Emma, seeing his face, his unwavering directness. Pulling her cardigan down, trying not to jump out of all of her skin. Just get it all out. Of her head, her chest, her mouth.

Almost proudly, awe struck. "He wants me to meet him tonight."

She swivels, trying to keep up and trying to wrap her head around the words that just keep coming. Mary Margaret's babbling, all semblance of her usual poise evaporated into this full-body excitement that's like nothing so much as a kid freaking out about the first day of school. It's happiness and consternation and bewilderment all rolled into one endearing but completely illegible package.

"That's, uh..."

She trails off lamely, with no idea how she's planning to end that sentence, but fortunately Mary Margaret isn't about to stop, just barrels on, so Emma stops saying...whatever it is she'd been hoping would come out of her mouth, and just listens instead.

Edited 2012-05-15 03:31 (UTC)

Because it's Emma she can.

Be honest, give in for a second to every emotion. The debilitating hope. The awe of being picked, over someone else. Her. Alone. Chosen. Wanted. The horror of how hard it is to keep trying, and keeping saying no every day. The yearning that she can't even explain, that floods her everywhere, every thought.

"I mean, I’m trying so hard to be strong," she told Emma, closing her eyes and trying to make it the loudest voice in her head. Because it was important. Because Emma was helping her be strong. Emma would let her be honest, be weaker than it barely, for a few seconds. Help her keep from making the wrong decisions. All these times already. But.

"But he just keeps coming."

Last night in the yard. Today in her classroom.

"I mean, how do I stop it?" This is why she came here. To Emma. Because Emma would tell her. Even if she's looking more over her head than at her, the fact she was willing to say all of this to Emma. To ask. To be told. "How do I let him down?"

She paced back the other direction around the chair, a little desperation quivering into her voice, "What would you do?"

Edited 2012-05-15 03:43 (UTC)

She can't quite help staring.

This is Mary Margaret like she's never seen, barely paying attention to anything around her, expression alternately lighting up and turning bewildered, grasping at words like they're going to give her some kind of stepping stone.

They don't, but that sure doesn't seem to be slowing her down.

It's that combination, though: the mix of trying so hard to be strong and how do I stop it and, finally, as Emma swivels again, trying in vain to keep up with her pacing roommate, what would you do?

There's a half a second where she feels an actual tug at her heart, making her frown, because Mary Margaret thinks that she's going to tell her to shut him down, to shut him out, because she's been saying being strong means staying away.

But that's not what it means at all, especially not for Mary Margaret, who's fluttering around like a leaf being blown every which way and who deserves love and happiness so completely. Emma might not know much about the right thing to do in any situation, but she knows what she'd do in Mary Margaret's place, and it's sure as hell not turning him down.

If someone picked her? Actually stood there and told her they wanted her, chose her, with all of the trouble that would come along with it?

The answer is all too easy.

"I'd go," she says, with deliberate emphasis, as Mary Margaret, eyes round with surprise, stops dead in her tracks.

Finally.

Edited 2012-05-15 23:43 (UTC)

The world shudders to a sudden stop on two words.

They were impossible. They couldn't have.

Emma couldn't mean. She had to have imagined.

Even her own voice, a startled bark, surprises her. "What?"

"He left her," she points out. "It's one thing to say that he wants you...but it's another to actually make a choice, and now he has."

It's not worth the heartache, she'd told Mary Margaret before. Married guys generally don't leave their wives for the other woman.

She knows that.

And she knows how easy it is to say something and then not follow through with it, to give up on it, even if it's something both people want.

(It doesn't have to be like this.)

But to say it, and then to do it, to act on it, to make that choice...

"That's...all you can ask for."

She's not jealous that it worked out for Mary Margaret when the same situation did nothing but explode in her face -- the way she sees it, that's only fair. Now that her surprise has worn off and Mary Margaret's calmed down a little, all she feels is happy and relieved.

And maybe just the slightest bit wistful, but that's an old, familiar feeling, and right now, it's almost friendly.

Mary Margret's gaze was faceted on Emma as she spoke. Certain words puncturing through even further, this third time. Not from Regina or David, but Emma. Emma, who'd been clear and honest with her this whole time. He left her...to actually make a choice...and he has....What more...

Her hazel eyes flicked to Emma's desk and the donuts box, resting only for seconds, but not seeing anything. Nothing but David. Talking to her. Calm and insistent. Every time. Continuing to come. No matter what she said. Single minded and focused the whole time. For her.

The way he'd looked at her. Every single time. The way she'd felt when she thought he was dead. When Kathryn first appeared. Or when she'd resigned. Or every time he'd smiled that slightly crooked, perfect, smile.

Hope had been deadly. Had been unwelcome. So long. Battering at the bars of her denial the whole way.Her foundation felt like it was swooshing air. Not just words. Left Kathryn. He'd chosen her.

Regina's words like ice tried to bite in, a swarm of dark whispers like a consuming cloud, and she swallowed leaning against the desk. If she -- if they (he'd said, if you choose us) -- Regina had already made her opinion clear. Sharp opinions and blazing accusations. Of what this choice would make her.

Except Emma. Doubt touched her expression as she half sat on the edge of Emma's desk, finally seeming to sink down both in her thoughts and from all the erratic movement. Still looking at the desk, thinking of things they'd said only last night.

"Given her new friendship with Kathryn, I don't think Regina would be happy."

Edited 2012-05-16 00:47 (UTC)

Ugh.

Regina.

That deserves nothing but derision and an eyeroll, which is what it gets as she turns back to her bear claw.

"All the more reason to do it."

If it'll piss Regina off, that's good enough for her. Pissing Regina off and letting Mary Margaret stay this shining, happy, adorable butterfly of a person?

She can't think of anything better.

Emma's serious. Serious enough to be making jokes at Regina. That she should go for it. Even at the expense of rousing The Mayor.

Mary Margaret took a breath in. The first she'd felt come into her since she got in her car. Her voice trembled and her stomach wobbled with it, as her heart skipped. David.

"Good Lord, is this really happening?"

There's a calm settling over Mary Margaret now. All her energy is expended, her frantic babbling soothed by a long breath, making her shoulders lift and fall.

She looks like someone who's come to a decision that both terrifies and excites her, but there's a look of such peace on her face that Emma can't help but think it's ultimately the right one.

Hell. They care about each other. That much is obvious to anyone with eyes, and they should be together, if it's going to make them this happy, if Mary Margaret's going to have that glow to her cheeks and this new way of holding herself, like she doesn't need to be so careful, like she doesn't always have to tuck her arms around herself like a bird with a crippled wing.

It makes her smile, pure warmth, a little of that peace allowing itself to be borrowed and cherished because this, this is a special moment. It's when Mary Margaret makes the choice to allow herself to want something, to want someone, and lets herself realize that she deserves this.

"You tell me."

She must be dreaming.

Her heart beating out a rhythm.

One that seemed so clear and doubtless.

It's insane. It has to be, or maybe it's driving her that way, when she glances over at Emma's words, and her first thought is that Emma's smile reminds her just a bit of David's. Or maybe it's not her smile so much as the way how she looks so pleased it fills up every bit of her expression, the way his had in the doorway before he left.

Causing Mary Margaret to duck her head and look at her lap for a second, trying hard to figure out whether to or even if she could control the smile her mouth was being pulled into as the idea took root and wthout pause, now that the door was cracked open, was blossoming wide in her chest.

Emma wasn't taking any of her words back, and she was -- she was just barely pulling it together to get to nodding, looking from her knees to Emma, hazel eyes bright -- she was going to meet David.

At the bridge where everything had started.

Edited 2012-05-16 04:55 (UTC)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only