As chance would have it, Doctor Hopper picks the same quiet time to head home for the night. He handles Pongo's leash gently, his umbrella hooked over the opposite elbow as he sways slightly on his feet - not quite drunk but decidedly fuzzy feeling.

"Ah, uh... Mary Margaret," he lifts his chin toward her, offering a soft smile; his cheeks ruddy with drink and contemplation. "You're out late tonight."