Let Your Conscience Be Your Guide

[stillsmallvoice]

There's significance in the wisdom of a child, even more in one like Henry. It's no small matter that Archie Hopper's moment of illumination came at the bottom of a mine shaft where they both could have died.

And above all, there's the very real significance that he's stood up to the one person in Storybrooke, outside of perhaps Mr. Gold whom he only associates with when absolutely necessary, that could crush him like a bug.

Yet, once Marco has bid him goodnight he and Pongo return to the office and a stack of files. And mostly full bottle of scotch, leading to a tumbler of scotch... and quite naturally a belly of scotch as he considers the decisions he's made.

[ooc: Episode tag to 1x05, finding my feet so to speak. Feel free to tag in.]

Comments

[stillsmallvoice]

He nods again, subtly slowing their steps to give her time if she needs to talk.

"David." It isn't a question so much as letting her know that he's put some things together.

[the_fairest]

Her shoulders tense at the name, very noticeably. But not as noticeable, except to her, as how hard the sudden sharp feeling of wrongness in the center of her heart spikes. That every smart thought today, every best decision for all of them, all of it was wrong.

"How did yo-- Oh," She nodded once, looking down, with an expression more like a wince. "Henry."

[stillsmallvoice]

"Don't worry, Mary Margaret. I'd never break confidence." It's not a confirmation, nor a denial. While she is not technically under doctor-patient confidentiality, she may as well be. It wouldn't be right any other way.

"If you'd like to talk about it, as friends of course, ear is always open."

[the_fairest]

"I'm not sure there is anything to talk about," Mary Margaret admitted, shaking her head. Even as with her arms still crossed, her hands covered over her elbows, holding tighter. "It was the smartest choice to make. To take myself out of the picture, so he can focus on what is important in his life."

Each word feels as sharp as glass. But they are true, they have to be, so she keeps saying them. "Finding his memories from before the coma, and working on his life with Kathryn."

Instead of anything -- everything -- else.

[stillsmallvoice]

Archie sighs and tentatively reaches out to her, letting his free hand rest on her bent elbow.

"You don't sound so sure about that."

[the_fairest]

Why was she blinking, looking up at the suddenly unfocused sky, as though she might start crying? Why did a single touch, one that was far more than professional, but actually comforting, make it feel so much bigger than someone she had only met so shortly ago?


Mary Margaret shook her head, quickly, breathing in, not looking to him directly. She settled for, finally, "I have to be. I already put in my letter. And he's just...confused."


No. That wasn't good enough. She had to say it. "Married."

[stillsmallvoice]

It's a story he's heard before, even in Storybrooke.

He squeezes her elbow fondly and stops their casual gait to look her in the face directly. "I'm sorry," he murmurs softly, "it's not fair at all."

[the_fairest]

Mary Margaret looked at Dr. Hopper, teary-eyed, because he'd stopped her, stopped them from walking. Because she couldn't stop herself. Even as she nodded, jaw momentarily locked and lips pressing together, trying very much to not let this go past teary into actually crying.






"No. It isn't." Her voice cracked a little, when she could manage words again. She swallowed and took in a breath through her teeth, ashamed for even admitting these things. "But it'll stay only that, now."


Because one of them had to be an adult. And only one of them was the confused patient in a hospital bed. Even if he said she was the only real thing in his entire world since waking.

One of them had to be the adult, to make the right decisions.

[stillsmallvoice]

"Shh..." the gentle squeeze on her elbow is lifted and he lets his arm wrap around her shoulder, guiding the woman against his sweater vest. Call it unprofessional, but sometimes a hug can make all the difference.

"Follow your heart, Mary Margaret - even when it's hurting... you know what's right."

[the_fairest]

She shouldn't. It's her thought as she sniffles, and a tear falls. She didn't even do this with Emma. But her hand balls into a fist and she leans against him, temple finding cloth. Even if she shouldn't.

Shouldn't be almost falling apart over someone she barely knows. Be leaning into someone she only knows distantly. Be thinking that something feels right, even among all the pain everywhere. Whatever it is.

That the right thing has to be her choice. Has to be.

"I - I'm sorry. I don't -" Ever feel as strong as the choice she's made.

[stillsmallvoice]

"It's okay," he whispers, the arm around her shoulder tightening as Pongo sniffs at her feet - nosing against her ankle.

"Shh... listen..." subconsciously, he strokes his palm over the back of her head only once - attempting to draw the pain away from her.

"We both know that you don't want to hurt anyone, but sometimes the truth has to hurt."

The thought is out of nowhere for him, plucked from the vault within him that didn't come from a textbook or a lecture... it just feels like the right thing. Like what she needs.

[the_fairest]

Somehow his voice is far more comforting, with the same first words, than her own mind ever was all evening. When he says it's going to be okay she believes him. If only for one second. If only right before the second tear, another flicker of memory.

Mary Margaret tries to hold on it, even as it falls like sand through her fingers. But then he keeps talking, and it ebbs. Almost like the beat of a wave against that same beach of shifting sand.

And she nods, trying to say she does understands, even if it is more to the sweater vest in front of her eyes when they open, so she can rub her right eye. She knows she made the right choice. Maybe it wouldn't even be the right choice if it didn't hurt so much.

[stillsmallvoice]

"You have a good heart, Mary Margaret," he continues, squeezing slightly harder when he feels the rise and fall of a silent sob.

"Listen to the little voice inside you... it won't lead you wrong."

[the_fairest]

Mary Margaret doesn't want to make a sound. Not really. Doesn't want to be crying, especially when she hadn't yet at all before this. It was like speaking to him made her see more of it. The heart of it all. how it really felt. She can't help thinking, for all her good heart, it's selfish, too. Walking away.

Each time she'd felt happiest near David, it ended in a wave of startling pain and wracking guilt. Leaving now, stopped that, too. Before it could become even more complicated, even more painful.





Mary Margaret gave it another twenty or thirty seconds before she pulled away, gently, just enough, a step back, hands raising, wiping her cheeks and her eyes as she sniffled. Apologetically, ruddy faced even for that effort.

So close to the fault line, at the center of herself, where it might all start again. Even as she said, with some gravel and small breaths in her words, "I should probably go up."

Her house. Her house, with her bed and the thick blankets she'd mentioned earlier so lightly, and not the middle of the street.

[stillsmallvoice]

He lets out a small, nervous half-chuckle and nods before pushing up his glasses with the base of his hand.

"Yes, you should," he barely smiles and adds with some degree of humor; "if you need me, just give a little whistle."

Perhaps the scotch has gone to his head, with the late hour and the long day. "Or maybe just a phone call."

[the_fairest]

She gave him a watery half, mostly faltering, smile, nodding in a awkward bobble. Before nodding to the side then, she was going to go beyond him to her place, as she opened her mouth and then just closed it, reaching up to wipe another tear about as fast as it started to fall.

Words. Words really felt like such a treacherous road. Like sound might split her truly in half now. And so she looked down and just started walking toward the front of her building. But she really only made it about ten feet.

Before she couldn't do running away as simply either. Even with her center newly in shreds, she stopped not far from the door to the building. And then turned, more of a twist to look over her shoulder.




"Dr. Hopper --" She said it carefully, to call his attention to where she was, like she was testing saying anything with a sound, that had to come from that newly sharp center.

[stillsmallvoice]

He'd only just turned back toward the curb, still a little lost in his own thoughts, and when he turns back to her his lips quirk into another thin half-smile.

"Mary Margaret?"

[the_fairest]

Mary Margaret looked at him for a long second, as though maybe she couldn't figure out why. Why she'd said his name, or why he'd been there, in the middle of the night, after his terrible ordeal. Why he still was, standing there, on the street, still so....right.

Taller, even a little lost, but like maybe he found something. And hadn't even thought to keep it to himself. Even today, especially today.




Maybe she really did need to lay down.



She gave him an slightly better attempt at a smile, even still faltered and wet, and nodded, even as her hand settled on the door knob, "Thank you."

[stillsmallvoice]

Her smile tugs at him, drawing his lips to curve upward into a much wider grin. He shifts his umbrella back to his empty hand and lifts it to her in a genial wave; "Any time."

As he watches her open the door, he can feel the weight lifting off his shoulders and the gentle chill of the late night wrapping around him - the low thrum of the crickets' song lulling him to a calm he hasn't felt in a very long time.

"Good night."