Summary: Mary Margaret invites Rose French over for dinner; Emma is not pleased.
Prompt: Mr. Gold and Belle's Relationship from MM's POV
Prompt: Belle finds an engagement ring in Gold's pocket
"How was the store?" Emma asks, as Mary Margaret enters their apartment.
"It was fine. They didn't have your brand of shampoo, so I got you a different one. Hope that's okay."
"No problem," she takes a few bags out of the other woman's arms. "Thanks for trying."
"Oh, and I ran into Rose French at the check-out aisle," she says, slipping the milk into the refrigerator. "I think I'm going to invite her over for dinner."
Emma's hand freezes from where she'd been about to put away the cereal. She groans. "I don't think that's such a good idea."
"Why not?" Mary Margaret asks, completely oblivious to her roommate's implications.
The blonde looks at the schoolteacher expectantly, "Because the chick's out there. "
"Emma! You said so yourself that she isn't crazy." Mary Margaret remembers the late night talks over the insane asylum scandal. Emma had been furious, going without sleep for days trying to sort it all out.
"I don't think she's crazy, but I don't think she's firing on all cylinders either."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Emma shakes her head at the wide-eyed innocent putting away vegetables. Mary Margaret was truly hopeless-all that optimism couldn't be healthy. "You know what I mean. She's dating Mr. Gold."
"Emma, you told me you dated an older guy once."
"It's not the age-thing I have a problem with."
"That what's the big deal?"
"Well for starters, he beat up her dad. Not to mention, they're hardly ever outside of each other's grasp. I've seen all-over-each-other couples before, but not like this. You have got to admit, it's weird."
"I think they're sweet."
"'Course you do." Emma sighs, knowing her roommate is not to be deterred. "Fine. Whatever, if you can get her warden to let her out for the night, then have at it. Just don't expect me to stick around.
Rose French comes over for dinner that Thursday evening.
In the end, Mary Margaret had been unable to convince Emma to stay. However, she may have mentioned that Rose was coming over three hours earlier than her actual arrival time. So when Emma comes home from her short notice late-shift, it's only five minutes after their guest. "How was-" She looks up and see the two of them at the bar, wine glasses in hand. "Rose... hi."
"It's so good to see you, Emma."
"I told Rose about your shift, and she just insisted that we wait for you," Mary Margaret lies, smiling. It's the most un-innocent thing Emma has seen from her roommate.
With the exception of the whole affair-with-a-married-guy thing.
"Yeah, how about pouring me a glass?"
The dinner reeks of tension. But not as much as Mary Margaret expected. So that's good.
They blow through topics. Rose's new job at the library. How the children at Mary Margaret's school are progressing-including how the science fair went. Emma's fruitless search for a deputy. Thrilling stuff.
Also, Emma blows through the wine. Which is why, Mary Margaret assumes, when an awkward silence falls upon the table-the the food did turn out nicely, she had made Italian-her roommate brings up the elephant in the room. "So, how did you and Mr. Gold meet?"
Mary Margaret glares at Emma, but listens intently as the girl answers.
"I worked in his shop, and it all just sort of happened from there."
"Oh that's sweet," Mary Margaret coos.
"I didn't know Mr. Gold ever hired help for his store," Emma says, poking at the town rumor.
"You could say it was more of a trade, really, to work off some of my father's payments. I suppose my father's debt actually worked out in my favor for once."
Emma raises her eyebrows and drains her cup, but doesn't say anything further on the topic of Mr. French.
"So you guys seem pretty serious," Mary Margaret says, trying to ease the growing tension. "You think we'll have a wedding in town soon?" Rose blushes, neither Emma nor Mary Margaret could miss it. "Rose is there something you're not telling us?" The schoolteacher's eyes go to her left hand, but it bears no ring.
"No, nothing like that. It's just," she pauses, smiling, "can you keep a secret."
"Oh, of course," Mary Margaret says, leaning forward. When Emma doesn't reply, she nudges her under the table. "Oh, yeah, sure."
"Well, I was putting away one of his suits the other day, and I found a ring box in his pocket."
"Oh my gosh! That's so exciting! When do you think it'll happen?"
"I don't know. I mean, it might be all for nothing. It could have been for the shop."
"No, I'm sure it's for you. That's what you want, right?"
"Yes, it is. I hope you're right."
"Have you thought about dresses or colors?"
"Not really, I can't even imagine a big wedding. I suspect his half of the seating wouldn't be terribly full."
Emma snorts into her wine glass. Both women look at her, Mary Margaret with a glare, Rose with concern. It's suddenly all too much for Emma. "Yeah, I'm going to turn in for the night. Long day and all." She stands, taking her dishes to the sink. She walks back and gives their guest a nod. "Glad you're doing okay, Rose."
When Emma's bedroom door shuts, Mary Margaret apologizes, "I'm sorry, she can be-"
"It's quite alright. I'm well-acquainted with the town's view of my boyfriend."
Mary Margaret thinks back on her lawyer, who though capable was never warm or congenial. "Can I ask, does he act differently around you?"
Rose shrugs, "No, not really, but I like him for who he is."
Mary Margaret feels her brow wrinkle, but tries to shake it off. She stands and collects up the plates. "I'm sorry, it's just a little..."
"Strange?"
"Well, yeah," she says, taking up cheesecake onto dessert plates.
"I know he's not the friendliest person in the world, but he's honest. To be honest, I've been through a lot and after experiencing everything I have, I don't think I could be with someone who, oh, I don't know-"
"Wears rose-colored glasses?" Mary Margaret supplies, walking back with their two plates.
Rose laughs, "Yes, exactly."
There's a knock on the door. Mary Margaret sets down the plates and turns to the door, opening it, she finds the man in question, "Mr. Gold."
"Good evening, Miss Blanchard, I do believe you have something of mine." Okay, she thinks, maybe Emma was right; the possessive-thing is kind of weird.
"I heard that."
He looks expectantly at Mary Margaret. "Oh right, yes, please come on in."
Gold goes to stand behind Rose's chair. "Hello, dear," he says, putting his hands on her shoulders.
Rose turns to look at him, placing a hand on one of his, "You're a bit early. Mary Margaret just took up dessert."
"Ah, I see. Well I can return in a bit to pick you up, if you'd like."
"No, stay. Sit, there's enough for everyone," Mary Margaret pipes up, as a door opens and then promptly shuts again, in the direction of Emma's bedroom.
Gold chuckles, "I see the sheriff is previously engaged."
The two women chuckle awkwardly, but the pawnbroker takes a seat next to Rose, helping himself to a glass of wine, as Mary Margaret goes back to the bar, to get him a piece of cheesecake. He swirls the cup with an air of class, taking in the fragrance before tasting. He raises the glass to Mary Margaret. "Fine vintage, Miss Blanchard, a good choice."
Approval from Mr. Gold, also weird. She watches as the man turns to Rose, "How did you find it, dear?"
Rose gives him a knowing smirk. "I thought it very good. Rich, full, not overly tannic."
"Did you?" he says, matching her expression.
It's an inside joke, Mary Margaret realizes, "What?"
The two continue to look at each other. Gold raises an eyebrow, shall we tell her? Rose smiles, go ahead. "I have been attempting to expand Miss French's wine palate."
"He says I only like dessert wines," Rose adds, laughing.
"Don't give me that look. Not my fault you only had a taste for cloying, syrupy-what do you call them?"
"Spritzers."
"Spritzers before me, m'dear. You've not the most attuned palate, but you're young still," he says, smiling.
Rose swats him on the arm. "My palate is plenty attuned, thank you very much."
Mary Margaret watches the banter, captivated and oddly jealous. She brings over his plate. "It's okay, Rose, I don't like wines that are too dry, either."
"Dry is an acquired taste, not a natural draw," Gold states.
"It's easy to love sweet," Mary Margaret says, slowly, having a bit of an epiphany.
"Indeed," Gold says, eyeing her with his weighty stare.
The three share their dessert, talking over the weather and town goings-on, the couple's eyes darting to the other every few minutes. They are very much in love, Mary Margaret thinks.
When they've finishes, Gold thanks her for the dessert, complimenting it as well, standing to leave. After he helps Rose into her coat-she'd rolled her eyes, but didn't seem too opposed to his chivalry-she hugs Mary Margaret, promising to call her next week for lunch.
When they are gone, the apartment feels rather empty.
Mary Margaret has just started to wash the dishes when Emma peaks her head out of the her room. "Is it safe?"
"Yeah, they just left."
Emma comes out in pajamas. She walks over to the sink. "I got this."
"Don't worry. I can do them."
She nudges her friend, "No, seriously, let me. You cooked." And I was a jerk.
Mary Margaret finally gives the sink over to Emma and then on second thought, pours herself another glass of the not overly tannic wine, taking a seat at the bar. She takes a sniff of her glass, but she doesn't notice anything too different from any other wine. Wine just smells like wine to her.
"So did Gold handcuff her immediately or just before leaving?"
Mary Margaret laughs, "Emma."
"Kidding, but seriously, what did you three talk about?"
"Nothing, really." An acquired taste. "I think they really like each other."
The sheriff turns off the water and wipes her hands on the kitchen towel. "Well, just so we're clear, I'm not being a bridesmaid."
"After tonight, who knows, maybe she won't ask you." Mary Margaret makes a face, forcing them both to laugh.
"Here's hoping." She grabs up the plate of cheesecake Mary Margaret had left for her. "Oh, and I'm not going over to Gold's place for dinner anytime soon."
"She didn't offer that." Mary Margaret says, wondering if Emma will make a joke about not being allowed to have friends over, but the blonde refrains. "We'll just leave them be." She likes the idea, not that Rose can't invite anyone over, but rather that she enjoys giving her space, her home, with Mr. Gold some privacy, some sanctity. If they'd found happiness, Mary Margaret thinks, best not to disturb it.