Inspired by an anon prompt on Tumblr: AU. David asking Mary Margaret out on a date after running into her several times. It doesn't have to be love at first sight. They are not Prince Charming and Snow White, just regular people.

Thanks Angie, for the beta!

"It's so beautiful here," she says,
"This moment now,
and this moment now."

And I never thought I would find her here:
flannel and satin,
my four walls transformed.

...

And she dreams through the noise,
her weight against me,
face pressed into the corduroy grooves.

...

And the words, they're everything and nothing,
I want to search for her in the offhand remarks.

~from 'Recessional' by Vienna Teng

Chapter One

Mary Margaret Blanchard had never been one of the popular girls. She was pretty enough, always had been, but in a subdued way. She didn't turn heads when she walked in the room; she was lovely but not sexy or alluring like other girls. Growing up, she'd been more comfortable sitting on the sidelines while her peers took the spotlight, got the guys, got their happily-ever-afters. Instead, she read about adventure, dreamed about love, and told herself over and over that tomorrow would be the day her story began.

But a hundred, then a thousand tomorrows passed, and she was no closer to being the hero of her own story. She was a schoolteacher in the same town she was raised in, a volunteer at the local hospital, and still hopelessly single.

That's the problem with small towns, she thought absently as she retreated from the scene of her latest disastrous date. Once you pass a certain age, you'll have exhausted your acceptable dating pool with no hope of it ever expanding. The majority will find happiness, but the unlucky few – like me – will be doomed to spend eternity alone.

She reminded herself, though, that she was fortunate enough to have gotten the date at all. Dr. Whale was one of the rare newcomers to Storybrooke, fresh out of residency and with a record poor enough to send him into the desperate arms of Storybrooke General. Regardless, he was good-looking and seemed kind enough when he'd asked her to join him at Granny's once their evening shifts were through. They had a surprising amount in common (not much, but more than she'd expected), both graduating from UMaine barely two years apart. But after some time reminiscing over shared professors and campus hijinks, the date had turned particularly sour. She should have expected as much – after all, he was the sort of man who insisted on being called by his last name, instantly reminding her of the jocks in high school that bullied everyone else.

No, he wasn't for her. Just as well, she had papers to grade before Monday and lesson plans to attend to. Spending the rest of her Friday night home alone was for the best.

Winter was pressing in on Storybrooke, and she tugged her sweater over her fingers to keep warm for the walk home. Half a block down Main Street, she was surprised to find her newest friend (acquaintance, really, but she was hopeful), leaning against the hood of her car and parsing through the classifieds of the Storybrooke Daily Mirror.

Like Mary Margaret's date, Emma Swan was a new face in Storybrooke. The biological mother of one of Mary Margaret's students, she'd landed herself in the small town after the child she'd given up turned up on her doorstep in Boston. While she had no say in the matter (they'd only ever spoken a handful of times), Mary Margaret hoped the other woman would choose to stay, for the sake of her child.

"Hey," she said, coming to lean up against the car next to her friend. "You're still here."

"Yeah," Emma replied uncertainly, setting aside her paper. She was still in the same clothes she'd been wearing when she rolled into town, looking haggard and stuck somewhere between today and tomorrow.

"So it's official, then?" Mary Margaret clarified. "You're staying."

"If I can find a place," said Emma. "I can only afford a room at Granny's for so long without a job. But this town has no vacancies. None that I can afford anyways. No real openings either." She sighed, then did a once-over of Mary Margaret's ensemble - not exactly couture, but certainly a step up from schoolteacher chic. "So who was the lucky guy?"

Mary Margaret rolled her eyes. "Not getting lucky anytime soon. He spent half the date staring at the waitress's butt."

"Ouch," Emma winced, and they fell into a mildly uncomfortable silence.

"You know, I've got a spare room," Mary Margaret offered carefully, knowing full well that this was pushing all sorts of boundaries. If there was one thing she'd learned about Emma in the short time they'd spent together, it was that she had a series of walls guarding her heart.

And, as expected, those walls came closing up around her. "Oh, no," said Emma, pulling a face. "I'm not really the roommate type. I'll find something, eventually. I can't even pay you until-"

"Don't worry about it. It's just collecting dust anyways," said Mary Margaret. "Come on, at least until you find something." She bit her lip, hopefully, waiting as Emma considered. Truthfully, she'd been lonely for a long while, and maybe a friend would serve to fill the emptiness in her heart. "Maybe borrow some clothes?"

Emma seemed torn, caught speechless for a moment before venturing, "Mary Margaret-"

Mary Margaret cut her off, waving a hand between them. "Just … think about it, okay?" She offered the other woman a warm smile, and continued on her way home.

Emma was staying. That was something at least. They weren't really even friends, but she'd felt an instant connection to her. Henry, Emma's son, was one of her favorite students. She hated to admit that she held some children closer to her heart than others, but Henry was special. Between conferences and his file, she'd learned that he'd been in therapy since he was seven - three whole years now. At the beginning of the school year, he'd been reluctant to participate; he was lonely and withdrawn. At some point, though, they'd connected. He was still indifferent to his classmates, but he would often volunteer to help her clean the classroom during recess, or pass back assignments. It was progress. Now, she saw not only the same emotional detachment in Emma, but also the same dim light behind the same barriers. Given time, they would be good for one another.

She'd made it three blocks when a familiar yellow bug pulled up alongside her. The driver's side window rolled down, and Emma peeked out nervously. "I was thinking," she said, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel. "Maybe just for tonight, could I … ?"

Mary Margaret smiled, bending over to be at Emma's level. "That depends. Will you give me a ride home?"

So Emma stayed. Not just for one night, or the weekend, but indefinitely. At first, Mary Margaret had been certain this would be a temporary arrangement, but as the days turned into a week, and when a shipment of boxes found their way to her doorstep, she accepted that she'd found a permanent roommate. Emma was easy enough to live with, always careful of boundaries and privacy (a wonderful quality in an apartment lacking walls), and the extra presence in the drafty loft seemed to fill some long-forgotten hole in Mary Margaret's life.

It had been many years since Mary Margaret had had a best friend. There'd been a time - at the end of high school when everyone swore they would keep in touch, knowing they never would - that she'd convinced herself that the concept of a 'best friend' was a youthful fantasy, manufactured by makers of children's jewelry and sitcom writers; a beautiful lie told to children who needed to learn to share and play well with others. But the silent companionship of splitting a bottle of wine over TVLand reruns renewed her faith in the idea. Though Emma was still a new applicant, Mary Margaret hoped that eventually she would accept the job.

Their second weekend together came and went, and Monday rolled around again with the same misery as ever. Emma had been lucky enough to be taken on as the town's new deputy. While she swore it was her experience as a bail bondsman that had landed her the job, Mary Margaret saw the way the sheriff looked at his new deputy and thought perhaps it was less about experience and more about 'office camaraderie'. (She chose not to tell Emma this, not wanting to pry so early on in their budding friendship.) But for Mary Margaret, Monday meant another day at school, and while she loved each of her students and they loved her, neither party cared much for one the other's presence so early after the weekend.

Her students filtered in, tired and bleary-eyed, while she passed back their freshly graded workbooks. She'd just made it down the first row when Henry slunk in - followed by his mother. Not Emma-his-mother, but the mayor-of-Storybrooke-his-mother.

Mary Margaret stood up straight, smoothing out the wrinkles in her skirt, and put on the most indifferent professionalism she could muster. "Mayor Mills. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

The mayor - Regina Mills - eyed her calmly, a hand firmly secured on her son's shoulder. "Miss Blanchard," she nodded. "Rumor has it that you've found yourself a roommate."

Mary Margaret frowned, twisting her ring around her finger. "Well yes, but, with all due respect, I don't see how that's any of your business."

Regina smiled that not-so-sincere smile Mary Margaret knew too well. "Anything that concerns my son is most certainly my business."

Henry looked up at Mary Margaret, at once both apologetic and aching to be free from this conversation.

"Henry," she said, shooting a pointed look to the boy's mother. "Why don't you finish passing back the workbooks for me? Please?"

Relieved, Henry accepted the stack of books from her and set off to hand them out.

Regina lowered her voice as she continued. "I hardly think it's appropriate for Henry's teacher to be living with that woman."

"We're hardly even friends," Mary Margaret assured her, suddenly wishing she was more like Emma. Emma would never have backed down from Regina, and certainly not on her own turf.

Regina's voice softened, sounding more like the person Mary Margaret had known long ago. "I can't say I approve," she said. "Just … don't let this affect my son's education. The only reason I let him stay in your class is because your students always score the best. I know we've had our differences in the past, but I trust you to be professional in this matter? "

The change of tone startled Mary Margaret. She could count on one hand the number of times the mayor had referred to their past friendship since she'd returned to Storybrooke. "Don't worry, Miss Mills, my first priority is Henry."

"Good. At least we agree on that much. What's best for Henry."

Mary Margaret nodded, and was relieved to hear the bell ring. "I should-"

"Yes," Regina agreed, "you should."

"You'll never guess what happened at work today," said Mary Margaret as she handed Emma her dinner. She took a seat across the table from her.

Emma accepted the meal with a grateful smile. "Shouldn't that be my line? I mean, I'm the one with the exciting job. Or is this town so boring that the local elementary school gets more action than the police department."

Mary Margaret chuckled lightly, but continued without any other acknowledgement to the interruption. "I saw Regina."

Emma's eyes widened. "What? I thought she was too busy for that PTA stuff."

"She took Henry to school. Made a big fuss over you living here."

Emma rolled her eyes, then shoveled a forkful of macaroni into her mouth. "You know, I get that this was a closed adoption," she said between bites, "but Henry seems -"

Mary Margaret interrupted her. "You're right. He's been a lot happier since you came here." She paused a moment to take a bite, considering her words. "But remember that Regina's still his mother."

Emma looked hurt. "I'm his mother, too."

"Yes," Mary Margaret replied carefully. "You are. But she's been his mother longer."

Emma frowned and set down her fork, tilting her head to the side as she studied the woman opposite her. "Why are you defending her? From what I've seen, she treats you like dirt."

She had a point. Mary Margaret had spent the past twelve years quietly accepting Regina's scorn. Unlike the rest of the town - so small that no-one was spared the never-ending shame of the local gossip mills - Emma was unaware of the history there. Regina was a strict mayor, but for the most part, she was helpful and down-right pleasant. Mary Margaret and Emma were the exceptions, the black sheep of the town in that respect. In Emma's eyes, it would be pretty obvious why Regina would dislike her, but not Mary Margaret.

"We were friends once," Mary Margaret admitted, slowly picking at her dinner. "A long time ago."

"Friends?" Emma gave her a skeptical glance.

"Yeah," said Mary Margaret. "My mother died when I was young. Breast cancer. I'm an only child, so when it came time to do those girly things-" She shrugged then, the fondness in the memories suddenly very uncomfortable. "You know, like bra shopping and first periods and stuff. When it came to those things, I didn't really have anyone. Regina's father worked with my dad, and she sort of became like ... like a sister to me, I guess." She pushed her dinner away, half-eaten, suddenly not hungry at all. She gazed past Emma, off to somewhere in the distant past. "The big sister I never had."

"So ... what happened?"

Mary Margaret shrugged. Truthfully, this was the void she'd hoped Emma would fill, and yet it felt wrong to share this with her. It had been twelve years since she'd spoken of it; cried it into her father's shoulder, tried to make sense of it on Dr. Hopper's couch. Twelve years gone and buried in her father's grave, locked away in Archie's files.

"We drifted apart." Vague, but true. She stood and cleared her plate. "Regina has lost a lot throughout her life," she said quietly. "She's just afraid she'll lose her son, too."