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gremma shoelace: Thank you so much! Obviously, I'm a little slower posting to this site. :) Gremma Appreciation Month is going on, after all! Prompts are definitely noted and on the list!
Title: It Was For Us
Summary: Snow doesn't understand Emma's predicament. And that's the most hurtful thing.
Note: Prompts from lessawildmoon "Please tell me you are intending to write some of the Emma/Snow stuff. I really need to see Emma reading Snow the riot act over her coddling of Regina." And fantasywriter13 "Okay, now you got me thinking again. Can we get a drabble on this scene( post/87118249471/fantasywriter13-arianakristine-i-understand) (or something similar between Emma and Snow) and Graham's reaction in Redefining Home verse, please?"
Second Note: Gremma Appreciation Month is going on now on tumblr! See my profile for details.
Emma walked into the loft, shrugging out of her coat. She leaned against the wood frame with a sigh, rubbing her temples in frustration. Things had been piling up to the point of near-bursting in every facet but the ones in her family.
No, that's not what she meant. She meant with her husband and son. Mentally, she cursed; including Mary Margaret and David back into the fold was more difficult than she had assumed. And the situation with both was strained at best. That didn't mean that Emma didn't care, though. She was trying to mend things where she could, and had gained some ground with David. It was Mary Margaret that held the bigger chasm in fixing their relationship.
"Oh, Emma, you're here!"
She looked up, finding Mary Margaret's excited face. She forced a smile on her own and pushed off the doorway. "Hi. We were just convening on things, and David said I could find you here to catch you up."
"I guess I've been a little holed up," Mary Margaret said, but her grin was still wide. The previous timidness that had colored their previous interactions had melted away, and the pixie haired woman was absolutely bubbly. "Come, I want to show you!"
Emma tossed her jacket over the couch, and followed her deeper inside the loft and up the stairs.
When she was close enough, Mary Margaret tugged on her hand like an enthusiastic child. Once they reached their destination, she threw out her hands. "Look!"
Emma's eyes bounced around, and abruptly she felt her throat tighten. There, in the center of the room that used to be hers, was a pure white crib. The walls were painted in pastels and a snowy backdrop. Softly colored in blues and greens, baby items were strewn about in meticulous fashion. Bottles and diapers were organized into a wicker basket on a shelf. Neatly folded onsies and blankets and towels sat on the dresser next to an intricately designed music box. Bears and bunnies and other stuffed toys were placed on a glider in the corner.
"Do you like it?" Mary Margaret asked eagerly.
Emma looked over it again, smoothing her hands over her belly. With some nausea, she noted how easily they had each moved on from each other. She swallowed and closed her eyes, pushing back the deep ache. "It's beautiful. I'm sure the baby will love it."
"I was thinking that we could start getting your nursery together, too. I know you and Graham don't have a place yet, but we can start getting some things," she plowed on.
Emma shook her head, visions of the corner of their bedroom's far corner stacked with half-unwrapped presents bright in her memory. "Oh, we've already got the nursery mostly set up back in New York."
Mary Margaret froze, her hands falling to her stomach protectively. "You … you're not going to stay?" she asked brokenly.
She looked up in surprise. Honestly, she hadn't really decided yet. They hadn't truly had time to discuss their plans after the Wicked Witch was defeated. Except, in her heart, she knew that witches and holy wars and magic were things that were not going to end with this most recent battle. Danger and Storybrooke seemed synonymous, and living here meant living one crisis to the next.
Being here also meant Mary Margaret and David, her parents, the people she craved abstractly for the first part of her life and tangibly throughout the last year. But, she couldn't just think of herself. Henry, Graham, and the baby deserved better, safer than this place.
"I guess not," she finally replied slowly. "After this is done."
Mary Margaret fell against the crib, looking downwards. "That's why you haven't been around much. You're trying not to get attached."
She sighed. "No, that's not it. You know that's not it," she replied pointedly. She hadn't been around much because all they seemed to do was argue about Regina's presence in this mess.
"So, you're just going to leave us behind."
"Don't make it like that. You don't know what it's like. Our life in New York was really good," she countered. Exceptionally good, she added internally. It was stable, happy, safe, filled with love … everything she ever wanted or dreamed about. Except … just not with her parents.
Mary Margaret's mouth formed a tight line. "I'm sure it was. But it wasn't home."
Emma's mouth fell open, a shocked burst of breath leaving her. She couldn't believe the audacity of the statement. She shook her head, her eyes brightening with tears. She sniffed and turned away. "It was for us," she replied stiffly.
"That's because you forgot about us," Snow countered stubbornly. She pushed off the rails and headed for the door. "Let's go find Henry."
Emma grabbed her arm, feeling the leftover curdles of ire pearling into beads of incredulous anger. "No, you don't get to say something like that to me. You felt like Henry and I were gone for one day. I lived with your absence for over eleven months. It only took three weeks for Graham and me to regain our memories, and ever since it has been torture knowing you were gone and that I'd never see you again! We have done everything in our power to make sure your presence has been with us the entire time. Hell, Henry even made us get photos at Disney with your animated counterparts! You don't get to say that I forgot you. New York is home because we didn't."
Mary Margaret turned to her, eyes flashing. "Are you trying to say I should get over it? Do you think it's easy, seeing you this age? Knowing I missed out on everything? And now knowing that your life was so perfect that you'd rather leave us behind to go back?"
Emma fumed. "Well, you didn't seem to have much difficulty moving on!"
Mary Margaret looked at her as if she had just been slapped. "Do you think that's what this is? Moving on? Replacing you? Nothing could do that," her voice had lost its hard edge, softening into something with a lash of pain.
Emma looked away and finally shook her head. The heat still itched beneath her skin, but some of it tempered with the hurt in Mary's voice. "No. I know – look, I know it's not that. But you have a chance to start again, and I'm in the middle of my life."
"The life that doesn't include us," Mary Margaret pressed.
Emma's head fell into her hands. "That's not what I'm trying to say. Look at this from my perspective. If I stay, then I have to push four people into this dangerous town. I have to have this new baby in a place where there are beings that covet its potential for magic. I have to have Henry live in the place that caused him so much pain. I have to bring Graham live in the place where he died, with Regina still walking around like she owns it."
Mary Margaret winced. "Why do you always bring it back to Regina? She's trying, she's helping on our side."
"For her own gains," Emma grumbled.
"Just because you can't see the good in her –"
The heat rushed back into her, fists clenching around the hair at her scalp. "See the good? See the good in the woman that abused my son? See the good in the woman that abused and murdered my husband? The woman that's the reason I never knew my parents until I was twenty-eight? That woman?"
Mary Margaret turned away. "You don't understand –"
"No, I don't understand! I don't understand how you can stand by her side and insist she's changed when she doesn't regret a thing she's done!"
Mary faced her, her eyes wild. "If I don't, what's stopping her from going after you all again!"
Emma froze, her chest heaving as the adrenaline slowed its pumping into her veins. "What?"
A couple tears fell down Mary Margaret's cheeks, her reddened eyes wide. "I have to believe in her. I have to support her right now. I'm the only thing in the way from her falling back into her old routines."
Emma gaped at her a moment, unsure what to do with this information. She was sure Mary Margaret had just been being her frustratingly optimistic self, in regards to Regina. She had never assumed that she was just as certain of the thin line the woman walked on. "Mary Margaret—"
"Don't you see? I'm trying to protect you."
Emma blew out a breath. "I appreciate it, but you don't have to do this; she doesn't deserve your support. She … she's hurt us all." Emma bit down on her lip, recalling the flashes of fear or pain she still sometimes caught in both Henry and Graham. And herself, if she was being honest. She shook her head. "But you're the one she targeted, the one she specifically set out against."
Mary Margaret's lashes fluttered. "Exactly. I'm the reason for all of this. I have to support the idea that she can be good. I can't be responsible for her going evil again."
Emma's entire being rang through with sympathy. "Oh, Mary, you wouldn't be responsible if—"
She raised a single hand, halting her attempt to rationalize. "I really wish you'd help me with it. And Henry, too," Mary Margaret implored.
Her insides turned to ice and she steeled herself once again. She shook her head. "You can't ask me to do that. And you can't ask me to ask Henry to do that. You don't know what it did to him, getting his memories back. I can't ask him to forgive her and support her now. And while you may be able to push everything aside … I just –I can't. You didn't have to go through everything I did when we all remembered that life."
"'That life'? Don't you mean this life?" Mary Margaret said skeptically. "The other wasn't real."
Her brow furrowed. "No, that's what I was trying to say: it was real for us. Everything leading up to where our life was, it continues in New York. It still shapes us. Our jobs, our friends, our personalities, everything. You don't understand—it's both real."
"Friends," Mary Margaret murmured.
She paused, recalling the time she told her first friend she had been alone all her life. It felt like decades ago, and in a way it was. "Yeah," she breathed. "Friends. We all have a lot of them. Close friends, ones we'd never have without the reset."
Mary Margaret wiped away her tears and sniffed. "I get that," she said hollowly. "But you have family here."
"And I have family in New York, too," Emma gently reminded.
Her face hardened. "So, that's it? You've weighed your options, and your father and I came up short?" Mary Margaret asked.
Her hands clenched, and part of her wanting to shake the dark haired woman. It was like she wouldn't, or couldn't, listen. She couldn't make her understand that, despite appearances, this was actually a hard decision. "Not that you came up short, but that the risks outweigh the benefits. And not only the risks, but the actual emotional strain it's putting on Henry to even be here. And Graham, and me."
Mary Margaret looked away sharply. Her knuckles were white against the navy blanket clutched in her hands.
Emma blew out a breath. "Look, I appreciate you two. But you can't leave, and I don't see a way that we can stay. That was one of the first things Henry asked Graham, and then me about: can we go back when it's done? He's so afraid, and he just wants to go home. How can I deny him that?"
The older woman blinked back tears fruitlessly. "We've managed to find each other again, against all odds. But still you're willing to just … throw it away again."
"We're getting nowhere, here," Emma said quietly, facing the door. The insistent press of Mary Margaret's words was stifling, making her breaths shorten in overwhelmed pants. "Let's just move on. We still have a witch to defeat before any of this becomes a reality, anyway."
"Emma."
She paused, curling her hands over her stomach. The baby had been still within her, despite the thrall of emotions that was making her heart race. At the sound of her mother's broken, pained voice, though, her child shifted, pressing out as if toward its grandmother. She shuddered out a low breath, finally letting the non-rational side of her flow out. I'd miss you. You have no idea how much. I want to be here, be your daughter, be with you and David. If it was just me, you'd be enough.
She didn't voice those thoughts. Instead she turned the knob and fled the apartment.