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Before he had even moved a muscle, she was gone. And he couldn't do anything about it. David took a deep, shaky breath, and lowered himself down to the floor. He moved gingerly, laying his head back against his desk, and curling his knees up to his chest. The tears came, and he let them. He cried, because that girl, that beautiful girl, was so broken, that she didn't think she could be saved. She had been so torn up by the world around her, that she couldn't see that she was worth the effort. He cried because he didn't know if he could save her, and that scared him. It scared him because he could imagine what would happen to her, all the grizzly possibilities. It scared him, because he saw a lot of himself in her, and even more, because she reminded him of the last time he hadn't been able to save someone, God, it hurt him, bad, it left him with a part of his soul torn out, a part that had gone with the boy when he had sped away on his motorcycle, and had died with him when the ambulances brought him back in pieces. He sat there, curled in a little ball, shielding himself from the memories, but it was a fight he couldn't win, because they were a part of him, and try as you might, you can't hide yourself from yourself. He stayed there, trembling, as the light in the room faded.
"David," a small, kind voice, whispered. He ignored it, pulled his knees tighter against his chest. Tiny, but strong hands grabbed at his shoulders, forcing his hands to release their clasp on his legs.
"David you have to get up. We have to go home," the hands grasped his wrists and pulled. David groaned, and refused to budge. "David Nolan, get your butt up, we are going home." David struggled to his feet, and forced his bleary eyes open. As his blurry vision cleared, he came face to face with a short woman, her ebony hair styled in a pixie cut, her green eyes looking him up and down, concern filling her gaze.
"Mary Margaret," he whispered. She looked up at her husband's face, and promptly pulled him into a crushing hug. He laid his head down on her shoulder, and the tears came again, and he sobbed into her shoulder until he didn't think he could anymore, and then he kept going. His wife, his beautiful, kind, understanding wife, just stood there with him, supporting him, caressing his back, whispering words of comfort in his ear. When his breathing became steadier, and his shoulders shook less, she detached herself, only to grab his coat, and his bag. She took his hand, and led him out of his office, and out the door of the high school. She guided him down the steps, and towards the beat up yellow bug that they drove to school in every day, and he went willingly, a little ashamed of his behavior, but too petered out to care much. They drove home in silence, but her hand never left his.
Later that night, he sat in his easy chair, remote in one hand, glass of whiskey in the other. He was watching, no more like staring in the general direction of, the home shopping network. He was only brought back out of his head, by the subtle weight shift that alerted him to Mary Margaret's presence.
"David you have to talk about it," she said. He looked up at her with blood shot eyes, and just an overall tired look on his face.
"No, not necessarily," he drawled, the amount of alcohol he had consumed evident in the way his words slurred. Mary Margaret sighed, and reached for the glass in his hand.
"Well, the only thing you'll be doing tonight is sleeping, and tomorrow you'll be taking a cold shower and you'll definitely want coffee," she smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "And then, maybe you'll be ready to talk about it." She lifted the whiskey out of his hand, and took a swig of it herself, before setting the empty glass down on the table.
"Let's get you upstairs," she whispered affectionately. Together, they made their way up the stairs, and turned left down the hallway, towards the master bedroom. It was small, the type of thing that could be afforded on the salaries of a high school teacher and a counselor, but it fit their needs, and it was all theirs. The walls were brick, and the curtains that adorned the one window were a muted golden color, to compliment the bedspread of the same shade, with little pink, flowery details.
"Alright David let's get you onto the bed," Mary Margaret grunted, heaving the mostly dead weight of her very intoxicated husband towards the bed. It was quite an endeavor, with him being twice her size and all, but she managed. When she had his head propped up with a pillow, she went off in search of a trash can to put by him, because boy oh boy, was he going to need it.
"Mary Margaret?" David called. She turned towards him, taking note of the fear in his voice.
"I'm right here sweetie," she answered, triumphantly returning to his side, garbage bin in hand.
"Good," David whispered quietly. "I was afraid you'd left."
"Honey why would I leave?" she asked, not really expecting an answer, as she turned him on his side, aiming his mouth towards the trash can.
"Everyone leaves at some point," he mumbled, so quietly that she almost didn't hear him. Almost.
"David, I'm not going anywhere," she said firmly. "You can't get rid of me that easily." The drunken man chuckled.
"I don't wanna get rid of you," he said. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me." Mary Margaret's eyes stung at the sincerity in his voice. She moved around to the other side of the bed, and wrapped her arms around him from behind.
"You're stuck with me," she reminded him. She felt his lungs fill with air, more than she heard the deep, shaky breath that he took.
"I killed that boy Mary Margaret. He came to me for help, and I let him go and I shouldn't have, and now—now he's dead. And the brother, he's all alone and it's all my fault!" the tears came again, more violently this time. David's whole body shook, and snot ran from his nose.
"He's dead, Mary, and what if the same thing happens to her. What if I can't save her?" the sobs wracked his body, as he wailed. Mary Margaret pulled him tighter into her grasp, and she sobbed too, because he hadn't always been like this. There hadn't always been nightmares, and drinking, and screaming in the middle of the night.
"David Nolan, whoever this girl is, she's lucky to have you fighting on her side," she said after a long time, after the tears had ceased to fall from his eyes, and he had just moaned, and she had gathered herself and thanked God for the marvelous man in bed with her, and prayed that one day, he could be right again, that everything could be okay.
"But what if I lose," he whispered, his voice breaking. She inhaled, and then exhaled, and then repeated the process, trying not to fall apart again.
"Go to sleep David. With any luck, you won't remember this in the morning," she finally ordered him.
"I love you Mary Margaret."
"I love you too."