A/N: Much love to everyone who read/favorited/followed and a big mug of FTL love (that's cocoa with cinnamon and a huge dollop of whipped cream) to those that reviewed: Marcie Gore, Tvmatchmaker795, La5021, hjbau, Andi88, stagemanagertargaryen, iamfez, Shopowner93, Reeves3, whiskets, CamiRamirez, Temo, Reeves3, abbey47, boop-oop-ee-doo.

And they cut to the picture again (2x04)! Thus feeding this fic, and really, playing into what I was gonna do with Charming anyway. :)

There have been a few requests for continuing with MM giving Emma that motherly dressing down in "Apple Red As Blood". Honestly, I had merely intended for that chapter to serve as a little subtext for the canon scene, but I will go ahead and give it a go, not this chapter, but what will be chapter 5. I have an idea for it, but I'm not a fan of simply adding internal dialogue to actual scenes on the show, and the idea would act as a pseudo-flashback. The long and the short of it is that I'd like to keep chapters in chronological order as they went on the show. So, for those who requested it, something to anticipate! :)

Now, one with the show!

Chapter 3: It Shouldn't Have Been...

Mary Margaret's head was spinning by the time she got home late that evening - or what could more properly be called, early that morning. She had always been of the opinion that the best way to clear head was a clean home. An infinite series of relatively small tasks that kept her hands busy, could be done on autopilot, and gave her a sense of accomplishment at the end; solvable problems.

And boy did her mind ever need clearing right now. She was pretty sure the past 24 hours had been the longest in her life. At least for as long as she could remember. First, her confrontation with Emma. She didn't know what had gotten into her. Yeah, she had decided she was going to give her roommate a good what's-for, but how many times had she thought that about Regina, or David, or even the entire town, but never followed through? Confrontation was not her thing. She had never even managed to muster up the gumption to fight back against her middle school bully. And that girl, Somerset Borealis, a girl two grades below her, had wrongly gotten it in her head that Mary Margaret had stolen her boyfriend. She'd had every right to put that girl in her place, and certainly the physical capability, but somehow, she'd never managed to muster up the nerve to give her a good tongue lashing - let alone the punch in the nose she really wanted to let fly.

Sure, she'd told Regina off a few days earlier, but it had still ended rather limply. As much as she knew it probably galled the Mayor to be pitied by the likes of her, something deep inside her didn't like feeding into that vile woman's victim complex. And David? Not even a day after she'd yelled at Emma, the man had come along with what amounted to an ultimatum - tell me you want me around now or you'll never see me again - and she'd blown him off, but had failed to call him on such an unfair demand.

So, why did Emma have to be the one she finally managed to bear the full brunt of what she was feeling? And why had the backbone she'd suddenly grown disappear when she was ambushed hours later by David? He's the one she shouldn't have pulled punches with, not her friend! Hell, he was the reason Emma had run off, when it came down to it. When it came to messy relationships, Emma had been like a big sister, pointing out the smartest path through an emotional minefield Mary had never developed the skills for. As emotionally guarded as her friend was, and it was too much, she knew what she was talking about. Mary, on the other hand, could count the number of guys she'd dated on one hand. Even a hand that had lost a couple of fingers to a hungry bandsaw. But had she listened? Nope.

Instead, she'd gone on as she pleased, and every time she'd gotten hurt, Emma was there to pick her up and dust her off, as best she could, and try to point her down the right path again. And again. Meanwhile, Emma was locking horns with Regina, fighting not just for Henry, but for Mary herself, as well. She'd known things were coming to a head, but she was too wrapped up in her dating drama to realize Emma was being pushed too far. Of course she'd tried to run with Henry. When it had come down to the final battle, Mary Margaret had played right into Emma's jaded expectations: she was nowhere to be found. She'd told herself that her friend would come to her and ask when she really needed help.

How stupidly naive - no, selfish - that had really been!

Of course Emma wasn't going to ask for help. She didn't know how to ask, nor did she expect any such cry to be answered. So she'd handled it on her own, making a desperate decision. Truthfully, she had done exactly what Mary so flippantly instructed her to do. She was being Henry's mom, and she had figured out a solution. It was a bad ssolution, but she was panicked, not to mention alone.

Mary Margaret paused from her dusting and let out a long, tired sigh. So why had she unloaded on her well-meaning, if flawed, friend? Her gaze landed on the photo of herself and Emma and she realized it was because Emma was safe. It was okay to tell the truth becuuase that's what family did. Yes, she'd been hurt by her friend leaving wighout so much as a note, abandoning her, but what right did she have to complain when she'd been the far more absent friend? Yelling at Emma had been the first step back to showing she cared, but she wondered if Emma realized she only chastised because shecared. It's not like she'd ever had a family to teach those. things.

She hadn't seen hide nor hair of the blonde for the rest of the day, but she wasn't surprised. Emma had retreated upstairs after their little blowout, and Mary had left to go window shopping before the blonde had come back down. After that, a few hours readjng and an early dinner at Granny's. When she didn't want to go home, the matron had always let her camp out in a booth, using the diner like a library, since the town lacked one.

And then the call had come.

She'd been surprised Emma would try to reach her so soon, as she herself didn't quite know how to open a dialogue again. Emma was in a panic, but not the kind of silent simmering one that had been brewing since it looked like Mary was truly going to be put on trial. This was different and wholly terrifying for Mary. Henry. Poison. Hospital. Regina. 'Please watch out over Henry.' Don't trust Gold. Report Jefferson on sight.

Somehow Jefferson, that houdini of a madman, was in play here. Had he poisoned Henry? Surely she'd have said so, if he had. Despite her urgency, Emma had sounded distracted, but vowing she would fix this.

She'd figure it out.

Emma had begun to say something about the library, before she heard Regina cut her off. She could practically see her friend staring daggers at the Mayor in the tense silence, but she hadn't continued. A quick thanks, no goodbye, and she was disconnected. Mary Margaret was still wondering what on earth Emma and Regina could possibly do to save Henry from a poisoning that even Whale couldn't identify, but it hadn't been the time to ask even if she could have gotten a word in edgewise.

When she'd arrived at the hospital, as serious as things seemed to be, she'd still dreaded what was sure to be an awkwardness between her and Dr. Whale. What had she been thinking, sleeping with the guy when they weren't even on a first name basis? When she'd seen Henry, her heart had dropped into her feet, taking any such frivolous, selfish concerns with it. He'd looked so tiny in that bed. So frail, his skin so pale it was almost blue, his breathing so shallow she found herself staring at his chest just to see any movement.

Something David had said once about his coma suddenly came to mind. 'I can't say I remember hearing anything, but I swear I remember a warm, loving presence that would drift in and out of my existence. Especially at the end. I like to think it's what gave me the strength to finally wake up.' He shot her that dashing smile; the one that struck her to the core, even just in memory. 'You gave me the strength.' When she'd noticed the book she'd given Henry - his safety blanket - all she could do was hope against reason that she could do the same for him as she had for David. After all, what was life without the hope for miracles? And so, even though she herself didn't believe in happy endings anymore - she could barely even hold on to believing that hope was anything but self-inflicted punishment - she read to him.

She'd read to him, barely able to keep her eyes on the page as she fought the urge to watch every subtle rise and fall of his chest, until the hospital staff had forced her to go home. Even the first step away from her favorite student's bedside made her sick beyond reason. But Emma calling her family hardly accredited her as "family" where hospital regulations were concerned.

And so, here she was, feather duster in one hand, can of Pledge in the other, like some kind of vigilante of for dustbunny justice. She blinked, pushing the image of that dying child, that boy who had meant more to her than she could've guessed before today, and realized she'd been staring at the picture of herself and Emma. The scene seemed like a lifetime ago, and even last night felt incredibly distanced in time. She placed her dustbusting equipment aside, taking the framed photo in her hands instead, and found herself idly wandering out of her room, into the main living space.

In a year filled with change, good and bad, and more bizarre twists than she could ever remember in her life combined, the past 24 hours were shaping up to beat them all. Emma teaming up with Regina just hours after abducting her son, David abandoning her, or her abandoning any hope of being with him - she wasn't sure exactly what to call it - and Henry on his deathbed, victim of some unknown sociopath or just an allergy reaction? She couldn't help feeling it was all coming to a head. Like watching the final puzzle pieces falling into place, while still not knowing what the picture it was forming was.

The strangest part was something deep down inside of her was eagerly anticipating it. She, Miss Mary 'Reliable "Margaret as her high school's yearbook staff had dubbed her, didn't like change. Not really. She liked the idea of it in an abstract sense, but inviting Emma to live with her had been about the boldest move to change her life she'd ever made on purpose - the David thing had been a wholly unplanned force of nature. But real change had always frightened her. As unhappy as she'd ever been in a situation, taking a blind leap of faith wasn't in her blood.

She shivered as a swell of... something... surged from within her. Like someone had just walked across her grave, as the saying went. She shook her head, wondering where that sense of wrongness of her own thoughts had come from. She set the photo down on the counter of her kitchen island, and sat down on a stool, resting her chin on her folded arms in front of her as she stared into photo-Emma's eyes and frowned.

And there it was again, though now simply lapping gently at the edge of her consciousness like the sea at high tide. Insistent. But she couldn't trust the hope there, no matter how urgently it insisted that all this tragedy and insanity was making the way for something good. The idea was crazy! This whole year had been one big demonstration in jumping from the frying pan, into the fire, and there was no reason to think that this next jump wouldn't burn them all to a crisp in a vat of boiling oil. But there it was, still insisting against logic that something was different this time.

Even the thought of hope terrified her, and she felt a single cold tear slide down her cheek. But then the look in Emma's eyes changed. She knew it was probably lack of sleep, and certainly her imagination, but she swore her friend's eyes were beckoning her in. Inviting, but not pleading, for help. 'That's why it will be different this time!' her own voice insisted at her from within, and she nodded to herself.

This had all happened because she'd done what she'd vowed she'd never do - abandoned Emma. Her closest friend and only true confidant and she'd failed her. She bit her lower lip nervously, but soon the resolve was set. Whatever came of all this - a miracle recovery, or a devastating tragedy - Emma would have everything Mary Margaret had, whether she liked it or not; because that's what felt right in all of this.

It's what family did. And that word, for them, fit more than it ever should have on paper. As if by divine happenstance, the first beam of light from dawn's break shown like a soft beam onto the photo. Visiting hours would open again soon, and she had no idea what she'd find when she got there. She simply knew she'd have to be there, as a friend, as family, one hundred percent.

She stood up, finally breaking her gaze away from Emma's, and made her way to the door. She donned her cream-colored heavy coat and a beret that fit over her ears to ward of the chilly morning air. Walking had always helped, and if she was to figure out the best way to be there for her friend, come what may, she would need a game plan. As she closed the door behind her, she had the strangest sense that the same old Mary Margaret would never walk through that portal again. Something was changing.

And it didn't scare her in the slightest.

A/N: Ok, so obviously Aurora never knew Snow in FTL, let alone Storybrooke, nor would she have had any reason to blame Snow for the loss of Phillip, but it's magic, and I couldn't imagine a better humiliating memory for the curse to conjure up than MM being pushed around by that waif.