ataraxionlogs | open-ish | i'm just trying to find my way to you

I'm not worried! Concerned, maybe, but that's not the same thing.

[ Snow shakes her head and goes through the motions of smoothing her ~~ridiculously~~ long hair back to pull into a ponytail. Only she doesn't have anything to fasten it with, so she lets it all drop back into place again. ]

It's just that I heard conflicting stories. I don't know if you made out with someone, or got into a fight, and I just wondered if you're okay. [ She winces as soon as the words leave her lips. But there, she said it. ]

[ Emma’s jaw goes immediately slack, and the rest of her expression falls into something similarly dumbfounded immediately thereafter.

It’s a good thing she hadn’t finished making her coffee, or it’d be on the floor now.

Hastily collecting herself, she straightens and begins to turn away, jaw set, to continue on about putting grinds into the machine and so forth. ]

I—Oh.

[ Fuck. ]

With who?

[ If she might have gotten into a fight, she figures, maybe it’s not the obvious (and only) answer. Her eyes squeeze shut while she’s looking away, a silent grimace as she curses herself for not considering this moment before, well, this moment. She slaps the lid to the coffeemaker shut, taking a deep breath.

At the very least, the question might buy her some time to figure out how to navigate this conversation. It’s not the first time she’s had to tell her mother she kissed Hook.

Somehow, reminding herself of that only makes it worse. ]

[ That was not at all the response Snow was expecting. Oh, you heard about that, sure. Or I don't want to talk about it, even. But not that. ]

What do you mean with who? Do you regularly wrestle with men in the showers?

[ Mom's not judging you, sweetie! Honest!!! ]

Erik?!

[ That answers that. Emma sounds a cross between shocked and disgusted. Not least of all because at the time of said wrestling, he had gills. Even on a normal day, tho … ew. She turns around, holding up her hands. ]

That’s not— [ Oh boy. ] He was drowning. [ Wow he was drowning in the shower and you had to save him with your vagina? Good one, Emma. She grimaces, realizing how that sounds, and pushes through. ] The nanites, when they acted up, they gave him — He had gills, and the stasis fluid went over badly.

It’s not like—God, no. I don't know how it looked, but believe me. That's not—[ She just shakes her head, dropping her hands. ]

[ Snow holds her own hands up quickly, as if relinquishing ownership of the rumor she'd laid down between them. ]

I don't know his name! I'm just telling you what I heard. And I was really confused, to be honest with you. But what you're saying makes much more sense.

[ Because, really, that's just the kind of family they are. The kind of family where saying, "Oh, it's okay. He had gills," makes perfect sense. ]

Is he okay?

Probably. I dumped him off with medical.

[ She sighs, shaking her head. ]

There were a lot of after-effects that just weren’t cleaning themselves up. He’s probably in corrective surgery hell.

[ And yet, there’s something tellingly tense still in the shifty dart of her eyes as she turns back around. Yep. Erik. That’s the full story. ]

That's good. That you got him where he needs to be, I mean.

[ Mary Margaret watches Emma for a long moment, mild on the outside, as if the moment just needs to settle before she comes up with a new topic of conversation. Inside, she's wondering what her daughter is holding back, and while she'd like to ask, she isn't sure she has the right, given her own propensity to be less than forthcoming about her own situation. It's all very complicated. ]

I'm glad you're okay. [ She settles on. Finally. Gosh. ] You know you can tell me anything. Any time. I'm sorry I haven't been here for you. [ Even if to her, Emma hadn't gone anywhere. ] But I'm here now.

[ And there’s the guilt—probably exactly what fueled this. Immediately, Emma’s defenses lift, hands raising in front of her as she tries to placate her mother’s concern. ]

No. No, it’s not—That wasn’t your fault.

[ She can’t in good conscience say that it never bothered her, feeling lost and alone and abandoned all over again. Thrown to the wolves (well, the spaceship) without her family. But they hadn’t chosen to do that, not like they’d chosen to ship her away in the wardrobe. That isn’t guilt she needs to take on. ]

I’ve been fine. A little problem here or there, but nothing I couldn’t handle. [ Except. That’s not all there is. You can tell me anything. Emma may not have spent a lot of time with her mother, but she knows people. That’s a specific dig, disguised. ] … What else have you heard?

Why all this suspicion? I haven't heard anything.

[ Honestly! Well, mostly. Look, Snow doesn't have many friends on the ship yet, which means she doesn't have many informants who'll fill her in on her daughter's situation. But she's good at listening to whatever gossip is floating about. Listening to gossip is part of what helped her continue to evade the Evil Queen back in the Enchanted Forest. ]

It's just... [ See? She just can't leave well enough alone. ] You seem tense. And I feel like maybe if you just talked to me...

[ It's subtle, but this is one of those times where she believes she's the best choice for Emma to open up to. It isn't a case of thinking she just needs to talk to someone, it's that she should talk specifically to her. It's maybe a bit of wishful thinking, feeling that she has a better understanding of what Emma's been through before her arrival on the ship, and thus better able to help her relieve whatever burdens her soul. Or whatever. It's a bit conceited. ]

Then what? The things stressing me out would just go away? I don’t think that’s how it works.

[ The explosion, perhaps, is unprovoked. While Snow’s needling absolutely reeks of her own personal issues, she means well. She tries to help Emma, and Emma rebuffs her. Every time.

The guilt sets in a moment later, and Emma disarms, expression slackening, guilt bubbling behind her eyes. She shouldn’t be so resistant to the simple fact of her mother trying to figure out what’s going on with her, yet sometimes it feels like the hardest thing.

Letting off steam in the form of a sigh, Emma rests her hands on her hips, squaring her shoulders as if to finally confront the matter. She explodes because she holds it in, not because of anything her mother has or hasn’t done. All her life, Emma has longed for this kind of motherly care and intervention. Spitting on it now feels wrong, even if it’s a mere instinct. ]

Look, I just—I have a lot that I need to figure out. And I get that you’re trying to help, and be a mother, and that’s great, but I don’t even know what that looks like!

[ Which, of course, sets aside the additional issue of wondering how much Snow’s lawful good morality will be at odds with Emma’s more questionable decisions. One thing at a time. She doesn’t want to look her mother in the eye and feel like Mary Margaret’s disappointed in her. ]

[ It is what it is, and what it is is not undeserved. While Snow's expression is crestfallen, she's also understanding. She doesn't tense up or attempt to talk over Emma's outburst. Oftentimes she just needs to get it out. If it's to the point that she's ready to start raising her voice (not shouting, but not just speaking), then she needs to vent that steam somehow, and her mother's as good an outlet for it as any. She likes to think she understands that. ]

Do you really think that I do? [ The admission surprises herself even. ] Emma, neither of us got the chance to learn how any of this works. But I'm not about to just throw my hands up and say oh well, and I don't think you are either. If you really want me to back off, then I will... It's not what my heart wants, but I think being a mother means putting aside your own desires for your children.

[ It also means making your kids do things they don't want to do because it's what's best for them, but that boat sailed a long time ago in Emma's case. ]

I'm not a child.

[ Maybe that's the crux of it. When they left Neverland, Snow had admitted the truth: she wanted a child. That doesn't mean she doesn't want Emma, but it does mean that Emma isn't some need that she's fulfilling. That ship has sailed. They can never get back the years that they lost with one another, and trying to relate to one another as parent and they both struggle to navigate the muddy water there. ]

This isn't a lost tooth.

[ And more importantly, perhaps, not being a child means that Emma is old enough to know she doesn't want Snow to simply set aside her desires. She's a person, not just a mother. Sighing heavily, Emma gathers her wits about her again.

It's hard. If this were just Mary Margaret, it'd be easier. If this were her friend who screwed Whale, maybe—but her mother is quite the paragon of morality, by contrast. Captain Hook seems like an odd character to place in her daughter's dating pool. (Dating? Really? That's the word she's using?) ]

And in ten years when Henry says those exact words to you, how do you think you'll want to respond?

[ Was that a low blow? She doesn't think so, as long as they're operating on the assumption that they'll find a way back to Henry. And she is definitely of the belief that they will find him again. They'll find home again. ]

I know, I know I wasn't there. And not a day goes by where that doesn't haunt me. I just...

[ Then Mary Margaret finally looks down, looking more vulnerable than she's generally allowed since the return of her memories. ]

I don't know. I don't have any answers.

Then, stop trying to.

[ When Emma blurts it out, it sounds like a plea. She doesn't need a mother; she made it this long without one. What she really needs is a friend. The friend she lost when the Curse broke, the friend who would admit that neither of them had any fucking clue and they were just making it up as they went. ]

I'm making it up, too.

[ She swallows the guilt, welcomes the low blow. No one beats herself up more about Henry than Emma does—constantly. Everything Regina and Mary Margaret have ever said to criticize her, her parenting, and her relationship with her son: Emma assumes it's true. The worst of it, at least. Never the best. It's easy enough to just breeze past it and internalize it without a second thought, moving straight on to what they're gonna do to fix it.

With the same age and the same life experience, Emma can't help but fixate: she needs help figuring it out, not some educated, all-knowing coach. ]

So then... Talk to me. As a friend. I'm still Mary Margaret. I may have been cursed, but all of that was real.

[ It sometimes feels like a distant memory of a life that belonged to someone else, but it's still hers. She remembers it, and still feels it, even when it sometimes conflicts with the person Henry's book says she's supposed to be. ]

[ Her lips press tightly together, resistant. The real problem lies in the fact that it's not just Mary Margaret. Emma struggles with talking about her problems with anyone, even friends. With Kate, it felt like pulling teeth. The fact that Mary Margaret just expects it to be easy baffles her and makes her feel guiltier for it, but that guilt only spurs Emma to try to find a way to wrestle with it, Kate's suggestions in mind. ]

It's—

[ She paces a moment, battling herself, then finally just blurts out. ]

I don't know. I keep … looking for things to be wrong. Any time someone tries to get close, I can't do anything but wait for the other shoe to drop. I don't know how to stop.

You're on the defensive. [ That was painfully obvious, wasn't it? It inspires a grimace. ] It's a learned behavior. You've had a lot of disappointment in your life. I don't blame you for having your guard up the way you do. [ Guilt is something they can both share in here. Like a fine wine, but much less pleasant. If she had just been there. ]

But you're talking about someone specific, aren't you?

No!

[ The pause speaks for itself: well, okay, yeah. But— ]

It's more than that. [ Speaking of the defensive, she rocks back on her figurative heels. With hunched shoulders, she tilts her head and reluctantly digs into the worst parts of herself. Strictly speaking, she's being honest. This isn't about anyone specific, even if it was brought on by him at the end of the day. Hook only instigated the navel-gazing. ]

I always do this. You said it yourself, I—I put up these insane walls, and it's not like I'm trying to, but look at Henry. By the time I even let my own son get close, it was almost too late. [ She doesn't want that to happen again. Doesn't want to wait too long before she lets Snow herself in, or Hook, or Kate, or Charles. Any of them. She wants to be able to get close to people: she just doesn't know where to start. ]

I never said those walls were insane. I may not be like you when it comes to this, but I had a lot of help. I was surrounded by people who supported me when I had nowhere else to go and no one left to turn to. I had to trust other people because I felt I had no other options, and that's not a good place to be.

[ She suspects Emma's already pretty aware of that, and there's an appropriate amount of sympathy in her expression to go with it. ]

The point is that you did let Henry in. You'll trust people in your own time, and that's fine. I-- [ Mary Margaret sighs and hangs her head. ] I sound like I'm contradicting myself. Obviously what I want isn't necessarily the same as what's right for you. I wish I were better at this.

[ Raising her hands, she scrubs her palms over her face, taking a deep breath. This is driving them in circles. Unfortunately, none of her issues are as simple as merely talking them out. If they were, maybe she'd have better luck. (Probably not.)

On the other hand, she also knows that her issues aren't only affecting her: her mother, Hook, even Charles and Kate are being impacted by them at this point, and while she may have a low opinion of her own worth and has no problem subjecting herself to her pile of psychological problems, she's not so sure they'll stick around for it. And she doesn't want to lose them, let alone drag them through this ringer in the first place. ]

No. No, you're—Mary Margaret, you're fine. [ She drops her hands, sighing. ] If there's one thing I've learned from Henry, it's that sometimes, there isn't a right thing to say. [ Which is to say: Mary Margaret is right. In her own time, Emma will embrace and accept these people. Rushing herself is only stressing all of them out. It won't make it any easier.

A beat later, she drops her gaze, sighing again and gesturing with her hand at her side in soft admission, ] Or a right time to say it. [ Hedging for a moment, she eventually drags her gaze up to meet Mary Margaret's. ] I wasn't—What you heard about at the jump, it wasn't how it sounded. But … I know why it got twisted that way.

[ She tilts her head to the side, teeth grinding. ] It just wasn't Erik.

Edited 2014-10-13 03:51 (UTC)

[ There's a small comfort in that. The way that Emma doesn't expect her mother to have all the right answers. Now, or maybe ever. For as much as she likes to give that sort of advice out, Snow isn't all that good at taking it herself.

But that last admission immediately causes all her attention to focus back on Emma, the introspection banished in favor of bemusement. And interest, honestly. They were friends who shared this sort of thing before the revelation that they were mother and daughter, after all. ]

Who?

[ Her weight shifts from one foot to the other, and her hands raise to rest at her hips. As if she's squaring off to battle the topic rather than easing into it. The tension in her shoulders betrays any attempt to look at ease, and she—well. She looks awkward. Before Mary Margaret, she never really had a friend to talk to about this. She has Kate now, and with her needling, it's getting easier, but she still can't dig into her feelings, wants, thoughts.

This should be easier, though. Facts. What happened, nothing more. Except that what happened will indubitably lead to more questions that she doesn't have answers for because she doesn't like the idea of casting too hard a glance inward.

Shrugging her shoulders forward, her eyes roll up and around, searching the room in an ardent effort to fix on anything that isn't her mother's face. Finally, she exhales a quick huff, steadying her gaze on something outside of her right-side peripheral. ]

Hook.

[ Defensive, and seeking some kind of approval, validation, or judgment all at once, her voice starts out flat and lilts up despite any striving to keep her tone even. Slowly, finally, her eyes flicker back to her mother, looking quite like she's just taken her lipstick to color on the walls. ]

Hook. [ Snow repeats it, because she knows she heard right, but likes to give the impression for just a moment that maybe she hadn't. Give Emma the opportunity to retract and make a correction. But that wouldn't be right either. She asked for honesty, after all. ]

Okay. You're obviously conflicted about that. He has a bit of a mottled past but... so do we. [ Banditry, piracy... Grand theft auto? Kind of similar, really. ]

[ Reaching one hand up, she pushes her hair behind her ear, shrinking before her mother. Conflicted, yes. But maybe not in the way her mother thinks. After all, all things considered— ]

I know, I know.

[ She seems to struggle to put to words, then, exactly what is conflicting her. Pressing her lips together, she turns to start to take a step out, then thinks better of it, shifting her weight and turning to the other side without ever truly pacing. Finally, she lets out a sigh. ]

And so did Neal.

[ There. That easy. "Easy." Her voice is flat, as if that says everything. She looks up, dropping her hand and looking haplessly at her mother. How does she just forget that? Neal's past hadn't been the problem either (well, it had, but not in the way one might think). Being a thief, a pirate, that didn't matter.

Moral qualms weren't really at hand here so much as paranoia. It's what Hook might do in the future that spooks her, which has nothing to do with the piracy, and everything to do with making her heart vulnerable to anyone that she honestly gives a damn about. Letting people in means giving them the chance to leave her (or worse). ]

And Neal let you down.

[ Not technically finishing Emma's sentence, but she thinks - or rather hopes - that she's caught the sentiment behind the comparison. ]

I know there's a lot of heartache there. Believe me, I understand. [ Because she dated so extensively before she met Charming? Shhh. Not her point. ] But if you close yourself off to every opportunity, you'll never find the path to your happy ending.

[ An immediate wince. The topic of the validity of happy endings is always a touchy one. She even has trouble with that one herself. ]

Or even just a good year! You... You know what I'm saying, don't you?

open-ish | i'm just trying to find my way to you

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i'm sorry i'm apparently incapable of being wholly serious in a tag rn

serious tags = overrated

this is why we are friends

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