Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon A Time. Mary Margaret and Mr. Gold do not belong to me (pity). If wishes could come true, they would. Anyone know where I can find a certain powerful imp? (-;

A/N: This came from a stroke of inspiration and it was begging to be written. Meant to be a one-shot. I only say that because the ending is left a bit open for speculation.

Enjoy reading and let me know what you think. (=

By the way, did anyone else feel bad for Mary Margaret in this recent episode?

Takes place during the 13th episode. Though, I somehow drew a little inspiration from the 12th episode as well, particularly the scene between Belle/Rumpel where he first mentions his son. Just a fun fact.

"The Right Choice"

Listen, listen

I would take a whisper

If that's all you had to give

But it isn't, isn't

You could come and save me

Try to chase the crazy right out of my head*

In all the time Mary Margaret had lived in Storybrooke, never had she been particularly hated or even disliked. After that unpleasant scene with Kathryn in the school-the sensation of Kathryn's slap still reverberating across her cheekbone-Mary Margaret could now say otherwise.

Everywhere she went the citizens of Storybrooke stared at her, glared at her, piercing daggers into her spine as she passed by them, fighting to uphold even a shred of her dignity.

Mothers firmly took their young ones by the hand and crossed the street to avoid her, like she had the plague. Children she knew, children she taught and had grown to love, now eyed her with hard confusion as their caretakers backtracked down the sidewalk.

Often there was the bitter whispered word of "tramp" or "homewrecker", each syllable cutting into her heart and whipping across her chest, the breath in her lungs struggling for release.

It was a brutal, unbearable feeling-being hated.

It was a merciless chill that seeped into her bones and poisoned her mind.

The sensation of cruel eyes watching her never ceased. The stinging of warm tears burned the edges of her green eyes as she tried so desperately to hold it together. Mary Margaret refused to cry or show weakness in front of her peers; easier said than done.

All this because she could not fight what her heart was telling her-that she and David belonged together, come what may. Being with David seemed right, but the cold, harsh aftermath tugged at her insides.

All this because she had fallen for someone she was not meant to have and her heart was unable to understand it.

A solid weight crashed into Mary Margaret as she briskly turned the corner, snapping her out of her pitiful reverie.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Mary Margaret instantly apologized, forever good-natured to those around her, no matter what was whispered behind her back.

It was Granny, carrying a couple of bags in her frail arms. Upon stumbling, Mary Margaret had caught the older woman by the wrists to prevent her from falling backwards. Granny forced the grip off like Mary Margaret's fingertips had burned her skin. There was an accusing stare in Granny's weary eyes.

"You should be ashamed of yourself," the older woman spat at Mary Margaret before rushing on down the street.

A rush of warmth touched Mary Margaret's cheeks and her breath hitched as a sob threatened to choke her throat. Mind spinning wildly and ears echoing with Granny's sharp words, she was not sure how much more hatred she could stand.

What had she done to deserve such hostility? It seemed she was on everyone's hit list, except for Henry and Emma.

Mary Margaret shuffled on, eyes downcast lest she observed another hateful, searing glare.

Tap, tap, tap...

The light sound of a cane hitting the cement reached her ears as Mr. Gold approached in her direction. Instinctively, flashes of him brutally attacking that man invaded her mind.

She knew she should be more afraid of him, but today she did not have the strength to battle both fear and hurt. The hurt won out.

Mr. Gold's face was blank as he passed her, his brown eyes only lingering on her for a brief moment.

Mary Margaret sighed-perhaps with relief-as he was nearly behind her, no glare or harsh words admitted. Then again, despite the trouble and reputation that flanked the pawnbroker, he'd always been polite to her in passing.

Out of the corner of her eye, Mr. Gold paused and glanced back, mouth drawing open to speak what she imagined to be belittling words. No, I can't take any more hurt. It's too much, she thought, heart hammering as she abruptly whirled to face him.

"Look, if you're going to call me a homewrecker or...or tell me I should be ashamed of myself, I'd prefer it if you...if you kept it to yourself," she cut him off, that sob clogging her throat once more. "Please," she added for good measure.

Mary Margaret dared to glance up and observe Mr. Gold's expression. Dusty brown hair fell across his face, his brown eyes roaming hers. The most surprising detail was the small smile that quirked his lips.

"Actually, Ms. Blanchard," he carefully addressed her in his rich Scottish accent. "I was simply hoping to wish you a good day. No sarcasm intended."

Heat rose to Mary Margaret's face as she realized her mistake. The world seemed to spin on its axis, the anxiety caving in on her, head dipping with shame.

"Oh," she murmured foolishly. "I...I'm so...sorry," she gasped, the same words she'd uttered to Granny before-

Mr. Gold shifted his weight on his cane to catch her arm, steadying her. It was then she became aware that she was growing weak at the knees, tears streaming down her delicate face and dripping onto her trembling lips.

Salty and bitter-just like the harsh phrases flung at her.

With his guidance, Mary Margaret settled onto a stone ledge in front of a clothes shop, with Mr. Gold occupying the space beside her. This was the closest the two had been since...ever. Their arms were brushing slightly.

Eyes scanning her face, Mr. Gold reached into his suit's inner pocket and offered her a black silk handkerchief to wipe away her fallen tears.

"No...I don't need..." Mary Margaret was silenced by another wracking fit of sobs.

'Please," he insisted, the silk smoothing across her skin. Mary Margaret noticed Mr. Gold's lips grow tense-something told her he wasn't very accustomed to comforting hopeless, crying women. The thought of his vulnerability almost made her smile.

Mary Margaret accepted the handkerchief and dabbed at her tears. For a second, she considered blowing her nose, but decided against it. That was assuming he'd want the silk cloth back.

"Thank you," she said, handing it back to him. It swiftly vanished into his suit once more. Another gasp of breath, but at least the worst sobs were over. "Why are you being polite to me? No offense," she questioned, finding the man's concern unexpected.

"None taken," he smoothly replied, resting his cane between his legs and folding his slender hands atop the head. "The guilt of your choice was burden enough."

"My choice...somehow it no longer feels like the right one," Mary Margaret whispered mostly to herself. If being with David wasn't the right choice, then what was? Where did she go from here?

Mr. Gold was quiet a long moment, contemplating the correct words.

"The thing about the right choice, dearie...It's never an easy path to follow. There is an easy choice and a right choice. Never do the two coincide," he advised her wisely.

Mary Margaret nodded absently, too dazed to speak. Of all the people to seek comfort in, life had handed her Mr. Gold, the most feared man in Storybrooke.

An odd notion struck Mary Margaret as she scrutinized him, her mind working out the meaning between the lines.

"Did you ever love someone? So much that you were forced to make a choice for them? That you never wondered whether it was worth it because in your heart you knew it was meant to happen?" Mary Margaret hated to sound so fairytale-esque, but the words blurted out of her mouth before her brain could scold her.

Mr. Gold avoided her gaze and softly released a breath he must have been holding while she posed her question.

"Yes, dearie. I have," he answered flatly, his fingers gripping the cane a little more tightly. Usually so focused and calculating, his brown eyes were a little dreamy, as if he were reminiscing about a memory long since past.

The revelation startled Mary Margaret. She'd known Mr. Gold for years, but she could never recall him with a beloved. Always the pawnbroker walked alone, no one daring enough to uncover what was underneath his carefully poised mask.

Of course, he must have loved once; she liked to hope that everyone captured that delightful sensation at least once in their lifetime. The only other word close to that feeling was hope, another missing piece in Storybrooke.

"What happened? If you don't mind me asking, that is," Mary Margaret hurried to cover her uncharacteristic rudeness. Mr. Gold's lips lifted in a solemn smile.

"I let her go," he emphasized each word in his soft-spoken manner. "And it was the worst mistake of my life." A pang of sympathy stretched across her heart. Never mind her own troubles. Would this lonely, feared man ever find his happy ending?

"Well, that doesn't mean it's hopeless," Mary Margaret replied, unaware that she was inching towards Mr. Gold's lean form, green eyes sparkling with child-like wonder. "One day you might find her again. Then, the two of you could be happy. If it's meant to be-"

"I'm afraid not, Ms. Blanchard," Mr. Gold overrode her words, gazing off into the distance. Mary Margaret stared at him, puzzled.

"Why not? Everyone deserves a happy ending," she told him in the same gentle tone she used with her children at school. "If you have hope-"

"She's dead, dearie," Mr. Gold abruptly intercepted, silencing her. Mary Margaret blushed-that was the second time she'd made a mistake. Her eyes became downcast, her body retreating to its normal, reserved posture.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize..." Mary Margaret's voice trailed off. The unfortunate sadness of it all overwhelmed her. At least her supposed love was alive and within reach. Mary Margaret could not imagine the suffering Mr. Gold had experienced, no matter how intimidating he seemed.

"That a monster like me could love? Or be loved, for that matter." Mr. Gold finished her broken sentence, glancing down at her in an inquiring way.

Mary Margaret forced a smile and dared to lay a reassuring hand over his in a gesture of comfort. A strange expression crossed Mr. Gold's face as he studied her hand there, as if he did not know how to respond to the sudden act of kindness.

"You are not a monster," Mary Margaret reasoned. Inside, she felt it was the truth. Appearances could be deceiving. "You're just...misunderstood. A bit like Emma, really. You put walls around yourself to stop the pain getting through, to avoid getting hurt. It also prevents love from coming in."

Mary Margaret gazed meaningfully at Mr. Gold before taking back her hand. Mr. Gold was still as he absorbed her words. This was the longest conversation she ever held with the pawnbroker. The depth of it allowed her to view him in a new, better light.

"If it is any consolidation, I believe you have chosen the right path," he finally said, narrow smirk dominating his lips. Mary Margaret had decidedly shelved her expectations of him, but still she was taken aback by this admission.

"You do?" Those two words were barely a whisper. The wind picked up around them, but neither one registered the drop in temperature.

"A bit of advice, if I may, Ms. Blanchard," he suggested, her name lingering for a second on his tongue.

"Mary Margaret," she encouraged him, though what possessed her to do so, she could not readily say. Mr. Gold's grin widened slightly at the informal gesture.

"Mary Margaret," he complied, his thick barogue making her name flow richly from his lips. "If you decide to walk away now, I fear you'll regret it. Do not opt for the easy path simply because the right path appears discouraging."

Mary Margaret chose to take his advice to heart-being with David ultimately felt like the right path, no matter the awful attitudes of Storybrooke's residents.

"Thank you," she repeated sincerely. "I just wish there was a better way I could show my gratitude." Mr. Gold gracefully stood and peered down at her, the mask of control and power fixed in place.

"A favor will do, I think," Mr. Gold stated, leaning into his cane and looming above her.

Mary Margaret felt anxiety sweep over her, banishing her new found understanding of the pawnbroker. What could he possibly want of her?

"Name it," she urged him, lips quivering slightly.

A satisfied smirk dnaced on the edges of Mr. Gold's lips and amusement glinted in his eyes.

"I'll let you know, dearie." With that, Mr. Gold ambled away, leaving behind a stunned Mary Margaret.

The pawnbroker's words mesmerized her and struck a chord deep inside her.

Lifting her chin high, determination soaring through her, Mary Margaret intended to find David, her love.

Mary Margaret intended to follow the right choice, and to hell with the rest of Storybrooke.

...

* The song in the beginning is "Echo" by Jason Walker.

So? What'd you think? I hope everyone enjoyed it and will give me their thoughts.

Too bad the show is going off for the Oscars. /= By the way, I am sitting in bed writing this at one in the morning because it has demanded to be written! Go figure.

Well, until next time, readers.