[She lets Emma go when she feels her start to pull away. The laughter's subsided, and the flash of silliness that prompted Mary Margaret to pouce on her daughter in the first place has abated. She's still smiling, but it's a little more sheepish now. She brushes away a stray piece of her own hair that's fallen in front of eyes, and reaches out to straighten the bottom of Emma's shirt, which Mary Margaret's hug rumpled.]

I don't know.

[She shakes her head and laughs a bit, softly.]

It's been so dreary lately. I guess I just felt like being silly. You know, I don't think I ever heard you laugh like that.

[Or at all, really, not that she blames her. It was nice to hear it even if it took a little drastic coaxing.]