"They're grieving for something themselves," Mary Margaret considers, looking down at her hands. The piece of bread she's broken up has somehow been balled up in her fingertips, and she tosses it out in the birds' direction, careful not to throw it too harshly.

"I feel like I know someone like that," she says, her voice still slightly faint. "Someone who experienced a great hurt, a great offense in their life - and then did all they could to ruin that for everyone else. But I - "

Faces swim in her memory and she can't linger on just one, and now she's having a hard time breathing. Is this like what's happening to David? Memories returning that she has no explanation for, no basis for other than the fact that she happens to feel them?