I'll Crawl Home to Her, an once upon a time fanfic

Title: I'll Crawl Home to Her
Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon a Time, its characters, or the lyrics to Work Song by Hozier.
Summary: Follow-up to High Concept. The beginnings of that elusive happy ending for a Savior and her family.
Note: For the multiple reviewers who wanted more of this (including crzykittyfangirl who was almost ready to adopt the fic) … thank you!

When, my, time comes around
Lay me gently in the cold dark earth
No grave can hold my body down
I'll crawl home to her

She shies away from his piercing gaze, a strong echo of déjà vu jabbing at her.

He's still shaking when he rises from the sidewalk, unsteady on his feet. She quickly stumbles forward, throwing an arm around his torso so he could regain his balance. His breath comes in short pants, but his eyes are glowing as they set on hers. "Thanks."

She swallows and manages a weak smile. "You need to stop that."

His brow furrows, but amusement is plain on his face. "What, thanking you? Then you should stop saving me, Princess."

His body was covered in a low mist of gold-tinged dust, swaying above his unmoving form. She tried not to grip the vial too much, didn't want to damage the fragile glass. Instead, she fingered it with an absent hand.

"First step, now. I'll remove the stasis."

She felt something panicky climb up her spine at Gold's words, but nodded jerkily.

She tries and fails to scowl at him. "You're not going to start with that, are you?"

He chuckles, and sharp stabs ignite in her stomach as she hears it turn into a cough. "How about Savior? Highness? Or maybe just Deputy?"

Her hand seeks out the edge of his ribs, her eyes darkly concerned even as she manages, "Sheriff would be more accurate."

His lip curls up on one side and he carefully removes her hand. "One change I can deal with," he says simply, even if there is a plain challenge in his cobalt irises as he entwines their hands and drops them to their side.

"You don't think I could come up with names for you, Wolf Man?"

"What do I need to do?" she asked. Her voice was strained, as if the words were in a sieve. The golden aura had dropped, leaving her to plainly view his body. He looked … cold. Gone.

As lifeless as he had been when he'd collapsed.

Gold's cane came forward as he walked the few short paces to his bedside. "Didn't I explain that to you already, Dearie?"

"The vial," she said, and pulled it upward in her hand.

"That's for later. You need a True Love's Kiss."

Her stomach twisted uncomfortably.

His laugh is real and loud, uninterrupted this time. Cautiously, her eyes meet his and a slow smile crosses her face.

It was just yesterday that she heard his voice. Yesterday, and more than a year ago. "Sorry. About before."

He shrugs. "Wasn't so bad."

She frowns, feeling the action pull deeper inside her. "No. It shouldn't have hap—"

"And you shouldn't have to apologize for someone else's actions," he says gently.

Even though she still felt like her actions had more impact, it silences her.

A True Love's Kiss.

She couldn't deny now that she loved him. Not when the words had spilled so effortlessly from her lips as they were parted.

But was it enough?

She felt her breath hitch as she approached him, crossing in a long arc towards his supine body.

He didn't look restful, like he was in some tranquil sleep. Wasn't that how they were supposed to be posed, in all those fairy tales?

Instead, his brow was creased, his mouth twisted downward. His face was strained and wan.

She didn't want to try and then fail. She was too afraid that it wouldn't work, that she wouldn't be enough to save him. After all, she hadn't the first time.

"Being immortal has increased my capacity for patience, but you are running it thin, Miss Swan. Stop doubting yourself. You have made it this far."

His fingers twist in hers, dancing across her own.

She looks down at their clasped hands, almost in awe of how okay with it she was. Yesterday (thirty years ago … whatever) he'd been so touchy with her, his hands finding reasons to seek her skin: across hair, jaw, pulse, lips.

She realizes, with some surprise, that she is only noticing it now. He hasn't stopped touching her since he'd awoken, and she has reciprocated easily. And even before … after the fight with Regina, even before that, he would make excuses to touch her, never inappropriate, always unobtrusively, never past what she was comfortable with.

She wonders when she had gotten used to being cherished by him this way.

"It worries me that you're still in pain," she voices after a long beat.

He sighs, a soft expel of breath that does nothing to dampen her worry. "I'll be okay, Emma. I spent a year asleep; I think a few hours of being unsteady is expected."

Impulsively, she leans up on tiptoes to press her lips just lightly against his. When they part, she smiles to see that he subconsciously follows her as she rests back on her heels. "Just as long as it keeps beating."

He taps his chest. "Working on it."

She tossed a glare at him, then looked back at Graham's form. He was too still: no shift in sleep, no movement behind his eyelids, no chest rising and falling. "He's not dead?" she asked hesitantly, confirming his earlier words.

Gold's laugh was quiet and dark, imbued with something she couldn't pinpoint. "I told you: he wasn't meant to die. Stasis can appear like death, even more than a sleeping curse. He was very close. I shudder to think what state he could have been had I not run into him that last day."

She leaned over him, feeling her breath begin to stifle in anticipation. She hovered there a moment. "What about his heart?"

"You mean the one that was crushed to dust? Inconsequential. It wasn't the one moved by what you did to him during your travels."

She gulped, remembering that rush of warmth that floated between them when they had kissed. "Why didn't it save him the first time, then?"

His answering look was impatient. "Must we go into that?" At her sullen look, he simply curled his hands around his cane. "The heart she crushed still affected him. This is what is needed for the piece of your own in his chest to start beating."

"My own?" she questioned. Her hand met her heart, solid and still as she felt for any sign that it was missing. It thumped in rapid tattoo across her palm. "I can't split my heart. You said I couldn't."

"Not in the way others can, Miss Swan, of course not. You are … special."

He leans into her but, instead of the expected kiss, he nuzzles into her hairline. "Too long."

She manages a nod as she tries to ignore the sudden sting of tears at the back of her throat. "Yeah," she agrees. She takes his hands and steps backward to pull him forward. "I need to take you home."

"That's kinda forward."

She looks up sharply to hear her words thrown back to her in such a strange parallel. She can't help but smile, even as she shakes her head. "Believe me, Graham, my intentions are as pure as yours were that night."

He grins back. "Then we are in a predicament. Because I was just trying to get you to stick around."

Emma's eyebrows raise and she waits for him to realize. She can see the slow dawning on his face, but she answers anyway. "Me too."

Special.

Scorn filled her at the word. When had she ever been special?

Still, she looked down at Graham's face and a withered sort of hope ignited in her soul. Something did pass between them yesterday. Maybe it was as Gold said it was.

She took one hand and shakily brought it down to his hair. She always wanted to touch those wild curls, to feel the way they would smooth out and bounce into place as she brushed the tresses. It was disconcerting to feel them now, when he didn't react under her touch and yet they moved the way she imagined they would.

"Just a kiss, and he will be with you again," Gold prodded. "Let me see the vial."

She fought the urge to yank her hand back, to push it deep to the bottom of her pockets, to keep it safe.

But he was the one that told her about it. He gave it to her, hidden away in a jacket that survived curses undone and reset. It would be safe with him, right?

She let the tiny bottle fall into his outstretched palm. Gingerly, he placed it on the table by the wall. The colors were dancing, even from this far away. "It will glow white and gold, once you do what you need."

She turned back to Graham. She closed her eyes and brushed her hand down his bearded jaw. Finally, finally, she leaned down. She expelled one last breath over his lips, then carefully placed hers on top.

He ducks his head, a tiny blush covering his face, just apparent under the scruff of his beard. He looks up at her from that position, his deep blue eyes sucking her in closer.

There's the words at the back of her throat, tangled there in vocal cords and memories and emotion. She knows she won't say them now, again, and probably not for a long time.

She finds, however, that she doesn't need to. His look says he knows, and the press of his hand against the small of her back says he reciprocates. She can do without words, especially as he remains in front of her, solid and strong and alive.

"My choice," he whispers softly, and then finally pulls her closer.

This time, when she kisses him, there is no desire to pull back. She doesn't need to see his lashes flutter open, doesn't need to read his expression for his reaction. There's no tangle of memory that needs to be unwoven in discovery.

She feels her soul relax as the kiss deepens, with how effortlessly they meld into each other.

It feels right.

His lips were cold, and she fought the urge to yank back with the pit of nausea that came with the feeling. She concentrated on her memories, of his last words both times. She needed to hear his voice, just his voice and it would all be –

He suddenly yanked back, a sharp gasp escaping him before he shot up to a sitting position. He coughed almost violently, the sound of air drawing in and from him wheezing.

Her eyes widened, taking him in as color dripped back into his face and his skin warmed beneath her fingers.

"Graham?" she asked anxiously.

His blurry eyes found hers, and he managed a smile before he sunk back against the pillow once more. He closed his eyes tightly and rubbed the spot over his heart. "Good morning to you, too."

Her whole body stuttered, shaking with the sound. It was exactly what she wanted, those rolling words and playful tones … it was him. She was sure she was beaming down at him, and she went right back to petting through his hair and then tripping along the stubble on his cheeks. "Well past that, now."

"Didn't I tell you not to waste your time on me?" he asked in a hoarse tone. A smile was planted on his face, his blue eyes purely projecting his thanks regardless.

She found she couldn't help the grin that crossed her own. "And I thought you heard when I said I wouldn't give up."

He reached out to touch her jaw, ever so carefully. "Stubborn."

She nodded. "I told you: you're worth the effort."

"It's true."

She feels Graham turn in time with her to the speaker. Henry is standing there, his feet planted but his nose red and eyes misty.

"Henry." The words leave Graham's chest in a sigh, and her heart squeezes to hear the awe in it.

"Hey, kid," she says, and takes a step forward. She is surprised to see Henry take one back. "Henry?"

"Where were you?" he asks.

She frowns and looks back at Graham. "Gold knew how to bring him back."

"You're listening to Mr. Gold? Why?"

She moves forward, but Henry's eyes are trained on Graham, suspicion clear. "Probably not my best move, but it paid off this once." She worries her lip a moment before placing a steady hand on her son's shoulder. "It's true."

His eyes flick up only a moment. His breathing is rough and ragged, and he looks even more on the verge of tears than before. "Grandma and Grandpa named the baby."

"Oh?" she says, letting him go on. If he isn't ready to react to Graham, she's not going to force the issue.

He nods. "They named him Neal."

Oh. "Oh," she says, and feels her throat tighten just a fraction. She nods with a jerk. "Okay. Okay, that's fine." It isn't, not really, but that isn't an issue she wants to press on right now.

He shakes his head. "And you brought Marian back, and that made mom mad. She left somewhere. And Zelena died, but she wanted to hurt me, she told me so. And Neal … my father … he's dead. And we're staying here, for good, and that means I won't see Avery or anyone at school again. And now Graham's back."

"I thought you wanted to stay here?" she asks softly, the only topic that truly made alarms ring in her head.

Everything else are issues that need to be dealt with, and she knows she needs to deal with them and help her son through it. But staying in Storybrooke is supposed to be the positive point in these changes. That was the one thing he had been so verbal about wanting these last days, the one good thing that should have tempered the rest.

His face crumples. "I do! But it's too much!"

He leaned against her, using her shoulder as support for his head. He was shaking against her. "Hey, hey, it's okay. The vial, that must be what makes you feel better."

"Vial?" he asked, but also made a noise of protest. "Just dizzy. I'm sure it'll pass."

She shook her head. "No, no, Gold made a point of saying the vial was part of your … uh … waking up?"

She can feel his smile into her skin. "Is that what we're calling it?"

"Sounds better than your miraculous rise from the dead, doesn't it?"

"I don't think I was dead," he murmured.

She heard his words from yesterday, the "I woke up here, like a loop" and a shiver ran down her spine. She ignored it for now. "You looked it," she replied darkly.

He pulled out of her arms to look at her, sharp lines across his features giving away how distressed he was. "Sorry."

"Not your fault. Now, the magic bottle of whatever." She turned her head to where Gold had been last, but startled.

He was gone.

And so was the vial.

She pulls Henry into her arms, letting him sob softly into her shoulder. She hears the scuff of shoes on cement beside her, and looks up to see the pained expression on Graham's face.

He looks at a loss, one hand poised up as if wanting to offer his own support to her son but too unsure to follow through. His color has dramatically fallen, just ready to pass out again.

"Hey, kid," she says into his hair, and presses a kiss there. "Let's get go home. Graham needs rest, and we need some hot chocolate, I think, right?"

Henry pulls back and cocks his head up toward Graham. Graham offers a half-smile down at him and his fingers twitch nervously.

"Does everyone know?" Henry asks.

Emma feels her insides twist as she remembers. "Just a few people."

A growl tore through her throat as she looked at the empty room. "He took it."

"Hey, hey." Graham's gentle tone forced her to look back at him. He cupped her face in his hands, and something died inside her to recall how similar it was to the last moment. "I'm okay. I'm sure I could even stand."

In proof, he swung his legs over and stumbled to his feet. She huffed out a short breath before helping him up, and even through his panting he smiled widely.

"See?" he said. "Told you I could do it."

"Yeah, real impressed that you could stand with my support," she replied wryly.

His arm snaked her waist, pulling her to him. His nose met her hair, and she heard a low inhale. "Maybe it's just an excuse to get close."

She rolled her eyes, but her heart fluttered. She's not processing it fully, she knew. Her mind had acknowledged his existing, but had filed the exhilaration and fear for later. "We need to find him."

"Wait," he said. "Let me get used to this, okay?"

A wash of hot embarrassment filled her. "Of course, of course. Get steady," she replied. A little helplessly, she wondered if he couldn't, not without the magic.

He huffed. "Not that. I can walk. I meant … I meant get used to knowing I'll be here for a while."

Henry is cautious, looking up at Graham with wide eyes. "What did we last talk about?"

"About the book, about who I was."

Henry bites down hard on his lip. "What else?"

Graham chances a glance at her and smiles. "How I got those memories."

Emma's brow rises, but she says nothing. Henry takes a timid step forward. "How old was I when I first ran away?"

Graham keeps steady dark eyes on him. "Six."

Six. Emma's stomach bottoms out. She feels nauseated. Six? What could have possibly gone wrong at six?

Another step. "When I first came to the station?"

"Two. But you'd remember four." Graham is still, and she realizes with alarm that it's so he won't shake as much as it is for Henry.

Henry's lip quirks up and gives another step. "When I brought Emma, you checked on me. What did I say I hoped?"

Graham's look is gentle and he reaches out one more time. "You wanted her to stay, you said that she had to. You didn't mention the curse. But you said you hoped she was ready."

Henry barrels into him, hugging him tight around the waist. She wants to cry out, to remind Henry that Graham's not well, but they cling to each other with a fierceness that surprises her. Henry is crying into his chest and Graham has nearly collapsed into him, somehow appearing both protective and frail all at once.

She stared wordlessly at his statement filled her, sinking into every pore. Slowly, she nodded and she pulled on his arm. "Let's get out of here."

He took a look around Gold's place and bobbed his head in agreement. "Yeah."

Beads of sweat gathered at his temples from the effort in walking, and again she felt her optimism waver. She needed a distraction. "Tell me something," she asked desperately, nails biting into his shirt as if clinging onto him. She needed that vial.

He wiped his forehead as he pushed the door open. "I think I'm behind on my rent."

She blinked, and huffed out a short laugh. "It's a safe bet. Do … do you want to go back there?"

"Swan."

She turned abruptly to the voice, though her fingers dug harder into his side. Killian stood a few paces away, his hook nervously flicking by his side. "Yeah?"

The blue of his gaze was intense, and she could palpably feel his unease with Graham. "Regina stalked off somewhere around these parts. She looked out for blood."

She looked up to meet a darker blue, unsurprised that his stare was focused on her alone. He looked a little sharper, a little more alert, and she wondered if he felt he had to be at the mention of Regina. "It's because we took Marian," she explained quickly.

"I didn't know we took another straggler, Swan. And somehow, I think this one'd be more difficult to explain."

The words were almost acidic, but she stopped the retort that tipped the edge of her tongue. Instead, she swallowed. "He didn't come with us. Gold … he had him. I just had to … wake him up."

The words seemed unnatural falling from her lips, and she knew she was struggling to explain. How could she explain that Graham had been dead, at least to her knowledge, less than an hour ago? How could she explain what she could barely convince herself was true, that she woke him with True Love's Kiss?

To her surprise, there was no question on Killian's face. Instead, there was only sheer horror. "You—you listened to the crocodile?"

The key is almost soundless as it fits in the lock. She fumbles to open the door with one hand, not wanting to use the other since Graham's is tucked securely in hers.

There will be too many people in the loft, of course; this place had been meant for just Mary Margaret, with one empty room to remind her of what she didn't have. Emma had moved into that extra space easily.

However, the broken curse just continued to add bodies to the too-small loft. David was fairly simple to find a bed for, but his things crowded the cluttered home. Henry took minimal shifting to add in, and she hadn't minded finding a spare twin mattress to wedge next to her bed. Now, it will be even more like a game of Tetris with the baby and Graham added into the mix.

But she also can't stand the thought of him being elsewhere.

The light from the kitchen is on, but David and Mary Margaret are curled on the bed near the window. The baby is cradled in Mary Margaret's arms, and David is holding them both, lovingly trailing his fingertips up and down her side.

He shifts as he sees them all. "Emma …?"

She nods back at the one newcomer she knows has his attention. "Curse loopholes. Gold," she hesitates, feeling the anger build back up in her for the man once again. "He showed me how to bring him back."

Graham gives a half wave with the arm that wasn't tucked around Henry. It is so awkward that it takes her a second to realize that she shouldn't have expected it from him, that she shouldn't know him so well. He lets the sofa take most of his weight, and Henry looks up with bleary eyes and a sleepy nod.

David seems to take the explanation in stride. A part of her is annoyed at how a magical resurrection has become so rote in their world. It should mean something. It should be fantastical and awe-inspiring and people should question it. Instead, this is her life now: where magic is as common as weather changes.

"There's some dinner in the fridge. If you're hungry," he offers. He looks peaceful and only half awake.

It's only then that she notices that Mary Margaret is actually dozing. The newborn, while in her arms, is supported by David's. At this moment, she is immune to the outside world. It occurs to Emma that she's never seen her looks so comfortable, so completely at ease. And it's all because she's in David's arms.

She wonders for a moment if that's how she looks when she lets herself go as she kisses Graham.

She shakes away the notion, even though her tongue runs across her lips. She sets her coat on the couch and rests a hand on Henry's head. "Thanks. We'll try to keep our voices down," she promises.

David gives a small smile. "I don't think you three are the ones we have to worry about being loud," he says and nods to the infant.

She chews on her lip. "You named him …," she trails off, still not quite comprehending what Henry has told her.

Her kid darts forward and clings to her arm, white knuckled and wide-eyed. There is such desperation that she realizes Henry isn't ready to talk about this, that he just wants to forget. But Emma can't stop herself from pulling on the thread.

David hesitates. "We were going to do the big announcement this evening, now that everything's settled. But you weren't there and we wanted to wait to tell the town after we told you and Henry. But Henry let you know?"

She nods as Henry sniffs beside her. "Are you sold on it, though? The timing … well, it might not be the best idea."

"I listened. It paid off," she retorted defensively.

Graham squeezed her side in acknowledgement, and pulled himself to full height.

Killian looked annoyed. "You think you can trust that bloody imp after all this? Believe me, he hasn't had a good intention in all the centuries I've known him."

A protest stopped and died at her lips.

Good intentions.

Gold had some, perhaps, but never without his own advantage. "The vial. He said the vial would glow once we kissed," she said, more to herself than the other two men.

"Magic," Killian spat derisively.

"What was in the vial, Emma? Do you know?" Graham asked, his voice hushed.

She opened her mouth and fingered a strand of her hair. "Our … he said he convinced you to give one up."

Graham closed his eyes and winced. "He took a strand in exchange for … well, it's not important. There was something in Henry's book about hair, wasn't there?"

"No, wait, it could be important. What deal did you make?" she pressed.

He glanced at Killian and then back to her. "Getting you home safe."

She felt a strange wash of emotion come over her: awed and shy and enamored … but also filled with a glare of sympathy at the out-of-character naivety. "Graham … he needed us to get back to our timeline. It was important to him." You gave him it for nothing was the unspoken point.

He gave a look of stubborn protectiveness with a ferocity that nearly made her lightheaded. "He needed you back; that doesn't guarantee you get back safely." He gestured to Killian with his chin. "Especially not that one."

"Not the point," Killian ground out. "Where is he?"

David looks down at his son and sighs. "I wondered if it might be too close."

She takes Henry closer with one arm. "I know it's your decision, but Gold isn't in … well, let's just say he has something to hold over us. He might not appreciate the gesture."

She's dancing around the real issue, she knows that. But she doesn't know how to express how bitterly painful it feels to hear that they are planning on using his name for her sibling.

His death still weighs on her, her utter dread when she realized that he was essentially asking her to help kill him. And yet it wasn't the worst thing: that was just another in a long line of things she never got to resolve with him, another pain to add to his memory.

To know she'd have to look at her brother and use his name only brought those feelings afresh.

In the end, she comes back to the same conclusion: it is their child, their decision. Her opinion is just that.

She feels Graham at her back, hovering there just inside her personal space. Something about the warmth of him makes her better able to be more honest. "So you know … it's … it's too soon for us."

David watches her a long moment. "Okay. I'll talk to her about it. Nothing's official yet. We had a couple more options."

"It's your decision, I just wanted you to … know," she reiterates.

David nods. "I know. But you're our daughter, our family. Your input holds weight for us."

She feels wetness on her side from Henry's tears, as he shudders in relief. She gives a grateful smile to her father. "Thank you."

David's expression is soft. "Of course, Emma. We wouldn't want to do anything to make you uncomfortable. You just need to talk to us."

"Easier said than done," she mumbles, and leans back into Graham's chest. His arm rests at her hip, the other at Henry's shoulder, and he doesn't feel as unsteady as he did before.

She doesn't feel as unsteady as she did before.

David is watching them with a sort of contemplation when she raises her eyes back to them. "This will fit," is his quiet comment.

She's not quite ready to speak about it, so her gaze darts away. "I'm just going to heat up some food and make some hot chocolate. Then we'll go upstairs, give you some privacy, okay/" she says finally.

"Sure, Emma. Get some sleep, too, okay?"

A part of Emma knew the cemetery would be her best chances of finding the older man.

Since Killian seemed unwilling to leave, he joined them in the search for Gold and, ultimately, she thought it was for the best. Even though Graham was putting up a strong facade, she caught glimpses of pain and weariness throughout the journey. If he got any worse, she would be thankful to have another person able to help him back to town.

Even if that other person's lingering stares were becoming longer and longer.

As they enter the foggy grounds, she has to fight back the need to expel all the panic and anxiety from the last hour. It comes crashing down with the memory of a rainy December morning when she thought the casket supported the reinforcement of her walls and held the last of her hope.

Graham noticed her distress. He held her hand tighter as she fought to keep her breaths even. She clung back, reminding herself that he was here, he was real, he was living. She could feel the breakdown beginning within her and struggled to keep herself going for just a little bit more.

It didn't work as well as she wanted it to, but her breathing tempered off at the very least.

As she looked over the sea of headstones, she felt her ire rise. No Gold.

"Best chance for it, Swan, but I don't see him," Killian muttered.

"I would have tried."

All three turned to the voice. Gold's hands were folded, his head bowed, as he sat on the steps of the mausoleum. They were a few feet from Neal's grave.

"If I knew there was any chance, I would have tried," he said darkly. "I still might."

"Gold," she said plainly, holding out her hand. "Give me the vial."

He chuckled, an ominous sound against the backdrop of his sepulchral stature. "Did you really think he needed that little thing, Miss Swan? It is only your magic, the one you produce together. You already have that; no need for the bottled version."

She shivered. "You said he needed it. He's still weak."

Graham scoffed beside her and she shot him a look. Sheepishly, he shrugged.

"Give it to her, Crocodile," Killian demanded next. "Even you can't be as cruel as to give her hope then yank it away."

Gold smiled, but there was something in it that didn't let her calm. It spoke of something that told of his ability to do just that, if he so desired. "He doesn't need it," he repeated. "He has half of the Savior's heart to beat for him."

She swallowed, still wondering how that was possible when her own didn't feel any different. If anything, it felt more than it had in the decades she'd lived before coming to this town. "Then why—"

"He's learning to live with more heart in his chest than he's had in three decades. It'll take some time."

"It doesn't matter," Graham said, finally speaking up. "If the vial is her magic, then it should be hers."

Gold sneered. "I bartered a deal for it that I followed through on, Huntsman. No one goes back on a deal with me."

"I was the only one that bartered that deal. You didn't let her have a say on it," Graham growled.

"Yes," he practically purred. "Somehow the slave's deal had more impact than the princess'."

Fire shot through her veins, slamming Gold back into the wall with a short burst of power.

The first scent of cinnamon and chocolate soothes her, making her fall into an old routine she remembers from both before and in those memories of raising Henry. For a second, she can pretend she's back in that ignorant bubble, safe from all that is external.

But Graham teasingly pulling Henry into a headlock as he leads them to the barstools makes her happy for the reality.

She knows now that her decision to remain in Storybrooke is paying off. She can put roots down here, utterly surrounded by family, better than in Manhattan.

"So, kid, you still have those apartment ads?" she asks as she pushes him a mug.

Henry smiles up at her. He looks so much better than when he'd found them earlier. "Think so."

"Reality," Graham says with a disbelieving shake of the head. "I'll need to find something, too, I suppose."

Something tugs at her, an inkling that screams out from the pit of her stomach. Of course it makes sense that Graham will need a place. But even though it is much too soon to be thinking in these terms, she feels like he needs to be with her. She doesn't want him to be apart from the family she is building. The feeling sinks to her bones in a way that alarms her.

"We could find a three bedroom," Henry pipes in shyly, trying to look nonchalant as he swirls the cinnamon with his spoon.

Emma bites down hard on her lip, finding both humor and relief in her son's offer. Henry's approval made this easier. "We share a heart, I think we can share an apartment," she prods.

Dark cobalt eyes meet hers, wide and searching. He looks to Henry next, and she can sense the minute he finds what he's looking for in his gaze. Finally, he nods. "Seems small in comparison," he agrees. "And makes good fiscal sense."

In unison, they raise their drinks, hiding knowing smiles behind Mary Margaret's enamel-coated mugs.

The heat from the cocoa does little in comparison to the feeling that is already surrounding her.

Gold's head hit the stone, but he remained tittering as she sucked the magic back inside her. "Nice one, my dear, but not enough to be rid of me."

"Swan." Killian's voice, a warning, a concern.

"Go back to town, Hook," she demanded. "This isn't your business."

"But—"

"Go."

She heard his footfalls, but didn't turn to watch him leave. Instead, she kept her eyes focused on Gold. "Don't talk about him like that again," she warned lowly.

"Like what? The truth? It is not me you should be angry with, if that's what's making you sore," he advised.

"Emma." The shake was back in Graham's voice, but as she turned she noticed that there was more fear than pain in his eyes. Even worse, he was trying to hide it. "It's okay."

She tugged herself back to her center, letting the flicker of power ebb. "What are you planning for the vial?" she asked gruffly.

"Now, now, too early for those questions. Just know I'm … invested, let's say," Gold replied. "If gives you peace of mind, it doesn't work if one of you are passed on."

She felt an icy chill as she realized. "That's why you helped." If he hadn't had a reason, she would have never have found him again, would she?

He smirked. "Nothing gets past you."

She hesitated. The piece fit neatly into the information she had, but somehow something still felt off. Her anger wouldn't let her dwell on it, not now, but the feeling settled in her to be examined at a later date. She turned toward the tombstones. "What, you think it will bring back Neal?"

His face turned to stone. "If it could, I would not have hesitated. And there are other things I can accomplish with this great magic, Dearie."

She didn't like the sound of that. She felt Graham appear once more at her side, his knuckles brushing hers in a short reminder of his support. She couldn't believe the relief in knowing she hadn't alienated herself from him. "What makes you think I'd let you keep it?"

"Because it's like I said: no one goes back on a deal with me. You wouldn't want to risk what you just had returned, now would you."

The threat bit into her, shearing her nerves to their core. Her first reaction to the emotion had always been action, but she couldn't manage to start that way again. "Threaten him again. Try me."

Gold grinned. "Ah, Miss Swan, I can see now how well matched you are. He had similar words for me before, the same baseless intimidations. You make the same mistake in thinking I care. But fine then; would you prefer I threaten you?"

"You've already given away your ace. You need us both alive. I don't have the same restrictions." Graham responded darkly.

Her brows rose at his tone, but she met his gaze knowingly. She realized this wasn't the first time they had been protective of each other, and she knew without doubt that it wouldn't be the last.

Gold looked … pleased, if she wasn't mistaken. He stood with flourish. "As lovely as this is, I have a wedding to get to. Enjoy your time … for now."

With that, he disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

She feels everything press down on her the moment she sees her room, exhaustion settling into her bones. She is too tired to think about changing; she doesn't even feel like peeling the jeans from her body.

It has been too much, and there is still too much fallout to consider. She hasn't let herself think about Marian in the last couple hours, and a Regina already on the warpath will only get worse once Graham is revealed. There is also Gold to think about, and his last ominous words before disappearing. There is also the worries of the timeline, still in the back of her mind.

She needs to ignore it to be sane.

Henry doesn't even pretend to make for the small mattress in the corner of the room. He flops onto her bed and curls onto the side, making himself small. He is leaving enough room, but making it clear that he wants to have his mom.

She is about to settle with him when she notices Graham trying to leave the room. "Uh uh," she says simply and grabs the hem of his shirt. "Stay."

"Y'sure?" he asks in a sleep-addled mumble.

She only nods and tucks herself around Henry. With one hand, she taps the leftover space behind her. "Here."

He hesitates only a moment before sinking into the spot. Slowly, carefully, he pulls his arms around her waist and melds into her body.

If she had any ounce of alertness left in her body, she could have held back the tears. Instead, she can't even care that they are streaming down her face, unchecked. His cheek rests against her wet one and he places a soft kiss to her jaw. "Tomorrow," he assures.

The word has so much promise in it, so much hope for the future. With the weight of him pushing away the rest of her worries, and the hold she has on her son, she lets herself fall into exhausted slumber.

Because the promise of tomorrow means she can let herself believe in right now.

And right now has her glimpsing that elusive happy ending.

She started to run back to town before realizing there was no point. She had no idea where he went. She stood in the street, at a loss, and fisted her hands at her scalp.

He sighed and pulled himself down to the sidewalk, looking up at her wearily. "Don't worry about it just yet. Nothing we can do."

She looked down at him and frowned. "I don't like it."

"You don't have to," he replied simply.

She looked down at him, feeling her heart tug in different directions as she finally let it settle in: he was here. He was real. "If we believe him, you're really okay."

He gave a crooked smile. "He was wrong."

She frowned. "Wrong?"

He shrugged. "He called you a Savior that can't save. He was wrong."

She let out a low breath of surprise. "I guess."

His gaze held absolute adoration, keeping steady hold of hers. "Thank you."