Title: Flaws
Summary: Sequel to Sick. A certain text message has sent an ex in denial to her door.
Note: Two prompts from Tumblr. Starbabe596 asked for "Please do "So why did I have to punch that guy?" Cookies if that guy is Neal." And anon wanted "I was curious to see (well, read) how that "there goes avoiding a fight" thing would go about."
.As should be clear from the prompt, some anti-Neal is present here.
"So, why did I have to punch that guy?"
Even through the rawness of her throat and her nose so stuffed she could scarcely breathe, she managed a smirk at the question. She pulled an ice pack out of the freezer and tossed it to him. He caught it in one hand before placing it over his reddened knuckles.
She grabbed a glass of water and her meds, then sat next to him on the couch. She was still feeling a little of that surrealism at having him there, unconsciously sliding her fingers forward to touch him. "You didn't have to," she clarified, but leaned into his side with the next breath. "But thanks."
Graham shifted, and she sank more comfortably into him, her throbbing head resting against his shoulder. He pressed his palm against her forehead, and she sighed at the cool feel of the icy touch. "You should take your meds," he suggested, opening the blister pack.
She grumbled an agreement and swallowed them down.
"Are you going to tell me about it?" he asked softly.
She took his fingers in hers, threading them together as she pieced through an explanation. "He tried to – I don't want him in my space," she said, swallowing thickly.
She can't quite verbalize the panic she felt when Neal had come over. He had looked stormy, eyes wide and pleading. He had insisted that David was trying to break them up, anger touching his voice as he held his phone in a crushing grip. Then, he had leaned into her, intentions clear.
She shivered as she thought about it again.
Graham was quiet a beat, playing with her fingers absently. "He should have listened to you," he said plainly.
She tilted her head up, watching the play of emotion across his features. "I wasn't expecting you to follow through when I said it."
She could see the blush creep up his neck, and he shifted uncomfortably. "Gut reaction," he countered.
She tried not to smile, then, she really did. The warning that she had given Neal, the 'stop or I will punch you in the face,' had somehow translated to Graham's fist replacing hers. He was perhaps just a second sooner than she, and only because the illness had delayed her reaction somewhat.
The sharp crack had been somewhat satisfying, she would admit. Fear that it would come to blows, some macho fight for her or something, had soured the feeling quickly.
But an actual fight never came. Neal had attempted a swing, but Graham was too intense at that point. He had dodged the punch and yanked his arm around his back in a move that would make any law enforcement professional (cursed to be that way or not) proud, dragging the older man out of the house by the collar.
"I lose my voice around him sometimes," she admitted, and she realized just how true that was. Her strength always seemed to tap out around Neal, something in her still that sixteen-year-old looking up to the man who would tell her what to do.
Graham pressed his lips together, brow furrowed thoughtfully. Finally, he shook his head. "Not today, you didn't."
She sighed, but nodded. "But before," she said, then shook her head. It wasn't an excuse. "I can't forget, and I don't think he realizes … realized that. Henry deserves the chance to know him, but I can't forget what he did."
He squeezed her hand, and while there was sympathy in his eyes there was also a fire beneath it. The plain defensiveness in his body made her feel strangely supported. Internally, that feeling made her wince.
She didn't need someone defending her; she defended herself. She had never needed anyone. She promised herself she would scold him, let him know she'd fight her own battles without his help.
But not today.
And, she thought as she felt her eyes droop, maybe not ever. As sick as she was, she could feel a quiet admittance that, even though she could do it on her own, it was … nice to not have to do it alone.
Then again, she might blame the antihistamines by tomorrow.
She inhaled deeply and moved her head against his chest. His arm wrapped around her, and the ice pack moved to the side cushion. His dark eyes burned, and he blinked hard as he stared into the distance. "You don't need to forget. It's probably smarter that you don't."
She swallowed, the idea of forgetting stirring up a different image as his heart beat against her cheek. She hadn't had to deal with Regina, not since the very start of getting to Storybrooke. The idea of working with her now made her stomach churn violently, even more than her fever allowed for. She placed a palm on his chest. "I won't forget."
He placed his hand over hers, letting a few moments pass as they both silently acknowledged what they wouldn't talk about now.
She coughed, holding her tissue to her mouth and rubbing it across her nose when she was finished. "Does that mean you'll let me return the favor when I'm better?"
He chuckled, and the rumbling sound vibrated nicely against her aching body. "I've seen how that goes before."
She remembered his gentle look as he dabbed at her wounds, so long ago now. "Yeah, but that didn't count."
He hummed a placating agreement, pushing her hair back soothingly in long strokes. She wanted to whine, tell him it wasn't fair, but instead she sighed as she gave into the comfort.
"Someday you'll tell me about it," he whispered surely, but also making it clear that she didn't have to now.
As she slowly dozed, she thought she might love him even more for it.