Title: Charges: Theft of Cereal and Unexpected Resurrection
Rating: K+
Disclaimer: I do not own Once Upon a Time or its characters.
Summary: The morning after she finds him, it all hits her.
Note: Part of the Ridiculous Sentence Prompts on Tumblr (the first sentence). Such a silly prompt bred something slightly angsty.
"Who wouldn't be angry you ate all of my cereal and faked your death for three years!"
Graham dropped the spoon to the side gingerly. He winced, and cleared his throat. "Technically, I wasn't faking—"
"You know what I mean," Emma said, her teeth gritting together. Her tone was decidedly cool.
It had been a long night. She had almost been in bed when the call came in, saying there had been some sort of disturbance along the forest line involving lights and "probably magic." What should have been a quick investigation had turned on its head the moment she recognized the man behind the dirt and blood.
But she hadn't asked about it.
At least not aloud, there hadn't been one syllable uttered to try to question why Graham Humbert was suddenly in the woods, alive, after so much time had passed. She had simply grabbed the rough blanket from the back of the cruiser and shoved it over his shoulders, let him crawl into the back seat, and then offered the couch in her living room for him to take.
She determinedly was not thinking about what could have brought him back, how long he would be staying, how he could even possibly be breathing when she had saw his body lying on that cold slab of metal so very long ago (and so recently, her heart screamed).
She had also buried down more than the basic facts that accompanied her moves last night: how her body had shook when she placed the blanket over his shoulders, how often her eyes flicked to the rearview mirror to be sure he was still there (how she met the bruised blue of his gaze each time), how her finger had moved to glide over his as she handed him some old sweats of her ex's to borrow when they returned.
Or that whispered thank you he had uttered as she turned to go to her room, how the first words tumbling out of his mouth (the last words he ever said) had sent shivers to dance over her spine as her stomach curled with warmth, all at once.
She had ignored all that, plainly. She had not allowed herself to dwell on it even a moment. But somehow, padding into the kitchen this morning to find Graham sitting so comfortably at the breakfast nook (like he belonged there), and her box of Lucky Charms empty in the trash … it broke something in her.
(She supposed she was overdue for breaking.)
She couldn't even remember what she had said to him, just that her voice had risen octaves above what she usually allowed this early in the morning, and that Graham's eyes had gotten wider and wider. It was almost comical; she probably would have laughed if not for the way her throat was closing up, forcing her tone to become sharper.
He rose, his hands up in plain surrender. "Can I explain, or do you want me to go?" he asked softly, already positioning his body closer to the door.
She hesitated. If she had any lingering doubt to his identity, they were gone now. Graham had never been one to (soberly) force an issue. Instead, it was always gentle suggestions, subtle requests, or sneaky dessert-laden bribes that she'd fall for again and again. Even after that first … when she had pushed him away when he'd been drunk, the only reason she had seen him again was because she had sought him out. He always allowed her room, because he knew it was what she needed.
And he was giving that to her now.
She felt herself begin to deflate, and hated the loss of the steel. Without it, the rush of tears pricked behind her eyes, and she blinked rapidly to prevent them coming forward.
"Please," she said. She swallowed, and took a small step forward. "Stay."
His eyes bounced over her face for a moment, before he slowly nodded. Carefully, he returned to his seat. "All right," he said. His voice was soft and soothing, tone mellow like she was a wild animal; she wasn't completely sure she hated the analogy. "Where do you want me to begin?"
She took a couple cautious steps, her gaze never straying from his. In the light of day, she noticed dark circles, the cut above his eyebrow, the bruises that marred his neck, trailing someplace below the collar of the black cotton tee (her ex's shirt didn't suit him, she noted; not because it looked particularly bad, but because she couldn't help wanting to see the blues and browns and greys and reds that had marked his wardrobe again).
She leaned forward, lightly touching the tear that marred his handsome face. She didn't even realize what she was doing until she felt warm skin and saw his eyes flutter closed. She let her fingers trail down his cheek, relishing the small touch (that she had never been allowed to give him before). She let a small smile cover her face at just the action. "Maybe at the beginning?" she asked.
He gave a cautious smile back and reached across the table, pushing another bowl full to the brim of cereal toward her. "You should eat. It's a long story."
She stared down at the unexpected hearts and stars and rainbows for a long time. Finally, she released a low breath and dug into the sugary cereal. "Sorry I yelled."
"Sorry I scared you," he replied.
She let her hair partially cover her smile, and let his warm voice, with those rolling vowels and swallowed consonants awash her with a comfort that shouldn't exist with the words the sounds made.
(It was good to have him back.)