Or, the one where Graham weeps a lot and Emma wonders if he's under some sort of spell.

If love's a spell, then he's certainly affected by it.


"What do you remember?" He couldn't have answered her even if he'd wanted to. He hit his head on the side of her desk on the way down to the floor of their office and it hurt. The stars that burst across his vision were so bright that they nearly blinded him. Her arms reached out to steady him and he was about to brush her off, tell her he was alright, really. But then he realized he was anything but.

Graham's whole body had gone numb, number than it had been even before - before she'd started breaking his Curse. He tried to thank her, to tell her how he felt about her, to tell her anything, but none of the words he wanted to say made it passed his lips. He didn't have the air to voice them, didn't have the air to breathe. Something was tugging at his heart - his real heart, the one he was sure Regina must've had.

Regina...he realized now that Emma didn't know. Emma didn't know that Regina was the one who was doing this, that Regina was the one who'd orchestrated everything that happened in this town.

But the Queen - he would've snarled at the word if he wasn't so busy dying - the Queen didn't account for Emma's determination. Didn't think she'd stay past a couple of days, let alone long enough to grow roots here. And he supposed that this was the price he paid for helping a lost, broken woman try to find solid ground on a ship that only sank into the sea.

If Graham got the chance to do it all over again, though, he would. That's what he thought of as his eyes rolled into the back of his head. That's what he thought of as his world went dark and quiet, as his heart finally gave up.

Canyouhearme?

A voice startled him up. Awake. How was that possible? How could he be up and awake if he wasn't even supposed to be alive? How could he be here if his heart - he moved his hand to run his fingers over the spot where it should've been - was...beating?

That wasn't right.

And as his eyes swept over the world around him, he realized that what he was seeing wasn't right, either.

All around him were trees thrice the size of him, maybe even taller. The ground beneath his cheek was still wet from the last rain, and if he listened hard enough he thought he could hear footsteps approaching where he lay.

Oh, thank God. Someone to help him, get him to the hospital. He made a move to wave his hands around as if to say over here, but he found he didn't have enough energy to even attempt the movement. He shrugged it off and tried to get himself to his feet by pushing off on the ground, but couldn't manage that, either.

If this really was one of Regina's plans at work, then he thought it was fitting that he would be paralyzed and alone for the last few minutes of his life. As the sound of footsteps got louder and louder, so too did the sound of his blood thrumming through his veins.

Was this a stranger come to finish the job? Was that what this was all about? Knock him out long enough to drag him to where the town ended and the forest began, a place where no one would hear him scream?

Yes, that must've been it. He would die, here. And he would die because Regina couldn't stand the fact that he'd found love without a beating heart inside his chest while she herself could not. The fact that that love was with the Swan girl made it all the more infuriating for Regina - and his death would be her only retribution.

The Swan girl...her face swam in his mind's eye even as her name eluded him. She was important, that much he could remember. Her smile was as bright as sunlight, and her kiss...dear God, there were no words he knew that could describe her kiss.

But there was more to her than that. Because she wasn't just the Swan girl. She was the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming, the daughter of True Love and the savior to the town. But she was also the woman who believed in him when no one else did, the woman who made him remember.

"Huntsman? Are you alright? Have you been put under a spell, perhaps?"

He couldn't bring himself to answer her, not when she used that name. It brought back memories of a different time in a different forest, times he'd rather forget; and although the name hadn't fallen from a soul's lips in almost twenty nine years, he wept at the sound of it, now.

Because when he looked up to see who had called him so, his heart broke. The blue of her eyes matched that of the sky, and they were so bright they almost hurt to look at for too long. In yet, he couldn't look away. And the sun brought out the blonde in her hair, grown dark from so long without its warmth - but he'd know those curls anywhere.

Her name came back to him in a rush and he wept for that, too. Because if Emma Swan was calling him the Huntsman, then it meant that Graham and her memories of him were no more.

And neither, then, was Storybrooke.


fin