The sheriff was not having a good night.
Or at least, he gave Killian that impression when he stalked into Granny's, pinned a picture to the dartboard, and ordered a shot from Ruby. The vehemence with which he threw the first dart erased any of Killian's doubts and left him wondering what offense the object in the picture dealt Humbert.
Clearly, Emma was still upset over last night's events.
Ruby came over with the first shot and Graham downed it, asking for another.
Killian leaned back at his table by the window, sipping at his beer as the sheriff continued his singular game. He didn't bother to hide his smirk, he had warned the man.
Graham was on his third round of throwing and downing his fourth shot when the man in the booth directly behind him spoke up.
"Nice shot, chief. I bet you twenty bucks you can't do it again."
The look Graham shot back at the man—Killian recognized him, but didn't recall ever being introduced—raised serious questions about the history that lay between the two. The sheriff whipped around, the dart flying from his hand before he was turned fully. All Killian could make out of the picture from his vantage was a blur of brown and green, but the man at the table made an appreciative noise.
"Next round's on him," Graham said to Ruby.
She nodded.
Graham lifted his last dart, pulling his arm back to hit the board a fourth time when Emma rounded the corner, her eyes going wide as she froze in the doorway. He dropped his arm lighting fast, the dart a bright red spot against his dark jeans. Emma pressed her lips together.
Killian slouched further down in his seat, his own regrets from last night still stinging his conscience. What the bloody hell had he been thinking, standing by while the Crocodile tore Emma's parents apart? He had known that the man wanted David to touch the windmill, had felt it in his bones and yet he did nothing. The alcohol in his veins was the only reason he could look Emma in the eye at the bar last night.
"Emma!" Ruby said, stepping into Emma's path. "What can I get you?"
Emma's eyes flicked between Ruby and Graham. "Nothing
Killian amended his previous assessment, she was still very upset over last night's events.
He had a hand in that too, obviously, because he knew and he didn't tell Emma before she got attached to the sheriff. And she had, he could see that much in the way she turned, slipping past Graham with room to spare. She didn't even see Killian as she stomped to the door.
Graham spun, dart flying from his hand and sinking into the doorframe with a loud thunk.
Emma jumped back, breath catching audibly.
The chair screeched against the floor as Killian stood, shouting, "Oi, mate!" as the same time as Emma turned on Graham to shout, "What the hell?"
Her shoulders stiffened at Killian's voice and she glanced over her shoulder, her surprise heightening when she saw Killian. She glared at him before turning back to the sheriff.
"You could've hit me!" she said.
Graham didn't flinch. "I never miss." He held his hands out as if inviting the diners on either side of him to testify. The man in the booth held out the promised twenty, his face slack with awe. Graham ignored him, sauntering toward Emma in a way that set Killian's teeth on edge. "You've been avoiding me since last night, when you saw me—"
"Leaving the Mayor?" Disdain dripped from Emma's words. "And yes, that is a euphemism. I'm not avoiding you, Graham, I just have no interest in having this conversation. It's your life—I really don't care."
The tone of her voice belied her words. She was taking this hard. Even if she wouldn't admit it, the sheriff clearly meant something to her and he let her down. And, in the same night, so had Killian.
The bell jingled above the door as Emma stormed out. Graham caught it as it closed, rushing out into the chill air. Killian twisted around in his seat, watching through the window as Graham chased after her, reminding himself it was none of his business, she could handle herself.
And then he got up, threw enough money on the table to cover his meal and hurried out the door after them. Just in time to hear the sheriff call to her.
"If you don't care, then why are you so upset?"
"I'm not upset," Emma called back without looking, but Killian didn't need to see her face to hear the bare edge in her voice.
"If that were true, you'd be at the bar with me," the sheriff said, jogging up in front of her and skidding to halt, forcing her to stop as well and giving Killian the chance he needed to catch up. Neither seemed to notice him. "Having a drink, and not running away."
Emma shook her head, blonde curls bouncing against her black shirt.
Killian chose that moment to make his presence known. "Everything all right?"
Graham started, blinking at Killian like he appeared out of thin air, but Emma didn't even glance behind her.
"I've got this," she said, still glaring at the sheriff. "Look, it's none of my business. Really."
Graham took a step forward, looking at Emma like she was the only one there. "Look, can we please talk about this?" There was a note of pleading in his voice that sounded painfully familiar. "I need you to understand."
Emma crossed her arms. "Why?"
"I don't know. Maybe so I can understand?"
"Then make an appointment with Archie."
He shifted even closer, making Killian's hackles rise, but Emma held her ground, so—despite the fact that he wanted to push the sheriff back—he held his as well.
"I want to talk to you." Graham's eyes caught the light of the streetlamps as they flickered over Emma's face.
She didn't answer, just tried to push past him, headed for, well, Killian wasn't quite sure where she was headed, but clearly away from the sheriff. He latched onto Graham's arm when the man tried to follow.
"That's enough, mate, I think she's made her feelings quite clear."
The sheriff ripped his arm away, the fabric burning against Killian's fingers at the speed.
"You don't know what it's like with her," he said running after her, pulling back around to face him. "I don't feel anything! Can you understand that?"
"Bad relationship? Yeah, I understand a bad relationship," Emma said. "I just don't want to talk about yours."
Killian flinched. Had her eyes flicked to him for just a brief second? Or had he imagined that?
"Look, I know you and Regina—" He cut off the sentence, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I should have told you about that before you took the job. I'm sorry."
"Yeah," Emma demanded. "Why the secrecy? We—"
"Oh, you're one to talk about secrecy, Emma Swan," Graham pleaded, despite the accusatory nature of his words. "You should know better than anyone that spilling your secrets isn't easy."
"But why, Graham?" Emma asked, her voice soft. "We're adults. You can do what you want."
He remembered this Emma. He hadn't seen her in a long time and the realization hit him low in the gut, because the last time he heard that tone she had been speaking to him. That voice, the way she looked at Graham, that told him that this was more than just infatuation, more than just hurt pride. She cared about the sheriff. She cared about him the way she used to care about Killian.
And can you blame her?
Killian didn't know who Graham had been in Misthaven, but everything he knew about the sheriff told him that this was a good man. A far better man than he was and far more fit for a princess' company.
Graham sighed, kicking at the dirt. "I didn't want you to look at me the way you are now."
"Why do you care how I look at you?"
Graham closed the distance between him and Emma, planting his hands on either side of her face as he ducked down and kiss her.
Killian immediately recanted his good opinion of the sheriff. Red clouding his vision, he seized the man's shoulder with his hook, pulling so hard the soft leather vest split. Emma gasped, staggering as Killian hauled Graham away from her and hit him in the jaw with his fist.
Graham dropped.
"Killian, what the hell!" She looked at him, a little breathlessly, before turning her attention to the man holding his jaw. "How much have you been drinking?"
Graham stared up at Emma, his face slack, his eyes unfocused. "Did you see that?"
"See you make a right git of yourself?" Killian crossed his arms. "Yeah, got an eyeful of that."
"Would you stop it," Emma snapped. "Or I'm hauling you down to the station for assaulting an officer."
"Then you can throw him in the cell next to mine."
Graham rubbed his jaw. "I'm sorry…I just…I needed to feel something."
Her jaw clenched, her hands already in tight fists. "Yeah, well that's not happening with me. At all." She spun, practically running across the street, her hair a golden streamer behind her.
Graham apparently didn't know when to quit because he hauled himself to his feet, looking for all the world like he meant to go after her. Killian stepped in front of him, earning a glare as he pushed the man back.
"Nope, mate," he said, "you've already made a fool of yourself enough for one night, don't you think?" If looks could kill, he'd be a smoking pile of ash right now, but the sheriff took a step back, shoving his hands in his pocket and heading opposite the direction Emma had taken. Killian sighed, opening and closing his hand. The skin still stung a little. That probably hadn't gotten him any points with Emma—she certainly could have handled the situation herself—but it certainly was satisfying. He'd do it again in a heartbeat.
He watched Graham go for a moment, before heading back to Granny's, intent on settling his tab. Ruby stood at the window, one eyebrow raised as he came back in.
"What was that about?" Blood red nails tapped against her arm.
"Hardly our business, don't you think?" he asked, picking up his beer and downing the last of it.
"You seemed to think it was yours."
"You'd be surprised the foolishness a man will commit when he's drunk," Killian said, hiding a grimace at the memories that dredged up. He pulled out a twenty and tossed it on the table.
Out of curiosity, he meandered over to the dart board to see what the sheriff had been using for target practice. It was a small picture of a deer, the last shot sitting quite near the middle of the tiny black dot that was the stag's nose. Killian let out a low whistle. Whoever Graham had been in their realm, he had most certainly been skilled.
But had he been a hero? Or a villain?
Judging from his conduct tonight, Killian had the sneaking suspicion that it was the latter.
# # #
There were flowers. On the kitchen table.
Emma paused, unsure whether they were Sorry I was an asshole and kissed you last night flowers or Sorry I was an asshole and punched your boss flowers.
She decided she didn't care.
It was too early in the morning for this.
She grabbed the dumb bouquet—Emma Swan was not, nor had she ever been a flowers kind of girl, not at all, not for anyone—and carried them over to the trashcan just as Mary Margaret came trotting out of the bedroom, several composition books in one arm and her favorite tea mug clutched in her fingers.
"Oh! Hey, wait! What are you doing?" She stopped short, sighing as Emma dunked the flowers in the can and walked away.
"If either of them thinks flowers will work on me…"
"No, those…" She paused, sighing again. "…were mine." She turned on Emma, eyes narrowed. "Either of them?"
Emma hurried to take her hoodie down from the peg by the door. She waited a beat, busying herself with sliding one arm and then the other into the sleeves before she attempted to change the subject. She knew what the other woman would say if she found out about Killian. She did not need Mary Margaret on her case as well as Graham.
"So, are they from David?" she asked, flipping her hair out from underneath the sweater.
"No. Uh…"
The silence pulled Emma back around, her eyes studying her roommate's face. Was Mary Margaret blushing?
"Dr. Whale," she finished, her voice soft.
"Why would Dr. Whale—" She snapped her mouth shut at the look Mary Margaret gave her, blaming her early morning, caffeine deficit brain fog for not coming to the obvious conclusion sooner. "Are you serious?"
Mary Margaret groaned. "I know—it's a disaster." She avoided Emma's gaze as she put the books down on the coffee table, probably so that she could double check that there were little stars and hearts in all of them, telling the kids what a good job they'd done. Mary Margaret personified encouraging.
"No! That's amazing," Emma said, heading for the fridge and away from the voice that wondered what might be different if she had one teacher like Mary Margaret as a child. "You're getting over David."
"First of all, there's nothing to get over and second of all…" Mary Margaret made a karate chop motion, nodding to herself. "It's just a one night stand."
Emma chuckled, locating the orange juice and shutting the fridge with a nice, solid thunk. "Not according to those flowers."
"Yeah, maybe I shouldn't have called him," Mary Margaret said, opening the sugar bowl.
"Oh my god." Emma set the pitcher down on the table, shaking her head at her roommate as she grabbed a glass. Mary Margaret had no clue what she was doing. "You called him? That is definitely not a one night stand."
"Well, okay…I'm still learning, I—" She turned around, an embarrassed smile on her face. "I never had one before. I feel guilty." She twisted her hands, the smile reversing.
"Hey, no judgment here," Emma said. "One nighters is as far as I ever go."
Mary Margaret shrugged. "Well, yeah. That's because you're—" She froze, biting her lip.
Emma tilted her head. "Because I'm what?" She tried not to pop the last 't'. Tried.
"Never mind." Her roommate turned back to the sugar bowl, scooping out a healthy (or unhealthy depending on your perspective) helping of sugar.
"No. Tell me–what do I do?" Emma set her glass back on the table, the juice sloshing slightly with the force. She crossed her arms.
Mary Margaret took a breath, dumping the spoonful of sugar into her empty tea mug. When she turned back to Emma, she wore an apologetic, but stern expression. "You're just protecting yourself. With that wall you put up."
Emma rolled her eyes and took the pitcher of juice back to the fridge. "Just because I don't get emotional over men—"
"You don't get emotional over men?" Though her tone was chiding, the corners of Mary Margaret's mouth turned up in amusement. "Uh, the floral abuse tells a different story."
Emma snorted. "What story is that?"
Mary Margaret leaned against the counter, looking smug. "The one that's obvious to everyone except, apparently, you—that you have feelings for Graham." She gave Emma a quick once over, lips pursed thoughtfully. "At least, I assumed it was Graham."
And the conversation needed to go somewhere else, desperately.
"I have to finish breakfast," she muttered, circling around to the other side of the counter and digging around in the bread box. She had just enough time for an English muffin, if there were any left. "I'm going to be late."
Mary Margaret smirked. "There's that wall."
Emma glared as her roommate retrieved the flowers, putting them in the vase she now noticed sitting on the counter. She had been so focused on figuring out the flowers earlier she missed it. If only she'd been a little more observant, this conversation would not be happening.
"I'm just—cautious," she retorted. And if you had had your heart trampled as thoroughly as mine has been, you'd be cautious about who you gave it out to too. But she didn't say that out loud. It would raise too many questions and invoke too much pity. Not that she wasn't apparently getting a healthy dose of pity right now. "There's nothing wrong with that."
"Oh, true. True." Mary Margaret nodded, her eyes cutting right through Emma. "But, Emma, that wall of yours? It may keep out pain but it also may keep out love." She gave a little shrug, starting to leave, freezing, and returning for the flowers.
She didn't say another word before Emma left for work, but what she already had haunted Emma. Mary Margaret's gaze held unsettling wisdom, like she knew more about heartache than someone with a quiet life should know.
It was easy for Mary Margaret to preach about love, Emma thought as she settled in at her desk. Graham hadn't been in yesterday—thankfully—and it didn't look like he'd showed yet this morning, which was fine by her. Let him fool around with Regina while there was work to be done. At least Henry wouldn't be in the house this time.
Yes, it was easy for Mary Margaret, it was clear enough that she had never known true suffering. She had an innocence that only comes with sleeping in the same bed every night. She was trusting in a way that only someone who had never been betrayed could be. She wore floral skirts and cute little gold earrings and was soft and girly and all the things Emma had never been allowed to be. Mary Margaret would find someone to settle down with and if she was really lucky, he wouldn't get bored with her in a decade or two and go searching for fresher pastures.
Still, Emma couldn't shake the nagging suspicion that while Mary Margaret may have mentioned Graham by name, she was really talking about Killian…
And that was enough of that.
Emma shook her head, reaching for a pile of paperwork and slapping it down on the desk.
A dart sat just off to the side, and Emma couldn't remember which of them placed it there. Probably Graham. She was abysmal at darts. She picked it up anyways, hefting it in her hand, eyes sliding to the dartboard that had been nailed to the wall for as long as she had worked here. Biting he her lip in concentration, she stood and threw.
As expected, she missed completely, the dart bounding off the wall and landing on the floor.
With a sigh, Emma went to retrieve it.
There was a soft, feminine chuckle and Regina clicked into the room. "Our taxes always hard at work, I see."
Emma reached up, pulling the darts from the board instead of looking at Regina. "Graham isn't here. I assumed he took a sick day—with you." She smiled coldly.
Regina took a few measured steps into the room, all in grey and black today, her coat slung over her shoulders like she was some foreign dictator. The haughty lift of her head didn't do anything to dispel that image.
"Oh, so you're aware of us? Good—that's why I'm here. Because I'm also aware of your relationship with him."
Emma scoffed, tossing the darts on the table. "I don't have a relationship with him."
"Oh?" Regina stalked further into the room, surveying it like she owned the place. Some might argue that she did. "So, nothing's ever happened between the two of you?" She smiled when Emma froze in her steps. "You forget, Miss Swan, I have eyes everywhere."
"Nothing that meant anything," Emma said, shoving her hands in her back pockets and squaring off against Regina.
"Well, of course not. Because you're incapable of feeling anything for anyone."
Emma clenched her jaw, biting her tongue to keep from pointing out that Regina was wrong. However, the fact that the only evidence she had involved Henry was not going to help her case.
Regina surveyed her coolly. "There's a reason you're alone, isn't there?"
Mary Margaret was one thing, but this woman had no right to come in and start throwing judgement about the way Emma lived. After all, Regina was the one who had benefitted most from it.
"All due respect," she said, trying to keep her tone civil. "The way I live my life is my business."
"It is until it infringes on my life." Regina closed the distance between them, leaning in, eyes locked on Emma. Surprisingly, the concern furrowing her brow seemed genuine. "Stay away from Graham. You may think you're doing nothing, but you're putting thoughts in his head. Thoughts that are not in his best interest. You are leading him on a path to self-destruction. Stay away." She hovered there, inches from Emma's face for a moment. "Have a good day."
She spun on her heel, striding down the hall, leaving a flabbergasted Emma wondering how she was supposed to stay away from Graham when they worked together. With a shrug, she picked up the darts and tried again.
# # #
Several hours and a few games later—with each concluding more atrociously than the last—the phone on Emma's desk rang. She jumped for it, even if it was just a cat stuck in a tree, she would be grateful for the distraction.
"Sheriff's office," she said in a clipped, business-like voice.
"Emma?"
"Mary Margaret?"
"Hey, I'm sorry to bother you at work, but have you seen Graham today?"
Emma groaned, collapsing back in the chair. "Okay, I am not having this discussion again. I'm hanging up."
"No—wait!" The tense edge in Mary Margaret's voice carried, even though Emma already had the receiver halfway to the cradle. "Are you still there?"
"Uh huh," Emma said, pressing the speaker back to her ear. "What's up?"
"It's just—he was here earlier….and…"
"Was he drunk?" Emma demanded. That might explain why Graham hadn't shown today. "Did he hurt you?"
"No. No," Mary Margaret murmured. A sigh drifted across the line. "He was just…odd. Asking me about how we met and whether I believed in other lives…"
"Sounds like he's been talking to Henry," Emma said. She pinched the bridge of her nose and inhaling deeply.
"That's the weird thing," Mary Margaret said, something rustled on the other line. "When I said the same thing, he looked at me like that was the first thing I said that made sense. It was like the idea never occurred to him before."
Emma sighed, picking up one of the darts and tapping it against the desk. "I should probably go after him, shouldn't I?"
Mary Margaret hummed. "He's running a fever Emma. I don't think he's thinking clearly."
"Fine." Still grumbling, Emma hung up the phone and grabbed her keys.
She half hoped she was wrong about where Graham was going, but when she turned the corner for Regina's house, the squad car sat at the curb. She pulled the bug up face it, climbing into her passenger seat and propping the door open. She didn't have to wait long, Graham came tromping down the walkway five minutes after she arrived, a determined set to his jaw.
He stopped in his tracks when he saw Emma, eyeing her like a caged animal might.
"Hey," she said, hoisting herself out of the car. "Hear you're having a rough day."
"Who says?" He didn't look good. Sweat pasted his hair to his forehead and his skin looked pale and clammy. He shifted back, as if to run.
"Pretty much everyone," she said. "I think maybe you need to go home and get some rest."
He looked at her for a moment longer, then shrugged her words away. "I'm fine."
"No, Graham, you're not fine." She stepped in front of him, pulling him up short and forcing him to meet her eyes. "You just went to see a nine-year-old for help."
The light in his eyes shone, an almost feral gleam as he took half a step closer. "He's the only one making any sense." His voice was soft, intense. The deep conviction rattled Emma.
"What's going on?" she asked, closing her eyes and already regretting what she was going to ask next. "What's really going on?"
She braced herself for whatever was coming, sure she was in for round two of last night's conversation. The fact that she wanted a round two of last night's conversation actually surprised her. Emma swallowed.
"It's my heart, Emma," he said, not one drop of intensity gone from his voice. "I need to find it."
"Okay." Emma took a step back. If he wanted to go the high school English route, she could handle that, it was better than just blurting things out. "So, how are you going to do that?"
"I just need to follow the wolf."
And now they had graduated from uncomfortable to weird.
"What? What wolf?"
"From my dreams," Graham said as though she should know exactly what he was talking about. The glint in his eye grew brighter. "It's going to help me find my heart."
"I'm sorry...I thought we were talking in a metaphor here." She tried to keep the condescension out of her voice. What he was talking about was impossible. It was crazy. It was exactly the kind of thing Henry would come up with. He must be really sick if Henry's stories made sense to him. "You really think you don't have a heart?"
"It's the only thing that makes any sense," he shot back. "It's the only thing that explains why I don't feel anything."
Archie, she was sure, would have some complicated answer for why Graham felt detached from his emotions. He would be able to explain it. Something about Graham's frustration with his relationship with Regina causing him to dissociate or whatever. But Emma wasn't Archie, she couldn't break the brain down into neat little pieces—well, hers she could, it was how she survived, but not someone else's—she only had actions.
She took a step closer, not sure whether it was her own idea or the pull of those eyes. They really were burning right into her.
"Listen to me, Graham," she said. "You have a heart."
He pressed his mouth into a tight line, shaking his head.
"I can prove it," she continued at the same time as she thought, I am going to regret this.
Painfully aware that the last time they had been this close he had kissed her, she slid her hand between his vest and shirt. There was a ragged tear in the fabric of his vest—from Killian. She pushed those thoughts away, focusing on the person in front of her. There. His heart pulsed beneath his skin, warm. She took a breath, trying to find words. He stared, barely breathing.
"See? It's beating. It's real." She waited, but he still didn't seem to believe her. With her other hand, she took his, pressing it to the same spot. "Feel that? That is your heart."
Under her hand, she felt muscle and bone move as Graham breathed in and she unconsciously shifted closer.
"No," Graham said, his jaw tightening. He pushed her hand away, backing away like she could force him to believe her. "It's the curse."
Emma scoffed. "You can't really believe that's tr—"
A blur of silver streaked behind Graham, solidifying into the shape of a giant, shaggy wolf. A wolf with one black eye and one red. The wolf. Emma's jaw dropped open so fast she was surprised it didn't hit the pavement.
Concern clouded Graham's resolve. "What?"
When Emma didn't answer right away, he spun, his shoulders tightening when he spotted the beast. The wolf loped off, disappearing behind a row of bushes. Graham turned slowly back to Emma, something different about his bearing, the feral look back in his eyes. He caught her gaze for just a moment before sprinting after the wolf.
With a groan, Emma chased him, because naturally White Fang wouldn't use the road so they could follow him in the car.
They chased the wolf down three blocks and into the woods. These trees were tamed, civilized, without any messy underbrush like the woods just outside the hospital and no low branches to whack you on your ass. There was grass, not scraggly weeds and dirt. The reason soon became clear as the open land morphed into a cemetery. Great stone slabs stood on end, bearing names like Olson and Crane, names she didn't recognize. Well, she did, but she doubted Mary-Kate or Ashley had any relatives in Storybrooke. No names she could attach to anyone she'd met here.
Balto paused, his mismatched eyes judging her as gasped for breath.
"Graham!" She grabbed his arm. "Graham, be careful."
He took a step toward the wolf. "He's my friend. He won't hurt us."
The wolf threw its head back, a soft howl coming from his throat. He looked back at Graham, yipping softly and took off again, racing past a large, stone building.
Graham took off after him and, like the idiot she was, Emma followed. If she ended up getting mauled, she was suing Graham for his badge. And maybe the city for not vetting their employees mental health properly. Oh, Regina would love that.
The wolf was gone.
Emma scanned the ground, looking for a sign of where it went—probably not a good idea to have an animal like that wandering so close to town—but she found nothing. Literally like it had never been there.
Poof. Gone. Not even a stray hair to indicate where it went.
Graham paid no attention to the ground. He stared up at the stone mausoleum with wide eyes.
"What is it?" she asked.
"It's my heart." He sounded far off. "It's in there."
Emma studied first the crypt and then Graham and then the crypt again. It wasn't big, as far as mausoleum's went. She'd snuck into cemeteries and goofed off with a boyfriend or two in larger. Had even considered sleeping in one, once, back when she first went on the run. She hadn't. Just the thought of being in the cemetery by herself creeped her out. More for the fact that it was out of the way and dark, than the idea of ghosts. The stone was dull gray, not polished marble like the ones she'd seen in Kansas, with ivy starting to overtake the walls on either side. A large, red door stretched up. And just under the peaked roof was a crest, a set of stags horns pointed inward.
Metal clinked against metal and Graham held up a flashlight, the light already on and cutting through the gathering dusk.
"I have to look in there," he said.
"Oh, no!" She lunged for him again, holding on with both hands now. "Stop. Stop."
He whirled on her "I have to get in there, please—" He broke off with a quiet noise somewhere between frustration and desperation.
"Graham, come on!" She cut in front of him, stopping him with a hand to his chest. He barely noticed, but he did stop. "You really think that your heart is in there?" Her stomach sank as he nodded. "Okay. Let's find out." She examined the door, shaking the brass handle. It barely moved. "Come on!"
With a glance back at Graham, who watched with a rabid fervor, she kicked in the door. The lock snapped with a satisfying click and the door swung open. Inside was dusty and cramped, much of the space occupied by a marble coffin. Most of the shelves sat empty, some of them with grimy urns. Graham grabbed one, searching like something might be hiding in the shallow recess behind. Emma took is all in, the dirt, the leaves on the floor, the windows crowded with cobwebs. This was wrong. This was very wrong.
She followed Graham further into the room, letting the door swing freely behind her.
"It's got to be in here. Somewhere." His flashlight caught the dust motes floating down from the ceiling. He crouched by the corner and pressed against the wall. "There's got to be a hidden door. A lever." Setting the flashlight down in a niche, he tried to pry the lid off an urn. "Something."
That was enough for Emma. "Graham." Their bodies collided in the tiny space, his jacket tacky beneath her fingers as she halted him. She gained all of this attention in that movement. "Hey. Graham, there's nothing in here."
"There has to be," he said, the wild look still bright in his eyes. "If there isn't, then—"
"It's okay," she cut in. She tightened her grip on him, afraid he might tear away from her again. "It's going to be okay."
Before she could say or do anything else, a strident voice cut through the dark space. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Graham's flashlight automatically came up, the light illuminating a grimacing Regina, her hand thrown up to sheild her eyes. Outside it was nearly dark.
What the hell was Regina doing here?
As she slipped out of the crypt with Graham hot on her heels, she voiced the question out loud. "What are you doing here?"
"Bringing flowers to my father's grave like I do every Wednesday." The other woman held a bouquet of white roses aloft, brandishing them like a weapon. She glared at Emma.
Graham stepped in front of Emma "Don't blame her," he said, sauntering reluctantly down the stairs. He stopped at the edge, leaving the rest of the distance for Regina to cross. "It's my fault. I wanted to look in there."
"Really?" Regina's dark eyes glinted in the dim moonlight as she approached Graham, and Emma might have been mistaken, but it seemed the mayor stood a little straighter. Was that concern on her face? Or something darker? "Why? What were you looking for?"
"Nothing," Graham said in a soft, defeated tone. "It was, uh… It was nothing."
"You don't look well, dear." Somehow, Regina's observation missed concern and landed on condescending. She took Graham's hand, pulling hard enough to nearly yanked him off his feet. "Let's take you home."
"I… I don't want to go home." He twisted out of her grasp, his arm flying wildly, but stopping just short of where Emma stood at his shoulder. "Not with you."
Oh, shit.
This was great for Graham, really, but also a little annoyed that he was doing this before she could make an escape. She held perfectly still, hoping Regina's pride would keep her from acknowledging Emma's existence.
"Oh?" Regina asked, her voice deadly calm. Her lip curled, her eyes narrowing at Graham. "But you'll go with her."
Emma took a step back. "Hey. This is between you two. Leave me out of it."
The look Regina turned on Emma dropped the temperature ten degrees.
"She's right," Graham said, drawing Regina's ire away from Emma. "It's between us. And things have to change."
"And I wonder why that is all of a sudden."
"It has nothing to do with her," he protested. He sounded confident, sure, more present than he had since their conversation last night. "You know, I've realized that I don't feel anything, Regina. And I know now it's not me. It's you." He shifted, taking on a surer stance as he stared Regina down.
"So, you're leaving me for her?"
Graham shook his head. "I'm leaving you for me."
A surge of pride rushed through Emma, and a little something else, a light, fluttery feeling in her chest that she was afraid to put a name on.
Regina wasn't done though. She took several, deliberate steps toward Graham, looking up at him though her eyelashes. "Graham, you're not thinking straight."
He didn't fall for it.
"Actually, for the first time, I am." He lifted his chin, his accent thickening a little, pulling his words low in his throat. "I'd rather have nothing than settle for less. Nothing is better than what we have. I need to feel something, Regina, and the only way to do that is to give myself a chance."
His words hit Regina hard, her breath wooshing out before a ragged painful inhale. She closed the between them, her hand going to his chest in a practiced, familiar way.
"Graham…" Her lips trembled. Her voice was barely a whisper.
Emma felt a pang of remorse. Not matter how huge this step was for Graham, no matter how right this was for him, it couldn't be easy for Regina. Even now, it brought up painful memories that reminded Emma that she'd been standing in that spot once upon a time, listening as someone she had trusted told her that she was not enough. She pitied Regina in that moment, because whatever else was going on here, it was clear the woman felt something.
Graham clearly didn't share Emma's feelings. He pushed Regina's caress away with a cool detachment that spoke volumes about how very different this relationship had been. There were no tears in Graham's eyes as he laid the final nail.
"I'm sorry. It's over." His eyes found Emma, igniting that fluttery feeling again, but before he could suggest ending this hair-brained quest, Regina's quiet, restrained voice cut him off.
"I don't know what I ever did to you, Miss Swan, to deserve this," she said. Her voice wavered. "To have you keep coming after everything I hold dear."
"I told you, it's not her." Graham tried to step between them, but Regina's gaze still found Emma over his shoulder.
"None of this happened until she got here."
And there went all of Emma's pity. Really, who would be surprised when Regina sounded like a spoiled child whose favorite toy had just been taken away. Maybe that was her problem. She saw people as objects that belonged to her, regardless of whether they wanted to.
"I'm sorry, but did you ever stop to think that maybe the problem isn't with me, but with you?" Emma asked before she thought better of it.
"Excuse me?"
"Henry came and found me," Emma said. "Graham confided in me." She circled behind Graham, her eyes on Regina the entire time. "Both were miserable. Maybe, Madam Mayor you need to take a good hard look in the mirror and ask yourself why that is." She stuffed her hands in her back pockets, elbows akimbo, leaning forward, giving Regina a taste of her own interrogation tactics. "Why is everyone running away from you?"
For a moment, Regina stared, shock slackening her features, then she pursed her lips. Quick as a flash, she lunged and the next thing Emma knew, pain exploded across her temple. The force of Regina's blow threw her into Graham, who tried to catch Emma, but only succeeded in getting knocked on his ass.
Emma kept her feet, turning on Regina and slinging one right at her kisser. Regina dropped her flowers, but didn't fall, couldn't fall because Emma had her by the arms and was slamming her up against the crypt's doors, ready to claw the woman's eyes out. Regina might be able to handle herself with the other soccer moms, but Emma had grown up fighting for everything she had. Regina had no idea what she just started.
A pair of solid arms wrapped around Emma, hauling her away from the mayor before she could land another blow.
"Stop! Stop! Stop!" Graham chanted in Emma's ear until she wrenched herself away from him, forcing him to practically drop her.
Regina had blood on her lip. She wiped it away with her thumb before retrieving her flowers.
Emma took a breath, clearing her head as she walked a fast circle, stopping right behind Regina. She clenched her jaw, but decided against the rage boiling in her veins.
"Not worth it."
Regina watched as she passed, but once Emma broke eye contact, she didn't look back, didn't stop. She was not going to let Regina drag her into a needless brawl over some guy. Emma did not brawl over guys. Especially not when it meant explaining to Henry why she handed his mother's ass to her on a silver platter.
There was the murmur of conversation behind, quick and short before Graham's footsteps hurried after her, his long stride catching up quickly.
She thought he might say something, but he kept silent for the entire walk back to their cars.
"We should go back to the station so I can take a look at that," Graham said, brushing her bangs back from her eyes. His hand hovered, a breath of air separating his skin from hers.
Emma nodded and pulled her keys from her pocket as he walked away. It scared her, this light feeling in her chest, both because she couldn't name it and because it was definitely linked to Graham.
As she passed the apartment, she almost chickened out, but it was still early enough that Mary Margaret would be up—of course Mary Margaret would be up, it barely turned dark twenty minutes ago—and if she saw whatever damage Regina had done, she'd be asking questions. And the answers to those questions would mean a repeat of this morning's conversation. And a repeat of this morning's conversation was not what Emma wanted.
So why was she following Graham back to the sheriff's station?
Her stomach flip-flopped for no good reason as she stepped out of the bug and went inside after Graham.
Her head pounded as she slunk down the hall, wishing she had a pair of Advil right about now.
"Why don't you get comfortable? I'll grab the first aid kit."
Emma nodded. A mistake. The throbbing intensified. She took a seat on the nearest flat object, the desk behind hers, shrugging off her jacket and throwing it over the back of her chair. After a moment's thought, she pulled the hairband off her wrist and pulled her hair back, careful not to brush her eyelid in the process.
Graham returned with the first aid kit and a refillable ice pack, the type you saw on old sitcoms. He dumped both on the desk, flipping the kit open and nodding approvingly before he turned to Emma, hefting the ice pack in his hand.
"I'm sorry," he said, gently brushing her bangs back and pressing the ice pack to her temple. It stung for a brief moment, but a second later, a blissful cool washed over the throbbing skin, she took the ice pack from him, freeing Graham. His shoulders slumped as he fiddled with the first aid kit. "I don't know what came over me. How I lost my mind."
Emma shrugged. "It's okay. You were tired and feverish… And heartbroken." She couldn't quite meet his eyes, afraid that if she did that he would see right through to how much she understood him. After all, heartbreak was her oldest friend.
Graham pulled out the peroxide, unscrewing the cap and soaking a cotton square before he finally turned back to Emma. "I don't know why I let myself get caught up with her."
"Because it was easy," she said, "and safe." She pulled the ice pack away from her eye as he approached. "Not feeling anything's an attractive option when what you feel sucks."
She should know. And she knew the consequences of choosing the easy, safe thing too, didn't she? It was why Henry had been born in jail after all. And wasn't that exactly what she did last night when she ran instead of talking things out with him?
She couldn't look away as he took the ice pack, setting it down, before placing his hand on her head to keep the hair back. A messy, spasm of pain hit her as he dabbed at the cut above her eye. She gasped.
"Felt that," she said with half a smile.
Graham answered with one of his own.
He dabbed at the cut again, gentle despite the bite of the disinfectant, doing his best to work around her continued wincing. It had been a long time since anyone had been this gentle or patient with her. He bit his lip, completely focused on his task and Emma found it thoroughly distracting. It reminded her of—.
But no, he wasn't Killian.
Sure, he also had good taste in leather jackets, but his eyes were the wrong shade of blue and he was a little too tall and his hair curled in a way Killian's never had, not even in the rain.
Graham's hand moved, cupping the back of her head as he pulled the cotton away, examining his handiwork, apparently oblivious to Emma's staring.
"All better?"
"Yeah," she answered softly.
He turned away.
No. This wasn't Killian.
And wasn't that what made him exactly so appealing?
Despite what he said to Regina, a part of her couldn't forget that he looked at her after he said it. Yes, he left Regina for himself, but maybe a little bit for her too.
Maybe Graham was exactly who he appeared to be.
Her stomach twisted again and Emma finally found a name for the feeling that had buzzed around her chest since he said those words: hope.
Did she dare risk it?
She was so used to people not choosing her, but he had.
He looked right at Regina—at the easy, safe choice—and turned away from her.
Maybe she could too.
Mary Margaret had been right about those walls, and if Graham and her roommate could do it, she could love without walls up, couldn't she?
Graham tilted his head when he turned back to her, one corner of his mouth hitching up uncertainly. "What?"
Emma stood, feeling like the floor might fall out from under her at any moment but moving forward, closing the distance between them. He didn't move, his expression wary, even as understanding lit up his eyes. Her breath caught in her throat and carefully she leaned forward, her lips catching against his, her hands went to his shoulder, his warm on her waist. He stood still for just a second, not in shock, more like a hunter afraid that the wrong move might scare his quarry. The grip on her waist tightened as he pulled her against him as he kissed her back, his nose tickling her cheek.
His shoulders stiffened and he pushed her away with a sharp exhale, catching himself on the desk as he sat heavily.
"Graham," Emma asked, "are you okay?"
He looked up at her, as though seeing her for the first time.
"I remember," he breathed. His mouth curled up in smile.
"Graham?"
He nodded, serious now with eyes that burned through her like she was the answer to some question. "I remember."
"You remember what?"
Tears came to his eyes, his breathing shaky as he cupped her face in his hands staring at her with a wonder that made Emma's heart race. It should have scared her, the way his eyes filled with a pride that couldn't have anything to do with her.
But it felt damn good.
A tear slipped down his cheek. "Thank you."
He leaned close again and her eyes slid shut.
She heard a noise, like someone punched Graham, and his hands slipped away. He fell.
Her eyes flew open. She lunged, grabbing him, trying to keep him from falling. "Graham!"
They both ended up on the floor.
Frantic, Emma rolled him onto his back, shaking his shoulder and calling his name again and again. His head lolled limply, his torso heavy and unmoving in her arms. Feeling her own heart skip several beats, Emma leaned down, checking for the telltale tickle of warm air against her cheek.
Nothing.
# # #
Killian sprinted down the hallway, heart hammering. He could hear the panic in Emma's voice, the sense of something wrong as she called the sheriff's name over and over again. Just as suddenly as the shouts started, they cut off. He rounded the corner, eyes scanning the seemingly empty office.
A broken gasp came from behind one of the desks.
Breath lodged in his throat Killian ventured into the room, following the soft sobs to find Emma, her back to a desk with the sheriff lying limply in her arms. He sank to his knees next to the pair in an instant.
"Are you alright?" he asked. He hissed as he caught sight of the scratch and the purpling skin over her eye. Bloody hell, he'd been uneasy all day, especially after he heard account of Graham's strange behavior—that was why he was here in the first place—but he hadn't actually thought Graham would ever go so far as to attack Emma. "Emma, are you alright?" he ground out, only his own compunctions about attacking the helpless kept him from hauling the prostrate sheriff into one of the jail cells and throwing away the key. "Did he hurt you?"
Her eyes opened, staring at him blankly. "What?" She looked down, her lip trembling. A tear sparkled on path down her cheek. "He just—We were—He's not breathing. He fell." Her voice was breathy like a lost child's. Emma sat up suddenly, shoving Graham's lifeless body at Killian and scrambling for something on the desk. She pulled down a phone, the spiral cord slapping against the desk and emitting a hollow, metal sound. On her knees, she made quick work dialing the shortest phone number Killian had ever seen—not that he had seen many. "Hello? Yes, hello this is Deputy Swan, I need an ambulance at the sheriff's station, Sheriff Humbert has collapsed and—" She swallowed. "And he's not breathing."
She paused, listening intently to the voice on the other line. Cradling the receiver between her ear and her shoulder, she tugged at the sheriff's body.
"Killian," she muttered, "help me."
Killian's head jerked up, surprised by the soft plea and the events of the last several seconds. Without trying to follow what Emma was doing, he did his best to help as she positioned the sheriff on his back. She nodded, dismissing him, still listening to the person on the other line. Blonde curls shifted as she leaned over the sheriff, highlighting the long scratch again.
Emma tilted Graham's head back, holding onto the phone as she checked for breath. "No, nothing." She listened again. "Uh huh. Two and check?"
She handed the phone to Killian, grabbing Graham's chin in one hand and pinching his nose in the other. Then, to Killian's utter astonishment, she kissed the sheriff. No, he realized, she was breathing into his open mouth. Once. Twice. Emma tilted her head again, listening for breath and holding her hand out for the phone.
"Nothing," she bit out again. "You're sure they're on their way. Yeah, yeah, okay, what next?" She checked for his pulse. "No." She caught her lip between her teeth as she listened this time, a brief flash of trepidation crossing her face. "Are you sure I'm allowed to—Okay, yeah." She shifted closer, placing her hands above Graham's breastbone. "Wait, where again? Okay, I—What?" Emma swallowed. "Okay, right." She took a deep breath, setting her jaw before shoving all her weight onto the sheriff, compressing his chest in rapid succession, counting softly under her breath.
Killian watched in awe.
Sirens cut through the evening, the long warbling sound approaching them rapidly. Emma looked up, pausing in her ministrations. Killian caught the phone as it dropped from her shoulder, narrowly saving the sheriff from getting clubbed in the face. A voice squawked out of the earpiece and she snatched it back.
"Do you hear them?" she asked. "Yeah, no, he's still got no a pulse. Again? But they're—Right, again." She took up the compressions again, continuing her count. "Hook, head to the front and show them back here."
He didn't quite understand what was going on, but one thing was clear, she was trying to revive Graham. Everything Killian knew told him this man was dead, but Emma still believed differently. He didn't understand it, but he wouldn't question it. He stood swiftly, loping to the station's front door just as the ambulance screeched to a stop in front of the building.
A man and a woman climbed out of the ambulance, joining a third comrade who was exiting the back along with a metal cot on wheels.
Killian stopped in his tracks, blinking at the bizarre scene. He clearly needed to get around town more often.
"You the one that made the call," the woman asked.
"Er—no, I—That was Em—Deputy Swan, she's with the sheriff now. Shall we?" Killian gestured behind him, toward the door.
The three companions shared a glance, before one of them came to hold the door, waving for Killian to hurry on ahead of them. He led them through the short, twisting halls, staying back as he ushered them into the office. The first two broke off, leaving the man with the gurney to maneuver as best he could around the desks.
The male of the pair crouched next to Emma, touching her shoulder. "Ma'am, we've got this."
Emma sat back as the woman knelt next to Graham, performing all the checks Emma had minutes before.
Slowly, Emma backed away from Graham's body, cupping her elbows as she stared at the activity on the floor. Her actions were the only thing that meant anything to Killian. He slipped into the sheriff's office, reaching her through the other door.
"Swan," he said, stopping a few feet behind her. "You're hurt."
Emma's hand went immediately to her temple and she winced. "I'm fine. It's just a scratch. Graham already—he cleaned me up already."
"What are they—" He waved helplessly at the man and woman working on the floor.
She shot him an odd look. "What?"
"That thing? And then what you did…"
"You've never seen CPR before?" Emma asked, surprise changing her face for the briefest instant.
"CPR? I don't know what that means." He wrinkled his nose, this realm had some highly unhelpful names. There was nothing in those three letters that bore and description.
"You know, CPR, for when someone drowns or has a heart attack."
The man said something to the woman and Emma was distracted as they lifted the sheriff's body onto the metal cot. She watched, the hollow look returning to her eyes.
"Ma'am, are you coming?" the second man asked.
Emma shook herself. "Uh, yeah." Without a second glance, she hurried after them.
A flash of color caught his eyes as Killian made to leave and he snagged Emma's jacket off the chair before he hurried after them, sprinting to catch up. The—Killian tried to drag the word out of his memory, he knew he'd heard the title of this particular occupation back during his first days in this realm—the…
He caught sight of the word on the door. Paramedic. That was the word.
The paramedics loaded Graham into the back of the ambulance, one of them reaching out to help Emma up as well. The first man stayed outside, helping to close the doors.
"No more room in the back," he said. "You family?"
"I'm—uh…" He looked down at the jacket. "I'm a friend of Deputy Swan's."
"Ah." The man considered him for a minute. "Jump in the front. She's probably gonna need a friend before the night's over. Her boyfriend's in bad shape."
Killian almost said something to that, but thought better of it. Better he not give the man any reason to rescind his offer of a ride.
Between the speed and the questionable driving tactics the driver employed—it made Emma's driving back in Portland look sane—they reached the hospital within five minutes.
They rushed into the hospital, a strange contraption now attached to Graham's face. Emma ran after them through the huge glass doors, but she wasn't allowed past the second set, wood ones with only small rectangles of glass for windows. She stood staring at those doors, her arms wrapped around herself.
Gently, Killian draped her jacket around her shoulders.
Emma started, barely catching the jacket before it slid off her shoulders. When she saw it was only him, she relaxed a little, tugging the red leather tight around her shoulders as she resumed watching the doors.
"He'll be okay," she said, her voice soft and broken. "He has to be okay."
"Swan," he said quietly, "Perhaps we should see about some ice for your eye."
"It's fine," she said. "Regina doesn't hit that hard."
Killian's eyebrow winged up, a scrap with the mayor? He swallowed, he thought he could guess what caused them to come to blows. It seemed the sheriff made his choice. Killian rubbed at his temples, bad form to be jealous of a dead man. And he was a dead man, Killian thought, remembering the look on the ambulance driver's face. He certainly had never seen anyone come back from the dead.
Then again, this realm had many wonders.
"What the hell happened?" a strident voice called, accompanied by the hurried clack of high heels.
They turned to find Regina striding toward them, Henry's wrist caught in her hand, her hair flying around her face with the speed of her step. The jacket she wore didn't quite match the rest of her outfit, almost like she grabbed the closest one without thought. Henry scurried after her, his backpack clutched in front of him with his free hand.
Dropping her grip on her son, Regina grabbed Emma's arm, nails digging into the leather. "What did you do?" she demanded. This close, the swollen lip was apparent, the split too fresh to blend in with her poison red lipstick.
Killian bit back a prideful smile. Emma gave as good as she got, it seemed.
Except now. She shrank back from Regina, her grip on her jacket tightening. "Nothing," she said. "He kissed me and then—"
Regina's eyes flashed. "And then?"
Emma shrugged. "He fell. One minute he was there, the next minute he was—he was gone."
"Sheriff Graham's dead?" Henry stared up at all of them with large, green eyes, his bag hanging limply at his side.
"Henry?" Emma's voice cracked. "What are you doing here?" The stupor that overtook her when they entered the hospital faded away and she turned sharp eyes on the mayor. "What are you doing here? No, let me guess, you're his emergency contact too."
Regina crossed her arms. "As a matter of fact, I am. We were an item, if you'll remember, before you waltzed in and wrecked that."
"You wrecked that," Emma spat.
"Mom," Henry said in his small voice. He latched onto Regina's arm. "Please stop fighting, what happened to Sheriff Graham? Is he going to be okay?"
Regina's face softened as she looked down at her son, wincing as she pressed her lips together, she looked at Emma. "Well, Deputy Swan?"
Emma swallowed, kneeling down in front of the boy and taking his hands in hers. "I don't know, kid. But the doctors are doing everything they can, okay?" She squeezed, offering a watery smile.
Killian looked away, holding the back the smile her compassion inspired.
Emma stepped back, resuming her vigil at the emergency room doors. Several feet away, Regina took up a similar posture.
Henry hoisted his bag back onto his shoulder, heading straight for the waiting room chairs. He threw the bag into one, yanking his book out and flipping through the pages frantically until he found what he was looking for. Curious, Killian sauntered over to see a rather good depiction of Regina, a glowing, red heart in her hand.
Henry slammed the book shut, sighing when he looked up and found Killian. "Sorry, I thought—"
"Do you mind?" he asked, gesturing to the chair next to the lad. "What was that?"
"Nothing," Henry said. "It was nothing." He pressed his lips tight together, staring at the cover and blinking rapidly.
"Who was the sheriff in you book?"
"Doesn't matter," the lad muttered. "He's dead now."
"Emma seems to think otherwise," Killian said.
For the sake of this small boy, he hoped the sheriff made it. Graham was the closest thing the boy had to a father and he was far too young to face this kind of grief. Any child was too young. Killian clenched his jaw, wondering why he thought that now when he was perfectly willing to inflict that fate in the past.
The answer of course was Emma.
She pulled at the man he had been, giving life to the scarred husk his heart became in the wake of Liam and Milah's deaths. She reminded him what it was like to be this young.
"They can't save him," Henry whispered. He stuffed his book bag into his bag, his face twisted savagely.
Before Killian could press him further, Whale slipped through the wooden doors. One look at his face and Killian knew exactly what news he bore. He stood, crossing swiftly and silently to stand at Emma's shoulder.
"Deputy Swan." Whale nodded to her. "Madam Mayor." He gave another nod to Regina. "We did everything we could, but I'm afraid we were unable to revive the sheriff."
Regina gasped. Her hands going to her mouth, eyes filling with tears. Beside her, Henry glared, his eyes full of loathing.
Emma didn't move. Killian wasn't even sure she was breathing. Tentatively, he put his hand against her back.
"Swan?"
"What happened?" she asked the doctor.
"Well, it's hard to tell without a full autopsy, it could have been a number of things."
"A number of things?" Emma's voice rose, breathy and panicked. "How many things are there that can drop a perfectly healthy person in the middle of a conversation?"
Whale shrugged. "You'd be surprised. Like I said, we'd need to do an autopsy to really know."
"It was his heart," Henry muttered, still glaring at his mother.
"Henry, not now," Regina snapped. She wiped at her cheeks, taking a deep breath as she straightened to her full height again. "Do the autopsy, doctor. We should know why this happened."
Emma shot her an odd look, but didn't protest. She stiffened, suddenly aware of Killian's hand at her back. Still clutching her jacket around her shoulders, she shrugged away from him.
"If you'd like to say goodbye, I can take you to him," Whale said.
"Yes, that would be…please," Regina said. She tilted her head, eyeing Emma coolly. "Miss Swan, would you like to come as well?"
"I—no," Emma said, neatly stepping away from Killian as Regina and Henry followed the doctor.
He caught her arm. "Emma, are you alright?"
"What do you think?" she bit out. "Somebody just died in front of me. Just when—just when I didn't think my life could get anymore screwed up. Just when I thought—" But she stopped, biting her lip and retreating, throwing up her walls so quickly, Killian was surprised he felt no physical blow. She spun on her heel, power walking right through the automatic doors.
Killian started after her, worried she might not be totally aware of her surroundings, but she didn't go far. In fact, the moment she crossed the threshold she stopped as suddenly as if she'd reached the end of a tether. He contemplated following her, but as she shuffled, shoulders bowed, to a nearby bench and sank onto it, he thought better of it. She had already rebuffed him twice, better to give her space.
And yet, he hated the idea of leaving Emma sitting on that bench, face in her hands, utterly still.
His eyes still on Emma, he approached the nurse's station. He smiled at the buxom blonde sitting at the desk.
"Pardon me, but if it's not too much trouble, I need to make a call for my friend there." He nodded to Emma sitting outside. "Might there be a telephone I could use?"
"Oh, of course," the woman said, rising to admit him behind the station. She gestured to the chair. "Take as long as you need."
He nodded his thanks, before dialing the only number in town he ever had the occasion to use.
A bored voice picked up the other line. "Granny's diner, how can I help you?" The telltale pop of gum confirmed that he had correctly identified the speaker's voice.
"Ruby," Killian said. "I need a favor."
"Hook?" The nonchalant tone dropped, as though she already knew something was up.
"Listen, I'm at the hospital with Emma…"
"Emma's at the hospital?" Ruby's voice rose a note with each word. "What's she doing there? Is she hurt? What happened? Is it—oh my god, did something happen to Henry?"
"What, why would—no, Ruby—Ruby, stop," Killian said, cutting off her deluge of words. "Emma is unhurt." Quickly, he explained what had happened, not giving Ruby room to ask more questions. "I was just hoping that you might know how to contact Emma's roommate, Mary Margaret, I believe I've seen her in the diner a few times."
"Mary Margaret? Oh, yeah, I know her," Ruby said. "I'll call her now."
Ruby's end of the line clicked and left Killian with the annoying buzz that marked the end of every phone call.
Carefully pushing the chair back in, he let himself out of the little desk area. "Much obliged," he said to the desk nurse. She batted her lashes at him and smiled.
He waited, his eyes never leaving Emma, though he stayed inside the hospital despite the fact that every fiber of his being wanted to be out there, offering comfort. However, if Emma didn't see it as such, it was little use to her, so he kept his silent vigil until Mary Margaret appeared wearing yet another brightly colored sweater. He watched as she sat next to Emma, finally coaxing her to lift her head. Wiping her cheeks, Emma accepted the arm around her shoulders as her roommate urged her to stand and led her home.
Soon, my lovelies, I promise it will happen soon.
I'd say I hope you enjoyed it, but this was sad chapter even for me.