A/N: Hi! It's been a hot minute since I've had an active story on here! I'm currently writing this fic on AO3, and have decided to move it here as well! This is a very Gremma, Hunted Believer and Swan Believer centred story, and it takes place just after the fifth episode! I wanted to play with the idea of Emma being far more like Snow than we thought (lol), and she somehow takes a bite of a poisoned apple. Big thanks to ArianaKristine for inspiring me to write Gremma fics and for encouraging me to write this one! Please go check out her fics if you haven't; they're incredible! In this story, it's because Regina leaves a basket of apples at the Sheriff's Station to show her thanks.
Just a heads up for any Regina fans; I do not like Regina. I will never write kindly about Regina. She is a rapist and an abuser and I will always be angry that this all got swept under the rug. That being said; I enjoy her as a villain and I think Lana does an amazing job. So, in this story, and in any others I may write, she will either be the villain or won't be mentioned much at all.
This won't be too long of a fic, I think! It should be wrapped up within a few chapters and I hope to complete it! Reviews are welcome and I'm open to answering any questions anyone might have! Hope you enjoy reading!
"Any particular reason there's a basket of apples on your desk?" is the first thing Graham asks when he comes into the station, squinting at the picture perfect basket filled to the brim with the shiniest and reddest apples he's ever seen. Quite frankly... it feels as though he's looking at fake ones, they look far too lovely to be real.
Emma answers him by holding up a Thank You card, her brows arched and amusement shining in her eyes. "The Madam Mayor wanted to thank us for our work ethic during the mining collapse." she shrugs, offering him the card and leaning back in her chair.
He skims over the contents, finding what Emma had said to be... well, pretty much what had been written in the overpriced looking card. He hums, setting it down on a desk. "How kind of her. Though you're the one who did all the work, really." he grins, a grin that gets wider at the look on her face. Surprised eyes, raised brows, an awkward quirk to her lips. Briefly, he thinks about how Henry gets the same awkward smile as his mother. Birth mother, he corrects in his head. A correction that makes his stomach twist, bizarrely. Perhaps it's because, already, in these last few weeks, Emma had shown more care for Henry and his well being and wants than Regina ever had in the ten years she's raised him.
"I don't know about that." she hums, leaning her elbows on the desk and looking at him, tilting her head to the side. Graham hums at her, handing her the coffee he'd gotten from Granny's. It had been a slow morning, and thus he had taken it upon himself to get himself and Emma coffee from Granny's. Usually, the pot of coffee at the station did the trick. But after the day they'd had yesterday? Well, he figured that Emma deserved something nice. She takes a sip, scrunching up her nose a little in confusion. She looks at him again, holding up her cup of coffee. "How'd you know I-"
"Have a taste for the sweeter things?" he asks, smiling and taking a sip from his own to go cup. Black, not a drop of milk or a grain of sugar. Keeps him awake, alert. That and he rather likes the taste of bitter coffee. "Emma, we work together. I've seen you put an unholy amount of sugar in your coffee. Oh, Willy Wonka is wondering where all his sugar is going, by the way. Should I lead him off your trail?"
"Hilarious." she deadpans, and he grins innocently at her, knowing the joke really was not the best he'd ever cracked. "But I didn't realise you were watching me put my sugar in my coffee, Sheriff." she says, taking another sip of her sweet coffee. Five sachets of sugar, sometimes six, and a splash of cinnamon syrup. Briefly, he wonders if she's a big fan of those fancy iced drinks, the too sweet ones that honestly taste more like ice cream than coffee.
He'll have to ask her sometime.
"Mostly because each time I keep thinking, maybe she'll stop at one... or two... or three-"
"Yeah, yeah, I get the point." she waves him off, taking another sip and looking at the report on her desk. Mostly just to keep track of the incident from yesterday. "I don't know how you can handle the paperwork."
"Well, we're a small town." he hums, leaning against the desk and quietly observing her a moment as she goes through the report. "Not like much happens here, so I didn't get much paperwork... until, of course, you came to town, Deputy Swan." he grins into his cup, and she throws him a look. The 'god be quiet' one that delighted him to no end.
Then again, most of the looks Emma Swan gives him delight him to no end.
"Right." she says, not looking entirely convinced. She looks at him, for a moment, as if wanting to ask something. Graham arches his brows at her, waiting for her question. But... disappointingly, she goes back to the report.
He clears his throat and ceases leaning against her desk. "I'll just... be-"
"Patrolling your office?" she asks, looking up at him with a smile. A lock of her hair falls into her face from the movement, and he itches to brush it behind her ear, itches to brush his fingers along her jaw, her cheek, anything, just to see if she's... what? If she enjoys his touch as much as he enjoys hers?
It might be just a little pathetic how much he reacts to her touch. The absentminded pats to the shoulder or arm, the gentle press of her hand on his back as she moves past him, her fingers brushing against his neck when she straightens his collar with some sarcastic comment about dressing with his eyes closed. All minor, meaningless touches... meaningless touches that mean the world to Graham. He tries not to think about why. Tries not to think about how Emma Swan makes him feel. How she's the one bright spark of colour in this town. The one who often stands up to their own Mayor, who tries to do the right thing.
He tries, and as of lately, he fails.
"Patrolling my office." he confirms, watching her brush her hair back from her face. He lingers a moment, before promptly turning on his heel and going to his office, closing the door behind him. "Christ." he mutters, closing his eyes a second before sitting down at his desk. Might as well try to get something done.
She watches him go into his office, fingers idly running over the lid of the to go cup, a thoughtful look on her face.
It wasn't the first time Graham had gotten her coffee. But it was the first time he opted to add the sugar for her, and even the splash of cinnamon syrup she can faintly taste. And... such a small gesture shouldn't mean so much to her, right? It's only natural that her boss, who she spends a lot of time with at work, figures out exactly how she likes her coffee. And even improves upon it. Case being; cinnamon syrup. God, a genius idea, and one she decides she'll implement more often when ordering coffee from Granny's.
Emma takes another sip, licking her lips once she's swallowed the sweet coffee. It's a little frustrating how easy Graham's coffee order would be. Just a black coffee. No milk, sugar, syrups or anything else. She wishes she had something hard to remember, something that would... what, impress him? She snorts a little at the thought, setting down her to go cup. She doesn't need to impress Graham. He's her boss and friend. Why would she need to impress him outside of a professional manner?
You know exactly why, Emma, a voice snickers in her head. She tries to ignore it. Graham is... a complicated issue. Not that he's an issue but... what else can she call it? He's nothing but kind and polite to her, remembers her coffee order and love for sweet things, makes the stupidest jokes, he's ruggedly handsome and god if that doesn't make her weak in the knees. He cares about Henry, so much that she has to wonder if he's a father figure to the kid. Henry certainly looks up to him and talks of him fondly.
The Huntsman, Henry had told her. That was who Graham had supposedly been. And... she's not saying she believes in the whole fairytale characters thing, but once Henry had told her everything about this Huntsman... she supposes she could see it. Maybe. Kinda.
Emma groans softly, rubbing her forehead before glancing to the basket of apples. That there is another problem. Regina. The endlessly frustrating problem. She picks up an apple, tossing it up in the air and catching it a few times. Regina was cold, stern, somehow struck fear into everybody. And, yeah, sure, Emma had never planned on getting to know the son she'd given up long ago. Had wanted to ignore the ache in her arms from the missed opportunity of years of holding him, soothing him, hell even arguing with him. But she could ignore it no longer, not when she saw the woman who was raising him. Not when she saw how he was treated.
She doesn't want to throw the term "emotional abuse" around lightly, especially not as someone who'd suffered it herself. But... Henry deserves better. And maybe Emma isn't it but... at least she's trying to be a positive person in his life, right?
The apple lands in her hand with a soft slap, and Emma stares at it a moment. She swears she can almost see her reflection in the damn thing. The least she can do is try and get on Regina's good side and say 'Oh hey, you do grow amazing apples'. It's the lamest goddamn start, but it's a start. Rome wasn't built in a day and whatnot.
"Better be the best fucking apple I've ever had." she mutters, bringing the ruby red fruit to her lips and taking a bite. She chews on it thoughtfully, looking up at the ceiling. It does taste pretty good, Regina was right about that much, she supposes. She doesn't care much for apples but... if it makes Henry's life easier to get along with Regina, starting with a damn apple, then she'll do it. She just wants Henry to be happy.
A little cough escapes her once she swallows the bite. Must've went down wrong, she thinks, patting her chest with an uncomfortable grimace. Another cough. Emma takes a few gulps of her coffee to try and help that. Instead, she splutters on that, setting the cup down with a rather choked sounding groan. She stands up, intending to grab a bottle of water and hope that helps. Her legs give out before she can even take a step, and she knocks into the desk on her way down. Ow. She lays on her back, gasping softly for breath and clutching the apple a little tighter in her hand. Her chest aches, and everything feels so heavy. She hears a door slam open, sees Graham leaning against the doorway, clutching his chest and staring at her.
"Guh-" she chokes out, stretching her arm out to him. "Graham..." he rushes over towards her at the sound of his name, pure panic on his face as he gently grabs her face in his hands, making her look at him.
"Emma, hey-" he says, eyes so impossibly terrified. "-hey, what's happening, Emma- I'm- I'm gonna call an ambulance, okay? Just wait there a second, alright?" he gives her what he must think is a reassuring smile, before rushing to her desk and grabbing the phone. She can hear him dialling, can hear him rambling everything to the operator.
Emma tries to open her mouth, tries to tell him about the apple, that she's choking, or something. But her mouth doesn't co-operate with her. Nothing about her body is co-operating with her right now. A pitiful groan escapes her, and her vision swims in such a way that she feels sick. She closes her eyes, the room seeming to go silent. She wonders if this is what oblivion is like, if it is... she welcomes it with open arms.
Graham does a spin in his chair as he takes a sip of his coffee, staring up at the ceiling. He hated paperwork. He could agree with Emma about that much. It was the most bland part of the job. But... required. His are some more serious cases, some assaults, one theft. Really, Storybrooke isn't the most fully fledged criminal town in the world. He sets down his coffee and straightens his tie a little, hoping Emma hadn't seen him spinning around in his chair... though, actually, she might join him in spinning around to escape the paperwork.
He's midway through writing up one of the assault charges when a pang hits his chest. Absentmindedly, he rubs at the spot it had struck, right where his heart was. Aches and pains... he's all too familiar with them. But hey, he brushes them off like a champ. So, he focuses back on the report, before the pain hits him again. He groans softly, throwing down his pen and resting his head against his chair. The pain deepens, and a hiss escapes through his teeth. That's when there's a thud from outside of his office. A cold, all consuming fear grips him.
Emma.
Something is wrong with Emma. He has to get to Emma. He spares no thought for why he's suddenly feeling fear, when he never usually feels much of anything. He stumbles out of the chair and runs for the door, throwing it open and taking a moment to lean against the doorway.
He stares at her limp form, at her paling face and tired looking eyes. But then she says his name, and he finds himself falling to his knees beside her, clutching her face in his hands. He tries to reassure her, tries to figure out what's wrong- ambulance, he needs to call an ambulance.
Fifteen minutes, they tell him. He instead tells the hospital he'll get there in five. He has to, for Emma. He hangs up and turns to her.
She isn't moving.
"No." he states simply, collapsing beside her, trembling hands reaching out to find a pulse. Thank god. It's faint, but it's there. "You're gonna be fine, Emma. You're gonna be fine. Just gotta... gotta take you to the hospital, and you'll get fixed right up." he tells her, smoothing her hair back from her face. If he wasn't so terrified, he might think she almost looks peaceful right now. But he has no time. He crouches and pulls her into his arms, before standing up and adjusting his hold on her a little. She's shockingly light. The apple falls from her hand and rolls a little until it hits the doorway of his office.
Save her, keep her safe. Save her. Keep her safe. He runs out of the station and straight for his car, opening the door to the backseat and carefully laying Emma inside. He takes a moment to brush her hair out of her face again, before, with a start, he realises she's cold.
Get to the hospital. He can do that.
He closes the door and hops into the front seat, turning on the car and speeding off into the road. He turns on the sirens, just for good measure. He gets there in six minutes, passing the occasional stoplight and frequently glancing in the mirror to check on Emma. Still pale, but still breathing. He parks the car and gets out, gently lifting her out and into his arms once more. Briefly, he thinks about how right she feels in his arms. Where she's safe, where he can protect her. But he ignores that thought and bolts for the entrance. There's already staff waiting, and Whale almost leisurely strolls out from out of goddamn nowhere.
"Help her." is all Graham is able to croak out. Nurses are gently taking Emma from his arms and are moving her to a gurney. He wants to protest, wants to pull her back into his arms and never let go, wants to maim anyone who tries to take her away from him. He freezes a little at that line of thought, wondering when he'd gotten so protective over his Deputy.
Since you were confronted with losing her, his mind taunts. It sounds awfully like Regina's voice. God he hates that. He slumps down onto a chair, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together, keeping his eyes on the door they'd pushed Emma through.
And now, he waits.