Title: Commiserate

Summary: Graham is awake now. David knows what that's like.

Note: I forgot I never transferred this old fic onto here, and didn't want it to get lost on Tumblr (as it does). This is a tag to the fic Little Talks, but it's not required reading. Just note that instead of dying, Graham was in a coma. His awakening post-curse break delays Emma's confrontation with Gold just enough.

"Need a drink?"

Graham looked up, still feeling a little disoriented. His head throbbed dully, but he managed to give a grateful smile. "Thanks."

David nodded and handed him a bottle, clinking the bottom in a half-cheers with his own before joining him on the stoop. "It's definitely been a day," he said. He pulled a hand across his face and looked up at the moon wearily.

Graham took the offered bottle opener and the cap slipped off with a hiss. He frowned as he watched the bubbles flit to the surface. "Being that I started this day in a coma, I'd have to agree."

"Something I can commiserate with," David said wryly. He chuckled a little, morbid humor as he swallowed back a bit of his beer. "Although I have another 28 years on your experience."

"And a sword wound to accompany it," Graham agreed and took a sip. His chest burned slightly in memory of his own injury, but there were no scars there to prove it. He swallowed thickly to fight the rising bile with the alcohol instead, and then jerked his head towards the door leading to the stairwell. "Everyone else asleep?"

"As close as they can be." He leaned back, looking weary. "Snow's out. She was too overwhelmed to do anything but. When I checked upstairs, though … I think Emma's just wrapped herself around Henry while he sleeps, to be honest. I don't think she'll take her eyes off him for a while."

He nodded and grimaced. "It'll be hard for him," he said softly. The horror on the boy's face spoke to that much. "As good as this all is, I know he wasn't ready to see her gone."

David paused. "I'm kind of surprised at how ready I was to see her gone," he admitted before pulling from the bottle, shame flushing his cheeks a bit.

Graham huffed a humorless laugh. "Well, can't say I was sad to see it."

He can't quite put together all the emotions seeing her blank, lifeless gaze brought, but shame was never one of them. The wraith had come and gone so violently but so swiftly, and it was taking a lot longer to process the destruction it wrought. The town was quiet, but he half-expected the steady stillness wouldn't last. For now, he supposed there was too much: people were finding friends and family lost to them in the curse, remembering all their lives. The fallout would take some time.

Eventually, though, he anticipated some celebration at the news of the Evil Queen being dead and gone.

"I don't blame you there," David said and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I don't think I could even begin to understand what she'd taken from everyone. And not just through the curse. I think everyone will have a story on that."

Graham swallowed and stretched his elbows on his knees as he contemplated it. He tightened his grip on the neck of the bottle, remembering flashes of his time under her thumb and the people that suffered under her. He wasn't sure he was quite ready to talk about it all with the man who was technically his king and was also the man who fathered the woman he was in love with, but answered anyway. "Yes, I suppose you're right." He gulped back another swallow, faintly wishing the drink was stronger.

David was staring at him from the corner of his eye when he dropped the bottle back down. "Do you … is everything back for you?" he asked hesitantly.

Graham rubbed the space over his heart and looked up at the loft apartment. He weighed it a moment, how he felt. His gaze dropped and he factored in the relief when they'd found the prison cell. "I think so," he said slowly. "But it's been so long … I'm not sure."

David seemed to consider this a long beat, then took a long swig of his drink. "I wish we could have succeeded in this sooner. Before losing a whole 28 years."

He waved off the attempt at apology. "I think Gold must have had his reasons to only be rid of her now," he answered. Though it wasn't like the man had come out and said it, everyone knew who was responsible for bringing the wraith.

"Hmm," David hummed, and rocked the bottle back and forth in his hands. "He always has some sort of reason. Plenty has happened between the curse being cast, so who can really know?"

Graham looked back up towards the window. Hours ago, Henry's arms had clung tight around him and there had been relief in his voice. Every hushed conversation whispered to him on his hospital bed was fresh in his mind, and Henry was delighted to know that he heard every bit. The news of Regina … well, that came later. The boy had been dry eyed, but white with shock. He wished he could have insulated him from that, kept the pain away. It was like some sort of cognitive dissonance in him, the liberation of her death and the pity of it.

"To take her away now seems abrupt, I'll give," David finished, brow furrowing.

Graham closed his eyes and nodded once.

Emma wasn't exactly ready for all it meant, he knew, but she was trying all the same. She had crawled into the bed and wrapped herself around her son, comforting him through touch in a startlingly familiar way. He pictured now the way she'd gripped his own hand once Henry's tears finally started to fall in silent streams. Too much to process: he supposed that accounted for them as well. He kept her grip a long moment, wanting to do all he could to make this easier on her.

After a while, he told her that he'd just be right outside, just to give them some time. As much as he was willing and wanted to help, he knew she needed time to find her footing as a mother. "I'm glad something good came out of it, though."

David gave a stiff smile and leaned back against the porch railing. His eyes were serious as they met his, and Graham's brow furrowed as he waited for his King to collect his thoughts. "How'd you manage out of that coma, Graham?"

He closed his eyes, and blew out a low breath. He took another sip and placed the bottle gently on the step below him. How could he explain something like that to him? "How did you?" he finally countered.

David's face transformed, soft awe touching over his features. "Snow. I heard her voice, and finally when we touched … I didn't even realize until later. It was her. She managed to pull me out of the dark, just because there was still that part of her that loved me. Beneath the curse, beneath the forgetting … Regina couldn't kill that," he said fondly.

Graham felt his stomach clench, and he remembered the feel of Emma's fingertips across his own, the way the small touch grew and how he finally felt control again as her hand cupped his cheek and her broken voice pleaded with him (you can come back). "I … I don't know," he mumbled awkwardly, and rubbed the back of his neck.

David was studying him still, and barely shook his head. "Yes, you do," he said simply. He pulled a thinner bottle out of his pocket, and slid the cheap scotch across the cement steps in offer.

Graham looked at it a moment before picking it up. He screwed open the top and stared out into the dark street for an extended beat, trying to push back the nervous tension of talking about this with Emma's father, of all people. "Yeah, I do." He took a long pull from the bottle and then left it between them.

David nodded, as if pleased to have guessed correctly. "Yes, at least some good came out of it."

Graham looked up, surprised. He swallowed, and his eyes flashed up. "Henry, I meant."

"Of course. He's a great kid." A smirk crossed David's face and he shook his head. "But that's not all of it."

Graham swallowed thickly and said nothing.

David was quiet a moment, face stretched toward the light of the moon and thoughtful. "Emma … I'll be the first to admit that I don't know enough about her. I wish I could say differently, but the most contact I've had so far is through secrets and half-truths. But I know enough to understand that she is a tough shell to crack. She doesn't let anyone in easy, including me and even including Snow."

Graham looked up at him, head cocked to the side as he tried to ascertain his meaning.

David swallowed back a quick pull of the flask and nodded once. "I trust anyone that she lets past."

Graham let out a shaky breath. He didn't exactly need his acceptance; Emma was her own woman, after all, and would like bristle at the idea. But … but it was nice to have someone trust him. "You sure of that?"

David smiled and bobbed his head. "I trust that instinct in her. She gets it from me."

He felt his face flush and cleared his throat. His heart tugged, and he realized just how desperately he wanted to fit into this strange, war-torn family. "I hope to keep it."

He took in a breath and released it slowly. "Strangely, there wouldn't be an Emma or a Henry without you, you know. It's not just because of her that I trust you."

He didn't know what to say to that. He certainly didn't think of that before, and it felt alien to consider it now. Awkwardly, he raised his drink. "To no more comas this year?" he ventured.

David laughed heartily and clinked their bottles again before taking a sip. "Sounds like a good one."

The acceptance of it all, unofficial and yet somehow still strangely pleasing, let him relax. With all that needed rebuilding, it was nice to forge something new with it.

It would be good to have a friend.