Guest Comments

Guest: I'm glad you're interested! The flashback is supposed to be a little confusing, but if you continue to have questions feel free to ask!

Note: Present Graham has the benefit of Henry, so even when they aren't together, his emotions are muffled but there.

Chapter 2

Present

He was just tugging on his jacket, ready to go home, when the phone on the desk buzzed.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, irritation running through him. It was his personal line. Only one person called his personal line, and he just wasn't in the mood for that tonight.

He debated ignoring it, but he never could manage to do that. Just as much as his stomach churned, another part was ready and willing to bend to her every whim. With a sigh, he answered with a gruff, "Sheriff's Office."

"Sheriff, I need you at my house."

The formality didn't faze him. He was used to it by this point. Her tone was as cold as ever, sharp enough to demand that no protests be made. "When?" he asked, keeping the weariness out of his voice.

"Now."

That surprised him. He glanced at the clock to verify, but it was still just inching toward eight in the evening. "Now?" he asked, and almost kicked himself. She didn't like to repeat herself. "Of course, Madame Mayor. I'll be over directly."

"Good," she said abruptly, and the line went dead.

It was early, and he didn't believe in any possibility that Henry was asleep so soon. A small smile quirked his lips at the thought of seeing the boy. It would be a reprieve from his mother, in any sense.

He hesitated by the desk, running his hand over the papers on top. He'd promised to get him a more detailed map of town next time he'd see him.

Henry had not run away far the last time, and had been quickly found in the corner of his office. Graham had feigned he was missing for a good hour while he got the boy to talk to him for a bit. He had even managed to get a hard-earned smile or two out of him, and the promise of a map had made him light up from the inside. He had no idea why the simple thing caused so much excitement, but he yearned to see the solemn boy's face perk up again.

Especially since it had disappeared so quickly once Regina walked into the bullpen, whisking him away without a backwards glance.

He didn't think he could manage to slip it to him unnoticed this evening, but he pocketed the item anyway. Maybe he could leave it somewhere the lad would find it before she did.

The thoughts distracted him for a time while he finished closing up the office. By the time he got in his cruiser and started down the familiar streets, the resignation had set in again. It didn't used to feel this way, did it? Or had he always been so unhappy with the arrangement he had with the mayor?

He didn't have time to think about it when he pulled in. Regina's outline darkened her porch, backlit by the bright lights inside the home. Hands on hips, posture ramrod straight, but waiting for him. She never waited for him.

"Sheriff," she hissed once he got out. "Took you long enough."

His thumb looped into his belt, side-eyeing the woman in front of him. "I came as soon as I locked up the station," he said, and didn't press for answers even though everything in him wanted to. It was always hard to ask questions when she was around, his words faltering sometimes even before he could think them.

Her arms crossed in front of her, eyes filling with angry tears. "It's Henry. He's gone again."

He rocked back on his heels, surprised to see the clear emotion on her face. This wasn't unusual, Henry running away. In fact, it happened more often than not. He was sure he'd find him curled into the low beams of the playground castle, or tucked in the abandoned library.

However, this was the first time he was called to her home rather than just ordered to find her son. His brow furrowed, and he released a low breath. "I'm sure he's fine, Madame Mayor. I'll check the usual spots."

"You don't understand, it's been twe—" She stopped herself, blowing out a low breath. She shook her head. "Never mind that. I need you to check his room. I am convinced he's left town."

He stepped forward cautiously. No, it made more sense to search outside of the home, the woods, maybe. A protest jumped into his throat and died there, just as any protest did in her presence. Instead, he gave a stiff nod. "Right away."

He entered into the blinding light of the opulent room. He rested a hand at the frame of the staircase, looking back only a moment before ascending. A headache was brewing at the base of his skull, the bleach and linen smells cloying with unmistakable apple.

When he entered Henry's room, it was almost as if he could breathe again. The room was not the perfectly straightened and pristine order the rest of the manor remained in. Instead, it was the room of a young boy. Comics hung from the edge of his bed, the table lamp a little askew from a quick flick. The bed was made hastily, covers thrown messily to the top and sheets rumpled beneath. Discarded clothes were strewn across a chair, and his folders and books from class spilled against the desk.

He caught sight of one notebook titled 'James and the Giant Peach' and he finally found the comprehension. The lad skipped school. He remembered his nose firmly in the book this last week, and Henry had mentioned the book report due.

He tried to stem down the alarm he could feel climbing in his stomach, the worry for the boy that was one little bright spot in his monotonous life. He felt a growl start in his chest, wondering just how long he had been missing before Regina had noticed. He could be anywhere.

He fell to his knees, his hands suddenly sorting through the papers in a panic.

"Don't mess up the room. I don't want him knowing you searched it."

He turned to reply, and there was something in him that might have been anger as he clutched Henry's shirt in hand. It dissolved immediately at the sight of her, and a stillness echoed within him instead. He nodded robotically.

He started a slower search, placidly sorting through the pages under her watchful eye. A part of him knew this was fruitless. Henry was nothing if not a bright child, and if he was well and truly running he wouldn't have left evidence of such behind. His stomach was churning with nausea, but it felt distant.

He wished he could feel frustrated with the dampened emotions that stirred underneath the stoicism.

After he was done, Regina directed him to another corner. Then the sitting room. Then the kitchen. She insisted on his being methodical, so slow in the search that hours crept by. He wanted to scream but could only follow as her orders intensified. Just as he expected, there was nothing other than evidence of a hastily packed snack.

By the time he'd practically overturned the entire house, Regina was to the point where her frustration was actually painted all across her face. "He is mine, and I need him back now," she bit out.

He said nothing, but startled as headlights illuminated the front windows.

Regina was quicker than he, taking measured heel clicks. Her composure faltered almost deliberately as she opened the door, the tears she hadn't shed falling down her cheeks as she ran the final steps to her son. Graham's gaze found Henry first, and relief pooled inside him so tightly he felt lightheaded with it.

Then his eyes drifted up, catching the flash of red and blonde mixing together. Something whispered over him, and suddenly his emotions were clear and, for a moment, vivid.

He barely felt it a moment before Henry spat a bitter, "I found my real mom," and dove past them and into the house.

xxx

Eleven Years Ago

Once he was sure they had put a few miles between the other party, and was certain they had likely passed out, he'd started a fire. The warm glow gave him his first good look at the girl who'd invaded his and his brother's space.

She was young, perhaps about his age. She wasn't familiar, but that wasn't strange. When he went to town, no one was exactly eager to cross his path let alone introduce themselves to him. He had inventoried only a fraction of the faces he knew must live in the village, and she wasn't among them. He knew enough to find that the humans all had the same look to them, a certain telltale sign of community.

But she didn't look at all like them. Not in dress, not in stature, not in appearance.

Her lip was smeared red with the dried blood from his hand, making it stand out that she was somewhat grey in pallor. Her long blonde hair was tangled but still managed to shine around knots and dirt. She was thin, even gaunt in areas. She was about as undernourished as he, he'd say. However, her clothing looked well-made and unusual, which made him think it was expensive. The stitching was uniform, neat, and had been done by a careful hand. And yet, it looked old and worn. The colors were saturated on some of the layered pieces, deeply faded on others. And her trousers were a strange blue fabric that frayed white along the holes at her knees.

His brother lazed around them, relaxed. His ears were back, and he stared calmly at the fire. His comfort around the girl was what eased the misgivings of her, though it hadn't fully resolved.

"You never answered me before," he said after a long moment.

She looked up, her eyes wide. He supposed he could understand her surprise. He hadn't said a word since they'd left their hiding spot. "Wh-what?"

There was fear and distraction left in her tone, and it made him feel like he was more firmly in control of the situation. He shifted. "How did you get by us?" he repeated still. He was less and less sure she was a threat, but he still wanted answers.

She pushed the hair out of her face and tucked it behind an ear. "I don't know how you missed me. I didn't exactly plan it. I woke up there, and it was definitely not where I last remembered." She paused to throw a stick in the fire. "How far are we from Portland?"

His face screwed up, brow furrowed. He wasn't sure what to make of her tale, though she didn't seem to be lying. "I haven't heard of the village. It must be leagues."

Her eye twitched. "Village? It's the capital of Oregon."

His head tilted. Oregon? "You're near the edge of Misthaven."

"Misthaven? Seriously?"

He relaxed somewhat. "Yeah. Now you get your bearings?"

"Not even a little. Is Misthaven in Oregon?"

He frowned and shook his head.

"Where, then? Washington?"

He shook his head again, but this time more to clear confusion. "I don't know these places. Misthaven is the main kingdom in this part of the Enchanted Forest. Which rulers do you live under, then?"

"Rulers? Enchanted—Are you kidding me, guy?" she asked. Her face was puckered into a strange mix of disbelief, anger, and a touch of fear.

He let out a sharp breath from his nose and squared his shoulders. "No. And shouldn't you be answering my questions, here?" he asked, suddenly feeling suspicion creep back in. "Are you tracking for them?"

Her head shot up, green eyes set in disbelief. "No."

He realized how stupid his line of questioning was as soon as he said it. She could barely walk in the forest, let alone track.

She shivered as she looked into the night. She curled into herself, her fingers tripping up and down her arms. "They won't … they won't come back this way, will they?"

He studied her a long time before deciding her fear was genuine. That, at least, he could feel. "Not for a while, at least. The woods are even harder to navigate when you're stumbling drunk. I'm surprised they got as close as they did, actually."

She shuddered. "What did they want?"

He was quiet a beat as he considered whether or not to reply. He stared into the flames, feeling his stomach roll. "They're hunters, the kind that do for profit, and not exactly skilled ones at that. They need to meet a quota each fortnight. They'd either take whatever food I have for the night, or try to take …." He trailed off, and glanced to his brother. He was watching them both from his place on the forest floor, his head resting on his paws.

"Is that why one eye is messed up like that?"

He said nothing, and jabbed the log with a branch, stirring the fire.

She blew out an audible breath, her hands rubbing together as she inched closer to the flames. "So … do you have food for the night?"

He swallowed. He had been tracking deer all evening, only to find a small fawn at his mother's hooves. "No," he said simply. "Us two can go a night without, if we need."

"How come he follows you around like that, anyway?"

"He's … never mind about it," he muttered.

She watched the wolf with a strange look. Finally, she inched closer. His brother's head shot up, but then his tongue lolled out. He watched her closely as they studied each other. It was obvious his brother didn't see her as a threat; that much was clear. But over the hours he was finding that it was more than that. He trusted her. He never would have let her get so close while he was still injured otherwise.

She reached out, and the wolf sniffed her hand. He thought that she would attempt to pet him, before she abruptly switched positions, holding her hand out in front of his face.

He looked at her in surprise. "What?"

"Your hand," she said simply, her look impatient.

His brow furrowed and he held it out. "What about it?"

She looked it over and rolled her eyes. "You didn't even put a bandaid or anything. Don't you survivalist guys always carry some in your pack?"

Bandaid, he mouthed the foreign word, then rummaged through his bag. He pulled out a strip of cloth. "Is this what—"

"It'll do," she said, and inspected his hand. She grabbed his water skin and spilled some on her sleeve, wiping it across her face until the dark red was gone. The rest she overturned on his palm. He hissed as the liquid shifted dirt and dried blood, reopening the wound. "Water only goes so far. I don't suppose you have antibiotic cream or something?"

His face screwed up again at the unfamiliar terminology, but he took a glance around. "The long plant over there. Ice Greens help fight against infection."

"Good," she said, and stood. She plucked the plant from its place and then hesitated.

"You need to tear the leaves," he instructed as it dawned on him where her indecision stemmed from. He'd never seen anyone so at a loss at how to deal with the most common of herbal remedies.

She started shredding the leaves with a quick determination. The aloe came from its veins and she spread it along the bite mark. "Wouldn't want you getting rabies or something from me."

He looked her over curiously. He had never had anyone take care of his wounds before, not like this. And certainly not by a human. "Is this your way of apologizing?"

She glared at him. "No. You shouldn't have grabbed me. But at least now you know."

He felt the edge of his lip tremble, as if he wanted to smile at her. "You're a strange human," he mused.

"Emma," she said as she tied the cloth with an audible hiss of the fabric. He flinched back a wince at the pressure against the wound. "My name's Emma."

"Emma," he repeated, and gave a short nod of acknowledgement as he took his hand back.

"So…?" she prompted.

He looked around before meeting her eye again. "What?"

She sighed. "What's your name?"

"Oh," he said. He shrugged. "What you heard them call me is all I've ever been known by. Maybe a couple other choice phrases."

"I don't want to call you those things," she said, more to herself. Her lips downturned into a frown.

He didn't understand. Why did she care? "I don't mind being called a wolf. Wolves don't need names, and they're my family, so," he finished.

Her mouth opened and then shut. She curled into herself, rubbing her arms. "I've always had a name. It was the only thing I always had," she said softly.

"That's good for you, then," he stated simply.

She nodded, as if realizing something. "How old are you?" she demanded next.

He rolled his eyes. "Does it matter?"

She seemed to consider that for a moment. "I don't know. Not really, I guess."

He studied her a moment before deciding that it wouldn't be harmful. "Like 16, 17? I'm not sure exactly." Most of what he determined was based on Fionn's guess from years ago.

"Oh," she said, and blinked.

He rubbed the back of his neck, seeing the flash of disbelief and pity once more. A flare of annoyance stirred inside him, and he rose up. "I'll get us something to eat."

She reached into her pockets, before pulling out a strange item. "Here. I have two."

He took the offering cautiously, turning around the crinkling item in his hands. It looked like a pastry of some sort, but it was encased in some clear, loud bubble. "What is this?"

She shrugged. "Store-bought muffin. Swiped a few before I ended up here." She tore open the surrounding container, and pulled the sweet from inside.

"I don't need your pity," he said gruffly.

She sighed. "Look, I'm sorry I asked, okay? I just wanted to know what to call you. But I'm—look, I don't know what I'm doing here, I don't know if those guys will come back, and I'm just—I don't want you leaving me here alone, okay?"

He studied her a long moment, considering, before finally settling back down. His nails bit into the packaging. Having watched her do it, it was simple to free the pastry. The first taste was surprising, sweet and dense, and he again was struck by the idea that she must be wealthy. It didn't make sense for her to be out here all alone, then, unless she was trying to escape something. "It's good," he proclaimed.

"Yeah," she agreed simply.

He tore off a section and placed it in front of his brother, who tilted his head to swallow it down quickly. The girl rolled the pasty in her hands, and then did the same, offering a small piece to the wolf. They ate in silence, almost companionably, as they shared a look of understanding over the confections.

He might end up enjoy his company for the evening.

TBC