Guest Comments

Guest: Thank you so, so much! I am so glad you are enjoying this! I have such an issue with slow burn, so this is coming pretty slow from my muse. I am glad you are willing to keep up with it! I think one more chapter of the chronological story line before I am going to skip ahead a bit, but we shall see!

Chapter 8

Present

It was intriguing, watching her work.

Her manner was all business, hands quick against the keys and spoken words perfunctory. Regina lingered off in the distance, pacing the length of Henry's bed and fiddling with the items on his nightstand. It allowed him to crouch next to the blonde to watch her, to study the determination and barely-there worry behind it.

It was good that she worried, he decided. It meant that behind the professionalism and stoicism, there was care.

And the more he watched, the more her brow furrowed, the more her lips twitched, the more she shifted toward him subconsciously, he felt the same burn through him that made him take attention the night before.

He was concerned for Henry, of course he was; that was the first thing on his mind. But hovering in her space was something that caught electricity across his chest.

"Smart kid," she muttered, and he couldn't help the quirk of his lips. "He cleared his inbox. I'm smart, too. A little hard disk recovery utility I like to use."

He swallowed, and watched the screen as she installed the file. "I'm a bit more old-fashioned in my techniques. Pounding the pavement, knocking on doors, that sort of thing."

She tensed when he spoke but didn't look up. Her answer was cool, and she focused on her typing. "You're on salary. I get paid for delivery. Pounding the pavement is not a luxury that I get."

He wished he could manage something more, could coax a more direct reaction out of her. The screen beeped and he looked up again. This was for Henry, he reminded himself. Perhaps she had ways he was ignorant of that could help him track the lad down easier next time.

"Huh. His receipt for a website – . It's expensive. He has a credit card?"

Regina scoffed, a rustle sounding as she slammed Henry's history textbook closed. "He's ten," she said impatiently.

"Well, he used one. Let's pull up a transaction record."

Graham absently patted his wallet, wondering if he was missing any cards.

"Mary Margaret Blanchard. Who's Mary Margaret Blanchard?"

His mouth parted as he realized what must've happened.

"Henry's teacher." He could hear the disdain in Regina's voice as she replied, felt the weight of the words.

Poor Mary Margaret. She tried so hard with Henry, something that the older woman did not appreciate in the least. He knew what Regina could do, had done before, will do again, in targeting the schoolteacher. This only added fuel to the already brewing fire.

"Well, she'd be the one to check with first," Emma said, snapping the drive from the computer before rising.

He nodded and stood as well. "Of course. I'll grab the cruiser—"

"Sheriff, I'm sure that's not necessary," Regina said, her tone sharp. "I can collect my son on my own. You should get back to the station."

His skin itched, heat brewing in barely-there annoyance. But his mouth shut, and he found himself nodding.

Emma crossed her arms in front of her chest, green eyes flicking up and down. "Then we're taking your car?" she pressed.

He looked up in surprise, amusement filling him that she wouldn't give up so easily.

Regina snarled and ignored her completely, pushing past her to slam down the stairs with quick, measured heel clicks.

Emma sighed, and he could see the frustration painted on her face. With boldness he didn't know he possessed, he grabbed her wrist to get her attention. It wasn't like releasing her from the cell; that at least was conscious and more to ground his statement. This was at least in part to be able to touch her again, and also to gain and focus her attention. She looked at him as if just allowing herself to, disquiet across her features.

He nodded down the path Regina took. "It's off of Main. Storybrook Elementary; you can't miss it. If you hurry, you'll even beat her there."

She tipped her head in concession. Her fingers coiled along his wrist and carefully removed him. He pressed his lips together, hovering in her space. "Thanks," she said after a beat, her voice winded. She turned and left without a second glance.

He sighed at the state of the empty room, the absence of both women doing wonders to clear his head. He looked to the far wall and caught sight of Henry's cardboard sword. In an instant, he knew where the kid had gone and cursed himself for not thinking of it before.

In the numerous times the boy had run off, he'd be found most often in two places: just beside the toll bridge or up in the tower of his playground castle. He heard the sound of the door slam and looked out the window to see a flash of red and blonde storm down the sidewalk into the distance.

The static across his chest intensified as he swung his keys out of his pocket.

Get back to the station.

He gritted his teeth and grasped the doorframe as the words came back to him. He needed to go back. He was the sheriff, there were things to be done.

His head pounded, and he was at the cruiser before he could even think. There was just paperwork waiting for him; his radio was at his hip. He didn't need to go, did he?

Except … except he did.

He nodded once to himself, the order melting off. He'd swing by the station first. Maybe it was instinct? He'd check on it.

But then he'd go to the castle. Because no matter what, Henry'd need him.

Or maybe not him.

He made a fist and rested his head against the steering wheel. He wanted to be there for him. It ached how much he did. But maybe the lad needed someone else first.

The trip to the station was short and utterly useless. The empty ring of silence was all that greeted him. Not even Leroy was there to disturb the dust of the place. At the very least, his head stopped screaming to the point where he could drop a folder on the desk and head right back out into the fog.

When he pulled into the parking lot, the wind was whipping across the beach. Two figures stood across from each other just in front of the castle. He could see from a distance the hunched shoulders and frustration in the boy.

He waited, watching the two interact. His chest was tight, swelling with emotion that seemed both familiar and more intense than anything he'd felt in ages. They looked connected, even at a distance and even with the gesticulating that indicated an argument.

And then Emma straightened, her face carefully masked but a sheen on pain spread underneath. Henry's head hung low, little fists balled tight beside him. He knew he could interrupt now.

They began to walk back, and he could tell instantly when they saw the cruiser. He carefully exited, the hinges squeaking as he did. Henry paused for a moment before tearing into a run.

He was altogether shocked when Henry slammed into him. Graham could feel the tears soak into his shirt before it really occurred to him that the boy was hugging him. It felt natural to scoop him close, to feel as he slumped against him exhaustedly.

He tried to stamp down the protectiveness flaring within him, the instant reaction to growl and snarl at anything causing him pain. He reminded himself that Henry was not his and that he could not claim him, that he had no business defending him against this woman. Even though parts of him screamed in difference.

He looked up, catching ocean-shaded eyes as he glanced over the boy's head. She looked devastated, her heartbreak clear across her face. The defenses gave way, collapsing. And there was envy, too, as she watched them, barely-there.

He curled Henry closer in his arms. He had never been this close to the boy, and it flicked something inside him, something warm and gentle. He couldn't help but feel that the connection he felt to the woman across the beach had to do with this child—but maybe not in the way that was most obvious.

Why was it that he wanted to bring her into the fold, to hold her close as well?

Eleven Years Ago

When he woke, she was still curled in his arms.

He was used to his brother pressing against him when the weather dropped, firmly but unobtrusively next to him. It was what he thought it would be when he offered to share the space in the dark.

This was not that.

Emma and he had shifted in the night, and now she was draped on top of his chest, arms tucked around him. She was fully asleep, breaths even and heavy and warm into his neck. Blonde hair was scattered messily across his cheek, bright and soft and earthy-smelling. The furs covered them, trapping in the heat, but even he had somehow tangled into her. His own arm was looped to pull her closer in sleep, chin notched up and then relaxed down to accommodate her head into the crook of his neck.

He was so used to feeling the chill of the morning air, and the drop in temperature was usually the first thing to wake him. Now, though, he still felt drowsy with her heat surrounding him. It felt … natural.

It was grey out and the fog was rolling in from the river and misting through the trees. The arm wrapped around her ribs tightened reflexively to the reminder of ice before he fully realized what he was doing.

His palm dropped to the forest floor as if she'd burned him, and he rolled out from under her.

She began to stir in the new cold, and he watched her aptly as he scooted back. One eye popped open and she groaned. "It's too early," she muttered, and then buried her nose into the furs once more.

His cheek twitched and he walked to the hearth he'd begun yesterday. "It's past dawn," he said, shrugging. He had slept far longer than normal already, and he was still struggling past the feelings of peace she'd left within him. He brushed the morning frost off the logs and inspected the wetness. The bottom of the pit was dry enough to light the fire.

She mumbled something in half-sleep before a pale hand reached beyond their bedding to the book she'd left. It disappeared into the covers surrounding her.

"You said you weren't sure if you found it, then? Anything look familiar?" he asked.

She sighed. "The Land Without Magic makes the most sense," she grumbled.

He paused over the fire, brow furrowing. "Without magic?" he asked.

The furs opened and she leaned up. "Yeah. Look, wolf boy, I never thought magic was real, okay? This is all," she gestured around her dismissively and huffed. Her forehead was wrinkled; she looked distressed. "I don't understand how this could be real."

He cocked his head to the side to study her. "I suppose that's where you're from, then," he mused. This could prove difficult.

"I don't know anything on how to travel to other realms, but I think going to a place without magic is going to be a little difficult, don't you?" she asked, her breaths hitching. "Dammit, I don't even know how I got here in the first place!"

He poked at the logs thoughtfully. She seemed at a brink, and he chose his words carefully. "Maybe we work backward. Figure out how you got here?"

She scoffed. "I guess," she muttered, then shivered.

He sat up straighter. "You're cold again. Come. Bring the fur."

She threw a glare but did so grudgingly. She huffed as she sat on the fallen tree, and leaned forward to warm her hands over the fire.

"I have some of the boar. We can eat some of that before we go sell the rest in town," he said, glancing at the bag of salted meat.

"'Kay," she replied, and pulled her knees to her chest. She looked small, tucked into the fluff and dark of the hides and continued to shiver.

He took out his knife and sliced a section of the flank before placing it onto a stick. When he leveled it over the flames, he looped an arm around her to bring her close. His full intention was to simply warm her up, but when his skin touched hers he was surprised at how comfortable he felt. She was stiff as her goosebumps retreated, but finally began to meld into him exactly as her green eyes set on the food.

"Do you think we'll figure out where I belong, wolf boy?" she asked softly after a long beat.

He looked down at her, and then at the meat. He watched the flames licking across it thoughtfully a long moment. "I'm sure we will," he finally said. If she made it here, there had to be a way.

"Okay," she said softly, her long lashes skimming her cheeks as she squeezed her eyes shut. "Okay," she repeated. She turned to bury her nose into his shoulder, her gaze still locked on the fire.

Her scent washed over him, warm and comforting and surprising in how it affected him. He wanted to protect her, wanted her to find her place. It felt like something important, something that was never done for him by a person but something he could do for her. Even if it meant that she would leave.

He pulled the meat to check it, and then offered her a skewer wordlessly. She took it from him and cocked her head to the side to study him. She said nothing, but her lips curled up as she took a bite.

Their breakfast was in silence, the wolf only emerging to watch and not even partake. He only sat at the edge of the camp, head flat to the earth. It was almost like he could tell the strange aura that had come over them, the overlap of the foreign and the fated.

When the sun crested over the hills, he nodded once. "We should get going. The market will be busy enough."

She gripped his arm, and he looked down to find her eyes wide. "The men won't be there, will they?"

He shrugged one shoulder. "I rather doubt it. But he'll stay behind for this."

She looked to the wolf and then finally rose. She sat beside him and tentative reached to touch his head. It wasn't exactly a stroking motion, but his brother immediately rolled over, tongue lolling out happily. She looked somewhat melancholy as she scratched under his chin. "I'm ready," she finally said.

A spike of something like disappointment hit him, and he carefully tucked it away. He shifted to pull his rucksack over his shoulder and gestured to the enclave. "It should be a shorter walk than yesterday."

She grimaced as she looked down at her dirty, strange shoes. "But I'm used to the long walks now."

Amusement flickered in him. "Then this should be easy."

They exchanged glances, not quite smiling, but definitely with something shared. She grabbed her jacket and tugged it on. "Let's go, then."

She pushed into him, shoulders bumping as they strolled to town.

He looked down at her curiously. It was oddly comforting. In all the strange nuances of human life and this particular human herself, this was familiar. It felt like when his brothers would nudge him affectionately, playfully. He understood this reaction.

He swallowed slightly before dipping to nudge her back.

He found that a smile played openly on her features for once. And he was surprised to find himself smiling back.

Her hand reached out and caught his as the shape of the buildings came into view. He found his own fingers curling around hers, and not out of necessity.

It just felt right.

Which is why he could admit to himself that he would miss her when he found her home.