Thank you all for the feedback on these stories! This is mostly a prompted verse, so let me know if you have things you want seen!
Guest: I can definitely have one that deals with Neal. However, what were you wanting to see with Hook's lips getting cursed? With the changes, I don't know how it would go over.
Anon: Thank you so much!
Title: Almost Like Déjà vu
Summary: Emma could use a little help.
It's late.
Graham sighs as he pulls up the collar on his coat, blowing out a foggy breath. The cold was biting, the wind casting an icy chill from the darkened skies. He spent three hours of overtime this evening, only to end up at another dead end. He should be used to such things by now. He's been working Cold Cases for … well, for a long time, now. He rubs his forehead as he tries to remember just how long he'd been working that department. No matter; it is still just as frustrating as the first time.
He hesitates at the corner, looking down the well-lit street toward the on-coming path of the unoccupied taxi. He begins to raise his hand but then rocks backward, whistling lowly through his teeth before deciding to walk.
He needs the time to decompress. Maybe he'll even stop by the bar on 84th.
His heart speeds up, thinking about running into Emma. They've been meeting up only by chance; any hesitant request to see her at a scheduled time has been rebuked. They enjoy their talks when they do see each other, that is sure. But anytime he mentions coffee or an art exhibit opening, or even the dingy little break room at the precinct, she freezes up. He's given up on asking outright.
But that doesn't mean that he doesn't think about her. Honestly, it's embarrassing how often he thinks about her. Sometimes, it's things that relate directly to her: finding something on his case that relates to one of hers, hearing someone mention her bringing someone in, Simmons mentioning his kid's play at the same school her son goes to. Sometimes, it's far less specific: a bearclaw in the pink box at his desk, a dartboard in the corner of the old diner, a strange ache in his chest at the sight of his first aid kit.
It's all strange. She had crept into his mind when he first saw her, that nagging feeling of familiarity, but now it was like she was ingrained into his skin. Sometimes, when they talk, he thinks he sees how he feels reflected back at him in her eyes. Mostly, he thinks it's his wishful thinking.
He turns down the block, passing an alleyway when he hears the unmistakable sound of fists. He sighs, turning down the alleyway, only to have a mass of blonde hair hurled at him, knocking them both to the ground.
"Emma?" he asks, looking down at the woman. She's snarling in the other direction, towards the skinny man running down the alley. "Dammit," he mutters under his breath, and jumps to his feet to help in the pursuit.
He rounds the corner, finding the guy attempting to scale the fence blocking his exit. Hastily, he grabs him by the back of his shirt, yanking him to the ground. The guy struggles, kicking out and throwing another swing that barely skims his chin. Graham growls and wrenches his arm back, twisting him around to pull both wrists together.
"I had a handle on it," he hears Emma say from over his shoulder, panting as she came down from the adrenalin rush.
"Nothing wrong with a partnership," he fires back, flashing up a quick grin. At the sight of her, he frowns, seeing the thin trail of blood drip down from her eye. He pushes his knee harder into the perp's back, feeling a wash of protectiveness and fury at seeing her injured.
"As long as you don't want to share the paycheck," she counters dryly, fumbling through her pockets before producing an industrial zip tie.
Quickly, he lashes the man's hands together and hauls him to his feet. "Nah, I get my reward from the high-paying glamour of a government job," he replies wryly.
She looks away, holding back a smile, and it pools relief in his belly. She seems no worse for the wear. "Well, then … thanks."
He nods. "I'll help you get him back. You need something for your eye, anyway."
She opens her mouth to protest, but then snaps it shut. Finally, she shrugs, tugging the man by the connection. "Fine."
"Yo, you gonna keep flirting or let me go, already," the man pipes in, a scowl embedded on his face.
"I wouldn't be provoking that one. I could easily add on 'assaulting an officer' to the list of your no doubt laundry-list of charges," Graham threatens.
Emma hides a smirk, stepping forward. "Buddy, you're on thin ice," she hisses, dragging him down to trail just slightly behind her as she stomped her way toward the station.
Graham laughs and follows after a moment, his eyes sparkling with the certainty that his life is a lot more interesting with her in it.
XXX
"I don't need it," Emma whines as he leads her into the office. The division is dark, everyone long since gone home. He flicks on the light once they reach the small room at the corner.
He smirks, finding the first aid kit and snapping it open. "It's a bad cut. You don't need a hospital, but you might want to be a little fixed up before you get back to your place and freak out your kid."
"Henry's at Michael's tonight. I wouldn't freak him out," she grumbles, but sits back on the top of the desk. She glances around. "Nice office, you have."
He grins and opens up a swab. "Thanks for thinking I'm useful enough to warrant my own. This is the Assistant Chief's. We all take turns using it while she's on leave."
Emma rolls her eyes. "Forgot. Glamorous desk job, right?" she says, her eyes widening as he came closer.
"You're just jealous," he teases.
He studies her for a moment, her blue-green eyes so carefully focused on him. Cautiously, he brushes her hair from her face before pressing the pad gently to her head. She hisses and he pulls back. Gently, he uses the thumb he didn't realize was on her opposite cheek roll soothing circles.
Her breathing is picked up as he dabs it against her, as something swirls inside him. "Why is this familiar?" she breathes.
He takes a second to look back into her eyes before shaking his head. "I don't know," he admits. "Like … déjà vu or something."
"I don't believe in déjà vu," she says bluntly, but in a breathy tone that says she is doubting herself.
He finishes cleaning the blood, but keeps dabbing at the wound, his other hand cupping her face more fully. He can still feel her eyes on him. "Maybe something we did in foster care?" he asks. They can't remember being in foster care together, no matter how many times they've talked about it. But it must be the way they know each other, why his soul seems to sing in awareness at the mere thought of her.
"Maybe," she says uncertainly.
Finally he pulls back, letting his fingers fall down her cheek and down her exposed shoulder before coming off completely. He wants to continue touching her, never wants to stop. He forces himself back. "All better."
She nods, her eyes still wide, searching. "Yeah."
He turns to close up the kit, and when he turns back, she is still watching. "What?"
She rises, and his stomach bottoms out. He feels like he is falling, like his chest is tightening into a vise around his heart. She is pausing, mere inches from him. He can feel what will happen, like a phrase at the tip of his tongue that he can't quite reach. It's there. It's all there.
Finally, she reaches out, placing a flat palm over his heart. He knows it is pounding like a jackhammer, but he is surprised to see tears forming in her eyes. "It won't stop," she murmurs, before turning and pressing their lips together gently.
He slants his mouth onto hers, pulling her close because yes, here, this is right. He is just getting used to it, about to pull her deeper, when he feels the dam burst.
A wolf, a forest, a girl, a Queen, a vault, a slave, a town, a woman, a kiss, a fall …
"Graham?"
He looks up, seeing Emma's stunned features. "Emma?"
She sobs, pulling him hard against her, wrapping her arms around him tightly. "Oh God, oh God, oh God," she breathes over and over.
His arms find the small of her back and tighten until there is no space to be found between them. "Emma, I thought … I thought I'd never see you," he says, huffing in a half-laugh, half-sob.
He can feel tears soak into his shirt as she presses her face tighter against him. "How? You're here, Graham, but you were dead and I never got to ….."
He finds her hair and tangles his fingers into it, smoothing the strands as he presses a loving kiss to her brow. "I don't know. But I'm here. Emma, you broke the curse."
She staggers back, slowly smiling. She pulls her hands through the scruff of his beard and his lashes flutter shut at the feeling. "Graham … I think … I think we broke the curse."
His eyes snap open, seeing the fear read in her eyes. He carefully brings her closer to kiss her lips again. "Wouldn't be the first time."
Her brow creases in question.
"My memories," he reminds, staring down at her in awe. He still can't believe it, any more than the first time. He never thought he'd be granted someone to love, certainly not someone that would care for him back. True love. He cups her face, wiping away a stray tear. "You brought them back that first time."
She kisses him soundly, and half of him wonders if it isn't to keep him from talking about it more.
He can't say that he minds.
"You're not leaving me again," she says stubbornly, but the pain in her words says it is also her deepest fear.
He leans his forehead against hers. "Never. You or Henry. You're stuck with me," he vows. He wants to keep this promise, wants to live up to it. Whatever happens, he will never be the reason that they separate. He is hers. Forever.
"Manhattan," she murmurs across his lips. She glances up. "This could be home."
He chuckles, kissing her again. "Wherever you are."