Guest Comments

Gremma Shoelace: You're welcome! I loved writing it! Hope you enjoy this one as well!

Guest (1): Okay, so ... I took what Belle said with a major grain of salt. She doesn't really know Neal, Emma, or their situation, so as sweet of her as it was to say, I don't believe it. As for the shoelace, Emma had it when she left, just like the car and her jacket, etc. I think she just didn't feel right removing it (as I go into in this chapter), and that could be a sign of what she feels.

Guest (2): I was reading this review at the same time I was writing this chapter and I wanted to squeal! I almost included it in this one, but I think it works better from Emma's POV and this one's all Graham's. It's on the list!

Title: Mementos

Summary: The past stays with them in the little things. The three moments when they notice them.

Note: I mention Fionn, from Graham's backstory in Wilding, but don't fret! I'm not taking any other part of Graham's origins from that fic.

Prompts: Skagengiirl "Before Graham and Emma kiss at the precinct he asks about the shoelace, and then some time after the kiss she tells him what it is." And Gremma Shoelace "Emma gives Graham his jacket back and find the letter he wrote to her in the inner pocket," and half of "Graham, Emma and Henry discuss the curse and Regina etc. after getting their memories back." I will do the second half in another fic that will be all Hunter Believer.

Five Days After Meeting

Graham pulled up his sleeve, staring at the time ticking away in aggravation. He sighed heavily, pulling his hands over his face. He felt bone-tired, the chill of the artificial cooling bearing down on him.

"Coffee?" Simmons asked, pushing a steaming mug in his direction.

He smiled thankfully, grabbing the handle. "Thanks. I don't know what it is about this one."

Simmons hummed an agreement. "Kid cases are the worst," he said. The keys on his laptop came down in sharp, tempered clicks. "DNA isn't helping. Five years in advances; you'd have thought that would mean something."

"Exactly," Graham replied gruffly. He flicked through the notes again, the precise handwriting of the lead detective showing nothing new from the last thirty times he'd inspected them. "I think I need a break. Want something from the breakroom?"

Simmons bobbed his head almost absently. "Coffee. Need to feed the addiction," he said as he polished off his freshly-filled cup.

"I'll be sure to tell Andie about how I enable you," Graham said dryly. His own cup remained at the desk as he rose.

"That young'un? Why would she care?" Simmons asked without looking up, though he was unable to hide the smirk from settling on his features.

"As long as it gets me out of here for five minutes," Graham said. Then he turned. "Lazo? Garcia? Want anything?"

Lazo simply waved him off, a scowl half-set on her pursed lips. Garcia rolled backwards, a white mug in his outstretched hands. "And one of those little packs of mints. I can't stay awake," he bemoaned, the casefile not leaving his grasp. "And an éclair!"

"Two more hours," Graham said supportively, glancing at his watch again. "Be right back."

He jogged down the single flight of stairs before navigating the labyrinth of units to the dingy little break room that wedged between the records room and the evidence locker. He shifted both mug handles into one hand, the soft clink the only noise as he twisted the door.

He entered, and froze.

He'd gotten used to the look of her. The long blonde curls would be recognizable even if it weren't for the sound of her voice as she barked orders into her cell. With a sharp click, she disconnected her phone and twisted around. She startled as she met his eye.

"Oh. Graham, hey. Didn't know you worked this floor," she said lamely, fiddling with her phone in her hands.

He raised the mugs with a smile. "One floor up. Cold Cases. Our breakroom's down for repairs."

She smirked, her arms crossing. "Are you gonna go full cliché on me, Detective?" she asked, jerking her head in the direction of the boxed donuts.

Something whispered at the back of his mind, a ghost of a memory that quickly died. He shook his head a little, then leaned forward. "Well, some clichés are true." He grinned as he swiped a confection. "But alas, these aren't for me."

She had paled a little, but the warmth dripping back into her cheeks made him wonder if it was merely a trick of the lights. "Burglary lent me the key. I sent them one of theirs, so it was the least they could do," she said before taking a sip from the styrofoam cup.

"Care for a real mug?" he asked, setting the two down before rustling through the upper cabinets. "Miller leaves hers up here, and she's on leave, so …."

"No, thanks. I'll be leaving in just a sec," she replied shortly. She brushed her hands through her hair, digging against the scalp a little.

"Long day?" he asked sympathetically.

"Understatement. Had to chase the guy through the ramen festival. I bumped into so many stalls, I think I have chili powder all over me," she grumbled.

He grinned. "Well, you don't smell like dashi, if that helps."

She gave him a blank look in response.

Carefully, he tilted his head. "You know … the broth base?"

She raised a brow and shrugged. "You know, you'd think that accent'd taper off after all those years in Maine," she said.

He shrugged, smiling as he realized what had pulled her focus. "Guess some things linger. That and an old red handkerchief that's followed me everywhere I went." He nodded to her wrist. "Same for you, I suppose?"

Her eyes suddenly fogged over, her hand reaching to wrap around the ties that swathed the thinnest part of her arm. She looked pained a moment before furrowing her brow. "I don't exactly remember where it came from. But … I don't know. It doesn't feel … right. When I take it off, I mean." She looked thoughtful, absently worrying her lip as she trailed the pads of her fingers along the ridges. Finally, she shrugged. "Odd habits from back then, I guess."

"I guess," he echoed. "Strange the things you pick up without realizing."

She took a long swig of her coffee but nodded. "Yeah." Their gazes met and held a long, heavy moment. There was something, always, that lingered between them. It drew them closer each time, before she would snap it shut firmly, just as she did then. "I should go. Get this powder off me, then help Henry with the Olympics."

He felt a pang at her deliberate change in subject, but covered it with a smile. "Ah, Simmons spoke of that. Schooling at Anderson, huh?"

She nodded. "Hardest transfer ever," she agreed. "Thank God for Gia."

He bobbed his head, even though he was a little lost. "Definitely an advanced school. Don't remember anything like that at mine."

"Yeah, Maine wasn't great about the public schools for foster kids," she said dryly. She adjusted her purse. "I definitely didn't have a course in hurdles, diving, and archery."

He brightened at the subject, his hands itching at the thought. "Archery? I'm actually pretty good at that. You know, if you ever want to talk about –"

"You know, I really should go, Henry's waiting on me. See you around, Graham," she cut off, tossing the cup in the trash as she did. She hesitated once she reached the door, turning slightly. "Thanks, though. For the offer."

He swallowed and nodded. "Sure. Anytime."

She looked like she wanted to say something else, but then she turned. "Bye," she called, tracing her hand against the doorframe as she left.

"Bye," he answered quietly. He wasn't sure the break did anything to help his mental state, other than distracting him for a time. She definitely was a distraction. A confusing one.

XX

Two Days After Memories Returned

She shifted, placing either knee alongside his hips, sliding into his lap. He dragged his lips down her jaw, delighting in the soft chuckle that escaped her. He smiled slightly. "What?"

She sighed, bringing her head down so they were eye to eye. "No, I was just thinking about the class Henry's retaking. Archery." She grinned, straddling him further. "Well, it's a lot of things, but archery was the big one he didn't get. Could Mr. I-Never-Miss help out with that?"

He curled his arms around her waist with a grin. "I suppose I could," he drawled, using his hand to softly trail down her arm before entwining their fingers. "I had a good teacher, so it shouldn't be so hard."

"Who?" she asked distractedly as she kissed him.

"An older man in the town next to where I grew up. He was the first human I ever met," he replied simply.

She cocked her head to the side. "Forgot that part of Henry's book. Wolves, huh? Then what happened to the guy?"

Graham sighed. "He died protecting me. I don't even … I don't know why he did it. I still have his handkerchief in this world, though."

"Oh," she said quietly. One hand wound upwards, flattening against his chest. "You kept it to remember him?"

He nodded. An ache began again in his soul, as he remembered seeing the ferocity in his eyes before Fionn ordered him away. "A memento, I guess."

She looked away, her eyes tearing slightly. That surprised him to see. He took a hand to cup her face, but she avoided his eye. "I know about keeping mementos."

He frowned, finally taking in the bracelet he had noticed a few weeks before. "I don't remember this one. You used to have something else."

She chuckled heavily with a nod. "Yeah, it used to be these little bracelets I bought in Tallahassee. Something else to remind myself how stupid it was to trust people, along with the necklace. I don't know where the later went," she said hoarsely.

His brow furrowed, and he carefully pet down the long strands of her hair. "And now?"

She shrugged one shoulder uncomfortably. "It's to say that some people are worth trusting," she finished. Then her eyes came up, resting on his. The deep ocean of her eyes gleamed as they set, swirling with determination and vulnerability. "It's your shoelace."

His breath released from his chest abruptly. He looked down at her wrist, over the twisting braid of the lace across the delicate skin. "Mine?" he asked. Disbelief struck him, even as he began to recognize the brown lace from his work boots. His eyes locked with hers again. "I— why?"

She shifted uncomfortably, glancing away. "I told you."

"But why mine? What about Mary Margaret … or Henry?" he asked, his mind swirling.

She bit down on her lip. "You were the first person to try and give me roots, and act on it. Even before we had thought about … us."

He closed his eyes, a smile spreading across his face. "I don't know if I would say 'before,'" he said playfully.

She rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean. You were able to get past my walls before I even realized it. Then, I tried to push you out. But … but it didn't work," she managed. She swallowed. "You don't realize how bad it hurt, that night. To lose you."

He grimaced. He didn't like thinking of anything beyond when he closed his eyes to lean into her a second time that night. He didn't want to remember the crushing pain in his chest, the instant recognition of what it meant, the hoarse screams he could only listen to. He grabbed her to him, meeting her lips fiercely, bringing himself solidly in the present. When they parted, he remained close. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Her eyes were closed, tears beading along the lash line. "I was mad at you for a while after. It was stupid, but I … I was angry and I didn't have anyone to be angry at. So I was angry with you."

He swallowed, resting his hand where hers had fisted into his shirt, above his heart. "I have it back, now. I don't know how, but it's not going anywhere this time."

She opened her eyes slowly, peering at him warily. "It was gone? Really?"

His lashes fluttered. He forgot that she was still ignorant of the curse when he left them. Finally, he nodded in response. "Sorry, I forgot … sorry. Yeah, it was gone."

Her breath hitched, and her face twisted into a mask of pain. "Was Henry right? Did she—did she take it?" Her voice cracked along the last words, her breaths panting as her anger rose. "Did she kill you?"

He hesitated. He didn't want to dwell on what happened, to make Regina's presence any more significant than it had to be. "Does it matter now?" he asked.

She pushed back, her expression fiery. "Yes, it matters. I left my son with that woman after it happened. He was terrified, but I was certain you died of natural causes because it's what I was told. I left him with a murderer, and he knew it."

"Hey, hey, hey," he said, taking her face gently in his palms. "You didn't know. And if you had tried to take him away then and there … well, I don't think it would have gone over well, to say the least. You did what you could. You broke the curse."

She made a strangled sound, trying to hold back her tears. "I should have known. I should have believed him. Believed you." Her eyes widened, and he could practically see the thoughts whirling in her head as she centered on one. Her face crumpled. "Oh, God, it was right under our feet. If I hadn't stopped you, we would have found it. I could have saved you."

He wanted to pull her into a hard embrace, but he also fears breaking their stare. His thumbs swirled across her cheeks. "I'm here now. Henry's safe," he whispered. He didn't know how to convey how lucky he felt ever since regaining his memories. "If I had gotten my heart that night, it wouldn't have ensured that I stayed alive. And maybe … maybe I wouldn't have come back."

She didn't look convinced, but her gaze was downturned as she considered it. "I wish you were there with me, though."

Gently, he tilted her chin up. "Maybe I was," he said, bringing one hand to slide off her face, tangling in the lace on her wrist.

She leaned forward, kissing him once again. "Dork," she declared, but then wrapped her arms around him more fully.

The door knob jangled before their lips met again, and they were aligned next to each other to greet Henry by the time the apartment opened.

XX

Two Days After the Return

"It looks too neat in here," Henry declared.

Graham looked up with a grin, taking Emma's hand. "Agreed. Where's the stack of papers my deputy never wants to sort through?"

Emma snorted, walking to the center of the office and widening her arms. "It's just too much space! It doesn't look like anything gets done. It's supposed to be a mess."

"The pitfalls of organization, I guess," David said dryly. "Now, I've got to meet with the midwife with your mother. You three okay in here?"

Graham nodded. "I think I remember the routine," he said.

David walked to his daughter, and Graham turned slightly to give them privacy. "I'll be back later. We—we should," David paused, sighing. "I'll talk with you later."

Graham gave a smile to David in goodbye, and the other man gave a half-hearted one in return. The door shut with a familiar click, leaving the three of them alone once again.

David really seemed to be in the middle of everything; co-governing the town, grappling with impending fatherhood and being a grandfather again, juggling Snow's willingness to forgive Regina with Emma's unwavering unwillingness, trying to soften Henry's fears, and dealing with Graham's mere presence … he understands the man has a lot on his hands.

But he also understands Emma's frustration. The friction between her and Snow has strained their relationship; where they were once great friends, there is now a gaping chasm between them. And David isn't one to choose sides between his wife and daughter, so that frustrates her further.

"How long has it been since you guys have both been here?" Henry asked absently, looking around the room.

Graham looked up, catching Emma's pained expression. Her eyes flick to the floor only briefly before she determinedly forced her gaze up. Her hands cradle her belly protectively. "Oh, it's been awhile. Want to help us look for the maps, kid?"

"Sure," he replied, going to one of the desks and immediately fiddling with the handle on the drawer.

Graham stepped close to Emma, brushing his hand over her stomach. "You okay?" he murmured.

"Fine," she replied shortly. "Let's just get this over with."

He pressed a kiss to her temple, and he felt her relax in response.

"Dad, can you help me with this one?"

He turned, finding Henry at his desk. He grinned as he saw him attempting to open the bottom drawer. "It's locked for a reason. Kept Regina out of it," he said. Then the riffled along the edge of the cork board, finding the key still hidden along there. "Here, open it," he said, tossing the key.

Henry looked at him curiously. "What's in there that you didn't want her to see?" he asked.

"Check it out," he replied warmly.

"What is it?" Emma asked quietly.

He grinned. "Just wait," he insisted.

Henry finally clicked the drawer open, bright construction paper revealed. "You … you kept them?" he asked, his voice soft.

"'Course I did," he said with a grin.

Henry sifted through the colored paper, a near-decade of notes in varied penmanship stacked neatly. Graham kneeled beside him, fondly looking over the letters.

"What is all this?" Emma asked.

"It's the stuff I gave Graham. Cards and things. I can't believe they're here," Henry replied, awe apparent in his voice.

"I appreciated them," Graham said, bumping shoulders with the boy.

"From during the curse?" Emma asked incredulously, picking up one of the pictures. Stick figures in an unpracticed hard scattered against the orange, a misspelled "Thanks Gram" over the edge.

"Mementos," Graham teased. His heart stirred as he looked through the stack, though. He recalled the times he had tried to be there for Henry, when Regina had prevented it. The fogged memories that had him trying and failing each year. They never had a chance to be close, not truly … but they tried.

Now, Henry was his son. Shared with many others, but his, too.

Henry leaned against him. "Thanks for showing me, Dad."

The warmth fizzled within him again, and he hugged the boy to him. "You made them, kid. Thank you."

Emma stood shakily, her eyes teary. "We should be finding the map, right? We need the plot of the woods and cemetary," she said tightly.

He rose and kissed her lips delicately. He knew she was specifically avoiding falling into an emotional whirl, not when there were important things on the line. "Back to the task at hand," he agreed.

She hesitated before agreeing, pivoting to the side. "Get your jacket," she said stiffly.

He turned, catching sight of his leather coat dangling on the edge of the rack. He reached out, fingering the sturdy edge of the cloth. "Some things don't change," he muttered.

"It'll be nice to see you in it again," she asserted, before moving forward and deeper into the office.

He looked over to Henry, who simply rolled his eyes. "She sucks at changing the subject," he said bluntly, then hopped into the chair. He busied himself with looking through the rest of the stack, immersed in this side of his childhood. His childhood in one life, Graham reminded himself.

Graham's lips quirked up and he pulled the jacket down. Curiously, he rummaged through the pockets. He sighed as his hand hit paper, and he pulled the envelope out.

Now was not the time to bring this up. There were things to do, mysteries to uncover. They've had enough nostalgia for the day.

He tucked the letter back into its place, but not before Emma had emerged with a set of blueprints and maps from the back. "What's that?" she asked.

He looked her over. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, a soft cashmere shirt draped over the curve of her stomach, her sea-shaded eyes bright even as her eyebrow curved upwards at his continued silence. Finally, he forced a grin. "Nothing. Are we set?"

"Dad's hiding something," Henry said though his teeth, a mock-whisper in sing-song that implied that he was in trouble.

He grimaced. "Nothing important," he amended. "We've got things to work on. And should we leave Henry with Red and Granny while we search?"

Henry immediately began protesting, and he hid a smile at the deflection. Emma's narrowed gaze showed that it hadn't worked completely. He sobered, eyes widening guilelessly. They really should work on such things if they were going to be raising another kid together.

"Yes, we don't want Henry with us while we're investigating potentially dangerous things about this stupid new curse." She raised a hand as Henry's mouth opened. "No excuses, kid. You're going back to Granny's." She paused, turning to him with an outstretched hand. "Now, let me see."

He reluctantly pulled the letter from the inside of his pocket. "It's silly. From before … it really doesn't matter," he protested.

She looked down. "It has my name," she said bluntly.

He nodded. "But really, we should be –"

"We have enough time. We're in no huge rush," Emma said, pulling the letter from his grasp. "If it's addressed to me, it's mine, right?" she said with a smirk.

He sighed. "Technically, yes, but—"

She shushed him, opening the envelope hastily. Graham turned; his cheeks flushed with warmth as he tried to busy himself with sorting through the blueprints left on the table. He couldn't concentrate on them, his mind focused on every shift of weight his wife took.

After a long moment, Emma straightened. She pressed a hand against his shoulder. "When did you write this?" she asked.

He felt himself warm, trying to hide himself from her inspection. "After the mines," he said gruffly.

Emma nodded thoughtfully. Carefully, she refolded the letter, creasing along the edges precisely before tucking it back into the seal. She looked down at it a long moment. "And you meant it?"

He wanted to say that he barely remembered the words he had written down so long ago. That he couldn't recall the ache that had built in his chest when he released her from his arms, that had imbued him with a strange self-awareness that forced the words from his pen easier than any before it. That he can't recall the personal introspection, the delve into her psyche that he just knew upon meeting her, that he was aware would frighten her just as much as he was certain it was true. That he couldn't remember his greatest wish … but that would be a lie.

He gave an embarrassed chuckle and rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah. I meant it."

She took the letter and smacked him across the arm with it. "This is an idiotic thing to put on paper and never have the intention of me reading."

Henry snorted in laughter from his place in the swivel chair. "What did you write, Dad?"

"Don't worry about it," he said, reddening further.

"Yeah, kid, don't worry about it," she echoed, but a smile was crossing her face. She leaned in, pressing her lips to his in a ghost of a kiss. "So that's what you meant by 'never got to say it in the first life,' huh?" she said under her breath.

He looked her over, brushing his hands across her face and resting on her stomach. "Maybe," he said, knocking their foreheads together. "Like I said, not words for a letter."

She hummed an agreement. "Guess not." She gave him a deeper kiss, pulling him closer. "But I'm keeping this," she declared.

"Another memento?" He grinned, fingers trailing across the shoelace on her wrist. "I could live with that."

"True love stuff, huh?" Henry asked.

Graham turned, catching the boy's eager expression. The kid was never going to be like other boys his age, not caring about the mushy stuff his parents did. Things like this gave him hope, something he no longer needed to cling to, but something he needed to remain … Henry. It was too much to show the boy, but Graham could at least agree. "Yeah, true love stuff."

"Cool," he pronounced. He shifted a card out of the stack and stuck it in his pocket. "Some good memories for this life, at least."

Graham stepped forward and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "Both are real. Both had their good moments. And we're going to have more of them. Right?"

"Right," Emma and Henry said in unison.

"Lots more," Emma asserted. "Now, let's get to breaking this curse, shall we?"