Title: A Bond That Was Always There
Summary: Even as the suspicions crept up on her, it still couldn't prepare her for the sight.
Note: Three days after their memories were restored. Prompted from Guest on ffnet: "Can we pleeeassse have Emma come home to her men working on said make-up assignment? Pretty please?"
Her brow furrowed curiously as she landed on the floor after the single flight of stairs. She was already feeling lost without Graham's hand on hers, guiding her through the confusing twists. She hadn't paid too much attention, the night she'd been there; she had been focusing more on the cut on her brow and the playful tone he'd been using.
She had never been to these units in the daylight. They were well outside her particular brand of criminal bail jumper. These were for hard crimes: Special Victims, Homicide, and, of course, Cold Cases.
She had just dropped off some paperwork she had borrowed from Surveillance down in Central Robbery. It was after a short day at Anderson, so Henry had tagged along as he often did on these days. He had been rather restless, so she had sent an enthusiastic Henry up a floor to meet Graham. She had trusted him to find it, especially in this wing that seemed constantly covered in officers.
It was unusual territory for her, though. The floor was just as nondescript as the one she had been on, departments sectioned off almost arbitrarily. She had thought she'd reached the right one twice, only to be mistaken. Finally, she saw the doors marked appropriately, and stepped inside.
The place wasn't exactly bustling. Detectives were crunched over computers and casefiles, mumbling into phones or huffing near the water cooler in the corner.
But no Henry. And no Graham.
Finally, a dark haired man crinkled the wrapper on his sandwich, casting a confused look. "Can I help you?" he asked.
She gave a cautious smile. "Sorry, this floor's a little confusing. This is Cold Cases, right?"
The detective bobbed his head up and down before tossing his trash in the circular bin. "Yeah, you'd think they'd have put all us Fugitive Enforcement on the same floor. Not an intuitive station, I'd say," he grumbled, like he's used to the complaint.
Emma coughed, glancing around again. "Yeah, I was looking for Gra—Detective Humbert?" Her words tripped under the unfamiliar title, inwardly chuckling at it. It has been a long while since she's called him Sheriff, but nonetheless, it is alien to call him "detective" now.
The man's dark eyes flicked over her form before a smirk set on his face. "Humbert, huh? So, you must be Emma?"
An eyebrow rose as she looked at him. "Must be. You seen my kid?"
He bobbed his head before grabbing his coffee mug. "I think so. Anderson, right?"
Emma felt a flush of warmth in the pit of her belly, a realization of how much Graham must have spoke of both of them before the curse broke. "Yeah, Anderson."
The man's serious face broke into a wide grin that changed his whole demeanor. "My kid goes to Anderson, too. Fourth grade, though. Leo Simmons," he said, extending his hand to her.
She shook it, nodding. "Nice to meet you. So, Graham is …?"
He ignored her, plowing through. "Minimum days, right? My own's off with the ex, but she's also a little young for this place."
"Henry knows enough to be mature, here," Emma replied defensively.
He held up his hands. "Hey, not scolding. Besides, Humbert wouldn't let him get into too much trouble. Already pretty attached, I think."
Emma looked down, letting a grin finally spread across her face. She knew he was pretty attached, but to hear it from his coworker was definitely solidifying.
"You know, some loud young thing down at Prohibition said you were good people. Hope so, considering how keeled over Humbert is."
Her eyes shot up and immediately narrowed. She wouldn't stand by as someone insulted her friend. "Excuse me? Who are you to call Andie—"
He raised his hand, showing a band around his left ring finger. "Husband. Nice to meet you."
The rush drifted out of her in a huff, leaving only a spot of confusion. "Oh. Sorry."
He bobbed his head. "I really don't know where your kid is. Humbert said something about going to the basement, but I'm sure he didn't bring your son since civilians typically can't go down there," he said misleadingly. He turned and faced his computer.
"The basement?" she echoed. She shrugged, and turned toward the exit. Then, she hesitated. "Best way to get down there?"
"Oh, you know," Simmons began, brushing a hand through the scruff on his chin. "Down the third elevator, all the way to the bottom. Need a key to get in. Almost forgot I had this baby in my pocket. Wouldn't want it to get lost," he said, sliding it across his desk. Then, he turned his back on it.
"Thanks for your help, Detective," she said with a smirk, pocketing the key.
When she landed on the correct floor, she heard the muffled sound of gunshots. She turned down a hall to find a range, cadets and captains alike working on their form. But still no Graham, no Henry. She frowned, and turned down the next set of hallways.
Suddenly, a faint sound grew louder as she walked. It was soft, the sound of the air being cut before the muted sound of something being hit. A smile began tugging at her lips, a certainty coming to her as she made her way.
Even as the suspicions crept up on her, it still couldn't prepare her for the sight.
"See? That was much better. Next time, just remember to breathe. There's no pressure, here. You're just letting it go," Graham said, his hands tightening across her son's shoulders, turning them perpendicular to the target in front of him.
"Like this?" Henry asked, his brow scrunched as he aimed.
"Relax a bit. You're not being graded right now. Pretend it's just an extension of you, not something foreign." Minor adjustments were made to his form, tiny encouragements in every touch.
She watched as Henry's body became less tense, pride seeping through her as he eased his grip from the white-knuckling she had noticed during his tests.
But what made her open her eyes a little wider was the quiet awe that Graham looked at Henry with. Her heart squeezed, feeling it almost burst with the realization of just how much Graham cared for her son.
It almost made her miss when Henry released the bow, the arrow landing in the red lines. "I did it!" he cried.
Graham gripped his shoulder fondly, a grin stretched across his face. "Great job! See, I told you you could!"
She sniffed and finally made her way into the room, announcing her presence. "That jerk Mr. Garret will be blown away," she said. Henry grinned and ran up to her, hugging her around the waist. She pressed a kiss into his hair. "Just like me," she whispered.
Graham was rubbing the back of his neck, looking sheepish. "Sorry, I probably should have asked first."
She shook her head, her eyes shining. "No, I asked you if you could help. It's fine … it's perfect, really."
"Does that mean we can still do Diablo night?" Henry asked.
Emma pretended to think for a moment. "I guess I told you we would once your homework is done. And this counts as homework."
Graham stepped back, but the smile didn't fall from his face. "I'll leave you two to it, then."
Henry's face, on the other hand, fell. "But—"
"No way, buddy. You've got to pitch in for pizza. And we need to buy another controller on the way home," she said.
Graham looked between the two cautiously. "A controller?"
"Yeah, it'll be boring if you just watch us," Henry countered, already catching onto the game Emma was playing.
He chuckled. "I don't know, I might bring you two down. I don't know much about video games."
"Payback, then. You teach me this, I'll teach you that," Henry insisted.
"You weren't going to owe me, Henry," Graham said fondly.
"All it means is that you're part of this," Emma cut in, her eyes steady on his, hoping he'd get her meaning. She watched as those dark blue irises changed, disbelief and hope lingering there. "And the Swan household requires video game usage."
He grinned. "Guess that's okay, then." His eyes gleamed as he collected the bow from Henry, and then tucked the arrows into the quiver. "But that means we go to Numero 28."
She scoffed. "Obviously, Celeste's pizza is far superior."
"Celeste's? No way," Graham teased, his eyes sparkling.
"I like Pete's," Henry chimed in.
"Pete's?" Graham and Emma said simultaneously, noses scrunched.
"Maybe a taste test's in order, then," Graham said with a shake of his head, pulling her close as he led them all back down the hall. "I think we'll need the amount anyway, if we're going to be teaching me."
"Fair!" Henry raced ahead of them, heading to the equipment desk with enthusiasm.
She leaned into Graham further. "Thank you," she breathed, pressing her face close.
He shifted, lips pressed against her forehead. "Just wanted to help the kid."
She smiled, lashes fluttering across her cheeks. "Yeah, I know," she murmured. She can't remember a time she'd felt like someone cared equally about her and Henry both, not in either of the lives sifting around her head. And she knew it wasn't because of her. This was just an evolution of something that was already there. "Just … thank you."
A blush began on his cheeks, only slightly covered by the stubble along his jaw. He chuckled. "We'll see how much you thank me when you're admitting that Numero 28 is the best pizza on the Upper West side."
"Never," she vowed with a grin.
She couldn't remember the last time she had smiled this much, either.