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Guest: Thank you! I'm so glad to have your support!

BossLady: Thank you, sweetie! Lol, and yes, Graham doesn't say a thing about it. He just waits for it to reappear when his beard gets too long. And you know I have a weak spot for Graham and Henry scenes, so they always have to be included.

LJ: Welcome! Thank you so much! I, too, believe they had true love (you can guess from my fics). I may be slow on the updates recently, but I am working on them! All the chapters are prompt based (well, mostly), so feel free to ask for anything in this verse!

Title: Everything Repeats, Doesn't It?

Rating: K+

Summary: Emma wonders if the past is doomed to repeat itself, and if she will ever be prepared for that sort of thing.

Note: Set after Storm, but before Emma's birthday. Skagengiirl's prompts: "One day Graham clutches his chest in pain" and "Graham and Emma have a huge a fight that almost leads to them breaking up." Also incorporates BossLady's "them talking about Emma's fears about Graham perhaps being force to leave her and Henry again." Somehow this turned from a fight to side character backstory to Emma development. IDEK, guys. It exploded on me. It's not exactly the fluffy NY scenes you all have come to expect.

"Did I lose you?"

Graham looked up from the papers to meet Emma's eye. His body shivered, and the room was slowly coming back to center. He worked on focusing back on the task at hand, pulling his mind out of the murkiness. "What?"

Emma's eyebrow arched. "Did I lose you?" she repeated. Her lips quirked up. "You look like you're about to fall asleep."

"No. 'Course not." He swallowed, trying to pull back from the strange wave of nausea. He coughed a couple times, trying to hold back the worst of it. "Wouldn't want you to have to work on this alone."

Emma rolled her eyes. "I don't need your help, detective. You just offered it." She stretched like a cat, limbs extending and joints popping as she pushed away another copy of the arrest report. She leaned over, resting her head against his shoulder. "He may have started in your department, but he's my case, now."

He chuckled, then grimaced. A burning tightened across his chest from the action, and he rubbed it absently. "For the time being," he managed to tease.

Emma snorted. She fit well into the crook of his arm, comfortable as she flipped through the report. Graham couldn't focus on his own, the pen in his hand held loosely as he tried to bite down the strange symptoms cropping up. The hair on his scalp felt too hot, sweat beading at his temples.

He looked down, the letters blurring. His throat was dry, but his stomach protested against even the thought of water.

Emma sighed, her pen scrawling loudly against the paper. "Where's the main file?"

He glanced around. "I'll go find it," he said. Carefully, he extracted himself from her. He rose, walking to the kitchen to where he vaguely remembers dropping the folder. His gait weakened, and he stumbled into the adjacent room, his vision fogging grey and black for a moment. Graham grasped the countertop, swallowing hard. The dizziness passed less quickly than last time, but finally he managed to steady his spinning head.

"Graham?"

He looked up, twisting a smile on his face. "Hey. Found the file," he stated, picking it up to brandish in front of her.

Emma's face was set on a frown, her eyes concerned. "You okay?"

"Me?" he asked. His palm rubbed against his chest, where the tightness in his lungs was worst. "Fine."

Her eyes dropped to where his hand was working, fear flashing in those sea-colored depths.

"Oh," he remarked, his hand dropping as if burned. He stepped to her a couple paces. "No, that's—"

Before he could get the words out, his body protested the movement. His legs felt jellied, weak as they collapsed under him.

Emma was frozen in front of him, the fear transforming into outright horror. He couldn't manage to reassure her as his eyes rolled back, black encroaching his vision until it enveloped him completely.

XX

He came back into consciousness to the sound of steady beats.

His head was throbbing, like the last time Simmons and McNab had challenged him to a drinking contest. The rest was different, though. His throat felt raw and scratchy, his lungs burning as he inhaled. He blinked to push back the fuzz of the headache and aching tiredness, and began to lean up.

"Get back down."

He looked to his right, finding Emma beside him. A Styrofoam cup was grasped between her white-knuckled hands, her eyes red and dry. Her voice was rough like sandpaper, grainy and tight.

His smile was less forced than it could have been at the sight of her, given his current state. "You get a number off that bus?"

She frowned deeply. "You're an idiot," she bit out. She crushed the cup in her hand and tossed it in the waste bin. She crossed her arms in front of her, staring at the ground with a blank expression.

He switched tactics, burying any further attempts at humor. He threw his head against the pillow, before finally getting his bearings. An IV was in the back of his hand, linked to a bag of clear fluid. His index finger was clamped with a probe, the wires lifting upwards to a monitor beeping out his vitals. His hand tugged over his face tiredly. "What happened?"

She brushed her hands over her arms like she was warding off a chill. "Upper respiratory virus, is what they said. But you're the idiot that hasn't been drinking any fluids, so you passed out."

He winced. "Oh," he said simply.

Her cool hands came down on his forehead, and he sighed pleasantly at the feel. "Still feverish," she murmured. But then she backed off, pacing to the window as quick as she was able.

She was folded into herself, and defensiveness was reading throughout her entire stance. She was trembling, just barely but enough that he could catch it. She looked sallow and grey in the bleached-out fluorescent light.

"Em?"

She shook her head. "I can't do this."

His brow furrowed. "Do what?"

She gestured wildly between them. "This! I can't—I can't see—" she paused, turning away. A beat passed, tensely. "I don't want to do this anymore."

He watched her carefully. "I'll drink more water, then."

"No," she said, and when she faced him her eyes were flashing. "No, they said you would have been feeling this for days and you said nothing. You didn't tell anyone, you didn't complain, you just – you just collapsed on my kitchen floor and you didn't let me know—"

Her breath hitched, a fist clenched against her mouth before her features pulled once again into a blank mask.

"Our kitchen floor," he corrected softly. He watched her in alarm as she looked sharply away, finally understanding. "Emma, don't—"

"No," she said firmly. "No more. I can't, I can't …."

… go through that again.

The end of her sentence hung heavy between them, unsaid but clear all the same. The space between them seemed a chasm, and he was leashed to medical equipment and illness while she was drifting away. "It didn't seem serious," he murmured. "I'm sorry."

"'It didn't seem serious'?" she asked incredulously. "Graham, you were so feverish and dehydrated that you passed out. You were acting strange all night, and you never said anything about it. You were clutching your heart, and then you collapsed, and it was … it was ….."

His hand sought out his heart, beating steadily in time with the machine pulsing away. He scrambled for a way to reassure her. "It's fine. It wasn't ever that, I swear."

Tears glassed her gaze before they were blinked away, just as quickly as they appeared. "What about next time? What if something goes wrong again?"

He dropped his gaze to the blankets, focusing on the scratchy feel of the cheap fabric. "I wasn't exactly raised to mention when things don't feel right," he said truthfully. "The exact opposite, actually."

He had had to be self-sufficient in the other world; it had been required for his survival. His brothers may have instinctively knew about injury and illness, and they only helped when it was truly needed. He never went about asking for help in the Enchanted Forest, even less so after he was recruited. If you told someone, it left you vulnerable. It was easier to hide the weaknesses and figure them out alone.

In Storybrooke, he had been no better. Not that the recycled days left him with sickness, but isolation was indeed prevalent. And on that last day, his fever had been blatantly ignored even around Emma.

She blinked hard, then nodded once. "I'm going to go. I'll get your things sent back to you."

His eyes widened as his stomach dropped. "You're really going to—"

"I'll see you," she said firmly, cutting him off. Her heels clicked loudly as she walked out, tension stiffening her body into a steel rail as she took a wide berth away from the bed. His face flushed with annoyed heat to see it.

"Do I even get a say in this?" he called out after her.

She paused in the doorway, her nails digging into the frame. A flash of something crossed her face, a slight twinge in her veneer. It was gone before he could name it. "What's the point?" she bit out.

He saw red for a moment, a feeling of both strong anger and strong fear mixing in his gut. It slashed through him even more than the illness boiling inside him. That she would give up this easily, over something so inane, was paralyzing. A creep of insecurity, in the deepest layer of him, ripped wide open at the callous words.

Not enough to fight for.

He had never been enough to fight for. Not for his parents, leaving him when he was too young to be alone with no explanation or memory to leave attached to him. Not for the townspeople, the ones he kept fed through winter turning a blind eye whenever he was attacked. Not for the royals, leaving him in Regina's clutches after he had saved them both, even after they captured her.

He remembered the hollow feeling that could have been anger when Regina reentered the palace after her imprisonment, the knot of almost emotion that spread through his stomach at the sight. That was the day that had solidified how expendable he was, no matter how hard he fought to be more.

But this was Emma.

Emma had made him feel like he mattered. Emma had cared, had comforted, had that shinning look whenever their eyes met. Together with him, they had magic enough to break through curses. Emma just weeks ago had turned bright eyes to him, clutching Henry's shoulder as he beamed, asking him to live with them as a family. Emma loved him, and had shown that time and time again through words and actions. Emma was his family, her along with Henry, and he couldn't let them slip through his fingers over something like this.

If she wouldn't fight, it meant that he had truly terrified her.

If she wouldn't fight, he would.

He attempted to rise, the sting of the IV and the returning vertigo the only thing stopping him. He wanted to rip the tubing from his veins, to storm after her, to press his lips against hers and remind her what they had, to are you really going to stop us over this.

But she was gone before he could even manage to get his body to catch up with his mind. His jaw clenched as he thought firmly to himself, she just needs some time. He was nothing if not patient. If he had to chip those walls back down stone by stone, he was up to the task.

They were worth it.

XX

Emma tried to slow her breathing once she had made it down the hallway. Her throat and eyes burned, and her heart was wrenching in the throes of what had just happened.

She didn't need this in her life. She didn't need people who hid things from her, leaving her raw and open to things she could have prepared for. She didn't need the flashbacks of Graham collapsing in her arms, of her furious shaking, of him never waking up. She didn't need the things she wanted, cared about, ripped out of her grip without any warning.

Not again.

She didn't need Graham.

She leaned against the wall, trying to temper the quelling storm within her. Her chest heaved, a panicky feeling climbing up her as she tried to focus her thoughts. It would be better this way. She could determine when they ended, rather than fate taking the choice from her. She had the control. She could sever the ties.

Her fingers played with the literal ties along her wrist, the shoelace that still bore down against her skin. It felt hot and itchy, reminding her that she hadn't been able to be rid of him even when he was dead. She stared at it a long moment. The smooth brown cord with its catches and grooves so carefully memorized had been a source of comfort for the six months after he died.

She played with the closure, toying with the idea of yanking the knot, letting the leather fall in a heap along the yellowed tile, letting it be swept up by some hospital janitor and tossed carelessly into the trash. She pictured it happening, and a tear slipped out from her careful mask. Could she do it? Could she remove every piece of him, knowing what they had? Knowing that he was breathing and real and alive mere rooms away?

"Mom!"

She looked up, forcing a smile on her face at the sight of her son. "There you are."

He barreled into her, and she hugged him tight. She was stung with the idea that his eyes were filled with pained tears. "Is he okay?"

She felt her resolve harden at the sight. Henry had been devastated when Graham died. She couldn't let him go through that again. It was for the best. "He's fine. It wasn't his … his—" She took a deep breath, steeling herself. "It wasn't his heart. He's just got a virus. You can say a quick hi, but you shouldn't get too close, okay?"

Shouldn't get too close had an unwitting double meaning, and she frowned as Henry raced to the room. She brushed her hands over her arms. Henry would understand, wouldn't he? He'd lived without him the same length of time she did; he'd been fine. She remembered how he had shook in her arms, whispering his fears for Graham, his wishes to be together, and her heart physically aches.

"You look a little shook up. You okay?"

She glanced up, meeting Emilia's concerned gaze. She forced a smile. "Yeah. Yeah, thank you, Emilia. I appreciate you taking Henry down here," she said.

It was strange; of all her New York friends, she and Emilia were probably the least close. Ritu was her neighbor, Gia a friend of a friend of Maggie's and her champion in terms of Anderson society, and Emma had been the one to bring Andie into the fold. But Emilia should have been a close confidant, being the closest in age and having also been a single teenage mother (until she had married her son's surgeon, that was). Still, they had never managed to be much more than distant friends.

Emilia's concern didn't waver at Emma's brush-off, however, and she clasped a hand against her shoulder. "You look like my dad when Michael was first in the hospital. Is Graham really okay?"

She nodded, tempering the flame of fear that ate through her gut as she pictured his fall once more. It was easily replaced with anger. "His own fault," she bit out. "He's sick, and dehydrated himself so much he collapsed."

Emilia shook her head. "You don't look like that's all, though. Did they find … something?" she asked worriedly, her face masking with empathy.

"No, God, no," she answered quickly. Emma stared up at her a long moment. Something about her concern, her warm presence, made her willing to speak up. "We broke up," she said simply, though her body shook as it was finally voiced.

Her eyebrows shot to her hairline. "What? When?"

Emma sighed, feeling her soul crushed down at the thought. "Just now. I can't be with someone like that."

Her face twisted. "Someone who gets sick?"

Emma winced, knowing she likely hit a nerve. Michael had been in and out of the hospital since he was born. "No, not like that. Someone who …," she trailed off, suddenly unable to speak past the sudden ball of nerves in her throat. She blinked rapidly. "I can't—"

Her hand gently touched her shoulder once more, and she guided her to the cadre of empty chairs in the waiting area. Once Emma had half collapsed in the seat, Emilia pulled out a water bottle from her purse. Emma took it with a wry smile; something about her preparedness reminded her of Mary Margaret a little.

"Who did you lose?"

Emma looked up. The phrase was so calm, so sure. She knew she couldn't go into explaining it to her. She couldn't exactly explain about the time Graham had collapsed in her arms, his eyes shutting, and his chest no longer rising and sinking, his heart no longer echoing along her palm. Couldn't explain the funeral that she had sat outside of, the misty grey morning that Graham was buried in a small plot just along the tree line of a forest that didn't exist on any map. It was difficult enough knowing about both lives; having to share the knowledge with people who didn't believe in magic was unfathomable.

Instead, Emma blew out a breath. "Who haven't I lost?" she said hollowly.

Emilia smiled tentatively. "Henry."

Her eyes snapped to Emilia's soft ones. "What?"

"You haven't lost Henry," she repeated. "And I know from experience that you can still have your child and fear every day that you will lose them. But that doesn't stop you from loving them, not for one minute."

"Of course not," Emma murmured. She had tried, but she couldn't tell Emilia that. When her face had tucked away into the hospital pillow, burying any sight of him … she had tried not to care.

"I tried," Emilia whispered.

Emma looked up at her sharply. "What?"

She smiled, but this time it was a little broken. "Michael was born, and everyone in that room knew something was wrong. Ever since that day, I have had to watch him fight. Now, it's fighting to physically be on the same level as everyone else. Then, it was fighting to live. I thought I could lose him at any moment in the beginning. So I tried. I tried not to love him."

Emma watched her steadily, finding the truth in her words. There was strength even behind the vulnerability, one she couldn't help admiring. "I know what that is," she admitted.

Emilia nodded. "Doesn't work, though. He fought his way into my heart, regardless. And if I had … if I had lost him, it wouldn't have been any different to losing him now. It would be the end of my world, either way."

Emma turned her face away, trying to fight the images the other woman was stirring. "What's your point?"

She sighed. "Jason is not Michael. But when Jason had his accident, when I almost lost him, I realized that there was more than one person that could make me feel like that: make me feel like my world was collapsing. It wasn't as strong as my fear for my baby, but it was strong enough to have me question everything. It made me realize how much I love him. And having him safe and healthy and with me is worth that fear."

Emma swallowed. "What if I can't get passed the fear?"

"You did for Henry," she said with a shrug. "You realize later how much easier it is to let people in once you've done it once before."

Emma bit down at her lip, realizing that she agreed. Once she had let Henry in, it was easier for others to squirm past her walls. Graham had been the first in that other life. In this life, it had been the social worker that took extra time with her case to the point that after her final visit, she showed up with groceries and her feet kicked up against the coffee table. Others had trickled in later, none so much as her boyfriend and family.

Suddenly, she had a thought. If she had another chance with her parents, would she be strong enough to take it?

A part of her screamed that it would be easy to take that leap, while the other half screamed in protest. Too hard. Too hard. Seeing Graham this evening on her tile had done that to her. She couldn't help the absolute terror that seeing those memories replayed did to her soul.

"Hey." Emma looked up, meeting blue eyes. "All I'm saying is don't make your decision tonight. I've seen enough of you two to know that getting some sleep and some time is going to be necessary before you make any firm changes."

"Maybe," Emma murmured.

"Do you love him?" she asked firmly.

Emma pulled a hand through her hair, sharply nodding.

It may be easier to say to him in this life, but that didn't make it any less hard to tell others. The heavy weight of their conversation required honesty at this moment, though. Her heart warmed and broke with the knowledge that she couldn't deny it, ever deny it. It would be like denying a part of herself.

Her soul was heavy with the understanding that she was attached to him, in a way she had long ago promised herself she wouldn't ever be attached to someone.

Her friend smiled. "Then you owe yourself that. If you decide to follow through, that's one thing. Just … don't let misery be your judge."

Her brow furrowed at the choice in words. Hadn't she read them somewhere before? She smoothed them out and cleared her throat. "You're right. Sleep would do me good."

Emilia patted her knee and rose. "Do you need me to take Henry for the rest of the night?"

She started to shake her head, then hesitated. "Maybe. He might be upset with me right now," she said. She hadn't thought of it before, but as close as Henry was to Graham, he might be upset with her for her rash action. "And I might need the time alone."

"Whatever you need."

XX

Henry had looked at her strangely before leaving. She wasn't sure how much Graham had told him, but apparently it was enough that she could identify a lingering hope in her son's hazel gaze.

Going to bed in an empty apartment shouldn't have been strange. Henry went on numerous sleepovers, and she encouraged them. She loved that he had such close friends. And Graham had only been living with them for a few short weeks.

But she found that she couldn't sleep with the stretch of empty space next to her in bed. The sheets even smelled like him, that clean, open smell that twined with the barest hint of pine and spice.

She pulled his pillow to her chest and stared blankly at the wall for long stretches of time, until the sky turned orange and pink in the early light of dawn.

XX

She didn't have to guess where he would be. She knocked on the Simmons' door before the sun had fully finished rising. It took a full five minutes before a bleary-looking Andie answered.

"Oh, you. Should have expected you this early," she said. She grabbed her by the elbow, tugging her outside the door a little. Her dark eyes were serious. "You're my friend, but he was my friend first. Don't screw with his head."

Emma wasn't sure if she wanted to burst into laughter or tears. The fact that he had someone to stand up for him in the same way her friends would for her … when would either of them have this much support in that first life? She pressed her forehead into her hand. "I think I've got my own on straight, finally."

Andie nodded. "Good. The apartment is small, so I'll drag Leo out of bed and go to breakfast. Have at it. But if you get to making up, don't have sex on my couch."

Emma looked at her in bewilderment. "Seriously?"

"Seriously," she scoffed. "Please. I know you two. And if you look this miserable less than 24 hours later, I don't have doubts about where this is going."

She grimaced, pushing back the bit of ire that wouldn't usually be the first reaction to her friend's bluntness. Andie disappeared before she could say more, and quickly reappeared with a stumbling Leo, dragging him out the door muttering rapid Vietnamese that Leo wasn't awake enough to respond to. Andie pushed her inside, the door clicking shut behind her back.

Emma lingered awkwardly in the foyer, before making the first couple steps into the apartment.

"You take enough time?"

She sighed, entering the living room completely. The coffee table was littered with tissues and meds and water. A deep green blanket was strewn across the dark grey couch that dominated the area, and he was right in its center. Graham's eyes were red-rimmed, his voice still hoarse with sickness. "Graham, what I—"

"I know how you are, Em. You don't have to explain it," he said slowly. "You just need to tell me how hard I need to fight for us."

She swallowed, her hands playing with the strap on her purse nervously. "I'm sorry I said there was no point." She had played her own words over and over in her head the night before, and she truly realized how harsh it had been.

He nodded, but she could still see the flash of vulnerability in his cobalt eyes. She knew she had hit a weak spot, had seen how the phrase had sucker-punched him the night previous. "You wanted to give up. I think I know why, but I need to hear it."

Emma felt her heart squeeze uncomfortably, her throat tightening in the threat of tears. "You didn't prepare me for it," she said.

His lashes flicked over his cheeks. "I know. I'm sorry. I really didn't think I had let it go that far." He looked up to meet her eye again. "But I can't always prepare you, Emma."

His honesty was cloying, sticking to those terrified parts of her. "I know," she said numbly. It was the reason she feared his job, his absence, his every breath in the knowledge of how suddenly it stopped in that first life.

"What I need to know," he reiterated. "Is how much that fear holds you back."

"Enough," she replied truthfully. "I'm trying not to let it. But I think it always will a little."

He seemed to take that in, a deep breath expelled. "Okay," he said, rolling the syllables into lengthening the word. "Does it stop us?"

She stepped forward, finally sitting next to him. She took his hand in hers, rolling it over to clasp their palms together. He was cautious, not curling his fingers inward to catch hers, but not stiffening either. "I've never been able to get rid of you from my mind. And I don't think it would be any easier to lose you if we were apart than if we were together." She raised her gaze, meeting his steadily. "I need you in my family."

His mouth parted, and his head bowed. "You're already that for me, Emma. You and Henry. Nothing would change that."

She rubbed her temple with her free hand, unconsciously strengthening her grip with the other. "I know that," she breathed. "I need what little is left of my family together. Will you stay?"

A smile quirked his lips. "Is that a real question?"

She chuckled, remembering his words from when they both received their memories. Just try and drag me from your side. "I'll try to be better about …," she waved her hand, trying to settle on the right word. "My issues. I don't want to be afraid all the time."

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "I'll try to help where I can. I'll learn to tell people when I'm not feeling 100%," he promised. "We both have our issues, Em. But I think we still work, even with them."

She huffed a laugh. "Yeah. Guess so." She shrugged. "I guess we just need to learn to … talk about it more. Not close ourselves off."

"Not my strong point, but you're right." He sighed, his eyes bright as he considered her. "I love you."

Emma smiled, finally relaxing somewhat. "I love you."

He leaned back, his face finally reading somewhat mischievous. "I would have fought."

She smirked. "I would have let you."

She realized that she wasn't kidding. She would have let him fight for her, for them, if she hadn't been the one to give in first. Her resolve yesterday hadn't been resolve at all.

She leaned forward, tucking her head under his chin, and let him surround her in his strong arms. "Andie won't let us have make-up sex here," she teased, even if the smell and heat of him was enough to comfort her in one simple move.

She felt more than saw him shrug. "Don't want you getting sick, anyway," he said. Then he feathered a kiss into her hairline. Then, softer, "I can't lose you, either, you know."

Her heart squeezed almost uncomfortably, and she nodded against his chest. His heart beat steadily against her cheek. "Yeah," she said. She looked up, studying his features. She blinked back a few tears and smiled. "But I've probably already caught your virus. So we'll have to take care of each other."

Graham brushed a thumb across her jaw, then dragged it over her bottom lip. "Teamwork," he mumbled, then sealed their lips together.

When they parted, she rested her palm against his cheek. "Let's go home."

He grinned, a beaming smile stretched wide across his face. "Yeah. Home." His fingers played along the lace at her wrist. "I think there's some soup in the cabinets, we got the meds here to take. Even got some time off work. Time to heal."

She bit her lip, then kissed him again. "Plenty of time to heal." And it's easier with you.