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Title: Advice Over Drinks
Rating: T
Summary: Graham can't sleep, and Killian has nothing better to do than listen.
Note: Set after It Was For Us and Chiaroscuro, that evening. Prompted by lessawildmoon, "I would love to see some interaction between Graham and Hook in RH, them coming to an understanding and possible pre-friendship."
He looked into the shallow glass, the amber liquid sloshing back and forth as he swayed his hand thoughtfully. The warm, sharp smell of the whiskey traveled upwards, and he inhaled lowly, blowing out a hissing breath through his teeth.
He didn't want the drink.
He had assumed the liquor would mellow him out, calm his nerves. He was still on edge, his every muscle tensed and poised to fight, even with the desired targets outside of his reach.
He hadn't had a drink since before his wedding day, a promised deal to Emma for the duration of her pregnancy. She had simply rolled her eyes at it. She had gone along with the deal regardless, though, until he had returned from his search with David that afternoon. She had all but pushed him out of their room, insisting that he take a moment to unwind.
She had looked completely separate from how she had been after speaking with her mother, more at ease and comfortable as she peered at him sleepily beside Henry. He, on the other hand, had been restless, and that was the main reason he had left his wife and son in peace. He didn't want to disturb them.
But as soon as the whiskey was set in front of him, he felt a resounding 'no' shoot through his head.
It would be easier if he had the guys to drink with. There had been an easy camaraderie among the 20th, even amongst the separate departments. He had collected a good amount of drinking buddies in his career, even more when he finally met Simmons' wife and Andie had taken him under her insistent wing. It had been simple to forget all that he had been before around his coworkers; in New York, he had simply been Detective Humbert, a personable man with an Irish brogue and a tolerance to match.
Here, with a werewolf behind the counter and a dwarf two booths over, the realities of his situation crept back in. He wasn't a detective; he'd never even had any formal schooling in the other world. He had never known Ireland; his accent instead spoke of the edge of the Northern reach of the Enchanted Forest. He had never been personable; his only family had been his brothers, and he had been scorned and mocked because of his allegiance to them. And while his tolerance was just as high, he couldn't begin to think of dulling his senses with Regina so close by, even tucked away in her ill-gotten mansion.
He already felt weak enough after realizing how badly he would fail if he tried to go after her. He didn't want to add inebriation on top of it.
He was contemplating leaving the diner and trying fruitlessly to sleep when Killian slid into the booth across for him.
The other man's kohl-lined gaze was knowing, his good hand coming to rest on the table between them. "Pleasant returns, I assume?" he asked wryly, pulling his flask from the inside of his leather coat.
"Peachy," Graham replied with a sigh. "You getting along well?"
"Do you remember me?"
Graham turned to the second interruption, and was met with dark eyes. He traced features for a moment, memories clicking into place. He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could her palm connected with his face with a sharp crack.
"Why couldn't you just stay dead," she hissed, then spat at him before turning and leaving just as quickly as she entered, almost skittish despite her previous bravado.
Killian's eyes were wide as he watched her exit. "Making friends, Huntsman?"
The name coiled within him, his stomach clenching with pain. He grimaced and pushed away his drink, feeling even sicker than he had before.
Just like every victim he had accumulated in the Enchanted Forest, her face was imprinted within his soul. Yes, he remembered her. He vividly remembered Regina's orders against his heart to execute the deserter and "anyone else in his home." He remembered giving the man the quickest death he could procure, and then training his arrow on the widow, holding himself back for as long as he could, until she had run past the property line and the command stopped echoing in his mind.
How he could have ever expected that he could move on from those feelings of guilt, he didn't know anymore. At least not with the full force of those memories in action all around him again.
This was exactly what he was afraid of in returning to this town of fairytale characters.
"Here," a voice spoke, and he turned to find Granny's sympathetic look.
He took the offered towel and wiped his shirt solemnly. She offered no words of apology, but the gesture in itself spoke volumes.
Her eyebrows rose as she took in Killian next. "You can't drink that in here, bucko," she warned, spying his conspicuous flask.
Graham watched as Killian's entire face transformed, a flash of teeth in a disarming smile. "Of course not, love. I'll just finish his. He wasn't going to have it, am I right, mate?"
Graham blew out a breath, resisting the urge to scoff. He pushed the glass with a clatter across the table. "Go ahead."
The older woman narrowed her eyes at the pirate as he pulled back a quick swallow, then turned back to Graham with a soft expression. "You need something else, hon? I can get a pastrami heated for you."
Graham looked up, a strange sort of warm surprise overcoming him that she remembered his usual lunch order from a lifetime ago. He swallowed, and gave a grateful smile. "Thanks, but I'm fine."
"Fries, then," she insisted. "I'll get you some, and a coffee, too."
He began to protest, but she left before he could get a word out, leaving him stuttering. He sighed. Coffee had been nixed, too.
Maybe he could make an exception tonight. There was certainly no way sleep was in order.
"You looked stunning even before that display. Things not working out yet?"
He pulled a hand across his jaw and shook his head. "No leads," he confirmed, even if that wasn't the worst part of the day. Still, he took the opportunity to change subject. "Think you can point us all in the right direction?"
"I'd like to, mate, but I wasn't privy to the curse-casting ins and outs this time. I'll help where I can, though."
His eyes were shadowed, and barely held his own as he spoke. Instead, they lingered on his ring finger, the symbolic piece of metal that fit across there. Graham set the towel down and then self-consciously spun the ring. Finally, Graham nodded. "I'm sure it'll be needed."
Killian let the glass scrape along the table and gestured to him with his hooked hand. "If there's nothing to be done now, Huntsman, why aren't you with your … your family."
He tensed slightly at the choice in name once more before finally focusing. "They're asleep. I couldn't."
"Aye, insomnia is one of the stronger symptoms of this place, I'd wager." He swallowed what was left in the tumbler. "Surprised I'm getting away so lightly with dragging the lot of you back to it."
Graham rolled his shoulders, eyebrows knitting as he considered it. A headache loomed behind his temples, but he couldn't exactly blame this man for it. Emma was, perhaps, a little more resentful, but only because she couldn't place her blame anywhere else. "Being that you had nothing to do with the curse, I don't see how we could have rightfully been worse to you. Emma deserved this chance, anyway … to see her parents." To protect her parents.
"A lot of good that's doing her right now, from what I hear," he replied. "Word travels fast around here, especially word of the royal family arguing with one another."
He raised his gaze, settling on cool blue. "Them arguing doesn't negate their love for one another."
Killian bobbed his head, using a finger to signal Red to his empty glass. "Not my place to question it, anyway," he grumbled.
Granny set the promised plate and mug in front of him, studying him carefully from behind her wire-rimmed glasses. Dutifully, he lifted the mug to his mouth in placation, taking a small sip. The bitter liquid was familiar and soothing, despite the flare of guilt that rose within him. She gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze before moving away.
Once Killian's drink was refilled, he used his hook to gesture to him. "It's pure luck we never ran into each other back then, you know. I've bartered deals with, and even killed, many a Black Guard."
"Lucky for me, then," he replied darkly.
He remembered hearing of Claude's death, the pirate that had killed him. He recalled the resentful feeling that rose within him once he heard, the post only having been changed a day before due to Regina sending him off on another mission. He lived with the morbid knowledge that in that other world, he would have been grateful for the reprieve from that miserable life.
Hindsight put things into perspective, though, and he indeed felt thankful fate had only made them cross paths now.
"So I know, then, how to distinguish between her guards. Those differences in the men who were loyal to her, to those with … higher stakes, let's say?"
"What's your point?" he asked flatly.
"My point," he said sternly. "Is that her Heartless Ones shouldn't feel responsible for things they didn't wish to do."
He swallowed, his grip on the mug strengthening. "I don't—" he paused, fighting back another swing of nausea. "Please, just don't."
Killian sighed. "Just trying to put things in perspective, mate. You aren't that person anymore."
"Aren't I?" he murmured. He shook his head. "Just because it's in the past, doesn't mean that it's forgotten. Obviously." He rubbed his reddened cheek thoughtfully.
"You can dwell on what you were made to do, or you can focus on what you're doing now."
He felt something tight flit across him. "I have three lives in my head right now, and they all play their part. It's not as easy as you're trying to make it."
He nodded. "Aye, I agree with you there. But sometimes a reminder helps, now and again. Fortunately for me, I never had other lives shoved into my head. I would suppose that would mess with the mind a bit, though there are definite advantages to your situation."
"Are you talking about my memories right now?" he asked wearily. "That because I have them, I could just forget or something?"
"No, but it helped other things along. Being the hero of the piece certainly helped your favor."
Hero. That didn't sit well with him, and he shifted uncomfortably. Before sparing Snow, he had been convinced he would follow through with the order. He had never killed anyone unprovoked before, but he saw her just the same as he did the stag – a way to keep his brother alive another day. If he hadn't read that letter, he would have done it, wouldn't he have? "I was no hero," he finally said, feeling that fact as clear as any other truth he's given.
The other man rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say, mate. The book says Snow White wouldn't have lived another day had it not been for you. That choice brought about your reward."
"Reward?" he asked, recoiling at the term, unconsciously covering his heart.
"Your family, Huntsman," he said, but wasn't completely able to diminish the bitterness in his tone.
He raised a hand with a wince. "It's Graham. Please. They're not a reward for services rendered, Killian." He bit back the bile at simply the thought.
"Aye, well, I've made my peace with the fact that villains such as myself aren't fit for happy endings," he replied tersely.
"From what I hear, you were more anti-villain at your worst." He shook his head and rubbed his temples. "I don't want you holding onto any resentment if you're going to be working with us. And I mean all of us, even the town. Divided allegiances can't be—"
"Divided?" he asked incredulously. "I have my allegiances, and they include about one other person in this whole mess besides your wife, and he trusts me about as far as he can throw me. But even he'd be on your family's side before anyone else, present company included," he muttered.
He looked at him blankly for a moment before blinking. "Neal. You're talking about—you know where he is?"
Killian shook his head, a grimace set across his features. "No. And it worries me."
Graham tried to hide his shock at the easy admission, but wasn't quite sure he managed. "You're right. He should have shown as soon as everyone knew Henry was back."
Killian nodded, looking grim. "Even her return should have warranted his reappearance."
"You can say her name, still, you know."
He shook his head. "Best to keep the distance, even in my mind."
Graham clenched his jaw before pulling the mug close. "If you want to help, I just think we should get it out in the open."
He huffed, the fingers of his good hand scrunching open and closed. "What's to get out there? The fact that I thought I had found a connection and lost it before it could ever be anything else?"
He nodded. "That'd be a start. A connection doesn't have to mean one thing. What's to say that couldn't translate to friendship just as well as something else?"
He was silent a moment, fiddling with the glass. "The first time I had started to feel anything for someone other than my Milah, the first time in 200 years. And then when I claw back to this land, I return to find she is wearing your ring and carrying your child. It was a shock, and it likely shouldn't have been. I'm trying to bow out gracefully, here."
He swallowed down the corrections he wanted to make. Our ring, our child. The possessive pronouns didn't settle well within him as it still felt too close to his earlier assumption. However, he knew it wasn't what he should be concentrating on. "By ignoring her?"
"By not getting close again. I'm trying to reconcile it, the living without hope again."
"Without hope," he echoed in a murmur. "You were able to let yourself feel again, and now you're closing yourself off to it? Take it from someone whose desensitization wasn't a choice: feeling again isn't a burden. It's a relief, even when it's painful. It means you can feel for other things, at least eventually."
"From what I find, you feel for the same thing," he grumbled.
"Yes," he admitted. "But it also opened it up for others. In the first life, I didn't have any human that I could care for in the way that I do even my friends in this one."
And there it was. He let his own realization wash over him, let his present extinguish the flames of self-revulsion of his past. He knew he'd never be able to escape it, but while Killian's advice was simplistic, it wasn't wrong. More than anything, he wanted to pull Emma and Henry into his arms at that moment, to have the solidness of his current reality to ground him.
Killian peered at him warily, and then a small smirk crossed his features. "You are something else. You're trying to push a friendship between your wife and the man obsessed with her?"
"I wouldn't have guessed that 'obsessed' was the right word," he replied, and knew that to be closer to the truth than what the pirate was trying to allow. He didn't doubt he cared for her, not for a second. But obsession was laced with darker emotion, possession and jealousy. While there may be envy marked within this man, there was also the resolute decision to let Emma make her own choices, without a fight. "If distance is what you really need, then take it. But half-assing it won't make things easier on you or her."
He gave a dark look before peering into his drink. "I'm trying to be of use."
"Exactly," he replied. "You're of better use when you're not trying to ignore Emma. I'm not her keeper, Killian, and I'm not your go-between. You need to settle things, in whatever way you can."
"And here I thought I'd be the one doling out advice," he said wryly. He gave an assenting nod, however. "Your point is well noted. I will try to be better, as long as you don't bury yourself into a hole of self-pity. Emma doesn't deserve that, either."
Graham felt a stab of regret, nodding mutely. He was right, of course. Emma didn't deserve a lot of the things his past and memories tied him to, the things he couldn't get over, the flashbacks that still occasionally plagued him. She already had the weight of the world settled on her shoulders, the title of Savior attached to her back like a scarlet letter. He had to bury those feelings. He needed to be better about—
No. He abruptly stopped his chain of thought, remembering that promise he made to Emma that she had actually cared about. Don't close yourself off. Together. They had to work through everything together, or else there was no point.
"I'll talk with her about it," he finally said resolutely.
Killian nodded. "Deal, then."
He took the offered hand, a promise made easily. At the very least, he knew they both would support Emma. Emma needed all the support she could manage to navigate through the mess that was this situation, so it was the best he could have hoped for.
An ally that helped keep things in perspective … well, that was just a bonus.
Later, as the clock tower inched closer to three, Graham finally slipped into bed beside Emma. He was unsurprised to feel her turn, clear eyes opening to meet him. Insomnia indeed was prevalent. "Better?" she asked.
He entwined their fingers together, watching as their palms connected. He was surprised to find himself nodding. "Not great, but better. We'll talk later."
She sighed, and laid her head over his heart. He automatically pulled her in close, their hands resting over her stomach. She took in a deep breath, then cocked her head to the side. "I miss the coffee more, you know."
"Granny's orders. And Killian took my Jameson."
She looked up at him curiously. "Seriously? Hook took a whiskey over rum?"
He was silent a moment. He pulled his free hand through her curls, watching them smooth down with a small smile. "He was being a friend."