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BossLady (x2): I didn't like the direction they went with Hook, but I'm trying to meld that portrayal in here. I'm glad it's working for you! And you know I love my fluffy NY friends. I have another Andie chapter hanging around in my drafts, but I'll need to get more Ritu and Gia and Maggie in there. :)
Title: The Good With The Bad
Summary: Graham and Henry talk about the past.
Author's Note: A few weeks after they regain their memories, definitely pre Storm. The other half of Gremma Shoelace's prompt "Graham, Emma and Henry discuss the curse and Regina etc. after getting their memories back." Also a fulfills a few requests for Hunted-Believer-daddy!Graham interaction. There is some anti-regal believer stuff going on here, too.
Graham walked over to the open door and rapped on the frame a couple times. "Hey, kid," he said hesitantly. "Sure you don't want something?"
Henry barely looked up from the book in his hand, giving a despondent half-shrug. Graham's furrow deepened, worried at the usually upbeat kid's low mood.
"Well, if you need anything, let me know. I'll be in the kitchen, and your mom will be home in a couple hours," he offered.
It wasn't an unusual day. In the few short weeks since their memories returned, they had all latched on to each other both intangibly and concretely. Graham was already on Henry's fancy school's paperwork, allowing him to pick him up as summer school let out. His coworkers already knew and doted on the sweet, polite kid that was attached to his hip. He already knew the routines Emma and Henry had made for each other, and they had helped him integrate right into them.
This had become a normal thing: he and Emma taking turns picking up Henry from school, making dinners together, hanging out as a … as a family. The boy had been open and even affectionate with him, short embraces and playful nudges given freely.
Something within him, that fairytale character whose only family had ever been the wolves, was still surprised that he was able to fit so well into these human routines. The other two lives helped bridge part of the gap, and the two people completed it. It was easy when Emma and Henry were involved.
Easy, that is, except for today.
Ever since he had picked Henry up, the boy had been silent. He could barely cajole two words strung together from him. This was not at all what he'd come to expect.
"Graham?"
It was almost pathetic how quickly he turned to the tiny voice. Henry picked at the edge of his book nervously, still not meeting his eye. "Yeah?"
"Do you know how you came back?" he asked.
Graham grimaced and he rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. The past weeks Emma and he had come up with theories regarding his unexpected resurrection, but there was no proof to any of them. They were all educated guesses, wonderings … he knew it made Emma anxious. "I wish I did, Henry."
Henry swallowed visibly, and his head drooped further. "Then … then how do we know you get to stay?"
His heart, the one he still couldn't believe lived in his chest, plummeted. Cautiously, he entered the room, approaching the boy in a wide arc. "Henry … Henry, look at me."
Slowly, his gaze lifted. Hazel eyes swam with a sheen on unshed tears, building and receding as he attempted to tamp his emotions. Graham's stomach twisted to see it.
He felt a little frozen, unsure how to comfort him this time. The fear was real and palpable, and he would be a liar if he said he didn't share it on some level. "Henry, nothing is ever going to be certain. People can leave at any time, for any number of reasons. We just … have to be open to what we have now," he said, stumbling a little. He did believe his words, though, and he hoped Henry could see that.
"My mom … my other mom killed you," he said flatly.
Henry knowing was a punch to the gut, winding him as he stared with wide eyes. There was no question in that statement. None at all. It was pure, concrete fact. It sounded like something that Henry had been holding onto for a long time. Just after the curse broke, he'd had to explain to Emma what happened. But this … this wasn't that. This was Henry seeking confirmation for what he already knew.
He gave up on being cautious and sat next to him, falling heavily on the bed. He stared at the wall, trying to collect his thoughts. Finally, he looked over at the boy. "Did your mom … Emma … did she tell you?"
He shook his head and flicked the book to the ground carelessly. "No. I knew back then," he said.
The sour tone was unnatural coming from Henry's mouth. Graham ran a hand across his jaw as he considered how to broach the topic. "I won't lie to you," he started slowly. But I don't want to burden you, either. He reached out and placed his hand on his shoulder. "Yes, she—she did do that. But I'm here now, and my heart's back."
Henry looked at him curiously. "You do have it back?"
Graham gave a small smile. "Yeah, it's there. It's real. I can tell because I can feel for more than just you and your mom."
His brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
Graham let out a breath and considered it. "Well, I mean I can feel angry at the criminals I'm investigating, sad for the people—"
"No, no, I get that," Henry cut in. "And I get why you could feel with Emma: she's your true love. But you could … you could feel around me?"
Graham's eyes softened, and then bounced across the boy's face. He used the hand on his shoulder to squeeze gently. "Yeah, I could. Not much, but … but first it was just that I could worry about you. It wasn't until later that I noticed all the things, the little bubbles of emotion that would come up for you."
Henry's look was indiscernible before he took a shaky breath. "You cared about me?"
"Oh, Henry," Graham said, and couldn't stop himself from tugging him into a tight hug. "Of course I did. I still do," he finished hoarsely.
"She knew," Henry said into his shoulder, his voice thick with tears. "She knew that I knew, and she didn't care. She acted like nothing happened."
His lashes fluttered shut and he held him tighter, his hand instinctively making soothing circles across his back. He didn't know what to say to that. He remembered what she was like, and it wasn't altogether surprising that she would have pretended he didn't exist after she murdered him.
"She always did that. She always pretended like nothing happened. Even after the curse broke." He pushed back and away from the hug, his eyes red and wet. "She erased memories, whenever she did something I didn't like. She was going to kill everyone and take me away, and she wiped my memories. I don't understand; she said she loved me. Why did she do that? I don't understand!"
Graham pulled him back, letting him sob into his shirt once more. He didn't let on that half the reason he did was so Henry wouldn't see the disgust and fury that would be clear on his face. It was only half a story, though; pieces. He shook his head. "What do you mean?" he finally asked.
Henry gripped his shirt in fists, clinging hard to him. "There was a trigger, and she was going to let it kill everyone in town. She told me, and told me she was going to take me away. She said she wanted me to herself, that I wouldn't ever be hers if there were other people around. I told her how horrible it was. Then she took my memories away. I—I don't understand. I just don't understand." He dissolved into hard, hiccupping sobs once more.
Graham rested his chin on top of his head. "Hey, you're safe now. You're okay, and everyone else is, too. Take a breath, Henry, with me," he said soothingly, and then began to take slow, steady breaths as Henry attempted to match them.
This was familiar; this was something he could do. Touch and mirrored action was how he'd learned most things with no language between he and his family, and it was simple to use it here. He felt as Henry's wobbly inhales evened, but didn't stop the rhythmic pattern until he felt the boy relax.
"I know how things were back then. I know how it was for you even before Emma came. But now you have the other memories, too, the ones with your mom. They won't make the bad times disappear, Henry, but let yourself focus on the good ones. Tell me about your favorite memory growing up this time around."
"It's not real," Henry muttered.
"Of course it is, kid. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but just picture it, okay?" Graham replied, trying not to let the frown settle on his features.
He was silent a moment, his knuckles coloring as his hands loosened from the material of Graham's shirt. "Christmas Eve, with mom and Maggie. Maggie almost burned the whole kitchen trying to make stuffing, and the windows were open to let out the smoke."
"Maggie used to live with you guys, right?" he asked, gently steering him deeper into the memory.
Henry's nose curled. "Kinda. She had her own place, but she came to ours more often. She'd bring groceries and help out with mom."
"But not too good with cooking?"
Henry finally smiled. "No. She sucked. And it was snowing pretty hard outside, but there was a space heater next to the presents and mom had a really soft sweater. It was the first Christmas we could afford a tree, and we had decorated it in popcorn and paper stars. The whole house smelled like pine and burnt bread. And mom … she let me nap in her lap as we watched some old movie. And I didn't even care that I couldn't open anything yet, because mom felt … safe? I don't know," he mumbled.
Graham nodded, and began to resume slow loops on his back. "Loved?" he offered.
Henry nodded. "By her, and by Maggie. And Beth was coming later, and Ryan, too. And I knew they were bringing food, and more gifts, and that Beth would sneak me a candy cane before bed and Ryan would try to teach me how to wrap the gift he got Mags but only because he didn't know how either. But I liked that best, when it was quiet, and we were just … together."
Graham smiled, feeling his heart swell as he pictured the scene. His own memories were not half as well-adjusted at that, but something about the idea of curling into a parent and having that feeling of belonging inside you … he was infinitely glad Henry had such memories. "I'm glad you got that."
He sat up, looking into the distance as a slow smile crossed his face. "I don't even know if that's my favorite memory." He glanced shyly at Graham. "I guess I do have a lot of good memories now."
"Told you," he said, then knocked their shoulders together. "You've got a lot of people who love you, kid, and want to see you happy."
He wiped his nose with his sleeve. "She didn't want to see me happy, did she?"
Graham winced. "Henry …."
"No, it's okay. You don't have to make excuses for her," he said solemnly.
"Look," he said with a sigh. "I am not going to defend her on this. She should have been better for you. She wasn't looking to give you your best chance, not when she made you come to Storybrooke. She was so focused on her happy ending that she didn't see yours. So go ahead: be angry at her. That is well within your right. But remember that you're here now. She wasn't so spiteful as to take this life, this good life with Emma, from you."
"She didn't have much of a choice," he said.
He nodded. "From what I heard, I agree. This was her best option, and I know she wasn't counting on a lot of the things that we got from it. You don't have to be grateful for her. Be grateful for Emma, and the good life she provided for you. Your mom loves you so much, and now it's like you two were always together."
Henry's head bobbed in agreement, though he seemed to be lingering on some dark thought despite it. "Yeah," he said softly.
"You should talk about it with your mom," Graham gently advised.
"You're right," he said. He leaned against his shoulder heavily. "Sorry I got so upset."
"No," he said firmly. "Don't apologize for that. This is hard, Henry, and neither of us expect you to just get over this. Especially not on your own. Please: talk to us whenever you feel like this. Or to anyone."
He cocked his head to the side and studied him with a strange, soft expression. "Okay. Promise."
"I'll hold you to that," Graham swore with what he hoped was a sterner expression than the beaming one he wanted to give the kid. "Come on, wash up and then help me with dinner. You know your mom will be hungry."
"We could always have Ritu cook," Henry said, trailing behind him.
Graham turned back. "I think we need a dinner just us three today, don't you think?"
He ducked his head and then peered up with a smile. "Yeah. That sounds good." He rushed to the bathroom.
When Henry returned, his face was clean and he looked a little brighter. They worked in mostly silence for a few minutes as Graham handed him a few tasks for their meal.
Henry took a few quick peeks up at Graham as he worked, and Graham diligently pretended not to notice as the kid gained his nerve. Finally, he set down a colander. "I'm really glad you're here with us, Graham."
Graham stopped chopping only briefly, using a free hand to tug the kid close. "Thanks for letting me in."
Henry gave a small grin. "And thanks for caring."
"That," Graham said. "was not difficult. You're a pretty great kid, Henry."
He beamed at that. "I think you're pretty great, too."
Graham swallowed, trying not to let the words bleed into another emotional moment. The fact that Henry cared was a wholly humbling thing. Instead, he decided to lighten the mood. "Well, I guess I'll stick around, then."
"You better. Otherwise, me and mom'd find you."
He grinned. "Your family's pretty good at that, I hear. I guess it'll be safer to stay put."
Henry hugged him, and Graham held him for as long as he'd allow. By the time Emma came home to a full dinner, there was no more of the heaviness that started the afternoon.
At least for now, everything was right in their world again.