Title: The Way to Go Home
Summary: It had been shaping up to be a quiet night ….
Note: After they've moved in together, before that first fight. Just a bit of fluff. Tina0609's request of "In the chapter where Graham is in the hospital you wrote about him having a headache like his colleagues challenged him to a drinking contest. I actually would really love to read that if you wrote it. Or more like him coming home to Emma afterwards. Mostly because I think a slightly drunk or tipsy Graham would be all cuddly and Emma would act annoyed but secretly loving it to take care of him and teasing him in the mornings." and an anon's request of "Since you're "a little tipsy": slightly more tipsy Emma or slightly more tipsy Graham, please?"
Emma rubbed the back of her neck and rolled her shoulders. Her legs were curled up underneath her, a half-full wine glass at her side. Her laptop screen scrolled past the last of the paperwork that needed to be filled out for the jumper, nearly completed now.
It was getting late, or rather early. Two had come and gone, and the city that never slept was somehow more silent than she'd heard it in a long while. Henry was at Michael's for the night, and later today the boys would show up and Emma would take over the sleepover festivities. But that wasn't for another ten hours or so. Graham had been working late at the office, and had checked up a couple hours ago to say that he'd be home even later than expected. The case was a hard one, she knew, and it had made the entire department on edge whenever she'd visited in the last week.
So, she was not expecting the distant sound of singing.
Her eyebrow quirked up, and she leaned back. She pushed the lid of the computer down. It was getting louder, and she chuckled inwardly as she realized why.
She rose to the door as the chorus of slurred sound increased in volume, and she slid the deadbolt off. She poked her head out the door and looked in the direction of the elevators.
Leo was the first one she saw, stumbling into the corridor with a grand sweep of his arms. He looked disheveled but was also beaming. He grinned as he saw her and held out a hand. "Everybody!"
The song began again, one she vaguely recognized from Jaws. It was near indiscernible in the tuneless, drunken hands of the 20th precinct. Surprisingly, she couldn't make out an Irish-lilted voice amidst the crowd and part of her felt a slash of insecurity.
Before it could fully establish, they rounded the corner, and her boyfriend's eyes lit up clearly at the sight of her. He grinned up at her from the middle of McNab and Garcia, with Strode and Lightly on either side of them. In the back, looking as sullen as ever, Lazo glared silently. Her hands were gripped on two of the men's shoulders, bracing them upwards. "Get your keys, Humbert," she grumbled, and gestured to her bag with a purse of her lips.
He leaned back and scooped them out, then pitched forward towards Emma. He caught her around the neck, and Emma stumbled to catch him. "Missed you," he murmured. His voice was thick and warm, a sour note hanging on his clothing from the liquor.
She rounded her arms around his waist with a sigh as his tall form collapsed to negate their height difference. He melted like candlewax, forming into her exactly being melding into firm edges, all clumsy joints and loose muscles.
She looked up at Simmons who simply shrugged. "Hey, I stopped at five. But McNab wanted to see if he could drink him under the table."
McNab's head shot up at the sound of his name. At 6'5 and thin as a rail, he swayed like a life-sized Gumby. Two fingers waved insistently. "Missed by two, two! I demand … I demand a rematch!"
Lazo scowled and pushed him forward. He groaned, groping against the wall for support. "I don't care how many cases your department collabs with ours, bobo, I am not dragging you through six blocks of 'Show Me the Way to Go Home' ever again."
"C'mon, now, you didn't even get to see his little strip show," Strode slurred.
"Oh, God," Emma said with a shake of her head, noting Lazo's clear disgust. Graham nudged his forehead into her jawline, softly nuzzling her, and she fought against her typical inclination to his signs of affection.
A nearby door unclicked, and a sleepy Ritu joined their little hallway party. "What…?"
"I am so sorry," Emma said with a wince.
Her neighbor merely raised one brow as she took in the scene.
Lazo's face was flat, and she raised her purse above her head without missing a beat as Garcia grabbed for it. Lightly had turned his back and was loudly shushing the group between giggles. Strode was loosening his tie with a suggestive wink. Simmons was busy conducting the next verse in his head, his body swaying with the tune. McNab was loudly swallowing in the corner, holding back from what Emma knew with certainty was him getting sick.
Graham was still oddly quiet, his hands splayed over her back and gently pulling her in closer. Emma gave a small, apologetic smile. "I'll make some extra strong coffee tomorrow. Come by."
"Not before eight, mkay?" Ritu replied. She looked particularly amused as the door was shut behind her, not a word of reprimand spoken.
Lazo took two collars, and then attached McNab back to the chain. "Just four more stops," she said crisply, and turned back toward the elevators.
Simmons bowed, then stumbled backwards a few paces. "Good night, my dear," he said formally, then snorted back a laugh as he ran after the rest. "On land or sea or foam!"
"They haven't had the right key all night," Graham mumbled into her neck, then pressed a kiss into her skin.
"Poor baby," she mocked. "Let's get you to bed."
He simply nodded, leaning his weight into her as she fumbled with the door. She pulled him inside with a sigh. He made a low whine of protest at the sudden increase in brightness, and she clicked off the main entry light so that only the glow from the kitchen remained.
"Water, Graham. You'll need it," she advised. She poured him onto the barstool, but his hand sought out hers and clung tightly. She chuckled. "I'll need that."
He leaned his head on the counter and peeked up at her. She took a moment to consider how boyish he looked, all clean-shaven with half-mast eyes and messy curls. She bit down on her lip slightly, and let his fingers coil around hers. "Don't wanna let go," he said with a slight pout.
She forced herself to scoff, untangling their hands briefly. She denied the fact that she was shaking as she removed the glass from the upper shelf. By the time it was set in front of him, filled with clear liquid, she was better. "You're needy when you're drunk," she teased.
She sat beside him and, before she knew it, her fingers were in his hair. She pet back the strands in long, languid strokes. It felt good to touch him, comfort him. To be physically reminded that he was there, that he was beside her, and that he wanted her near … it was a strange craving that twisted in her gut whenever he was away, and she tried not to be so reliant on it when he returned.
He leaned into her touch, his eyes fluttering shut. Suddenly, he caught her hand and pressed a kiss onto her wrist, along her pulse. That feeling stirred in her, both tying her to the moment and making her want to push away, all at once. Her fingers flexed and she curled them against his jaw before mirroring his posture, cheek laying against cool tile.
After a moment, he shook his head in response to her statement. "No, not normally," he said.
"You closed the Nimitz case, then?" she said.
He nodded. "We celebrated, like normal. Maybe a little more than normal," he said before lifting the glass to his mouth. He took a few long sips before lying back down. His accent was much more noticeable like this, swallowed consonants and rolled vowels blurring the words even more than the slurs marked between them.
She smiled at him, unable to keep the warmth from the action. "Yeah, maybe a little more. This is a side to Inebriated-Graham that I haven't seen yet. You're so quiet," she observed once more.
Usually, he was about as boisterous as his colleagues, laughing loudly and telling bad jokes with horrible timing. The memories had made him more extroverted in that regard, at least around his friends. However, she found that he needed something solid to keep that comfort level when he spent a long time with those he didn't consider family. Thus, the touching was normal; he always made it a habit to keep light physical contact on her in public, and intoxication only increased that impulse.
He shook his head and groaned once he did. His head flopped around before he rested it on his knuckles. "I've not drank this much in …."
She waited for the end to his statement, watching as he struggled. Her brow furrowed and she lifted one shoulder. She scooted her stool to be closer to him. "Must've been a long time to get you like this. I thought it was bad when Simmons joined in on your out-drinking games," she pressed with a slight nudge against his arm.
He took another drink of his water. "Not since Storybrooke," he finished.
Emma felt a flash of hot tension run down her extremities before she pulled back slightly. She couldn't get far, though, as she found his hand against her knee, holding her tight in place. His reflexes were still surprising at times. Her eyes met his before she shied away from them, trying not to think too much about those last 24 hours. It made sense, now, why he had been so in his head. "You weren't exactly quiet that night," she joked weakly.
He smiled into his cup. "Just 'round you."
She sighed and pulled him into an embrace. His head fell against her chest, a shuddered breath expelled. "We need a phrase for this multiple memory thing, when it splits our heads like this."
He ground his forehead against her collarbone back and forth, then his grip tightened along her waist to bring her into his lap. She followed wordlessly, letting him pull her close. "They're both real," he said stubbornly.
"I know," she replied. She pushed his hair back. The fingers of his right hand slipped under her shirt, rolling small circles against bare skin. She wondered whether they were both seeking reality by the feel of each other alone.
He pulled back just a fraction, a lopsided, goofy smile crossing his face. She almost wanted to laugh at the sudden change in emotion. "I want to kiss you," he pronounced, then leaned in.
She stopped him with a hand to his chest, but grinned widely. "Not now. Finish your water, then we're getting you to bed. You can kiss me all you want tomorrow, after you wash the smell of whiskey away. If you don't have a massive hangover, that is."
He shook his head with a scoff. "Please, I'm Irish. That stuff's like milk to me."
Emma pushed out of his arms and back to her feet. She crooked her finger to have him follow. "That excuse might've worked if you were actually Irish, Graham. Or, you know, if it didn't sound like you were speaking in cursive."
He kept eye contact and a smile as he finished off his glass, then stumbled upward. "There's things I couldn't do the last time I was like this."
She rolled her eyes. "Like what?"
His face softened, dreamy and comfortable as he studied her. "Like explain why I care how you look at me."
She came forward, supporting his weight as she led them to the bedroom. "I think you got your point across that night."
"But now I can say it," he reasoned.
She hid the amusement on her face and pointed to his clothing. He rolled his shoulders, helping her remove his jacket. She unbuckled his pants next and let them pool at his feet. Carefully, she led him over the pile and then they collapsed more than laid on the bed.
His eyes were a fraction away, deep and dark and only a little fogged. He tangled his hand in her hair, that awe that she sometimes noticed crossing his features. He leaned closer, nudging her nose with his. "I love you."
She noticed that he was still heeding her request, not leaning close enough for their lips to touch nor even asking again. "I know. Go to sleep," she said. It was a strange mirror to that last time, with the words and not the action.
"I'm tired and I wanna go to bed," Graham sang sleepily.
She shook her head and pulled the sheet around them. She'd tease him mercilessly tomorrow for all this, but for now … "love you, too, Graham."