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BossLady: Thank you so much, and thank you again for the Doctor AU prompt! You are awesome.

Title: Grilled Cheeses
Summary: Emma gets cravings.
Note: Prompt from anon on Tumblr "Emma loves Grilled Cheese sandwiches, right? How about Graham does too, and they both talk about how Granny's make the best ones? (While they're in NY btw)"

Graham entered a mostly quiet apartment that evening. Henry sat at the breakfast bar, chewing absently at some pretzels as he read from the open textbook. He barely gave a sound of acknowledgement as he clicked the lock behind him.

"Hey," Graham greeted, dropping his keys and papers to the side. "Good day?"

Henry sighed and rubbed his temples. "Long day," he corrected. "I had the math test, then got two more essays assigned. And the programming homework is due tomorrow, and I'm supposed to have an idea for the next yearbook page."

"You'll get through it. And I know you aced that test. You were on top of it," he said confidently. Every question he'd drilled at Henry that morning had been readily and enthusiastically answered. Graham grabbed a juice from the fridge and grinned. "Still better than the rotating assignments, though?"

"Graham." Henry wrinkled his nose. "I guess," he grumbled, but a smile edged along his lips.

Despite preteen protests, he knew that Henry actually enjoyed learning. The private school he went to certainly facilitated that, in stark contrast to Storybrooke's repeating days.

"Ritu just left."

Graham's eyebrows rose and he angled his body toward the bedroom. "Any better today?"

Henry hesitated a moment. "I think so," he said uncertainly. "She picked me up, at least."

"Good," he murmured. The fact that she'd had enough energy to do that was better than the last two days. He dropped a hand on the kid's head. "Finish up. I'll be out to check before bed, okay?"

He nodded, his pen thumping rhythmically against his notebook.

Graham rapped twice on the door before coming into their room. It creaked on its hinges to reveal Emma in dim lightening. "Hey, princess."

Emma groaned good-naturedly, but threw a pillow his direction anyway. "Do I really look like a princess right now, Graham?"

He smiled widely and shut the door behind him. Her hair was a mess of tangles, falling into her too-pale face. Her blue-green eyes were only partially open, a scowl half-set on her lips. He sat next to her and brushed a few tresses off her face. "Always," he replied simply.

"Cheesy." She rolled over with a snort, but allowed room on the bed for him. He took the wordless request and curled into her, pulling his arms around her waist. He let his palm rest against her belly, the barest of swells there a comfort that she was finally gaining weight.

"Henry said you picked him up today," he said, but didn't voice the actual question.

She sighed. "Yeah. Afternoon wasn't so bad."

He frowned and pulled her closer. "Do you want me to get you some ginger tea?"

She shook her head. "No. Already had some. I'm getting so sick of it."

"You need to get fluids, Em," he noted. He brushed her hair back soothingly. "You've been teetering on that edge too much recently, and I know you don't want to go back to the hospital."

"I know," she murmured. She leaned back and nudged her head into his. "I'm doing good, promise."

"And eating?"

She pointed to the crackers on the nightstand. "Trying. It's just so bland."

He smiled. "That's the point, I think. But are you hungry? Craving anything? I could always send out for something." At this point, he'd be willing to get practically anything if it meant she would eat more.

She rolled her head back to the pillow and her eyes fluttered shut. "You know what sounds amazing? Grilled cheese."

His head popped up and his mind raced for all the places that might be able to deliver. "I think one of those food apps can send out to the diner or something –"

She reached for his wrist and gripped tight to stop his thought process. "From Granny's," she finished.

He let out a low whoosh of breath. He studied her face a long moment, catching the minute expressions on her face as she closed her eyes and licked her lips. He thought back to the diner, to the older woman and her wired framed glasses covering a glare that couldn't disguise how protective she was. "She has the best comfort food," he agreed, and tucked his head back into her neck. "The golf ball would only be satisfied with Granny's, huh?"

"Mm," she hummed in agreement. "Granny made the best grilled cheese."

"Her pastrami, too," he said. He rolled small circles on her belly. "And every fry was perfect."

"Oh, I forgot about the pastrami!" she moaned. "So fatty and greasy and … God, I'm drooling."

He chuckled. "Well, at least it means you're hungry for actual food. I can try and get something less perfect than Granny's, but in the same food group."

She sighed, and her stomach vibrated with a growl under his palm. "Not the same," she said with a pout.

"I know, I know," he said with a chuckle.

She didn't respond to his teasing tone, and instead bit down on her lip. It was like there was a shift in the air.

He hesitated a moment. "Just the food, or…?"

She tensed in his arms, but didn't come back down from it as quickly as usual. She shook a bit as she tried to steady herself, and he felt a flicker of energy pulse against him. Concerned, he brushed his hands up and down her body, trying desperately to help her relax. Finally she gripped his hand hard and swallowed. "Or."

"Emma," he said softly, seriously. "You're shaking."

The trembling got worse. "I feel sick," she whispered.

"Not until I brought it up. Are you okay?" he pressed.

She shook her head. "I need to get up again."

He watched helplessly as she bolted out of the room. His eyes shut tight before he followed into the hall.

"Graham?" Henry's eyes were wide as he clutched his pen, peering from the kitchen to where he stood.

He shook his head. "Just another bout. It'll be all right." He was sure the worry he felt was painted all over his expression, but he couldn't add to the lad's stress on top of everything else.

He blew out a breath before entering the bathroom. As expected, she was on her knees, retching into the bowl. Wordlessly, he kneeled beside her and swept her hair back. Her whole body felt knotted against his side, stiff as she heaved. They had had to deal with this so often in these first months of pregnancy, and her embarrassment and pride had waned enough to allow him to help her through this. It was not an unfamiliar situation.

But this time, something occurred to him. He waited until she had collapsed against him before voicing his concern. "Emma … this isn't about morning sickness, is it?"

Her eyes were red as she glanced up. "What do you mean?" She swallowed and pushed herself up off the floor. He quickly followed, catching her as she stumbled to the sink unsteadily.

He watched her carefully as she pulled down her toothbrush and avoided his gaze. "I mean that it felt like when you used your magic before, but then it stopped. Then you got sick."

She caught his eye in the mirror, a flash of fear in those depth only a moment. "I don't use my magic," she said firmly.

He shook his head. "I'm not saying you're doing it on purpose. I'm saying that instinctively you're trying to use it, but then you're suppressing it."

Her gaze dropped to the sink and she braced herself against the edge. "Maybe," she mumbled.

"Okay," he said with a short nod. He felt somewhat relieved that he made the correct assumption. "Why?"

She sniffed and turned on the faucet. She cupped the water in her hands and then splashed it over her face, silent and serious all the while. Finally, she looked up. "You shouldn't have to deal with my magic."

His heart stuttered as his stomach bottomed out. "What?"

"I don't want magic, I never asked for it," she spat. "And I can't take that look you give when I've used it before."

He stepped closer to her, keeping his body close enough that he could feel the heat emanating from her body but not close enough to touch. One hand came to rest beside hers against the porcelain sink. "I'm not scared of you, Emma. I'm not even scared of it. I know you, I trust you. You can't keep quashing it, especially if it's making this happen."

She shot him a look. "It's not 'making this happen.' It's a pregnancy thing," she insisted.

He sighed and pulled an arm around her waist. Surprisingly, she let him bring her close, the press of her back melding into his front. She kept her eyes on the drain, but relaxed into him. "Morning sickness is one thing. You and I and your doctor know this is more than that."

"Hyperemesis is common enough," she said stubbornly.

"Do me a favor, then," he said softly. "Let it out, whenever it comes. If you still get sick as often, then we'll figure something else out. But for now, just humor me, okay?"

Her frown deepened. "I don't even know how to control it."

He looked up to the bulb hanging above the mirror. "We know it effects electricity. Try to make it turn off."

Her fingers tightened along his wrist. "Are … are you—"

"Sure? In you, yes," he said, letting his voice drop to a low whisper near her ear.

She rolled her eyes and gestured to the light carelessly. "See? Nothing."

He looked at it thoughtfully, an idea forming. "Granny's food always had that extra something, you know?"

She gave him an odd look before she shrugged. "I'm sure it got tiring after twenty-eight years."

He chuckled. "Well, she seasoned better than my brothers, that's for sure."

She made a low sound of disbelief. "I would have thought wolves were big on spices," she said with a sarcastic bite.

He grinned, and began to rock her soothingly back and forth. "No, but really. Remember the way each bite tasted? Like everything was cared for."

She nodded. "Warm-feeling," she murmured.

He nodded, and wondered if he imagined the light brightening a fraction. He ducked his head back into the crook of her shoulder. "It wasn't just her food, either. The few times Regina would have something for Henry," he hesitated, not wanting to mention how the celebrations were always cut short, always the boy dragged away when people got too close. "Well, Mary Margaret had a way around her recipes."

She began to tense up again, and he pressed a kiss onto her cheek to remind her to relax. "Yeah. Mary Margaret did the same something with her cocoa. It tasted different whenever she made it."

"You have that touch, too," he promised, tucking a bit of hair behind her ear. "Not that I think you should be cooking more often."

She huffed a small laugh. "I can get by."

"Getting by is not the same as making full meals. As capable as you are, if you are given anything with directions …," he trailed off with a pointed look.

A smile tugged firmly on her lips. "This is why I have friends," she said.

"And why you always looked content when you walked into the station in the morning. She kept you fed, which in Emma-terms is the highest form of affection."

"Why I fell for you," she teased, though the words were still strained. She bit down on her lip. "It was easier with Mary Margaret when we were just roommates."

"Friends," he pressed.

She nodded. "The closest friend I'd ever—" A hitch in her breath trapped the words for a moment. "In that life, the closest friend I'd ever had."

He pressed his lips to hers and she kissed him with infinite care, a taste of mourning in the action. He closed his eyes and touched his forehead with hers. "It's okay to miss that life, Emma."

A short, stiff nod was the only response. After a moment, she raised her hand and curled it slightly, letting the light click off.

Even in the dark, he could feel her eyes on him. He cupped his hand against her belly and breathed in the skin of her neck. His heart rate still had picked up a few beats, but having her control it instead of the magic controlling her was something he could handle much more. "I love you," he said softly, reassuringly.

"You're really okay with it?" she asked, her voice small.

"I'm really okay with you," he said honestly.

The tug of trepidation likely could never fully amend, he knew. After all, three decades of magic's misuse left its scar. But with her, he knew he could bear it, even accept and appreciate it.

She placed her hand over his, over the place where their child grew. He felt the smooth metal of her ring against his skin, something solid to ground the moment. He kissed her again, this time with a softer emotion pouring through it.

When they parted, she remained close, one hand firmly bunched into his shirt. "I feel hungry."

Graham let a full grin cross his face and he ducked his chin. "Diner food?"

She shook her head and raised her eyebrows. "Not that kind of hungry."

He shivered and ran his teeth lightly across her pulse by way of a promise. "Let's feed the golf ball and get our other kid off to bed first."

She nodded. "Then bring on the subpar grilled cheese," she said. She reached up and the light came back on, though it was softer and gentler than the glare it usually brought. Her eyes were twinkling with exhausted relief. "I think I could stomach some real food."