Title: Stories
Summary: The morning after Irving's retirement party, Graham and Emma are a little too loud for their guest's tastes.
Note: Post Safety Measures. I posted this yesterday on Tumblr, so no, it's not an April Fool's Day joke. Prompted by anon: "i was thinking if you could do a chapter where Graham and/or Emma accidentally slips up about something from their past in Storybrooke while in the presence of their NY friends? "
She woke to the sound of low murmurs, gentle words spoken, though not meant for her ears. She squinted her eyes open, trying not to let on that she was no longer asleep.
Graham's arm was around her waist, palm splayed over the gentle swell of her stomach. His pitch was low, just enough for her to hear but not enough for her to discern the words he was speaking to their child. She pressed her lips together, feigning sleep for a while longer as he finished his newest morning ritual.
After a few minutes, she deliberately began to stir. Casually, he drifted back to his pillow, dark blue eyes watching as she blinked awake. She smiled at him immediately, shifting close to press a kiss. "Good morning."
She could feel the smile against her lips, parting slowly. "Morning."
She sighed pleasantly, using a hand to brush through his hair. It was getting longer, the strands curling at the ends in a familiar way. He closed his eyes at the touch, and her movements slowed, scratching along his scalp languidly. It was warm in his arms, though there was a chill in the air. She breathed deeper, taking the time to come awake by the smell of him.
Her heart was still swelling dramatically at the new secret routine he had each morning, but she didn't bring it up. "I think Irving liked his send-off," she said instead, referring to the party the night before.
He hummed his agreement, lips catching the pulse in her wrist. "I'm sure he enjoyed twenty of the drunkest attendees singing only the chorus of We Are the Champions three times in a row."
She giggled. "It's definitely more amusing from the sober side of things."
He grinned widely and his hand curled at her abdomen. "Best reason to stay on the sober side, too."
She cocked her head to the side, smiling. "I don't think the newbie would be affected by you getting a drink, Detective."
He gave a shrug. "Why would I do it if you can't?"
"I know, I know," she said. She still thought it was silly, his choice, but another part was glad she didn't have to taste the liquor or coffee on his tongue when she was denied it. And oh, could she do with a really strong cup right now.
"Besides, I might not have remembered Strode's dance well enough to mock him about it this week," he teased.
She groaned, ending in a barely covered laugh. After five shots, the coroner decided that the retired chief deserved a lap dance. From him. "Oh, Strode. He could have blinded half of us, and we were all at least five feet away. Poor Irving."
"Hey, he made twenty bucks off it," he reminded. "Irving's generous that way."
She laughed, pulling her arms around him to get closer in his space. "Which reminds me: did you hear Henry's newest suggestion?"
Graham sighed heavily. "Icabod?"
Emma shook her head. Seeing Chief Tony Irving had Henry all sorts of excited for Sleepy Hollow name ideas for his sibling. "I think that may have been the worst of the bunch. And he's come up with some interesting names."
"Says the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming," he quipped.
She rolled her eyes. "Mary Margaret and David," she corrected. "And I'd probably have to growl to get your original name right."
He grinned, chest vibrating with a laugh. "Not as simple as that, but nice try."
"You guys are loud."
Emma's head whiplashed to the door. Maggie was covered in the blanket she had been using on the couch, her dark eyes and messy curls the only thing visible as she flopped onto the edge of their bed. Emma shot Graham a look, wondering how much she heard.
Somehow, they'd managed not to slip up much about other lives in front of their friends. Absent phrases about living in the woods, or different upbringings, or even magical resurrection could be laughed off and brushed aside. Especially since it was usually said in front of inebriated friends.
Maggie was different.
She knew Emma too well. She had known her for more than a decade, and practically lived with her and Henry during the first few years. She knew their quirks and experiences … anything more detailed couldn't be written off as easily as it had been with the others.
"Sorry, Maggie," Graham said simply, scooting his legs to be out of her way and keeping eye contact with Emma. He was trying to communicate without words that she shouldn't panic until they knew more.
The lump of blankets, in the meantime, only huffed off the apology tiredly.
Emma fiddled with the edge of the sheets, trying to find an outlet for the nervous energy. "Were name ideas getting too loud?" she tried weakly.
Maggie scoffed. "Name ideas? Really?" She shook her head. "Trying to make up names for Junior or for your deadbeat parents?"
Emma winced, swallowing a rebuttal that would make no sense to the brunette.
Graham's hand pressed onto her lower back, soothingly rolling slow circles. She took some comfort in his silent apology. His tone managed to not be offended as he addressed her friend. "We need to tell the new kid something about our parents," he offered.
"Ah, I see. I forgot you were on the same orphan boat, Humbert," Maggie said with a slow stretch. "So you chose fairytale characters, huh? Though I don't know of a Mary Margaret. Doesn't exactly sound like an epic choice for Junior's grandparents." She paused thoughtfully. "Though Snow White …."
"Not going to be a junior," Emma countered immediately. She bit down on her lip, shying away from her gaze. "It was just an idea. We need to give the kid some stories."
Maggie pulled back the corner of the blanket, looking at her dubiously. "Weird stories," she said, a hint of disbelief in there. Emma felt herself tense slightly before Maggie shook her head. "But that was not what I meant, anyway."
"What did you mean?" She wasn't sure what else she could logically explain.
Maggie raised a single brow. "That wasn't why I was complaining about when I said you were loud."
A rush of relief filled her, and the hand grasping Graham's stretched out. The subject change was definitely a welcome one. "How were we too loud, then?"
Maggie's eyes narrowed. She looked between them both accusingly. After a beat, she bounced on the end of the bed, the springs rhythmically squeaking in response. "I mean that."
A rush of heat filled her cheeks, and she squirmed into herself. She continued to blush furiously, but another part couldn't help the hysterical laughter that left her. She couldn't stop, rolling onto her pillow to continue the inescapable giggles, the bed shaking with the effort. After all that worry, all that buildup … that was her issue?
Maggie let out a low whine of protest at the noise, covering her head with the blanket again.
"Whoops?" Graham offered beside her, and Emma looked up to find his eyes crinkled in mirth as well.
"You two," Maggie huffed, muffled from the material. "I swear. Andie's heard it in her bar, Ritu's practically seen it … was I just next on the list?"
"Hey! We were in our own home this time!" Emma protested, wiping away the tears that had escaped down her cheeks from the release.
Maggie snorted. "Seriously, you guys. Loud. You're already pregnant and it hasn't slowed you down one bit."
Emma sat up and her hands curled at her waist. "Makes me worse, really," Emma said with a wicked grin.
Graham leaned into her, hiding a smile into her hair before addressing the other woman again. "We thought you would have had enough tequila to sleep through it," he reasoned.
"Maybe. If I didn't have to wake up, not once but twice, to your name, Humbert," she grumbled.
"Well, that's her fault, then," he replied cheekily.
"Well …," Emma trailed off, biting down on her lip as she looked at him pointedly. He gave a guileless smile back.
"I should tell Henry to thank his lucky stars that he doesn't share a wall with you two," Maggie deadpanned. "He gets to sleep in."
Emma reached out and pulled on one of her curls. "Better feed that hangover, Mags. We're hosting the sleepover this weekend," she sing-songed.
Maggie groaned dramatically, bringing a slim hand to cover her face. "I thought I was done having to deal with all that."
Graham rose up, rubbing his eyes, and as he did a thin trail of skin peeked out from between the waistband of his sweats and the tee. He leaned down to give a gentle kiss, and Emma tried not to let her hormones take over again. "I'll get some breakfast going."
"And coffee!" Maggie whined.
"You're going to make me smell coffee again? When I can't have any?" Emma said with a pout.
"Yep. Your punishment," she countered.
Graham waved off the statement, but padded to the kitchen anyway.
Maggie flopped back down on the bed. "Hormonal woman," she teased, poking her in the belly.
Emma pretended not to know what she was talking about, and rolled onto her back so their heads were together in the center of the bed. "I missed you," she said, nudging her with an elbow.
"Your fault. You're the one that moved," Maggie grumbled.
"Yeah, yeah," she muttered back.
Maggie hooked an arm around her, making her tuck her head into her neck. She was quiet a beat. "I thought you'd made your peace with the parent thing."
Emma blew out a low breath, that uneasiness creeping back as she returned to the original worry. "I have," she lied. Mary Margaret face, the last time she'd seen her, flashed through her mind's eye. She remembered the tears in her eyes, the kiss she'd pressed to her forehead, and her heart ached. Emma gave a tight smile. "Just thought it'd be fun to give the kid a backstory."
Maggie was basically hugging her head at this point, and she used the other hand to pet down her hair. "How about the story about how a young girl beat all odds to succeed in life and find happiness with a brave little boy at her side?"
Emma blinked back a sudden, sharp swell of tears. Her throat felt caved in, breath caught in her chest. There was so much more than that, so much the original teenage Emma was so sure she couldn't do. It almost felt like a cheat, a lie, for Maggie to pride her for it now.
"And, of course, the awe-inspiring real-life fairy godmother that was the social worker that saved Christmas."
Emma snorted loudly, breaking half out of the self-pity. "Please. You nearly burnt the kitchen down every year."
Maggie conked their heads together gently. "The reality's better than the stories, babe."
She looked away, remembering David fighting for Henry in Neverland, of Mary Margaret demanding the giant to back off … she wished she could share it. "I know the reality's better."
She nodded. "Good," she said simply. "Daddy's got some stories, too, I'd assume."
Emma let a slow smile cross her face. "Yeah, a few."
"No need for Disney characters, then," she pressed.
Emma wanted to tell her, then. She wanted to spill out everything from the past year and past life, to cry on her shoulder, to have her understand. This was her best friend, the one that stuck by when no one else did. It didn't feel right lying, even if it was mostly by omission.
But this wasn't just her secret. This was Henry's life, and Graham's life. She couldn't bring Maggie in on a whim.
"Come. Find me some Advil."
Emma sighed, and nodded. She took the hand that Maggie offered, and was helped to her feet. "Let's have hubby feed us. You can let me know which stories are the best ones for my kid."
"Sounds like a plan. As long as your voice doesn't go up any more octaves."
"Your own fault," she said.
"Just like it's yours why you can't have coffee," she countered. She hugged her swiftly. "Get me normal before you have the pack of pre-teen boys file in, okay?"
She bumped into her as they headed to the kitchen. "Seems fair."
Maybe, someday, there'd be a way.