Thanks to everyone for all the reviews and input. Knowing I have an audience makes the story so much more fun to write. I promise the angst will be worth it!
Chapter 3
It was Wednesday evening. Emma had managed to avoid Regina for the past four days, but still hadn't shaken her withdrawal symptoms. Though her interactions with the Mayor had never really been pleasant, they always opened the circuit to her emotion, for better or worse. She'd gone close to a week now without that emotional electricity, and it left her tired and lifeless.
Tired and lifeless Emma was still dreaming about Regina, too, which wasn't necessarily an unwelcome symptom of her deprivation. At least there, in her sleep cycle, she could look into the Mayor's eyes, and feel her closeness. Sometimes, on a good night, she'd even wrap her arms around Regina, pull her close, and rest her cheek on her shoulder. She'd relive her last interaction with her on the street corner, but relive it in a better way: with a feeling and reciprocity that, in the conscious world, simply could not be. Perhaps the dreams were not a withdrawal symptom – perhaps the true symptom was the waking from those dreams, for the catapulting back into reality was what caused pain.
"You know what you need, Emma?" offered Mary Margaret as she sipped her hot chocolate on the sofa. "You need to stop being afraid. I've seen it, you know. So has everyone else. I know you have feelings."
Emma looked up from the newspaper, swallowing hard. Mary Margaret knew.
"Storybrooke is a new page for you, a new chance," the teacher continued. "Don't waste it by inviting in all the doubt and defense you've used as protection in the past. Just… go for it," she said, with a comforting smile.
"Go for what?" asked Emma, her voice shaking. She dropped the paper in her lap, her hands also trembling.
"Graham," said Mary Margaret. "Be open to it. Let yourself be happy." She responded, with another sincere grin. She patted Emma's hand knowingly and stood up. "I've got to go grade some projects. Do you want to come along with me to the cafe? You've done nothing but go to work and sleep for the past few days. It would do you some good to get out of here for a while."
"Uh, no, thanks," she responded, her mind reeling over Mary Margaret's suggestion.
Graham? People in Storybrooke thought she had feelings for Graham? How? She liked him, as a boss and as a friend generally, but had never seen him as anything more than that.
"I'm actually going to shower and go get a drink," said Emma, without thinking.
Mary Margaret's face flashed a concern, but she knew Emma was a grown woman and would handle her problems in her own way. "Okay, well… if you change your mind, just give me a call. I'll be there for a few hours," she said sweetly.
…
Emma sat down at the bar, and sighed. She had been lonely for more years than she could count, and though scotch had become a great friend and listener, it never kept away the loneliness long enough. She threw back a shot and looked around.
How coincidental.
The Sherriff stood in the back of the room, taking turns throwing darts and downing shots. Emma watched and ordered another glass of liquor. Maybe Mary Margaret wasn't completely crazy. Graham was a nice guy, good looking, and Emma knew he had a good heart. More than anything, though, he was attainable.
Thud. Bullseye. The Sheriff took another shot.
Emma followed the Sherrif's example, downing her glass. She ordered a third and studied the Sheriff, appreciating his dark eyes and hair. She felt that Graham, like herself, was a loner who felt detached from the rest of the town.
Bullseye. Another shot.
All of a sudden, Emma willingly handed the reins of control over her mind and body to the scotch. "Fuck loneliness," she said aloud. She finished her drink and sat the glass down on the counter before walking back to Graham.
"Do you ever miss?" asked Emma, as she came to a stop next to the Sheriff. He turned toward her, eyes slightly red.
"A few more of these," he picked up his empty glass, "and I may," he responded. Emma smiled at his confidence. Egos reminded her of Regina.
Withdrawal. She winced inside.
"Wanna try?" he asked, offering her a dart. Emma reach for the dart, her fingers touching Graham's as she pulled it from his hand. He had nice, clean, strong hands. Like the Mayor's.
Emma stared at the dartboard 20 feet in front of her, which began to sway as if on a pendulum. She needed to cut herself off if she was to drive back home tonight. The dart flew through the air, landing on triple 20.
"Not bad, deputy," said Graham, both he and Emma walking toward the dartboard.
"Well to be honest, I wasn't aiming for it. I was just hoping to hit the board," she laughed.
The two reached up for the dart simultaneously, their hands touching again. Emma's head was slightly spinning and she focused on Graham.
"Woah, the drinks are stronger here than back home," Emma said, almost slurring. She withdrew her hand and rubbed her temple, closing her eyes as the music in the bar pounded through her ears.
"I think it's probably time both of us called it a night. I'll walk you home," said Graham, leaving the dart embedded in the board. He threw on his leather jacket and reached around Emma, his hand on her back, guiding her to the door. Emma felt the slight pressure from the Sheriff's touch, and it comforted her. She had been craving touch for so long, and finally, she had it… from someone strong, sincere, and real. Her footsteps were muffled in her ears and the street lights were blinding. She felt herself losing her balance, and the next thing she knew, she was being supported by a brick wall and Graham's arm. Emma steadied herself against the cold stone, and looked up at her companion, his dark eyes glowing under the street lamp.
Attainable, she thought. Real.
She stood up straight and leaned into Graham, their lips pressing together. Both Sheriff and Deputy tasted alcohol and desperation, and it blanketed both of them in comfort. Graham pulled away first, his breath clouding in the cold air.
"I…" he started, searching for words.
"Shh," said Emma, as she leaned her shoulder against his chest. "I know…" she said, as her vision faded to black.
…
The knocking on her door drove Mary Margaret out of bed. She opened the door ever so slightly, just enough to peek out into the hallway. Her eyes grew wide, and she opened the door fully to let Graham inside.
"She's fine, just a little too much alcohol," he explained, carrying her over to the couch.
"Oh, well, are you okay? What happened?" inquired Mary Margaret, unsure how to feel.
"She came in while I was at the bar, and I didn't want her walking home alone. I'll be fine, Mary Margaret, thank you," Graham explained.
Mary Margaret watched in silence as the Sheriff left her apartment. She stared at the closed door and then at Emma, who was asleep, breathing deeply. The teacher put a blanket over the blonde, a pillow under her head, and turned out the lights. She hoped Emma would be up for conversation in the morning.
…
Regina sat her cider down on her desk and reached for the telephone. The past four days had all run together: work, home, drinking until the early morning, passing out, repeat. That was her instruction manual for a life without Emma Swan. The cider eased her guilt over their last interaction and allowed her to temporarily forget the way the blonde had said her name on the sidewalk that quiet Saturday morning. The words Emma had spoken were defibrillators that sent a buzzing electricity through her entire being, shocking her heart and bringing her to life.
"God Damn it," she yelled, picking up the glass and emptying its contents with one swallow. She pounded her fist on her desk, leaning over and lowering her head. This ache was unbearable. She stood erect and threw the glass against the wall, finding comfort in the shattering sound. Fortunately, Henry was on a field trip. Regina didn't have to worry about self-control.
She impulsively picked up the phone.
"Regina?" said a tired Graham on the other end. The mayor's mind flashed back to Emma, who spoke her name so differently.
Withdrawal. She pushed the thought from her mind.
"Get over here. Now," she demanded. She was not going to spend another night longing for a woman that hated her. She would find a way to forget her. She hung up the phone and walked to the window, staring at her apple tree.
….
The doorbell rang and Regina walked clumsily to her foyer. Graham entered the house wearing a confused look. "Is everything okay?" he asked.
Regina's face was stone cold. She pulled Graham's jacket toward her and kissed him bruisingly hard. Graham knew there was no point in fighting. He had become all too used to Regina's coping mechanisms. He cared for her, because he understood her loneliness, and was not going to leave her in such a self-destructive state. He let her pull him into her office and push him against the wall, knowing he could also use this distraction.
Regina closed her eyes tightly and squeezed the Sheriff's jacket in her fingers, wanting to feel leather. She trailed her hand down his chest and to his hip, running her fingers over the badge there. She retreated further into her imagination where the leather and badge belonged to a deputy and not a sheriff.
If she couldn't forget her, then she would find some way to have her.
Regina kept her eyes closed all night.