Chapter 4

Present

Henry had thrown himself onto his bed by the time Graham had found him. His arms were crossed in front of him, but he had a little smile on his face.

Graham shut the door behind him, and Henry looked over to him with bright eyes. "Did you see her?"

Graham nodded. "That's …," he trailed off a moment. He didn't know which phrase to use. Mother seemed too personal. "The woman who gave birth to you?"

Henry nodded, then sat up with a sort of eagerness on his face. "Do you think I look like her?"

To be fair, he had only seen the blonde for a moment, having wanted to make sure Henry was okay. But there was something about the feel of her presence that was familiar, and must have been because he saw it reflected in the boy he had known for the past decade. "Yeah, I think she looks like you, Henry," he said softly.

Henry beamed.

Graham sat on the edge of the bed, blowing out a low breath. "We don't know anything about her, though. And I know things have been rough with your mom, but just because you found this other woman doesn't mean it'll get better," he reasoned.

Henry shook his head. "No, you don't understand. She's here to change everything."

Graham wanted to argue it, but something quieter agreed with the lad. Instead, he looked at him pointedly. "That was a dangerous thing you did, Henry."

Henry's eyes shaded, looking chagrined for the first time. "I know," he said guiltily.

"You scared m—" he cut himself off, swallowing hard. He took a shuddering breath, and amended his statement. "You scared your mother."

Henry seemed to hear his half-spoken word and scooted closer to him. "I'm sorry, Graham," he said. "But I needed to find her."

"Next time, tell me," he pleaded. "I would have helped you." He's not sure if he meant 'stopped you' in this instance, and something about that knowledge made him a little lightheaded. He'd do anything for this boy.

A flash of rebellion sparked in his eyes, as well as a sharper bit of fear. "No one can leave Storybrooke but me." He gave a thoughtful look. "And her."

His brows knitted in confusion, and he pressed a hand to the top of his head. "What do you mean?"

Henry shifted, a wall thrown up between them as he laid onto the pillow. "I d'nno. I'm tired."

Graham pressed his lips together, trying not to be upset that he'd closed up so quickly. "You're a good kid, Henry. Even if you don't feel like opening up to your mom … I'm here, okay?"

His gaze softened. "I know you are," he said. He turned over on his back. "Do you think she'll stay?"

He shrugged; he hadn't even spoken to her, so he couldn't pretend to know her intentions. "What do you think?"

He stared at his ceiling, contemplating. "I think she has to stay."

He wanted that for him. He saw how much brighter the child was in the other woman's presence, as the light lingered in him even now. His hand traced his badge thoughtfully, wondering if he could use it somehow to get her to stay long enough to satisfy the lad's curiosity.

"I hope she's ready," Henry murmured.

"For what?" Graham pressed. He wondered if Henry would verbalize it, his need to have a relationship with the woman.

He turned once more, his back to him. "G'night, Graham."

Graham nodded, understanding that he pressed too hard. "Goodnight, Henry," he said. He lingered by the door, and grabbed the map from his pocket. He rested it between the wall and his desk, out of sight. The light clicked off as he left, though he was certain the boy would be awake for a good while longer.

Once outside the door, he hesitated. There was a palpable discomfort to the air, the tension rising from below. He took the stairs quickly, his eye catching bright blue-green. She did look like Henry.

He addressed Regina as he descended, and tried not to focus on how much he wanted to talk with the other woman.

His emotions felt heightened somehow; they were sharper, more focused. And yes, he wanted Henry to get whatever closure he needed from her, and around Henry his emotions were always a little clearer.

This felt more.

A part of him wanted to warn her away from hurting the lad, but a glance to Regina made him certain more persuasion to keep her distance wouldn't be necessary. Instead, he needed to press to see that she stayed.

And he was a little alarmed to find that he didn't just want her to stay for the boy.

He looked up at the house once he'd left, the ring of Regina's dismissal resounding in his head. For once, though, it began to diminish until it was mere annoyance instead of binding. He looked up toward Henry's window and his fists curled in and out as he considered his options.

The boy appeared, glancing down at him solemnly. His eyes were large, pleading. Graham offered a small smile that he hoped was reassuring, and continued down to the street.

The yellow of her car stood out from the monotony of the drive. It fit her somehow, and his head cocked to the side as he wondered how he could possibly come to that conclusion. They had never even addressed each other; how could he be certain?

But he was, and that was maddening.

He nodded firmly to himself and took a few determined steps forward. He pushed back against the car, leaning as casually as he was able.

When she appeared, she was distracted. Her expressions were clearly readable as her brow furrowed, and she glanced the same direction he had moments before.

Henry was staring down, disappointment plain on his face to see her leaving so soon.

Graham took the opportunity, and rightened his posture. "Sweet boy, wouldn't you say?"

He felt a flash of pride to have caught her unaware as she whipped around to face him. She quickly pulled on a couple facades over her face, clouding her emotion to one of disinterest.

"I'm Graham, by the way," he greeted.

"Emma," she offered, and came forward a few paces. Wariness read in her blue-green eyes, a certain challenge beneath. "I have a long drive ahead of me, so if you could find somewhere else to lean?"

His jaw tightened, surprised to find the clenching of his stomach at the idea of her leaving. "I think it might be better if you spent the night."

Her eyes fogged briefly, not there with him but elsewhere. Her pupils had dilated a fraction, and her brow quirked just slightly. "That's kind of forward."

"I know Regina's drinks," he explained away, trying to deflect away from Henry as much as possible. "I'd hate to get out the breathalyzer."

She didn't look amused, but she didn't seem to be peeling back the layers of his cover either.

"There's a B and B up the road," he said, gesturing with his head. "Granny's. It's a lovely place."

Her eyes narrowed, and he felt something else start in his stomach, a strange familiarity that had nothing to do with the boy in the house above them. "I hate to disappoint you," she said, coming a pace closer. "But I only had one drink."

A ghost of a memory brushed across his mind, so faint he could not catch it, as she got in his space. The sudden heat from her body found himself knowing exactly how that hair would feel beneath his fingers, how her head would weigh against his chest. He couldn't blink away the sudden fantasy that felt more real than anything done in late nights or long meetings over the past ten years.

"And I'm way—well, I'm not going to tell you that."

He ducked his head as heat flooded his face. He glanced up at her and couldn't help the smile that crossed his face.

She leaned back abruptly, cutting off his train of thought. "But the point is, right now, I'd blow a point oh-six. Well below the limit."

He huffed a chuckle, and pushed off her car. He was inside her space, by his own accord this time, and he resisted the urge to wrap his fingers along her hip. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket instead. "Drive safe," he said.

He turned and opened her door for her. He knew he was supposed to feel dejected, sorry that his plan hadn't worked.

But something softer was telling him that this wasn't the end.

He rocked on his toes as he watched until the red of the brake lights slid into the distance. He blew out a long breath before heading to the cruiser.

Sleep never came easy to him, and he had a feeling it would be even more fruitless to try tonight.

He was certain he'd know what to do by morning.

11 Years Ago

The morning was a dry one.

Never did they pass the hunting party again, and he considered the girl a good luck charm on that part. He didn't know what he would do if he had to stand against them again. His brother was still healing from last time; there was no guarantee they would have made it through unscathed.

And he couldn't lose another family member.

He looked over at the girl. She had fallen back asleep against an overturned log. His brother had curled next to her ever since she drifted off again. At first he'd assumed he was providing warmth since the fire had been extinguished, but he hadn't moved once he'd started the pit for a morning meal. Her hands curled into his fur unconsciously, breathing even and slow.

Unlike most humans, it seemed she could sleep anywhere. But also unlike most humans, he found himself wanting to refer to her by her name. There was a spark of something he was missing, and the lingering fear that she was a dark magic user had nearly faded completely. Something about this girl had him trusting her far more than any person in years.

Not that that was saying much.

He'd woken earlier to the sound of rustling, and had gotten his bow prepared immediately. The boar had been large and aggressive, but he was felled quickly. The brave animal would feed them for a few days, perhaps with enough left over to sell to the village even with the extra stomach he had to fill. He had only had to travel a short distance to the banks of the creek to find a few herbs and edible plants to accompany it.

It would be his payment for the food she provided the night before. She had been willing to share her rich treat and it was only to return the favor that he twisted the flavorful spices he'd usually forgo into the meat. At least, that was what he told himself.

Beyond the trust and the feeling of owing someone was the desire to keep her safe, a strange need to provide for her health. And maybe a strange want to impress her, too.

He spun a piece of meat around on the fire, and tried not to think too much of it. The wraps of green he'd tied it with gave the air a pleasant fragrance, and it was easier to concentrate on cooking than on the peculiar figure stirring at his right.

Emma awoke with a deep inhale. "What smells so … good?"

"Breakfast," he said simply, then raised his eyes to her. Her blonde hair was a mess of tangles, dirt smudging her sallow cheeks, and still she looked out of place. Her eyes, he decided. They were too clear, too green, too all-enveloping. "We're deeper in the forest now. It'd be a good day's walk if you want to go to town."

She glanced around them, then up at the pearl grey sky. "Why so far?"

He pulled the meat from the spit and handed her some. "Further away from the hunting party, for one. I never like to be too far from town, in case we need supplies. But too close means more of their kind."

She nodded solemnly. She blew on the food, steam rushing up in a low curl. Cautiously, she chewed around the meat and he watched her aptly. "This is pretty good. I guess that makes sense that I would dream of good food."

He didn't know where she came up with these ideas, but he decided not to call her on it this time. Let her believe what she would. He ignored the part of him that was pleased that she liked it.

"Why are you here?" he finally asked, curiosity winning over mistrust.

She looked up to meet his eye. "I don't even know where I am," she countered, something he already knew. "I was supposed to leave the shop and meet with this guy to go over our haul. It was supposed to be a quick thing, then there was the lights. Next thing I know, you're in my face."

He raised one brow at her skeptically.

She rolled her eyes. "I can't tell you what I don't know." His brother nudged his nose into her leg, prompting her to scratch his head. He studied the two curiously as she obliged; his brother was never so willing to let others touch him.

He shifted uncomfortably. Her story made no sense, but he trusted her confusion if only because of the wolf's reaction. "I'll get you back to town once the quarter passes. The men will have gone home by then with their earnings. They're not ones to get an early start on the next quota, so we shouldn't run into them by then."

She swallowed her bite and swiped the back of her hand across her lips. "When's that?"

"Tomorrow," he replied, and twisted the meat.

A small smile quirked her lips. "So I'm stuck with you 'til then?"

A bitter feeling struck him, and he glared down at his food. "I'll get you there at first light," he promised gruffly.

He felt a brush at his sleeve, and looked up to meet her eye. "No, I mean … thanks. For the food, for last night, just … thanks."

His gaze flicked across her, his body unfurling from the tension. "You're welcome."

She looked around, and he could tell she was more awake as she took in her surroundings. "So, we'll stay around here? In the middle of nowhere?"

He squinted at her, and felt his hesitance slid away as he consciously made the decision to trust her. "I have a camp hidden a couple miles up the river. We can stay there, if you prefer."

She cocked her head to the side, seeming to think about it. "What's the difference?"

He tried not to show his amusement with her confusion, though he wasn't entirely sure he was able to keep it hidden. "The bank, for one. It's a wide one, and it's calm enough to wade in. And I have a few odds and ends collected there, books and things. Things to pass the time."

She pushed her hair behind her ear, seeming to consider this as she chewed thoughtfully. Her eyes were caught on his, and he couldn't seem to break the stare. Finally, she nodded. "Sounds good." She rose, looking at him expectantly.

This time he wasn't able to stop his smile.