closed | I don't really need to look very much further.

[sheriffing]

CHARACTERS: Emma Swan, Graham Humbert
DATE: recently??
WARNINGS: none, will update if necessary
SUMMARY: Emma is recovering from the virus, hopefully their relationship can recover from it, too.

After everything they've been through, the distance shouldn't surprise her. She is, probably in both of their minds, the one who put it there. There's no blaming Graham for that, he was the one who had wanted to stay with her once she'd realized she was infected. He'd offered to go into quarantine with her for the simple purpose of being with her there, and with the risks of the virus and the aggression and the added threat of her magic, it didn't make sense to agree to it. She'd asked for space neither of them had wanted, and it's not as easy as walking back into the neglected apartment that the two of them had shared and expecting things to be the way they used to be. 

Both of them have been busy helping to set things right in this world, when administering the cure is just the beginning. Emma had received it herself early on, and while she has moments of feeling a little sick, or a slight dizziness that comes and goes every once in a while, she's starting to feel like herself again. More honestly, she's starting to feel like crap for the reluctance in how Graham approaches her when they're alone, like he's not entirely sure how to communicate whatever it is he's feeling now. 

It's not a conversation Emma entirely knows how to start either, and yet she doesn't know how she's going to continue to sleep in the same space with him unless she knows she's still welcome here. Maybe what she's done isn't easily forgiven, but it'd kept him safe long enough for them to struggle with it. That's something, right? It's at least enough to get her to call him over to the couch at the end of a long day, after they'd eaten in near silence and with only the grumbles of greedy wolves to distract them. 

She doesn't speak until he joins her, and even then there's a pillow she pulls into her lap to delay the conversation further. He's going to think she's insane for initiating this, but they can't keep going like this, can they? "I know you're still upset with me," it's quiet, respectful, like she won't push if he doesn't have anything to add. "Things are different than they were a few weeks ago, and that's not because of the virus or anything that's happened in the city, it's on me." 

Comments

[dishearten]

She's not wrong. Things feel a little different than they had before she walked out the door. He doesn't reach out like he might have before, though he responds when she reaches for him. He's back to his own space in the front room while Emma has the bed to herself. Things aren't the same as they were, though he doesn't blame her for it, not really. It's just an awareness he hadn't had before, and not one that had not been particularly easy to face, that changed how he reacted. Emma not wanting to be around him at her worst, choosing to protect him over what he wanted, surely neither of these were worthy of ruining what little time they had together, and he didn't intend to.

In the end, it wasn't that he was upset with her. It was just that he realized things were not quite at the place he'd thought they'd been — she'd told him they were partners, yet when it came to facing things together she'd chosen to walk away. It's not the reaction he might have wanted, yet that doesn't make it wrong. It was what she'd needed, and he didn't have to like it but he did have to accept it. The lines that had blurred had resurfaced, and they were unyielding. He simply hadn't figured out how to navigate them yet. He would with time.

It's true, that he doesn't understand her intentions for starting the conversation. He doesn't seem as openly uncomfortable as she does, but he's also far enough away (sitting on a chair near the couch over next to her) that emotions are a distant echo. His feelings on the matter haven't changed since they spoke of it last, he can't comprehend the good in rehashing what had already happened. "I'm not upset with you," he corrects quietly, though explaining further than that seems to be a dangerous subject, and one that he might be better off not broaching. "You did what you thought you had to. I understand that."

[sheriffing]

"You say you're not upset, but things are different." Look at where he is right now, keeping his distance, off in a chair instead of beside her. After how many nights of him sitting with his arms around her? The bed used to be theirs, and now it's hers. He doesn't come near her unless she's initiated it - and when it's not something he offers on his own, the only times she does are when she forgets she shouldn't do this anymore.

"I'm sorry I hurt you. I can't apologize for wanting you to be safe, but all I could see of the virus was how it could hurt you." She was wrong in not trying to look at things from his side of it. He'd said he'd wanted her to stay and all she could think to do was shut him down. It might have been within her rights to decide she wanted to go, but maybe there had been a way for them to see each other. It's easier to see that now, knowing the worst of the virus never managed to get her. At the time she'd been scared; for her life, for his, for however the virus would change her.

Leaving once she'd found out she was infected seemed like the obvious thing to do. She hadn't expected him to fight her on it. He was supposed to believe it was for the best, understand her reasoning behind it. She'd never imagined he'd want her to stay. It's still hard to imagine that now, fully healed, without the fear of the disease taking her away from it. That's where her persistence falters, possibly where she realizes she hasn't quite hit on the heart of the problem, and she's not sure she can look at him and say it. "No one's ever wanted to be with me like that before. Not once things got bad."

[dishearten]

Things are different, he won't argue that. The lines had blurred and blended a little too much, enough for him to forget that they still were there, they still stood for something. Graham had wanted to believe, and that made it too easy to assume things were deeper than they were. That wasn't fair, and it wasn't particularly wise. He's not really worried about what might happen to him, if they fell too far down a hole they couldn't climb out of; in fact, it's rather late to save him. It was too late to save him that night in the station, when she'd helped him to remember who he was, and none of what he feels for her has chanced in the year since it happened.

It won't ever change, he suspects, yet that doesn't give him a right to assume Emma feels the same. Nor to try and convince her to. When her time here in ALASTAIR ends, they'll say their goodbyes all over again. He knows better than anyone else on their team how much losing devastates her, why would he choose to make something already painful worse by telling her he loves her? Or worse yet, trying to convince her to love him in return, knowing she'd have to be the one to walk away?

"I can be upset without being upset at you." That's oddly emotionally concise, for a man that isn't supposed to be able to feel much of anything. He's upset at her choice, upset by the reality it forced him to face, yet he doesn't blame her for reacting the best way she knew how. His reactions are his own, and certainly not to be blamed on Emma. He sighs at the mention of trying to protect him, even though it's not new information in the slightest. He knows full well that what pushed Emma away was her desire to protect him, that it had trumped everything. What he wanted, what she wanted. He's not particularly at peace with that, either.

"I'm not going anywhere. And I never will." The promise is incredibly bittersweet; as much as he means that, it's not actually a good thing. He will be here as long as she wants him to be, and he'll come back if she ever shoves him away and changes her mind. And he will remain long after she goes home, back to her family and her life and her future. A future he won't be a part of. "I suspect you have a hard time believing that, and I know why. It doesn't change that I don't want you to save me, Emma. I want you at my side, not throwing yourself in front of whatever might threaten." Considering their missions, that happened quite a bit, and this was far from the first time Emma had wanted to protect him. It was just the first she'd had to protect him from herself.

[sheriffing]

There's a crushing finality to the suggestion that this is all there is for them. He's said before that he can't go back to Storybrooke, and she knows that he's right in assuming ALASTAIR wouldn't allow it. There's more to what's possible than what this organization will allow, Emma knows that (probably better than Graham does), but she hasn't pushed. As much as she'd like to be stubborn and insist that they are both going home someday, she can't force a choice on him any more than he could have convinced her to stay with him while she was infected. And if she's honest - if she looks at the time she's been away and how days have stretched into months, and the months have stretched into something more significant that she cares to admit, then she's still not sure when she'll see home again. They both know she won't stop until she's reunited with her son, yet she's learned her persistence is only worth so much to these people.

When she does go home, it'll be without him. He doesn't have to remind her, she's thought of that at least a dozen times since they started this mission. They've settled into something that can't last, and though that's true of all of her relationships, it's the first time she's ever dared to feel something for someone with the knowledge that it's definitely going to end. There's not even the possibility of happily ever after for them, only happiness in the moments they manage to steal outside of their timeline. Ever since she was given the cure, even those have been scarce.

"I know." There's nothing she can do with his words except to listen to them. It had been nearly impossible to take them to heart when she was sorting through the fog of the infection. All she could see then was right and wrong and how she could protect him. Sitting here, with distance between them (distance that she doesn't want) and a growing sense of just how far in over her head she is, she understands what he's asking for. She doesn't want him to protect her, either. Where she'd focused on saving his life, he had done an admirable job of trying to spare her the pain of the two of them getting too close.

It turns out that he can find danger all by himself, and neither of them want the distance.

"I want you by my side, too." Like Graham, Emma had settled into this mission with thoughts of their partnership. It wasn't until she realized she was infected that she started to separate her own needs from what the savior was supposed to do. There's a fair amount of weight on her shoulders from that title, a responsibility to the people of Storybrooke that she hasn't been able to let go of, even here. "I tried to be the savior when you just wanted me to be your partner, and I shouldn't have done that." The words feel heavy as they leave her, like she's hit on something she's a little ashamed of. She doesn't know how to be both, at least not yet.

"What we have is different than any relationship I've ever been in. I'm not trying to push you away, I'm trying to learn how to be what you need here."

[dishearten]

It's defeatist, to have already given up on the chance without exploring all their options. He has genuine reasons to assume it won't work, yet how can it, when he can't manage to believe it could? As far as he can tell, even if he could follow after her, he'd die all over again. If he manages to secure a new heart, if they found a way, if if if... there's so many questions that seem impossible to answer, and truly, he has not made much attempt to try. Apparently the savior isn't the only one that has trouble believing.

No matter the discomfort between them lately, it's impossible not to respond to the quiet promise that they want the same thing. So much of their time is spent not speaking of what they feel or what they want and what they need. It's not as if he wasn't aware that Emma didn't want him, yet hearing it out loud feels different. Especially for a woman who struggled so much drawing people nearer. The word relationship is a new one, too, considering they'd never used the phrase between them before, unless it was to create a convincing front for the rest of Woodhurst.

He stands to take a spot beside her instead, reaching for one of her hands, knotting fingers together as he tries to evaluate an answer. "I'd never want you to be anything but who you already are, Emma," he mutters finally, almost confused by the question. "But I suppose I understand what you mean. I don't know how to be what you need, either." He could blame it on his heartlessness, he could blame it on not having much experience with entanglements like the one they're already too deep in. Either way, it doesn't change he could have asked her, over guessing, over pulling back in attempts to give her something it seems she doesn't even want.

"If you can tell me what it is you need, then I'll try to do the same." Maybe neither of them will be good at it, at least to start, but they can learn. They managed to fall all too easily into being together in Woodhurst, it was unlikely they couldn't learn to communicate better. It meant asking instead of reacting, talking instead of assuming. It was worth a try, especially if it could ease the tension between them.

[sheriffing]

Being with Graham is the only part of this that makes sense, no matter where ALASTAIR brings them or what the mission is. It had even been a comfort to her as she'd started to wonder if she was infected, when she'd suspected something was wrong and tried to talk herself out of searching for a diagnosis. She didn't want anything to separate them, though that hadn't stopped her when she felt like a threat that couldn't properly be contained.

Her posture changes when he joins her, shoulders tilting forward comfortably instead of her remaining rigid. It feels like she has permission to lean closer so she does, her hand resting carefully in his. She shouldn't be so quick to take these gestures of affection for granted, the truth is she was starting to feel lost without them.

She'd like to tell him what she needs, but it takes a few quiet seconds for Emma to sort that out herself. When she says their relationship is different, this is just one more thing that they're learning how to navigate. Communication comes in a few different forms, and while they've gotten better at some of them, there are a few things they need to work on. She's willing to make the effort if he is, because they have enough working against them without the two of them adding to it.

"I need - " It's a start that she wants to say something; what she actually comes out with is incredibly honest, too. "I need you to be patient with me, even when it seems like I want to take on the whole world by myself. You have no idea how much I want to save you, or how much it hurts to know that I can't."

Nevermind how much it hurts to know that he wouldn't accept it if she was willing to fight for him. She respects his choice, it's his decision and she knows it - but if there's a chance to protect him, her first instinct is to look out for him instead of worrying about the consequences. It's why she was so quick to offer up her own heart for study; because getting his back feels more important than keeping her own free of risks.

"I want to fight beside you, I want the partnership we've talked about ever since we came here - but sometimes it's hard for me to back down from the idea that you deserve to have someone fighting for you. And then I pick the wrong ways to show it." She could always just tell him that he matters to her, without including it in one of her 'in case of emergency' letters. "I can't think about the future because I don't know where it's going to take us, but I do know that I don't want to leave here without you knowing that your life - your happiness - is important to me."

[dishearten]

She responds so easily to his touch that it's truly a wonder as to why he thought distance might be better. He struggles knowing the limits of what they have and what they do not, and Graham would always prefer to not cross any lines over risk crossing the wrong one. She'd asked for distance when she was infected, and he'd defaulted back to uncertainty over when and what was acceptable. Perhaps foolishly, yet Emma might not be the only one that needed a bit of patience.

He doesn't interrupt, listening intently instead, even as his thumb runs over her knuckles. It's such a simple touch, yet it's more than either of them have indulged in for weeks. He doesn't have a heart to ache at the idea Emma is desperate to save him and distraught over the fact it was impossible, yet it seems to hurt even without it. "You already saved me. You know that, don't you?" Graham realizes he's never told her, though perhaps it is something on the list of many things he figures is too much for her to hear. Still, with the idea she struggles with the idea she'll never save him, he has to correct her. "You brought me back to myself. You gave me the strength to finally break free. You saved me. What happened after that isn't your fault."

And he doesn't regret it, either. A million times over, he'd still chose to leave Regina, to choose himself, to reach for freedom and that beautiful and bittersweet moment in the station. Emma couldn't see all she'd given him in the weight of what he'd lost, yet Graham had no such difficulty. Regina's cruelty had nothing to do with all she'd given back to him, and it didn't diminish it either.

Graham almost isn't sure how to answer the last. Where Emma sees someone worthy of defending, he surely doesn't. Graham has a complicated perspective on his own happiness; he doesn't believe he deserves it, considering all he's guilty of. Some of it was not by choice, yet when it was his own actions that had left him heartless, it's hard to really believe he is blameless in all the suffering he helped to further. He hasn't quite managed to hate himself enough to actively avoid what makes him happy, he still reaches for it despite the knowledge he has done little to merit it. It just doesn't make much sense to him that Emma would want to be invested in the happiness of someone who had done so little to deserve it.

"I need patience of my own. I want to be close to you, but I don't always know how. When I can't, just know it isn't because of you." It could be for a million reasons, from discomfort to uncertainty to memories that he can't quite escape. "Your happiness matters to me, too. I want that more than I want anything." It colors almost everything he does in their relationship, and it pushes him often to make the wrong choice. Turns out he can't predict what she wants and needs as well as he'd have thought.

[sheriffing]

She's never given any thought to the idea that there are things that might be too much for her to hear. They're members of the same team, both chosen to endure the same missions. If there's anything between them that she isn't ready for, Emma doesn't exactly have the option to run and hide. Sometimes she wishes she did, if only so that he'd understand her willingness to branch out beyond the things she might have been able to prepare herself for. She doesn't expect him to withhold everything he thinks and feels out of the fear that she might turn away from him. Given the choice, she'd like to believe she would stay.

It doesn't make it any less painful to talk about that night, but losing Graham is an ache that never fades. Hopefully he won't take that sudden swell of emotion the wrong way when her eyes fill up at his insistence that she saved him. Graham frames the night as only he can; what she thinks back to is how he remembered who he was and he stood up to Regina - she just wishes that his freedom hadn't come at so high a cost. If it had been later, or if she had believed sooner - if she'd searched for his heart when the wolf led them to the crypt, maybe that night would have ended in joy instead of tragedy.

She knows enough to put the blame on someone who deserves it; Regina took his life and for that she'll never forgive her, but she feels enough responsibility of her own to pull him closer when he frees her of it. It's a reason to burrow closer against him, allowing him to pull his arm around her while she reaches up to take his hand in hers again. As much as she likes to pretend she doesn't need it, touch helps. She likes being close to him in any way that he'll let her, even as he goes on to say that it's difficult for him to be near her sometimes.

"I can be patient," she nods against his shoulder, taking his words for what they are. She's afraid she'll chase him away by wanting to protecting him, he's afraid to tell her when he's uncomfortable out of fear of chasing her away. "And close can mean what you're comfortable with, when you're comfortable with it." Being close doesn't demand sexual intimacy, even if that's something they've started to share with each other. If there's one thing they can both agree on, it's that they'd like to find a way to make each other happy. That seems like a promising place to start something that's more than a cover here. "I won't ask for more than you can give, but if there is something you need, all you have to do is let me know it."

[dishearten]

What he wants isn't to upset her further, but even without a heart he suspects that is an impossible task. There's no silver lining to the reality that he died for choosing himself over confinement. There's no happily ever after spin to the cold reality they both know all too well. He didn't survive walking away from Regina and she'd warned him a very long time ago that he wouldn't. He'd never been brave enough to walk away despite the promise until he had a reminder happiness was worth fighting for. It wasn't Emma's fault that fight was cut short, and it never would be.

She sinks towards him and he pulls he closer still, an action that has gotten all too practiced over the past few weeks. He seems to breathe a little easier with her near, even despite his intentional and rigid distance. He doesn't know how to navigate their relationship particularly well, yet it's inarguable how much their closeness means to him when they actually have a moment to share it. Graham knows Emma might never stop grieving him, even as he lives and breathes next to her — it's fair enough, because he's already had to grieve the life they won't ever get to have, and no amount of time seems to be enough to bring him to peace with it.

It's frustrating, really, that not even he seems to be able to perfectly predict what makes him uncomfortable. The touch that grazes just a hair wrong, or the offhand mention that keeps him from sleeping at night. He still keeps plenty of the worst of it locked away, like that way it can only hurt one of them instead of both — yet when it forced distance, was it really a victimless crime? "I'll try," is the promise he offers. He might not be spectacularly gifted at opening up to start, but he can try, can't he?

Graham lifts a hand to her cheekbone, the pad of his thumb darting at a stray mark of salt under her eye. "No more of these. That's my first need." It's not a perfect partnership they're trying to make together, it can't be when it's post-dated with uncanny awareness that it will end. It's hard to build on a foundation that could slip away at any moment. Still, if they are agreeing to more than a silent uncertainty, then it shouldn't be a moment overwhelmed by sadness. It may be easy to get caught up in what they can't have, it's simply that in this moment he'd like to focus on what they do.

He does have the ability to kiss her, after the scare of a virus that threatened to separate them for far longer than a few days. With an opportunity like that, it seems a shame to waste it... so he doesn't.

[sheriffing]

Neither one of them has any idea of how to open up to the other, that's probably what started this. She could have said she was afraid for him, instead of turning herself into a problem he needed to rid himself of. He had a point about her taking things on by herself, but as soon as she started telling stories about the time they first met or the stupid jokes he told to get her attention, the partnership between them felt like something she needed to be protective of, even if she wasn't sure that it was real.

Knowing that it is makes this a team effort. He promises to try, and her head tilts knowingly in acceptance. They'll start by trying; talking. It's not a crime to let him know he's important to her, and even if she's been avoiding labels a little more desperately than he has, she's glad they have something to call their own. That it's something they don't have to share with anyone else works for her, too. She's not so much a member of the team that she doesn't guard the things that matter most especially close to her heart.

There's just something about being together at the end of a long day that's always appealed to her. They've seen each other suffer through enough risks and disappointments that she's found she feels most at home in their shared downtime. It's sweet when he wipes away her tears, but it's not until he kisses her that she realizes how much she needed him to. There are plenty of things she isn't ready to say, one talk doesn't change how far they have to go - but she pours the rest of it into the warmth of a kiss.

Emma has spent a long time thinking there wouldn't be another opportunity for her to do this, and she intends to get a few good ones in if he's willing to let her. A kiss because she missed him, a kiss because she's sorry, a kiss for her partner, a kiss just because. Two because he's someone worth fighting for, and three more to get her point across ( because she knows he doesn't think so). It's an endless cycle, but it celebrates a start and not the end she was expecting. What they have might be new, but it's strong enough to endure the perspectives of two intensely stubborn people. That's something worth at least a few stolen kisses and a night on the couch together.