epidemiology | HELLO, MY OLD HEART. IT'S BEEN SO LONG;

HELLO, MY OLD HEART. IT'S BEEN SO LONG;

CHARACTERS: Graham, + Loki, Sieglinde, Giorno, and Emma, tiny open prompt at the end!
DATE: in Oska
WARNINGS: possible talk of mind control/sexual abuse
SUMMARY: get grandpa a heart! let's go!

GIORNO.

It's been a long time coming, longer than it ought have been. Without his heart Graham grieves its absence less — like a child born in the desert yearning for snow when they've only heard of it, it's an idea more than a reality when it exists in a place so very far away.

Though that's not entirely the truth, is it? Graham has reasoned with himself over his missing heart, and it is hard to want something that could potentially bring as much pain as it might happiness. He functions without, he exists fairly well without. Why bring back emotions he's better off not feeling?

Well, for starters, because it will be the first step to really living again. The first step toward a possible future, instead of an ending. So he asks those that have offered him aide to finally set the plan in motion. Better late than never.

The start of the plan is to procure a vessel, living muscle and not stolen from anyone else. Graham has been rather particular on that. Luckily there's a member of Audentes capable of such a feat, and he's exactly the one Graham is waiting on. When he hears a knock, the huntsman does not stall in the fingers scratching under the scruffy jaw of his brother. "It's open," he says instead, and it is. Giorno was expected, there's a book holding the door open. Really reverent use of a book, Mr. Cracker.

LOKI.

The scientific side of the process is complete. The heart made, tested, finessed. Ready for implantation, and enchanted to maintain itself even outside of a body. It's eerie to hear it beat in its quiet wooden box, beating as if it always had. That a cedar prison was just as pleasant a home as a cage of bone. Graham can't feel the extent of the emotions the heart promises, not without it being placed in his chest, yet even without it he seems unsettled by the sound.

He's heard a choir of heartbeats, laid to rest in cold wooden boxes. Just one shouldn't unnerve him as much, yet it makes him think of his own, how long ago he'd lost it. The fact he can't even remember the tempo that had once sounded so familiar.

The library is absent as he waits for Loki. There's the promised book in front of him, though Graham doesn't have much interest in thumbing through the pages. He knows that story, how it started, how it ended. He's not interested in what is written, he's more set on what might yet come. He is quiet as he waits, as Loki is the sort of person that does not run by the demands of a clock.

He will arrive exactly when he intends to, no sooner and no later.

EMMA.

It's been a long day.

Graham can't even feel the worst of it, honestly, and that's for the heart still thundering in a box instead of his chest. Perhaps he'll feel it soon, the weariness of someone who has existed on the fringe for so very long, suddenly reeling in the weight of everything he'd been missing. It'd be a bit of a lie to say he's excited, and that's not just because the emotion seems a little hard to manage heartless. Rationally, and at the moment that's the most he can do, rationalize — he supposes that he is afraid.

He is afraid of the dark that lingers and haunts him even without a heart. He is afraid that feeling will overwhelm him, that it will change him back to the man he looks back on with regret. He is afraid it will change things, yet it has been more than long enough for him to fear what will happen if he doesn't more. Having a heart is a part of living, an unescapable and vital part of really and truly living. Graham cannot claim to want a future without being willing to truly live it.

There's one person that has pushed him to that conclusion more than anyone else could have hoped to, and she's the last stop on this wearying process. First, and middle, because it'd been her job to enchant the heart so it could stay preserved outside of a body during the preparations. Now all the work is done, there's nothing left but inserting it, and unfortunately that task is placed at her door, too. Graham wouldn't have asked it of her if he had another choice, but he doesn't. She'll have to hurt him to help him, at least one last time.

He knocks at her door with one, uneasily holding the beating box in the other. It's finally time to end all this — or, perhaps, in a sense? Start it.

SIEGLINDE.

The morning after, the whole world feels different.

It's overwhelming, mostly. The weight of the world has found its way back onto his shoulders, and as expected, it's not as easy to carry as emptiness. Despite the fact he's healthier than he has been in decades in this moment, with a heartbeat stirring under his breast, in many ways he feels as if he has fallen when he was meant to step forward. The shame he feels in this fact is a revolution in and of itself. Everything is a bit of a revolution, lately.

He's considered canceling the check in with Sieglinde, yet he knows the assurances that he is well won't be believed until she has a chance to see for herself. So when she knocks at the agreed time, he forces himself from bed and goes to answer. Despite the early hour, he's meticulously dressed, every button in place, even though he'll probably need to remove quite a few layers for her to appropriately evaluate him.

The first thought that comes to mind is he looks tired, and that his eyes don't seem to land on hers when he opens the door. Brother grants a far more enthusiastic hello, bounding closer and slowing only when he nears — a learned habit, from nearly knocking her over in the past. "Come in," Graham finally says, and even his voice seems a little different, now. Almost everything is different now.

OPEN.

Having a heart is perhaps not as easy as it sounds, though it is not always as horrible as he expected it to be. Those that spot Graham around Oska might notice something unusual, at least for him.

He eats ravenously at the cafeteria, for once, when he's only been seen picking at his food before. When he visits the stables to sweet-talk the horses he wears a muted but genuine smile on his face. Most alarmingly, visiting the squidges he all out laughs when a pair of them take a tumble over a log. Those that know Graham will know he has barely managed a restrained chuckle in all his time in ALASTAIR.

The good is painted with the bad. Graham can seen far more often running the castle grounds, only stopping when his body forces himself to, looking pained at that.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Giorno is happy to be here. Honestly, he's done a fair amount of reasoning and rationalization himself, lately. The best way he can justify his being here is by finding ways to make things better for the people of Audentes. He doesn't have to like all of them. He just has to help.

Graham is one of those people Giorno did not expect to want to help so much. He's distrustful of adults, usually, and for good reason. But Graham was used as a weapon, and he needs help; more than that, he's gentle, moreso than Giorno would have ever expected. It's still not easy to offer kindness in return instead of distrust, but with Graham, it's somehow easier than with so many others.

None of which is to say that he approves of this use of book as doorstop. His frown is pinched and librarian-esque as he pushes the door open and picks the book up, dusting its cover off fussily.

"Couldn't you have used a shoe or something?" he murmurs, mostly to himself, before putting the book on the nearest flat surface and coming to crouch in front of Brother. "Hello again."

Graham glances at the book, not exactly looking apologetic though he does hear the rebuke. "I don't have any extra shoes," he says, and a simple look around the room will agree with the sentiment, as it's uncluttered of most things and what he has is visible without much searching. What he's wearing is all he has. That said, "I'll consider an alternative in the future." Not that there's a bunch else in here for him to use, but he can find something. Graham is a capable man.

He fluffs at the rugged fur down his Brother's front, and the wolf looks far more like a lazy dog at the moment than a wolf proper. Quite removed from the creature he'd been when Giorno had first met him, though Graham couldn't quite explain why. "He's still a bit unsettled when I take a different form. He's more used to humans than he should be." Case in point, Brother looks over at Giorno with familiarity and bland acceptance instead of fear. He stops the happy lull of his tongue to lean just barely closer and huff a careful scent, and that's about all the investigation Giorno gets.

Hm. Giorno purses his lips. This is a fair statement, but . . . two things. One, Giorno cannot conceptualize a life with only one pair of shoes. Two, this room looks so un-lived-in. It's sort of sad. It's. Quite sad, actually.

"Well," he says halfheartedly. "Next time, then."

Best to put that aside for now. Better to smile at Brother and keep a slight distance, rising slowly and moving to sit down on the edge of the bed.

"I'll try not to contribute to it any further. Is he going to be able to let go of that, do you think?"

Look, Giorno, some people get along just fine with one pair of boots! It isn't as if he felt completely committed to the one pair he'd brought from home, either... no, he'd replaced that pair about a year back when they got a little too worn. He's just too practical for his own good, and the idea of more shoes than he has feet has never really occurred to them.

"Being unsettled? Or his comfort with humans?" A complicated question, either way. "He trusts who I trust." So while the wolf was particularly dog-like and playful at the moment, it had a great deal to do with the fact that Graham didn't feel there was a threat. There was a more feral side behind the two-toned eyes. As for whether he'd grow accustomed to his human being in a different form...

"I'm not sure. I've tried to explain it to him, yet he hasn't truly gotten used to it yet. Who knows what time could teach him." That last note veers affectionate, and Brother's ears curl, as if he is bashful about being spoken of.

"Oh, being unsettled by the transformation, I meant. I certainly don't think he should be more trusting of humans than he deems appropriate."

After all, humans mostly suck. Giorno has no illusions on that subject. Brother's judgment is probably better than even his, and he does pride himself on having pretty good judgment. Whether that's warranted or not is another question, but--

"He's brilliant, though. I'm sure he'll find a way to cope and be less anxious about it given enough time." Not to mention this cute ear-curling nonsense. Brother is a wild animal, but still adorable sometimes.

But to business. Giorno tips his chin up at Graham, eyes bright and intent. "Tell me how you'd best like to do this. I've never done it before, obviously--it's not exactly a common request--but I'd like to make it as comfortable for you as possible.]

Brother has decided there's too much talking (probably about him) so he harumphs and abandons the conversation, jumping onto the bed to curl into a wolf ball. Brother, learn to take a compliment!

As for the matter at hand... there's not honestly a good question to that answer. "I confess I haven't either." The creation of a heart out of scratch is really Whale's territory, not his. And in the end, he'd wanted an enchanted heart, not any of his creations. "There is more to all this than simply having it, it must be enchanted and Sieglinde wants to make sure my body won't reject it. If there's a way you can manage to make it without it being inside of me, that would be my preference."

Damn, he's lucky he's heartless, or he wouldn't be able to say that without a little bit of a grimace.

[Graham's heart has been a long time coming.

For this process, Sieglinde has dug through notes on his condition from all the way back in Nalawi, when she first found him in that borrowed bed suffering from the effects of the drain on magic. Notes from Perdition's Rest, notes from Woodhurst... sketches of his body, recordings on his vitals... part of her felt a certain degree of scientific disappointment, something like failue that in the end she couldn't manage it on her own... but that was selfish. She knew that.

Brother's greeting she returns with a pat of her hand on the wolf's head, Isengrim slipping from behind her to sniff the other canine with his... nose-lacking skull, and Sieglinde tries to smile.

Graham might not be looking happy, but she had to. She'd killed Dr. Mills. She'd almost died on that ship. But if she didn't smile, didn't try-]

Well met, Graham!

[She bustles in, bag clutched to her chest, leaving Isengrim to investigate Brother as if it's been more than a day since they last smelt each other.]

Are you ready for your checkup?

( there's at least a flicker of amusement as the wolf and dog both pace in a tight circle, trying to smell things they've surely smelled before and are like to smell again. it's odd how even a passing emotion seems to register on his face, now, a slight quirk at the corner of his mouth, even if it fades as fast as it comes. Graham hasn't had his heart back long enough to really have a great deal of processing all the sudden input, though he appreciates the momentary pangs of the positive when they happen. amusement, familiarity, and affection.

affection strong enough to make him open the door, when at the moment it seems safer to keep to himself. in his head as well as his heart, he knows that distance is self inflicted. before he lost his heart he'd determinedly kept everyone back. without it he hadn't fared much better, at least, not until he'd ended up in ALASTAIR.

it was for good and for ill that he'd landed here, though perhaps more good than bad.

he finds her cheeriness curious — something he might not have noticed before, her brightness to read a little artifical from the girl he's come to know. Graham may yet ask, though she's safe for the moment. ) I am. ( well... mostly. he's still completely dressed and at best his shirt is going to have to come off. she might notice the way he locks the door before he starts to undress, but that's normal, isn't it? ) You seem... well. ( oh okay I guess she was safe for literally just that one moment. sorry Sieg. )

[Graham's face has always been stoic, and over the months- no, years, that they've spent together Sieglinde has learned to not read much into the lack of obvious emotion on his face or in his voice. It was in actual actions that she judged what the huntsman was feeling, however he could.

It's a bit strange to see things on his face, paired with the actual action of being let in- all she'd usually have to work with.]

Good, good. Let us get that shirt off then so I can actually get to that heart.

[Even though she'd been involved in the process, seen it done, it was still a bit too new to really believe it was there. After all, he'd always had a pulse, so the stethoscope wouldn't help. (His face did more than the medical tool.)]

I have always been a morning person.

[Which might be one of the biggest lies she's ever told, because probably everyone she's known in ALASTAIR has had to poke her awake at least once, but. She says it with confidence, at least, toddling over to his bed to put her bag down and begin pulling out her kit.]

( if Sieglinde is not used to Graham having and using his emotions, and furthermore wearing them on his face, she'll have a real chance to get used to it as he makes a deliberately doubtful face at the idea she was simply a "morning person". )

This is news to me. ( as someone who has seen the girl sleep before, he'd never have accused her of overly enjoying her mornings. he frowns at her, clearly skeptical, though at the very least calling shenanigans on Sieglinde is not an overwhelming emotion to experience.

he sits on the edge of his bed and works at the rest of his buttons in relative silence, feeling uncomfortable by the time he manages to get the shirt open. ) Is this enough? ( the fabric was still on his shoulders but she could still reach skin if she was determined.

it's oddly... modest, considering he's never had much of a problem with taking his clothes off before. if she asked, he wouldn't explain it. )

[Though she puffs her cheeks out indignantly at the suggestion that her excuse might be flimsy, Sieglinde doesn't actually fight it in words, instead pulling out her tablet and bringing up his file with a few flicks of her fingers, having grown quite used to the device that would have been considered miraculous in her own world.

At his question, though, she raises a brow slowly.]

I... suppose?

[Was a sense of modesty tied to one's heart? Well,]

You needn't fear for your virtue, however- you have made your position on my future heir quite clear.

[True love and all that. She wasn't going to get in the way of such things.]

I'm not worried about my virtue.

( he lost that a long time ago, after all. in fact, Graham could stand to be more concerned with her virture — he worries over her lost innocence, yet does not do much to try and reinforce it, either. they've been in this position enough times now that he doesn't worry about what she can see.

that does not make him any more inclined to strip, though, and the explanation is not something he wants to share. there are some things he would still spare her, if he can... the extents of the Queen's control over him would be one of those. )

If this suffices, then go ahead. ( it seems they both have things they'd rather avoid talking about. )

[Indeed, it's a tired story between them by now, this debate over virtue and innocence, and unspoken- if she'd ever allow herself to have it. Though even if it was tired... Sieglinde had learned to appreciate the motion of it. The fact that he cared about it, even if she had learned not to.]

Very well.

[So she lets it lie, instead beginning to go about her business. Ostensibly, why she was here. With the professionalism that perhaps only people who have spent as much time around her as Graham has can reconcile with her small body, Sieglinde sets about monitoring his pulse and checking his heartbeat.]

Have you felt any irregular rhythms since the transplant? Any change in your condition at all?

[Murmured quietly as she works, recording figures into her tablet one-handed.]

- Physically, I mean.

( has he felt irregular rhythms? well, considering no rhythm was what he was used to, it is easy for any pattern to be irregular. he knows that's not what she means, though, and exhales a narrow breath at the cold of the stethoscope. from emotions to noticing temperature, everything is a bit new for him, now. )

Yes, though I understand it is normal for your heart to race on occasion.

( especially in times of great stress. he doesn't mention that emotions and memories and panic attacks involved as a result of both has been the cause of his irregular heartbeat. there are some things Sieglinde doesn't need to know. this project was supposed to make his life better, after all — side effects that are no fault of her own are likely to only make her feel badly for something that isn't her fault.

even with the weight of memories, Graham doesn't regret the return of his heart. as difficult as it has been to come to terms with it, the other side of the coin, happiness and relief and affection and every other positive emotion he's rediscovered has more than made the sadness bearable. )

Not an alarming irregular, as far as I can tell.

... on occasion, yes.

[He might not say, but Sieglinde notices all too well the absence of actual answers. Not just because she has known him as long as she has, but because now, she is technically here as his doctor.

And doctor isn't satisfied with that sort of runaround, fixing him with a Look that makes it clear she anticipates more.]

What sort of occasion?

( is hiding things from her the same as lying? it feels a bit like it, turns out, and his face reflects guilt. it would make sense that she'd see through his attempts to hide the worst of it — yet what can he really tell her, without making her feel as if she'd done something wrong in helping to return his heart? )

Moments of stress. ( that's about the biggest non-answer he could provide, and he feels badly about giving them, now. especially with that Look. ) There are things I could not feel heartless that I can feel full well now. It isn't all good.

( some of it is, of course, yet actually have to tangle with his demons for once leaves him slightly at a disadvantage. he needs to relearn how to cope with his own emotions, and to be frank the huntsman had never had much practice in that to begin with. it's slow going, though the feeling is a reminder of what he has now that he did not before. that's something to be grateful for. )

["Stress", he says. As if that would satisfy her even if she wasn't here in a medical capacity? The only thing she does is hum in response at first, though, finishing up her initial measurements and putting down her stethoscope, switching it out for her pen light.]

I will just check your eyes a moment, if you excuse me.

[Carefully, she places her fingers at his temple, spreads them to encourage a wide eye before she shines the light at him, moves it slowly about and watches the way his pupils dilate.]

Have you been sleeping well? Any bad dreams?

[She knew well that emotions were not all good.]

( he's had a check-up or two that he can recollect in Storybrooke, yet somehow the process feels strange with the addition of both his memories and his heart. it didn't make sense with the life he'd led as a Huntsman, and he'd never really gotten sick during the curse enough to have memories to replace the expectations.

he's obedient with her requests, looking where she requests and blinking when told, it just seems odd is all. what do eyes have to do with a heart? well, the heart has to do with everything, doesn't it? )

Not particularly, and yes. I didn't realize those were medical concerns. ( he's being more honest, now, yet there's probably not much anyone can do for him on those particular problems. )

Of course they are. They speak to the greater condition of the mind, which of course is part of the body.

[She moves smoothly, on from his eyes and back to her notes, tapping away a moment.]

... I had nightmares for months after Perdition's Rest.

[After Koltira's attack. She still does, honestly.]

It is something to keep track of.

I know. ( she hadn't permitted him to help — not that there had been anything he could do about the trails her mind traveled when she turned it off. still, he remembered it all too well, and now the shoe is on the other foot. she can't protect him any more than he could have protected her.

as for keeping track, he is uneasy at the prospect. he doesn't want to remember what he dreams of. tracking them is like giving a monster a name, making them more coherent and easier to remember. )

All right. ( maybe not details, but how often. that he can manage. )

[She had stopped tracking them months ago. The dreams she woke from with a cry in a cold sweat, half convinced there were wolves nipping at her heels, that Koltira was strangling her, that her mother was laughing at her, that her patient's were dying, that she was bleeding out on the floor of Zymandis' mothership.

Now that he was capable... he would have his own.]

As for the rest, your vital signs do seem all within acceptable levels...

[And she puts away the tool in her hand.]

It seems that the heart is continuing to serve without your body rejecting it.

[Biologically, anyway.]

He had done something like this before, but it had been distant. In Loki's time, there were lives that he remembered and lives that he does not, sometimes it's somewhere in between. Memory to a god is like trying to capture the steam over a tea kettle, clutching fingers inward knuckle by knuckle until it coils and disappears into the next breath. Despite his flippancy, he knows the weight of the situation that he's asked to accomplish, and his doubt is only outshined by his desperate need for freedom. There's been a few times he wants to say are you sure you want to let me do this? not for the sake of himself, but for the sake of Graham. Sometimes he's not even certain what he's going to do.

Yet, here he is anyway, twirling a small bowl on a dark nailed finger and trailing into the Library like he owns the place. His flawless confidence makes up for everything that he deems he lacks, but the exterior is so well-shaped that the churning of the shadow of his former life (the small one—the child) can't be seen. He curses himself and wonders if he's trying to be more like him, but then he wonders if that's a bad thing.

"Ah—there you are. The star of the show, how do you feel?"

His eyes don't go anywhere but to Graham at the moment.

"Nothing out of the ordinary." Graham pushes the box slightly toward Loki across the table, a reminder of what they've all worked so hard to build yet haven't returned to where it belongs. He's still traversing his usual plane of lacking — for just a little while longer, that is. Emma will replace his heart when all is said and done, and then he might have something more interesting to say about how he feels.

Though, perhaps that's not the entire truth. There's some degree of uncertainty lingering. And, as Graham stares at the box holding a heart that seems to beat unnaturally loud, he does add, "Ready for all this to be done with."

For better, for worse, for failure or for success... even as he is now, the process has been draining. He'd like to have some relief from it, and the only way to manage that is for everything to be complete.

"This is either very bittersweet or the beginning of a horror story. There was some kind of Midgardian tale about this, wasn't there? What was that fellow's name ...?"

Smoothly, he slips into the chair across from him with a low hum of thought. Light fingertips rest on the raised corner of the box, as if he were about to entice the contents into a conversation. "Joe? Low? Schmoe?" It's Poe, and he knows that, but playing dense is all in good fun.

"Regardless—do you have the book?"

It's come down to this: the end of a story, the beginning of something new. It brings back memories of mixed feelings, both bad and good, from a time in his life that he remembers but didn't experience. It wasn't his, but he's about to follow in the same footsteps for a man that he did not cross.

It's an odd, uplifting feeling. Something that makes him uncomfortable.

Graham isn't a big poetry guy, Edgar probably isn't in his reading list. At least Loki isn't making Tin Man jokes... though that's a limited grace.

The fact that the Huntsman graces the pages of Henry's book is about as discomforting now as it was when he still had no memories. Graham has not been enormously enthusiastic about showing anyone the pages that represent who he was and perhaps who he still is, sometimes it's hard to tell. However, at the pressing, he does pull the book up from a seat next to him.

Once Upon a Time, proclaims the cover. The pages that feature him aren't even too far in, if Loki needs to see them. Graham can't help but ask, "What will the book accomplish?" It's already written, he can't comprehend how the book that describes his past has any part of his future.

The passing of the book is the passing of the heart for Loki. The physical had never been worth the time invested to him, the spirit of investing was more valuable than what came of it, but it was momentary. In the end, no one took it with them, it was just a shadow of an idea. The book that he now holds between his long fingers is where all of it came from.

"That's a big question." Loki says, finding the nearest seat at one of Oska's library tables. There's hard wood beneath the book as Loki spreads it out, opening it with wide hands at either side, a green glow of a magic spell fluttering through the pages. "We are never just what the mortal realms demands of us. For gods more than humans, but ..." there's a low hum in his voice as his eyes dart over the pages. "An accumulation of expectation. We are the footprints that the narrative has left behind.

"Sometimes we have to work within it, and sometimes we have to break free."

It's asking a lot out of Graham, to tell him that magic can free him when it had been keeping him isolated and confined for so very long. It says a lot about how his relationship with Loki had changed, grown; he'd seen too much of Regina in the Asgardian at first. Even heartless, it had discomforted him.

Now, he can't help but see some of her still. The difference between them seems to be where Loki turns from the temptations, Regina seized them. Loki has learned (however begrudgingly, on occasion) to use what he could do to help over take. He's earned the trust that Graham gives him, and he'd have to. Graham does not trust without reason.

"What do I have to do?" A simple request, and a genuine one. If he must be a part of this, then he wants to be.

"The hardest part is going to be moving forward."

That's not said without weight to it—he knows, he did it, and he was still in the process of doing it. Sometimes it felt more like a step back than a step forward, but he took it as he could, because he felt too cowardly to take it any way else. Perhaps Graham could be braver in the return of his autonomy; if anything, he was worth the chance, and it was up to him what he did with it.

"Or do you mean with this?"

Loki's taking a knife from his pocket, a small, nameless blade taken from the kitchen. It didn't look like much, and it wasn't, but it was about to become something else. Next came a small bowl, and he sets it out in front of them.

"Well, we take part in the ritual." He says it in a voice that insinuates he doesn't do this for everyone. "You don't mind blood, do you?"

Graham actually already knows that. He had to struggle with that fact before he even set this plan in motion. Trying to make a new end to his sad story, while battling the memories of the prelude and climax... it won't be easy, yet he's determined to.

As for the blood, that's easier. Graham has learned a long time ago that the deepest scars are never made with a knife. The idea of blood magic and rituals is at least a little bit ominous, but as far as he's concerned? There's no turning back now.

He offers his arm, after brusquely pulling back his sleeve. "Better now than later." It won't hurt as much now, with his to-be heart still beating in a box.

With deft fingers, Loki turns the knife toward him with one hand, and slides the bowl forward with the other. He keeps his bright eyes focused on Graham through the exchange.

"All I need is a little—enough to write with." While some ingredients for spells were taken, there were others that were better if they were freely given. The metaphorical was part of the physical, and stories needed some truth to them.

This was Graham's time to shine.

It feels a bit like a test or a challenge, the offering of the knife. It isn't as if he can fear the pain, yet a part of him does hesitate at the unweilding gaze. All of it reminds him of a place long ago — only the dark eyes he'd remembered only gave him a choice when she wanted to delight in reminding him he had none.

Graham takes the knife, cutting brusquely along his arm. The movement is done with a mechanical preciseness of someone that can't hesitate at the possibility of the pain. The result is surely enough to write with, and with that he ruffles through a pocket to press a handkerchief against his arm.

"If Sieglinde catches sight of this, she's discussing it with you." No doubt she'd relent knowing the necessity, but still. Loki could better convince her it was necessary.

It's become a ritual, which is exactly what Loki intends it to be. Sorcery works in curious ways, and only part of it has to do with the act of bending reality toward your own intentions—the other part of it was the finesse, the craft itself. The way it was done was just as important as the doing. He doesn't intend to cut corners when it comes to Graham's autonomy, his own had been cut down in a similar way for far too long.

"Oh, there's more she'd discuss with me, I'm sure."

Like the use of his own blood. The knife passes, and Loki takes it by the handle. He follows Graham's example of an easy cut against his palm. Unlike Graham, he has to hold it there, as his flesh will mind too quickly otherwise. The blood from his fist drains into the glass.

"But blood isn't meant to be tampered with lightly."

[Well, that's a surprise! The muted and serious Mr. Cracker digging into his food in the cafeteria like he hasn't eaten in a while. As for Maya, well, this is a normal hangout spot for her, so yeah--- naturally, she's here, stuffing her face. But it really is odd]

Wow... I guess you were hungry, huh?

[He's normally so restrained, Maya can't help but feel curious]

( can she really judge him when she eats like a starving animal all the time? Graham only realizes his ravenous hunger is a bit strange when she points it out, and begrudgingly slows.

there's some dressing on his whiskers, though he rubs it away with a thumb. ) It's strange, feeling hungry again. ( is that explanation enough? hopefully. )

[Yes she can, she's a growing girl!!! No she isn't]

[she stifles a laugh though, he looks like a little kid, getting dressing on his face]

Huh? Did you not have an appetite before, Mr. Graham?

[no it isn't]

I must have, I just couldn't feel it.

( is that enough of an explanation? actually, now that he has a heart, even Graham can guess that it isn't, so apparently his ticker is indeed good for something. )

I was without my heart, for a long time. It's a... curse, I suppose. It meant I couldn't feel much. ( unfortunately even talking about losing his heart is proving uncomfortable in a way he'd never been forced to feel. he's not really hungry anymore...

what is it about Maya killing his appetite... is she just trying to keep all the food to herself........ . .... . ... .. .)

[uhhh she tried to share her food with Mr. Wolfy, thanks, it's not her fault he's a picky bitch]

[but she startles!! Evidently there's a lot she doesn't know about Mr. Cracker]

You lost your HEART?! W-What the heck!? Did..... someone take it from you?! Why would anyone curse you like that?!

[sorry for the noncon touching but she's going to surge forward and frantically try to pat his chest to make sure it's there and beating....]

( waoooooo reported

he tolerates the investigation, though, and under all her investigating she will find a heartbeat. maybe. since she's got about three layers to get to. )

Would you believe me if I said an evil queen? ( they'd touched on his past in the prison, though not very deeply. enough that she might know that he's mentioned such things before, though. )

[She keeps palpating his chest in a panic until she feels it, and then, only then will she withdraw her hand]

Well.... you wouldn't mess with me like that, would you, Mr. Graham? You're not really the prankster type.

[She fidgets with her hands after the patdown like she doesn't quite know what to do with them. There is something else, though:]

You were cursed this whole time and you didn't say anything....?

It's the truth.

( an ugly and unhappy one, but the truth. and that's a big part of why he didn't mention it. it's an ugly story, and he only tells it when he has to. )

A man is more than his curse, is he not? ( I think... I think that's a joke?? more seriously, ) It would have only hurt you to know.

But it could have helped you..... I wish I'd known. [But it's too late to really do anything about it now, and it all worked out, so]

At least it's broken now, right? Now you can be blessed and eat lots of food and have lots of feelings! All of the feelings!

[It's odd to her, considering she'd never considered him as not having feelings, but he'd always seemed a little.... muted. It makes sense, now]

There's a lot that could go wrong in all of this. As usual, Emma has thought of every possible disaster first, just to keep herself from hurting them both with the hope that this could work out. It's her job to be cautious, because it's heart magic and the man she loves, and in their world when something can go wrong it usually does. They aren't in their world, though, and they haven't been for a long time.

This time, maybe that works in their favor. She bolts up the second she hears his knock, purposely diverting her path from the door to glance in a mirror so that she can get a sense of whether or not she looks as nervous as she feels. Graham isn't the only one afraid of what this might change, but he's certain that he needs this and she understands why. The hurt he'll feel with his heart returned to him is horrible and inevitable, and she dreads the moments when the darkness will find him whether he wants it to or not. He'll suffer, he'll ache; part of her feels like he's about to get a heart just to have it broken, but when he lets in the darkness, he's also opening himself up to love, too, and there's nothing Emma wants more for him than the chance to feel that.

So she takes a breath and a moment to steady herself, moving towards the door once again, this time to pull it open. Her eyes land on the box before they search out his face, but when she sees the same fear she felt reflected back in his eyes, Emma steps forward to press a kiss to his cheek, and then aside to let him in. "Hey," she offers quietly, shutting the door behind him to give them some privacy. She doesn't reach for the box, that feels like something he should give over for himself, but she does start towards the bed, in case he wants to sit down. "How do you want to do this?"

If he's afraid, and it's difficult (even heartless) not to be, he's immediately less so when she draws close. If anything has convinced him that he can handle this, no matter the storm it promises to bring, it is the fact that the reminder of wholeness Emma has always brought him is exactly how he wants to feel all the time. It might not be so easy as shoving a heart back in his chest, yet she makes him absolutely certain it is possible. It'll never be easy, finding that equilibrium, yet he'll never have to find it on his own, either.

He leans toward the fleeting touch of her lips on his scruffy cheek, and he has a smile left behind even when she pulls back. It softens the edge of uncertainty in his features, making the situation seem a little less dark. Graham follows her into her room, one he's stayed many nights in and is likely to stay in tonight at that. It's a good place for this to happen, when there are more good memories than bad.

How does he want to do this? Graham steps a little closer to Emma, reaching for her hand to carefully set the box in her palm. "There's no good way to do this," he tells her, voice quiet. He's experienced it enough to know, and Emma deserves to know it won't be her fault that there's no way to do it without pain. "It will hurt. Don't let that scare you."

He's not telling her anything she doesn't already know; Emma's figured out that giving him a heart is going to hurt. Graham might be focused on the pain of having it forced back into his chest, but her thoughts go beyond that, to what it'll mean for him to adjust to the world around him once it's back. This is a second chance he deserves, one she desperately wants for him; he's still right, there's no good way to do this.

"Then let's just do it. You've waited long enough." As much as she'd like to drag this out to delay his pain, all it would do is prolong the inevitable. The sooner his heart gets back in his chest, the sooner he gets to feel alive again, the better. Whatever obstacles they have to overcome in the feelings that follow can't be worse than what they've already been through. He'll be able to experience the world around him again, finally have all that Regina's taken away from him restored.

It still demands a moment's hesitation, her gaze settling over him before she devotes too much time to the box. "I love you." She opens the box with that reminder, setting it down on the bed to take out a glowing heart and lift it with both hands. It's almost too much responsibility, she almost wishes there was someone else to do this, but she understands why it needs to be her.

"I'll try to be quick." If she dwells on it for too long, she'll start apologizing for the pain she has to cause him, and either of them want that. She looks down at the heart again, then back to his chest. If there's no way to be gentle, then hopefully he's alright with her making it fast. It's a quick, forceful push that sends his heart back where it belongs, and then she reaches for him to make sure he's steady, her hands rising to rest against his shoulders and her eyes on him. "Did it work?"

He's considering how the pain of the moment will affect her more than the prolonged pain of feeling what has been so long absent. It isn't to say Graham hasn't considered what truly feeling his emotions mean, of course he has. It's held him in place for quite some time, as even without a heart he's wary of how they might control him. Still, how Emma might feel about the emotions she helped return to him have yet to occur to him. It might be a complexity of emotional thinking he can't reach as he is, though it makes sense. If she feels guilt for causing him physical pain, is emotional so very different?

Graham nods at the idea of getting it over with. He's likely better off if he doesn't think much about it, no countdown and no warning, just ... done. "I love you too." With a heart, without it. That's a constant he doesn't believe possible of changing. Emma draws near and he closes his eyes, figuring not seeing it coming might be easier for both of them. If anything he tries to steel himself to not react, but that's a hopeless feat.

It's been a long time since he's experienced the excruciating pain of one of the worst invasions a person can experience. Emma had been given the permission, yet the reminder of how his skin crawls as much as his entire body tries to reject the sensation is a horrific combination. He grunts out a muted note of pain through clenched teeth, and the heart in his chest only intensifies the pain as she snaps her hands back. He's lucky for the hands that reach out to grasp him, because all the preparation in the world didn't prove enough to truly be ready. He sags against her, hands finding her arms and clenching there as the blood rushes to his ears, and an especially foreign thud pushes it there.

"I..." That's basically not an answer, Graham, but basically all of him is reeling at the moment. Surely Emma can forgive the delayed answer. Did it work? Well, considering the pound in his chest and the warmth of her under his hands and the thrill and terror racing through his veins, it's safe to say yes. As completely overwhelming as it is, it's paired with the success and accomplishment of finally being whole again, after so long.

It's surely familiar, how tears dot at his eyes and his hands land at her cheeks. "Yes," he assures her, a smile cracking across his face. It's different than the smiles he could give her without his heart, at that, a warmth and brightness and simple presence behind it he couldn't have hoped to reach without. "Yes," he repeats, numbly and pointlessly, leaning forward to kiss her. While they're covering sensations that he wants to re-experience, kissing her basically comes at the top. Way above smiling, though being happy enough to grin at her surely isn't bad.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

HELLO, MY OLD HEART. IT'S BEEN SO LONG;

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

cafeteria

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject