That last episode(1x07) just… ARGH! My shipper side (who's crying in a corner because she really, really likes him with Emma) is desperately rooting for Graham not to be dead, while my logical side (who's sitting down with a computer and fixing this. Right. Now.) is plotting ways to bring him back/use this to my best advantage.
There will likely be a whole deluge of fics for this fandom (read: this pairing) as I get it all out of my system. So enjoy.
Oh, I don't own Once Upon A Time. That privilege goes to the ABC writers. And, um, belated spoiler warning for 1x07.
"Don't slam the door," Mary Margaret called idly over her shoulder as the door shut forcefully, not looking up from the pot she was stirring.
Silence answered her.
"Emma?" the teacher asked, twisting to look over her shoulder at her housemate.
"Emma!" she repeated, dropping the spoon. The sauce could burn for all she cared, the blonde obviously needed her more. Her eyes were still red from crying, and she looked a mess.
"I'm fine," she tried to bluff, swiping tear-stained cheeks with the sleeve of her red coat.
"No, you're not," the teacher shot back, taking the other woman by the shoulders and leading her to sit down on the couch. "What's wrong?"
"Graham," Emma choked out.
Mary Margaret was about to teasingly rebuke her housemate for getting so worked up, especially over someone she claimed to have no feelings for, when Emma spoke again.
"He had some sort of attack in the sheriff's office, collapsed on the floor," now that she'd started, the words flowed out in a rush that Mary had to strain to understand, "They took him to the hospital. Dr Whale told me, in as many words, that I had no business being there and I should get out." She choked out the last words through more tears.
Emma turned unusually red-rimmed eyes in her direction. "You told me the wall I built kept out life. If life hurts this much, I don't think I want the wall to come down."
Not knowing what else to do, Mary pulled the blonde to her, allowing the other woman to bury her face in her shoulder. "Look on the bright side," she whispered as she rubbed comforting circles on Emma's back and made a mental note to strangle Dr Whale in the morning. How could he turn her out when it's obvious to anyone with eyes that she loves Graham, or at the very least cares for him deeply.
"He's still alive," she soothed, "hang onto that. There's still hope at least."
Emma let out a strangled half-laugh. "They don't know if he'll ever wake up, or if there's even anything left to wake up," she said.
"You can't give up on him," Mary said, "he's still hanging on, and so can you."
Emma pulled back to look her in the eyes, and she looked for a moment like a small child seeking reassurance from a parent that everything would be alright, that they could fix this.
"What happened?" she asked, suddenly spotting the cut marring Emma's forehead, just above her left eyebrow.
The blonde smiled hesitantly, guiltily. "I may have punched the mayor," she admitted, "but she hit me first."
Mary raised an eyebrow. "Do tell," she urged, eager to get her housemate's mind off the man fighting for his life in a hospital bed.
Emma's expression sobered, and she realized too late that of course Graham is inextricably mixed up in all this. Then her housemate shook it off and began to talk. "He was spouting some crazy story about being unable to feel, thinking he didn't have a heart" she began, "I told him it was crazy, of course he had a heart. I could feel it beating. But he followed the wolf, and I followed him." Mary's expression went skeptical at this, there weren't any wolves in Storybrooke, but she understood that Emma needed to get this tale out, nonsensical as it is and schooled her features back to calm understanding.
"It led us to the cemetery, to the mayor's father's tomb. Graham insisted we go in, and poked around. The mayor caught us as we were coming out. He said that this was between them, and basically dumped her."
"They were together?" Mary interrupted. In a small town like this, news travels fast, and this is the first she'd heard of such a thing.
Emma nodded. "Sort of," she explained, and Mary was relieved to see the blonde was looking and sounding significantly better than when she'd first walked through the door. Telling the story was helping. "I caught him sneaking down off her roof a couple nights ago. And Henry was in the house."
"Ew," Mary exclaimed, "how could they think of that?"
The other woman smiled, a flash of a thing that quickly faded. "That's what I said," remarked Emma. "Then she accused me of stealing all that she held dear."
"And then she punched you?" Mary guessed.
"No," Emma corrected, "then I told her she should look in a mirror if she wanted to find the root of her problems. After that she punched me. Though I think she came away worse off, Graham had to pull me away."
"Good for you," Mary said, "Regina always did rub me a little wrong."
"The teacher, harboring a vendetta against our mayor?" Emma asked, "I would never have guessed."
Mary flushed. "It's not really a vendetta so much as a feeling that something is off. And you're diverting. What happened after you got into a fistfight with the mayor?"
"Graham took me back to the station to take care of my cuts, and he just sort of passed out. I called 9-1-1, they rushed him to the hospital, and that's all there is to it."
Mary could sense there was more to that story, but judging by the way Emma was fidgeting with her sleeves, she wasn't ready to share that part yet.
"Go to bed," she instructed, slipping into her schoolteacher voice almost without realizing it, "I'll call Dr. Whale and see if I can get an update, but you won't be of much help to the sheriff if you're worn out."
"Yes, mom," said Emma jokingly; though she only followed the teacher's advice after they'd both had a cup of hot chocolate with cinnamon.
She was more worn out than she thought and when she got up the next morning, Mary Margaret had already departed. There was a note on the kitchen table for her, reading:
Gone to beat some sense into Dr. Whale. He'll willingly give you an update by the time I'm done with him, even if I have to recruit someone to help me.
Remember, believing in even the possibility of a happy ending is a very powerful thing. Don't give up on him.
Emma smiled, really smiled, when she read that. She'd been alone most of her life, and it was nice to know there were people, or at least a person, looking out for her.
She could get through this.
She just had to not give up.
Any thoughts? Or was it so bad I put you to sleep?