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Graham used to be a boy scout.
That's the way he remembers it.
The uniforms were idiotic--kahki-colored shirts and olive shorts and knee-high socks, sashes with tacky stitched-on badges--but what he loved most about being in the boy scouts was being in the woods. He loved the smell of the wet air after a rain, wet wood and wet leaves and stone--and looking at every plant, and learning what birds sounded like undisturbed, and finding nests, and catching catfish with his bare mitts (true story, that one, and he could still do it--though not exactly a story that impressed the ladies...) and learning knots and using a knife to care a piece of wood into shapes like boats and bears; and then lying out at night under the stars, watching the faraway light, watching his breath mist white in the moonlight; and he'd breathe in, everything smelling deliciously of earth and oak and smoky wood and forest air. He'd scoot farther into the warmth of his parker, lying out on a bit of tarp under the open sky, the faux-fur lining of the hood tickling his cheek a little.
Eventually, he'd ditch boy scouts in favor of trekking it out on his own, reading books and getting dirt in the creases of his palms from collecting plants, climbing rocks. The woods are his world.
--
In the dreams he doesn't remember, he's just let a girl go, a girl with skin as white as snow and hair as black as the exotic wood called ebony. He watches her flee into the forest, and he feels sick at heart, but for reasons he does not wish to articulate to himself, thinking of helpless young maids, and heartbroken and vengeful queens.
When he can't see the girl any longer, he sets out to track wild game.
The queen will want the girl's heart.
--
In Storybrooke, Graham has never killed anything bigger than a catfish.
He sits in Granny's cafe for lunch on Monday, sitting at his usual table, drinking the usual cup of diner coffee. He's the Sheriff of Storybrooke, Maine, and he's never arrested anyone for anything more serious than driving under the influence, or the occasional petty crime like shoplifting. It's a good town, Storybrooke is, clean and quiet.
Ruby hates it.
Ruby brings him his ham sandwich and tomato soup, and she pops a bubblegum bubble as she tops off his coffee.
"Sheriff Graham," she says. "I don't know how you can stand it. It feels like I'm bringing you ham sandwich and tomato soup every Monday. If I were you, I'd be dying from the sheer monotany."
Graham looks up at the young lady with a feeling like bemusement. He reaches for his soup spoon. As usual, Ruby is showing more skin than a diner uniform should warrant. As usual, Graham doesn't pay too much mind. She's too young for him and she's not his type. He sympathizes with her Grandmother--he doesn't know how the two of them have managed to get along all these years without killing each other--but he doesn't talk about Ruby's Gran, and he doesn't talk about the way she dresses, just like he doesn't talk about how she's always wanted to go away--to New York, to Boston, to anywhere at all goddammit.
Instead, he says, "The food's good here. I like coming around."
Ruby rolls her eyes, blows another bubblegum bubble, and then says, "You're just a good old country boy, aren't you? Happy enough with the little town in the woods. Fuck if I'm not ready to get out of here."
"Maybe we should start a cursing jar," Graham says mildly, but also joking as he crumbles saltines into his soup. "You're lucky school isn't out and children aren't around. This is a family-oriented establishment, Ruby."
"You positively disgust me," Rudy declares. "Also, let me know if you're interested in dessert. The special is pecan pie, today."
Then she's gone off to serve her next customer, Archie Hopper has just come through the door, getting lunch as usual from his office across the street.
Graham contemplates the notion of pecan pie.
--
In the dreams he doesn't remember, Red Riding Hood asks him if he doesn't think he's somehow related to the wolves, somewhere along the bloodlines--the way he prowls and loves the woods.
"Should I be worried," he asks her, as they move along the forest road by foot. He and Red are traveling companions for the moment, on their way to a wedding. "I was under the impression you hated wolves."
"I do," she says, smiling with her teeth. "But I also state what I see. You're not too unlike a wolf, or some other forest creature, content to live in the woods." She looked out onto the road ahead, to the white towers of the palace in the distance. "Myself: I feel ready to get out of them."
The sun is just starting to set against the sky.
The light of it is beautiful on the white stone.
--
In Granny's Cafe, Graham finishes his ham sandwich, and calls Ruby over for a slice of pie after all.
When he finishes his meals, he tips well, as often as he can.
He likes to think of Ruby someday getting out of Storybrooke, of being the woman she wants to be. She'd laugh in his face though, if her ever mentioned it. She wants no man's pity.
So he never says a word.