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The woman falling from the sky in a flash of green onto a hay bale should have been an omen as to the kind of day Graham Humbert was going to have. But in that moment, the best he could manage was to stagger backwards and watch as she crawled off the crumpled hay bale and spat straw from her mouth.
“Crap,” she hissed, drawing up onto her knees with a wince, nursing her head. “Son of a-“
Graham coughed loudly, and she looked up with as much dignity as she could muster while wearing a layer of straw. Blue met blue, and her eyes widened in shock as he stepped forwards and offered her his hand. “Let’s not turn the air black and blue alright?” There was a pause as she hauled herself up, eyes transfixed on him. “Sheriff Graham Humbert. Have I got something on my face?”
She shook her head, visibly shocked by his accent as a softer expression took hold of her face. “No. Sorry.” She waved her hand dismissively. “You may have noticed, but I’m a bit preoccupied.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I’ll say. Unless you’re Mr. MacDonald’s new scarecrow, you’re also trespassing.”
She smiled at that, warm and in a way that somehow eclipsed her bedraggled appearance. “Trespassing, huh? What about you then, Graham?” The name rolled off her tongue like honey. “Have you got a warrant to search the farm then? Worried a murderer is hiding in the barley?”
A teasing edge had crept into her voice, and he reciprocated in equal kind. “Unless you have a friend you want to tell me about, then no.” That earned him a wider grin. “I’m actually helping Old MacDonald look for an escaped sheep. Incredibly dangerous animals, I’m sure you know. Wouldn’t want one loose on the streets. But, we don’t really want women dropping from the sky onto our farms either, Ms..?”
She hesitated for a moment before replying, eyes never leaving him but seeming to decide something that gave her stance a sense of purpose. “Swan. Emma Swan. And maybe not more women, but I am missing a one-handed pirate.”
He tilted his head to stare her down critically. “Ms. Swan-“
“Emma.”
He started again. “Emma. I’m becoming impatient here. How does a woman- or a pirate, for that matter- drop out of the sky?”
Leaning in close enough for their noses to touch, she whispered as if sharing a secret. “Magic.” Exasperated, he half-laughed and half-sighed. She smelled like vanilla beneath the distinct scent of farmland and fertiliser. “I’m serious,” she joked, and he rolled his eyes.
“I can and will arrest you, Emma.”
She was unfazed. “Ah, but there’s a shower at the station.”
His grin froze on his face. That was incredibly specific knowledge. “How do you know that?”
“Graham,” she replied, matter-of-factly. “I dropped out of the sky. It shouldn’t take a cop to figure out that I’m not exactly going to play by the rules.” She pulled back and stared at him dead-on. “You can arrest me if you like, but you’re getting nothing else from me until I’ve had a shower.”
So, rather than all the things he should’ve done, Graham followed Emma in silence back to the station and let her have her shower, his head crowded with questions. By the time she emerged, dressed in one of his green shirts that was criminally oversized on her and a pair of trousers, he had lost count of the number of bullseyes he’d hit on the station’s dart board.
He took a moment to look her up and down, sucking in a breath before his brain reminded him why she was here. She’d dropped out of the sky.
She pulled a dart from the centre of the board, walked back to where he was and threw, narrowly missing the bullseye. She tutted herself. His gaze didn’t leave her, but he managed a cough. She had a good throwing stance.
“Right,” Emma said, as if she’d been pulled back to reality. She swallowed and then it was her turn to look him up and down as he stood still, dart in hand. “You don’t have a spare waistcoat to finish off this ensemble?” He shook his head and she offered him a small smile. “Never mind.” She fiddled with the cuff of his shirt, revealing a leather strip around her wrist, fingers digging into the black ink of her soulmark.
He didn’t ask. Instead, he turned around and pulled his jacket off its hook to offer to her. She slipped her arms into it one after another and then folded them across her chest. She looked simultaneously so very small and strong that he struggled to look away.
“So,” he started, voice low.
She matched his volume. “Yeah.”
“Obviously,” he said, “I have questions. And you promised answers.” He found his own idle fingers searching for where his soulmark is under his shirt sleeve to trace it up and down. “So, Emma, how does one fall from the sky?”
She snorted. “It’s complicated. I don’t entirely know myself. But,” she bit her lip and hesitated before continuing, “I’m not from your dimension.”
“Oh, now I’ve heard it all.”
“Graham.”
Something in her tone makes him back down. “Sorry.”
Emma goes on, her own nervous fingering of her soulmark resuming. “Back home, there’s this portal. And something activated it and pulled me through.” She tried a humourous time. “Believe me, I wish I’d been joking about the pirate. He was dragged through too, and now I’m here.”
“Right,” he said with an air of bemusement, “and how did you know about the station?”
“In my Storybrooke, I’m Sheriff.” Emma punched him lightly for his laugh and her hand lingered on his arm. “Let me… there’s something here I want to show you.”
He was half-occupied ignoring her fist. “Right, because you’re so trustworthy.” Her fist uncurled into a steadying hand. “You’re from another dimension anyway, who’s to say what you’re looking for will be here?”
She shrugged. “Everything else is here. You’re here. I bet Regina’s here.” He did a poor job at hiding his flinch, and Emma removed her hand carefully. “The only thing I see missing is me, and by default Henry.”
“Henry? Is that your pirate?” He tried to save face, but the mental image of Regina was a forceful one, enough to make him reevaluate his position. Only Emma’s smile grounded him.
Damn it. She was insane (insanely beautiful) and he already knew he’d let her show him whatever she wanted him to see because she made him feel.
“No,” her reply came, “he’s my son. His father is… was Mr. Gold’s son.”
“I’m sorry.”
She shook her head. “Its… I mean, it’s not okay. But in a way, I’ve already moved on so many times that it doesn’t feel real.”
“Was he your..?” He trailed off, but she understood him.
“No. God, I was eighteen the last time I thought about that. No, Neal would’ve been a terrible soulmate. He… I didn’t love him the way I was meant to, not for a long time, and I have a feeling he was the same.”
He nodded. “I know the feeling.” Then, after a pause. “Still want to show me whatever it was?”
It was a short walk, haunting the shadows of the town and cutting through the cemetery in relative silence until they reached their destination.
The Mills vault dominated the crypt, a fearsome structure of stone and ivy. Emma approached it with the fierce sense of purpose that dominated her presence, and had the door open before he could say a word.
“Emma,” he warned, knowing full well he’d come too far to go back now, “that’s the Mayor’s private vault.”
Her answering gaze gleamed with something between rage and finality. “I know. But, then again, I’ve never had much respect for Regina.” She stepped into the blackness of the vault, and turned her flashlight on with a click, illuminating a small room with a coffin in the centre. “And something tells me you agree.”
He stepped in beside her, turning on his own torch. His arm brushed against her’s as he attempted to reply. “I- Regina and I… we-“ He stopped before he could go too far. Emma could see right through him. “It’s hard to respect someone who treats you like an object. But we’re… it’s always been this way. No feelings, on either side.”
Emma brushed her fingers against his tentatively before taking his hand. He swallowed and she rubbed her thumb against the back of his hand. “Anger is a feeling. Pain is a feeling. They’re just as valid as love and lust, Graham.”
“Emma,” he whispered, and she lifted the corner of her mouth into a smile in response. “Have you met me before?”
She pulled away from him, and the absence of her hand burned inside of him. She put her flashlight in her teeth and pushed with both hands against the smooth stone lid of the coffin in front of them. Noiselessly, it slid back, revealing a narrow flight of steps descending. She offered him her hand again, removing her flashlight from her mouth with a slight shake of her other wrist. “In another world-“
He took her hand, wrapping his fingers around her’s gently. “In your world?” He was beginning to prescribe to her wild claims despite himself, because here in the dark of the crypt, Emma seemed realer than everything else he’d ever known.
She nodded. “In my world, I meet a police officer after I’m dragged to Storybrooke by my son. He offers me a job, friendship… and then he dies in my arms. His name was Graham Humbert.” Her grip tightened slightly. “I am forever indebted to you, Graham, in all your incarnations. And you are not dying on my watch, not again. You deserve to feel because even without a heart you are the sweetest, kindest person I have ever known.”
“Emma-“
But she tugged him down the stairs, and dammit he already knew he’d follow her wherever she wanted him to go. Even as cobwebs brushed against him and the blue light of his torch illuminated an odd chamber with gold indents sticking out of the wall.
Emma took his hand and brushed it against all the indents on the wall, until one made a noise akin to a pop and slid out of its alcove. Without removing it, Emma flicked back the lid and something inside illuminated her face red. Delicately, she removed her hand from his, reached inside it and removed it, and Graham felt as if someone had squeezed his intestines.
The pulsing ruby object with wisps of black circling its edges sickened him. It was alive, beating out a rhythm perfectly attuned to his deep breaths and Emma grimaced. “I’m sorry, Graham, this is going to hurt.”
The object—his heart, he realised as curse’s memory block came crashing down—didn’t hurt as much as the years of torture and pain coming back to him. His eyes were wet with tears, and he thought Emma’s were too, though he couldn’t be sure.
“Thank you,” he said, and she reached up to have her fingers graze his jaw. There were so many other things he wanted to say, but in that moment all he needed was to kiss her, so he turned his head down and did it.
If he thought he’d been feeling earlier, it was like he was seeing the world in technicolour. The kiss was all passion and heat, and he felt dizzy when he drew back due back for breath.
She watched him carefully. His hand had managed to find its way into her hip, and her hand had moved from his jaw to his hair. “Hey. Say something.”
“Uh,” he struggled to find words in the mess of his head with the return of his memories and the proximity of Emma momentarily stunting him. “I’d like to do that again.”
Her grin was radiant. “That can be arranged.”
The next few minutes passed in a blur, as they drew slow, lazy kisses from each other, Emma pressed against Graham as she made a mess of his hair. Time was indistinguishable until Emma pulled back and rested her forehead against his, her hand falling down from his hair to the back of his neck.
“Graham,” she said softly, “I can’t stay. The sooner I make myself known to Gold, the sooner he can get me home. For a price, of course.” She chuckled half-heartedly. “And I think there are things you need to do too.”
He parted their foreheads and buried his nose in her hair so she couldn’t see his face. He knew what she really meant. She had a son in a different dimension, that he honestly believed now, and this—whatever this was—would only hurt them both. He wanted to tell her confronting Regina could wait, but he didn’t want to make this harder for her so he dropped a kiss on her head, and if he lingered a little too long before withdrawing, he doubted she was going to tell a soul.
—
If the Storybrooke town rumour mill was to be believed, a woman appeared from a magical doorway in the middle of Main Street last night, asking for him. If Ruby was to be believed, Emma Swan was behind this door, and all he had to do was knock.
So he knocked. And, ten excruciating seconds later, she answered.
“Howdy, Sheriff,” Emma drawled in a fake accent, and Graham laughed at her before cupping her face and kissing her with a softness he didn’t know he possessed.
Emma drew back for breath, but remained close enough that her exhaling made his nose warm. “I’m not going to break, you know.” She initiated a shorter, deeper kiss and he was only happy to comply.
This time, he broke it with a casual grin. “It’s good to see you. Although, you should warn me if these monthly visits are going to become a thing.”
“Hold your horses,” she scoffed, “twice is hardly a pattern. Besides, I’m out of here soon.” She rummaged in her pockets and revealed a glittering oval the size of her thumb. “I’ve got a magic bean.”
Graham twisted a strand of her hair around his forefinger. “It’s a bit late to be telling me not to get attached, Emma. You’ve literally held my heart in your palm.”
Emma turned away to hide her face, and he let her. She spoke quietly. “How did it go with Regina?”
He tensed slightly, but less than he would’ve a week ago. “I’m… healing, you could say. Thanks to you.” He sighed and continued playing with her hair absent-mindedly. “It went about as well as expected. But it’s not like I have to see her, with Gold keeping her under the clock tower.”
“He is?” She swallowed. “That’s good. That’s better.”
“Hey,” he whispered, shifting into her line of sight. “I’m okay, I promise.”
There was a wolf whistle from behind, and they turned to see Ruby standing in the still open doorway with an armful of knitted items. Upon seeing their surprise, she cracked a wicked grin. “If you two really want privacy, shut the door. Or not, I guess.” She looked down at the bundle in her arms and then back up. “We’re making snowmen out front because it started snowing again.”
Graham removed his hand from Emma’s hair with the trepidation of somebody who’d already been caught red-handed. “This sticky sleet stuff isn’t good for snowmen. It won’t hold.”
Emma had a completely different reaction. “Or, you’re just too much of a coward to participate in a snowman contest.”
Eyebrow raised, Graham responded coolly. “Fine. After you, Princess.” Ruby snorted, and Graham turned defensive. “What? It’s her title.”
Emma neither confirmed or denied, but wound her hand in his and dragged him down the corridor and stairs, then into Granny’s car park.
After a few minutes, in which Emma had assembled an impressive sphere of snow, it became abundantly obvious to Graham he had no idea what he was doing. And- clearly- it was obvious to Emma too.
“Aw. Want to forfeit and help me out?” she asked, her tone teasing but not unkind.
He was shivering in the chilly wind, hair frosted with snowflakes and nose turned pink. His accent was thick with annoyance as he spoke, mostly angry at himself for going soft. “I’m more of a shovelling snow guy.”
Emma looked unimpressed. Her fingers were looking very numb, and her breath made a cloud. “You’re not going to be much help, are you?”
He came to the end of his short walk to cover the distance between them and smiled playfully. “No. But I can help to keep you warm.” He wrapped her in a bear hug, her skin ice to touch. Snow landed on his eyelashes as he closed his eyes.
Emma allowed it for a minute, even reciprocating, before repositioning them so their faces were in line. She tried very hard to stop her teeth from chattering. “I have a better idea.”
As she kissed him the warmth of a thousand suns, Graham had to agree her idea was better even if once they broke apart they had to run inside to prevent from turning into snowmen themselves.
—
He wasn’t about to tell her in case she missed the next out of spite, but these monthly visits were indeed becoming routine. Emma would arrive like clockwork to his location via magic bean on the first of the month, and a day of what usually descended into chaos would follow.
His then location happened to be Storybrooke’s forest, and Emma seemed pleasantly surprised to find herself there.
“Hey,” he called gently, alerting her of his location.
She turned and grinned at him. “Don’t be too excited or anything.”
He let out a low chuckle. She bent down to where he was sitting on the forest floor to kiss his cheek. He turned his face last minute and gave her a soft kiss on the lips. “It’s not you. I don’t want to wake him. He’s only just dozed off.”
Emma’s eyes fell for the first time to his left side, where his wolf brother lay curled up in an impossibly furry heap. She winced when she noticed the ugly gash on one of his front paws. Blood soaked the surrounding fur crimson.
Her voice came out fractured. “Is he going to be okay?”
Graham nodded. Running his hand softly through his brother’s fur down his back, he explained how Ruby had told him about seeing his brother in a ditch during full moon, and his discovery that his brother had lost a lot of blood. “Your alternate universe father was a lot of help. He came out here and treated him, but I have to stay with him because he can’t treat him like a house pet. He can’t have stitches since I won’t be able to stop him pulling them out, and a cone on a wild animal would be cruel.”
“So you’re sleeping out here in the forest?” She gestured towards his sleeping bag and rucksack.
“Yeah. It’s what I always used to do, anyways,” he told her, smiling slightly at the memory. “And there were no stepping bags back then, so really it could be worse.”
She settled down next to him, shaking her leg slightly. Graham could almost feel pins and needles on her behalf from how long she’d been crouching. She rested her head on his shoulder before speaking again. “Tell me about it. You know, the forest… the wolves…”
“You didn’t have to ask.”
Emma smiled at him—an honest, genuine smile—as she replied. “I wanted to.”
He looked down at his wolf brother. “Alright. But it’s not a fairytale.” He sighed. “What I mean is, at least your parents had your best interests at heart in sending you away. I don’t even know who mine were. My earliest memories are of the forest, and of my pack. I was just a little bit feral in those early years, before I’d even seen another human. And when I did, I just remember being scared. They wanted to help but I didn’t have a name to tell them, just a funny growling sound. How they made Graham out of that, I’ll never know. But they did. They fed me, and,” he pulled a face, “clothed me. I learnt to speak their tongue and hunt with their weapons. I knew there was a reason I wasn’t getting the knack of hunting on all-fours.” He laughed at himself. “It was a simpler time, for sure, when it was just me in the pack… but I was different. Wolves mate for life, but they don’t have soulmarks. They freak out a normal kid once they become legible, but once I could read the words I had no idea what to do with myself.”
Something passed in the air between them, and Emma shrugged off her leather jacket onto the hard earth. Quickly, as if she was ripping off a plaster, she pulled up her left sleeve. And then her right.
“I love you,” she read aloud from the right arm, before reading the left aloud too. “Thank you.”
He pulled up his sleeve to reveal his own words, letting her read them for herself because he knew them by heart. I promise that even dead you won’t have seen the last of me.
The whole thing is a paradox in itself. If someone knows your soulmark, then they have the power to say it as you die, or just as you part, to ensure that they’re the one. He supposed, if it’s Emma, it could be an inside joke between them by the time he’s going. Science suggested that in your last moments together, you forgot all about the soulmarks and the playing field became even until you had said your parting remarks.
But science couldn’t account for magic and princesses and hearts not in chests, so if Graham was going to believe in something it was going to be Emma Swan.
“They were his words,” Emma said, recalling him from his messy thoughts. “He thanked me for kissing him. For remembering. Just before he died.” She pressed her fingers deep into her skin over the left mark. “He just had just one word. His name. I was screaming it at him as he died.”
He felt like he could choke on her grief. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well,” she said, “I don’t have two marks for nothing. And it was the second one that got me through the foster homes. The promise that someone would one day love me.”
His voice caught in his throat, but she wasn’t ready to hear what he had to say so he kissed her instead, kissed until the pain went away and the ghosts of their past were forgotten. He kissed her as the sun set and darkness fell, until her lips were so red he couldn’t stop looking at them.
“Well,” she whispered, “I better get a room at Granny’s.”
He took the bait. “I have a sleeping bag. We can share.”
And then she kissed him some more with a newfound strength and the stars watched as they slept under their blanket, sharing each other’s warmth and stirring but not waking as next to them a sleepy wolf called out to the moon.
If this wasn’t what it was like to have your soulmate, Graham didn’t need one.
—
Emma landed in the station with a half-frown, approached his office with a speed between speed walking and skipping before claiming his lips with her kiss, uncharacteristically chaste as she pulled away within seconds and whispered in his ear. “We have about ten seconds before my entire family drops through the portal.” She drew back and adjusted her leather jacket. “Sorry.”
He was up like a shot, fingers rubbing his soulmark in the familiar nervous tick. “What?”
“Yeah,” she sighed, copying the movement over the soulmark on her left arm, tracing the two words there fastidiously. “Again, I’m sorry.” She watched him panickedly run his other hand through his hair, before yanking at his tie. “Stop stressing, you’ll do great.”
His Irish accent lended even more panic to his tone. “Sure. Not like I almost murdered an alternate universe version of your mother, or an alternate universe version of me almost murdered her!”
She had no time to reassure him, because Henry chose that moment to make his entrance- appearing with a wild grin and bright eyes, then proceeding to launch himself like a projectile at Graham to wrap him in a bone-crushing hug.
“Oh, hey,” he said, voice involuntarily softening as he hugged the boy back. “You must be Henry.”
Henry released him and took a few steps back. He was flushing, and audibly attempted to deepen his voice to make up for his display. “Yeah, I’m Henry. Sorry, it’s really uncanny how much you’re like…”
Emma cut him off. “He knows.” She locked eyes with Graham and spoke in a light tone. “Henry is trying to be cool and grown-up, so never mention this hug again.”
Bemused, Graham promised Henry to keep it their secret and then flinched as he noticed Emma’s parents and baby brother over his shoulder.
“Emma,” Snow—happier and healthier than he’d last seen her—cooed, approaching her daughter with a radiant smile. She bounced baby Neal in her arms as she spoke. “I’m so proud of you. Finding true love against all the odds.”
Emma looked positively mortified and, before either she or Graham could recover, it was David’s turn.
He sized Graham up and spoke to him like they were at war. “I have to warn you, if you ever hurt my daughter in any way, you’ll have to face the wrath of me and my wife.”
“And me,” Henry chipped in, visibly enjoying the confrontation.
Graham swallowed. “There’s no need to worry. Sir. I really, really like your daughter.”
David was unfazed, even as Emma tried to intervene. “Do you like her, Huntsman, or do you love her? Because there’s a big difference.”
He very nearly disappeared into the floor. David was winning their staring match. “I, uh-“ He looked down, then at Emma. “I do love her. More than anything else I’ve ever known.”
Emma half-formed a smile before freezing in place, Henry raised an eyebrow, David retreated seemingly satisfied and Snow seemed to squeal in happiness. “Well, Graham, I’m very glad Emma could find you again. We’re all rooting for you.”
The conversation continued in a similar vein for a few minutes, before the baby started crying and David convinced his wife to retreat to Granny’s to scope out this alternate world, but not without a parting remark of, “Babies. You’ll feel different when it’s your own, son.”
It would have been very easy to choke just then. Instead, he waited until the door was closed before announcing, “I think I deserve a holiday.”
Emma assented. “They’re hard work, but I love them.” She moved in teasingly close to him and gave him a tentative kiss. “Apparently, though, not as much as you love me. More than anything else ever, you say.”
He kissed her, slow and gentle. “You picked up on that, huh? I had plans you know, or at least part of a plan. But what better way to confess my love than in front of your parents, it seems.” She kissed him again, as if to shut him up. “Sorry, I’m rambling. I just… I do love you.” She kissed him again. It was getting increasingly hard to remember what he was trying to say. “You, Emma Swan, are magnificent. And… I love you. A lot, more-“
She stole another kiss, dragging it out for longer than the other ones. “Graham. I love you too.”
He relaxed in her arms, and neither of them needed to say another word.
—
Hot chocolate with cinnamon was the way to Emma’s heart. Since their meetings had moved from monthly to biweekly to weekly, the perfect cup of steaming cocoa was something Graham had learnt to master. Hot chocolate plus breakfast in bed made him a hero as far as Emma was concerned, which was why on special occasions he braved the kitchen in the mornings before she woke up.
Once upon a time, he’d been an early riser. It was Emma’s fault that he now preferred to spend his 7AM staring at her in the low light, and it had made him soft.
But her smile was all worth it. As he presented her with her mug and his tray of pancakes topped with syrup, she grinned sleepily at him in a way that made everything stop, just for a blissful second.
“Shop-bought?” she asked, not awake enough to form the full sentence yet and bending over so he could kiss the top of her head.
“Yes,” he said, before returning the snipe. “Don’t get it on the sheets.”
“That was,” she yawned, and he crawled over the bed back to his side, sitting on top of the covers, “one time, okay?” Emma’s grand fiasco in which she smeared the sheets with syrup was only trumped by the memory of when Graham had actually tried to cook himself rather than heat up something from the store. Safe to say, his culinary expertise began and ended with spaghetti.
He regarded her with an unwavering gaze, and she stuck out her tongue at him. “Moody boyfriends don’t get pancakes, that’s all I’m saying.”
“Moody girlfriends get tickled.”
She sawed off a corner of the pancake and stabbed it with her fork. “You wouldn’t dare. If I’m going down, I’m taking the syrup down with me.” She brandished the fork in his face. “Now open up.”
He let her place the fork in his mouth and spent the next few minutes watching her eat and chewing thoughtfully.
It was moments like this when he remembered how much he loved her. When he wanted to wake up like this together—in the same dimension—every morning.
“Emma,” he said carefully, “I love you.”
“I know,” she replied, her mouth full. “I love you too.”
“Have you ever thought about making this more serious? I mean, not that it isn’t and I love what we have more than anything but-“
She moved the tray from her lap to the bedside table so she could turn to face him full on. “You’re rambling, Graham. What is it you want to say?”
He bit his lip. “Don’t be mad.”
“I’m making no promises.” He looked pessimistic at her response and she felt the need to lighten the mood. “But if you’re popping the question, my answer would be yes.”
His worry froze in place. “What?”
“Are we on the same page here?” she asked, reaching up to touch his cheek. “What were you going to ask?”
“Not that,” he said, accent creeping more and more into his voice. “But… you would?”
“Yeah, I would.” She laughed, and kissed his hairline. Their noses bumped as she drew back. “Heck, I’d ask if it weren’t for the whole alternate dimension thing.”
“What if that wasn’t a problem?” he replied, his worry back as he braved the subject again. “What if… I just came and lived in your dimension. With you.”
She kissed him then, the lingering taste of syrup passing between them. “You sure?”
He’d never been more sure that he’d wanted something in his life. “Yeah.”
“Well, then,” she whispered, drawing back. Her sudden absence from his personal space left him feeling empty, but her next words soon filled the void. “I better get down on one knee and make this thing official.”
—
“You nervous?” Henry asked, standing there in a ridiculous bowtie with a wide grin that kept Graham’s mouth shut as to how terrible his best man’s outfit was.
“Hook promised to behave, right?”
Henry chuckled. “Yeah. You’ll be fine.”
“That’s it? That’s your entire pep talk?” Graham folded his arms and tutted at Henry. “I thought you of all people could come up with-“
His future stepson chided him. “Arms down, you’ll squash the flower.”
“-something better.” He sighed and lowered his arms. “Thanks. It’s a... oh, I can’t pronounce it. Your grandmother chose it.”
Henry’s eyes twinkled. “Which one?”
Graham reached to ruffle his hair, much to his protests. “Ha. Now what will Grace think of you, you lovable scamp?” Henry was being cheeky, but Snow had been incredibly overinvolved in the wedding preparations- so much that he was surprised she wasn’t here yet.
“Oh! Look at you both,” a voice called from the entrance to the station. Then her smile turned to a frown. “Henry, your hair!”
“Is absolutely fine,” David interjected, appearing behind Snow’s shoulder. “I’ve got to get back to the bride, but we’re going to start letting people in to get their seats if that’s okay?”
Graham nodded, and David disappeared and a steady trickle of guests came into the station, Snow taking her front row seat. “By the way,” she whispered, “Emma’s looking like a true princess.”
Thankfully, the comment no longer contained an ulterior motive, because now that the station had been cleared and decorated Snow could no longer beg them to reconsider their choice of location. There had been no competition for both of them, the station was already a place which was significant to them in so many ways. Now, they were to be married there.
“Easy boy,” Ruby said, as she emerged from the steady flow of guests with Graham’s wolf brother. She smiled at him. “He should be all ready to behave for the ceremony. Right?” He gave a rumble of agreement and went to stand at Graham’s heel as Ruby found her seat next to Granny.
It was odd, looking at a Ruby who had no memories of the friendship they’d built in his Storybrooke, but now him and his wolf were here to stay. For their pack.
Time crawled past, and many guests gave him preemptive congratulations or made a joke at Henry’s expense. But if that time had been slow, time stopped when the record player started spinning and Emma walked down the aisle on David’s arm.
She was beautiful. She was ethereal, she was stunning, he would not be upset if he spent the rest of his life looking at her.
Graham didn’t know a lot about wedding dresses, but his fiancée’s was long and elegant and sleeveless so as to display both her soulmarks. His arms were also bare, forgoing the traditional tuxedo for a short-sleeved shirt and waistcoat.
The music stopped and Emma stood a few inches from him and handed her bouquet to Henry, who was doubling as best man and man of honour. Graham bit his lip so as not to kiss her and then Archie spoke and the guests say with a series of creaks and much scuffling.
He hadn’t noticed that they’d been standing.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the union of Sheriff Graham Humbert and Sheriff Emma Swan.” There was a collective laugh and then Archie continued. “They have opted for a simple ceremony, so if Graham would like to begin with his vows.”
He coughed, suddenly self-conscious. “Emma. You have seen my heart and my soul, the worst pieces of myself and the ghosts I will hold for all eternity, and you have chosen to share the burden with me. I could never have known when you dropped out of the sky covered in hay that when you left that evening it would feel like you’d taken a piece of me with you. You taught me what love is, Emma, and more than that you taught me to live myself. And the longer I spent with you, I realised that I didn’t want to grow old if I wasn’t doing it with you. So, this is my promise to you. I promise to love you not as long as we live but longer. Because you are my home.”
Archie turned to Emma. “And you, Emma?”
Her eyes were wet as she began. “You broke down my walls, Graham, not once but twice. I would not be the person I am today without you. Your love for me has crossed dimensions and all common sense. You are my anchor. My promise to you is that you will never see the last of me, and that I will try not to get syrup on the sheets. You know I’m not good with words, but I want you to know that there is nobody else I would choose. Because now and forever, I choose you.”
There was a minor outburst in the audience, which Graham gathered was quickly resolved as Neal soon settled and stopped babbling. Either way, he didn’t take his eyes off Emma.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
And Emma’s mouth was on his, her arms wrapped around his back as his own hand found itself in her hair. It was only the applause and cheering that stopped him from deepening it and he pulled back with a grin.
“Here’s to the rest of our lives.”