A/N: at long last, the final chapter of version one. I'm still working on version two, somewhat, but I'm not sure it's ever going to get posted, realistically, so I will be marking the fic as complete. The first few paragraphs of this are the last few paragraphs of the best news that i can't share, which I posted into this collection right before I put this one up. There is some anti-Neal and anti-Regina ahead. Graham's POV to wrap things up.

After everything that has happened as of late, there is no greater surprise to him than to see Emma leaning in to kiss him that night. He thought he'd screwed things up too much to even hope for that, especially so quickly. But he won't push her away, waits for her to actually be kissing him before he returns it.

And then he remembers. Remembers everything. The curse, his heart- Emma. Out of time from a point in the future where he is dead.

Where he died because he broke away from Regina. That's what he did tonight and he knows he has precious little time left. But he can't tell Emma that-

"I remember," he says, because she's asked him what's wrong and of all the things he knows the most important is-

"Remember what?"

Now that's not so simple. If he tells her the whole truth, he doubts she'll believe and he suspects he doesn't have time for that. So instead he leans in, ready to kiss her again, and then- Then it hits, the pain that he knows from so much torture over the years, and he's falling.

Emma is leaning over him, upset, and, oh, he wishes that he could live for her. Still, he knows he can't, knows that he won't.

It takes all the strength he has to reach up and wipe away her tears. "I love you." She needs to know that. Needs to. She made sure that he did, when they met before, and now it's his turn to return the favor.

Even if it's with his dying breath.

—it is at once instant and eternity, that he is in but a void, almost floating, adrift, unaware of anything save his own thoughts, his own memories. He thought he died (he must have died – Emma had told him he would, and she had no reason to lie, was too devastated not to be truthful), but after an indeterminate amount of time, the return of feeling, again, is enough to spark his awareness, make him realize that something is not right with his afterlife (such that it is).

So he opens his eyes, sees her there, leaning over him, Emma, the woman he loves, the golden princess, the Savior, her hand hovering near where he suddenly feels his heart is solidly beating, and he doesn't hardly think when he breathes out her name, when she wraps her arms around him and he mirrors the action.

(His somehow returned heart thrums to the tune of her: Emma, Emma, Emma.)

"How long?" he murmurs in her ear as one of his hands runs through her hair, as he feels her bury her face in his neck. He knows he's been gone for some amount of time, after all. Even when I didn't remember you for a year because of magic, I wore this every single day, she'd said, all those years ago, about the token she wears around her wrist, the old leather tie.

"A week. Almost two years. Thirty years? Depending on how we're measuring." She almost laughs the answer, pulling back, the light in her eyes half-disbelieving, the smile on her face more real than he's ever seen. This happiness shines on her like the sun, the stars, and he cannot tear his gaze from her.

(Emma, Emma, Emma, he feels the beat beneath his chest; she would be the one to bring him back, to find a way, to care about him. To return his heart in every way, except one: for while it may now physically beat in his chest, while his emotions may be returned, his heart is hers, will always be, forever more.)

"You both will have much to catch up on, I'm sure," Gold's voice, unimpressed, breaks into the little bubble world he's been in since he woke, forces him to take in his surroundings (something he would normally have done in an instant, old instinct, but these circumstances are decidedly far from normal). He bristles at the presence of the Dark One, even though Belle had always claimed to have faith that the man could change for the better, even though it was the imp's machinations that brought him in contact with Emma back in the forest when he first met her. There is always a catch, a deal, a price, and he has to worry what Emma might owe if she struck a bargain with the Dark One to bring him back from oblivion, "But perhaps here is not the best place for it?"

Emma rises, and he follows her lead- But Gold, 'Stiltskin, eerily silent in regards to whatever the circumstances that brought them to this place might be, speaks again just before they walk out the door.

"I gave Miss Swan your things. They should be wherever she left them."

(The words are less ominous than he would have expected, but still he has to wonder what the cost is, what game the Dark One is playing with their lives.)

…

It's the middle of the afternoon in Storybrooke, and the streets are buzzing.

So of course someone notices his presence when Emma pulls her bug into the parking lot at Granny's and they both get out.

(He hadn't wanted to go someplace so public, so soon, to spring his presence on the town; hiding away with her for a while sounded infinitely preferable. But Henry was there, having lunch with his grandparents and apparently his uncle, Emma had said, and he misses the boy, and she had wanted her son to be the first person she told he was back. So he'd agreed, for Henry. She'd sent a text to her son saying she was coming with some news, and is, even as she closes the door of her car behind her, texting him again to get him outside.)

"Huntsman?" The softly incredulous voice is one he recognizes immediately, at least, as well as one he doesn't instantly react to as a threat; Belle.

It wasn't easy to develop a friendship without feeling, but she had always been kind, been willing to look past the armor he wore and the actions he took, to see him as a person in a way that even before he lost his heart had been so very rare; he was as close to his fellow prisoner as he could be, given their circumstances.

"It's Graham, please." Belle was one of the few who never used the old title with fear and hatred (had rarely used it in the first place, preferring instead to call him friend), but it still stirs up too many years of hurt he would rather ignore for the time being; coming back from the dead after almost two years is more of a focus, at the moment.

"Emma did mention your new name, after I passed along your message," his friend's smile is one she never wore in the tower, happiness and humor and wonder colliding without an underlying current of resentment towards their situation as prisoners, for the first time since he's known her. "I just- I didn't expect to see you again, considering that story you told me all those years ago about your time-traveling princess."

"I don't think any of us expected this," Emma points out, and he has to nod his agreement; how could anyone expect a resurrection? He is living it and hardly believes.

"Still, it is glad news," she says, her tone almost one of reassurance, "I need to get back to the library. But I do hope to see you both soon."

"We'll be around," Emma shrugs, but she is smiling, more since he woke up than any day he can remember when she first came to town, "Shouldn't be too hard to meet up sometime."

"Soon, then."

"As soon as possible," he makes himself say the words, puts himself in agreement; having a friend is a step towards making this new life something different, something better, and Belle will be one of the easiest people for him to let in in that way – that she and Emma already get along, judging by their small interactions here, only makes the choice all the more appealing.

(It would be absolutely foolish to hope any of the rest of the town reacts so positively to his being back, no matter how well the Sheriff may have been liked during the curse – that was, after all, an illusion; had any of them known who he truly was, who they truly were, he would have been just as hated as in the old world, and even as it was, even though he had respect, under the curse, he still did not have friends, not really, just acquaintances, people who were friendly towards him, but no one who was close to him. So he doesn't hope, he doesn't dare. He instead prepares himself for the worst possibilities, rage and anger and potentially a mob gathering, out for blood. He had been forced into the role of a monster, after all, is an easy target to blame, and will be easier to attack than the true monster would ever let herself be.)

Belle isn't even ten feet away when the door of the diner chimes, the light tinkling carried on the wind, and a call of "Mom?" is on the air.

"Over here, Henry," Emma calls, and he studies her for a moment. At his last awareness, Emma would have denied that she was a mother, thought herself unfit for the title. In the forest – a week ago, she said, but so many years at the same time – she had been far more willing to claim it.

And now, here, with the benefits of time and memory, he can see to know just how far it is she's come.

(Having both lives in his head is strange, conflicting, difficult. But he knows he is both, because both lives, both selves, are united by Emma, by his love for her, by her love for him – that fact is more than clear, even in the midst of everything else that having both sets of memories comes with – knowledge of what he was and what was done to him for decades that he knows he will have to attempt to work past to move forward with this second chance at life. Just- Later. When he's had more than an hour to get used to the idea that his story hadn't ended.)

Henry is taller, his growth some of the most tangible evidence that Graham has seen that it has been so long since the night he felt himself die – even if, in the end, he apparently hadn't. The boy is happier, too, a more subtle difference, but obvious in the way he holds himself, so different from the child that he had watched grow in the unchanging town.

But Henry is also staring, wide-eyed, like he can't quite reconcile what he sees. His steps towards them are slow, cautious, afraid.

(It's not him that Henry's afraid of, he knows that, logically, because Henry has never had a reason to fear him – it's his resurrection, his magically not being dead. Anyone would be wary, especially anyone from this world, where magic is myth. Still, it stings. But hopefully, given time, it will change. Hopefully, Henry will accept him.)

"Graham?" Most of the question is unspoken, but hangs in the air, hides in the tone that the boy uses, unsure, worrying, hinting towards hope but not there yet. He's actually surprised, how easy it is to tell that there is the want to hope in Henry's voice.

"It's me," he says, unsure what else he can, in this situation, and the boy looks towards his mother.

"How?" How, indeed. Dead is dead, say the Laws of Magic, and so how will be the one question that everyone asks. But will the answer satisfy? Unlikely. The whole story is rather unbelievable, even taking into account all that passed for normal in life before the curse, even taking into account the curse itself.

"It was- Your grandfather. He said that he owed Graham, so he took steps to protect him. He didn't go into too much detail, but- He had Graham's heart, somehow. And he helped me put it back where it belongs."

(Calling the imp Henry's grandfather might have thrown him - he can't even say it isn't jarring - but she had explained on the ride over, the tale she'd once told about the "royal advisor's son" she'd claimed to be Henry's father, that it was the Dark One's child who had left her for fear of a reunion. And that the man in question, Neal, had recently died in Storybrooke's conflict with the Wicked Witch; that in his death the town considers him heroic. He may not know the full story, but he doesn't think he will ever believe that a hero would hurt Emma so selfishly as to leave her out of fear.)

Henry seems thoughtful, for a moment, brows furrowed, but then understanding blossoms in the boy's eyes, a clarity towards the whole situation that neither he nor Emma has achieved.

"He must've meant 'cause she wouldn't have had to cast the curse as part of her revenge if Graham hadn't let Grandma Snow live. He needed the curse cast so he could get to this world and find Neal."

(Could it be that simple? Had it really been that old choice, once his condemnation, to bring about his salvation?)

Henry's steps are much less hesitant, as he finishes crossing the gap, and the boy actually smiles up at him, something that would have been rare, before (Regina had wanted no one but herself near her adopted child, after all).

"I'm glad you're back."

(No, he still does not expect this trend of acceptance to continue. Doesn't care, either; Emma and Henry are both happy he's back, and they're the ones whose opinions matter to him.)

…

He's been back a month and a half. Hardly a long time. And yet… And yet everything is different. For the first time, he has a home, a family, and he never believed that possible. Not in either life, not really, except those brief hours when he didn't know that Emma was from the future. Hardly enough time to count.

They found a home close to the woods, he and Emma and Henry, a place of their own, to make new memories in, together. It's not exactly filled with possessions - they aren't much for attaching sentiment to things, him or Emma, a consequence of their upbringings - but it's their sanctuary, a place where instead of Savior and Huntsman, instead of Sheriff and Sheriff (Sheriff and Deputy? Deputy and Sheriff? Those titles are still a source of confusion, at times, particularly once David gets thrown into the mix as well), they can just be Emma and Graham.

A month and a half, and Emma seems almost nervous, a restless energy crackling around her throughout the family dinner that David had organized, trying to get his wife and daughter to talk about things other than their differing opinions on how the Evil Queen should be handled (most of the other royals had banded together to force her to stand trial, and Emma agreed while Snow argued that Regina deserved a chance to be better. The whole thing has driven a rift between mother and daughter, formerly such good friends). They'd gone mostly for Henry's sake, so he could spend time with his grandparents; normally Graham would think the dinner itself the cause, but no, whatever it is that's on her mind, it affects her differently than her disagreements with Snow.

He worries for her, of course he does, so when the night is over and Henry is in bed, he waits. Asking what's wrong may not scare her off, not now, not with the confidence she's gained in herself and in their bond, but he knows her, knows she will tell him, in her own time.

(He doesn't have to wait long, for the words are out of her mouth almost as soon as she sees him sitting on the edge of their bed-)

"I'm pregnant."

There's a pause, as he tries to comprehend. He wants this, a life and a family with her, and he is so happy, but this soon? They have been in unspoken agreement that they aren't ready, that it is too soon since his return, that they lost too much time while he was… Dead, for lack of a better term. Even if he wasn't truly, she had believed he was, he had believed he was. And all of that among other very valid reasons to go slowly. So, they've been cautious. And this… It's unexpected, to say the least.

"Ruby was saying that I smell different, and I've been feeling off lately, so… I went to see a doctor 'cause this is Storybrooke, and I'd rather not have literally anyone who saw me at Clark's pharmacy gossiping about the Savior buying pregnancy tests, so-" He knows what she's saying; no matter how much more willing to let others in she is now, she's still an intensely private person, they both are, and given the fact Clark is one of the dwarves, her mother's best friends aside from Red… "Yeah. Considering how careful we've been since you got back—" Careful doesn't even cover it, not really. Mindful is probably a better word; things are different now, he has nearly 30 more years memories of repeated violation than he did when they met in the forest, when she had made him feel so strongly for the first time, made him want, want enough to act despite legitimate reasons to be wary. He still wants, still feels, just as strongly for her as he ever did, maybe even stronger- but that doesn't mean it's easy and immediate to let go of what he went through. "I've probably sort of been pregnant for 30 years at this point. Not the same way as poor Ashley was, obviously, but, you know, time travel."

She comes closer, and though he's still speechless, half-processing her news (their night in the forest, the first night they met, in his life, who could have guessed?), it's automatic when he pulls her into his arms, onto his lap, buries his face in the crook of her neck.

"You do realize that if you're right, you've been pregnant since before you were born." He's teasing, of course (her time in the past is treasured by both of them), the first words that actually come to his mind as he tries to wrap his head around the news, but she pulls back, eyes serious, and he thinks he said the wrong thing—

"I thought I'd never see you again. Never be able to tell you- How much I- Missed you. What I felt. I thought I'd already lost you forever. I thought that it was our only chance… My last chance to have any time with you. And I didn't think I could tell you the truth without changing the past, something I was trying very hard not to do."

(He can feel the guilt that lingers behind her words, knows that she feels like she took advantage of him, when she was in the past, because she knew his future and didn't tell him at first, because she tried to let him have hope. But even then, she had made him feel without his heart, and he had wanted what was between them, would have chosen the same way even if he had known - maybe even especially then, with the knowledge that it was his only opportunity to choose her, as wrong as that knowledge may have turned out to be, in the end.)

"I know." He rubs his thumbs in slow circles on her hips, hoping to convey more with the comfort of touch than he can with his words. Words were never his strong point (the curse helps with that, ironically enough, the personality that it gave, the Sheriff, Graham, that version of him had always been human, no matter how lonely, and by extension always needed words in a way the Huntsman raised by wolves never had), and though it's easier with her, the serious stuff still trips his tongue sometimes, a letter he wrote while cursed that laid unread in the pocket of his jacket for more than a year still the most openly expressive he's ever truly been. "I haven't ever held that against you, that night. Why would I? Best night of my life, back then."

(The only good night, back then, really, the only night he ever hoped that things had a chance of getting better someday. Because of her.)

"This is good, right?" she asks, soft, and he holds her tighter, "this- us- together?"

He knows what she's trying to say, that it's fast, but that even though she's scared (he would have to be blind not to see that she's scared), she's hopeful, too.

"It's amazing," he agrees.

(Life with her can never be anything less.)