A few days ago a nonnie asked me to write CS talking about Gremma and while this isn't exactly what you wanted I hope it suffices. I have a lot of CS/Gremma feels. Set at some ambiguous point probably in the first half of S4.

It's a tradition she indulges in rarely these days, curses and villains and battles filling every second until she can hardly think straight, much less contemplate it all.

But for now, one split second, everything is quiet and still, the only sound leaves as she crunches them under her boots and then knees.

The stone is cold, frigid, in fact, as she traces the words etched into it.

Sheriff and friend

And more, she thinks as she leans back, fingers idly twisting in the band that wraps around and around her wrist. The chance for more, at least. A good man who had done his best.

A reminder that life was very rarely fair, that what seemed like happiness could be taken away at any moment.

She breathes, in and out, and watches the crisp air turn it to fog as soon as passes her lips. They tingle from the cold and she presses them together in an attempt to warm up.

For most of her life, all she'd gotten were these reminders. A hint, a possibility of more, of a home, happiness.

But every time, it was just a taste. Just a glimpse. And for all that she now has years and years of good memories, of life with her son, she also remembers the lonely years. Tallahassee and then Boston and frozen dinners and cupcakes with candles.

Then there was Henry, and this stupid little town. Mary Margaret and Ruby.

And Graham.

And then it all started to fall apart so quickly and she'd felt like she was just keeping her head above water, fighting like hell to keep the one thing she had left safe.

Since then there've been more good things, and more bad. Constantly losing something, someone. The struggle never ends, but it started here.

Graham was the first person she'd ever tried to really save, and she'd failed him in the end.

Leaves crunch behind her, and she lifts her head, turning at the noise, her hand instantly falling into her jacket.

Her fingers close around her gun at the same time she meets his eyes.

"I didn't expect to find you here," he says softly, hand and hook shoved into the pockets of his jacket. "Neal's grave…" he trails off when his eyes travel beyond her shoulder to see the actual gravestone.

His face twists in confusion, but he doesn't move.

"Neal is…" she twists her fingers idly in the shoelace at her wrist, "he's further down."

She ducks her head, trying not to meet his gaze.

It's not a secret that she's here, it just…hasn't come up.

Slowly, she climbs to her feet, joints seeming to creak and groan in protest at the cold and movement.

With anyone else, the silence would be uncomfortable, demanding and quickly filling up with awkwardness.

But it's not. Killian doesn't press for anything, just takes a step forward to stand next to her, shoulders brushing as she takes a deep breath. The cold air prickles at her lungs and settles inside of her.

She doesn't want to feel this, but it's been a long time since she was fully capable of shoving it all back down inside her and locking it away. Her fingers ache to touch the cold stone and curl her fingers painfully around the edge.

"He, uh, he was the sheriff when I got here. His name was Graham." All things he could probably gather from the tombstone in front of them, but he says nothing, the grass and leaves crackling slightly as he shifts from foot to foot.

"He was really just Regina's puppet. They were sleeping together, actually. But…it wasn't real. She had his heart."

Her eyes flicker to find him watching her intently, deep blue seemingly peeling away every last paper-thin wall she likes to pretend she still has. It should hurt, but it doesn't.

"He didn't want to help her anymore, though. He was starting to remember things from before the curse. Who he was in the Enchanted Forest. He kissed me, and remembered. And the more he remembered, the more he stood up to Regina." She spoke so softly she could hardly even hear her own voice, but she felt fingers pressing against the back of her hand. He twisted their hands together, leaning to pull her closer.

"She confronted him, and he walked away. And it seemed like everything was going to be better. But we didn't know what she would do…" Her voice cracked and she wanted to pull away, the weakness tugging at her, but she had to finish. She had to at least say it out loud.

She'd always known, but she's never said it, never spoken it to anyone.

"She crushed his heart and he died, right there in my arms."

There was a sharp intake of breath beside her, his fingers stiffening under hers. But again, he didn't speak, the breath coming out in a slow whoosh.

"I didn't know why then, and I tried to save him, but of course there was nothing I could do." She tried to shrug, but it turned into a shudder against her will, and before she knew it Killian was moving, twisting himself around her until she was pressed against his neck, his arm pulling her tight against him. He was warm, his body shutting out the chill in the air.

"I'm sorry." His voice was quiet, solemn, and she knew he meant it just as well as both of them knew how insufficient sorry was.

"After that, all I could care about was Henry. I – I'd tried caring. And it hurt too much to lose it. I thought I was ready, but I wasn't."

His grip on her hand tightened where it was twisted between them, his thumb travelling along the soft skin on the back of her hand. The pattern was soothing, something he always did when things were like this, her chest tight with emotion and pain. She wasn't even sure if he did it on purpose anymore or if it was hardwired into them, an unconscious acknowledgement of their universal pain.

"There's much about us that is similar, love," he said, lips twisting into a grimace. "More than I'd thought, I suppose."

She feels it when he takes a deep breath, his chest filling and pressing against her. She didn't know how he did that, how he seemed so immune to the weather, whatever it was.

"Watching the light fade in someone's eyes as they leave you forever is not a pain easily forgotten." His voice was tinged with that oh-so-familiar bitterness, the same one that had filled the space when he'd snarled at Gold so long ago, his hook sinking into the man's flesh. She knew that despite it all he still sometimes struggled with it, fought against everything he'd spent so long fighting for.

It still lingers in him, even now, even when they greet each other coldly in the street, arm in arm with the women they love now.

She knew about Milah, about what had happened, but to hear him compare it to Graham feels wrong somehow, twists in her chest and gnaws at her. It doesn't seem fair; he spent his life trying to avenge her death, and Emma willingly shares her son with the woman who killed Graham.

The shoelace on her wrist burns her skin, and she wishes she felt the same call Killian did. But she's fought so hard and so long, to fight for something so long ago lost seems pointless, the idea of more pain and fighting wilting the guilt inside of her.

She'll probably always feel guilty over it, feel like she could have saved him if only she'd become the savior sooner, or avenged him if she'd fought harder.

As though he can read her thoughts, Killian speaks again.

"The guilt will stay with you for a long time," he breathes. His voice is distant even as the warm puff of air tickles her cheek.

"Yeah," she agrees, and presses her cheek flat against his collar, nose dipping down to press into the bare skin of his chest. She thinks of all the possibilities, the way their worlds would be so different if things had never happened as they had. If guilt didn't follow their every step, the shadows of lost people(others, themselves) didn't lag behind them.

A nice game, perhaps, she thinks, but the real world isn't like that. And despite it all, the real world has given her more than it's taken. Even when it's taken so much.

She has a family, friends, a son she loves more than life and this man here, who will follow her to a graveyard and listen with an open heart and an open mind. Who would give away his very soul for her, who doesn't care about her shadows because they look just like his own.

The past lingers, a reminder as solid as the stones that surround them, but she can't live in it.

Life isn't always fair, and happiness comes and goes quicker than you'd like, but right now, she has it, and she'll be damned if she's going to let it get away.

"C'mon," she murmurs, pulling away from him. "Let's go get something to drink. I could use a hot chocolate."

He smiles, a small charming smile that crinkles his eyes and flutters her chest.

"I thought you'd never ask."

They turn, and leaves crunch under their feet as they walk past the rows of graves.

He never lets go of her hand the whole way back into town.