Meet me at the Toll Bridge at 8, the note said, and it was her own damn fault for ripping it off their front door and shoving it into her pocket before Mary Margaret got home to see it. The Bridge had done enough already, and much as Emma was willing to root for a happy ending, maybe more in Storybrooke than she ever had in her life before, she wasn't about to let Mary Margaret's hopes be dashed yet again.

"What's that?"

Not quick enough, her fingers were caught shoving the paper as deep as it would go when her benefactor was behind her, peering curiously.

"Uh, nothing." Pulling her hand back as if her pocket were actually aflame with guilt, Emma turned the key and let them inside. "I missed a package. I'll go pick it up tomorrow."

Slipping past with a shopping bag on her arm, Mary Margaret smiled – the first real smile she'd shown in days. "I'm in the mood for cocoa. Do you want some?"

It was only fitting that her first sip of the spice-laden velvet tasted of lies and regret.

Ten minutes to eight saw her under the bridge, leaning against the rough stone and doing what she did second-best in the world: waiting. Waiting was the same as hunting, essentially, so long as you'd done your homework. It was hunting, but hunting one step ahead of your prey. But this she did second-best, because waiting meant stillness and stillness meant time with nothing but yourself and your thoughts. Emma's thoughts had never been good company.

They weren't tonight. David was an ass: the first time was excusable, there was the coma thing to consider and nothing about him waking up had made much sense to any of them except Henry. The second time had been wrenching, hope snatched away as once again everything that seemed too good to be true... was. So he got his memories back. You couldn't blame the guy, not too far. But a third time? There was only so much someone could take, especially someone as gentle and trusting as Mary Margaret. It was cruel, and Emma was prepared to go as far as it took to make sure David understood this, and stayed away.

The sound of rocks slipping, boots finding purchase on the tumbled boulders signaled his arrival; long before he was close enough to the water to see her. She waited until he was too far down to flee before stepping out, accusing voice ready to lance with the force her glare couldn't effect in the dark. "David, you–"

The words froze behind her lips. The man was surprised too – she was very good at ambush – caught in mid-step so that he pinwheeled briefly before finding his footing.

"Graham. What are you doing here?"

He threw her a tentative smile, changing direction to meet her. "Asked you to meet me, didn't I?"

"But... But David, he..." Not brilliant, but the note–

"In the habit of meeting men at night, are you? Anyway, I thought he had enough on his plate, with the– "

"Don't." Not here, not now, he had no business talking about anyone else's love situations. He had no business talking about a lot of things. Especially not with that certain uncertainty, unstable stability.

The word had come out harsher than she'd meant it to. Graham stopped as if she'd slapped him, a couple paces away.

"Don't."

It wasn't a tone she used in this room; out of all the places in town her commandments were law, this was a haven, of sorts. Her own special tower away from it all.

Graham sighed, pushing the buttons of his vest back into their respective holes. "You called me. I can't come by tonight–"

"It's not that." Regina returned from the bathroom, dabbing gently at her colour-saturated lips. "I need you to do something for me."

The response was as natural as breath, and just as quick. "Anything."

The smile that met his remark was almost feral, rounded dental edges sliced by the hard shards of filtered sunlight. "That's what I thought you'd say. Good boy."

"I don't want to hear anything you have to say, about – anything."

"But, Emma, listen–"

"No, you listen." So this wasn't what she had been expecting, but hey, she was fast on her feet. A necessary life skill, in her line of work. "What you and Regina do on your own time, I don't really care and I really don't want to know. But you're going to hurt Henry, if he doesn't already–"

"Emma, that's not–"

"–because he's a perceptive kid. And I'm going to guess this isn't a recent–"

"I love you."

"–arrangement, or whatever it–what?" She tumbled over her tongue, an image of Henry betrayed yet again by his "mother" dissolving into more ludicrous landscapes.

"I'm sorry, abrupt I know, but you never stop talking." He looked repentant, one step closer tentatively edged, the soft dark smudges of his eyes beseeching.

She didn't get involved with married men, not anymore, and she didn't get involved with involved men. Not anymore. Especially not a man involved with a woman like Regina. Regina was the first and last answer to the question of "why not?"

"I guess I should be thankful you didn't just try to arrest me again. For being out past curfew, or, or crossing moving water."

"Eh?"

"Vampires," she explained. "They can't cross moving water."

He gave her and the surroundings a critical glance. "Well, you haven't. Am I meant to suspect you of being one now?" The corner of his mouth quirked up, and a sneaky little voice hummed that with all that facial hair he shouldn't look that innocently boyish.

A snarky little voice snickered that with how often he was banging Regina, he definitely shouldn't be able to look that boyish and really shouldn't be able to look that innocent.

"I'll race you across, and then we'll see." It was so easy to play with him, leaven her usual leaden tones into something that might be flirting, or at least something close. If she didn't have other matters forefront in her mind, she might. But there was Henry. The only reason she was still in town at all.

She took a step up the bank. "Game?" Not a bad thought, actually. There wasn't anything in Henry's book about vampires, but as one of their clandestine Cobra meetings would conclude, there was never any harm in checking.

"Don't."

It wasn't the word, but the genuine fear in his voice which stopped her from carrying it through.

"Don't what?"

"Go on the bridge. It's not safe, been ready to collapse for years."

She squinted up and around, looking for cracks. "Then why doesn't the town repair it? Or tear it down?" Has anyone even tried to use it? Or is this something else Regina said, and now everyone believes it? But she didn't say the last thoughts aloud, because she was afraid of how the Sheriff would reply. The Sheriff who lived out of Regina's pocket.

That and it felt secret; a theory to whisper to Henry, and to no one else. Not that she believed. But this was something else that was real, something else that could be tested and measured.

Graham shrugged, unconcerned by her silent world of speculation. "That's not what I asked you here to talk about. You need–"

"You love me?" She asked with lofted eyebrow, deadpan voice, and a note of condemnation.

"No." Desperation.

"I see." Suspicion.

"Yes." Confusion.

Sigh.

"Look, Mary Margaret expects me home. If you were planning to bash me over the head and toss me into the river, can we just get it over with?"

He had her arm before she knew he was near enough to grab it. "It's Regina..."

"Ah, Regina." Level eyes and enigmatic smile behind ever-mocking lilt. "And what is it that I can do for you today?"

She walked around his shop, running one finger over dusty goods, finally reaching up to spin one glass unicorn hanging by a thread. One tug and it would shatter on the floor. How much was it worth, what price until it was hers to destroy? He held the cards but she held the power – this was her world, he had made it so.

"I want to make a deal."

"Forthright as always, I see." A tap on the floor – for balance or effect, it was impossible to know. "And what sort of deal would that be, dear?" Careful, light enunciation, perfect question belied by his knowing grin.

"I think you already know." She made it a command, forced confidence behind hard stare. But inside she quavered, hoping she was wrong, that his cryptic comments ever since... Emma... arrived in town were threats made of air, fishing for weaknesses.

"Please." This smile was fixed, eyes laughing through dusty light. "Enlighten me."

At that word her body locked up, the way it had– In forced restraint tiny echoes swirled around her like motes in a sunbeam. "Please please," they mocked. "Please please please and do exactly as he says please."

He did know. He must know.

"I want Emma gone. For good. I want her out of Henry's life, and I want her out of mine." Dead words spit from the ash of her tongue.

Another smile, never a grin, too easy, too wide. "My my my. But surely, you wouldn't want your son," he caressed the syllable, infuriatingly empowered, "not to know his own... parent."

Her father. His face emptying before her as she thrust a fatal blow, through skin, muscle and organs.

She tore herself from the image. Sacrifices always had to be made, prices paid. Or the world would stop turning, belong to them.

"I want what's best for my son. She's only confusing him."

"Now that's a lie, dearie, isn't it?"

"You're lying."

"Emma, I've never lied to you. I wouldn't. Not about this, believe me, I wouldn't lie."

She laughed without mirth, remembering the common criminal handily crippled by a blow from her nightstick. Graham looking up, surprise and pain seasoned with guilt. An uncommon criminal. Nothing for a Deputy to concern herself with.

"Regina wants you to seduce me."

"Yes." Desperation.

"And you don't want to."

"No." Believe me, please believe me. "I mean yes, but–"

"You're serious" she realized, full of wonder. There had always been something about him, unaffectedly earnest. As if... As if everything Henry said about Storybrooke was true, everyone here really had been frozen in time, and Graham was still... innocent.

She'd never been innocent.

"Emma." Relief.

His hands spread, reaching towards her.

No one that innocent would sell his soul to Regina. If they did, they could lie in their new bed.

"What makes her think – what makes you think you could?" Anger, low and simmering. Because maybe, maybe before, maybe even after, maybe... maybe... he could have.

It didn't matter now. She should probably thank him, but nothing in this whole situation made her feel grateful. Except for Henry. She couldn't think about him. There was nothing. Feel nothing, there's nothing to feel, move on. The story– her story.

"It's late, I'm cold, I'm going home." She watched her feet, forcing herself to tread carefully even as her heart raced for a full-out run. Ears alert for the slightest sound, the rough grind of rock over lapping water– There.

"Don't follow me."

"I don't follow."

"Regina, Regina." Mr. Gold tapped out from behind his counter, the apparent weakness of his limp only coming across as power and control. "Haven't I always given you everything you asked for?" He was close enough for his breath, unexpectedly clean, to wash over her cheek. "For the right price, of course."

"What do you want?"

"Are you sure you can pay? Do you want Emma gone that badly?"

Once before, by the wreckage of her wounded apple tree, he had asked if she knew who Emma was. Oh yes, she knew. Poetic, in a way. She also knew he'd brought... her... here on purpose.

"Yes." That purpose must be to flaunt their deal. He dealt in limitations, she had known that ever since–

Whirling abruptly, his demand cut through the air: "I want Henry."

"No!" The cry burst from her, for a moment the chill emptiness in her chest a burning void. "Anything but Henry." Sharp words full of teeth.

He was smiling again, spectre of the Cheshire Cat even while he was turned away. "But my dear, it was I who provided him in the first place, as you may recall. And as it turns out, I would like him back. The decision is yours. Which do you desire more: a threat dispensed with...?" He was smiling, so benign as to fill her with a newly familiar terror. "…or the son you could never love?"

"I do love him."Her voice weak even to her own ears. She did love him. He was hers. She was his mother. The only one he'd ever had.

"And yet, the terms of the deal are mine to set, the right to refuse is yours. Unless, of course..."

"What?"

His hand stopped trailing over a faded sheath of arrows. "Unless you'd merely like a bit of... free advice? From a friend, so to speak."

Emma, she admonished herself, this would be a good time for some advice. It was an old wound, a way to remind herself that she had nothing, no one, and had to do it on her own.

And yet... She did have someone, now. Someone who wasn't a ten-year-old. Mary Margaret was a friend, and friendship was supposed to be a two-way street. Hell, it might even be maternal advice, if Henry was right after all. Only in his head of course – neither of the adults really believed in the Book. The world was strange enough without looking for other worlds out there.

But their friendship, that was real. That was something. Like whatever she had with Henry. She wasn't his mother, not in any way that mattered. But he needed her, and she maybe sort of needed to be needed. She wanted something for him. What? Who knew? Just something... more.

"Where've you been?"

Mary Margaret's voice rang out from somewhere in the depths of the artistically run-down apartment, floating on whiffs of cinnamon and dough.

Emma smiled at the faux-parental words, shook the thought out of her head with the friendly intonation.

"Just out."

"I made cookies." Mary Margaret stepped into the main room, still toweling her short hair. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Emma realized she was staring blankly at a cookie, cut into the shape of a wolf, sprinkle of spice pooled randomly into semblance of nose, eyes, and shadows of fur.

"I'll make cocoa. Or..." She wasn't a nun. She was a teacher. But she was also... something more. "Would you rather have a drink?"

"Drink?" Before he could respond she pushed a glass into his hand. Wine, only red wine up here.

"What do you need me to do?" He sat on the edge of the bed, eyeing the dark liquid, deceptively thick like blood, and heady like a whiff of damp wood.

Regina smoothed her blouse over her stomach, checking the tight tuck into her skirt before the transparency of the window. Her body was familiar, but it sickened as much as it enticed.

"Emma. I've seen the way she looks at you."

What way? Did she? He'd been watching, and he'd seen nothing, nothing more than sliding glances, rebuffing stares and hard, confusing challenges.

"I want you to sleep with her."

"What?" He looked up, so fast wine sloshed onto the floor, puddle and drips like a crime scene in miniature.

She tossed a washcloth over the mess, never missing a stride. Always so in control. He longed for control, any control at all.

"It shouldn't be too difficult, I've seen the way you look at her."

That he could believe. It wasn't something he could stop, only escape, physically, from the unfamiliar tight warmth in his chest. Ever since those first few moments on the front path as she invaded their calm little town, towed behind Henry and throwing, by her presence, everything upside-down.

"You want me to sleep with... Emma." Looking for confirmation, even though Regina was always clear about what she wanted, and didn't like to repeat herself.

"I don't care how you do it, or where. You may even enjoy it, if you can." As if she knew, knew that he never had, never could. No matter how often he told himself–

"And I don't want to know, is that clear?" Perfect stockings, complementary heels, high and sharp enough to threaten more than the ground. Suit jacket selected, carefully draped over the back of a chair before she spun, suddenly leaning over him, close enough to kiss – or bite.

"I want you to fuck her, Graham. Get it out of your system, and hers. And then I want you to leave her, once and for all. There's no future for her in Storybrooke, but there still might be one for you."

She took the glass back from his limp grasp, tossing a stream past white teeth to avoid stains. So close he could see the tightening of her throat as she swallowed. So close he could see her hand and jaw clench when he remained silent.

"Love her and leave her, Graham," she whispered threat and promise in his ear. "Remember, this is my town. And you–" she ghosted the tip of her tongue around the rim of his ear so that he almost shuddered. "You belong to me."

There was nowhere to go that didn't involve passing her so he stayed where he was, forcing images from his mind. As if Regina could read his thoughts, see his treacherous pleasure imagining Emma underneath him, running hands over her breasts as she–

No. He blanked his mind, focused, like he was in the woods following tracks. Focused, as Regina finished the business of dressing. Jacket on, stray hairs stroked into place.

By the door she threw back one last command, sharp in its dismissive chill. "Henry will be home soon. Don't let him see you leave."

Graham waited as the sharp clicks of her exit faded down the stairway, and stared at the abandoned glass. No lipstick smudge marred the rim. But for a waft of apple and sour taste in his mouth, there was no sign she had been there at all.

"I know we just met, and we're just... friends, but I want you to consider this your home too." The earnest way Mary Margaret said it, Emma could almost believe she'd found a place she belonged, was wanted. Even... needed.

They'd gone with drinks and cocoa didn't go with drinks. Cookies didn't either, but they were having them anyway, bitter versus sweet.

She must have passed by the guest room, seen Emma's meager possessions still half-stowed in boxes for a quick exit. Never committing, that was her.

"It's not just me." It never was. It was rarely anyone else's fault, she just never fit, never... belonged. Except now. "It's Regina. If it were just me– But it's Henry. If Regina wants me gone this badly, maybe it's better that I just go. Before..."

"Before what?" Mary Margaret – Snow White – took a tiny sip, lack of grimace at the taste less like the nun she wasn't, more like the average teacher she professed to be.

Time to be out with it. If Mary Margaret trusted her with her own romantic troubles, the least she could do was return the favour, twisted as her own problems were.

She gulped too much, coughed, and sighed. "Regina told Graham to sleep with me." Emma watched as her friend's eyes widened, surprise but not shock. "Seduce me, actually."

They were silent for several breaths. Emma, for one, needed the pause. Saying it aloud, saying it to someone else – it felt good, to not be the only one who knew. But it was also terrifyingly real, the reaches of Regina's control, the way she seemed to know, to calculate, the half-dreams that sent Emma off to sleep.

"Are you going to do it?"

Not really what Emma had expected her to say, insofar as she had thought far enough ahead to expect anything at all. She laughed, loudly, a little hysterically, if she were honest. Mary Margaret giggled a little as well, and the conversation suddenly felt like it was set in a very different sort of... story.

"How do you know?" That was a better question, a safer question.

"Graham told me."

"He told–"

Now that they'd started, Emma couldn't stop, words falling from her mouth more from her sudden need to share than the tongue-loosening powers of liquor.

"That's where I was, he wanted me to meet him– at the bridge. I thought it was David, I'm sorry, I went to scare him off, but he– It was Graham. And he told me, just like that. Regina had sent him, to– I don't even know why she would, what she's playing at now. But it can't be anything good and Henry... Oh god Henry–" She tipped her head into her palms, elbows balanced on knees. As her thoughts whirled they had never touched on Henry, not lately, not until she forced herself to remember, and that was what scared her the most.

"Is he still sleeping with Regina?" Mary Margaret was a voice of patient reason, though missing the point.

"I didn't ask. Why?"

Her roomate was watching her with a queer expression. "If he isn't, why not just go for it?"

Her own advice come back to haunt her, at the worst possible time. Because oh, how she wished it could be that simple. That even something so simple could work out.

"Even if they aren't, she's the one telling him to do it. And I can't imagine it's for altruistic reasons."

"No chance Regina's had a change of heart and decided to play Cupid?" Her smile so trusting, a curve of rich lips on pale skin. An injured innocent, still willing to have faith. "Or that maybe, she's asking him to do what he already wants?"

"I'm going to go with 'not likely.'" Maybe for Katherine, her new friend, but Emma had been Enemy Number One for all but the first ten seconds of their relationship.

The knock at the door made them both jump.

"It's probably Dr. Whale. you should get that." Emma was annoyed and relieved all at once. She had been looking for perspective and a little taste of sympathy, maybe even a little comfort. Not bucking up. Too much more of that and she was likely to–

Mary Margaret was still smiling as she stood and crossed the room. "But you don't really know. Maybe you should ask him."

Or maybe I don't want to know. Emma swigged the rest of her drink and was wondering whether to pour herself another glass or just take the bottle to her room when the door swung open behind her and it was too late.

"Graham, hello."

"Mary Margaret." He was always so polite, unless he had the handcuffs out. Then he was ironic. "I'm here to see– Is Emma in?"

A pointless question, the cynical part of Emma concluded. After all, he could see her from the doorway.

"Emma?"

It would only be awkward for Mary Margaret if she left them hanging, so Emma got up to take over the door situation.

"I told you not to follow me." Back to harsh, the only thing she could feel– the only thing she could let herself feel around him.

Mary Margaret slipped away, murmuring an excuse.

Graham looked uncertain, a little bit scared. "I didn't. I went all the way back to the station first, got a call in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by..." His eyes wandered past her glare. "See if our new resident trouble-maker had been, uh, staking any of the local vampires?" He offered a hopeful smile, hand running nervously over the side of his belt.

"Funny." Sarcasm.

"I think you'd be up for a commendation, see..." He trailed off, so much like a conversation they would have had, before...

Suddenly Mary Margaret was sliding between them, something about meeting Dr. Whale for a drink before she all but shoved Graham into the apartment with a too-bright suggestion that they take the opportunity (not her word) to "talk." Pointed out the cookies and then she was gone.

Graham stood uncertainly just over the threshold of her... home. That word gave her pause. More than knowing that if she kicked him out he would go, and stay gone, even through uncomfortable encounters at the station.. The boxes in her room felt wrong, heavy, but everything else felt right. Like she belonged. For the first time she belonged somewhere, and everything else was just... life.

"I guess you'd better come in, then."

She closed the door (to her home) behind him, avoided the relief in his eyes.

It might as well be now, whatever it was. After all, it was already too late to give up.

"It's too late," Mr. Gold purred. "You should have come to me sooner, when it would have been so much... less expensive? Shall we say? To nip your little problem in the bud."

"You said you had advice, not riddles." Regina had never liked being in a position of weakness, but then that was what this whole situation had been crafted to rectify. Excise all weakness from her heart, and then from her life. Destroy everyone else, leaving her standing alone.

Alone with Gold, it seemed. Too much power that wasn't hers.

It was her own weakness, making a deal with Rumpelstiltskin without covering all the bases. She should have known he wouldn't let himself go down with the ship. He never did, like the rat he was.

Yet he did have rules. Was honest, in his own way. More honest than anyone else. Even though it was iffy ground, she was confident he wouldn't overplay his "please." A key she never expected he'd be in a position to use. If he wanted Henry, it would only be through a new deal.

Regina didn't like the thoughts she kept buried – that even Henry, the one thing she did have… he was the last thing she'd trade away. But if she reached the point of lasts, she thought she could do it. Would do it. She'd done it before.

As if he could see the gears of her mind, Mr. Gold busied himself amongst his artifacts until she sickened herself with that realization.

"Then how about this? You have, and dear Miss Emma does not. But she's taking more every day– she may have been a stranger at the start, but she's quickly winning Storybrooke's heart." He spoke in lyrical singsong, nothing like Mr. Gold and too much like a voice locked in memory. "There's something you can give, and then take away– if you do, then surely she'll be gone within a day."

Breath caught in her chest. "Henry?"

He laughed, dry, sound and musk making her head spin. Bewitched as if his old treasures were potion. Some of them probably were. "No no no. She already has his heart, freely given. So much more than you ever had. But there's another you hold, in the palm of your hand. Unless of course you've forgotten?" He projected nnocence, a trait that never fit him.

Ah, that. She could feel muscle dividing under her hand, pain but not damage to the body as she tore out her prize. Not the one she wanted, but until then it would do. And what was more fitting, after all, than to take Snow White's little messenger boy? Forgiveness, she had written, over and over as if it were hers to give. See if she could forgive herself, for condemning the man she beguiled into becoming her own little sacrificial lamb.

Snow White stole the kingdom, her kingdom's heart. Like Emma was stealing Storybrooke, her Storybrooke's heart.

Well then. There was no Hunter to come to the rescue this time. This time, she wouldn't make the same mistake. The executioner she sent this time was loyal only to her.

Regina didn't say "thank you" and she didn't look back. She almost – but couldn't quite – tore down the unicorn to crush under her toe.

That little pleasure she'd save until the town was hers again.

"These are good."

Graham had ambled to the table while she was gathering her thoughts against the cool wood of the door. He had the head neatly off a cat – not a wolf, she noticed.

"So..." Her thoughts were gathered, they just weren't much help in the talking department.

"Look." Dropping the decapitated cookie onto a napkin, he dusted his fingers off on his pants. "I'm sorry for before. I shouldn't have told you like that, I should have-"

"-Seduced me." So much for being nice, but at least it came out closer to weary than accusatory. Still wearing her jacket, she stuffed her hands into her pockets, in what even she realized was a defensive posture.

"Emma." He took a step into her personal space.

She stayed where she was. There was only so defensive she could be – it just wasn't in her nature.

"Look. Thanks for letting me know-"

"Emma, please-"

"I don't know what the hell Regina's trying-"

"Emma, just listen-"

"-to accomplish here, but it's getting-"

"Stop. Please stop." Desperation.

She stopped. And met his eyes for the first time since she'd let him in. In to her home.

"What?"

He inhaled deeply. "Regina. She thinks we, we want," he faltered, "each other." He barreled on before she could scoff. "Not that we don't- I don't- I do. I do, Emma, but it doesn't have to be the way she wants."

He'd edged a little closer as he spoke, a fractional change in stance and shift in body weight. If a mark got this close, she'd knee him.

Instead, she narrowed her eyes.

"And what does she want?"

"Regina told me to – and then to break it off. But I couldn't, d'ya see? I couldn't-"

"Seduce me?" It was a coin flip if she was flattered or insulted by that.

Graham turned away, plowing a shaky hand through his hair. "Have to be stuck on that point, don't you?" he muttered to the garbage can.

She was getting tired of the games. This whole town was games, lies, and secrets. Secrets and lies were her bread and butter, but she revealed the secrets and caught the lies. She didn't live them.

"Graham, look. Thank you for telling me, that you don't want to sleep with me, or can't, or whatever it is." She spoke to his eyes, once he slowly turned back around. "But whatever Regina's up to, it was never going to work anyway."

And it wouldn't have. That came as a welcome relief. She might have felt something for Graham, and he probably could have hurt her. She definitely didn't want Henry to get hurt or feel betrayed. If it was the only way to protect him, she would go. But what she would never do was abandon him, abandon all this, after a little disappointment. Not this time. Not from here.

She felt her inner contentment on her face, tug of smile and calm eyes.

Graham was staring back, intensely, and for the first time she felt like the prey rather than the hunter. There was a loaded question in there.

She avoided both options and took Mary Margaret's advice.

"I don't get-" Involved felt too personal. "I don't sleep with guys who are involved" -that was a better place for it.- "with someone else."

"Emma."

Her name again, begging, but he wasn't denying it. Maybe he really didn't lie. She respected honesty.

"The thing is, even if I did, I wouldn't have left, after." She might as well be honest in return. "I might have. But now everything Regina does, all her plans and attacks: that's why I won't leave. I can't leave." She wasn't going to bring up Henry, though his presence was heavy in the air. No weakness. "What she's doing is sick, and I'm not going to stand by and watch it happen. Tell her that, next time you see her." In bed, her mind continued on to say, after she'd fallen silent.

Her chest clenched at the mental image, but she squashed it down.

"That's just it," he whispered, "I don't want to see her."

She studied his downcast eyes, looking for regret or lies or even bashfulness – at least he wasn't peering down her top – so she wasn't paying attention to what else he was doing until his hands were on her hips. Automatically she jumped back, but his grip tightened first, holding her in place with surprising strength.

"Graham, whatever you're doing..."

What he was doing was tugging her closer, leaning towards her. Panic and confusion fought for top billing. It's not that she was scared; she knew she could easily escape. Hell, there were fifteen ways to have him rolling on the ground in the next ten seconds. But she didn't want to hurt him, not physically, not even emotionally, if she could help it. That left her with few options when he was close enough for her to count his eyelashes.

"Graham, stop." A pleading whisper, not forceful.

His eyes were tightly shut, bleeding lines of tension like he was in pain. Clearly he wasn't listening, and she turned away from the inevitable kiss, bracing against his chest as a last attempt to gently get through to him.

Prepared for that, she was at a loss when instead of a crush of lips, he pressed his forehead against hers, rocking it slightly back and forth. When she tried to pull back in order to look at him, he followed, pushing against her.

"Emma, please."

The words washed over her nose and mouth, mint and cinnamon over a hint of bitter tang.

"Please." A pleading no louder than his uneven breathing.

Clearly he was begging her for something, but hell if she knew what that was. If this was about sex he had even more problems than she did. She was still crabby, and a little disgusted, but she couldn't not feel for him. "Please what?"

"Please believe me. Just believe me."

Their noses bumped briefly as he rolled his head to the side, balancing next to her temple. It occurred to her, in a flash of disconnect, that if he wasn't so distressed, this would be highly erotic.

He tightened his hold but probably didn't realize it, and as he ground his forehead up into her hairline and huffed a warm burst of air past her ear, she felt something wet drip onto her cheek and tickle a slow path down to her jaw. Graham was crying.

"Okay. Okay, I believe you." She was mildly alarmed – near fully alarmed – and tried to figure out what he would find comforting.

"I believe you."

Not exactly where she had pictured her evening going, what with her nemesis's lover crying in her arms. Well, crying while she was in his arms, but that didn't make the situation any closer to normal. It was unfamiliar territory for her, and she slipped her own arms under his far enough to hold his waist in mock embrace, gently stroking through doubled fabric of vest and shirt in what she hoped was a soothing manner.

"Hey, it's okay." Not that she knew what was okay. All of it, maybe.

Regina was the one who put them here. Regina, who toyed with the whole town like it had been created especially for her.

Emma was so tired of everything always coming back to Regina. This was her life, and she wasn't going to hand it over.

Graham sighed, muscles relaxing under her fingers. "I don't know what to do."

Confusion seemed to be going around recently.

"Well, what do you want to do?" That was always the hardest question of all.

"I want-" He shuddered, and if this was the opening for him to kiss her, she'd walked right into it. And she might have done it on purpose.

But he didn't.

Emma was so tired of the games and the lies and the secrets. His grip on her had gone slack, hands merely resting on her hips. She found herself missing the contact.

When he didn't finish the sentence, she finished it for him, tilting up to meet his mouth with her own, and let him kiss her.

Tentative at first, he eased into slow, gentle exploration, the weight of his hands keeping her still. He maintained contact, tongue brushing against hers, avoiding her invitation to duel as he moved on to run over her teeth, tickle the roof of her mouth. As if he was memorizing her, as if this was the last time.

Maybe it was.

He was breathing through his nose, drying the path his tear had made on her cheek in chill bursts. She felt at home. Not just in this town, not just in this apartment, but here, with Graham. It was terrifying and liberating all at once. Her whole life had been a fight, and suddenly it was all so deceptively easy, all there, all at once.

When he'd tracked over the territory and back again, he pulled away slowly, completely, and watched her.

Stormy, was the only way to describe his eyes. Roiling with things she could identify, and things she couldn't. Trying to figure it out, figure him out, she let her hands slide down to hold onto his belt. Looking for a little stability, maybe, looking to find some certainty in the solid tools of his profession.

"I want this." The roughness of his voice stood in contrast with the light pressure tugging her forwards into his arms. Then he kissed her again.

Hold loose, barely there, it wouldn't take any of Emma's fifteen moves to break free. If she'd wanted to.

Regina be damned. The way to win with her was to stop playing and live. The one thing, Emma suspected, Regina had never been able to do.

As with their first kiss, she was more than willing to start what he would not. She shifted until she could pull him against her body, hard, pinning him in place with hands splayed over the small of his back. Tighter and closer until there was nothing between them they couldn't feel.

He couldn't feel anything. The glass was spotless and so was he, empty and barely there as the sun found nothing to catch against. A few drops of … something … left inside. Whatever Regina didn't care to take.

Trodding down the stairs his heart was heavy.

His heart.

That was something.

He followed the strange feeling through his thoughts until he stopped at Regina's command. Fuck her and leave her.

He didn't want to. Didn't want to hurt her, didn't want to push her away. Didn't want her gone, didn't want to taint the sudden onrush of excitement and terror and need and things he couldn't name, whenever he was close to her.

He didn't want to stop feeling. Not now that he knew he could.

He didn't want to stop feeling. Not even if the price was endless pain.

Neither of them wanted to stop, the feeling of being held and wanted too rare and precious.

They were still standing in the same place, as if to move would be to break a spell. At a silent agreement not to flee, Graham had moved his fingers to thread through her hair, tying himself to her as he held her head in place. Emma ran her hands over his shoulders, down his sides, up his spine to toy with the fine hairs above his collar. A long, circuitous path, personal and intimate. And yet, like they were in junior high, nothing below the belt.

Not an unreasonable question her mind brought up, once what they were doing began feeling familiar and safe. Where is this, whatever this is, going?

She slipped back enough to slide her hands between them, running her palms down his chest. Not a demand to stop, more of a request to pause.

"What is this?" she asked, breathless.

Responding to a nonexistent challenge he tried to back up, shaking himself out of her hair, but she hooked onto his vest.

"I'm serious, Graham." And she was. As much as she'd preferred to live in ignorance before, she needed to know now. "What happens next? You go back to Regina, tell her you did it? Pretend it never happened?" Or. Or something else.

He looked panicked, still pulling backwards against her hold.

"I don't know." His everyday voice was too loud in the silence.

He was scared and desperate: something she was seeing a lot of tonight. Only this time, she believed him upfront.

"You're serious." Wonder. "Graham." Compassion, a new tone for her, but it wasn't hard to muster. "What does Regina have on you? Why can't you just say no to her and get away?"

"I don't know."

"You know she can't make you do anything you don't want to do, right? She's the mayor, she's not God. People like you. They'll stand behind you."

He was shaking his head, eyes wide.

"They will." They would. She would. Not everyone was afraid of Regina.

"It wouldn't matter." Sad and sure. "Regina knows everything that goes on in Storybrooke, and she can control it all. If you try to go against her, she'll just make your life a living hell, and it won't have made a difference anyway."

It certainly sounded like her. At least this was proof that Emma wasn't the only one to know it.

"But," she added softly, inching closer, "isn't that what she's already doing? To both of us?"

His mouth, when not better employed, had a habit of getting him into the wrong sort of trouble. Forestalling this – or maybe just giving neither of them a chance to think of all the ways this was a bad idea – Emma kissed him. Hard. Insistent. Demanding. Dropped her hands lower on his belt, drawing her pinkies along the underside. When he didn't respond she kissed him again, on impulse, now trailing her nails through his scruff.

That did it. He fought back, tongue and hands, invading space and searching for skin. They stumbled back, together, aiming for nothing but too questing to stay still.

When they were both out of breath and thinking of nothing else, Emma snagged his hand away from her stomach and tugged him towards her bedroom.

Smiling into, and at, his lust-filled eyes as she took measured steps backwards, Emma figured that for right now, she had everything in the world. Tomorrow? Well, tomorrow was life.

"What Regina wants, Regina gets, right?" Clever smirk. She turned around, towing him after her.

"I guess..." His head cocked to the side, questioning.

"Well, then let's let her have her win." Oh, Regina's plan would work alright. Part of it, anyway.

"You want – I mean, do you-"

"And then tomorrow, we'll work on the 'saying no.'"

Enough talking. Almost. She waited until they were at her doorway before she spoke her last thought of the night, teasing and taunting and not looking back.

"If it makes it easier for you to start, I can leave first for the station in the morning."

In the gloom of his shop, Mr. Gold flipped his sign to "closed." It was very, very late, too late for customers, but then his hours were his to set as he saw fit.

The shop, he mused, was very fitting. Everything he needed, neatly packed between four walls. His own little corner of this world. He didn't need everything, he'd never craved total control or the finality of a bankrupt promise for a "happily ever after." All he wanted was enough. And then a little more. Enough to move the pieces around, tinker and toy, prod and poke. Have a little fun and watch them dance.

A wolf howled in the distance, and he smiled.