oh, you can hear me cry {emma/graham} chapter 2
title: oh, you can hear me cry (ff.net link) & (tumblr)
author: moi
summary: There’s a hole inside of her, a void she didn’t even know was there; something had been ripped out and crushed into dust.
disclaimer: I own my crappy writing and my tears.
note: so here’s chapter 2, hopefully it will do chapter one justice :) It’s going to start being a little less “poetic” and more… action-y. There’s no direct Emma/Graham in this one but I needed to write these scenes and get Regina out of the way (this time). Next will there shall be fluff though, and lots of it!
Now, onwards:
one - two (ff.net)
When Emma finally gets home it’s already past ten and Mary is still awake, perched on a kitchen stool, a mug of cocoa in her hands and a look of worry in her eyes.
“Emma!”
As Mary jumps from the stool and runs to her direction Emma isn’t sure if she’s ready for this; a part of her wants to go to bed, to sleep and forget, forget this day ever happened and forget the life she almost lost and forget the heart that stopped beating; another part of her just needs a shoulder to cry on.
“What happened? I heard you got in a fight with the Mayor. And Graham! He came looking for me today and he wasn’t himself…” her frantic speech dies and the house becomes silent and Emma is sure Mary can hear the sob already bubbling inside of her and fighting its way out. She holds it back though, swallows her cry and controls herself before it’s too late; she knows that if she starts she won’t be able to stop.
“I hit her,” she says dumbly, her head a lazy throb now and there’s still a bad taste in her mouth.
Mary seems to notice for the first time the cut along her eyebrow and her eyes widen and a gasp comes forth as she puts a hand over her mouth. “Are you okay?”
“Graham died.” Emma flinches when she realizes what she just said, the words leaving her lips before she can stop and her hands start shaking again because the memories are flooding to the front of her brain with images and sounds and tastes she’ll forever associate with death.
“What?!” The word is a whispered squeak and Mary stands there in silence, stunned and speechless.
“His heart stopped,” Emma starts again and this time the words pour out like vomit, unpleasant and unwelcome and she can’t stop them and it hurts. “He was dead for a few minutes then he came back. His heart just started beating again, and Regina hit me but I hit her back and everyone’s running from her and she blames me but Graham stood up to her, he broke things off and we kissed and he collapsed and I thought he was dead, and…” then she’s out of breath and out of control and the tears come again and she hates herself for it.
Vulnerable, she remembers, you’re being vulnerable and you’re letting everyone see you weak.
She feels Mary’s arms go around her shoulders, tight and warm and a hand cradles the back of her head and she whispers soothing sounds, everything will be okay, you’re okay, shhh.
So she cries on her shoulder.
When she calms down Mary leads her to the couch and pushes a mug full of hot cocoa into her hands and rubs her back gently while she drinks and lets the cinnamon wash over her tongue. For the briefest of moments Emma wonders if this is what having a mom feels like.
Mary takes the mug from her hands when Emma is done but keeps rubbing her back and Emma’s grateful, she needs the connection right now. “Is Graham okay?”
Emma nods, letting images of him kissing her dance in the back of her eyelids.
“Your head?”
“I’m fine.”
They sit in silence for a while and the company is comforting; Emma wonders when they started to become best friends, when their friendship just fell into place as if they had always known each other.
“You should go to bed,” Mary breaks the silence and gets up from the couch, encouraging Emma to do the same. “You’re tired and nervous and you need to rest.”
Emma doesn’t argue at all, let’s someone else take care of her for a change and tries not to think about today anymore; she doesn’t want to think about today anymore, she wants to put it behind her like a horrible nightmare she’ll hopefully soon forget.
She’s so exhausted that she’s asleep the moment her head touches the pillow.
-
Regina sits at her desk and waits; waits for the ringing of her home phone, her office phone, her cell phone. Waits for the knocks on her door and announcement on the news, but they never come.
The silence is the same of every still, predictable and controlled night in Storybrooke; except she can hear the faint sounds of crickets outside. No ambulance sirens screaming in the distance, no murmur of curious citizens, no desperate cries of help.
Nothing.
She knows the news should have spread already because the town’s Sheriff dying would be shocking and unexpected and mournful; a death was never heard of in town and she had made sure that the dust of a once honorable man’s heart had been spread so far apart there would be no putting it back together, not even by magic.
And yet…
She’s startled by the sudden presence by the threshold of her office door, but years of practice taught her self-control and all she does is raise her eyes to the boy that had been her son until a few weeks ago. Now… now she doesn’t know anymore; lying and tantrums and scheming and sneaking around and a look of constant defiance in his eyes, now she hardly recognizes him.
“Yes?” She asks when he doesn’t say anything, stands there by the door, hands at his sides, mouth set and nervous feet; he senses her mood easily.
“Do I have to see Mr. Hopper tomorrow?”
Confusion turns into curiosity but it never shows on her face. He knows he’s supposed to see his therapist without fail every week, that’s how it’s been for years and that’s how it’s going to be for as many more as needed. He never missed a session and he isn’t about to start now. She knows the reason he’s there has nothing to do with Archie Hopper and she tries to keep her expression firm. “That’s not the reason you came to see me, Henry. What do you really want?”
“Can I see Emma tomorrow? Before I go see Archie.” His first name slips through his lips before he can stop and Regina raises an eyebrow.
Her teeth clench at their own will and the anger she feels boiling up inside almost comes to the surface and she tries to control her temper before she says something that will never be unsaid. Absolutely not, is the first thing that comes to her lips, you are forbidden of seeing that woman, you are forbidden of setting foot outside of this house, you are forbidden of breathing the same air, but none of these words come out. The anger and hatred and disappointment and disgust she had felt all day suddenly ebbs into throbbing pulse of hurt; she’s losing her son to that woman. Her son. “You’re going to do what you want regardless of what I say.”
“I thought I should ask.” The innocence in his voice doesn’t do anything to appease her mood and she looks away, down at her desk, pretends she’s busy.
“It’s almost 11pm, you should be in bed.” She hears the shuffling of his feet, then silence.
“Good night,” he says and when she looks up he’s already gone.
He’s up to something; she can read him like an open book, the catches in his voice and soft nuances on his face and all the little expressions she has come to learn during these ten years until he learned to hide from her.
The town is too quiet when it shouldn’t be, crickets and people starting to get out of her grasp, out of her reach, out of her control and for a brief moment she wonders how much of a real threat her son is becoming.
tbc.
reviews are <3
author: moi
summary: There’s a hole inside of her, a void she didn’t even know was there; something had been ripped out and crushed into dust.
disclaimer: I own my crappy writing and my tears.
note: so here’s chapter 2, hopefully it will do chapter one justice :) It’s going to start being a little less “poetic” and more… action-y. There’s no direct Emma/Graham in this one but I needed to write these scenes and get Regina out of the way (this time). Next will there shall be fluff though, and lots of it!
Now, onwards:
one - two (ff.net)
When Emma finally gets home it’s already past ten and Mary is still awake, perched on a kitchen stool, a mug of cocoa in her hands and a look of worry in her eyes.
“Emma!”
As Mary jumps from the stool and runs to her direction Emma isn’t sure if she’s ready for this; a part of her wants to go to bed, to sleep and forget, forget this day ever happened and forget the life she almost lost and forget the heart that stopped beating; another part of her just needs a shoulder to cry on.
“What happened? I heard you got in a fight with the Mayor. And Graham! He came looking for me today and he wasn’t himself…” her frantic speech dies and the house becomes silent and Emma is sure Mary can hear the sob already bubbling inside of her and fighting its way out. She holds it back though, swallows her cry and controls herself before it’s too late; she knows that if she starts she won’t be able to stop.
“I hit her,” she says dumbly, her head a lazy throb now and there’s still a bad taste in her mouth.
Mary seems to notice for the first time the cut along her eyebrow and her eyes widen and a gasp comes forth as she puts a hand over her mouth. “Are you okay?”
“Graham died.” Emma flinches when she realizes what she just said, the words leaving her lips before she can stop and her hands start shaking again because the memories are flooding to the front of her brain with images and sounds and tastes she’ll forever associate with death.
“What?!” The word is a whispered squeak and Mary stands there in silence, stunned and speechless.
“His heart stopped,” Emma starts again and this time the words pour out like vomit, unpleasant and unwelcome and she can’t stop them and it hurts. “He was dead for a few minutes then he came back. His heart just started beating again, and Regina hit me but I hit her back and everyone’s running from her and she blames me but Graham stood up to her, he broke things off and we kissed and he collapsed and I thought he was dead, and…” then she’s out of breath and out of control and the tears come again and she hates herself for it.
Vulnerable, she remembers, you’re being vulnerable and you’re letting everyone see you weak.
She feels Mary’s arms go around her shoulders, tight and warm and a hand cradles the back of her head and she whispers soothing sounds, everything will be okay, you’re okay, shhh.
So she cries on her shoulder.
When she calms down Mary leads her to the couch and pushes a mug full of hot cocoa into her hands and rubs her back gently while she drinks and lets the cinnamon wash over her tongue. For the briefest of moments Emma wonders if this is what having a mom feels like.
Mary takes the mug from her hands when Emma is done but keeps rubbing her back and Emma’s grateful, she needs the connection right now. “Is Graham okay?”
Emma nods, letting images of him kissing her dance in the back of her eyelids.
“Your head?”
“I’m fine.”
They sit in silence for a while and the company is comforting; Emma wonders when they started to become best friends, when their friendship just fell into place as if they had always known each other.
“You should go to bed,” Mary breaks the silence and gets up from the couch, encouraging Emma to do the same. “You’re tired and nervous and you need to rest.”
Emma doesn’t argue at all, let’s someone else take care of her for a change and tries not to think about today anymore; she doesn’t want to think about today anymore, she wants to put it behind her like a horrible nightmare she’ll hopefully soon forget.
She’s so exhausted that she’s asleep the moment her head touches the pillow.
-
Regina sits at her desk and waits; waits for the ringing of her home phone, her office phone, her cell phone. Waits for the knocks on her door and announcement on the news, but they never come.
The silence is the same of every still, predictable and controlled night in Storybrooke; except she can hear the faint sounds of crickets outside. No ambulance sirens screaming in the distance, no murmur of curious citizens, no desperate cries of help.
Nothing.
She knows the news should have spread already because the town’s Sheriff dying would be shocking and unexpected and mournful; a death was never heard of in town and she had made sure that the dust of a once honorable man’s heart had been spread so far apart there would be no putting it back together, not even by magic.
And yet…
She’s startled by the sudden presence by the threshold of her office door, but years of practice taught her self-control and all she does is raise her eyes to the boy that had been her son until a few weeks ago. Now… now she doesn’t know anymore; lying and tantrums and scheming and sneaking around and a look of constant defiance in his eyes, now she hardly recognizes him.
“Yes?” She asks when he doesn’t say anything, stands there by the door, hands at his sides, mouth set and nervous feet; he senses her mood easily.
“Do I have to see Mr. Hopper tomorrow?”
Confusion turns into curiosity but it never shows on her face. He knows he’s supposed to see his therapist without fail every week, that’s how it’s been for years and that’s how it’s going to be for as many more as needed. He never missed a session and he isn’t about to start now. She knows the reason he’s there has nothing to do with Archie Hopper and she tries to keep her expression firm. “That’s not the reason you came to see me, Henry. What do you really want?”
“Can I see Emma tomorrow? Before I go see Archie.” His first name slips through his lips before he can stop and Regina raises an eyebrow.
Her teeth clench at their own will and the anger she feels boiling up inside almost comes to the surface and she tries to control her temper before she says something that will never be unsaid. Absolutely not, is the first thing that comes to her lips, you are forbidden of seeing that woman, you are forbidden of setting foot outside of this house, you are forbidden of breathing the same air, but none of these words come out. The anger and hatred and disappointment and disgust she had felt all day suddenly ebbs into throbbing pulse of hurt; she’s losing her son to that woman. Her son. “You’re going to do what you want regardless of what I say.”
“I thought I should ask.” The innocence in his voice doesn’t do anything to appease her mood and she looks away, down at her desk, pretends she’s busy.
“It’s almost 11pm, you should be in bed.” She hears the shuffling of his feet, then silence.
“Good night,” he says and when she looks up he’s already gone.
He’s up to something; she can read him like an open book, the catches in his voice and soft nuances on his face and all the little expressions she has come to learn during these ten years until he learned to hide from her.
The town is too quiet when it shouldn’t be, crickets and people starting to get out of her grasp, out of her reach, out of her control and for a brief moment she wonders how much of a real threat her son is becoming.
tbc.
reviews are <3