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[oom - sb] in the office, the morning after terrible things
For most of the night, Graham wanders the residential streets by the Mayor's house - lost, confused, guilty. And when exhaustion settles and he finds himself nearing his own neighbourhood, the sky still dark but morning peeking its head over the edge of the horizon, he stumbles home and wakes up an hour later.
It's still early when he picks up a large coffee from Granny's and drives into work. He'd made a point to come into work early this morning. He has half a dozen reasons why he wants to, and most of them revolve around being at the office before Emma gets in. Maybe it's a way to prove to her that he's still the same person; that even though she's learned this secret, he's still the same Graham.
The parking lot is empty when he arrives, but he isn't surprised. He checks the clock on the dashboard: it reads 6:53 AM.
The official work day starts in the office at nine.
There's still time.
The box of doughnuts from yesterday is settled - folded in half, with sugar residue and dried glazing stuck to the inside of it - in the garbage bin by Emma's desk.
Hell. Yesterday feels like years ago now.
It's a sudden horrid heaviness coiled in his chest like it could suffocate his insides. He half-considers calling Archie to ask him about it, about why he feels this way, why it started when Emma came into town, stirring Storybrooke (and its' citizens) from its deep sleep by cutting down Regina's prized apple tree, getting herself arrested more than a couple times, and knocking the local town signage over, but decides he'd rather not go into the details of how he came to be this way.
It is when the clock strikes seven that Graham shakes himself out of his exhaustion-ridden stupor. He takes a sip of his coffee, fishes into his pocket for his office key, and steps inside.
He isn't sure how the day is going to go.
It's still early when he picks up a large coffee from Granny's and drives into work. He'd made a point to come into work early this morning. He has half a dozen reasons why he wants to, and most of them revolve around being at the office before Emma gets in. Maybe it's a way to prove to her that he's still the same person; that even though she's learned this secret, he's still the same Graham.
The parking lot is empty when he arrives, but he isn't surprised. He checks the clock on the dashboard: it reads 6:53 AM.
The official work day starts in the office at nine.
There's still time.
The box of doughnuts from yesterday is settled - folded in half, with sugar residue and dried glazing stuck to the inside of it - in the garbage bin by Emma's desk.
Hell. Yesterday feels like years ago now.
It's a sudden horrid heaviness coiled in his chest like it could suffocate his insides. He half-considers calling Archie to ask him about it, about why he feels this way, why it started when Emma came into town, stirring Storybrooke (and its' citizens) from its deep sleep by cutting down Regina's prized apple tree, getting herself arrested more than a couple times, and knocking the local town signage over, but decides he'd rather not go into the details of how he came to be this way.
It is when the clock strikes seven that Graham shakes himself out of his exhaustion-ridden stupor. He takes a sip of his coffee, fishes into his pocket for his office key, and steps inside.
He isn't sure how the day is going to go.
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He looks terrible. Did he not get any sleep last night?
Whatever. It's none of her business. She's not his babysitter, she's not his girlfriend or a relative or anyone other than an employee, so she turns away again and sits back down, grabs a sandwich and bag of chips out of the paper bag she'd brought before crumpling it up and tossing it in the trash.
Rather than start up any small talk, she concentrates instead on the envelope she'd found on her bedspread last night. Milliways: that place is messed up. She's talked to him twice since leaving Miami, it's been days, but the Mary Margaret he'd met before ending up in New York must have been the one she'd seen yesterday, back when everything was jokes and apologetic boxes of donuts.
The whole idea makes her head hurt.
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It hasn't been this quiet in the office since he used to work alone; and it feels foreign and strange now, as though Emma has always been here.
Maybe he'd just gotten used to having a deputy, having something like backup - but he knows it's so much more than that.
In the last few weeks, Emma has become a good friend, too, someone he could actually have a drink or two with after work. She makes him laugh, and she surprises him in ways no one else in Storybrooke has.
And more than that, the unsettling, uneasy sensation of being hollow feels less obvious, less of an ache whenever she's around. (Even now, when she won't talk to him or barely look at him besides the necessary exchange of dialogue needed to get their work done.)
It's clear the rest of the day isn't going to be any different than now. There's only maybe an hour and a half left to go before the clock strikes five, and it's been pretty excruciating for the pair of them, as far as he's concerned.
But this? This just can't go on.
"Emma -"
He steps out of his office and approaches her desk again, but all the words he wants to say get stuck in his throat, clouded with his confusion and a healthy dose of guilt.
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(She's so disappointed in David. Not that it's a bad thing if he's trying to save his marriage, but leading Mary Margaret on like that, even if she wouldn't say he'd done it...he should know better.)
Her phone's been quiet ever since lunch, not that she's surprised: who else ever calls her but Mary Margaret or Graham? Henry, maybe, but he's only just out of school.
She can't wait to get out of here and get to the bar and find a little company that won't make her feel like just forming sentences is the hardest thing she's ever had to do.
An hour and a half to go. She can make it.
And then Graham comes out of his office and blows everything.
She looks up at him, feeling wary. She can't dissuade him with another offer to take the patrol: they're done for the day and she seriously doubts they'll get called out again. She could try to head him off at the pass with some busywork, but she can't think of any, so they end up just staring at each other for a few minutes.
"What's up?"
She says it as casually as possible: casually, and hopefully with enough distance that he'll get the message. She doesn't want to talk. What is there to talk about?
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And it was only yesterday when it didn't feel like the temperature in this office dropped a hundred degrees, when Graham didn't feel stupid and ashamed and sorry.
The tin can with the wads of crumpled paper balls is still sitting in the corner of the room from when they'd had an afternoon of target practice.
He does consider apologizing and explaining himself again. But the way she's looking at him right now? It's enough to keep all of those (now seemingly) pointless explanations to himself.
He shrugs and doesn't sigh.
"We shouldn't be expecting anything to happen between now and five o'clock. You're free to go if you want."
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Well, screw that. She's not going to be judged by a bucket. It can't even talk.
She should leave. He's offering her an out, opening to door to let her walk on by, and it makes sense. Of course it does. There was Michael telling her about his exes and saying they should be friends; Graham's secret finally out between them and him telling her to take off early. It's the same old story everywhere she goes.
Maybe if she tries really hard, she can screw things up with Tommy, too. And Mary Margaret. And anybody here who thought it was a good idea for her to stick around.
She should leave, but stubbornness is overruling the desire to run. What's there to run from, anyway? She's not going to let this screw with her. So he wasn't totally honest. Big deal. It's actually kind of a relief, knowing that he's not as perfect as he seems to be.
She pushes aside the thought of her jacket, that sealed envelope.
Later.
"I'm fine," she says. "If you want to check out early, I can close up. I'm sure you've got...stuff to take care of."
That was mean.
She doesn't take it back.
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He lets out a sharp breath, a little as though she dealt him a physical blow, and shakes his head.
(Well, okay. So much for 'valiantly'.)
He did want to give her an out. Mostly because it felt wrong, almost cruel to keep her here when she clearly didn't want to be. Sure, it's a typical case of putting one's personal feelings before the job, but Graham hasn't always been the most textbook of lawmen anyway.
"No," he says eventually, regaining his composure. "I'm here until five, too."
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She's not budging, and neither is he, so while it was a nice offer, he can just shove it. Nice is the last thing she wants from him right now, it's just a reminder of how stupidly high in her esteem he'd been before last night.
They can handle an hour and half, though, right?
And another eight hours tomorrow.
And the day after.
She blows out a resigned breath, slumping back in her chair, resolutely ignoring the way he hasn't come over to lean against her desk like he normally would.
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This puts Graham in a slightly awkward position. He hadn't exactly expected her to stay, though he can't quite help the belated feeling of relief that threatens to pierce through the reality of the situation.
Just because Emma is staying until five doesn't mean she isn't still angry at him. And he doesn't know her well enough to guess how long she might stay angry.
Things in the office are going to be ... well, this might just be the way of things from now on.
He presses his lips together and nods.
"Well, I'll be in my office if you need me, then."
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She says it with eyebrows slightly raised, a little questioning, a little challenging. Hell, it's like she pushing at him on purpose, trying to find the button that will make him fight back, that will make him...what? Explain? What is there to explain? He's a grown man, and he can make his own decisions. She doesn't have to like them, but her opinion doesn't matter.
It's that simple.
So why can't she get it out of her head? How come she can't stop thinking about his mussed hair and unbuttoned collar and the flush on his cheeks?
Augh.
"I'll know where to find you."