notinthebook | (no subject)

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She's not nervous; that would be stupid.

Okay, so maybe she takes a little extra care with her hair and makeup and choice of clothing: no boots, this time, in favor of a plain pair of black heels, a faintly sheer red top tucked loosely into the waist of her jeans, matching her lips and nails.

"You're not going to wear a dress?" Mary Margaret's standing in the doorway, hands cupping her elbows, smiling that small, satisfied smile that seems to be on her face every time she looks at Emma recently.

Emma shakes her head. "I've only got the one, and...I don't think this is a dress kind of evening."

"But it's a date," Mary Margaret insists. Emma drops her eyes to search for mascara on the bureau top so she doesn't have to see herself blushing in the mirror.

"Well, I don't think it's a dress kind of date."

She's considering herself in the mirror when there's a knock on the door. Mary Margaret , hand to her chest, looks like she's about to explode, but when Emma gives her a warning look, all she does is say "I'll just...go get that," and scurry back downstairs, leaving Emma to spritz on perfume and take a minute to stare at herself.

She looks pretty much like usual, but he likes her usual, right?

She's not nervous.

But it still takes a her a few minutes before she manages to pull herself away from the safety of her room and head downstairs, a little more carefully than usual in these shoes.

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"Mary Margaret."

She says it softly, thoughtfully. If Graham's telling the truth, then Mary Margaret...

It's beyond strange to think, not least because if Mary Margaret really is Snow White, then Graham saved her long before she, Emma, was even thought of.

Talk about an age difference. "She's the best person I know," she tells him.

"But I'm not so sure you were wrong."

If she's still a little bitter and resigned, maybe she can be forgiven. "I've seen people do some pretty terrible things when they think they can get away with it. There's not much compassion in the world from one person to another. I can see how wolves might be preferable."

Graham's expression is deeper, knowing, understanding.

He gets it.

Oh, he definitely gets it.

It's exactly how he felt for years, growing up in the woods, never meeting anyone but the most lowly, terrible sort - outlaws and beggars, thieves and people with very few scruples.

"I'm not saying there aren't terrible people in the world. There definitely are; I've seen far more than I would have liked in two lifetimes.

"And I will always be grateful for the kindness and loyalty and love the wolves gave me.

"But it's people like Mary Margaret who they give me hope too.

"And there are people I've gotten to know who are wholly good, even if they have a slightly prickly exterior."

He squeezes her hand and grins, a little teasing.

"Oh yeah?" She grins back, stepping sideways to bump into his shoulder.

It could be teasing, or it could be just to feel him warm and solid next to her.

Or maybe a little of both.

"Well, if you and Henry are right, then I've got just about the best person in the world for a mom. You'd think maybe a little of that would get passed along."

Now she is teasing, because it's easier to joke than it is to think about herself in terms of being a good person.

She's made a lot of mistakes and a lot of bad decisions. She's really not sure wholly good describes her at all. "Well, you're pretty stellar, so the wolves seem to have to done a pretty good job."

Her fingers tighten a little in his. She's just not used to how good it feels, yet. "So, where are we headed, anyway?"

Honestly, he isn't used to it yet either.

It's nothing like he's ever felt, and it - among a number of reasons - has him convinced that Emma is wholly good, whether or not she believes so.

"I thought we'd just take it a bit easy tonight. After everything that's happened, it seemed like a better alternative to something ... extravagant."

Besides which, Graham doesn't exactly do extravagant.

"Easy's good," she points out. "I like easy."

Besides, it's not like they haven't kind of skipped straight past the whole first, second, third date awkwardness and gone straight to spending the night.

With that in mind, something casual, something relaxed, sounds just about perfect. No chasing wolves, no breaking and entering, and no Regina, thanks very much. Just him and her.

The word we settles in a warm and happy glow in her chest. She hasn't been part of a we before, not really. Not for a long, long time, and even then, she was always separate. "Not that I don't enjoy seeing you all day, but spending non-work hours together sounds pretty nice."

"I couldn't agree more," Graham says, the delighted, almost giddy look in his eyes very apparent if Emma were to look in his direction.

They take a detour towards the ever-familiar route of Granny's Diner, which is bound to be populated with the usual patrons, and then a few more considering the hour. Out of all the places in Storybrooke, Granny's still serves the best food and drink.

"So, what do you think about Granny's? A bit of dinner, maybe a game of pool or darts?"

"I don't know," she says, thoughtfully, though there's a distinct sparkle in her eyes. "Granny's is going to be pretty busy. You sure you want people to know about us?"

Sure, they could probably pass it off as another evening spent chatting and drinking and playing a game, just unwinding after a long day of work, but the way they're dressed, the fact that it'll be dinner and not just drinks, and, oh yeah, the hand-holding, all sort of scream this is a date.

She doesn't care, but he might. He's the one with the position to maintain, here, after all, and you never know who you'll run into at Granny's.

Still, she thinks as she glances over at him and sees how happy he looks (is that really because of her? That seems impossible), she's not sure even seeing Regina would faze her right now.

"Why not?" Graham shrugs, that boyish grin of his returning as he lifts their joined hands together for a moment. "The town is small, and I like the idea of us. I don't care who knows or who doesn't."

This is about fresh, new starts and putting all of the other darker memories to rest.

He's still unsure how Regina would react, considering what he now knows about her, but that's another battle for another day.

Right now, it really is all about Emma and him.

"That is an excellent answer. Hey."

She stops for a second, tugging on their joined hands so momentum makes him turn to face her, right before she steps close, smiling. "I forgot this before."

She's a little rusty at the whole dating thing, but she knows what she wants and what she wants is him, more than dates or dinner or any of the trappings that go along with it. Leaning up, she grins, briefly, before letting her eyes close and kissing him, like she's trying to get used to the feeling of being able to do that.

Sure, they're not in the office or his apartment, but there's nobody around right now to notice or care and what's the point of a date, anyway, if you don't get to kiss the guy you're out with?

"Hm?"

Emma is kissing him, and for him, it feels like it is both the most natural, perfect thing and completely new and exciting too.

He lifts a hand to rest against the back of her head and leans into the kiss, half-reconsidering this whole date-thing in general and suggesting they just find a place to continue this.

He lets out a breathless laugh when they break apart for air, clearing his head of such selfish thoughts. He runs a thumb gently along her cheek.

She'd be a liar if she said thoughts aren't sort of going along the same lines. There's a lot to be said for dinner and drinks and a game or two or darts, but when she can feel his breath warm against her lips and feel his shoulders under her hands, any thoughts that don't include more of the same just sort of slip right out of her head.

How does he manage to take her breath away like he does? She feels a little shell-shocked when they break apart, her heart thudding madly in her ears.

And it feels so good when he touches her cheek, thumb light, like she's something precious. It's not a feeling she's used to, but she has to admit it's pretty damn sweet.

"Maybe I should have saved that for after dinner," she jokes, as her hands slip to settle at his hips, easy, comfortable.

Graham smiles with that fond smile of his, taking her face in his hands - exactly as though she's something precious (because she is).

He laughs lightly, shrugs.

"Maybe," he allows. "Though I can't say I'm complaining now either."

He likes that she's comfortable enough to do it any time she wants. It's a sign of trust and comfort with him.

(And she is, of course, an incredibly, incredibly attractive lady.)

"You better not be," she says, lifting her hands to his chest to grip lightly as his shirt, tugging gently before letting go again. The way he cradles her face makes her feel like her insides are melting, and the fact that the affection in that smile is for her makes her heart skip and thump.

This is simultaneously as comfortable as if they've gone out a thousand times before, and as nervewracking as her very first date, and the combination is confusion, so she tries to ignore it.

"Come on," she teases, leaning close enough that a breath further would be another kiss, hazel eyes sparkling. "Somebody's got to beat you at darts someday: I may as well give it a shot tonight."

Their breaths mingle as Graham leans in too, half-expecting an opportunity to kiss her again - before they break apart and she jokes about darts.

It makes him laugh after an almost breathless exhale.

"Oh, you can try," he says, equally as teasing. "But being the Huntsman does have its advantages."

It certainly explains why he's never missed a target before, now that he thinks about it.

Hell, she'd be happy to give him that kiss -- but they've got all night and she can't back down now that's she's issued a challenge, though she slips her hand into his again, laces her fingers into his comfortably.

They seem to fit just right.

"When you're hunting stuff, maybe," she says, pretending to be unimpressed. "As far as I know, there are no actual deer at Granny's."

Graham chuckles, feeling the warmth of Emma's hand in his and relishing in it, in the utter simplicity and perfection of this moment, hoping that this is only the start of many moments like this to come.

"No," he agrees, "I haven't seen any deer at Granny's. Unless you count the one on Granny's dartboard. Because I've hunted that one a hundred times."

They cross the street to Granny's Diner, which is lit with life and is - as expected - relatively populated with the usual clientele and then some.

This is it.

Here they are, Graham and Emma.

He doesn't let go of her hand as he reaches for the door.

This is it, for sure, and she can't stop herself from glancing over at him, her fingers ready to relax out of his as soon as he lets go, because even after what he said earlier, a part of her still thinks he's going to let go.

He doesn't.

Instead, he pulls the door open with the exact same ease of manner and cheerful look on his face as he'd had the morning after their night together, when he'd walked back in the room, knowing she'd been planning on bolting, knowing she knew that he knew.

It's like he really, honestly, isn't planning on backing out, and he's still got her hand when they walk through the door and into the busy little restaurant.

Emma can feel the eyes on them, the weight of curiosity, the questions thickening the air, and her fingers tighten and loosen instinctively, unsure of whether she should hold on or tug free.

She wants the comfort of his hand in hers, though, so she keeps it there, for now. "Booth's open," she says, nodding towards it with a fair attempt at easiness.

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