Tumblr prompt follow-up to episode 3x06 Ariel......
Anonymous asked:
care to write a fic to follow up last nights epi? just remember that it's cs fluff month ;)
Hmmmm well anon…I don't think last night was the fluffiest of episodes…while glorious I'd say fluff was most definitely lacking…which makes a fluffy follow-up nearly impossible.
Don't leave me.
She pretends to stare at the fire, her eyes fixated on the crackling flames, as she stoically sits; her back up against a tree, her legs sprawled out in front of her, feigning a relaxed and comfortable position. Her mind is racing. Racing, racing, racing. So much was revealed…too much was revealed… and she's tired, so tired…exhausted. But instead of resting, instead of giving over to the weariness that's slowly consuming her—her body and mind resisting stubbornly—her thoughts drift to the wayward rescue party that's scattered around her.
David and Mary Margaret sit next to her, their silence nearly overwhelming as they both gaze in opposite and far off directions, refusing to speak…attempting to ignore the mounting tension that's building between them. Neal is sitting on the other side of the fire; his eyes cast down on the small pocket knife he holds in his hand, his fingers flicking open the blade and pushing it closed again in steady and timed succession—the clicking sound both distracting and soothing.
And Hook…
Please don't leave me.
He's standing on the outskirts of the camp at the very edge of the jungle, his eyes looking anywhere but at her as he tightly grasps the bottle of unopened rum in his hand, almost as if debating whether he wants to chuck it or chug it. God what she wouldn't give for a swig of the strong and burning liquor; and she tries to disregard the protesting voice in her head that objects to the sudden awkwardness that has settled between them with all that's been revealed, said, and done.
Letting her gaze flutter up to the vibrantly lit starry night sky, she allows a small sigh to escape her, the slight and nearly unnoticeable trembling of her lips that follows causing her eyes to widen with a touch of anger and a hint of unnerving surprise.
She won't cry.
She can't cry.
Her teeth quickly find the inside of her cheek and biting down, she focuses on the stinging pain and the bitter taste of blood she draws as she attempts…nearly frantically tries…to focus on anything else other than where her mind wants to go…on where it insists on going.
And God, please don't leave me.
So, so, so much has been exposed.
She wants to ignore it.
She wants to forget it.
She wishes she could.
And she really, really can't cry.
She can't concentrate on the pang in her chest at the knowledge that Neal is alive and well and willing to fight for her over a decade too late. She can't focus on David and his dark and hopeless fate as it taunts her mockingly—his words registering in her muddled and hazy brain, the thought of losing him scaring her more than she's willing to admit to.
But mostly, infuriatingly, she can't acknowledge Mary Margaret's secret—her mother's words bringing old and forgotten wounds rushing to the surface even as the more logical side of her tries to understand.
It's not what I wanted.
She's not what she wanted.
It's a confession that has her reeling and traveling back in time; her adult mind warring with the voice of the lost orphan that lurks inside of her, crying out as she's reminded once again about how she wasn't wanted by so many different families so many, many years ago…
It was always something different, always some faulty excuse for why she wasn't good enough.
She was too old.
Too young.
Too skinny.
Too chubby.
Too needy.
Too distant.
Too pretty.
Too ugly.
Don't leave me, love me, accept me, just please, please don't ever leave me—the voice is hushed and barely there, but even so, it whispers the plea in her head over and over and over again, protesting quietly as she tries to push away Mary Margaret's confession—attempting with everything she has in her to understand and accept the fact that she's not the child that her mother wants…not really.
And she gets it.
She really does.
But it hurts, goddammit…it hurts.
She wants to put up a brave front.
She wants to pretend she's stronger than everything that's been thrown at her.
But it's hard.
Because, even amidst the curses, the portal jumping, the dark magic, and the life-threatening situations…
She had begun to believe.
She had begun to hope.
She had allowed herself to think that maybe she could have a family, a real family. Maybe, just maybe, she, Emma Swan, was enough, was deserving of love—of a happy ending—with the mother and father she had always wondered about, dreamed of, and wished for.
It was silly, stupid, ridiculous.
And now, now she feels like an imposter, like a fraud and a phony.
She's weak.
Vulnerable.
Insecure.
Not good enough, never good enough.
Don't leave me, please don't leave me.
Bringing her hands to her head she closes her eyes, and rubs her temples lightly; her fingers digging into the skin there as she attempts to chase her cruel and mocking thoughts away.
Henry.
He's her focus now.
He's her concern.
Her pride, her heart and her feelings no longer matter.
And opening her eyes, and inhaling deeply, she pushes away the longing, the dark and constant hurt that continues to stubbornly linger, as her gaze carelessly wanders over the camp—unwilling to face anyone…anything—before, almost as if of its own accord, it comes to a stop on Hook.
He's watching her.
His face conveys his inner battle—showing her a struggle that she's all too familiar with…reflecting a look she's seen one too many times staring back at her in the mirror. He appears broken and lost…his stance tense and unsure as his gaze locks with hers.
There's a question in his eyes, one that—beyond the pain, beyond the uncertainty—she knows he's practically begging her to answer.
Flee?
Stay?
I never thought I'd be capable of letting go of my first love, of my Milah…to believe that I could find someone else…
That is until I met you.
Until I met you.
Until I met you.
Until I met you.
His words come out of nowhere, his lilting voice sounding in her head as she recalls his secret from the cave. Hearing it then, she'd been confused—bombarded with varying emotions, unsure what to think, what to believe as Neal sat trapped in a cage, nearly a stone's throw away. But remembering them now, replaying his confession over and over again in her head, she feels something unfamiliar and new. Something almost welcoming sparks to life deep inside of her, taking her by surprise—her pulse picking up in pace, her heart jumping slightly
She knows that she should try to figure out what his words mean, what she feels, what she wants; but selfishly there's a large part of her that's just too tired to dissect her thoughts, that's too scared to delve too deeply into his terrifying statement, into his more than obvious actions.
Instead she just wants to absorb the overwhelming warmth that's suddenly consuming her whole.
Instead she just wants him to stay.
And please, don't leave me, please, please don't leave me.
And she thinks, as she watches him straighten his spine, his eyes flitting from hers to drift to the dark and thick trees just beyond—the jungle a place he could effortlessly hide in, a place he could easily lose them in—that it would be nice, for once, to have someone stick around.
Not to make up for the past, not because they feel obligated, not because they're family, not because they're working towards a common goal…
But because they want to.
And God, dear God, please don't ever leave me.
Meeting his gaze as it slowly, finally, wanders back to hers, she lowers her barriers for only a moment. She allows him to see past the walls she's carefully constructed, allows him to glimpse the pain, the confusion, the helplessness that she feels.
She allows him to choose.
And she sees it, the instant he makes his choice.
Compassion, understanding, acceptance all ghost across his shadowed features for a moment, before, with a barely there nod and a hint of a troubled smirk he moves closer to the fire, the sound of leaves rustling and sticks breaking under his booted feet causing the others to look up, paying him curious attention, before quickly looking away. Sitting down at the farthest corner of the camp, he pockets his rum, leans back against a large boulder, and breaks away from her burning and unblinking gaze. His eyes closing tightly and his features softening fractionally, he settles in.
He stays.
And as she continues to watch him from under heavy and hooded eyes, studying and absorbing the way the firelight dances across his face as his body, still tense and rigid, attempts to relax; she feels the hurt inside of her subside just a little as something weighted and telling settles on her shoulders.
He's not going to leave her.
He stayed.
End.
Review? ;)