Settling Henry isn't easy. Emma lies on the single bed with him in her arms as she runs her fingers through his hair. The action soothes him off to sleep but it is still nearly eleven at night and she is exhausted. Neal's death has brought a lot of emotions to the fore. For one, she is devastated; he was the love of her life, thus far, the only real one. But there is relief too; their son is an unbreakable bond between them, but is unwanted. The weight of his betrayal hurts even more when she looks at him. When she looks at what she gave up because of him.
The worse part was, he thought she could forgive him. Thought she would let him in.
She leaves Henry's room as quietly as she can after tucking him in with an extra blanket to warn off the chill that only spring in Maine can bring. She should, because there is work to be done, head straight for her own bed in the room next door (the room is also next door to Killian Jones, but she tries not to think about that), but she heads down the stairs to peer into the living space.
Granny is knitting on the sofa, humming some distant tune as she works. She looks surprisingly relaxed given it is a full moon outside, but habits die hard, and Granny wouldn't be Granny if she didn't look out for Red.
'Do you mind if I help myself to a drink?' she asks softly. She needs it after the day she's had.
The old proprietor of the café nods her head. In the week they've been here, she has been a kind, gracious host who is undercharging on the rooms.
'Make sure you bill me,' Emma says as she turns heading out to the dining area.
The café isn't empty. She didn't think it would be. Hook is sat with his back to her, he is completely still, unnervingly so. It was something she noted in Neverland. She used to wake to find him on watch, gazing into the fire, the orange embers reflecting in his blue eyes; eyes that were too deep for their own good.
Especially for a man who is supposed to be a villain.
She grabs a tumbler from behind the counter before joining Hook. His glass is untouched. a generous measure drawn but not indulged upon. As soon as her glass is set down Hook blinks and glances at her for the barest moment before pouring her a similar measure. Emma clasps her fingers together and rests her chin on them looking at the amber liquid reflecting that once again she and Captain Hook had something in common. They both cared for Neal. They both had their reasons to be at completely at odds with him too.
'How's your boy?'
Hooks voice is tender, lacked with concern he shouldn't feel but does anyway. Emma glances up to meet his eye then she shrugs. Without his memories, Neal is just a distance figure who set her up for his crime then ran for it. Her tearful explanation to Henry about Neal being a great father was just as hollow as it sounded. Emotion ripping through her had prompted the outburst because she hopes he could have changed enough, as she did, for Henry.
'He's okay,' she replied quietly picking up her glass.
She didn't take a sip, instead twisted it and contemplated the amber liquid as it sloshed against the sides of the glass.
'And you, love?'
Emma closed her eyes and swallowed as frustrating tears welled up.
Anger. It has lived on the edge of her mind since she found him in New York.
Anger because he left her broken and alone in a jail cell. Because he was the Dark One's son. Because he tried to worm his way back into her heart. Because he brought his father back to life. Because he died.
She knocked back the glass of rum in one go, letting the liquid heat her as it sipped into her stomach. Opposite her Hook raised his eyes before topping her glass up. Her lips creased into a frown because while she had the ability to tell a lie a mile off (a fact Hook was very well aware of), he happened to be able to read her like an open book. The first time he had told her so, hanging on to a beanstalk, seemingly miles in the sky, she assumed he was flirting with her. However, he could pinpoint her feelings with deadly accuracy.
It scared her.
'What about you?' she asked in a bid to redirect her thoughts.
The discord between Hook and Neal runs deep. Unravelling the threads to get to the bottom of his feelings are likely to be far more difficult. Their rivalry was not a simple matter pertaining to Hook's feelings towards her, but because of an earlier connection; Milah, Neal's mother. It seemed like an age ago that Hook had told her the story by firelight, after Neal had been rescued in Neverland, of the details surrounding Milah's ultimate demise in his arms. He had told her before, atop the beanstalk, before she betrayed him, that his true reason for extracting revenge on the Dark One was not just a price for his lost hand but for his lost love. Even now she can remember tears forming in her eyes as he described the scene. She can remember how her heart had swelled for him. She can't imagine the pain of holding the person you love as their heart is crushed then left to blow to the wind in an act of sheer malice.
That scared her as well. He was supposed to be the villain of this piece, and villains didn't believe in love. Yet he did. It drove him to years of loneliness in a bid to exact revenge. A revenge, he has admitted, left him feeling rudderless when he thought it successful. A revenge, he has admitted, he had no desire to try again once he had a taste of that directionless existence even if it were for just a few days ('and thanks for locking me in the cupboard, love').
He also believed in True Love, as she had recently discovered. She was desperately trying not to think about that but it kept her awake. But he believed while she, the Saviour and the product of True Love, had long since stopped believing she would find such a thing. She supressed a sigh, unwilling to give him more ammunition.
The silence stretches on between them until he too downs his drink, mimicking her earlier action. As he pours himself another measure to match she realises she has her answer. It's too difficult for him to untangle and pinpoint one emotion over the other as well.
'He's the reason I went to jail,' she says, finger running around the rim of the glass and sighing.
The whole story slipped out. Hook was silent as she spoke, eyes on her glass as the whole sorry charade was put before him for examination and when she was done, she looked up at him. His dark blue eyes swirled in a way she couldn't pinpoint. Unlike him, she could not read him well, but, she reasons, he is centuries old. He had long since mastered the art of concealing his feelings if he needed too.
'I see,' he said eventually, after mulling over her words. 'No wonder you're conflicted.'
He could say that again. She wondered if he realised, if he had understood just how damaged it left her. It wasn't just giving up Henry, but the lonely and transient life she had lived after shifting from one place to the next bore its mark too. Even now she had parents who took her straight into their hearts, letting her reside in the one place she had always wanted, she still felt the urge to run. That urge had only intensified when she had seen her mother's swollen belly.
Of course he knows, she tells herself. He did much the same when Milah was murdered. He'll have recognised her meandering life from her story.
She rested her chin on knuckles, gazing off to a faraway place over Hook's shoulder as he remained as silent as ever. She liked that about him; he didn't fill the silence with unneeded words. She could just be.
Emma chanced a glance at Hook, Killian Jones, and wondered just when it was that he became the one person she felt comfortable enough to be herself with.