A Penny For Your Thoughts
He was pulling away from her. The air around her felt so empty when he no longer invaded her personal space. She had gotten so used to having him around, she supposed. Dare she say she felt lonely without him? He was there, yet his heart and mind was a million miles away. She had tried confronting him about it in the diner, but he had not given her an answer as to why he was upset. She could see something was eating away at him, and she wished to know what it was. She was worried about him, because that's what friends were, and they were friends . . . right?
"A penny for your thoughts?" said David. The two of them were sitting in the apartment, Emma nursing a glass of rum. Yes, she had grown quite fond of the drink. Perhaps that is why her mind had travelled to Hook?
"It's nothing," said Emma. She realized that she must have looked rather distant. Her mind had wrapped itself around her thoughts so intensely that she had forgotten that she was not alone.
"Are you sure? You know you can tell me anything." She knew, but it was still comforting to hear him say it. She knew David was worried about not being a good father to her, but she did appreciate his attempt. To be perfectly honest, a year ago she was fairly disappointed in both her parents, did not want to see them as such. But now she would not trade them for the world. Perhaps confiding in her father was not such a bad idea after all . . .
"It's Hook," Emma confessed. "He's been distracted lately and it's making me worried." She tried to sound as casual as possible.
"I've noticed it too. Mainly because it's making you distracted," said David, giving his daughter a meaning look. Emma opened her mouth and closed it, confused. Have I been distracted, she thought. Or more importantly, had she been distracted because of Hook? Perhaps the pirate had more impact on her than she cared to realize.
"Do you . . . do you think it's because of me?" she asked. The thought had crossed her mind, what if he was tired of hanging around when she kept rejecting him over and over. She had thought he understood though.
"Emma, why would it be because of you? We all know that he . . . cares for you. He wouldn't just—"
"Exactly!" Emma exclaimed before David could finish. "He's tired of being the only one who cares." Well, that was not true. She added, "Not that I don't—but it's not like—I'm not—" Somehow the words would not cooperate with her as she tried to form a normal sentence. She cared about him, truly. Like a friend, she had wanted to say, but her heart had protested, telling her that she knew he was not just a friend to her. What is he then?
"Well, if this is about you, have you tried talking to him?"
"He keeps shutting me down, insisting it's nothing," Emma muttered because of course she had tried talking. He was just too stubborn to tell her what was wrong. Stupid pirate.
"Try again."
And those two words from her father is how she later found herself knocking at the door to his room at Granny's. "Hook, I know you're in there, open up!" she said. "It's important." Nothing. "Please," she whispered, pleading.
It was silent for a couple of seconds and Emma considered walking away. Clearly he did not want to talk to her. But then the door opened slowly. "Swan, what are you doing here?" he said.
"Can I come in?" she asked. Though she did not wait for an answer, just walked past him into the room. "Look," she said, "There's clearly something going on with you and it's making me uncomfortable. Maybe . . . maybe I'm just worried that if Zelena decided to strike again you wouldn't be there to . . ." She trailed off. Hook raised an eyebrow at her. She continued, "That you wouldn't be there to show your support. And I can't help but wonder whatever I did to you to make you push me away." At the end of her sentence she barely held it together, voice on the verge of breaking.
"Emma, I . . ." Hook begun. She could see he was hurting. What is going on in that head of yours, she thought. "I'm sorry if it seems that way—that you've done something, but I can assure you Swan that you have not wronged me in any way."
He was telling the truth, she could tell. Yet he was still hiding something. This time she would not let it pass. "Tell me what's wrong. If you think I don't care enough about you to want to know, or if you think I wouldn't understand—"
"Just trust me when I say it's better if you don't know." He sat down on the bed with a deep sigh, running his good hand through his dark hair. He seemed conflicted, as if he wanted to tell her, but something was holding him back. She wondered what it was.
Emma sat down beside Hook on the bed, not saying anything for a moment. Then, "I trust you," she stated. "Just please don't shut me out." It was almost a whisper. He turned to look at her with sad, blue eyes. He was in her space again, but Emma barely noticed. It was like she had said, she had gotten used to having him there. Maybe that was okay. Maybe it was okay to let him in, not push him away. Perhaps she was wrong when she asked him not to hide in the shadows when that was what she had been doing all along. Perhaps she wanted to step into the light now—with him.
They were so close, she did not know when or how that had happened. This was usually the moment where Emma, quite reluctantly, forced herself to turn around and walk away. But this was not a usual moment.
Carefully, oh so carefully, she leaned in, closing the gap between them. Their lips were almost touching; she could feel his warm breath. And she was ready this time.
"Stop," he breathed. That she was not ready for. What was wrong, Emma thought. She asked him as much.
"I'm—I'm sorry, I—" He was looking down at the floor, refusing to meet her gaze. "You should go." The words stung more than Emma cared to acknowledge, her walls flied sky-high, hugging her tightly. Without another word or look she walked out of the room. When the door closed behind her, her walls fell without a warning, leaving her heart out in the cold, as if it had been ripped out of her chest. Well, that was a poor parable considering, from what she had heard, having your heart ripped out by magic was not the worst of feelings. What Emma felt was different, she felt vulnerable.
Slumping down against the door, a soundless sob escaped her. Then the tears began to fall like raindrops. Her mind travelled a mile a minute, thinking about what possible reason he could have had to reject her.
Little did she know that on the other side of that door he was crying too.
A/N: This was meant to be sweet, turned out to be angst-y instead. Clearly there's something very wrong with me! Oh well, hope you enjoyed it (well, maybe not enjoyed since it ended rather sadly, but liked it for some reason or other). Reviews are always appreciated!