Henry watched miserably from the front steps as his father lifted the last of the cardboard boxes into the truck. Uncle Jeff was already in the driver's seat, blasting Aerosmith and strumming an air guitar—normally something that would have made Henry laugh. But not today: today, it felt like he was never going to laugh again.
Everything was ruined.
Emma stood behind him, leaning against the door with folded arms as she looked on with something close to regret. Neal kept his gaze carefully averted every time he went back into the house to retrieve something; usually ruffling Henry's hair or giving him a little nudge, but ignoring Emma. Occasionally, he asked Henry to help him carry something, but other than that, he said nothing.
That was somehow the worst part, the silence. Neal always had something to say: a joke, a sarcastic remark, a wry observation—a random fact that no one cared about and probably wouldn't remember in five minutes. The sound of his voice was something Henry hadn't realized he relied on so heavily, but now that it was missing… Henry squeezed his eyes shut, and tucked his head under his folded arms: he didn't want to cry—he wasn't a baby, and only babies cried.
"Everything's going to be okay," they'd told him. "It'll take some getting used to, but it's going to be okay."
How was everything going to be okay? His family was breaking up. They weren't even going to be living in the same town, let alone the same house! How was he supposed to get used to that?
"Henry?"
He looked up with tear-filled eyes, to see Neal standing over him, his brow knit in concern. For a minute, all Henry could do was stare at him, as if trying to memorize every detail of his face. "Dad…" His voice broke as Neal dropped to his knees, and threw his arms around his father's neck, burying his face into his shoulder. "Don't go, please don't go!"
"Henry, come on, it's okay," Neal's voice soothed, though he held him tighter than he usually did, cradling the back of his head as if he really were still a baby. "It's okay, buddy…"
"Can't I just come and live with you?" Henry mumbled.
Neal sighed, and pulled back, keeping his hands on his shoulders. "Look…" he said quietly. "You know, I'd love that more than anything, but we've already talked about this." He nudged Henry's cheek, half-smiling. "New York's too big a place, for a little guy like you. And you've got your school here, and your friends… your whole life is here."
"Why do you have to go to New York, though?" Henry pressed. "Why can't you just stay here?"
Neal closed his eyes, and shook his head. "That's—that's just how it's gotta be for right now, okay?" he said tiredly. "Me and your mom—"
"Neal," Emma warned.
"Do you mind?" Neal raised his eyes coldly, a hard edge in his voice. "I'm talking to my kid, here."
"Be careful what you say to him," Emma returned. "He's six years old, he's impressionable—"
"I know how to deal with my own son, Em," Neal said through his teeth. "And seeing as I'm not going to be seeing him every day, I think I have a right to talk to him without any interruptions, don't you?"
Henry's heart thrummed, a note of panic in his voice when he said, "Dad?"
Neal looked back at him quickly, the bitterness vanishing from his face. "I'm still going to see you, okay?" he said, gripping his shoulders more tightly."Don't even worry about that, Henry—we're going to see each other all the time. And we'll talk on the phone every day, all right? Every single day." He held out his fist, trying to smile. "Still my partner in crime, right?"
Henry hesitated; then raised a shaky hand, bumping his fist against Neal's. "Partners in crime," he agreed.
"Good."
He pulled Henry back for another hug, his arms wrapped tighter around him than they'd ever been. "I love you, kid," he murmured into Henry's hair.
"Love you," was all Henry could manage. His heart was breaking into smaller pieces with every passing second, knowing that with each one, he got closer to watching Neal drive away in Uncle Jeff's truck, off to New York—leaving Henry behind.
When he finally let go, the world seemed to go completely silent, everything happening in slow-motion: Neal backing away, keeping his eyes on him for was long as possible, before turning to pull open the passenger door and climb inside the truck; Uncle Jeff revving the engine; Henry slowly standing up, barely aware of Emma's hands on his shoulders as he watched the truck sputter forward and carefully roll out of the driveway.
"Everything's going to be okay," Emma said for the thousandth time.
Henry bit his lip, keeping his eyes on the ever-fading truck. "Your promise?"
He didn't hear her answer; he didn't even listen for it. No matter what she said, he already knew the truth:
No. Nothing was going to be okay.
"HENRY DANIEL MILLS!"
Henry snapped his head up, looking up from his screen as his mother's voice raged downstairs. Her boots were already pounding up the steps, no doubt headed right for him.
"Shit," he muttered, already hurrying to close up his laptop to hide it away: if she saw it, that would be the first punishment she thought of, to confiscate it. He already knew he wasn't going to get away with his latest misdemeanor, but he'd rather shield the innocents than try to make a run for it.
The door rattled as she grasped the locked handle, and furiously turned it. "Henry, open the door!" she called, her voice somewhat muffled.
"All right, I'm coming!" he snapped. He finished securing the laptop safely under his bed, then picked his way over to the door, pushing his headphones 'round his neck. With a flick of his fingers, he had it unlocked, and swung it open to Emma's glowering face. He raised his eyebrows.
"What?"
"Don't what me," Emma said dangerously. "You know perfectly well what."
Henry half-smiled, unable to help himself. "Is he still out there?"
"Leroy Mines found him, when he was out fishing this morning. Despite your best efforts." Emma folded her arms, glaring mutinously at him. "I can't believe you did that."
"Really?" Henry frowned, propping himself against the door. "It does sound like me, doesn't it?"
"Henry…"
"Fairly in character, at this point."
Emma shook her head. "It's not funny."
"Eh—" Henry shrugged. "Agree to disagree."
It was really Killian's fault, more than anything: after all, he was the one who'd had the poor judgment to teach Henry sailing.
To be fair, he'd only done it to get on Emma's good side, back when they were merely "seeing each other" (trying to bond with the kid, to cozy up to the mother); but now that he was the "soon-to-be stepfather", he really should have known better than to trust Henry. There was no love lost between the two of them, whatever Killian pretended to Emma's face, and letting Henry tag along to his evening sail 'round the harbor was just plain stupid.
Because of course he would have been completely drunk; and of course Henry would have taken advantage of that.
Killian had no doubt awoken to find himself (seemingly) in the middle of the open sea, with naught but an inflatable raft to keep his head above water, and panicked. Henry's one regret was that he wasn't there to see it.
"Where is he now?" Henry asked, peering around her as if to see Killian materializing in the hall. "I hope he's not too badly shaken up."
"Henry—" Emma dropped her head in her hands, half-whimpering in frustration. "You can't keep doing this!"
"What—spending time with Killian? Yes, please."
Emma lifted her head, looking at him with a weary sort of concern. "Is this about your dad?" she asked. "This vendetta you have against Killian…"
Henry dropped his eyes, his sense of humor evaporating as Emma dredged up the all-too-familiar conversation. How many times had they stood here, just outside his bedroom, going back and forth over what this was really about and how he was always blaming Killian for something he didn't do? Killian didn't make his parents "grow apart"—it just happened, sometimes, didn't it? Sometimes people fell out of love…sometimes they became different people, and they just couldn't be together anymore.
Of course it wasn't Killian's fault. The guy was still a dick, but Henry knew that it wasn't his fault his parents split up. It was nine years ago, for Christ's sake—Killian had only been there for two.
"Look, Mom…this has nothing to do with Dad." Henry shrugged, giving her a humorless smile. "Killian's an easy target, and he's a prick, but that's it. I'm not trying to edge him out and get you to marry Dad again. I'm not six years old, I get it—it's not going to happen. And I'm cool with that," he continued, already moving back to shut the door. "Go ahead, marry the guy—but don't expect me to like him,'cause that's definitely not going to happen."
Emma looked at him in exasperation. "Can you at least make an effort to stop tormenting him?"
"Ah, well— " Henry caught the end of the door with tips of his fingers—"don't really see that happening, either."
