Chapter 3: Broken Dreams

When she opened her eyes the next morning, the first thing she spotted was Neal sleeping in the armchair by the window in what looked like a most uncomfortable position. But then, if she remembered their days in Portland well, that man had never had trouble sleeping, even when he was cramped in the driver's seat of their car or, later on, cuddling with her in the backseat.

For a longer minute than she would like to admit, she kept studying his face as he slept: he was always the one that fell asleep first, no matter how cold or hungry or uncomfortable they were. And then, in the middle of the night, he would wake up with a start, sweating, eyes wide as he tried to catch his breath.

He had never told her about the nightmares he used to have, even though they were way too frequent to go unnoticed. Now that she knew what kind of life he'd had before meeting her, though… she didn't blame him for avoiding that topic.

When the corners of her eyes started prickling, she forced herself to look away, her eyes landing on the dreamcatcher on the wall right behind his head. Did those things really keep nightmares away? Again, she glanced at his face… and then his chest heaving up and down in a steady rhythm as he continued to sleep.

Maybe they did.

She smiled sadly before reaching for her cell phone on the nightstand: 7 AM. Way too early for anyone to wake up - he would probably say if she got out of bed and prompted him to do the same - even on Christmas Day.

When she turned her head to look at Henry and tell him that they probably should wait a little longer before running to the Christmas tree, her heart skipped a beat.

She threw the blanket to the side, jumping from the bed and nearly tripping on the backpack on the floor by her side.

"Henry?"

When no response came from the bathroom, she opened the door merely to find no one inside.

"Neal," she said, shaking the man's shoulder as she tried not to panic. "Neal, wake up."

"What?"

"Henry's gone."

"What?" he repeated, rubbing his eyes in a vain attempt to look awake.

"Henry, Henry's not here."

Her mind was in such a daze she nearly forgot she was still wearing pajamas when she rushed to the door.

"Emma," his voice was still low and hoarse, but at least now he had managed to fully open his eyes. "Hang on, let's give him a call first, maybe he just went outside."

"Outside, alone? In New York?"

"He's about to turn thirteen, he can look after himself."

"How can you say that? After everything that he's been through!"

"Hey, hey, I know. But take it easy, it's not as if the Wicked Witch of the West would pay him a visit in Manh-"

"Don't say that name."

"Right. Just calm down, okay? Let's call him."

She took a long, deep breath to calm herself. She knew she was probably overreacting, but after all the unlikely events and tragedies that had happened to her family in the span of three years, she couldn't afford to take any chances.

"Now where's my phone?" she heard Neal ask.

"Use mine."

However, there was no time for him to dial the boy's number. When the two of them looked at the door, they saw a very cautious Henry tip-toe back into the room, biting his lip as he carried a cardboard tray with Starbucks cups in one hand and a paper bag from the same store in the other.

"Henry!"

His mother's voice made him jump, and Neal had to rush to help the kid stop the cups from falling.

"Oh," he muttered. "You guys awake, already?"

"Where have you been?"

"I just... I woke up early and... I saw you two were sleeping, so... I thought I could get us breakfast."

His eyes drifted to his father's face, as if looking for some sort of support.

"Thanks, buddy."

"You could have left a note," she whispered.

"I'm sorry, I... I forgot."

"That's okay, I'm sure you'll remember the next time," Neal added, after giving her one of the cups and a look that could be easily translated into a silent 'cut-the-kid-some-slack'. "Although..." he paused, breathing deeply as he watched Henry fish a bagel from inside the paper bag, "you'd better not get used to having Starbucks next door..."

"Why not?" the boy asked, before she had the chance to do so.

"I'm moving out."

"Oh."

"I just thought it would be nice to have more space for you to play... This apartment is too cramped."

"I like New York."

"Who doesn't?" Neal replied, smiling as his gaze shifted to Emma's face. "Too bad an apartment in Manhattan is a costly thing to keep when you don't have a job..."

She munched on her bagel for a moment, pondering why she was secretly hoping that he had plans to return to Storybrooke. After all, he had left town because of her, and she had finally gotten what she had always asked for: a life with her parents and kid, and now that Neal was no longer around, without the pain of going through all the hurt that stood between them.

"And where are you going?" she asked, drinking whatever was left of her hot chocolate and pretending not to care much about what he would answer.

"Montclair. It's just a 45-minute bus ride from here."

"Maybe... you should keep the bug," she said, not giving herself enough time to be disappointed in his response. "Like... It will make commuting easier. When you find another job, that is."

She realized Neal had frowned slightly at those words, and when her eyes darted to her son's face, she saw the boy had a similarly confused expression on.

"And it's not as if I drive that much in Storybrooke, anyway," she added, shrugging.

"I thought... you would wanna keep the car?" she heard Neal whisper.

'I thought I would wanna keep you,' she replied mentally.

When she raised her eyes to his, she was sure her face would give her away. It didn't matter how hard she tried to hide her feelings from that man - at some point, they always came out, either in a quick twitch of her lips, or in the way she blinked as if she were on the verge of tears. All signs he knew far too well, because he had seen her cry far too many times to count.

"Hey, Henry..." said Neal, after giving the kid a 20-dollar bill. "Think you can go to Starbucks again and get us another hot chocolate?"

The boy nodded in agreement after casting a knowing glance towards his mother. By now, he already knew "go wait in the bathroom" or "go buy us hot cocoas" were actual codes for "we need to talk and you'd better not be around".

"Emma... what's going on?"

She kept staring at her own hands even after Henry had left the apartment. What was she supposed to say?

"I think... I just... I have to let you go," she said, her voice threatening to break at each word. "That's something I never did."

If she looked at him as she spoke, she knew her resolve would break. The previous night had been a nightmare; seeing him so near and wanting to touch him, to kiss him, to let all the walls down and just surrender, but that could never end well. It had taken her more than twelve years to finally be in control of her emotions, she couldn't afford to let go again.

No matter how much she wanted it.

"Okay."

"I'm sorry, Neal."

"Emma, stop saying you're sorry," he whispered in response. "You have nothing to apologize for. It's okay."

"No, it's not!" she snapped, her head finally going up so that her eyes could meet his. "How can you say it's okay? Don't you get angry? With everything that happened to us, after how... everything went wrong?"

"We have Henry, Emma. Things didn't go that wrong."

"I'm not talking about Henry, Neal. I'm talking about us."

She let a stifled sob escape her throat now that they were finally looking at each other again.

"You know... that night in Portland... when August found me, found us..." he said, "I knew I was going to break your heart. You were the best thing that had ever happened to me, and I knew I was going to break your heart."

She shook her head, trying not to let her mind drift back to the night when she got arrested.

"You think I didn't get angry? Man... I did get angry," he continued. "More than you can imagine. I spent... years, I spent over a decade being angry. Waking up every morning... knowing that you were counting on me and that I had abandoned you... Knowing that I didn't deserve a second chance but secretly... craving one, one chance to see you again... to say I was sorry.

"And then, when I finally got that chance I didn't... I couldn't do it, I just... at the time I thought it would just be better not to know. Not to know what you would say, because if I didn't know, if I didn't... hear it from you, I could still believe I had a chance."

"You should have looked for me..."

"I know I should have looked for you, Emma. I was weak. I am the one who needs to apologize, not you."

The precise moment he had taken hold of her hand had failed to register in her mind, but as he laced his fingers with hers, all she could do was to squeeze them back. If she tried really hard, she knew she could lock those feelings away. For almost thirteen years now she had managed to keep them under wraps, if she tried really hard she knew she could move on from him. She could leave him in the past, as well as all the broken dreams that had never come true, the future that they never got to have, no matter how much they loved each other.

"But... the reason why I'm not angry now is not only because of Henry. It's because... Despite everything, despite all the hurt, we found our way back to each other. And I know I can't make up for the years you spent thinking I never loved you but I would gladly remind you that I do, and that I always did, for the rest of my life. But I also know I broke your heart, and I did it more than once, so I don't blame you for choosing to move on. For not... wanting this anymore," he paused when his voice shook, and cleared his throat in an attempt to push back the hurt she knew he carried as well. "And when I said I would fight for you? I meant it. I will fight to see you get the life you've always deserved to have... with or without me. Okay?"

She squeezed his hand harder as more tears escaped her eyes. His face was still serene - despite the sadness in his eyes, which were now glistening with tears, his lips were forming a semi-smile as he stared at her. He was in a place that would take her much longer to get: everything in him screamed that he was ready to try again, that he was willing to take that shot. But she wasn't, probably she would never be.

Gold was right.

"I'm sorry, Neal," she whispered again, wiping her tears away with the hand that was not currently trying to crush his.

"Don't be," he replied, and his eyes were just as understanding as his voice. "I get it. I do, really."

She had just opened her mouth to offer what she knew would be just another useless explanation when Henry got back with their hot chocolates, and much to her relief, Neal got to his feet and rushed towards the door to give her time to get herself together before their son spotted her tear-stained face.

"Hey kid," he said, grabbing the boy by the shoulders and steering him towards the opposite corner of the room. "What do you say we start unwrapping those bad boys?"

She checked her reflection on the bathroom's mirror before joining them, her reddish, puffy eyes a deadly give away as she put up her most convincing smile.

"Yeah… I'm curious to see what you got in your shopping spree," she said, making sure to keep her gaze down as she helped Neal sort out the gifts.

"Mom?"

She swallowed when the boy spoke, dreading the question he was bound to ask and not really ready to explain what had just happened. She had sworn to herself she would never lie to Henry again, but to tell the kid that their parents had just decided to go their own ways on Ch-

"Merry Christmas," he added.

She did her best to ignore the lump in her throat as she smiled, shuffling the boy's hair as she pulled him into his arms. Bless that kid. From the looks he was throwing towards his parents, he knew exactly that the conversation had been nowhere near fun.

And still, no questions asked.

"Yeah kid…" she responded, as her eyes quickly met Neal's on the other side of the Christmas tree. "Merry Christmas to you too."