Author's Note: My reviews have been exploding recently. Where are all of you coming from? I love you all and am so happy you are enjoying this! I'll be missing my Thursday updates as well, but am excited to have you read some of these chapters. Someone got some beta-ing for the entire chapter for the first time ever, too! (thank you, La Lisboa!)
This one's in a new POV, and includes spoilers and dialogue from 2x14.
Guest Comments
Guest: LMAO, your review cracked me up! I am still giggling. There is a reason for the tea, let it be known. And perhaps the taste of tea didn't come from Snow, but from someone giving him tea while asleep ….
BossLady: Yup, that darn Rumple scrambled everyone's memories. With the fallout, there may be a little bit of backtracking, more so with David than with Snow. I will say that I wrote the Snowing baby conversation after posting Chapter 7. :D
Abigail: Thank you, one of my fabulous regulars!
Angel: We shall see! *evil smile*
Neal darts down the street, his feet slamming against the pavement as he ducks through alleyways and down city blocks. He has no clue who is following him at this point, but since it has been a day and a half since his bookie told him he owed another grand, he's not taking any chances.
He slides on an oil slick, groaning as he falls on his hip. He's not in his twenties anymore and running isn't something he's done, actively, in a couple months. He can hear footsteps catching up with him and struggles to his feet.
"Can you stop running, I'm pregnant, here!" the voice calls in a heavy pant, He slows to a stop. He knows that voice.
He turns, catching his pursuer's green-blue gaze. "Emma?" he asks, a smile creeping its way across his face.
Her eyes widen, shock filling them. "Neal?" She is not as happy to see him.
She looks almost the same. Her statement wasn't a tactic, though, and her frame rounds around her middle in an extravagant show. Her hair is just as long and blonde, though it falls down her shoulders instead of its typical ponytail. She doesn't wear her dark framed glasses, and her face is rounder in a healthy way. She looks lovely. He shakes out a laugh, confusion permeating him. The curse was broken, right? He learned that weeks ago. So why wasn't she with her family? "I don't understand. What are you doing here?"
She shakes her head and he can see the confusion melt into fury. "No! No, you don't get to ask the questions, here! I do! I'm not answering anything until I get the truth!" she demands.
He holds up his hands, palms out. "The truth, what truth?"
Her whole body is shaking. "Are you Gold's son?" she asks, the statement crackling with anger.
His face scrunches in confusion. "Gold? What are you talking about? Who's Gold?"
She is panting now, hands balling into fists. "You played me. Gold played me. You're from over there and you both played me!"
He eyes her worriedly, coming forward a pace. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, okay. Slow down. What are you talking about? Who's Gold?"
She shakes her head, face flushing with anger. "Your father," she spits. "Rumplestiltskin."
He feels dread fall to the bottom of his stomach. His father? "You brought him here?" he demands angrily.
She pushes him back forcefully, and he stumbles before regaining his footing. "No! You don't get to be mad, here! I am the only one allowed to be angry! Did you know who I was, where I was from this whole time! Did you even care about me?" she screams.
He winces. "Emma, don't—"
"No! No, I want to hear all of it! I want all the truth!" she screams.
His mind is whirling, and the sudden need for alcohol is his all-consuming requisite. He breathes in deep. "Fine. Let's get off the street. There's a bar down the block."
Her mouth falls open in disbelief. "Are you an idiot? I'm not going to a bar with you! I'm pregnant! Whatever you need to tell me, you can tell me right here!"
He sniffs, lip half-pursing in disagreement. "Nah. Bar's better. There's water, too, and you can keep yelling at me once we get there," he replies and begins walking in that direction.
He can hear her huff, but then her steps sound behind him, heels stomping angrily before she meets his side. "You're an asshole," she swears, pulling her coat around her against the cold.
"Yeah, yeah," he grumbles, catching sight of the neon bar sign at the corner. He opens the door to the familiar tavern and holds it for her. She glares at him a moment and then passes inside, punching him in the arm for good measure.
He groans but smiles, noting that she hasn't changed much in personality, either. She has walked over to the bar and is sitting on the stool. She shrugs off her scarf and pulls open the leather jacket some, exposing her belly even more. He can see now just how heavily pregnant she is. He gives a wry smile, somewhat pleased that she has found her Tallahassee. But as he sits across from her as she fiddles with one of the coasters, he finds that her left hand is noticeably empty.
He gestures to it. "I thought if you would have ever done it, you would have done it right," he comments.
She looks down at her hand, then to her belly, and then meets his eye with a glare that could melt the skin right off his bones. He recoils. "Don't you dare assume anything about my life or my choices. How about we talk about yours instead, Baelfire?"
He sighs. "God, hormones. Forgot."
She glares at him. "Don't you try to make my righteous anger into being about my being pregnant. Don't you dare."
His lips press together, trying not to laugh at the heat in her gaze. "What do you want to know?" The bartender comes over, and he nods. Todd knows his usual. He turns to Emma next, eyes flicking down to her belly. She scowls.
"Club soda," she mutters. When Todd sets their drinks in front of them, she turns on him again. Her eyes are stormy. "Did you know who I was when we met?"
He takes a long swig of the malty microbrew and sets it down carefully. "If I did, I wouldn't have gone near you," he replies bluntly.
She looks dubious. "So, what, it just so happens that you're Rumplestiltskin's son and I'm Snow White's daughter? Come on."
He fumes. "Come on? Come on, what? Believe me, I have been trying to avoid all this crap ever since I came to this world."
Her mouth sets into a firm line and she begins to shred a bar napkin between her fingers. "So, you were using me. You needed someone to set up to take the fall for the watches you stole."
He shakes his head. "I wasn't using you. I didn't know who you were until someone told me. I found out and got the hell out of dodge," he said.
She inhales sharply. "Someone told you? And you decided to cut your losses and run?"
He cringes, uncomfortable at his word choice. "I didn't mean it like that. He said you were meant for greater things, things involving magic, and I was getting in the way of that. I believed him."
"Who?" she asks plainly.
"Your friend, August."
Her jaw sets and her hands make their way to her middle. "August. Really. You let me go to prison because Pinocchio told you to?"
He shrugs. He is aware that she has trust issues and hates that he might be adding to them with this piece of information. "Sorry. He the father?"
She looks at him in bewilderment. "What? No! God, you're an idiot," she says, flinging the shreds of napkin away from her. She laughs bitterly. "I loved you, you know that? I was stupid and young, but it was a type of love and I trusted you with it. And then I get sent to jail for you, never hear from you again. If that's not the definition of using a person, I don't know what is."
He sighs, gesturing to her. "I just … I was … I was trying to help you."
She scoffs. "Help me? By letting me go to jail?"
He shakes his head and takes another swig of his drink, gulping loudly. "By letting you make your way back home, breaking the curse. You have your parents there, right? And they're good people."
She shakes her head, looking away. "Whether or not I like being around my parents, whether or not I am glad I am pregnant, and whether or not I ended up breaking a curse has nothing to do with you sending me to jail ten years before it was supposed to happen! Do you understand what I had to go through? What I lost because of it?"
He shrugs and slumps forward, face falling into his glass again. "No," he squeaks out. She is scary, all pregnant and hormonal.
She slams a fist into the bar and presses another against her mouth. Tears are swimming in her eyes, ones he knows she will not let escape. "What are you even trying to say? That us meeting was a coincidence? How in the hell could that be? If it wasn't your plan or your father's?"
He lets out a breath. "Well, think about it. He wanted you to break the curse. Maybe us being together would have prevented that. Maybe … maybe it was fate."
She looks down, obviously considering it as her hand rests on her stomach. She looks up, unfocused on the room in front of her. "You believe in that?" she asks, her voice hollow.
He nods dimly. "You know, there's not a ton about my father that I remember that doesn't suck. But he used to tell me that there are no coincidences. Everything that happens, happens by design, and there's nothing we can do about it. Forces greater than us conspire to make it happen. Fate, destiny, whatever you want to call it. The point is … maybe we met for a reason. Maybe something good came from us being together."
She lets out a low breath and shakes her head solemnly. "Not that I can think of. I just went to jail. That's all."
"Sorry, then," he grumbles out.
She pushes the glass away. "It doesn't matter now. I'm over it. And you."
Her voice is wooden, and he tries to hide his grin as she leans forward and a familiar swan falls out of the front of her shirt. "Why do you still wear the, uh, keychain I got you, then?"
She grasps it, and he sucks in a breath at how vulnerable she looks. Finally, she tugs and the chain falls into her open palm. "To remind me never to trust someone again," she responds callously as she glares at him. She lets it fall onto the counter beside him. Her eyes soften just a bit as she looks at it. "I took it off once."
He thinks she's speaking more metaphorically in this case and he considers her enlarged frame again. "At least there's that." He gestures to her belly. "Would he exist if we had stayed together?"
She looks pained. "She. And we were never going to be forever, Neal. But that doesn't excuse you being a coward for leaving when I needed you most," she replies curtly, the words cutting him deeply. He isn't the coward; that is his father. She shakes her head, moving on. "And yes, I probably would have still had her. I was destined to break the curse and I would have regardless. And in doing that, I still would have still found him. We were true love."
He scoffs, thinking of the pirate who claimed his mom left him, her son, her light, for their love, and feels certain bitterness surface at the thought. "Yeah, I've heard that one before."
"Well, your father was the one to say we were, so …," she says with a tight smile.
"Good for you, then." Then, he thinks more about what she said. "'Were?'"
Her lips set in a firm line, and she doesn't answer his implied question. "Enough of this. I made a deal with your dad, so let's go back and honor it."
Horror draws him up. "You made a deal with him?"
She nods, pulling her scarf back on and placing some bills of the counter for her drink. "I told him that I'd bring you to him. And I'm upholding my end. Let's get going."
He shakes his head. "You don't know what you're asking me."
She levels him with a glare. "I'm asking you to man up and see your father so I can get the hell away from you and go home to my family."
"Don't you get it? Magic destroyed my family. He abandoned me for it. Everything I've had to go through has been because of it."
She laughs, and it is full of irony. "You're so damn self-centered, Neal. Nothing has changed there. Everything that's happened to you, huh? Not everything you've done to others? Done to yourself? You make your own decisions. You made your bed."
He sneers. "Like you're some perfect angel."
She huffs. "I'm not. But I took responsibility for myself. I got on my feet and I worked hard to become a better person. And I still work on it every day because that's what it means to be a responsible adult. You're seven years … well, seven plus however many extra years, older than me and you're still a child. Grow up."
His voice cracks. "I can't. I can't do it."
Her hands go to her temples, rubbing slowly. "I need to bring you to him."
"No, no you don't. You know that, don't you? You don't have to."
She breathes, staring at the door. "I know."
He backs up. "You can say you lost me. Tell him you can't find me. Then you'll never have to deal with me again and you can go back to your family. Please, Emma."
She grimaces and finally nods.
"Thank you," he breathes, and darts out the door, away from her and their old issues.
He finds himself at his second favorite bar and collapses into a back booth eagerly. He puts his head in his hands, tugging on the strands of hair. Her accusation of his cowardice really did pull at his gut. His father had been known for that, was called a coward like his father before him. Was he really turning into him? Was this some terrible legacy? Or was he instead turning into his mother, the woman who was always trying to get what she wanted, no matter the cost?
Debbie, one of the waitresses, comes toward him and asks him what he wants. "Nothing, thanks. I'm just gonna … gonna go."
He walks toward his apartment with great reluctance. He knows who will be waiting for him. As he ascends the stairs, his body becomes weighty. Fear creeps into him but he approaches the door, wishing he had had that second drink.
"You don't have magic here," he hears Emma say.
The answering voice is so familiar that it shocks him cold. "I don't need magic here."
"Look, Gold, I have double the magic right now, so don't do this."
"Do not push me," he glowers, and Neal can feel the threat through the walls.
"Don't push me," Emma answers, as haughty as ever.
"We had a deal! And no one breaks a deal with me!" he screams and something knocks over.
The panic is driving him forward, memories of his father's temper at the forefront of his mind. He pushes the door open and bursts in on the two. "Hey! Leave her alone!"
His father looks like he used to. No scaly, glittery skin. No magic swirling around him with a touch of madness. He looks human. He looks normal. He looks like Papa. It kills him slightly to see it. "Bae … you came back to me," he says in awe, voice cracking ever so slightly.
He shakes his head, steadying himself with his memories. "No, I came back to make sure you don't hurt her. I've seen what you do to people who break you deals," he replies coolly.
The older man's gaze flicks to Emma. "I wouldn't have done any such thing. The girl is too important," he replies simply. He wonders if his father is talking about Emma or the child she carries. His father turns dark, pleading eyes to him. "Please, just let me talk."
"I have no interest in talking to you," he replies harshly, feeling the years of injustice win over his delight at seeing his powerless father. "Get out of my apartment!" he shouts.
Emma steps forward, "Neal …."
His mouth sets. "Emma, I got this."
His father's eyes narrow, and he waves a finger between the two of them. "You two know each other." His brow creases. "You two know each other! How?" he demands.
"You sent me chasing after him," Emma declares misleadingly.
"No," his father says, sensing the lie and Neal glimpses a little of the monster that he had left. "No, no, stop it! Stop lying! How do you two know each other?"
"Mom?" a timid voice calls. He half turns and sees a young boy. He freezes, noting the dark straight hair, soft dark eyes. "Wh-what's going on?"
Emma's jaw sets even as her eyes show her fear. "Henry, hey …."
Neal backs up and his eyes widen. "Who's this?" he demands, certainty climbing up his spine but he needs to know.
"My son," Emma says simply, grasping the boy's arm and pulling him into her embrace.
"What?" he asks, his mouth drying.
The boy looks up. "Is that Baelfire?" he asks excitedly, beaming up at him.
Emma redirects him, smiling softly. "I need you to go into the bathroom for a little while longer, okay?"
"Wait!" Neal shouts. He needs to know. He needs to know for sure, but, oh God, those eyes. "How old are you, kid?"
She is leading the boy away and her face falls. "Don't answer that," she says.
Neal feels his temper rise. She can't do this, she can't keep this from him; he deserves to know. "How old are you?"
The boy's face scrunches. "Eleven! Why is everyone yelling?"
His breath leaves him in one long whoosh. He is deflated and he looks at Emma with accusation. "He's eleven?"
The boy turns into Emma's embrace, catching on that something is up. He looks up at her worriedly. "Mom?"
"Is he mine?" he demands.
Emma's face is slack, frozen.
"No," the boy states in a whimper, looking up at Emma with desperation this time, his hand curling in Emma's, the other resting on her stomach. "No, my dad was a fireman. He died. You told me that. Mom …?"
"Is this my son?" he asks again, his voice catching on the phrase.
Emma closes her eyes. When she opens them, she is smiling seriously at her son, brushing back his hair apologetically and looking only at him. "Yes," she states softly.
His heart breaks and his stomach drops to the floor. Tears obscure his vision and he holds steepled hands in front of his mouth. Distantly, he can hear someone clatter onto the fire escape and someone else join. He blinks back tears, the knowledge tearing into him. What has he lost? All because of some puppet! He darts forward to exit the window but his father's hands on him stop his movements.
"Bae," he breathes, eyes desperate. "All I want is a chance to be heard."
He paces in frustration. "After all this, the last thing I want to do is talk to you," he grinds out.
"Look, you wanted to make sure Emma held up her bargain. And her bargain was getting you to talk to me," he states.
He pulls a hand through his hair and finally whips around. "Three minutes."
TBC