"And there's your coffee…" The waitress smiled as she tipped the carafe over his cup, pouring a stream of much-needed black coffee into his cup for the fourth time that morning. "By the way, sir—my manager asked me to remind you that we start charging fifty cents for every refill after the third."
Neal looked over her shoulder to see the beady-eyed woman watching him from behind the counter. He raised his eyebrows, giving a little wave—which earned him a scowl and three warning fingers, reminding him that cough up my fifty cents, or I'm sending you home in a body bag.
"Oy," Neal muttered, dropping his eyes. Few things in this world were as intimidating as the suspicious gaze of penny-pinching old lady.
After dropping a few quarters in plain sight (she seemed in need of reassurance that he was good for it), he moved the other things scattered over the table to make room for—
"CASSIDY!"
—and a heavy backpack landed on the table, setting it to a rattle. Neal jumped, putting a hand to his heart.
"Jeff," he swore, trying to catch his breath. "Jesus Christ."
"Did I startle you?" Jefferson grinned, swiping the chair across from Neal to sit down. "I think it's all that caffeine you drink, it's making you jumpy." He reached for Neal's cup, inviting himself to a sip; and swallowed with a loud exhale. "God, that's terrible."
"And yours, now," Neal said, making a face as Jefferson tried to hand it back. He pushed Jefferson's bag out of the way, and raised his hand, signaling for the waitress. "Sorry, can I get another—?"
"No," Jefferson said loudly; and pointed at Neal, fixing him with a stern look. "No more coffee, it's already made you too jumpy as is, and I've got some… rather exciting news for you." Without waiting for a response, he flashed Neal a winning smile. "I'm coming with you."
"Absolutely not," Neal said instantly.
"Absolutely yes. Neal—" Jefferson exhaled, dropping his head. "Look, with you moving back home, there's no way I can afford rent by myself. What am I supposed to do?"
"Just get a new roommate!" Neal said exasperatedly.
"You're practically my brother, I can't replace you," Jefferson scoffed. "Unless you'd be willing to stay in Boston—"
"Which I'm not."
"—then I'm forced to come with you."
Neal stared at him, letting out a slow, tense breath. His resolution to move back to Storybrooke had been the result of a series of serious, mature, adult decisions—things beyond Jefferson's comprehension, it seemed.
Boston had been good to him, true. He'd enjoyed his job as an editor at a decently successful publishing company (which had been a stroke of impossible luck in the first place); but it was growing stale. There was very little room to move up, especially when your boss was a recent ex-girlfriend who was still bitter and searched for new, creative ways to induce misery in everyday life. Tamara was beautiful and intelligent and charming—and very likely, the Devil.
"Your face is doing that thing," Jefferson said, interrupting his thoughts. "You're thinking about Tamara, aren't you? Easy fix, man—I have one word for you that will change your life." He spread his hands, a gleam in his eye. "Yoga."
"I think I'd have better luck with holy water," Neal said wryly.
"You can't let her drive you out of Boston," Jefferson said, as though he hadn't spoken. "I know it was a messy break-up, but you can't—"
"Tamara is not the only reason why I'm leaving," Neal said, raising his voice over him. "She's a contributing factor, but…" He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. "It's Henry."
"Henry?" The humor left Jeff's voice; his eyes turned serious at once. "Something wrong? What happened?"
"Nothing happened, I just—" he shrugged— "I miss him, Jeff. I'm tired of watching my kid grow up through a camera lens."
"A couple of notes," Jefferson said, holding up his finger. "One—lead with that next time. Don't just say, 'It's Henry', because I'm going to assume something's wrong, and you know how much I love that kid, so if you scare me like that again?" He made a swiping motion across throat, hissing: "K-k-k-k!"
"Sorry," Neal sighed.
"Two—I really do think you should take up yoga. From what I hear, it's just an excellent life decision, all around. Three…" Jefferson looked at him grimly. "You're trading one devil for another, if you move back to Storybrooke. You may be getting away from Tamara, but Emma is going to be within spitting distance."
"Spitting distance?" Neal repeated, raising an eyebrow.
"Are you ready for that?" Jefferson pressed. "Are you ready to bump into her and that guy all over town?"
"Henry hates Killian on principle, I'm sure he's not all that bad," Neal said, tossing his hand dismissively. "Besides, it's not like we're going to be neighbors. I probably won't even see them that much."
He was hoping that if he put up a good enough front, he could not only convince Jefferson, but himself, as well. The truth was, being in such close proximity to Emma and "that guy" made him nervous. Every time he talked to Henry, the kid was grounded for another prank he'd pulled on Killian, and every time, the prank in question was increasingly malicious. He couldn't decide if he was angry with Henry, or proud of him.
Neal had never actually met Killian, but he knew that he and Emma had been together for the past couple years—engaged, now—and they seemed…happy. He wasn't sure how to feel about that: things had fallen out with Emma pretty roughly, but to say he didn't still care about her would be a lie. That was why he wanted her to be happy, and if that meant being with Killian…well, then, mazel tov to the both of them.
"Everything's going to be fine," he said out loud. "Your concern for me is touching, I mean it, but completely unnecessary. This is the right move for me."
"I still think you should let me come with you," Jefferson said, folding his arms. "What am I going to do in Boston, without you? Without your rent money?" Before Neal could refuse, he quickly rejoined with, "I haven't had clients for months, Neal. I'm broke."
"Jeff—"
"Just 'til I get on my feet," he went on. "Maybe your dad can introduce me to a few people, help me get started. The catering world is cut-throat, I could use some of his upper-class friends to get my name going in the right circles. Please?"
Neal looked at him for a long time. Jefferson was irresponsible and exasperating, but…he was his best friend, and Henry loved him. Maybe it wouldn't be terrible if he came along, just for a bit.
"All right," he said finally. "Looks like it's you and me, pal."
Jefferson grinned. "You and me."