Neal whistled tunelessly as he shouldered open the door to the apartment. He was in a fairly good mood, which would have been odd under normal circumstances, as he'd just come home from a day of work. Alas, these were not normal circumstances: working through finances at the pawnshop was a million times better than wiling away the hours at the station. For one thing, it was all math and calculations; and not many people knew this about Neal, but he was actually really good at math and calculations. Probably why he picked up star-charting so easily, despite Hook's laughably bad teaching skills.

For another, he didn't have to spend the day around Graham. As nice as the guy was, especially about the fact that he was doing seventy percent of the station's work, Neal just couldn't get himself to like Graham. There was something about him—the too-perfect face, the swoon-worthy accent, the genuine compassion for all living things—that just got on his nerves. Graham was like a genetically-engineered, Shakespeare-inspired, flowers-grow-where-his-feet-touch-the-earth guy whose only purpose seemed to be reminding the other three in the station that they were inferior human beings.

Also, working in the pawnshop made a much nicer paycheck than the station. Being Rumple's accountant was a very lucrative position: now he could actually afford to buy new furniture, instead of dragging the stuff from his New York apartment and hoping those goddamn college kids didn't have an contagious diseases. That was a load off his mind, as now, all he had to do was grab those few boxes of personal items, drop off the keys, sign some papers, and he was done.

"Neal…"

Neal closed his eyes, his good mood evaporating at the sound of Hook's mopey voice coming down the stairs. Footsteps dropped melancholily, echoing against the hollow staircase, until there was a pause, a thud! as Hook jumped the last couple steps, and then the continued shuffling.

"Neal…" he whined again, materializing beside him in the kitchen. "I had an awful time of it at Archie's. I learned things about myself. I hate learning."

"At least the subject material was to your taste," Neal pointed out, opening the fridge to scan the sparse shelves. "Bro, we have, like, no food."

"I can't eat right now, anyway," Hook said tragically. "I'm a wreck, Neal. A wreck."

"How long have those pickles been in there?"

"It was absolutely devastating, I can't even begin to tell you. Such trauma, such triggers—"

"—mayonnaise? Why the hell do we have mayonnaise? I hate mayonnaise—"

"—and the flashbacks! My God, the flashbacks!"

"Olives? Who bought olives?"

"Emma bought olives," Hook sighed, giving up on his attempt to make Neal feel sorry for him. "The other day."

Neal made a face."Why did Emma buy olives?"

"She likes olives."

"Since when?"

"She's liked olives as long I've known her."

"Really? How did I not know about this?"

"I don't think we've ever made the time to discuss olive preferences."

"I don't want olives in my fridge. I hate olives."

"Good luck living with her, then."

"If you ever move out…" Neal muttered, shutting the fridge.

"Sorry, what was that?" Hook frowned, following him as he started opening the cabinets. "Neal, it's impolite to whisper in front of company."

"And it's impolite for company to leave their shoes everywhere," Neal countered, kicking a stray boot out of the way. "Are you serious with this?"

"Look, I've had a rough day," Hook grumbled. "I don't have time to go around, tracking my shoes. I'm in crisis mode, Neal. I've made self-discoveries that have launched me into a full crisis mode."

"Have you?" Neal exhaled, taking out a box of Cheerios. He leaned against the counter and fished out a handful of cereal, settling in as Hook let out a theatrical sigh.

"If you knew what I'd been through today, you wouldn't act so heartless," he declared. "First of all, Archie is a genius, and I hate him for it. Because if he wasn't such a bloody genius, I could still be blissfully ignorant, and think that all my psychological disturbances were just facets of a vivacious personality—"

Neal choked, coughing violently into his fist.

"—but no. My eyes have been forced open, flooded with the garish light of enlightenment and knowledge. I have been dragged away from Plato's cave and the peaceful shadows, and shown the terrifying images of reality—"

"Did you just reference Plato?" Neal said incredulously.

"Yes," Hook said, looking irritated at the interruption. "What—surprised I'm not completely illiterate?"

"No, I…I just didn't realize you knew Plato."

"I read," Hook said, stung. "I don't just shelve books in the library, Neal. Sometimes, I actually open them."

Neal shook his head: the image of Hook reading something that didn't come with a glossy cover and an article on Beyonce was just too weird.

"You want to know what I found out today?" Hook demanded. Without waiting for a response, he braced his hand on Neal's shoulder, looking at him darkly. "I was a prostitute baby."

Neal's eyes widened. "Excuse me?"

"A prostitute baby!" Hook cried. "My mother was a professional slut, Neal! She exchanged sexual favors for money! I was raised, clothed, and fed on a whore's salary!"

"Oh," Neal said with dawning comprehension. "Wow, okay, that's a relief. That phrase was a little confusing."

"I never realized it! All these years, and I never realized that my mother had sex with a million different men, just to scrape a living! She didn't even love me, and she still demeaned herself like that, just to provide for me and my brother!" Hook dropped his head on Neal's shoulder tragically. "I feel so guilty," he said in a muffled voice. "On top of everything else, I feel guilty."

"Pick up your head," Neal complained, shrugging away from him. "Stop trying to cry on my shoulder."

"I've so much to cry about, though," Hook whimpered. "Being a prostitute baby is the least of my worries. I need my best mate right now. And a hug, I'm in desperate need of a hug."

"So call Robin, I'm not hugging you, bro."

"Neal," Hook whined, following him to the couch. "I used the word desperate.Take pity on me. Be vaguely human. Just for a minute or two, please?"

"I'm sure you'll be fine," Neal said absently, glancing around for the remote.

"No, I won't be," Hook insisted, flopping down face-first on the couch and continuing on in a muffled voice. "Archie said I need to stay away from Ruby."

"He needed a fake degree from Harvard to tell you that?" Neal scoffed.

"She looks like my mother. Mum didn't love me, so I crave affection from women who resemble her. Isn't that sick?"

"Gross," Neal agreed, flipping on the T.V.

"And sad!" Hook said, lifting himself up on his elbows. "How sad is that, Neal? I fall in love with women who look like my mother because my whole life, I've been trying to make up for the heartbroken little boy I was my whole childhood! She was so obvious about how much she loved Liam because his father was a navy man and mine was probably some drunken sailor. Beautiful, no doubt, but a moronic deadbeat, I'm sure."

"Hmm."

"But it's horrible!" Hook went on, sounding on the verge of tears. "Think about it, Neal! What if the only reason I love Ruby is because she looks like my mum? Then I really am as shallow as everyone says, and everything I thought I felt about our relationship is complete rubbish because the whole thing comes down to her physical beauty and nothing else!"

"And how exactly does that conflict with everything you thought you felt?" Neal frowned.

"I'm going to ignore the insult, because I'm more disturbed by the fact that it's because she resembles my mother than the mere fact that she's beautiful," Hook said with haunted eyes. "Black hair, blue eyes, tall and slutty…I always thought that was my type because I had good taste. But no—no, it's because of Mum."

"Have you ever considered, that maybe it's because of you?" Neal suggested. "I mean, that description fits you pretty well, too. Maybe you fall for these girls because they remind of yourself, and—"

Hook shook his head. "I already asked Archie about that, but he dashed my hopes, little bastard. Said it was possible, but the alternative was far more likely, considering my attachment pattern."

"Oh."

"And my history," he sighed. "Every serious girlfriend I've ever had…they've all looked the same, they've all had the same high-maintenance, but affectionate personalities. Ruby's different, of course, she's a modern woman and all, educates me on the difference between chauvinism and chivalry—I've a different relationship with her than I did with Annamaria or Milah…"

Neal tensed at the mention of his mother's name. He'd never known her, so he'd never really grieved her, but it still sent a ripple of nausea through him to hear Hook toss her name around. Considering the relationship they had now, it was easy to forget Hook had once been involved with his mother, but moments like these brought up dangerously emotional memories…being fourteen years old, waving a piece of parchment and swinging a sword around—

NOPE, he thought suddenly, forcing down the memory. No time for unpleasant childhood memories. There was never time for unpleasant childhood memories, and he didn't want to worry about them leading to the disgusting display of emotion that so often accompanied people's unpleasant childhood memories. Much easier to just forget and immerse himself in someone else's problems until they faded back to their normal, vague existence.

"…hardly matters because she's still cross with me over what happened at the Christmas party, and I don't have the energy to deal with everything at the same time. No bloody wonder I'm an alcoholic!" Hook looked at him helplessly. "What do I do, Neal?"

"Whatever Archie told you, I guess," Neal shrugged. "Stay away from Ruby, figure out your shit, and go back to your meaningless existence."

"How do I stay away from Ruby? How do I figure out my shit? How dare you call my life a 'meaningless existence', and how do I get back to it?"

"Look, man—I'm not a professional, nor am I brave enough to look into all—" Neal waved vaguely at Hook's head—"that, so I can't tell you how to figure out your shit. But staying away from Ruby is easy enough. All you have to do is physically stay in another part of town from her, it's not hard."

"But how do I keep my feet from moving into her part of town?" Hook moped. "I'll start thinking about her, and then my feet'll start moving and it turns into a whole thing."

"So that's how you guys kept getting back together," Neal said. "Your feet started moving of their own accord, and it turned into a whole thing…"

"You know what I mean," Hook exhaled impatiently.

"I don't, actually," Neal frowned. "How difficult is it to simply not move? You do have voluntary control over your motor cortex, don't you?"

"Have what over my what?"

"Control. Over your motor cortex. In your brain?" Neal pointed to the side of his head. "You have one, right?"

"You mock my pain," Hook said in an injured voice.

"I mock you in general," Neal corrected swiftly.

"I am asking you for help!" Hook said in ringing tones. "My God, Neal! Where is your compassion?"

"I don't know," Neal shrugged. "Maybe it's in the New York apartment, with all the other stuff I don't use anymore."

His words seemed to have a transformative effect on Hook: the anguish on his face was immediately wiped clear, and he straightened up, pointing a decisive finger at Neal.

"Your New York apartment," he said. "We were supposed to go there. Pack up your shit. Drop off your keys."

"Yeah, I know," Neal said, eying him warily. "So…?"

"So, this is my perfect opportunity to get away from Ruby, isn't it?" Hook said, a smile growing on his face. "Neal, what better way to mend my broken heart than a few days in the big city? I can't be with her, and I can't be anywhere near her, so why not just remove me from Storybrooke and take me to New York?"

"Because this trip isn't meant to be Killian Jones's Self-Discovery, Jack-Kerouac-Road-Trip," Neal frowned. "This is me, tying up old business and stuffing a few boxes in David's truck. I don't want to take you, and end up spending the whole time discussing you and Ruby and your mother—God knows, these past twenty minutes have been bad enough."

"No, no, no, no—this will be all about your stupid boxes," Hook promised.

"Stupid boxes."

"Your incredible boxes. The boxes that I love. The boxes that inspire my soul daily—"

"All right, shut up," Neal said. "You really want to go that badly?"

"Yes," Hook said instantly. "Yes, yes, yes. I need to go to New York, I need to get away from this town. Help me, Obi-Neal Kenobi. You're my only hope."

"Star Wars puns?" Neal said, looking at him incredulously. "Stand still, so I can punch the face off your skull."

"Neal," Hook pleaded. "Work with me here."

"That was a terrible joke—"

"I'M SORRY!" Hook shouted. "NOT THE THING I'M FOCUSING ON HERE, MATE. ARE WE GOING OR NOT?"

"Don't get bitchy," Neal frowned. "We'll go, I just don't appreciate bad comedy."

"So, we're going?"

"Yeah, we're—GAH!" Neal choked as Hook threw his arms around him in a tight, grateful hug.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you! You wonderful person, you, I love you!" Hook's voice blared in his ear. "When are we going? Tonight? You want to go tonight? You want to go now?"

"No, I don't want to go now, and get the hell off me!" Neal pushed away from him, scowling. "Crazy person."

Hook didn't seem bothered in the least. "When can we go, though?" he asked, practically bouncing. "Tomorrow? Can we go tomorrow?"

"If you shut up and stop talking to me about your feelings and Star Wars, we can go tomorrow," Neal said, brushing out the wrinkles from his shirt. "I'll have to tell Emma—"

Hook waved his hand, as if nothing could be less important than Emma. "Do whatever you have to do—I'm going to call Ruby."

"Call—?" Neal shook his head in confusion. "Bro, you just said you needed to get away from her."

"I can't leave without saying Goodbye," Hook said, scandalized. "Besides, I need to tell her that Archie says I have to stay away from her, and it'll be devastating. She'll want to talk, she may cry, I may cry…This requires a face-to-face conversation."

"Just make sure you keep a respectable distance between those faces," Neal warned him.

"I know, I know," Hook assured him, digging in his pocket for his phone. "Thank you, Neal—thank you for this!"

"It's not for you, it's for me!" Neal called after him as he scampered up the stairs with the phone pressed to his ear.

"…it's me, how are you?" Hook's voice drifted down. "Oh, good, that's good to hear, love. Listen, I need to talk to you…"

Neal sighed and pulled out his own phone, lowering the volume of the T.V. He didn't even know what he was watching, but it involved an overenthusiastic group of people and crafts—two of the things he hated most, so why the hell was he watching it? Crafts were just creepy, and people who got enthused about it were even creepier—

"Hello?" Emma answered.

"Hey, it's me," he said, dragging his eyes from the screen. "Whatcha doing?"

"Oh, nothing much," she said in a sing-song voice. "Just on a patrol, 'round this crime-ridden town."

"Another patrol, really?"

"They're fun. I like driving with the sirens, I feel important."

"All right, whatever," Neal said. "Listen, you remember how I told you one of these days, I was going to take a trip with Hook to New York, to get rid of that apartment I got?"

"Yeah…"

"Well, 'one of these days' just became tomorrow, so—"

"Tomorrow?" Emma repeated.

"Yeah, Hook's got a thing, Archie got involved, it's…messy, I'll tell you later," Neal said, rubbing his eyes. "Anyway, I just wanted to let you know, so…"

Emma was silent for a moment. "How long are you going to be gone?"

"Few days, maybe?" Neal shrugged. "Why?"

"No, I was just…" Emma trailed off musingly. "You know what would be interesting?"

"Hmm?"

"If when you and Hook came back, all my stuff was in your place."

Neal frowned, cocking his head. "'S'cuse me?"

"This is good, this is good," Emma insisted. "You remember how we were talking the other day, about how we never get any time alone and this apartment was supposed to be our chance, but we got screwed out of it because Hook moved in and made a mess of everything?"

"Yeah."

"So, what if we just kind of…gently nudge him out? I'll move my stuff in and he'll feel cramped and move out, and then everyone gets what they want!"

"Yeah, or I've got three people living in an apartment, two of whom hate each other—"

"I don't hate him—"

"—with all their stuff, and then there's arguments and there's tension and there's feelings, and we all know how I feel about feelings in the apartment—"

"Okay, fine!" Emma said exasperatedly. "It was just a suggestion."

"Just…" Neal exhaled through his teeth. "Please don't do any stupid shit while I'm gone. I'm already looking at seventy-two hours of dealing with Hook and his emotions on my own, I don't want to worry about this."

"Then don't. It was just a thought."

Neal slumped against the couch in relief. "Thanks, Em."

"Mmm-hmm. I'll see you later."

"Bye."

He hung up, stowing the phone away in his jacket. Hook's voice echoed down from upstairs, wavering in and out as he paced the floor.

"…so we'll talk tomorrow?…very important, yes…I know …I know…Okay. Thanks, love. I'll see you, then." Hook leaned over the railing. "Wake me up by seven tomorrow, I have to meet Ruby."

Neal laughed. "I don't think so. What makes you think I'll be up at that ridiculous time? You're on your own, bro."

"I'm not responsible enough to wake myself up, Neal, you know that!" Hook said indignantly. "God knows, I don't ask you for much—"

"Excuse me?"

"—all right, I do, but at least show me how to work the alarm clock on my phone? Since His Majesty apparently needs his beauty sleep?"

Neal raised his eyebrows. "Am I meant to be 'His Majesty' in this scenario?"

"That's right," Hook said defiantly.

"Implying that I am royalty and you are my subject?"

"…Sure."

"So, you just gave me the authority to execute you."

Hook looked at him for a long time, his gaze growing steadily darker. "Neal Cassidy, you are easily the most frustrating person I have ever met in my entire life."

Neal smiled, touched. "Thank you, Killy. That means a lot."