Guest Comments

BossLady: Yeah, Snow finally had that wake-up. It will give them a chance to actually address the issues they have eventually. I will definitely get a continuation out at some point, but this was burning a hole in my drafts for now!

GremmaShoelace: I will likely get into Snow and David's reactions a little indirectly (since I don't do their POVs), but rest assured fallout will occur. With the spoilers, though, I wanted this one out first.

Title: The Funeral
Summary: Sometimes things end with strings attached, unfinished business left over that will never be resolved.
Note: Gifset on Tumblr. While I ended up being better toward him than I thought, this does still deal with some anti Neal content. For ograndebatata, who wished to see the funeral (even though I had already written it). Posting slightly out of order (skips a few days) for reasons.

Two days. That's how long it took to find Neal once again.

That's how long he had left to live.

Emma pulled the car into the space, the breaks giving a squeal as she shoved the gears into park. She could feel the mask she'd pulled over herself slipping as tears pricked at the back of her throat.

She was just so frustrated, so angry. Not just that he'd died, and not just because she had been the one to have to do it. There was so much left unfinished and unresolved, and now it would never be completed.

She had gotten almost no sleep. She had been dizzy and exhausted the night before, feeling ill again after such a long period of health. She had tossed and turned, skin buzzing with the itch of things left unsaid as well as the lingering fear. Graham had held her tight, offering gentle kisses and soothing brush of hands, but instead of tempering her it had only centered her memories. She had squeezed her eyes shut until the buzz turned into sparks.

Graham had finally led her to the woods and watched wordlessly as she had let her magic out in long lightning strikes. The air crackled gold and white until she had felt okay enough to stumble back. Her husband didn't have one trace of fear to track along his features, and let her collapse into his arms and rest for a few short hours before dawn broke.

She woke feeling resigned in much the same way as she did on the day she decided to leave Tallahassee.

She felt Graham's eyes on her now, and she glanced at him out of the corner of her own. He remained silent, even as his brow creased. His mouth parted slightly, but she knew he would offer no words of consolation or questions after her wellbeing. They knew each other too well for that.

Instead, he reached over and used a gentle hand to cup her jaw. Her fingers curled along his wrist, pressing him closer to her skin. She reveled in the comfort he was offering, and the feel of his steady pulse. His lips pressed together, and there was something stormy behind those grey-blue irises. He was feeling sympathy, that was certain, but he also looked angry for her.

She remembered the weight of Neal's body in her arms, watching the life drift out of him, and how she had been unable to stop the comparison to how Graham's collapse had been. She remembered the bolt of guilt, of thinking about a remedied tragedy as another took hold.

But she has mourned Neal's death twice now, and this time she expected that it would be for good. There was a ring of finality when the last breath escaped, like someone had yanked all the chances away from him. And she was sure she was an awful person because she found herself overcome with concern for Graham; she had that determined, familiar feeling that she couldn't lose him again, for good.

She took another few beats now to feel the steady tattoo of his pulse, the rich rush of life in his veins. Though it wasn't necessary, she whispered out to him. "I love you."

He gave a sad smile as her hand slipped from his wrist. He leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead. "I love you," he replied firmly.

She let out a soft sigh and then turned to face the backseat. Henry was quiet, staring at his lap. Fresh tears collected at her lash line, and she swallowed back the bitterness. "Henry. It's time."

Her son looked up and she felt her heart tear at how solemn he appeared. He nodded once and clicked the latch on his door.

She caught him before he could get too far, pulling him into a loose embrace. He looped his arms around her waist, leaning to press his face against her chest and his palm over his sibling.

He didn't cry. He didn't even make a sound.

It was a cool day for early July, windy and overcast. In the distance, she saw the flap of dark coats from the group gathering in the cemetery. She swallowed hard and gripped Henry's clammy hand. "Let's get going," she murmured.

Graham pulled his arm around her shoulders and helped lead them to the clearing. There was a surprisingly high number of people, most of whom she recognized. Her parents were there, as was Belle and Tinkerbell. Killian stood along the tree line, watching with a darkly somber expression. The rest were random townspeople, filling in the edges of the cemetery. She wondered how many of them actually knew the man they were burying.

She wondered how much of Neal she actually knew.

"Emma."

She looked up, catching David's concerned gaze from a few feet away. She offered a small smile. His mouth was set into a firm line, his eyes doleful. He looked like he wanted to step closer, embrace her maybe, but he stayed firmly at Mary Margaret's side. Mary, for her part, looked at her with too-large eyes, pitying and guilty and anxious all at once.

She turned her head quickly. She wasn't ready to talk with her yet. She couldn't. She would break if she tried to take on another thing at this point.

It was too real, the danger now coloring everything in this town. This was exactly what she had been fearing from the moment Killian crossed her threshold: a death far too close. She ached for the security of the Upper West Side, of their soon-to-be too small apartment, and of the comfort of their friends.

She took Graham's hand as the funeral began, tugging Henry closer with the other. There were only a short few words spoken at the site while the casket was lowered deep into the earth. It was startlingly concrete to witness, with the finality of it all. Emma was almost surprised at how suddenly the dirt began to be leveled over the wood planks, and her head throbbed in the realization of how not ready she was for all this.

It ended so abruptly that it took a moment for her to realize why the crowd was dispersing.

Henry watched everyone leaving with a serious glint. "I'm going to use the bathroom," he murmured.

Emma gripped his shoulder and turned him around. She brushed back his hair from his face, offering a small smile. He didn't give the same back, and instead shied away from her eyes. His reaction made her nervous. "I'll walk with you," she said simply.

"I don't need you to come with me," he said stubbornly. He was closed off to her, something she rarely saw now. A pang hit her, a worry that he was upset with her for helping take his biological father away. She wanted to press, to make sure that he understood, but she also knew her son would need time.

She still led him to the restrooms near the parking lot with a shrug, insistent despite the anxiety. "Your sister's on my bladder, anyway," she said.

Henry broke away and darted into the bathroom before she managed to catch up with him.

He didn't have many chances to be on his own recently; the threat of the witch and the presence of Regina meant he was being watched by someone at all times. She figured the kid needed some time alone, and couldn't begrudge him that.

She placed her hands on her hips, and glanced back to Graham. He nodded in response. "I'll wait for him out here, okay?" he said.

Emma leaned forward to press her forehead into his. He gave a small smile and brushed his lips against hers before she pulled away.

The bathroom was thankfully empty. The baby rolled within her, and she patted along her stomach before finding a stall.

After, she cleaned up quickly, and sighed into the mirror as she noticed the smudges beneath her eyes. She went into her purse to find concealer when her phone buzzed. She frowned, but then felt a sharp relief at seeing the name on the screen.

"Emma. Why in the Hell is Henry calling to ask about the arrest report?"

Emma's brow furrowed, the relief sapped out of her immediately at her friend's abrupt tone. "Maggie? What? Henry called you?"

"Yes. He asked me if I could go over your arrest report, more specifically what the officer detailed regarding the boyfriend who turned you in."

Emma's eyes shut tight and she leaned against the brick. "Oh, God."

"Em, this isn't the first time. It's not like he's just learning about the shitty things the guy did. But why is he asking about things he already knows?"

Emma walked back out onto the street and twisted her ring, looking over to the gated cemetery. "He—Neal. He was here. He … he died."

There was silence over the line for a few moments. "What?"

"Yeah." She winced. "It was … pretty sudden."

"I'm so sorry you had to see him, Em."

She shook her head. "No, it wasn't bad to see him. We might have been heading toward closure, but—"

"Stop that. Play that game with someone that doesn't know better. I was there for that fallout, remember?"

Emma bit down hard on her lip. She remembered a life in which she had vented all her frustrations and tears to her best friend. She remembered the support she had gotten in return, the way Maggie had been so infuriated for her. She remembered the list of warning signs the social worker had brought out, jabbing an insistent finger to each and having her memorize them all.

Maggie was right; she was oversimplifying her feelings.

But all her knowledge and mixed emotion didn't change the conclusion. It clawed at her, the resolution that had been right at her fingertips. They may have gotten along eventually, been friends. "I mean it, Maggie. It could have been okay."

Her friend sighed heavily. "Sure, okay. I might actually believe that."

Emma knew she didn't, not really. "It would have been good for Henry. To know him, I mean."

Maggie said nothing in response, but she could practically feel the judgment over the phone line. "How did you find him?"

Emma thought back to the lie they'd made up to get them there. "Oh, well, coincidence. One of Graham's old cases needed a look over out here. He's investigating. And Neal lives … lived here."

"Small world. Great. And how did he die?"

Emma sucked a breath through her teeth, contemplating. 'Sold his life for his father's' wasn't exactly something that made sense in the real world. It barely made sense here. "It was an accident," she said, as close to the truth as she could get.

"You … Emma, did you have to see it?"

She felt a cold grip inside her, remembering him begging her to use the magic to separate them, to kill him. "Yes," she replied simply as her stomach churned.

"Are you okay?"

It was the first time she'd been asked that point blank. She felt her chest tighten, something wound up inside her. "I've got Henry and Graham," she replied. She knew Maggie would understand; she wasn't okay, but with her family she'd get there.

"I'd feel a hell of a lot better if I knew where you guys were."

Emma grimaced and stamped a foot, her body rocking as she considered. She'd gotten away with being vague with everyone so far, but she knew Maggie wouldn't be satisfied with the same. "I'm in Maine," she tried.

"Maine's pretty big."

She sighed. "Mags … fine. It's this tiny little town called Storybrooke."

"Nearest main city?"

"Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously. I don't want my godchild being born in some little backwater town."

"Godchild," she scoffed, even if the term would likely end up being completely accurate. "I'm only at twenty-nine weeks. Besides, it's only like an hour and a half from Boston. Right near York."

"Okay, good. I know some good docs over here in the area if you need, okay? Don't let the stress of that asshole get to you."

"Maggie," she said, feeling her voice crack over the name. She swallowed. "I did love him, once."

"I know you did, Babe." Her voice had taken a more gentle tone, but there was something steely underneath. That's how it had always been; she would sympathize, but she would always push her forward. "And I'm sorry he died. But he doesn't deserve your tears, okay?"

Emma's stomach turned, and she felt a headache brew between her temples. She knew what her friend was trying to do, but she was also being too pragmatic, too cold. "I promise we'll make a visit on our way back, okay?" she said, ducking away from the topic.

"Sure you will."

"Bye," Emma said, clicking off the speaker. She pressed her lips together thoughtfully, and then tucked the cell into her bag.

She turned the corner, watching Henry press himself up against Graham's side. They sat on the bench nearest the parking lot, waiting on her. Graham's head was inclined, and she could see his mouth moving as he spoke to him. Henry was still; he looked pale and drained as he leaned against him.

Her hands fisted at her side, and she let the wind blow her hair across her face without adjusting it. She stepped up to them, and then nudged her toe along Henry's shoe. "So. You called Maggie?"

Henry looked up cautiously, then his eyes darted away. "Yeah."

"Why'd you want to hear it again?"

He sighed and scooted over, leaving room on the bench that she gratefully took. He pulled at a thread on Graham's sleeve, looking dejected. "I don't know," he mumbled.

"Yes, you do," she pressed.

He pulled a face and looked down. "He didn't tell me the first time. He made me think … he didn't tell me."

"Henry …," she trailed off, not knowing what to say.

"He let me be mad at you, let me think you were the bad guy." His voice hitched and cracked, his eyes finally filling up with unshed tears. "He was the bad guy! We could have been together always, but he sent you to jail and he didn't even feel sorry!"

Her heart broke, her breath shaky as she exhaled. She cupped his face in her hands. "He did feel sorry, Henry. He apologized," she reassured. Even if he had mostly explained away his actions, there had been apologies made. And at least the last one hadn't seemed so hollow.

Henry said nothing, only turned away sharply. He wiped his nose with his sleeve, looking indignant.

She looked up to catch Graham's hard gaze. He looked barely held together, trying to remain calm to allow them this chance to talk. She brushed her fingers against his in appreciation before turning back to her son. "Henry … you and I … we did get to be together."

He sniffed. "Just in this life. And he still took the money and left you behind, told the cops where you were. And I never—I never—"

"You never got to ask him about it?" she finished gently.

He nodded jerkily. "I never got to be angry with him," he said, his face screwing up as he let out a sharp sob. "I didn't even really know him! And he promised, mom, he promised!"

I'll see both of you again.

Emma looked away, feeling the creep of heat up her spine. Desperately, she tried to bury it down. "Henry … it wasn't his fault he didn't get the chance to see you again."

"He had time," Henry said stubbornly.

Emma pulled him into a hug, letting him rest against her. She brushed her hands through the short strands of his hair, bringing as much comfort as she could into the action.

She remembered the anger in Neal as he walked away from her days ago, the dark look that had come when he heard Henry calling Graham 'dad.' The opportunity had slipped from him because of his own envy, of his inability to see what a good thing it was for her kid.

Henry was right. He could have had time.

She debated answering for a moment. "He did. But he was still living in Gold, fighting against the price." It didn't feel like a whole explanation, and she knew it wasn't one. Still, it at least would be something that could placate his emotion.

"It's not fair. I want to be mad at him, mom. I want to yell at him, I want him to understand. But I can't. He never let me, and now he's gone and I'm not supposed to be mad at him."

She still felt the frustration bubbling for her own self, her own unfinished business with Neal. She was angry, and the fact that he had hurt Henry in the process made the feeling worsen.

"You're right. It's not fair," she whispered against his hairline. "I'm mad, too. It's okay to be mad about it. It's even okay to be mad at him. But know he was trying to be a better person, too, okay? I know if he had a choice, he would've wanted to be there for you."

Henry visibly swallowed, and he didn't react other than to make absent patterns over Graham's sleeve. "I'll try to believe that," he finally whispered.

She felt Graham grip her hand, and she looked up at him. His lips were pressed into a tight line, and she knew he was trying hard to believe that, too. He had never known Neal, so he only understood the hurt he'd inflicted on her and Henry, both directly and inadvertently. Their one encounter hadn't helped his views on him.

But that was one thing that she did believe. Neal wanted to be a father to Henry, and he could have learned to be a good one. For all the missteps he'd made, he certainly had tried with Henry.

Her son still looked solemn. "He just gave up," he said sourly.

"No, kid, he didn't. He died so he could let us know who the Wicked Witch is, remember? So now she doesn't have all the advantage," she reminded.

Henry sunk further into Graham, his eyes darkly shaded.

"So you see," Emma pressed, "he wasn't a bad guy. Not really."

Graham stroked his hair gently. "You don't have to see it today. Just keep it in mind, okay?" he murmured.

She wondered fleetingly if Graham's advice was the same one he was giving himself. She gave a short nod when Henry's eyes lifted to catch her reaction. She tapped his wrist, a gentle prod to change the topic. "I don't really feel like mingling with everyone. What about you?"

Henry shook his head. "Can we just … go away? Just for a little?"

Her heart almost broke at the small plea, and she wished she could grant him that one gift. "We need to stick close for now. We'll go back to our room, sneak through the back. If anyone asks, we can blame your sister, okay?"

Henry nodded, and pressed his palms over her stomach. The baby shifted and rolled under his touch, active for her brother. Finally, a small little smile settled over his features. "We can look through the book?"

"Of course. Anything you want," she assured. If he wanted to distract himself with name ideas for his sibling instead of lingering on thoughts of Neal before he was ready, she wasn't going to force the issue. He needed to come to terms with it in his own time.

As they rose, there was a twitch in Graham's eye, a slight inclination of his head. She felt the later almost as if it had actually slipped off his tongue.

She swallowed thickly, recognizing that the bead of anger and fear was not extinguished in her belly, and that she still needed to vent her frustrations. She just wouldn't do that in front of Henry. Her kid didn't need to hear it, didn't need a reason to see more of the bad when there wasn't enough time for the good to balance out his memories.

She nodded to Graham and grabbed his hand, smoothing her index finger across his ring. She glanced back at the cemetery, remembering the little plot nearest the tree line that she'd visited only twice and now was empty. She leaned her head into his shoulder, placing a soft kiss. "You stay safe," she commanded in a rough whisper.

His eyebrows rose, his expression serious. "You know that has to be mutual," he replied just as lowly. "Besides, it's not just you anymore." His palm covered her stomach to remind her.

Her eyes shaded and she used the other hand to grip Henry's. Graham's dark blue eyes softened, worried but gentle.

Now that the danger was far more concrete, she knew they'd protect each other even more fiercely than ever. Henry had always been the priority, but now she had an incentive to keep herself safe as well, for both of her kids.

It stung something inside her, the realization that came with the thought of keeping her son safe. She knew that Neal would've defended Henry to the death. He'd shown that in Neverland. She wished he had lived for her to see that protectiveness bleed into a real relationship with her son.

It was easy to blame Zelena, to shift those dark feelings to the Wicked Witch. The choice would never have been presented had it not been for her.

So, she would keep herself safe for her children, for Graham. But she would also make sure Zelena wouldn't hurt anyone else in Henry's life.