Guest Comments

Guest: Thank you so much! I've actually been playing with the idea, because if they needed grounding before leaving, they seriously need it now. However, the problem was that they had a tiny little room at the B&B. After this chapter, there might be more of a chance for it. Won't be nearly as playful, though.

BossLady (x2): I love the idea that Emma is even more scared of her magic that Graham is. And Graham isn't totally okay with it, but knows these steps will make it better, and for Henry, too. LMAO, you are apparently not alone with wanting to see poor Ritu's reaction. I guess I will have to get to that eventually! Not a year and a half, though, more like 5-6 months (if that). The second season was only a few weeks and NL was maybe 2? They still need that catching up time, though!

Title: The Fallout
Summary: Post The Funeral. She doesn't want to break the calm they've finally found after the funeral.
Note: Jumping around the timeline again, just a bit. Prompts fromograndebatata (Killian post-funeral), and a little bit from lessawildmoon (I think it was an actual prompt, or else she just helped with plotting). Also for cuppatea13 who loves a certain character almost as much as I do.

Distraction had proven to work.

In the hours since the funeral, her small family had barricaded themselves into room five of Granny's. They'd been able to avoid anything external, and focused on only each other.

Now, they were in comfortable silence, each doing their own thing. They were still together and still sublimating, but the room was quiet. Emma's book had lost her attention, though, and the feelings from before were starting to bubble and pop in the back of her mind.

Emma's stomach growled, and she sighed as she leaned into Graham. The baby was rolling back and forth, restless inside her. Graham pulled her close while brushing his hand soothingly across her belly, even if his focus was on his cell at the moment. One hand steadily clicked through what she knew were texts to Leo, as he kept up on his work even through this little sabbatical of sorts. Henry was still pouring through the little paperback of names from his bed, but he had only expressed a couple choices that day.

Her hand itched, wanting to press her palm against his chest, to feel those soothing beats. Another part knew it would break the quiet, calm atmosphere to do so. The air didn't feel near as heavy since they had recharged, and she didn't want to darken the mood with the return of her anxieties.

"Anyone else hungry?" she asked. They had called down around lunchtime after returning, but they hadn't gotten any dinner yet.

Henry's head popped up. His eyes were still a little red despite everything, but he no longer had that weight on his shoulders. "I could eat."

Graham stopped working, and leaned over to grab the rotary phone from the desk. "I'll call down. What do you want?"

Henry rolled onto his side, thumb firmly holding his page. "Burger."

"No pickles, with mustard," Graham rattled off knowingly.

Emma rested her head on his shoulder, breathing him in deeply as she tried to rebuild the barrier that was blocking the pain. "Feels like a pastrami day."

He pressed a kiss in her hair and immediately she realized that he knew just how tightly she was clinging to her walls. He shifted slightly so she was readjusted, and his heart was against her cheek. He didn't make a big deal about the action, feigning that it was just in the act of picking up the handset. It made her glance at Henry at the corner of her eye, wanting to be sure he didn't pick up on her internal conflict.

She could hear the ringing on the other side of the phone, but it only continued to ring. And ring. Finally, he hung up. "Must be busy down there. I'll go."

Emma shook her head and grabbed his shoulder. "No, it's fine. I need to stretch my legs a bit," she said. Maybe that would clear her mind.

"You sure?" Graham asked, a slight frown on his lips.

She nodded, knowing he was concerned about the people she might run in to more than anything else. By now, hours later, most should have dissipated. "Yeah. Newbie's restless, so I think walking around will help."

He was already rising, shifting to put on his shoes while giving a stern look. "We can go together."

"No," she insisted. She gave a look over to Henry. "Keep an eye on the kid."

Graham's eyes changed, and she watched as the realization click in. She barely nodded to his silent question; she wanted to keep her son separate from whatever stragglers might still be lingering.

"Simmons'll want the update, anyway," she teased.

A slight blush crept up his cheeks. "He got stuck when a piece of DNA evidence came back. We usually work through theory changes together. Good distraction," he finally explained.

She gave a tight smile and nodded. Their New York life felt like an escape from everything going on in Storybrooke, and she couldn't begrudge him trying to find a moment's peace. The week had been all-consuming, and their breaks were few and far between. She felt a conversation was coming, sometime late when the kid was sleeping. She knew he'd need it just as much as she would.

She kissed him softly, and he returned it in kind, hand seeking out her stomach almost unconsciously. "Same?" He nodded. "I'll be right back."

"Fries, mom?" Henry asked.

"Of course. Who do you think I am?" she replied with a grin.

When the door shut, the smile slipped off her face. The buzz of the lamps and the darkness of the staircase had an ominous feel to it, one that didn't quite fit the setting. She didn't feel as shielded from her fears and worries outside of the room, and she hastened her stride.

She pulled her hair back into a ponytail as she descended the staircase, wanting to get in and out of the diner as quickly as possible. The door swung open to a low buzz, the kind where there are many people murmuring to each other. She swallowed thickly, feeling a pit of dread fall in her stomach at the crowd.

Granny's was completely full.

She didn't understand. Everyone was all dressed in black, quietly conversing in small groups. There were even tears in some of their eyes. None of these people knew Neal well enough for this kind of emotion. It didn't make sense.

She squeezed her hands into fists, trying to process the confusion, her insides knotting. Neither Ruby nor Granny were around, and she hated that she'd have to wait to even order. The glares of pity she was getting from the ones that noticed her entrance was enough to make her skin itch.

She turned abruptly and decided to wait at the counter. Only one figure seemed to be alone, apart from everyone else. He was looking into his drink as if it had all the answers, the bottle half-empty in front of him. It would be her best choice.

She huffed and sat next to him. "Drinking yourself to death won't solve anything," she said without preamble.

Killian looked up at her sharply. His blue eyes were rebellious, and he looked down at his drink with a shrug. "Not exactly an unappealing idea," he murmured, and swallowed back the rest. He quickly poured the tumbler full once more.

She looked around the parties again, uneasiness stiffening her spine. "At least you mourning makes sense."

"I think you and I are the only ones mourning Baelfire. The others are taking the opportunity to have a wake for ones they lost before," he replied.

Baelfire. Internally, she flinched at the name choice. Her lashes flicked across her cheeks, and then she peered at the crowd once more. She wasn't sure if it felt better or worse to know that they weren't acknowledging Neal. "I see," she said at length.

He reached to fill his glass again, and she pulled the bottle away, resting it on the opposite side. He looked up with exasperation. "Hard to drown my sorrows without the drowning, Swan," he spat.

"I can't have you comatose when you've actually been useful," she chided. She would concede that Killian was actually useful more of the time, but that was beside the point. She blew out a short breath, meeting his eye carefully. "And … and you're the only one that knows … knew him."

He sighed wearily. "The only one here, at least."

She tore at a napkin in front of her, shredding it into bits. "And knew him before everything, so – I don't know, you have a different perspective."

He was quiet a long moment. "I could have loved him like a son. I almost did, and given the chance I would have forever. But there were oceans between that boy and the man you met."

Emma bit down on her lip and looked away. Maybe that's why she was seeking him out now, to piece together who Neal really was. "You're right," she said. It felt exhausting to admit. "I feel like I didn't know him at all."

He waited a beat, until she finally met his eye. "Some people don't want the world to see them."

She scowled and went back to ripping the napkin. "I know we weren't right, me and him. We couldn't be. But back then … I wanted us to be. The fact that he didn't try is what makes me feel the most … cheated," she admitted lowly.

He took the last swallow in his glass. "I wish there was more to say."

Ruby finally appeared from the kitchen, eyebrows knitting together and a frown on her face. She smiled tightly to see her. "Emma. How are you?"

The pity in the woman's voice was grating. There was something in it, like the brunette assumed she'd break down at any mere mention of the man who died. Her nails dug into her palms. "Fine. Can I order some food to bring upstairs?"

"Of course," she said, and flicked out her pad. "On the house, with our sympathies."

She winced, but otherwise didn't acknowledge the words. "Two pastramis, burger with mustard and no pickles, and three fries."

Ruby nodded. "Sorry it's been so slow. Everyone's a little on edge." Her eyes widened. "I mean, not because of that. Not that people aren't scared because of that. I mean—"

"Ruby, it's fine," she cut in, her tone harsh.

She looked sheepish. Then she turned to the window and the glint of the wolf sparked in her bright eyes. "Someone saw a car out by the town line. We're worried about outsiders."

She bit down on the inside of her cheek, hating the care with which Ruby was speaking. She shook her head. "Was it Leroy? I think he called every week after the Greg incident with the same story. I wouldn't be too worried."

Ruby nodded. "I'm sure you're right. I'll get your order in." She disappeared behind the double doors, taking the pitying face with her.

She looked back to find Killian watching her expression closely. "They don't have anyone else to give their condolences to," he said slowly. "It's been awhile since someone's passed on, and they don't know what to do with it."

She ducked her head, hair curtaining her face. The last person to die was, who, Johanna? Before that it had been Graham. Her heart squeezed uncomfortably, and her hand wrapped around the shoelace to ground herself. "They still shouldn't be coming to me with it."

He sighed and leaned back in his seat. "He loved you, Swan. Just like everyone else that meets you."

She narrowed her eyes briefly, but he was busy twirling the glass in his hand. While she knew from Graham that he was still sorting through his feelings for her, he had been careful not to mention them in her presence. Mirroring that, she ignored the implication and pressed on.

She looked toward the back mirror, staring at herself. Her hair was messy, clothes a little wrinkled, but she looked normal. Her color was healthy, her eyes clear. She looked miles from what she had been the night before, and knew that was due to her family's support.

Still, she saw something else, something behind her eyes, that darkened her countenance. "I'm happy now. But things would have been easier if he'd been honest," she said, just above a whisper.

Cold metal hit the side of her wrist, and she looked up at his prompting. "He wasn't a saint. Anger's about the most normal reaction you could have."

Tears caught at her throat, sudden and sharp. Something about getting the perspective of someone who would have had Neal's side, even fractionally, and still getting support felt good. Like it made her actions and feelings more correct, somehow. She brushed her hair behind her ear, nodding jerkily. "You had unfinished business with him, too. What would you tell him?"

"My regrets are all in apologies, Swan. I would assume much different from your needs," he said, eyebrows quirking thoughtfully.

"Still apologies," she countered. She rested her palms over her belly; she was twisting, elbowing out and making herself known as if to pull her focus. The memory flashed behind her eyes, of her stomach swollen with a different child, of blue scrubs where her black blouse was. "Just from him instead of to him. Mostly."

He was quiet a long moment, his hand scrunching and relaxing at intervals, and she wondered if she pressed too hard.

"You're not hell-bent on a new revenge, are you?" she asked, and was surprised at the tightening of her throat around the half-misplaced joke.

He only chuckled, not noticing the strain. "Aye, not exactly the best plan but one I am good at. Any help you need I will provide."

She swallowed. She beat her fingers around the counter, the shelves blurring in front of her. "I killed him," she blurted out.

He stared at her, wide eyed. "Swan—"

She shook her head violently. She had been keeping that in, those blunt words. David, when he had found her after, had been quick to tell her that she wasn't responsible. But there was something inside of her that still coiled onto that fact, that she had been the one to deal his final blow at his insistence. "No, you don't understand!" she hissed through her teeth. "I could have told him no. I could have found another way. But I did it. He asked me, and I did it." She couldn't form tears, not yet, but the build of horror and anger was enough to curdle her blood.

"He shouldn't have put that on you," Killian murmured lowly. "I'm sorry, Emma."

She shook her head, looking away sharply. He didn't understand, didn't seem to realize why she was seeking the outsider's opinion. That's all she had heard from this town: I'm sorry, Emma, so sorry it happened, so sorry you lost him. They didn't understand, and it made her head throb in frustration.

The bell on the door jangled, and the room hushed automatically. Killian tensed visibly, hook twitching. All eyes turned to the entrance, and Emma whiplashed to the door, fearing the worst.

The first thing the saw was the black moto jacket, cropped fashionably and draped over a lithe frame. She looked up to find the black curls pulled tightly back and the aviators, dark and mirrored, perched on a sloped nose. Lips curled downwards, surveying the diner with zeroed in focus, before landing on her. The shades flicked up, revealing what she had been too pessimistic to believe.

"This place is hard to find."

She practically leapt from her seat, pulling the woman hard into her arms.

"Hey, slow down. You're going to squish Junior," Maggie said, but she was gripping her just as tight.

Her shoulders shook and she couldn't help the sob that escaped her. "You found us?" she choked out, the question strained through the tears.

Her body vibrated in a laugh and she pulled back to show gleaming teeth. "Babe, trying to throw me off never stopped me, did it?"

She pressed her lips together, shaking and teary and smiling. "Silly of me to try," she replied. All she could think was safe: Maggie was safe, Maggie would understand.

Maggie held her squeezed her upper arms, and Emma gave up on trying to act strong. She didn't have to be the ex-girlfriend, she didn't have to be in mourning, and she certainly didn't have to be the Savior.

She had her friend.