Chapter 12: Yes Man

Neal had noticed it time and time again, getting a front row seat for every shift, watching as, brick by brick, Emma had lowered her walls, guarded girl turning into a reluctant ally and growing into a protective partner and lover. She struggled too, constantly fighting her own practical instincts as she learned to both let herself hope for a better future and, perhaps the more difficult of the two, believe in her own potential. Something that Neal thought made the moments when she did win the battle all the more inspiring. Like her steps into motherhood. She had accepted that challenge both reluctantly and nervously, but she continued to blossom under the role, loving and nurturing their son in ways he knew Emma had once feared she was incapable of.

And then she started volunteering at the youth center and suddenly she would come home and willingly share anecdotes about her day. Even when she couldn't say anything particularly meaningful (not without breaking certain confidentiality rules and whatnot), Emma still managed to volunteer something that would cause the corners of her mouth to lift upwards, Neal matching her grin, both eventually dissolving into fits of laughter when they stumbled upon some silly thing done by the kids they worked with. She had never talked about the restaurant like that. In fact, even when she had started to get on with Gretchen, getting Emma to comment on her shift had still almost always required the verbal equivalent of pulling teeth, usually ending with a complaint-filled rant.

(That probably explained why she worried so much about him and his own job.)

But he liked the way she didn't immediately try to leave the day behind her, instead choosing to take more than just stories and memories home with her. Neal had walked into the kitchen several times now, shedding his jacket after a long day at the office himself only to find Emma going over files or talking quick and loud over the phone (usually with Leo or Marge), sharing and discussing her ideas and questions and, most of all, her concerns. Leo didn't seem to mind this, taking it in stride even when he had no feasible way to implement her suggestions or easily fix her worries.

(Much to Emma's continuous frustration.)

(Neal loved that she tried anyway because it meant that she felt like she had something to contribute - a change in and of itself.)

(And, okay, maybe the whole trying thing looked kinda sexy on her too.)

"You heard, right?" she asked him after clicking off the phone with an annoyed huff (something that Porter quickly emulated from his high chair). "About Marissa Max getting into Julliard?"

Neal nodded, letting out an impressed whistle as he grabbed a box of Cheerios from the cabinet, snaking out a handful for Porter. But it was no secret, Marissa eagerly telling everyone that crossed her path, volunteers and kids sharing in her excitement and making it the talk of the center (the art department especially) for days.

"Yeah," continued Emma, "problem is she can't afford it. She's not even sure she'll be able to score a scholarship. So I thought, maybe, the center could cover -"

"Emma-"

"I know," she said quickly and Neal absently accepted the cheerio Porter was kindly trying to share with him, "but it doesn't seem fair, does it? And, obviously, they couldn't pay the whole way -"

" -Or for every other kid that gets into college," Neal added because Marissa wouldn't be the only college-bound teenager that came to Emma with this problem. Unfortunately.

"Leo said that too," she said shortly, scooting off her perch on the counter, features shifting into a bright smile as Porter offered her a piece of his snack, Emma accepting with a gracious word of thanks before she switched back to the matter at hand. "But there has to be some, y'know, fundraiser or a sponsor for these types of things."

"I'm sure there is," agreed Neal, thought this did nothing to ease Emma's disappointed frown. "But maybe she'll get lucky. You could do some research, help her apply for some scholarships. Or a loan," Emma scoffed, "or, maybe, there's another school out there that will give her a scholarship."

"I'm pretty sure Julliard is, like, the best though," she said and it was Neal's turn to frown.

"Since when do you believe in this the best sh -" she gave him a pointed look, head nodding at Porter (who was quite focused on his cereal) and he recovered the sentence, "stuff. The Emma Swan I know believes in working hard and making the best of what she's got. Julliard would be a great opportunity. Of course it would, but that doesn't mean she can't do just as well somewhere else."

She stared at him for a second, head cocked, narrowed eyes shifting into that sorta half-surprised, half-amazed look she sometimes gave him when he managed to catch her off guard and exceed her expectations. Finally, she shook her head, grabbed him by the cheeks and gave him a kiss. "I love you."

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered good naturedly as she repeated the gesture with Porter when he made his own smacking noises. And with renewed energy she ran off, intending to go look up possible scholarships and alternative schools while he gave his promise to get dinner on the table.

Unfortunately, for every kid like Marissa that Emma talked to, there were twice as many kids stuck in situations that didn't have a plausible solution, most of which he never heard a word about. Because of trust and confidentiality type things, yeah, but he got the impression that even if those things weren't an issue, she would still have a hard time finding just the right turn of phrase to properly express some of the horrible things that came through her office.

And while the downs hadn't necessarily discouraged her, she did have a hard time shaking them off. Emma didn't like it. Having things she couldn't fix and the broken pieces of both their blender and toaster as well as the increasingly organized state of their apartment had become proof enough of that. In fact her progress had made Neal nervous enough that he had taken the box of her old things and, somewhat awkwardly, asked Leo (Joy, he feared, would lecture him or worse, tell Emma) if he could, maybe, find a place to store them before she could make her way to the back of the hall closet they typically didn't use for anything but storage.

This, unfortunately, still didn't stop her from finding a box of crap that he could have sworn he had thrown away years ago. But he had came home one night to find Emma laid out on the floor with Porter, both staring up at a sea of speckled light scattered across the ceiling and clutched in her hands, he realized, was one of his old Shadow Catchers.

Neal blinked and settled down next to them, ruffling Porter's already unruly hair, asking, "Where'd you find that?"

"Buried under some old books in the trunk," she murmured, just loudly enough to be heard over Porter's excited babble. "It's lucky you changed your name. Somewhere Neal Cassidy built up a mountain of library fees."

She tried for a smile but it didn't quite reach her eyes and, gently, he pried the coconut out of her hands, Porter's eager gaze following the trail of lights.

"What I really can't fathom though," continued Emma and by her tone he imagined she'd been going for a joke, "is what made you look at a coconut and think nightlight."

Nightlight. Right.

Only Porter's obvious enchantment had stopped Neal from snuffing the candle and trashing the reminder he should have rid himself of years ago. Instead he set it off to the side, murmuring a half-lie as he reached for Emma's hand. "Oh, y'know, just the usual. Short funds, lack of electricity, and bad dreams."

She squeezed, fingers tightening around his in a death grip, clinging to his hand as she looked over at him. Just for a moment, mouth pressed together, eyes wide with sympathy and shining with unshed tears before she returned to staring fixedly at the fake stars above.

What happened? Neal wanted to ask. Who did you talk to? But he had picked up fairly quickly that it wouldn't do any good. Sometimes he could only be there.

"Maybe that's it," she said eventually, "Your next craft."

He furrowed his brow curiously. "What?"

Honestly, he had struggled to find something age appropriate and undemanding time-wise for his students (half of which changed from class to class, interest depending on everything from overflow to weather and, sometimes, the craft of the day). It wasn't easy finding something that captured the attention of both seven and thirteen year olds and then also happened to fit into the span of a single hour.

He had started off with play dough because who didn't love that. But when he'd told Emma this she had only laughed hysterically.

When she had finally calmed, she said, "Yeah that's probably not gonna help the already fragile reputation of Arts and Crafts."

(Arts and Crafts were, according to a majority of the center's demographic, for babies.)

Right. He had gone back to the drawing board after that and while staring out the window desperately trying to come up with an idea, he'd happened to catch a glimpse of their dreamcatcher hanging all proudly and figured how hard could it be?

Hard enough, apparently.

It wasn't, for one, a single session kind of thing. And while he could almost always head a class on the weekend, he couldn't always set aside the time during the week (try as he might). And even when he could, it didn't necessarily mean that kids in the weekend sessions could make it.

(And vice versa.)

That particular project though had also needed things like patience and a steady hand and patience. Kids, he found (and rightly so), tended to lack these characteristics.

It, however, had led to Ellie suggesting, "We should try suncatchers, Mr. Neilson. They're real pretty."

The budget's demand that they use paper, however, meant they hadn't quite turned out how she'd hoped.

So, needless to say, this left Neal eager for any and all suggestions.

"Coconut nightlights," was Emma's and she explained, "They don't look too hard to make, they're easy on the eyes, and, well, everyone has a monster under the bed they need to fight, don't they?"

Neal's jaw tightened because while Emma spoke metaphorically, he knew the reality. He thought about the intended purpose of the Shadow Catcher and then the lost souls Pan liked to recruit. Exactly the type of kids that frequented the center. And as much as he would have liked to ditch the last reminder of Neverland, suddenly he knew that he couldn't.

"That's brilliant, baby," he told her, meaning every word even if, like her, he couldn't find it in himself to muster up the enthusiasm.

She smiled tightly, bringing their joined hands up to her lips, pressing a kiss against his knuckles and murmuring, "Tell us a story?"

He obliged, telling them all about the stars, and later, after he had finished his demonstration (a class that had gone surprisingly well, stray kids even wandering in after they passed the open door), Neal made the trek down to the counseling center and dropped a finished coconut off on Emma's desk (pointed out by Marge, but the framed photo of him and Porter certainly helped too), figuring that she could pass it along to someone with a monster in need of fighting.

X-x-x-x-X

After the success of coconut nightlights, Neal had figured that he would probably be better off going for practical rather than the show-y aesthetics he had started off with. So they moved onto the homemade compass, Neal demonstrating how to make one in a pinch with nothing but a needle and fur. A horseshoe would do the trick if you had one handy.

"Or a refrigerator magnet," noted Frank and Neal supposed, yeah, that would work too but before he could agree, Jane came back with a quick retort.

"Carry a lot of magnets around the woods, do ya?"

This dovetailed into an argument that Neal did his best to quickly diffuse, but once he did and everyone settled down to work (layered with excited chatter about the upcoming baseball game), they nearly managed to match the success of their previous class, everyone armed with a working compass as they exited the classroom, passing a man leaning casually against the doorway. Neal didn't recognize him and none of the kids claimed him as he passed.

"My father would always just use his hair." Nostalgia tugged at the stranger's eyes.

Neal tried to look suspicious as he cocked his head, "Can I help you?"

"Maybe." The man seemed unperturbed, perhaps even amused by his Emma-like attitude, forcing Neal to assume that he hadn't mustered up an intimidating enough frown. "I was thinking about making a donation and I might have gotten a bit turned around."

Ah. Neal let a friendly smile lose and walked him down to the appropriate office, making sure the man didn't get sidetracked on the way in (though most of center had already emptied out onto the fields for some big sporting event or other). He had planned to just head home after that when a shouted, "Neilson," stopped him in his tracks and he turned to find Leo jogging up to him. "Just the man I was looking for." Leo lobbed a t-shirt at him. "You're up."

He turned the shirt over in his hands, thumb running over the number 8 sewn haphazardly across the back. He imagined that there was a Home Economics classroom somewhere in the building that could take credit.

Neal furrowed his brow, rushing to keep up with Leo who had already resumed a brisk pace. "Up?"

"Baseball team. Volunteers are in on the rotation. No exception," Leo looked at him, half-confused. "I could have sworn I told you that."

"No."

Leo waved this off, "Well, I know I told Emma."

That grabbed Neal's interest. "Emma's playing?"

"Uh, no." For a moment, Leo looked downright uncomfortable. "She, uh, had to ... She has an excuse."

Neal shook his head, amused, quickly deducing what her excuse must have been. Because Emma had caught on fairly early that just the mention of breastfeeding made people uncomfortable and so had taken to using it as her get out of jail free card for anything she really didn't want to do.

Neal followed Leo through one of the many doors that led outside. "Does I've never played baseball count as an excuse?"

Leo frowned, wearing a strange mix of taken aback and disgusted. "Never played ..." He spluttered, seemingly unable to even bring himself to say the words before plastering on a smile that only looked slightly worried. "We'll find something for you."

Neal doubted this, but instead just asked, "I thought it was a kid's team anyway?"

Leo nodded. "It is, but we've got one for the adults too. We go up against local businesses and the like to raise money. Today it's just practice with the kids though. We'll juggle up the two teams and play against each other for, y'know, the fun of it."

Neal had the distinct impression that Leo still took these mock practices just as seriously as any other game and so, unfortunately for him, he had not picked the best volunteer to fill in. The ball was like a magnet and Neal like the sheet of metal it was attracted to. They started him off as short-stop, but he kept getting plowed in the shins and did a piss-poor job of actually doing any catching. So they moved him to the outfield because the other team hadn't knocked one out of the park just yet (he was half-sure that meant a home-run). Well, until, of course, he got out there and then they really started racking up the points.

He did just as well when it came time to hit the ball. Though his teammates had plenty of advice about when to swing and how to stand and where, exactly, to put his hands on the bat.

It all made him very glad that Emma hadn't been there to actually see him.

Though, of course, all the kids gleefully shared the stories of his dismal failures the next day with all those that didn't get to attend, and inevitably these (clearly exaggerated) tales got back to Emma by the time he had gone to meet her and Porter for lunch.

Someone even had a recording of it.

"Y'know, this might have gotten me to the game," said Emma, lips pressed together and eyes glued to the handheld device, kids laughing behind her as he dove after the ball and missed on a repeated loop.

Neal slunk further into his seat, picking at the meal of the day.

Eventually, when the kids left, taking their laughter and video with them, a grinning Emma leaned over, and kissed him on the cheek. "I happen to like that you're not all jock-like. Besides," she nodded at another table, pointing out a red-headed boy who Neal remembered had kept reaching for his inhaler throughout the game. "Curtis made it around the bases for the first time yesterday and no one can call him the worst player on the field anymore. It made his day."

Well, there was something, at least. Still. Neal almost found himself glad to have the opportunity to disappear back to work. Not that he hated his job (despite what Emma thought), it was just a lot of the same, day in day out. Numbers and computers screens and numbers on computer screens. It was easy enough, of course, but Neal had always been more of a hands on kinda guy and he didn't really fit in with the business-y sorts he called co-workers who liked money and stocks and going for drinks with the guys when the day let out.

Neal liked going home to his kid and Emma and, these days, planning crafts for his weekly class.

(And he would have wanted to do that regardless of his job title.)

It wasn't all bah humbug. Not since he had bought Mildred, the office's secretary, a cup of coffee and asked her about the pictures on her desk. She told him about her granddaughter and he showed her photos of Porter and they shared the latest office gossip. It passed the time, having someone to shoot the breeze with. And while he was very careful to not let it interfere with his work (he really did need the job), his boss, Mr. Sanders, took notice when he happened to catch Neal taking longer than necessary to return from the water cooler.

"Neilson!" shouted Sanders, "Office, now."

Mildred frowned and poorly muffled snickers echoed from the cubicles. This wasn't unusual. Sanders was prone to shouting at anyone that so much as looked at him the wrong way, but Neal had mostly managed to stay out of his line of fire.

Up until now anyway.

"I was wondering why old Millie was in a better mood lately," noted Sanders after Neal had settled into his seat.

Neal could think of a reason of a reason or two why, maybe, she wouldn't have been. It was best, however, to just feign ignorance. "Sorry, sir?"

"Nothing." Sanders cleared his throat and made a show of looking at a folder laid out on his desk. "Tell me, Neilson, have you ever considered sales?"

This time the confusion was genuine. "Sales, sir?"

"You've got a way with people, Neilson, and I'm betting you could really push a product." The words sounded complimentary enough. "Commissions are good if you actually manage it."

That sounded a helluva lot like a pay raise. Something he and Emma desperately needed, the money they had managed to put away before Porter arrived already drying up. Not so bad that they were living from paycheck to paycheck, but he and Emma had started to talk about her going back to work, even if neither of them were entirely pleased about putting Porter in daycare just yet. This might be a better solution and immediately Sanders latched on, taking that spark of hope that had painted Neal's face and turned it into interest. "I'm gonna pass your name along. See if we can set you up on an interview."

He didn't tell Emma. She'd just cock her head and ask if he wanted to go into sales and, honestly, he didn't know. Especially when, he realized, it sounded a lot like the shit he used to get up to. Y'know, bullshitting until he got someone to do what they, maybe, didn't really want to do. Ripping them off. Lying, possibly.

It also involved travel explained the woman interviewing him. She was all enthusiasm and toothy smiles even as he asked, somewhat worriedly where, exactly, they'd be sending him.

"Oh all over. You'd get to see the country!"

He'd thought, or hoped rather, that it'd be a few hours drive. Y'know, something he could make home in a day if he really pushed himself. He could handle that. But as much as he liked to see the sights and explore new places, he also had other priorities now and would much rather do those things with Emma and Porter at his side.

So he asked: "How often?"

"A week or two." Neal sighed with relief. "Each month."

Oh.

"I have a baby."

That, he thought, should explain everything but Ms. Wilson clearly misunderstood the reason for his concern. "Well, with commissions you'd be making significantly more than you do now. You'd be able to get ... Peter was it."

The name made his skin crawl and, with more force than he typically used, Neal corrected her, "Porter."

"Porter everything he needs and anything he could ever want."

Pretty words, he supposed, but what Porter needed, most of all, was his father. A father that would be there.

"The job is yours if you want it," she told him all too kindly.

He knew what he wanted to say, but he couldn't exactly decide what he should say. So he asked, quite hesitantly, "Can I think about it?"

The large smile remained fixed but tightened around the edges. "Of course."

He still didn't tell Emma, obsessing over it for a good couple of days, stealing bits of time after class let out to go over numbers and facts, wondering how much of Porter's future they needed to start preparing for now if they didn't want him to settle like Marissa Max might have to.

Leo, meanwhile, had taken it upon himself to teach Neal the ins and outs of baseball, making it increasingly difficult for him to set aside adequate thinking time when Leo would just knock on the door and whisk him off to practice.

("You know Leo wasn't serious, right?" Emma had said one night when he came home, sore and exhausted. "You don't have to play on the team." And Neal did know, but it was for a good cause and it might be a nice skill to have one day. So he could play with Port. If he wanted.)

Leo, meanwhile, still seemed somewhat baffled by the fact that Neal had never played the game before.

"Not even as a kid?" Leo wore an amazed look as he handed Neal the safety helmet.

Neal shrugged, fitting the straps. "The old man had a war injury and, well, sports weren't exactly a priority."

He was still out on whether he even liked baseball or not. Something he told Leo repeatedly.

"Don't be ridiculous. You just need the practice. And," Leo, who desperately wanted to break his losing streak against the local library, seemed to have no shame in admitting this, "we really need the extra player."

Well, at least it was for a good cause.

They started with his swing, Leo watching intently, correcting his form and barely managing to conceal a wince whenever Neal would shuffle out of the way of the ball.

"Well, don't be afraid of it. Stand to the side of the plate. Yup, right there. The machine's gonna hit it to the same place every time."

They went on like this until, a good thirty-odd swings later, Neal managed to make contact with the ball a steady three times in a row. Leo called this a streak and so finally, he said, they could call it a night.

Neal cleared his throat and wiped sweat from his brow. He didn't know if bonding through sports meant they had passed from just boss and volunteer to something like friends, but he let the thing plaguing him burst from his lips anyway. If in a slightly round-about fashion.

"You like your job, right?"

"Most days." Leo zipped up his over-sized bag and then offered Neal a curious look when he failed to respond right away. But instead of asking why, he offered, "Why don't we go for a drink?"

Neal had already texted Emma to say that he'd be late so he shrugged and a half-hour later they were settling onto two stools, ordering beer at the local bar.

"So what's going on?"

Neal wrapped his hands around the frosted mug. "I got offered this job."

"Good money?"

"If I do well."

"Not the dream though?"

He didn't know what the dream was, but it was safe to say, "Hardly."

"Y'know what one of the great things about baseball is?" Leo asked, nodding at a screen playing a local game behind the bar. Neal shook his head, fingers trailing up and down the glass. "It's a game of second and third chances. Each batter gets three strikes and each team gets three outs. So if one player fumbles the rest of the team can make it up. Not every hit is gonna be a home run either. But it's just as useful to get a man on base. And as fun as it is to steal, it's not always the best move for your team."

Neal took a swig from his mug and let the words sink in. Neal liked a good metaphor as much as the next guy (and much to Emma's annoyance) and while the sports analogy meant that parts of it were lost on him, he still got the gist of it. So that just left the question - how many outs did he and Emma have left on their collective team?

It was something to think about.

"Thanks. Y'know, for," Neal gestured vaguely, "everything."

Leo waved off his platitude with a kind, "It's nothing," as they walked to the car before adding, "I did wanna ask ... Well, we need someone to fill in for Karen's art class next weekend. Time permitting, of course, I know you've got a lot on your plate."

"Just the weekend?" Leo nodded, specifying Saturday and promising that they could move his regular class to the morning. "Yeah. Me and Em should be able to figure something out."

"Look into it. Let me know."

Emma frowned suspiciously when he told her.

"What?" he asked, "I know it'll takes up a good chunk of the day -"

Emma cut him off, "It's not that. It's just Karen needs someone to fill in because she's getting ready to pop." Neal frowned and Emma rolled her eyes. "The baby. It's due soon."

Neal, who didn't really see the problem, just shrugged. "Leo only asked about next week."

Her lips twitched slightly and she offered a shrug and then a airy, "Okay. If you want to."

"I do," Neal agreed and Emma did that thing where she cocked her head and narrowed her eyes in suspicion, "I'm not lying."

"I know," she said, smiling tightly, "that's not what I'm trying to figure out."

Neal waited for her to elaborate, but she merely shrugged it off, claiming it wasn't important, returning her full attention to Porter, doing her best to complete the all-too important quest of getting him to eat his vegetables.

"There was, uh," Neal rubbed the back of his neck, "something else."

Emma sat back, looking mildly concerned. "Okay."

"Nothing," he let out a breath of air, "I got ... I wanna use one of my fouls." Emma blinked. "You know, in baseball, when you miss." He mimed swinging.

"You mean strike?"

He nodded. Right. "I got offered a job. Well, they want to switch me over to ... It's something with sales. It'd mean more money."

"Neal-"

He shook his head, cutting over her because even if he suspected that she would agree with him, he still needed to say it himself. This was his decision and he wanted to own it.

(Especially if it inevitably blew up in his face.)

"It's a lot of travel though, Em, and I don't ... I wanna use my strike."

She smiled, big and bright. "Okay."

"Okay," said Neal, smiling as he finally let himself relax. He didn't need a superpower to know that she really meant that.

X-x-x-x-x-X

"I know what you're doing."

Leo looked up, seeming both surprised at the sudden interruption (though his door had been open) and amused by her brazen attitude.

"Paperwork, unfortunately," he explained. "Even non-profits have the boring chore of managing funds."

Emma rolled her eyes. "With John."

His expression remained amused. "Oh?"

She nodded. "At first, I just thought you were taking advantage of him and I was gonna come in here and rip you a new one."

Neal wasn't a pushover, but he was notoriously agreeable, particularly when it came to putting others needs before his own. And that was what working at the center was all about, yeah, but Emma didn't think he should have to get stuck taking on more than he could handle just because he wasn't quite as free and lose with the word no as some people.

But then he turned down that stupid job and Emma realized, maybe, she didn't need to worry about him getting roped into things nearly as much as she thought she had.

"Emma -"

She shook her head, "But then I thought about it. And I get it. Really. That, in a round about way, you're doing the same thing with him that you did with me."

Leo sighed, admitting, "My intentions weren't entirely honorable. I really did need someone to fill in."

Emma snorted.

"He's good with the kids though."

"He is," she agreed, "And John enjoys it. Teaching the class."

"Good."

She meant to leave after that when Leo called her back. She turned, raising a brow, "Yeah?"

"We like to try and hit up relatives for donations." he said, "y'know, appeal to their better nature, guilt them into helping the cause so-and-so supports. So if you had anyone -"

Emma shook her head. "Just my boys."

Leo nodded. "I figured as much. Still. Doesn't hurt to ask."

Emma smiled because no. Not anymore.