Chapter 17: The First Farewell

She had planned to wait out the month, bringing her just past the arrival of her sixteenth birthday, now less than a week away. But staring at the angry red mark above her knee, the burn still stinging like the fury that had prompted it, Emma knew that she couldn't. Not even if it had, mostly, been an accident - a drunken hand flying out, misjudging the distance between air and skin. But accident tended to straddle a line, skirting close to a mindset that allowed oops to turn into something far more sinister. Something she had promised herself she would never, ever put up with.

And, honestly, she had grown sick of it all, tired of tying herself to a system that didn't really give a damn about her anyway. She could take care of herself. And do a better job of it too.

He caught up to her, bag still in hand, Emma already halfway out the door when she found herself blocked by the intimidating figure of her latest so-called foster parent.

"What are we supposed to tell Social Services when they come knocking?" he demanded because of course that mattered more than a teenager roaming the streets alone.

"That's your problem, not mine." They could stand to lose one or two of their supposed charges. Maybe then someone might actually pay attention, save the next kid the hassle.

She pushed past him then and that hand shot out, deliberately this time, grabbing her arm and yanking her to a stop.

An anger she hadn't felt before bubbled up and over a pot that had been simmering for quite some time now and through clenched teeth, Emma hissed, "Don't. Touch. Me."

And Emma must have been more intimidating that she thought because he let her go immediately, snatching his hand away, cradling it to his chest, almost as if her very skin had burned him. She took the opportunity, walking away into the dark night. Alone. Just like always.

X-x-x-x-X

The Youth Center, Emma found out, was throwing them a party. To say goodbye.

"For Leo, you mean." It wasn't a question, but Neal still shook his head.

"No. All of us," he insisted, handing Emma her box-labeling sharpie. "We volunteered there too, y'know? It's been like two years."

Emma rolled her eyes, scribbling out bedroom on an overstuffed box. "I know." And she said it as if she really had. "The things is, Neal, we don't have time for parties."

He waved this off. "It's not till Friday."

"Yeah, and we move on Saturday, and I haven't even put a dent in my check -" She trailed off, just catching Porter out of the corner of her eye where he was tugging on one of Neal's antique clocks, trying to sneakily pull it out of a box so he could play with it. The box. Not the clock. And there went reason number one she had barely started packing.

She rushed to scoop him up. "Port, honey, you have a box." Several, actually, and she was officially at the end of her rope. "Neal-"

"I'll take him to the park," he said quickly, obviously sensing her frustration as he pulled Porter, who was still desperately reaching for the box, into his arms. "It'll let him get the excess energy out. Enough, maybe, to go down for a N-A-P."

(Nap had become a forbidden word in their household. Just like peas. And all swears.)

Emma let them go with a sigh of relief, wishing she could blame her lack of progress on just Porter, but it was Neal too. As much as he tried to help, he also had, like, zero organizational skills. So, of course, he thought they'd be done by Friday - his idea of packing involved throwing things into boxes until they wouldn't close, forcing Emma to sort and separate whenever she found silverware and towels stuffed in with his records and dusty old antiques.

That was reason number two, by the way. The actual having of belongings they wanted to take.

She had never had that before, not in excess, and it had surprised Emma how much they had actually managed to accumulate. Mind you, most of it belonged to Porter - toys and clothes and what-have-you's - but Emma had found herself quite pleased to see that she and Neal actually had shit too. Crap that went beyond just the essentials. Because they had Neal's guitar and their dreamcatcher and a collection of old nick-knacks that Neal had picked up at various garage sales over the years. All of which, without Emma even really processing it, had given the apartment that lived in feel that their ratty furniture never would have.

Thankfully, they weren't taking it, the furniture, instead deciding that they would return the beat-up patio set and the itchy orange recliner back to the curb where they had found it so that, maybe, some other couple down on their luck could pick it up and make use of it as they started their life together.

They would, however, take the mahogany baby furniture. Mostly because it had been a gift and Emma hated the idea of strangers using it. Neal, meanwhile, insisted that they might need it again someday

"Just in case," he would say and he most certainly did not mean Porter who had started to, quite rapidly, outgrow his crib, nearly on the verge of making a successful escape with his ridiculous climbing skills.

That decision, however, meant new furniture, along with apartment hunting, was reason number three she had fallen so far behind. Though finding a new place to live had become a much easier endeavor once they had made the decision to buy the barn. Because that would make that next place - a two bedroom just three blocks from the new youth center and one and a half from the subway that would take her to campus - just a temporary ordeal.

"How temporary?" Emma would often ask Neal because it worried her. Both potential scenarios. Not that the idea of a house with an actual yard that Porter could run in didn't excite her, but she didn't want her son to ever know the awful feeling of uncertainty and confusion that came with being constantly uprooted without any time to settle. But on the other hand, if progress was slow, forcing them to wait and wait and wait, he would have time to make friends only to have them ripped away.

"I think it's a bit different, baby, when your family is going with you." He still couldn't give her an exact timeline, however. He just promised, "I have plans. And ideas. Lots and lots of ideas."

(And he wouldn't tell her about any of them.)

Emma managed to get the kitchen packed away, just wrapping the last of the mismatched plates they had bought back in Georgia, when her boys returned, Neal the only one showing any signs of the promised exhaustion. Porter merely looked alert and a bit red-eyed as he ran straight to her, sniffing dramatically.

"Mama!" His lower lip wobbled as he stuck out a leg, the pants now torn at the knee, a brightly colored band-aid just visible beneath the rip. "Boo-boo."

"Uh-oh. Now how did that happen?" She had mostly learned not to fret too much when he got cuts and scrapes (a common enough occurrence considering how active he was), and so she kept her voice carefully neutral as she helped Porter out of his coat. And, usually, it wasn't a big deal. He healed quickly enough, always bouncing back with his usual gusto, tears dying when the cut disappeared from view with the aid of cartoon covered bandages.

"There was an incident with a slide," Neal explained from where he had flopped into the recliner. "Nothing more than a scrape. I made sure to clean it out. But -"

"It hurts, Mama," Porter tugged on her arm, refusing to let his father finish as he demanded her attention, "Fix."

"Daddy already fixed it up for you, honey," she pointed to the Elmo covered knee, "See? All better."

Porter shook his head, tears starting to pool in his eyes as he said, oddly sage-like, "You have to do it."

"He insisted," Neal told her, fingers absently playing with unused bubble wrap, and Emma gave him a sympathetic smile.

They were used to this, mostly, the fact that Porter tended to prefer her over Neal when he got sick or injured. And it wasn't like he didn't want Neal for anything. He got called upon for story-time ("Daddy does the best voices, Mama.") and almost always for playtime and really, any of the fun stuff. But Emma knew it still bothered him. That he couldn't seem to comfort his son when he got hurt (which was absurd to her because Neal was far more nurturing than Emma could ever hope to be), but, well, it was just a kid thing, right? Kids just always seemed to prefer their mothers when they weren't feeling exactly tip-top.

"Alright." She gathered Porter into her arms, dumping the masking tape into Neal's lap as they passed, reminding him firmly, "utensils and clocks are separate boxes."

The distinct pop of bubble wrap followed her out of the room.

The very room that, just two days later, they were stuffing themselves into, camping out next to Porter's beloved boxes so that Neal could paint the bedroom, the landlord having pointed out Port's mural on his first run-through, claiming they would lose their deposit if the walls didn't return to the typical bland white by the time they left. Emma took copious pictures of the thing - Neal had done such a great job - along with a smattering of others before everything got packed up so that she would have something to actually remember the place by.

Because it hadn't been just a roof.

It was home.

And yeah, okay, maybe it had that small cramped feel with furniture that could hurt your eyes just looking at it, rusty pipes that sometimes shot out discolored water, and neighbors that were loud and mean and so obviously shifty. Seriously. Emma looked forward to actually have the freedom to take Porter out of the apartment without having to check the stairwell for signs of people.

(Emma could handle herself, but it got harder with a baby in her arms.)

All of those things should have made it this horrible place to live, but both she and Neal had stayed in far worse. Smaller spaces in worse neighborhoods. Neal had told her tales of sneaking into public gyms just to take a shower and she remembered foster homes where she couldn't even go to school without someone trying to steal her shit.

But this apartment? It was theirs. Or had been. It had character and they had earned everything in it, working their asses off in the effort to make something of themselves.

Which they actually kinda wound up doing.

Well enough, even, that they had pulled themselves up and out.

She never would have believed it three years ago, the things they would do, but Emma looked forward to the next part. Moving on and seeing what came next and actually giving her son something better. Still. She would miss this place too, a part of her even kinda sad to leave it behind.

Mostly, though, she would miss the people.

After handing in her official notice at the restaurant, she had taken Gretchen out to lunch at one of those higher-end chains that adorned the mall and, after their hamburgers arrived, Emma had wasted no time getting straight to the point.

"Tell him." Ridiculous as she found feelings and all that gushy shit, even she could recognize that Gretchen liked Mark. And while Emma would have never considered handing out this sort of advice a year or two ago, her co-workers had actually turned into good friends. They had helped her out. On the advice front and then covering her shifts when things like Porter getting sick took priority. This push seemed like the best shot Emma had at, maybe, returning the favor.

Gretchen, as expected, had sputtered, "What?"

"Just tell Mark. And don't be surprised if it doesn't take at first. I had to kiss John three times before he got the message."

"I don't ... he doesn't ... Three times? Seriously?"

"You do. He does. And it's a long story." She had taken a bite and then refocused. "But even if he doesn't feel the same way then you should still say something. Because then, at least, you'll know for sure. And you can move on. Whether you're moving on with or without him."

Gretchen had taken a moment and then nodded, seemingly accepting that Emma had a point. "But if I do that then you have to promise to stay in touch. I want e-mails. With pictures."

Emma had grinned, "Yes, ma'am."

(Maybe she and Gretchen had grown closer than she'd originally assumed.)

And then, as exhausting as it sounded considering the drive facing them the next day, Emma let Neal drag her to the Youth Center. Something that had turned into this ridiculous thing that she had expected to hate, surrounded by strangers as she would inevitably be. Until she realized that she actually knew most of the people, both kids and adults, in attendance. And the ones that she didn't seemed to still know Neal.

(Leo, who had returned to Florida for the last of his belongings, knew everyone. And everyone obviously loved Porter.)

They had cake and were presented with a card that everyone had signed along with matching Director and Assistant Director name plaques for both Leo and Neal that had the latter all teary-eyed. But before Emma could poke fun they were handing her one too, one side labeled Youth Counselor and the other Youth Advocate.

"For now and the future," they said, "because you're gonna rock it. " And suddenly Emma needed to duck her head so that, obviously, she could remove a piece of debris that had gotten lodged in her eye.

She wound up handing out a ridiculous number of hugs after that and when kids and volunteers asked for her new contact information, she barely hesitated to hand it over.

It was hard, but not nearly as hard as the inevitable goodbye they would have to say to Joy and Maya, who they had left to the very last moment, the girls coming over to help them load the last of everything into the rental truck.

"But why can't we move to New York too?" asked Maya, who had taken to expressing her disappointment both loudly and petulantly ever since they had announced their plans.

"You can come visit." Neal then listed off at least a dozen different things they could all do together. Most of them winter-related activities. A would-be treat for both Joy and Maya considering they had never seen snow before.

But the sentiment was clear: This was goodbye, but not forever.

Head ducked and the color red staining her cheeks, Maya handed Porter a worn-looking teddy bear, something that rivaled Puppy on his list of favorite toys and one that had gotten used a number of times in the effort to calm an unhappy baby when Maya and Joy took on babysitting duty. Maya had complained numerous times about this, hating the idea of sharing with a baby of all things. But that just made the gift that much sweeter and Emma smiled softly, crouching down to her level and, after tucking raven hair behind Maya's ear, she produced a carefully stored mobile.

"Your mom was kind enough to let us borrow this for a little while," said Emma, "but I think it's about time you got it back."

Maya took it gingerly, examining it with great care before whispering, "Thank you."

"No thank you." Emma straightened, facing Joy with a sad smile, "And you, for -" She gestured toward Maya and the mobile and then a made a wider, vaguer gesture to represent, well, everything else.

"It couldn't have gone to a better family." Joy opened her arms widely, "Come here then. No need to draw this out. New York's just a couple of states away and we'll talk often enough." Emma let out a watery laugh, embracing her friend, giving Joy the opportunity to whisper in her ear. "I'd wish you luck, but I think you and that guy of yours are gonna do just fine. Still. Be sure to call when you get there. Let us know you're safe."

Emma nodded and tried her best to (once more) discreetly wipe at her tears before pulling back, climbing into the the truck (they had rigged up the bug to be towed behind them) with Porter and Neal. As they drove off, they all waved enthusiastically, Emma looking back at Joy and Maya and that run-down apartment building, drinking it all in for the last time until, inevitably, they all disappeared from view.

Neal reached over and squeezed her hand, sending her a quick, worried glance. "You alright?"

"Yeah." She offered a tight smile, threading her fingers through his. "Just ... It's harder than I thought it would be. Leaving."

"It's not too late to change our minds."

He was joking. Mostly. Still, Emma rolled her eyes because don't be ridiculous. "Yes, it is. I just ... I think I might actually miss it here, y'know, and that's strange, in a way." She paused and softened, bringing their clasped hands up to her lips, pressing a kiss against his knuckles. "It's exciting though. Moving forward."

And the way Neal smiled told Emma that he felt exactly the same. "To moving forward then. Together."

"Together."


I'm so, so sorry this took so long everyone. Hopefully the extra chapters make up for it though.

If you're wondering ... Other than the usual life stuff, the reason this is so late is because there's a certain overlap in chapters 12 and 13 that kept throwing me off. It's a long process of me basically over-thinking things like ... they should be closer together and one scene should go before the other because of silly literary reasons like escalation but that doesn't work because this needs to go after that AND theme. So there was a lot of me trying to switch things around and then hating it and going back to the original and still not liking it. I still go back and forth on whether it works or not, but sometimes you've got to let things go, right?

Anyway, another thing you might have noticed is that this chapter reached a sort of natural conclusion. Something I realized as I was writing around chapters 12 and 13. So I'm going with it. The story tends to be very episodic, I think, which lets it break up nicely into parts. I worried a lot over whether this would mean losing some of the more foreshadowy stuff, but honestly once I made the decision to do it in parts, I got more done in the past two months than I had in a while so I'm gonna go with it.

What I'll do is post the parts/ficlets as they're finished - so sometimes they will be longer and sometimes they'll be one-offs. Which may be annoying, I know, but if I don't do it that way I'll get stuck in editing hell like I did with chapters 12 and 13 and when that happens I don't move forward with the writing part. Or I do, but I'm changing and adding things and that's not always good either. I promise that I definitely plan to continue, I just realized that I'm not exactly cut out for the week by week updates. Sorry!

So this part is done! Without ever actually reaching the chapter that has the quote from the summary (I may have to change that, I dunno). And for those of you who have read to the very end I just want to say thank you so very much. I really hope you enjoyed the ride so far. Also, a big thanks as well to steelneena and riml for the kind reviews.

To answer the question - No, Emma definitely won't be doing the bailbonds thing. I think I read that they changed it in canon, but I'd always assumed that Emma went down that route as a response to how things ended with Neal - like that was her working through those issues by not letting other guys get away with what she thought he had done and, possibly, trying to make up for her own crimes. But because things played out differently in this story it just didn't work. I honestly tried to steer her in that direction in very early drafts - it was this whole plot where, instead of getting called down to see Lucy, she got a call saying that there had been a robbery at the restaurant and that Mark had been shot. And, as it probably sounds, it all just felt very contrived. It didn't have a connection to anything and it was plot pushing characters which I'm not a big fan of. So I went back to the drawing board and the number one issue that was still driving Emma was her abandonment issues. And Neal too. So The Youth Center was born!

I was worried that it would change a lot of things, and it obviously does, but I realized that was sort of the point. It can be debated whether he was right or not, but August clearly believed that Neal needed to step out of the way in order for Emma to do her job. August presented it as Neal was bad for her - but maybe it wasn't him being bad for Emma, Ordinary Girl, but for Emma the Savior. Emma's happy and stable and doing well, but she's doing well. She's setting down roots and she has different priorities. It's good for her, but are those things conducive to breaking curses and going up against evil queens and what have you? It's a question I was definitely interested in exploring.

Also, looking back at season one - there are a lot of kids with issues running around Storybrooke, so ... just something to think about.

As for August I'd say read closely.

Thanks again everyone! This story will be continued in ... A Flock of Argonauts

"Porter had magic. This was not a question. It just was. An unmistakeable, undeniable fact that no one had noticed but Neal."