A/N: This chapter is slightly different from the others because it is Neal's POV. Also, it starts with a flashback, then drifts back to present, then ends with another flashback consisting of three different scenes.

By the way: sorry it took so long!


Chapter 4: Sailor take warning

"Tell me more about yourself."

I can't.

"I like movies."

"What kind of movies?"

"All movies."

"What's your favorite?"

"I don't have a favorite."

"Do you dance?"

"No."

"Draw?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you?"

"What?"

"Draw?"

I used to...

"No."

"There must be something you're good at."

"Stealing."

"Wow."

"And I can read stars."

"Stars? How does one read stars?"

She has the most beautiful smile I have ever seen.

"How is not that interesting. Question is, why?"

"Then why does one read stars?"

"To get home."

I love her.

"Home..."


"Another espresso, sir?"

"I'm fine... Thanks."

His eyes shifted to the cup of coffee in front of him, still untouched, and then back to the other side of the street. Le Petit Bistro, as he had found out upon his return to Portland, had been out of business for the past six years. He blinked, fidgeting carelessly with a napkin as he waited for Emma to get to her destination.

He was not even sure she would, for starters.

There were many parts of their past that he held dear; whether she had kept any fondness for their days together was an entirely different story. He couldn't blame her, really. The way things had ended... She was more than entitled to bury their past and refuse to ever look back.

He took a sip from the cold coffee and grimaced. After everything they had been through... Was it really meant to end like that? With the two of them meeting again, under extremely unlikely circumstances, just to lose each other again... He finally realizing what his happy ending would be, just to find out that maybe it was too late and that he had hurt her too much for her to forgive him. She still loved him, he knew it.

But was it enough?

He shifted on the chair as soon as her figure came into view. Jeans and boots, white shirt and a red scarf, her beautiful, long blonde hair fluttering in the wind as she brought the coat closer to her neck to protect herself from the cold breeze. He smiled when she turned around, the puzzled look in her eyes evident despite the distance separating them. His fingers reached for his cell phone in an immediate reaction; she seemed ready to leave and she was not supposed to.

'it's closed, what now?'

He smiled at the message that had just popped up on his phone.

'there's a postcard under the door'

He watched as she crouched to check for her next clue. Not one minute had gone by when his phone buzzed again.

'i don't like this memory'

He smiled sadly, trying not to let his mind wander to places he no longer could afford to be. Lately, there weren't many memories he liked - other than the few ones he had with Henry, and another handful with Emma back in the day. All the others were a blurred mix of pain and disappointment.

'me neither'


He woke up with a start.

His eyes darted across the cloudy sky above as he tried to make sense of his whereabouts. Tilting his head to the side, he could see the yellow bug parked a few feet away.

It had been a nightmare. Just a nightmare.

He let out a sigh as his eyes shifted once again to the clouds, clutching the blanket he was lying on and accidentally grasping the grass underneath.

And then, just when his racing heart was finally beginning to calm down, her voice made him jump again.

"You okay?"

He turned to look at Emma, who was lying on her side, resting her head on her arm as she gazed at him.

"You were talking in your sleep."

"W-Was I?"

"Yeah. But all I could understand was the word 'Papa'."

He felt the corners of his eyes prickle.

"Were you dreaming about your father?"

He would have given her a decent answer. Probably a dismissive one, one that reminded her that he never talked about his past.

If only he could find his voice.

"Stupid question," she replied, lying on her back and holding her hands over her belly. "Course you were. Sorry about that."

"That's okay."

"I don't know what's worse..." she whispered. "To dream about parents that left you, or not to be able to dream because you never knew them..."

He spent a long minute watching her face, and saw her eyes fill with tears behind her glasses.

"I'd say both suck," he answered.

"Yeah," she replied, tilting her head to the other side so that he couldn't see her face. "You bet."

He was not sure whether it would be a good idea to do it or not. He was not sure if he was ready to get attached to another person in his life, just to lose them again.

Because if there was one thing he had learnt in his life, was that the people he loved never stayed.

He had tried it before and it had failed every single time. He had dared to care, and it had brought him nothing but pain and loss.

He wished he didn't care about Emma Swan.

That he didn't wake up thinking about her, or worrying about her.

He wished he hadn't fallen for her.

And above all, he wished he weren't so scared of it.

She was still looking away when he gathered the nerve to cover her hand with his, squeezing her fingers in a lame attempt to reassure her that everything would be fine. And then, he felt her squeeze his fingers back; catching a glimpse of her face, he could see tears streaming down her cheeks.

He didn't really know what to do.

With his free hand, he rubbed her lower back softly, watching her shoulders shake as she cried.

"I'm sorry," she said, wiping her tears away.

"That's okay."

"I feel silly crying in front of you."

"Funny thing to say," he replied, realizing he was probably enjoying touching her much more than he should, his fingers still resting on her back. "Most people would feel bad about throwing up in front of other people, not crying."

He smiled when she giggled, after blowing her nose on a napkin she had in her pocket.

"But you never seemed to have a problem with that."

"I only threw up on you once."

"Oh, yeah. Thanks for reminding me. 'On' me, not 'in front of' me. I had forgotten."

He felt relieved when she turned to look at him again. Her eyes were a little puffy and reddish, but at least she was smiling.

"You will never forgive me for that, will you?"

"Well, I did like that T-shirt."

"You could have washed it."

"Nah... It had plenty of holes in it, I saw it as a sign. It was time to get rid of it."

"You see signs everywhere..."

"Don't you?"

"Is that a real question?"

"Yeah..."

"Well, let's see..."

She sat up, and held her legs against her chest as she looked at the sky above.

"Dark clouds. Strong wind. It's going to rain," she took off her glasses and rubbed them on her shirt with a smirk. "Yeah, I guess I do believe in signs."

"You're too literal."

"And you're too... I don't know, what is the opposite of literal? Metaphorical?"

"You should be more metaphorical too. There is an entire universe made of things we can't see."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

She cocked her head to look at him, and he had to swallow a lump in his throat. Why did he get the feeling she could see right through him?

"You're hilarious," she said at last, getting on her feet and stretching.

He quickly followed, folding the blanket and looking extremely concentrated on it as he tried to clear his mind.

"I need a few things from the pharmacy."

"Oh yeah?" he asked, as the two of them walked to the bug. "Like what?"

"Like girl stuff."

"Oh."

Before getting into the car, he glanced over his shoulder and looked, once again, at the reddish sunrise above them.

Red sky at night, sailor's delight. Red sky at morning...

Maybe she was right, and he should simply stop seeing things metaphorically.


He looked around before casually pocketing a packet of condoms. Not far from there, Emma was getting her girl supplies from a nearby shelf.

What was he thinking?

For a moment, he considered returning the goods he had just stolen. What was the point of getting himself condoms if he was not going to have sex?

His eyes once again searched for her.

Better be safe than sorrow. Take them.

No. We are not going to have sex. Leave them.

We are never going to have sex.

We are only friends.

Only friends.

He saw her turn her head and wink at him.

"You done?" she whispered.

"Yup. You?"

"Yeah."

"What do you need condoms for?" she asked, with a raised eyebrow.

Damn.

"I... It's not... It's not what you're thinking."

"Really?" she took one step closer to him. "What am I thinking?"

He should really get his act together. Nothing good would ever come out of doing what he was thinking about doing. He couldn't take that chance.

"Can I ask you something?" she asked.

"Hit me."

"Do you ever think about me?"

"What do you mean?"

"About doing things... with me?"

"Things?"

"Oh my God, Neal, yeah, things, sex! Sex things!"

He looked around, searching for someone who could actually throw him a lifeline.

"N-No," he replied, fully aware he was either blushing, or sweating. Probably both. "Do you?" he asked, trying to sound as uninterested as he could.

"If I think about having sex with you?"

He swallowed.

"Of course not," she answered, avoiding his gaze. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Then why did you ask?"

"I was just curious, men... Men think about sex a lot."

"Well, I didn't say I don't think about sex. I do," he started moving the cans of deodorant in front of him to make sure his eyes didn't fall on the tubes of lube and other products he had just been looking at. "Everybody does, you don't need to be a man to think about sex. I bet you think about it all the time."

"No I, I don't."

"You do," he replied, a little smile curling his lips as he saw how uncomfortable that conversation seemed to be making her. "You're blushing."

"Okay, so I think about sex, so what?"

"With me?"

Her eyes went wide, and she seemed to blush even harder.

"Of course not! It's... no. I-I don't think of you like that."

He knew she was lying. She did think about him like that, just like he thought about her like that. And sooner or later, one of them would have to gather the nerve to come clean.

"Emma, I-"

It would have been interesting to see her reaction after he told her what was really on his mind. However, his eye had already caught a young woman standing not that far from where they were, looking at the baby supplies shelf with very obvious desperation on her face.

"What?" Emma whispered.

"Ssh."

He motioned towards the girl, who was now putting a package of diapers into her backpack, her eyes darting around frantically but missing the very noticeable employee who was walking towards her.

"Excuse me, sir?" said Neal, rushing to catch up with the man before he got to the young woman. "She's with me, I'll pay for the diapers."

"Oh, is she?" the man asked, his gaze shifting from Neal to Emma and then to the other girl. "Then I hope you'll pay for the vitamins, the wipes and all the other stuff she has already stolen as well."

Now that was probably gonna cost him all the money he and Emma had for an entire week.

"Y-Yes," he stuttered, his face slightly pale as he mentally did the math.

"Neal, what's going on?"

"Well, good luck with that," said the man, before pointing towards the cashier and walking to another aisle.

"Neal?"

"I guess everyone can be heroes... Even if it's just for one day," he answered, before approaching the other girl. "Lady?"

Her eyes darted nervously from his face to Emma's.

"W-What?"

"Are you pregnant?"

"Why are you asking?"

"You are, aren't you?"

The girl clutched her backpack, her saddened gaze dropping to her worn-out shoes as she nodded.

"Is the father here?"

She simply shook her head, her eyes once again darting around in fear.

"Come with us, we'll pay for your stuff."

As he spoke, he felt Emma catch his hand in hers.

"W-What?"

"You're getting stuff for your baby, aren't you?"

The girl bit her lip, panic growing more evident in every single line of her face.

"Well, they saw you," it was Emma who spoke. "But we're okay, we just have to go to the cashier, okay?"

Neal's eyes, as usual, searched for Emma's when they reached the counter.

"How can I help you?" asked the clerk.

"We're going to pay for..." Neal answered, fumbling on his pockets and placing all the crumbled bills and coins he had on the counter, "whatever it is the girl has in her backpack."

One by one, the girl took out all of the items she had stolen, looking mortified. The clerk, on the other hand, seemed to be less than impressed. After a few minutes studying the labels and tags for all the products, he let out a sigh, and started putting all of them into a large brown paper bag.

"You see, I can't actually charge you for any of these, they have expired," he said, snatching a baby bottle from Neal's hand when he tried to look at the label with a frown. "I apologize for the inconvenience, I will make sure to check the shelves myself next time."

Without much of a blink, he finished packaging the items, and then pushed the paper bag towards the girl.

"There you go."

"Thank you," the girl whispered, as tears streamed down her face.

"Good luck."

Neal watched as the girl rushed out of the pharmacy holding the bag as if her life depended on it, and then looked at his crumbled bills scattered over the counter, not sure about what to say, or do.

"You can keep your money."

"We... We have to pay for stuff as well."

With a shaky hand, Neal placed the packet of condoms over the counter, and with a nod, gestured for Emma to do the same.

"Well, th-"

"I'm sure the pads have not expired," Neal interrupted, shortly after the clerk pushed the small box back to Emma. "Neither have the condoms."

The two men exchanged a quick glance before the clerk spoke again.

"Yes, sir. That'll be five dollars seventy-eight."

As he counted quarters and one-dollar bills, he tried not to think of the hot meal they would have to skip in order to afford that purchase. Now that he had paid for them, he would really have to find a way to use those condoms.

"Like filling them with water and having a war at the park..." he whispered to himself, trying not to think of the other much more viable alternative.

"What did you say?" asked Emma, when they were about to leave the pharmacy.

"Noth-"

The sound of gunshot made the two of them freeze on the sidewalk as a police car chased another vehicle, voices full of fear filling his ears as he held Emma closer to his chest.

"Emma... Are you... Are you okay?"

"Yeah! What the hell was that?"

"A bank robbery just around the corner," explained an old woman by their side. "Really nasty stuff."

He clutched Emma's hand, his sight slightly blurred as he shielded her from the madness around.

"Oh, dear Lord, sir?" said the old woman, her eyes wide as she stared at his chest. "Sir, you're bleeding!"

"Neal?"

He felt his knees falter when he saw his own blood in Emma's jean jacket.

"Neal!"


"Your boyfriend will be fine, the medication is working well."

His eyes were still closed when he heard an unfamiliar male voice coming from somewhere near him.

"He's a little anemic, but make sure he eats better when he leaves and he will recover."

"Okay. What else?"

His chest hurt, and his head felt terribly heavy. Emma's voice, however, eased his mind. He wished he could bring himself to open his eyes, but his eyelids seemed to have been stitched shut.

"Change his bandages twice or three times a day, at least in the beginning. I'm packing some ointment so that there is no infection."

"I-Infection? How will I know if he has an infection or not?"

"Do you have a thermometer? I can try to get you one. Give him the antibiotics if he starts running a fever again."

"Okay..."

He finally managed to open his eyes, just in time to see her sniff as she talked to a very tall man by her side.

"And don't let him lift weights, run, or do anything else that might make his stitches break."

Judging by the man's attire, and by the stethoscope around his neck, the man was some sort of doctor - though now that he was looking at the grey walls and dark furniture around him, he suspected he was not exactly in a hospital.

"They will break naturally in a couple of weeks. He might get a scar. Nothing to worry about, though."

"Another scar?" he grunted, making Emma whip her head around to look at him.

"Hey..."

"Hey," he moaned back, trying to sit up and wincing in pain as a result.

"Don't... Lie down."

"What happened?"

"You don't remember? You got shot."

He rubbed his eyes as he lowered his head onto the pillow, feeling he had been run over by a truck every time he moved.

"It's a miracle you survived. The bullet missed your heart by an inch."

"How long was I gone?"

"Almost one week."

"One week?"

"You were conscious for some time yesterday... But I guess your body was too tired, so you just... slept."

"What is this place?"

"The guy at the drugstore... The one that helped us... He was about to call 911 when he asked me if we had insurance... And... When I said no he said we'd be better off somewhere else," her voice was low and shaky, and only then did he realize she was, as usual, holding his hand. "Where they wouldn't ask for an address or something."

"But how did he know-"

"When he asked about insurance I- I think I panicked a little, so I... I kinda told him we were living in a car."

"Emma..."

"I'm sorry, ok?" he saw her eyes glisten with tears as she spoke. "You were bleeding and I...I..."

"That's not what I meant-"

"Never mind."

He felt like slapping himself for making her feel like she had actually done something wrong, when what he truly felt bad for was the fact she had to admit in public that she had such a crappy life by his side, with no decent roof over her head.

"So much for being heroes, huh?" she said, with a chuckle. "I guess we should just stick to swiping shelves at convenience stores. Sounds safer."

"Dinner time."

He hadn't even noticed that the man had left the room until he returned with a tray with two bowls of soup, two glasses of water and two packets of cream crackers.

"Here, you can have mine," said Emma, pushing her bowl of soup and her crackers towards him.

"That's fine, I'm-"

"I'm not hungry. You need to eat."

"I will eat. My food, not yours."

"Neal, you've been shot. You need it more than I do, I'm not hungry."

Her growling stomach, however, begged to differ.

"Emma, you're starving!"

"Okay," with an angry gesture, she tore the packet open and stuffed the three crackers in her mouth at once. "There. Happy?"

"Emma..."

"I need to go to the bathroom."

He would have followed her out of the room, if only he could find the strength to stand up. As it was, he could barely sit without feeling his ribs were splitting.

"Be patient with her," the man said, as he placed a thermometer under his arm. "She's just worried. And upset. Give her time."

He tried to ignore the bitter taste in his mouth as he thought about Emma and how much hardness she probably had to endure in the past week.

"This isn't a hospital, is it?" he asked.

"Not exactly. But it is a place where patients get treated."

"I don't... I don't have the money-"

"Oh, I'm sure you don't. If you did, you wouldn't be here. This is a place for the invisible: the homeless, illegal aliens... criminals."

He thought about how invisible he was, then. A thief from a strange land with a car for a home...

"Thank you."

"Oh, don't thank me. Thank your girlfriend, you wouldn't have made it if she hadn't driven here as fast as she did. She stayed beside your bed all the time. Didn't leave a single minute."

"She's not my girlfriend."

"Oh, I see..." the man muttered, raising his eyebrows. "I apologize."

It was not as if he could afford to think about his feelings for Emma Swan at that moment, so he forced himself to focus on something else.

"Why... Why do you do it?"

"What?"

"Take care of... invisible people?"

"Let's just say I had a troubled past of my own. This is my way of paying back."

By the time he remembered he was supposed to be eating dinner, his soup had already gone cold. Still, he would not let any of that food go to waste - especially after Emma had given up her part of the meal so that he could eat properly.

"What are you afraid of?"

He choked on his soup at the doctor's question.

"W-What do you mean?"

"Relax... I just happen to treat lots of people who are on the run," the man replied. "The look in your face is awfully familiar."

"I don't... I-"

All of a sudden, he really didn't feel like eating anymore.

"She deserves better than me," he whispered.

Saying it aloud only made it more painfully real. Emma Swan deserved better than him. Life had roughed her up enough; the last thing he wanted was to feel he was a burden.

"She deserves to have a decent place to live in... three meals a day... She deserves better than the life I can offer."

"Maybe. But maybe... What you can offer her is exactly what she needs."

He forced himself to finish the food left on the tray, wiping away a stubborn tear that insisted on falling from his eye.

How he wished that was true.