A/N: A little "Ever After" crossover. To Lita.
Chapter 4: Whatever you can carry
When she got to the drugstore where her next clue probably awaited her, she didn't take long to spot Neal sitting on a bench in the square right across the street. She took a long, deep breath as she prepared to join him, taking her time watching his face as he fidgeted with the rim of his shirt, with a slight pout on his lips.
"Is that it?" she asked, throwing her bag on the bench to establish some reasonable distance between them before sitting down. "You are the treasure chest I was supposed to find?"
When he raised his head to look at her, though, his eyes were void of whatever amusement she had expected to find. Sometimes, she forgot how well she knew that man. How many scars he carried as well. And above all, how different they both were from those kids during their days in Portland.
"Why are you making me remember these things?" she asked, her voice only a little louder than a whisper as she looked away.
"I... I just wanted you to know... That I understand," he answered, a faint smile on his lips as he spoke. "I mean, I knew you would think I was dead... That day... When I got shot and fell through that portal..."
Her lips twitched slightly at that memory and everything that happened afterwards, and she cleared her throat in a vain attempt to look indifferent.
"You had seen what gunshots can do... Having almost lost me to one before... And... It's not as if I would have a doctor waiting for me on the other side..."
She shook her head, torn between the urge to tell him that he had misunderstood the question and the need to ask him another one.
"Why... Why didn't you tell me... Who you were, where you were from?"
She watched as he lowered his head again, swallowing hard before shrugging.
"I... I don't know," he whispered. "Fear, maybe. That you would think I was crazy or something. Shame. I thought... I thought I was done with magic," he continued, his voice shaking slightly as he once again played with his shirt, the sadness in his eyes making her heart clutch at her chest. "I guess... I was just trying to put my past behind me."
"And yet your past caught up with you."
She watched as he smiled sadly, and raised his eyes to her face for a second before looking away again.
"Yeah..." he muttered. "Yeah, I guess it did."
It was her turn to smile, looking at her own hands as the wind blew through her hair. He hadn't meant to do her any harm. He still loved her, he had never stopped loving her - she knew that too.
But she was no longer the girl with the donuts and jelly in Portland. Her heart was heavy, and even though part of her wanted to let him back in... A part of her just couldn't afford to take that shot.
She had just opened her mouth to say that aloud when he started speaking again.
"It's almost over now," he said. "Just one more clue after this one."
After she picked the envelope he was offering her, he stood up and walked away. Which was a good thing, she now realized, because the last thing she needed was him seeing the couple of tears that had just rolled down her face.
'Took me forever to find a winning one,' read the little note attached to a scratcher. 'You know I have no luck with those things.'
She wiped her tears away, a smile curling her lips upwards as she prepared to take another trip down memory lane.
"What do you mean, inaccurate?" she asked.
"I mean... Not accurate."
"It's fiction. There's no accurate in fiction!"
"Hmm..."
"'Hmmm' what?"
"Well, then... let's say I just don't like the way that story was told."
"Ooh..."
"What?"
"Oh, I get it."
"What?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"So you think you would have done a better job making a movie about Peter Pan."
"Probably."
"You're so funny. And ambitious."
"I'm just saying..."
More often than not, she found herself impressed by Neal Cassidy's quirks. He always sounded way too serious when the subject was meant to be nothing but fun fantasy talk. She had liked the movie they had just watched. Neal, on the other hand, couldn't possibly look more bothered.
She turned her head to look at the man scratching his neck as he clutched the steering wheel with his free hand, and couldn't hold back a smile after shaking her head.
Neal Cassidy was a real piece of work.
"Must be cool to be a pirate..." she muttered, looking out of the window as her mind drifted to unknown lands and ships and exciting adventures.
"Oh, you bet it is..."
She once again turned her head to the side, just to find Neal frowning as if she had just said something utterly stupid.
"I'm serious," she replied. "Hook was fun. A little strange, yeah... selfish, evil... but fun."
The man by her side looked positively annoyed.
"You really have no idea what you're talking about..."
"Why? Villains can be fun!"
She kept watching Neal as he parked the bug, and then took a long, deep breath, after rubbing his eyes.
"You know what?" he said, after turning the engine off. "The store is open. Let's cash that scratcher of yours."
Without another word, he got out of the car and slammed the door behind him.
"Temper, temper, Mr. Cassidy..." she chuckled, before picking up her bag and opening her own door, amused at how annoyed her partner in crime seemed to get with the silliest of things.
"Five dollars!" she exclaimed, a few minutes later, holding up five dollar bills in a victorious gesture. "We're rich."
"Yeah..."
"We can get ourselves a hot dog... Maybe roasted nuts. Can't pickpocket those..."
"You can, actually," he replied, scratching his chin as he looked at the floor with a little smile on his lips. "But it's definitely not easy."
"I like challenges."
"I'm sure you do," he replied, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he looked at her face. "You really think being a pirate is fun, don't you?
"And you seem to disagree," she said, crossing her arms.
"You know what?"
She felt her heart skip a beat when he took a step closer, wetting his lips as his eyes pierced hers.
"What?" she whispered, her eyes darting from his mouth to his forehead as he moved even closer.
"I'm gonna take you somewhere," he whispered back.
"Oh..."
"Balch Creek."
And then, he turned on his heels and walked away.
"B-Balch Creek?" she stuttered, blinking quickly to bring herself back to reality.
"Yeah."
"Why?"
"You said you find pirates interesting," he answered with a smirk. "I can take you to one of their settlements."
"Wait, you mean... real pirates?" she asked, walking faster to catch up with him.
"Well... A close equivalent," said Neal, scrunching up his face. "People with a very similar lifestyle. But none of them with the perm, the mustache and the hook for a hand. You curious?
"Maybe."
"Good," he whispered, his grin widening. "Then keep walking."
And so she did, and for several minutes they made their way past trees, the sound of water and branches cracking under their feet the only sounds to break the silence.
"Hold on a second," she finally said, frowning.
"Hmm?"
"We've been walking for a while," she replied, getting rid of her bag and throwing Neal the car keys. "And since you're nowhere near admitting you're lost, I'll j-"
"I'm not lost!"
"...I'll climb a tree and get a good view from the top..."
"What? No, you're not!
"Yes, I am," she said, deftly pulling herself up the nearest tree. "You stay here and watch our stuff."
"Emma, I'm not lost."
"Of course... you're not," she panted.
"I'm serious! It's just that you don't find pirates. They find you."
"Oh really? Well then, by now they should have found us already."
"Emma, please come down."
"No," she said, her voice rising in volume the higher she moved.
When he said nothing in return, she merely chuckled and wiped a droplet of sweat from her brow.
"Come on, don't be like that," she said, after stealing a glance towards him just to see him cross his arms with an unhappy expression on his face. "Tell me more about the boy."
"What boy?"
"You know... The Boy. The boy from your story, the one that got separated from his father."
"What do you wanna know?"
"What happened after his father left him?" she asked, looking up and searching for the next branch she was supposed to hold as she spoke.
"Oh. That's it, actually," he replied, his voice sounding far less amused than usual. "That's the story. The father left the boy and they ended up in very different places. The End."
"What?" she took that chance to steal another look downwards. "That's not a proper ending!"
"Not all stories have proper endings."
"Well, ain't you good with stories?" she asked, with a smirk that he would not be able to see from the distance that now separated them. "Then make up one."
"One what?"
"A happy ending."
Her request was met with silence, but she was not one to give up that easily.
"Tell me what happened to the boy," she insisted.
"He met a girl. A thief like him."
"Like him? Was the boy a thief?" she replied, her voice showing every little bit of her confusion. "I don't remember you telling me that."
"Uh... Uh, I'm quite sure I did."
"You didn't."
"Whatever. Fine, he became a thief, at some point. There you go."
"Okay."
"Then he met a girl and they got married and lived happily ever after."
"Pfff..."
"Emma, can you please come down? By this time, if you were to spot anything, you'd already hav-"
"Patience, patience, Mr. Storyteller," she answered, chuckling at the man's lack of patience as she climbed aver higher. "What was the girl's name?"
She, however, did not wait for his response.
"Wait, don't tell me. The girl's name was... The Girl."
She giggled at her own remark, only to find out Neal had not come up with any snarky comeback.
"Right?" she asked, trying to look past the tree branches as she searched for Neal's face. "Neal?"
Much to her surprise, though, his face was currently buried in the dirt after having apparently been knocked out by a taller man holding a knife.
"Neal!"
"My wife thanks you for this fine purse, lady," she heard a male voice say as she rushed down.
"You will give me back my bag, sir," she yelled back, trying to ignore the man that had wrapped his arm around her neck as soon as her feet hit the ground"
"Let her go!" Neal screamed, after getting back on his feet. "Your quarrel... is with me."
For a moment, none of the men moved, until an older man, who was obviously their leader, stepped forward.
"Release her," he commanded.
"I insist you return my things at once," she hissed, her hands curling into fists as she spoke. "And since you intend to take my associate hostage, I demand the car keys as well."
Neal's eyes nearly popped out of his skull at her words.
"Milady," the man across from her replied, defiance written all over his face. "You may have anything you can carry."
She swallowed, stealing a quick glance at her bag, and then at Neal's face.
"Can I have your word on that, sir?"
"On my honor as a Gypsy… whatever you can carry."
She then threw another quick glance towards Neal, who was still trying to catch his breath. After taking a couple of steps towards the man who had just spoken, she took a sharp turn to the left and stopped in front of her partner in crime, a second before taking his right arm and placing it over her shoulder so that she could lift his right leg off the ground with her other hand.
For a moment, she thought he wouldn't budge, but maybe she had taken her own strength for granted. In a matter if seconds, she managed to get Neal Cassidy placed over her shoulders as if the man was a sack of potatoes.
And a very heavy sack of potatoes at that.
She turned around and did her best to keep her balance as she bowed to the leader of the crowd with a smirk on her lips, and the shocked expression on the man's face nearly made her burst into laughter. She wished she could see Neal's face as well, but truth was she had no time to waste. They had to get out of that place before her knees buckled.
Ever so slowly, she started walking away from the camp, the roaring laughter behind them growing fainter at each step.
"Please, come back!"
The leader's voice, filled with surprise and mirth, made her stop in her tracks.
"I'll give you the car keys!"
The sun was already setting when they finally left the gypsies' settlement, feeling a little drowsy after all the good food and drinks they had been given - a very rare treat for them both.
"So..." she said, watching Neal struggle to carry a basket full of cans and bottles. "This was not the first time you and the gypsies crossed paths."
"No, it wasn't."
"What have you done to them?"
"Me?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. "Nothing. They tried to steal from me once and I just didn't let them.
"Steal what?"
"A painting."
"What painting?"
"My mo-"
She turned around when he paused, and saw that his eyes were suddenly very sad.
"A drawing I had," he whispered, his gaze shifting to the ground under her feet.
"Oh," she replied. "I'm sorry..."
"That's okay."
They walked in silence for another minute or two, until she felt the urge to break it by saying something. Whether because she missed hearing his voice, or because she just wanted their journey back to the car to go by faster... she no longer knew.
"You got a lot of stuff in there, how come?" she asked, just to see a smile curl up his lips.
"They wanted a route to China..." he said. "I gave them one."
"You did what?"
"I told you I was good with stars and navigation, didn't I? They have their boats and supplies. They just needed a route."
"A route to China? From Portland, Oregon?"
"It's a long journey, but not impossible."
He smiled again, and she felt her heart beat faster.
"We got... food for a week, I guess," he continued, looking at the basket and its contents. "Plus some sort of lotion and... a lucky charm."
"You'd better keep that one," she chuckled, thinking that every week since the day they had met, Neal would buy a scratcher just to find out he never won anything . "God knows you'll need it."
"Well, if you mean the scratchers..."
"I mean any game. You have no luck."
"Well... You know what they say... he replied with a shrug. "Lucky at cards, unlucky in love. Hopefully the opposite is true..."
"Don't let it get to your head."
"What?"
"Just because I tended your wound for almost one month doesn't mean I was having a good time... touching your chest."
Bless cheap wine for loosening her tongue. There were things that she had been meaning to tell him for a very long time, after all.
"What are you talking about?" he asked, a certain strain in his voice betraying his playful facade.
"You think I'm into you," she replied.
"No, I don't."
"Yes, you do."
If there was any time to do what she was about to do, that was it. Do or die. And so, she closed the gap between them, her eyes searching his nervously.
"I have a superpower, you know?" she whispered.
"Oh, do you?"
She saw him clutch the basket harder as he uselessly tried to avoid her eyes.
"Yeah. I can tell when people are lying," she went on. "And you are, Neal."
"And you're drunk."
His curt response took her aback.
"I'm not... I'm not.. drunk," she mumbled, pushing her glasses further up her nose as she blushed.
"We should get going, don't you think?" he said, getting ready to pick up his pace after clearing his throat.
However, before he could move, Emma grabbed his arm and forced him to look at her.
"Hey, why won't you look at me?" she snapped.
"Emma..."
He tilted his head to the side, a sneer in his lips that made her blood boil.
"Fine," she blurted out, grabbing a bottle of water from inside the basket. "Let's go, then. Here's to hoping I won't have to save your ass next time."
"Oh, so that's what it is."
"Hmm?"
"Nothing."
It was his turn to look thoroughly pissed.
"What?" she asked, her voice full of disdain. "Is that so hard to say 'thanks'?"
"I have already said 'Thanks'."
"Actually, you haven't," she replied, laughing angrily. "Why don't you just admit that you need me?"
"Because I don't!" he snapped back. "Okay? I don't need you. I can do this on my own!"
She felt her eyes well up with tears as she looked at his face, her heart pounding like mad inside her chest.
"Oh, really?" she whispered, her voice slightly shaky as she tried to look indifferent.
"Emma..."
"Then good luck."
"Emma, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, wait."
She turned on her heels one last time to look at him and the basket that moments ago did not look that stupid.
"No, you know what?" she said, clutching her bag in an attempt to stop her body from shaking. "You're right. You are better on your own."
And then, she threw the car keys at him, and watched as they landed at his feet.
"Here's some news: I don't need you either."
Feeling angry tears run down her face, she set off in a hurry, before Neal could reach her.
That is, if he was going to attempt to, at all.
She hated the shelter.
Even though she did go there willingly to spend the night, fact is that it made her feel lonely, and depressed, and sick because of the memories it brought.
That night, she hated the shelter even more.
She looked out of the window again, and saw the yellow bug parked on the other side of the street.
She was not going to talk to him again. Not after the way she had treated her, as if she were some sort of useless prop.
She was not going to talk to him ever again.
Her eyes, however, kept searching for his silhouette inside the small car. He had obviously taken the back seat, now that she was not around. Why had he even bothered to go there, for starters?
He didn't need her. Never did.
She felt her nostrils burn, and before more tears fell from her reddish, swollen eyes, she moved out of the dormitory as silently as she could.
Bottling up those feelings was not an option. She had to get it off her chest and Neal Cassidy would have to hear it all.
Every single little tiny bit of it.
"I just want to make one thing clear," she muttered to herself in rehearsal. "You are not better than me. I'm letting you keep that car. No, wait. No, that's not... No. Okay, let me try again."
She was still talking to herself when she went outside, crossing her arms and taking a long, deep breath as she prepared to cross the street.
However, someone else got to the yellow bug faster than she did.
Someone who, amazingly enough, had a crowbar and was now doing the exact same thing she had done not that long ago.
Someone was stealing the bug.
With Neal inside it.
"Oh shit..." she muttered, her heart racing when the stranger got into the car. "Shit, shit!"
She could even see Neal rise with a smile on his lips - probably thinking it was her again. And then, the image of a gun making his eyes go wide.
"Think of something, think of something..." said Emma, as she rushed to the bug and slammed both hands on the window on the driver's side.
"Dad?" she spluttered.
The two men looked at her in awe, but before she could go on with her story, the stranger was already pushing down the gas pedal.
"NO! Wait, wait! Dad, please!"
She had had no option but to put herself in front of the car to prevent it from moving.
"Please just give me a minute," she panted, once again moving to the window next to the driver. "You left when my mom was pregnant and she didn't know you never knew but if you please just look at this picture..."
She lowered her eyes to her bag, and in that precise moment, when the man seemed to be giving her the benefit of doubt, she pulled the door open and in a swift move, banged his head against the steering wheel and pushed him out of the car.
"Oh my God," she whispered, scared at what was going on. "Oh my God."
She sped up, but looking at the side mirror, she could see that the man had started running after them.
"Oh my God he has a gun!" she said under her breath. "He has a g-"
Just when the man had stopped to aim at them, a bus had run a red light and hit him.
"Oh my God!" she yelled.
"Well he doesn't have a gun anymore," Neal whispered, his head still turned to look at whatever had been left of the man.
"Oh my God I killed him!"
Once again, she was on the verge of tears - albeit for very different reasons now.
"Technically, the bus did."
She gasped loudly at Neal's words.
"Look, he's not dead, okay? He's not dead," he said, rubbing her arm in a vain attempt to comfort her. "He'll be up in a minute. Probably on a gurney but still..."
She felt he was going to be sick, and her face was probably showing exactly that.
"Hey, babe, babe, stop."
After Neal touched her hand over the steering wheel, she finally managed to focus and pull over.
Her heart, however, was still threatening to jump out of her mouth.
"Emma," he whispered, lacing his fingers with hers as she tried to catch her breath. "Emma, look at me."
"I killed him."
"You didn't kill anyone, it was an accident."
She closed her eyes and shook her head. Accident or not, it had been her fault.
"And he's not dead. I saw him moving," he whispered, holding her hand in his.
"You did?"
"I did," he replied, reaching for a bottle of water and offering it to her. "Just calm down."
Her throat was still horribly constricted, but she managed to take a few gulps of water that indeed soothed her nerves.
"Thanks for saving me," she heard Neal whisper when her breathing had gone back to normal. "Again."
She smiled sadly, and tried to avoid his eyes. Last thing she needed was him knowing she had been crying.
"That's become kind of a routine," she muttered.
"I know. And I'm sorry," he went on. "I lied. I said I didn't need you, but the truth is... I do."
Again, she felt her eyes were growing moist at the memory of his words.
"I guess that if I just told myself I didn't... it wouldn't be so bad when you left."
Much to her surprise, his eyes were also glistening.
"Left?" she whispered in response. "I was not going to leave..."
"This is not the life you deserve, Emma," he whispered with a sad smile. "To sleep in the backseat of a car... Having to steal food to live..."
"I'm not complaining."
"You should be."
"I know..."
By that time, her fingers were already wrapped around the fabric of his jacket, and his face was so close to hers he could feel her warm breath on her lips.
"But it's not that bad," she said, quietly. "And I'm not drunk."
"No, you're not."
And that was the last thing he said before his lips touched hers, and they were just as soft and warm as she thought they would be. When she felt him clutching her jacket just as hard as she was clutching his, she couldn't hold back a smile.
She knew, right there and then, that he had been waiting for that moment just as much as she had.
