"The rumour on the street is that it's because of a woman."
He'd seen the tears in his father's eyes the day his mother had, supposedly, died, had known them somehow false and yet to think that she too was here..
...that she'd not only found a way to live the same countless centries as his father, but also returned to the life she'd so thoughtlessly abandoned...
...childish fantasy.
Still the thought that he had, eventually, found someone, that he loved her well enought to attempt the changes he could never quite manage for his sake, is as pleasent as it is hurtful.
It's temptign to chase after the rumour, to find this woman and learn as much of her...of his father...as he can without exposing his identity.
He is as about ready his own reunion with his father as his freind is for his, however, and so he instead enquires,
"How is Emma...now that she knows everything" The silence that follows is a little too long to bode well and, looking hard into his friend's eyes, he enquires, "Pi, what aren't you telling me?"
"The wraith was meant for Regina but, understandably, Henry didn't want her dead, she's still the one who raised him no matter is she's the evil queen or no."
"Emma interveened?"
"Mm, I'm not so sure on the details, there's only so much you can pick up from anyone before you being unnessiceraly nosy starts raising eyebrows, but the general gist is that she and Snow got dragged back into our world."
"What about Henry?" That he's worried about the child...his child...is a strange thing and yet, simply for the sake of his freind's smile, he knows it positive compulsion.
"He's with his grandfather."
In the last few years he's heard a great deal of 'charming', the mann who'd turned his back on a life of luxury all for the woman he loved and who had single handedly battled an army of Regina's strongest men all to insure Emma the best of head starts.
It'd had him envious, no matter if Emma had actually had the oppertuinty to know what it was to be raised a truly brave man and now...
Unprompted, at least as far as he can tell, August is offering out his hand and stating, "Let's make a deal; I'll talk to father if you talk to Henry."
In his mind's eye he can see his father as he had been the last they'd truly talked, skin a raised alien landscape and his monster's gaze fixed on his outstretched palm as though it were as dangerous to him as the dagger.
The deal that had, eventually, followed, the deal that had changed everything, had been the first and last that he had ever struck. The scars its conculsion had carved into his phyce making him understandanly weary of bartering on something as fragile as a person's word.
He knows August knows this, knows the other will understand well the memories he is invoking with that one, simple, phrase and the risk he takes in doing as such. Knows this as much push as the postcard and the phonecall.
Thus he does not bite back as is his intitial compulsion, does not even acknowledge the challenge laced there in the other's open palm, but instead enquires,
"It's about time you trusted me to do the right thing on my own steam, don't you think?"
An expression that looks for all the world like pride and then a more dangerous mask as he retorts,
"Fine, but if you hurt her again you'll not only have me to answer to but pretty well everyone else in this town."
"Right, got it." With which he's slugging back the whisky that'd been poured for him and enquring, "Where will I find them?"
"Grannies and it'll be quicker if I just walk you this time."
He's half tempted to question what boils down to further coddling on the other's part, however, he knows that's only beause doing as such will prompt a mild argument and buy a little more time before...
...Before he's standing in the doorway of a 50's throwback diner, the very real shape of his son balanced on a stool a few feet away, mouth twisted into a smile as his grandfather regales him some tale or another.
He looks so very much like the boy he used to see in the mirror, so pure...innocent...and he finds himself swamped the earlier feeling of inadiquacy.
What right did he have to even attempt to draw friendship from Henry, let alone claim him as his son?
Doubt, the ever present compulsion to run and then August is sweaping by, ruffling Henry's hair playfully before gesturing over in his direction and stating, "Sorry i've not been about kiddo but I had to go help my buddy over there with a few things."
With which the weight of those eyes, Emma's eyes, are settled fully on him a moment before Henry enquires,
"You're not from around here, are you?"