Hello there, friends! How are you all doing? You're all awesome – I hope you know that. Hope you like this :)

Alas, I do not own OUAT.

Seeing Neal holding his jaw while his eyes filled with tears instilled Emma with a strangely enjoyable sense of justice. Though she had on many occasions imagined what it would feel like to see Neal served, she wished she had witnessed the whole event. In her mind she conjured images of her father winding up his arm, his eyes stern and determined as he swooped his fist across the face of the man, knocking him over into the door frame, stunning him. From the looks of his expression, her ex was expecting every other reaction except for that one.

Mary Margaret, unable to suppress her need to help others, hurried over and held him by the arms, raising him so that he was no longer doubling over but upright. As soon as he stopped swaying, she let him go and moved back beside Emma who had taken up space next to her father who looked unusually smug with his hands resting on his hips. His blue eyes glistened in the light that shined through the window panels on either side of the door.

"What the hell was that?!" Neal demanded, moving his jaw from side to side and wincing. "God, you've got some arm on you pal!"

Emma crossed her arms and quirked an eyebrow. "I suppose it was about time you met my father."

Neal's eyes widened, his pain forgotten for a moment as he whipped his gaze from her to him. "Deputy David is your dad?" he asked incredulously. "What the…hell?" Staring at them bewilderedly, he cradled his bruised face as if remembering he was in pain again. "Oh man my face hurts!" he exclaimed, stamping a foot aggressively against the hardwood floors, leaving a dirty footprint.

Mary Margaret won't be happy with that.

Emma snuck a glance at her mother but she kept a perfect poker-face, her expression a blank canvass, masking any kind of animosity simmering in her veins. Because there most definitely was animosity there. Despite being easily overlooked by the untrained eye, the hasty way in which she twirled her wedding ring was always a dead giveaway for her emotional state. And she was twirling that thing like she had something to prove.

"You're lucky it wasn't my sword, buddy," David supplied coolly.

Emma smirked, doing little to hide her amusement. "What are you doing here, Neal? I thought I told you to get out of town."

The man sniffed and jerked himself upright, rolling his shoulders as if shrugging off the ache. His pride was obviously wounded. "Just because you're the Sheriff doesn't mean you can just run me out of town!" he barked.

"Neal," she prompted, ignoring him.

"And what, your Deputy is your father? Who's she," he pointed at Mary Margaret who straightened as if offended that he was even talking to her, "your mother?" he half-joked, swallowing sternly. Clucking his tongue, he scrunched his forehead at the looks the three of them were exchanging.

"Obviously," Emma replied matter-of-factly. The cool assurance that bounded from her answer relaxed her; no longer was she weirded out by her family. Now, she embraced with zero hesitancy. No longer was she the loner, the orphan, the black sheep. Here, in Storybrooke, in this family, she was a leader, a member, a saviour. Being around Neal caused a slight revert back to her older feelings of herself; her lack of self-esteem at the time making an appearance. But now she was assured – and she wanted Neal to recognize that. "What are you doing back here?" she asked coldly again before he could muster another snide remark.

Neal pursed his lips. He looked…upset. Maybe. His features twisted in that way they did when he had to know something but at the same time he didn't want to know the answer. There had been a few times when that look broke her young heart. That look compelled Emma to do almost anything for him, to fix whatever had taken hold of his mind, because she hated to see him so torn-up.

Yes love was a crazy thing. And her love for Neal was all sorts of crazy. "I'm here because you have a lot of explaining to do." He clasped his hands together like you would if you were saying a prayer and brought them up to his mouth. "When exactly were you going to tell me that I had a son?"

Hook meandered back and forth on deck, waiting rather impatiently for Cora to 'reappear'. Apparently she couldn't do anything without practicing a little magic here and there but she had been gone for quite some time and he was beginning to wonder how long he could stay under her foot, obeying her orders and overall answering her every beck and call. That wasn't part of his plan; he wanted to be rid of that woman the minute they docked in Storybrooke. Leave her to own her devices. After all, she was implementing a rather risky plan that could fall apart at various points. He wanted no part in that – none at all; but here he was watching over her hostages and waiting on her like some kind of lap dog. Why? Because he needed to make sure that when they got off his boat they would have no more contact with one another. The only way to ensure his freedom from her grip was to aid her as much as she needed until she was ready to fly solo. No loose ends.

A heavy thud from below deck yanked him from his reverie. Descending the steps two by two, he hopped down onto floor, his arms in a wide gesture as he stood before the two women. Both had steely gazes that could cut through a soul like a blade. "Ladies, is everything okay down here?" he greeted flamboyantly. "How are you finding your stay on the Jolly Roger?"

Aurora rolled her eyes theatrically. "I don't know how you can live with yourself."

"Oh that's a little harsh, isn't it? I like to think of myself as a fine human being."

Mulan scoffed. "You treat this like it's some kind of game. Real lives are at stake here and you have a choice to do something about it and yet you do nothing."

Hook sighed deeply, his shoulders drooping. "I told you that I have no hand in Cora's plans. I have plans of my own - that don't involve you. Whatever she's up to is none of my business. I'm sorry, ladies."

"Coward. All pirates are the same," Mulan muttered bitterly.

"What exactly are your plans?" the princess asked, genuinely interested. She had the bluest eyes of anyone he had ever known.

He involuntarily flickered his gaze to his hook and leaned back against the wooden pillar, his legs crossing at the ankle. "I'm here to rectify a wrong. Simple as that."

The warrior eyed him with trepidation, reading between the lines. "Revenge is a precarious path, Hook." He smiled slyly, his eyebrow cocked. "And one which I hope you will not fall prey to."

"Your concern is touching. Really, it is."

"Do you ever stop? Why do you have to be so arrogant all the time? What do you get out of it?" Aurora questioned, bending forward with her chin high. "I was raised a princess and let me tell you it's so easy to slip into that role of pampered royal. I acted as if I was better than the people in my kingdom; that I somehow was entitled to live better than everyone else because of my blood. I was arrogant. I was mean. But do you what it got me? Nothing. Just a disgruntled kingdom and severely placid subjects."

Hook scratched his beard. "Well that's a lovely tale, princess, but I don't really have time for a trip down memory lane."

"Where are your friends, Hook?" she pushed. "Because from what I can see you have nothing. Nothing except this ship and that woman. And that to me is the saddest part. You can change all that. You can let it all go and move on. Start a new life here, make some friends, stop Cora from enacting her plans. Revenge won't change what happened and it won't make you happy."

His expression darkened and his body jerked away from the pole to stand over her, his frame casting a shadow over her face. "Oh now that's where you're wrong because what I plan to do will definitely make me happier. And as far as your cute little story about how you're royal brat is concerned, you don't know the first thing about me so I suggest you leave your anecdotes to yourself." He regained composure and backed away from them, mentally noting Mulan's pensive features. "Oh, brighten up, warrior!" he directed at her, his voice playful again. "It's almost Showtime."

And with that he turned on his heel and leapt up the stairs to where he just knew Cora would make an appearance at any moment, hoping to shrug off that little bit of reflection Aurora had spurred in him. Thinking about himself or his motives was not something he enjoyed and that girl was deluded if she thought her words would have any kind of effect on him.

Cora, still dressed in her striking blue dress, was waiting at the bow for him. Numerous bags surrounded her. "How are our friends doing?" she inquired, her back to him.

"About as well as one would expect when tied up below deck on a ship," he quipped. "Just where exactly were you? You were gone a long time."

She finally turned around, her hands holding what appeared to be some kind of fabric. An item of clothing maybe? Hook wasn't sure. From what he gathered, these inhabitants of Storybrooke had a rather unusual sense of attire.

Cora smirked, dangling the item in front of him. "I went shopping."

"Henry I'm not going to tell you twice; eat your dinner." His mom was adamant this time, laying the discipline on thick. She had already vowed to take away his TV privileges, not to mention his visits to the stables. She really wasn't one to be messed with.

"But who do you think that guy was?" he probed again, making sure to shovel a fork-load of lasagna into his mouth as soon as she rose her head to look at him.

"Henry-"

"No but think about it," he cut-off, dropping the utensil onto his food. "He's a stranger. He's the first one to come to Storybrooke since the curse broke. Aren't you even the slightest bit worried about that? I mean, we don't even know who this guy is."

Regina, with a long drawn sigh, placed down her cutlery and rested her elbows on the table, relaxing her chin on the bridge her hands made. "He was leaving. He said as much so whatever threat he did pose, it's gone now. And the only thing I'm worried about is my son not eating his dinner and then complaining later that he's hungry. So eat up."

"But I don't think he's gone. I can…I don't know, feel it."

She raised her eyebrow. "Feel it? What, so you possess some kind of magical powers now, too?"

"I know how it sounds but trust me, this guy is still here. And I think we should alert the Sheriff."

"You mean your mother and grandparents? I think I'll leave that to you."

Henry, with a toothy grin, began to eat his food again. "So you believe me then?"

Regina gave him a knowing smile, just happy she was spending time with him. "If you feel like it's something worth looking into, how could I not?"

With a hearty smile, Henry dived back in, not wanting to let the meal go cold. He'd hate to see what his mom would say if he refused to eat anymore because it was no longer hot.

They didn't call her the Evil Queen for no reason.

With some prompting looks from her mother, Emma, though wordlessly, gestured for Neal to pass through the house to the kitchen. Despite his huffing and puffing and complete bewilderment, he followed, seemingly eager to get answers.

Emma let her parents go in before her, feeling the need to catch her breath and still her core. Yes it was her fault that she didn't tell him. Yes she should have said it earlier. Yes she probably should have done it years ago. But the very thought of having to face him after all that she went through, having to unearth all her feelings about him and their life, having to be an adult and take responsibility, was just so hard. It was so hard. Telling him that they have a son – that they made a son together – but that she gave up him for adoption because she couldn't do it alone, because he had broken her so much that she thought she'd never be able to feel again, never be able to trust again, never be able to pull together this life that she was left with and make it something great and worthy of a child, appeared to be far more daunting than she ever anticipated.

That was why she spent all that time searching for herself and making a name for herself: she wanted to prove to her child that she was worthy. That she could make it. And she didn't know if she'd ever come face-to-face with her child ever again, but to be of the knowledge that she had sorted her life out, that she had dragged her heart out of the dirt and had made it to a place where she was content, was enough for her.

All she had done in her life was fight like hell for what she wanted and Emma fought like hell to be worthy of her life. To be worthy of a son - whether she got to be a part of his life or not.

With a few more calming breaths, she stalked into the room with her head held high as if she was walking into a job interview.

David and Mary Margaret sat at the table next to one another, their hands interlocked, looking like concerned parents who were ready to give their daughter and her boyfriend a stern talking to. Neal, of course, was standing idly by the sink, looking every bit out of place with his flustered demeanour. In another life, Emma might have laughed at the scene. But not this time.

"Emma, I don't really understand what's going on here but I would really like some answers," he demanded huskily. "I think I deserve that."

Wrong choice of words, Neal. "You don't deserve anything!" she spat, her anger just exploding out of her. Not exactly the way she wanted to start this. There was just something about his expression that was so…patronizing.

"Emma," the brunette warned calmly from the table.

The blonde sighed, resting her hands on her hips and aiming her stare at the man. "How'd you find out?"

"How'd I find out? I think that's the wrong question, Em. The real question would be how come you never told me about him? Henry." At the mention of his name Emma winced and Neal's eyes flared, looking as though they were covered by a film of tears.

"Just answer the question, Neal. For God's sake just answer the question!"

"Emma, relax," her father boomed this time, his tone coloured in worry.

Oh right; the magic thing. "Ugh, I'm sorry," she droned, pinching her nose and closing her eyes.

Neal licked his lips, hesitant. "I ran into him on the street," he confessed. "Actually he came running over to me, asking me who I was and why I was in town. He's an inquisitive one."

Emma couldn't help but smile fondly. "That he is."

"Must get that from you," he muttered lowly with a hefty humourless laugh. Running a hand over his face as if trying to concentrate, he exhaled sharply. "Were you ever going to tell me?"

Averting her gaze toward the floor, she kicked an invisible object, feeling as though she was on trial. Everything about the situation was wrong; her parents weren't supposed to be referees, Neal wasn't supposed to be standing over her flinging accusations, and she sure as hell wasn't supposed to be so…so ambushed. A bombshell like this required time and planning. Maybe a speech and a whole bottle of wine. Or several bottles. Not like this.

"No," she said shortly, squeezing her eyes shut at the revelation. "No, I wasn't."

His face crumpled. Her mom and dad's breath halted. "How could you do that? How could keep a secret like that from me?" he whispered meekly. "This is my son we're talking about. It's not some random object you forgot to return to me." He turned his back, his arms reaching out and locking behind his head briefly. "I have a son!" he yelled, spinning around hastily. "We have a son!"

"I know and I'm sorry! I know I should have told you but I thought I'd never see you again! I didn't even know where you went. You just left, Neal. You left me!"

David opened his mouth as if to comment but closed it abruptly when he saw the look on Neal's face. Emma, in all the time she had known him, had never seen him so angry. His eyes were as wide as his muscles allow, his jaw set so sternly, his hands balled into fists. "This isn't about you and me, Emma," he remarked, scarily calm. That kind of calm that spoke louder than any kind of anger could. "This is about something much more. Yeah I left you. I admit that. My bad, my mistake, it's all my fault, right? Right. Of course I should be blamed for that. But keeping my son a secret from me? How could you do that? Knowing that would have changed everything."

"How was I supposed to find you?" she asked through gritted teeth, hating how he was avoiding that particular part. "Tell me that."

For the swiftest of instances, he smiled. But just like that, it was gone. "You always find people. That's your thing. If you really tried, you would have found me."

Maybe that was true. If there was one thing Emma Swan was good at it was finding people who didn't particularly want to be found. It would have been hard but she could have done it, but she guess a part of her was hoping he would find her instead. Stupid, young idealism.

"And he's adopted," Neal spoke up softly, resting his whole body against the counter, looking skyward.

Emma sighed. "Yeah."

He twisted his head to lock eyes with her. "Did you even want him, Emma?"

Quickly, and without even realizing what she was even doing, the blonde snatched at tea towel on the counter and flung it at him wildly, catching him unawares. He was lucky it was only a towel. "How dare you," she seethed, her eyes on fire. "How dare you say that to me! Of course, I wanted him! I wanted him more than anything!" she cried, shedding the tears that had built and allowing them to tumble down the contours of her face. She tried to fight the sobs but they just kept coming, like the beat of a song. "But…I…I was alone. I…I was…in jail. And I knew…I knew that I couldn't give him the life he deserved. I couldn't…give him the life we led. And that was the only life I had ever known." Everything else disappeared; it was like she and Neal were the only two people left in the entire world. Even her kitchen fell away as if into darkness, a bleakness taking over. "I had to give him his best chance. You know that; you understand that. I did…I did what I had to do."

Neal was pained, that much was obvious. Though he wasn't crying, he looked on the brink; his terse features evidence enough of that. He wasn't a crier by nature; he was a kick-over-punch-something kind of guy. This – this was different.

And before she could pull away, he was over to her, wrapping his arms around her in a tight embrace. Emma was hesitant in returning the gesture.

"I'm sorry, Emma. For everything."

He was sincere – that much she knew. "I know," she said, devoid of emotion.

They broke apart and he smiled sheepishly at her and Emma, not really sure what else to do, offered him a timid one in return. It wasn't until she dragged her eyes to the table that she noticed her parents were no longer with them. She wondered when they left.

Probably around the time she made an outburst. Even she didn't want to hang around after that.

Knowing Mary Margaret well, the blonde pictured the woman standing in the hallway, ear pressed against the wall, shushing her husband whenever he tried to make a note of how ridiculous they were acting. Lord knows that's what she'd be doing if she was her – and they did think alike a lot of the time.

Taking deep breaths and regaining composure, she turned her attention back to the man in front of her, noticing that he was drumming his fingers against the countertop. He used to do that years ago. It was his way of dealing with feeling uncomfortable. "So," he said shyly, "when do I get to meet my son?"

So what did you guys think? I know there was a million ways I could have wrote that Emma/Neal scene but it just kinda happened that way…and I'm not too fond of it to be honest. I hope it was okay to read :/ Anywho, please do let me know what you thought and I really do hope you all enjoyed it! :)