I've literally been working on this forever, since we found out there would be a character death and everyone started guessing it would probably be Neal.

(1/2)

it's like I'm torn
ripped down the middle
maybe I'm crazy
not a lot, just a little
just a little bit

There's too much fog on the ground, and Emma can already barely breathe as it is. Her throat is closing up and her hands are shaking so much that even gripping the fabric of her jeans as tightly as possible does little to soothe them.

It isn't fair.

"Emma! Where are you?"

She hears her mother's voice, but she feels completely numb, her entire body as ice cold as the tree against her back and the ground below her. A sob escapes her, making her entire body jerk. Pain shoots through her and she cries out again, fighting the black hole of piercing grief threatening to tear her apart.

Snow finds her eventually, but Emma doesn't hear her words and doesn't feel her worrying touch. Somehow she winds up back inside the castle's walls, but she doesn't remember the events that got her there. She can't feel anything other than this sinking knowledge that she's lost someone else important to her. Someone important to her son.

There's no way for her to accept that Neal is dead. She can't wrap her mind around that out of all the people they could have lost fighting the Wicked Witch, it was him who paid the price.

It isn't fair.

It's hours later when she's aimlessly wandering the halls that Hook finally finds her, and he looks just as completely devastated as she does.

Not that it matters at all.

"Emma," he says, and she shakes her head almost automatically against the concern in his voice. Any other day, it would be a welcome sentiment, but at the moment, it pulls at what little resolve she has left.

"Don't, Hook," she snaps, almost immediately regretting it when he coils back from her the slightest bit. She chooses a more resigned tone, sighing. "I know this probably... gives you what you wanted, but don't."

He inhales sharply, and she can see his heart breaking before her eyes, but she's much too cold now to do anything about it. Something somewhere deep inside her stirs, and she knows what she's said is wrong, but she presses her lips together and puts on a carefully neutral expression.

The words hang there for a moment until he finally seems to find his voice. "Do you really think I'm that low of a human being?

His voice is dangerously low when he speaks and she can hear the pain and disappointment laced in his tone. As for where his disappointment is directed, she isn't sure. She's convinced that at this point, it doesn't matter anyway. "I thought... I thought maybe I had at least earned a bit of your respect, if nothing else."

She looks down at the ground, unable to meet his eyes anymore and keep up the tough charade. She can't even find it in her to shake her head or give him any indication that he's right- that he has earned her respect.

He certainly doesn't deserve her spite.

It isn't his fault Neal is dead.

After a prolonged silence in which she can't get a single word out of her mouth, he sighs dejectedly. "Love, I understand how-"

Her heart yanks at the word "love" falling from his lips, the term of endearment less soothing than she remembers, and she cuts him off.

"No, you don't." Something breaks inside of her, and the words fall out of their own accord before she can register it happening. "You have no idea how this feels. You were the one who told me that I was going to have to make a choice, remember? I was trying to figure out how I was supposed to do that. I was trying so hard to get through the damned puzzle in my mind that kept me from going one way or the other. I didn't know what to do, I was just hoping that eventually all of this crap would slow down long enough for me to work through everything. I knew that if I just had some time I would know how to... and I was trying not to let anyone get hurt in the process, and... I just wanted to get through this... this mess with as little struggle as possible."

She takes a trembling breath, despising that she can't seem to control her shaking arms. Pressing them tightly into her sides, she tries to level her eyes at him, but the feat proves to impossible. Hook has the most shattered expression on his face now, and she shuts her eyes so that she doesn't have to see it. She knows she'll crumble if she does, and she needs to say this.

"I was supposed to be able to make a decision. The decision wasn't supposed to be made for me. How the hell is that fair?"

"It isn't fair, darling," he tells her, and there's something different in his voice that she can't place. The softness of it surprises her, though, because he shouldn't be this understanding. Damn him. "But this also doesn't entail you to me by any means. If you think that is my current design, I offer my sincerest apologies for anything I did that lead you to believe I am that kind of man."

He pauses, and she can imagine he's looking at her, but she can't make herself open her eyes to see for sure.

"Swan, if you don't love me, then you don't love me. This doesn't change that and it certainly doesn't force you into a decision that you don't want to make before you've even had time to heal." He sounds so unbearably sad that she almost wants to put her hands over her ears to block out his voice.

This isn't even about him.

She takes a deep breath to try to calm her racing heart, but she should know that at this point, trying isn't getting her anywhere.

She had tried to protect all the people that she cared about, but that hadn't worked out very well for her. She had tried to be strong for the people around her after Neal had been killed, but that had only lasted for about five minutes before she'd run off into the woods, away from everything.

And now, here she is, trying to explain how she feels to this stupid pirate who'd messed up and fallen for her, and she doesn't even really know why she's trying so hard. It isn't like she owes him anything. She could easily tell him to get lost, and she knows that he would listen to her and respect her decision.

But that definitely wouldn't make things any better.

"I don't know what to do," she finally says with honesty ringing in her tone as the rest of her red, hot anger rushes out of her in a defeated sigh. Her back hits the wall behind her and she sinks down onto the floor across from her bedroom door. She lets her gaze linger on his feet in front of her for fear that looking up at him would be a mistake. "I don't know how to pick up these pieces and move on when he..."

Her breath runs out and forcing air into her lungs is more difficult than it should be. There's a throbbing pain in her chest, a soreness almost that makes it harder for her to breathe. For a moment, she focuses on inhaling and exhaling, and then she pulls her knees to her chest, resting her chin in the valley between them.

"I..." She grimaces, wishing she was better with words. "I... care about you, too. You know that, right?"

She looks up at him then, because he should know that. The change in conversation seems to startle him a bit and his eyes widen. He recovers fairly quickly, clearing his throat.

"I do."

"But I loved him at one point, and after everything... Part of me still did, and... that has nothing to do with you. At all. My story with Neal has nothing to do with you or my parents or anyone other than maybe Henry, but that still doesn't..." She stops, shrugging her shoulders a little as the sentence falls short. Her gaze falls away from his face and back to the ground.

She swallows with some difficulty, taking a deep breath. Her body has finally stopped its incessant trembling, her muscles giving up as the rush of adrenaline and emotion she'd been bombarded with finally seems to runs out.

"Look." Her tone is formal and rigid suddenly, but she tells herself that it's okay. She tells herself that it's easier this way. "I appreciate all of your help lately..."

"But he was your first love, and those are never easy to forget."

A rush of guilt floods Emma's body, partly because he's right and mostly because here she is, berating him for not understanding when she couldn't be more wrong.

He knows exactly how it feels to lose someone you love.

She glances up at him through her lashes, apologies that she should probably give dying before they can even form in her mind. He's hurting, too, and she knows that, but can't find the words that would say what she needs them to. She can see layers of pain- grief, loss, despair- in his eyes, mirroring her own, as if the demons that attached to him when he lost Milah still follow him around. Maybe they disappear sometimes, but then they reappear in the wakes of a situation such as this one. She studies him for a moment, surprised to find that even though there is a nearly tangible darkness lingering with him, there's something so open about his expression, his eyes the most gentle she's ever seen them. He's standing right in front of her, just out of arms reach. The comfort that his embrace would surely allow is tempting, but it also has the ability to unravel her completely.

She squeezes her eyes shut again, shaking her head. She can't fight anymore.

Not tonight.

"I'm sorry," she tells him as genuinely as she can manage, though the statement sounds off to her ears. She stands quickly and brushes past him into her room, closing the door on him.

Her back hits the door with a thud and she slides down it, wrapping her arms around herself and letting the rush of tears fall down her cheeks. She wipes at them furiously, but when they don't slow she just presses her face into her knees until she can't see anything but black.

It's only a few seconds later that she hears Hook sigh heavily and leave before silence encompasses her.

A knock at her door pulls her from the emptiness a few moments later and she stands to open it, expecting to see Hook standing on the other side with his wide eyes, trying to offer comfort again, but instead she finds her son.

He isn't crying, though it looks as if he's already done his fair share. His eyes are rimmed red and beneath them his skin is still a little damp. He asks to come inside and when she opens the door he comes in and sits on her bed without saying anything. His lips are pursed and his brow furrowed as he threads his fingers together, staring at them in his lap.

"What is it, Henry?" she asks, clearing her throat when her voice comes out scratchy and hoping he didn't notice.

She sits down beside him, wary of what's going to come out of his mouth. "We're going to be okay," he says slowly, nodding vigorously to himself and then looking up at her. His tone doesn't sound very convinced. "Right?"

Her throat closes up for a moment before the parent in her finally kicks in, lifting her chin and giving her a reason to be alright for the moment. Henry is looking up at her, his eyes expectant, and she knows he's depending on the answer that she gives him.

She wraps an arm around his shoulders, swallowing past the lump in her throat. "Yeah, kid," she tells him, resting her chin on his head in what she hopes emanates affection. "We will be."

Henry nods again, a quiet surrounding them for a moment. "You know Hook is just trying to be here for you because he cares about you." There's a pause, as if he's scared he's said the wrong thing. When Emma says nothing, he continues slowly. "I... heard a little bit of what happened earlier. I think everyone just... wants us to know that they love us and that they're here for us. They know this isn't easy. They're just reminding us... we aren't alone."

Emma's heart pulls, tearing at what little strength she has left after the day that has felt as long as a lifetime. She sees flashes of Hook's face as she yelled at him in the hallway. She can imagine his expression had changed little in all the time she'd kept her gaze off of his face. The broken look in his eyes lingers in her memory, and she closes her eyes to try to force it away.

Henry needs her attention, not Hook.

Emma says nothing, her mind flying too quickly for words to form. Henry is looking up at her understandingly, though, his eyes far too wise for someone his age.

"I have a question," he hesitates, looking back down at his lap. "Did you... still... love my dad?"

For a moment, nothing is said as the question hangs in the air. Emma swallows a couple times, trying to get past her throat closing up.

"I did," she tells him honestly when she's confident her voice will sound sure.

The sinking feeling is back in full force, and Henry must know because he wraps his arms tightly around her. "At least... he died a hero, and that's all anyone can ask for, right?"

Emma is speechless, her throat so tight she can barely keep air circulating in her lungs. A tear slips down her cheek and into Henry's hair. She lifts her free hand and wipes the streak it left away quickly. Taking a calming breath, she holds him just a little tighter.

"How come you're so much smarter and stronger than me, huh?" she asks him, another tear falling down her face.

He doesn't answer, only leans closer to her and closes his eyes. Emma lets her own fall closed, making a single wish that they're both right and everything will wind up being okay.

Because right now, things certainly don't feel that way.

"I'm really going to miss him," Henry mumbles into her shirt and this time his voice cracks. It's as if he'd been portraying his own strength simply for her sake, and like her, he doesn't want to fight the hurt anymore.

"Me, too, kid." She kisses his head, trying to offer him the comfort that he's grasping for. "Me, too."

follow the lights
that's how it goes
but what about the shadows?
they hide the secrets that no one knows

A week passes much slower than any of the others Emma has ever experienced. The days are long and dragging as they try to tie up loose ends where the Wicked Witch was concerned. Once things have finally settled, Emma sleeps late that next day, getting the rest her body so desperately craves. Physically, of course. Mentally and emotionally, everything still feels too far gone to ever be restored again.

She hasn't spoken to anyone other than to plan and give requests to those who rallied behind them during the battles against the Witch. Eyes had been on her constantly throughout the week, but she'd ignored them because she had a job to do. Now, though, the job is done.

Now she'll have nowhere to run and hide from their worried gazes and concerned questions.

Her mother finds her first, bringing her a cup of tea just after she wakes. Emma avoids her eyes, refusing to make the contact Snow is desperately trying to achieve.

"Stop looking at me like that," she finally demands without force, sipping on the tea. The liquid is warm, but it does little to actually warm her.

Emma can almost feel the disparaging look on her skin, but she doesn't want her mother's sympathy. She doesn't want anyone's sympathy. "I just wanted to make sure you're okay. After everything."

Everything.

Nobody can say the words that still linger in everyone's ears. Everyone knows what goes in the blank.

A shrug of her shoulders with no response effectively removes Snow from the room, and Emma resents herself for pushing her mother away.

It's just easier.

David is next on the list, wrapping an arm around her as she walks into the kitchen and grabs a muffin. His touch feels awkward for the first time she can remember, but she lets him press a kiss to her head anyway. If it makes him feel better about everything, why not?

She ignores the glances sent her way throughout the day, spending most of it just walking around the grounds in order to avoid interacting with people. At least, that's what she tells herself. Mostly, she's just trying to avoid him.

Hook hasn't spoken to her since they'd talked in the hallway the night after Neal died, and the memory of how she'd treated him eats at her constantly. He didn't deserve that, she tells herself over and over, wondering how she could have handled it better.

She definitely should have treated him differently.

Maybe she shouldn't have talked to him at all. It certainly would have avoided the harshness of her words. She had been a wreck, and she'd lashed out at him when all he had been trying to do was help. That's all anyone is trying to do.

It's just hard to look at it that way.

He'd been around, though, by her side through most of the week. Physically, he'd never been closer. His presence had been welcome then, when there was a job to do.

Now, though, she can't imagine seeing his face because she has no idea what she would say.

She knows she can't take never seeing him at all. The time will come pretty soon where she'll miss him. Eventually, she's going to need her friend.

Right now, she has no words to tell him what he needs to hear, and there's no way in hell she can tell him what she knows he wants to hear, so when she catches sight of him walking toward his ship later in the day, she watches his retreating back and wishes she was strong enough to go up and wrap her arms around him.

She craves the ability to let herself love him.

She wants to go after him. She almost does- but in the end, he disappears into the Jolly Roger, leaving Emma feeling unmistakably alone.

It's almost enough to make her feel like she really is.