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Who: Neal & Hook
When: 03/19
Where: Hook's room.
What: Wow ghosts are assholes right?

At first, he thought he was goin' crazy. Cabin fever, maybe, for a guy who's used to moving from one place to another at the drop of a hat. Maybe all the sodium in the breakfast food's messing with his head, or maybe... maybe something, anything but the possibility that it was real. It started as glimpses in the mirror, as blurry possibilities disappearing around the corner as he topped off the stairs.

Tamara.

As the days went on, it only got worse. She'd show up, blatantly show up, stand there. Stare at him judgmentally, or cruelly, or with amusement on her features. Wouldn't talk to him, wouldn't answer his questions or his demands when he finally snapped. The posts popping up on his tablet suggest it isn't exactly a rarity for the motel population today, but he seriously doubts most of them have as complicated a history with their ghost as he does.

He's cracking up, and he's gotta talk about it with someone. Not Emma, because talking to your... ex... something about your other ex something when you barely acknowledge the elephant in the room in the first place just ain't something he's interested in doing. His next best option may not be much less weird, but he's sorta on a short supply for friends here.

So after a particularly bad episode of seeing the past, he's out his door and speed-walking toward a one-handed pirate. The knock on Hook's door is urgent, impatient, and he shifts on his toes every second it takes the guy to answer.

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It does take him a bit to answer. He's in his room a lot more frequently than usual, thanks to his own insights on his past. For quite some time, he'd assumed that it was just a lack of sleep and well, he'd seen plenty of things that weren't actually there in Neverland and the hotel isn't much different. Sometimes Milah, and sometimes the things that haunted him weren't the ghosts of people that had died, just ones he'd lost. It was easier to ignore when he had been certain it was just a figment of an exhausted mind. Learning that Regina had started seeing them too, though, made it all feel uncomfortably more real.

Milah clung to his shadows like she belonged there, and she always looked angry. He'd spent countless hours trying to figure out why, and sadly? It was incredibly easy to think of possibilities. The way he'd treated her son, the way he'd tarnished her memory, moving on when he'd promised her he never would, the way he'd seen another woman trapped by Rumpelstiltskin and done nothing to help her. It was pretty fucking easy to think of reasons she'd be angry with him, actually, but there was no getting forgiveness from a figment that disappeared the second he looked straight at her.

In the end, Milah didn't have to actually be there for him to feel the weight of his choices.

When he was seeing a figure of a woman three centuries dead, the knock didn't automatically strike him as reality either. In Neverland, he constantly heard knocks on his door, only to get up and wander over and have nothing on the other side. Still, he scrubbed at his weary face and rose to get it anyway. It took a ridiculously long stretch for him to actually make sense of who was there, overtired brain working a little too hard. "Baelfire?" He couldn't quite imagine what the boy needed, but his immediate inquiry was, "Something amiss?"

He'd actually appreciate the sky falling right about now, it'd give him something to distract himself with.

Hearing Hook call him by his name, by his real name, pulls a twitch to Neal's lips. It's hearing it, it's the connection to his past, and it's the knowledge that Hook probably still equates him with that child he knew a couple hundred years ago that brings a displeasure to him reflexively, but it's a hypocritical distaste. He'd be lying if he said looking at Hook's face didn't throw him back in time to his childhood, to a few weeks of happiness on a pirate ship and the sharp feeling of betrayal that came with it.

Those are small things now, though, a tiny history that's been glossed over by time and a hundred more important things.

Now that he's confronted with that question, a lot of Neal's impatience flies out the window and is replaced with hesitance again. He thought it was a good idea to come here, he thought Killian might be the best person for him to talk to, but face to face was still... It was weird. Unfortunately, out of all the people in this hotel (besides Emma, of course) Baelfire knows Killian the best. Technically speaking, that makes Killian his closest friend.

Not like he's got a bunch of options for a sympathetic ear right now.

"Guess you could say that," He admits finally, bobbing his head, dropping his eyes for a second and then lifting them again. "C'I come in?"

He does need to remember, to refer to Baelfire by who he is now instead of who he was once. Baelfire will, whether he likes it or not, always be Baelfire; much like he will always be Captain Hook. Still, he understands taking on a new identity and needing it respected and he should be better about remembering. He catches the slight annoyance, it's just not enough for him to apologize. Really, Killian Jones is not good with apologies anyway.

Those were some funny technicalities, to be sure. Hook doesn't know what they are, really. Emma called them friends once in Neverland, and he's not sure that word fits whatever they are. There might not be a label for it, actually, but despite estrangement and complications, Killian cares a great deal about him. He hopes they can find a balance, somehow. This might be a step towards that.

He nods, turning back and letting Neal join him and close the door after him. His room is almost offensively tidy for a pirate, thanks to the years in the Navy he never did manage to completely unlearn. "I never was good at guessing games," he said, tone wry, just trying to make the air a little less awkward. It seems everything they do is awkward now.

Whether or not they ever resolve the tensions from their past remains to be seen, but Neal's all for starting with a fresh and neutral stance. Especially in this place, especially considering when Hook leaves he may well be leaving Neal in the grave where he belongs. Far be it from him to be the asshole that haunts someone with the regrets of their past or whatever, right? Let the guy feel like they developed peace between them, it's not like he needs to carry a grudge across a couple centuries anyway. Easier to bury it all in the past and not think about it or bring it up, as far as he's concerned.

There are bigger things to deal with.

Neal takes a second to orientate himself in Hook's space, eyes flicking over the tiny details, looking for parallels between this room and the cabin he remembers from when he was a boy. Neverland, through all of the magic it held, did a wonderful job at preserving memories despite the centuries that passed there. As far as similarities go, though, it's minimal. Orderly, neat, but bearing almost none of the same artifacts or furniture.

He's almost disappointed, weirdly. Whatever. A frown tugs at his lips, at his brow, but he tears his eyes from the desk, the lamp, the bed, the room, and settles them on the pirate again. Crosses his arms absently over his chest, faltering a beat before finally mustering up some words.

"I keep seeing her," He drops finally, cutting straight to the point. "The woman I was engaged to, the one-"

The one who betrayed him. Cheated on him. Lied to him. Died.

"Tamara. Everywhere I go, all day, she keeps... She's there."

No, there's not really much that screams of the resident in his room. He suspects that's true of just about everyone present in the hotel, sadly. Nobody had the chance to pack things that mattered to them, unless it happened to be on their person. Hook wondered about that case full of his things; who had packed it? Had he? They were all his things, after all, but he certainly couldn't remember doing it himself. This place had too many questions, and never any answers. The few personal things Hook has, he keeps on his person. Considering the rooms are far from secure, he's not willing to leave things he can't stand to lose behind.

Really, the only thing that applies is a scrap of old parchment, but he never lets go of that anyway. Being in the hotel is nothing new.

There are so many conversations they never had a chance to have. Like the fact he'd worked with Tamara, helped her and her unfortunate looking partner infiltrate the town and set off the fail safe. Hook used to be quite a liar, yet of late whenever he feels even a modicum of guilt he might as well have written it in bold letters across his forehead. Milah licking at his heels especially seems to leave him wanting to confess to whatever crime he has to his name, as if that might erase the resentment and hatred from her eyes. If anything would explain how Milah's distant image looks at him, it's certainly how he treated her son.

"I remember." His tongue is a bit weighted, wanting to explain how he knew the woman. It went without saying Neal likely didn't know. He had to wonder if truth would really set him free in this instance. Either of them free, really. He suspected Neal was hoping he wasn't alone in this, or at least some sort of understanding. Not to get another handful of the ways Killian had managed to fail him. It would likely help neither of them to drag up more ugly past, it'd be selfish to put more out to press on weary minds. Or perhaps the pirate just told himself that, since it was easier than offering the truth. "It's something with the hotel, I gather. Regina was seeing something, and I..." He can't quite look Neal in the eye at that. Of anyone, Neal is most likely the person that doesn't have to ask who he is being haunted by.

The one thing that personalizes Neal's room beyond that of the rest of the populace is the distinct dreamcatcher hanging from the lamp next to his bed. He doesn't know how it got into his suitcase (thank you for the welcoming gift, hotel staff) but it's been a welcome sight every time he walks into his room. Beyond that, it's every bit as stark and bland as every motel room he's ever crashed in, and honestly it feels familiar to him in a way most people probably don't get. A couple decades of living (sometimes questionably legally) in rooms like this one make it seem all the more status quo, and a pretty fitting purgatory setting if he had to pick one.

Because that's what he's starting to suspect this is. Not heaven, not hell, not life, but somewhere in between. That's the only real explanation for why he's alive and kicking right now, why he can exist in the same space as a definitely alive Emma.

Hook's not wrong about his assumption on Neal's intel about his involvement. Hell, Neal can't even remember whether or not he's even seen them in the same room together, but his instincts are banking on no. He knows that Tamara's dead, he knows that she died in Neverland, and he knows the three of them wound up there around the same time, but beyond that? He's got no idea, no reason to suspect they're any degree of separation closer than that. He might be happier keeping it that way.

His eyes fall onto Killian's face, studying intensely after that half-completed, trailing sentence. KJ might not be keen on meeting Baelfire's eye, but Neal's not stupid. He knows who the pirate must be seeing, and he doesn't mince words when he says, "My mother, right?"

Because there's no point in not just hitting that nail on the head. The past is the past, and hedging around it isn't going to make it any less real. Besides, there's a sort of... distant detachment that follows Neal's memory of his mother, gone from his life a lot more thoroughly and a lot more early than his father. He barely remembers her, and there's a strange but not unpleasant lack of emotion that follows her mention.

Right, that nail was straight on the head. Even literal lifetimes after losing her, Milah is still a topic he doesn't broach easily. When Emma brought up his tattoo at nearly random, he'd brushed it off the best he could. It was only thanks to that frustrating level of intuition that Emma had guessed as much as she did. Killian Jones would tell the whole world of his vendetta against a crocodile, yet talking about exactly why would perhaps forever be a struggle. He kept his losses like open, angry wounds. Even centuries after it happened, speaking of Milah was no easier. A mistake, and somewhere a part of him knows it. He holds onto the pain of losing her tighter than anything else; there is something heartbreaking about the fact he can remember how it felt to lose her better than he can remember how it felt to love her.

Distant detachment is quite far from how Killian relates to Milah's memory, even at a better moment. Having her haunt him with hatred in her eyes makes her an even more uncomfortable subject. Still, if anyone deserves honesty in this, it's her son. Hook breathes out a bit of a pained breath but for once, it's an uncaged truth when he answers. "Yes. I've been seeing her for days, and it's getting worse. I thought it was just a trick of being confined, but now I'm not so sure."

This place didn't remind Hook of his past or purgatory, to him, it was a brand new Neverland with a different aesthetic. Time seemed to slog past, answers were slim and distractions were far and few between. There were less deadly plants and horrible storms, yet the true danger of Neverland was not the island itself, it was the detrimental weight on the mind. It was easy to go a little mad in Neverland, when sleep grew sparse and you only had your shadow to talk to for months at a time. There was no comprehending being trapped for hundreds of years for someone who hadn't lived it, but Baelfire understood Neverland just as keenly as he did.

Though Neal can compare this place to Neverland with understanding and ease, it's different for him. Neal spent his days in Neverland planning, drawing, thinking, angry and hurt, resentful and thoughtful. He spent his time there growing up, slowly, far more slowly than a boy might in the real world, each year was a creeping, crawling day to him that involved very little physical growth, but even the most stagnant of places can afford some level of maturity for a teenage boy with little else to do but learn to cope.

Neverland hadn't been a punishment to him like it had been for Hook, and unlike there, Neal hardly feels the timelessness that neverland offered. Not here, not in this hotel- on the contrary, he feels like he's on the edge of his seat. Like the impending and inevitable loss is coming, the day when Hook and Emma learn the secret to their escape, when all of this comes to a head and balance is restored, they'll go home and he'll...

End, probably. For good, for a stark and undeniable finality. He appreciates every bit of extra time he's given, and feels like he's wasting this opportunity by letting things settle into monotony. Feels the foreshadowing of hurt that will come when things reach their climactic reveal, which is why it's probably easier for him to reach out to Killian now than it ever would have been back in Storybrooke. People don't get a lot of opportunities to bury the hatchet, to create new and arguably decent, positive memories. Especially when aforementioned people are definitely dead as a doornail.

Neal shakes his head at the suggestion that it's captivity-inspired hallucinations. He knows them as well as Hook knows them, and he knows that isn't what this is. He doesn't touch on the subject of his mother's death again, not just yet, instead hedges with, "Emma thinks it might be some kinda... technology thing. Like the people running this place are faking it somehow."

Because specifying holograms or projectors probably... wouldn't mean more to Hook than vague a technological thing anyways, so. He gets the drift, and the point is that Neal wholly disagrees, and it's apparent by the look on his face and the skepticism in his voice.

Hook refuses to think of this as their chance that they didn't get in reality. That some cosmic force is letting them ease old wounds so Hook can go on living, his regrets selfishly pacified from getting along for a few weeks when a man that arguably deserved life far more went back to an early grave. That wasn't how it worked. The pirate felt like he might never be able to make proper amends in an entire lifetime of trying. If Neal wanted him to garner some peace for his mistakes he was going to need to sign up for a far longer time investment.

The pirate has had this conversation with Emma as well. Really, his gut inclination is the same as Neal's. Why suspect technology when he's seen magic do absolutely everything they've been forced to experience here, from disappearing doors to frigid halls to visions of ghosts? Still, as quick as he is to knee-jerk to magic, because isn't it always magic. . . do they really know it's that easy?

"Nobody with a lick of magic can get it to work. The range of this is like nothing we've witnessed before. Could be magic, could be some bit of technology, could be something in the food that has us seeing things that aren't there." Hook can see both sides of the argument, honestly, it's just at this point he's not sure he knows if understanding why is really going to change anything. "The important bit is it isn't real. That girl you're seeing, she's not there. It's just an attempt to get in your head, and we have to remember not to let it."

Something he'd struggled with, soundly, when all this started. He really couldn't help himself, because flashes of his ghosts put him straight back into the poisonous mindset he'd kept festering in back in Neverland. Neal is lucky he caught him after Emma found him first and screwed his head straight again, or the pirate would be a sleep deprived, useless mess. This version of him is at least rested, trying to stay above what he can't quite ignore, though it's far from easy.

Neal shakes his head automatically, stubbornly rejecting that whole technology possibility. He knows, he knows that neither Regina nor Emma could get their juices flowing, but the thing is... He proved magic was here, he proved it to Raven Reyes when the heating went out. The way fires would put themselves out any time you tried to carry them out of the lobby, the way it snuffed like someone blew out a candle every single time. That wasn't technology, that was some kind of... barrier, some kind of curse or spell. He couldn't find the words to prove it to Emma and he can't find the words to argue now, but he feels like he's right. Stubbornly, adamantly.

Not that it makes any difference. Magic, technology, whatever it is it's driving him up a wall.

"It's working," He mutters, frustration in his tone, eyes skirting to the side and staring out the window rather than at Hook. It's not that he's too proud to admit weakness, it's just... a sensitive issue. "She keeps looking at me like it's my fault, and the thing is-"

He cuts himself off, head dipping down, a scowl tugging at his lips, a furrow in his brow. Eyes flicker to Hook again, "I don't know, I kinda feel like it is. Not that she's dead, I mean, but that I didn't... I couldn't tell that she was leadin' me on. That whole time, I thought..."

That it was real. That he was in love. That they were in love, that she actually gave a crap about him, that it was true, and he wasn't smart enough to see the signs. That he was so desperate for a happy ending, or so desperate to tell himself that he couldn't man up and go after Emma because of what they had, he blew off Emma's suspicions entirely, he was so stupid.

"I brought her around my son," He adds on, disbelief and a trace amount of disgust in his tone. God knows what she could have done to Henry if he stood in the way of her goals. It could've been Henry or Emma on the other side of that gun instead of him, and that would've been on Neal.

Edited (shh this tag is a struggle) 2015-03-30 23:44 (UTC)

That's a sentiment that Hook can understand. He might not be so aggrieved to see Milah, if it were not the look in her eyes. Hatred, resentment, anger. Blame. His head was quick to fill in the blanks as to why. Wasn't there a hundred and one reasons Milah could hate him, if she could see what she'd become now? What he'd done to her son, how he'd treated Belle, the things that had darkened his heart in the name of revenge. . . there were all too many reasons, and it triggered all too many guilty confessions that didn't make any difference. This wasn't a ghost, there was no finding redemption in these flickering visages of people they'd loved and lost. They were to frustrate and torment.

And he couldn't begrudge Neal a bad reaction when he'd stopped sleeping, stop functioning, stopped doing anything but lingering with the face of his dead love until Emma had come to snap him out of it.

Killian isn't entirely sure what he can give Neal in this moment. He's not exactly practiced in this sort of thing, he wasn't practiced three hundred years ago. It was safe to say he hadn't gotten any better at reassurance because he'd tried not to be around any children to make it an issue. He doesn't know how to do this, doesn't know how to properly navigate the minefield he's made of them, but instead of evading he wanted to try.

"It isn't your fault." If there's anything he can understand, sadly, it's the desire to be loved. Captain Hook carried a lost boy in him too, though he kept him stowed and stifled most of the time. "You believed in love enough that everything else didn't matter." Hook had done that a time or two, like when he'd told himself that running away with a married woman with a son at home was the right thing, because he was in love. Milah had never betrayed him, but that didn't mean he hadn't blinded himself to realities that were painfully clear centuries later. Milah's love had come with restrictions; no marriage, no children, no taking to shore and making a life together, and he'd told himself that was enough. . . because he'd been so desperate for the same things Neal had. "But not seeing it doesn't make it your fault, Baelfire. She would have found her way with or without you. She had a pirate tied up in a trailer that would tell her anything if she brought up a certain crocodile. If we're going to point fingers, it makes more sense to point them in the right direction."

A perhaps faulty strategy, hate me instead of yourself, but to him it sounded fair. Neal had made a mistake hoping he'd found a future, Killian had made it with both eyes open and knowing the consequences of his actions.

There's a muted amount of surprise when Killian mentions her having a pirate tied up, he looks up through his eyelashes, studying Hook with keen interest. There's an internal struggle for a second or two where he decides whether or not to press this line of questioning, but he knows enough about the reasons behind Hook's vendetta against his father to understand why it would be a powerful, almost consuming bargaining chip for information. He hadn't been aware they'd been in contact, but now that he knows she was a liar and a manipulator, he can't find himself exceedingly surprised.

Within those few seconds, he decides firmly and swiftly that he's happier not knowing the details. That Tamara had used him had been a deep and scathing blow already, finding out all the dirty details would only put salt in the wound. She's dead. He's dead. Everything she'd done to wrong them is in the past now, and he's not interested in living there with it.

So his eyes tug away calmly, settling with a resignation and sadness on the window across Hook's room.

"It wasn't your fault either," He says finally, a sincere furrow in his brow. "What happened to my mom- she made her choice, and my father did what he always did back then. If she's giving you the same kinda look Tamara's been giving me, then... I don't know, you proll'y been tearing your hair out a little too, so..."

It's awkward to say, just like everything seems to be between them, but he feels like it needs to be said. Feels like if it would mean anything to Hook from anyone at all, it would mean the most coming from her son.

Well, something had to be done with the pirate they'd left handcuffed to a radiator. Neal's scheming not-quite fiancee had found him and made use of him. It wasn't that surprising when one thought about it, and it really wasn't that surprising that Hook had helped them either. If he had any defense at all, it was that he hadn't realized her connection to Baelfire... though it was hardly commendable that he hadn't thought to consider it in the slightest. The woman that knew a little too much about Storybrooke even though presumably she'd never been. He hadn't cared, he'd only cared that his poison hadn't taken, and how to get the revenge he'd been fighting so long for.

Wasn't his fault? To Hook, truly, that was arguable. In fact, he thought it was important to be honest with himself about exactly how much was laying at his feet. Exactly how many things he'd destroyed for a revenge Milah had never asked for. The revenge he'd never managed to get, anyway. He wasn't expecting Neal to try and make him feel better. Really, in no way did he deserve that sort of sympathy.

Neal was not likely to convince Killian that what happened to Milah wasn't, at least partly, Killian's fault. Because even in the most objective of ways, it was. He'd pushed Rumpelstiltskin's buttons. He'd been cruel and thoughtless and triggered a fight he didn't have to. He wasn't strong enough to protect her. He hadn't crushed Milah's heart, that would always lay at Rumpelstiltskin's door, but he was far from innocent in what happened to her.

Still, that wasn't the reason he suspected Milah's ghost stared at him with hatred and contempt.

"Do you really think that's the only reason your mum would be angry with me?" Does he have to spell it out? The biting look, the painting of guilt across his features, maybe it was enough. Even if Milah didn't blame him for her death, she would likely have never forgiven him for selling her son to the Lost Boys. For spending centuries in Neverland knowing he was there, alone, and not once reaching out. For pushing toward what he wanted at the expense of her son, not only when he wanted revenge, but when he wanted love. Was it really so unbelievable that Milah would hate the man she saw now? Hook didn't think so. He closed his eyes and turned to look at the door, like even facing Neal after that kind of reminder was a bit too uncomfortable. "I'm sure if she could see me now, she would hate me. The important part is it isn't real."

His guilt was, yes. His guilt was there always, really. The ghost, though, she wasn't.

The sad fact of the matter is Killian knew his mother far better than he ever got the chance to, so it really wouldn't do any good to try and protest Hook's assessment on her favor after all they've been through. They both know he doesn't have any real authority on the matter, and he can't testify otherwise just by virtue of being her son. Hell, for all he knows Milah had been a cold, judgemental woman. He strongly suspects otherwise, all the stories he's heard have said the clear opposite, but he can't say for sure.

What he does know, however, is that the guilt Hook harbors in his heart about everything that happened is clear and real, as apparent as the wallpaper around them, and it's mollifying. His eyes drop with quiet solemnity, accepting that Hook feels like he's got a lot in his past to regret and not bothering to argue against that. The thing is, though, Neal isn't exactly innocent either. He's hurt people, he's- damn, he's hurt the people that matter the most in the world to him, even if he was never an outright villain. He can understand, though, the irredeemable feeling someone can harbor when they don't get to attone the way they'd like. When they can never really get the outcome they'd hope for and erase their mistakes.

He might still carry a grudge about a few things in his past, but he's not angry about it, not vindictive, not a revenge-driven guy, and seeing Hook suffer through it all doesn't hold any appeal to Baelfire. He knows nothing he can say will put a dent in it either, and they can go around in circles all day about who should let go of what, it won't get them anywhere. The most helpful thing he could possibly do right now is change the subject entirely, so he leans over, shifting a little until he can nudge Killian's shoulder with his own. A gentle, pointed sort of gesture.

"Hey, you think that Cashmere girl ever got around to perfecting her booze recipe? I got a couple favors I can call in with her."

Edited 2015-04-08 16:20 (UTC)

He's probably right. They could take turns claiming to be the worst person in the room (and honestly, Neal was never going to win that battle, no matter how guilty he felt about how some things in his life had turned out), and never manage to really resolve it. It was a good choice, to move on after offering something that Hook did hear... he just can't quite accept it. It was a little like being told the sky was green. As much as he wanted to believe it, he knew the truth.

Suggesting they change gears to questionable alcohol might not have been the wisest of calls... yet right about now, with ghosts in the halls? He'd never wanted a drink more. And that was saying something, considering the alcoholic had been wanting a bloody drink about the same time he'd completely dried out. The hotel had weened him off with cruel efficiency, enough to keep him from getting ill but there was nothing to keep him from the feverish desire for a drink. Like that might fix what ailed him.

"I got her some things for it, couldn't say if she managed a brew." It wouldn't be the most favorable tasting thing in the world, but it might be worth a shot right about now. Hook takes the swing in conversation completely, lifting a brow. "She owes you a favor, does she?" He didn't think Cashmere was the sort to offer those lightly, it made him a little curious. Maybe they could discuss that, instead of the ghosts they couldn't help or soothe. It wouldn't change anything, granted, but a fleeting escape was better than none at all.

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