[ The set of Hook's jaw has Neal ducking his eyes awkwardly, scratching absently at his cheek with curled fingers. It had been a joke, something light to break the tension and break the ice, but judging by that reaction Neal figures maybe he didn't think it all the way through. It must've taken magic to get that hook swapped out for his actual hand, and by extra Killian probably means there's a price he had to pay for it. Magic always, well, you know the saying.
Whatever the cost, Neal hopes it was worth it. Usually it ain't.
The rest he already knows, though- he's met people that couldn't possibly be from Storybrooke, he's seen the lack of exits and the lack of answers firsthand, so he lets Emma process that new information with only the slightest touch of a concerned wrinkle to his brow. Emma takes point just as he figured she would, the strongest and most capable of any of them if he had to pick one, and he's prepared for just about anything she lays down.
Just about, except for what she actually says.
His lips part slowly in disbelief, in awe and wonderment. ]
He remembers me?
[ He echoes dumbly, that rush of happiness that hits him square in the chest is quickly followed by pain, because Henry misses him. Misses him because he's dead, gone, another kid stuck with an absent father. He won't get to see his son grow up, become a teenager, go to prom, graduate, become a man.
It rings through him like a tolling bell, a wave of ache so strong he has to tug his eyes away from Emma and Hook for a second. Has to pass a hand over his mouth and fight back the tide of regret rolling through him. ]
Emma, that's- that's great.
[ He says finally, voice a little husky, a few syllables cracking in a few places, and he might not sound as genuine or as enthusiastic about it as he probably could have to sell it, but...
He misses his son. Damn is he gonna miss his son. ]
no subject
Whatever the cost, Neal hopes it was worth it. Usually it ain't.
The rest he already knows, though- he's met people that couldn't possibly be from Storybrooke, he's seen the lack of exits and the lack of answers firsthand, so he lets Emma process that new information with only the slightest touch of a concerned wrinkle to his brow. Emma takes point just as he figured she would, the strongest and most capable of any of them if he had to pick one, and he's prepared for just about anything she lays down.
Just about, except for what she actually says.
His lips part slowly in disbelief, in awe and wonderment. ]
He remembers me?
[ He echoes dumbly, that rush of happiness that hits him square in the chest is quickly followed by pain, because Henry misses him. Misses him because he's dead, gone, another kid stuck with an absent father. He won't get to see his son grow up, become a teenager, go to prom, graduate, become a man.
It rings through him like a tolling bell, a wave of ache so strong he has to tug his eyes away from Emma and Hook for a second. Has to pass a hand over his mouth and fight back the tide of regret rolling through him. ]
Emma, that's- that's great.
[ He says finally, voice a little husky, a few syllables cracking in a few places, and he might not sound as genuine or as enthusiastic about it as he probably could have to sell it, but...
He misses his son. Damn is he gonna miss his son. ]