"Well, it appears the two of them are finishing their little talk."

Gold's clenched-teeth remark is hardly news to Emma. Did he honestly think she'd been able to take her eyes off the two of them out there on the fire escape, Henry with Neal? It was like those beautiful car wrecks you always hear about, so perfect in its horror you can't look away.

She sits rigid on a couch with a couple of rips in it that smells like beer and sex, scents she knew all too well from countless furnished apartments. Those scents never really go away, no matter how many times you spray them.

Henry and Neal. Out there talking. About her? About life in general? Some mystical father-son thing she would never be able to understand?

She doesn't mean to jerk when they come back inside, letting a biting New York breeze in with them. They shiver at the same time, she notices, suddenly unable to stop herself from comparing the shapes of their eyes, the length of their noses, the placement of their cheekbones...

"So we're going to get some pizza," Neal says, half to them, half to the air. Reaching back toward the door for his keys, he pulls his phone out of one of the pockets of his coat and thumbs a text to someone, putting it back in the pocket just as quickly.

"Bae-" Gold tries.

"It's, uh, well, I know one that's a couple of blocks from here, hole in the wall, definitely should be on Henry's New York Bucket List." Slapping the—her—kid's shoulder, he and Henry exchange a smile before Neal goes back to talking to the air. "We're thinking about hitting up some of the museums before they close, too, right?"

"Yeah." Henry looks so excited she's almost sure her heart's about to shatter. She should get up, say something, suggest they all clear the air, but no. She's not like that. She'll feel them out first, see if this is Neal's half-assed way of inviting them to come along. Glancing over at Gold, though, his back against the wall still looking like somebody shot him, she knows she'll move before he does. Deciding on a short, neutral movement, she bends down and double knots her boot.

"New York's big enough for anybody to find something to do, right?" Henry asks Neal, looking up at him. "People can entertain themselves?" It's so pointed a question she remembers that same tone being directed at Regina. More than once.

"It was the Metropolitan Museum of Art, wasn't it?" At least Neal waited a few beats before asking, she thinks, watching him side-step toward the doorknob with Henry at his heels.

Would a "don't talk about your mother that way" have killed him?

"I want kids someday," she blurts out. It's dark out, but she can still see a few kids running around in front of the drive-in movie screen. What they're doing there when the movie is Saving Silverman is anybody's guess, but it doesn't matter. She and Neal had parked the Bug on the hill across from it. Sure, the movie was probably a lot funnier with sound, but seeing it this way was free, and she's just dropped a bombshell on him, so...

Her eyes veer slowly over to him. Neal shifts in his seat, shaking the whole car for a second. The soft expression on his face soothes the doubts she'd had.

"I would love that."

"You would?" She knows she's beaming, grinning so hard the sides of her mouth hurt. The whole interior of the car suddenly feels ten degrees warmer in spite of the last few drops of her hot chocolate had cooled a couple scenes ago.

"Someday, yeah. The two of us, finally having a family of our own." Leaning over, he kisses her. Crossing her legs to keep from bouncing up and down, she turns on the interior light and opens the glove box, knowing full well she has his undivided attention.

"So, I was going by the community college today, and I saw they're starting up a criminology program."

"Yeah?"

Placing the paper-clipped stack of fliers she had taken with her in his lap, she continues.

"It sounds really interesting, and it's an Associate's, so it isn't even that long a program. I could start small, do fingerprinting or work as a dispatcher or something, and then I can get a private investigator license."

"It's $300 per credit hour," is all he says, his eyes still skimming the papers. That haven't left his lap, she sees, frowning.

"Well, yeah, but I can pace myself. It's not like school was all that long ago, you know? I could probably knock out a bunch of these classes without even having to buy the textbook."

"I-I don't know, Em. I don't know how we're going to keep a low profile if you're going to classes."

She bites her lip at the way he hasn't knitted his brow, really peered into the words, put his chin into his hand—like he doesn't need to think about it. Like he's given up on it before she ever got a chance to get started.

"It's community college, Neal. No one cares about anyone else. They're all just trying to do the same thing, start their lives."

"But it's still $300 per credit hour," he argues, shaking his head, looking so defeated it's making her tongue-tied. "Criminology—can you even do that much with it?"

"I thought I'd get a private investigator license," she says again. Maybe, just maybe, she could make a case out of herself, maybe find...Neal's skimming the papers again, looking like he's trying to hold a pencil between his cheeks. Finally, he exhales, but it's the only sound in the car.

"The only P.I.s I know of are all retired cops or ex-military."

"So?"

"So, say you get it, how are you supposed to stand out?"

"Is this the part where I say 'by using my feminine wiles' or something?" she challenges.

"No, I...how are you going to get clients?"

"You advertise!" She's raising her voice, all too aware she's losing her cool, but she doesn't care. "You do what anyone does when they first start. So what's your vision of our future? Huh? Since I clearly don't know what I'm talking about?"

"Emma-"

"No. No, tell me. What's our story? Five years from now, what are we doing?"

He shifts in his seat again. Squinting at the windshield, he licks his lips at a snail's pace before he answers.

"I think we should save up for an apartment, still laying low for a while. I can do odd jobs, maybe landscaping, roofing, go out on a fishing boat or something."

Noticing traces of a smile starting on his face, she glares at him.

"What about me?" she asks.

"Same thing as the first," he says with a shrug. "Odd jobs, cashier, maybe."

"Then when do kids fit in? You're talking about paying for an apartment and utilities with below minimum wage jobs...how are we supposed to afford a baby?"

"How are we supposed to afford a college education without jobs or loans?" he fires back, trying not to shout.

To hell with not shouting.

"It's an investment!" she snaps. "The payoff comes later!" Suddenly, she starts crunching imaginary numbers in her head, hoping she's not the one who's wrong, that it's not just some pie in the sky thing. She wonders if she started a fight they can't come back from because she didn't run the math. Taking a breath, she closes her eyes, her hand taking hold of the other one like it's another person there to reassure her she isn't being stupid.

"Isn't there a way to combine both plans? Like we could rent a studio, I could work part time, go to classes at night-"

"Can we talk about this later?" he interrupts her with a grunt.

That "later" never came, she remembers, still plastered to the decrepit couch in an apartment that could cost anywhere from pennies to a fortune. Either way, it doesn't belong to her. Nothing in it is hers...but in another life, it might have. Holy shit, this could have been her life. Would she have stared out the window, dreaming of something different. Would she have felt Storybrooke still waiting for her? More importantly, would she have longed for it, crazy-ass magic and all that came with it?

"Miss Swan," Gold says, and not the first time, judging by his tone. Gesturing at the door with his cane, he adjusts his scarf. "Unless you have something better to do than tag along?"

She stands up and goes out the door before he does, wondering how many paces ahead Henry and Neal are. She could reach into her pocket for her phone, call Mary Margaret again and tattle on her son and Neal and this whole clusterfuck of a trip.

She could, but she doesn't.

A/N: I do not own OUAT or any of the characters. Special thanks again to my beta OnceSnow for helping make my writing the best it can be!