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Emma stares at Gold.
It’s easier, even if he’s crumbling right in front of her and the reason why is the same that has the air stuck in her lungs and her throat closed up, because she just really can’t look down.
(On Neal, who’s dead in her arms.)
(Please no, please, no, no no no—)
She’s still staring when realization dawns on Gold’s face, and he’s suddenly looking at her, unrepentant tears on his cheeks and the hungry look of a desperate man who might have just found a lifeline on his face.
Emma’s stomach takes a leap, and she can’t help the flicker of hope sparkling in her.
“What?” she prompts, her voice coming out hoarse and strangled, because she has been crying too and she probably isn’t done either.
(Right now, it feels a little like she should be crying a whole river.)
“True Love’s Kiss,” Gold says, quickly, his eyes flickering to Neal. “Emma,” he urges, as she realizes what he’s implying and her eyes widen. He grabs her arm, squeezing tight enough to hurt. “Please. You must try.”
Her first reaction is jerking a little on her seat, as if to get away from him and what he just said, but she has got dead weight – literally, oh god – on her lap and nowhere to go.
“I—” Her arms have a spasm and she holds Neal a little tighter, the pain and shock and confusion now joined by the instinctive terror that accompanies that familiar whisper: Hey, it’s him, he’s the one.
“Yes,” she quickly says, swallowing everything back, because if Gold thinks that it will work, if there is even one small chance in hell that this is going to work, she has to try. The alternative is just so much worse. “Yes, okay.”
She draws in a shaky breath, turning towards Neal and letting out a suffocated gasp when she does – dead, dead, dead –, then she swallows heavily, barely registering that Gold still hasn’t let go of her and that he’s shaking just as badly as she is, and she closes her eyes, putting a wish out there for the world to hear, because it seems that she’s surrounded by people ever so hopeful and fairytale characters, so maybe, just maybe, someone will hear, someone will help—
Please, please, let it work, please—
She kisses him, if that can be called a kiss, and something stupid in her has the nerve to complain that it isn’t fair that this is their first kiss after more than a decade.
That whining voice drowns out when she feels the tingle of magic on her lips, and for the second time she watches as a rainbow explodes in the air, like a pulse of new life.
A second later, Neal draws in a sharp breath, his eyes shooting open as he jerks between her arms. It takes him a moment to focus, then he gives her a baffled look, and Emma laughs in his face, tears pouring out like there’s no tomorrow – but there is, there is a tomorrow, it worked.
“Oh my god,” she laughs, or cries, pulling him up without him having to put too much effort into it and wrapping her arms around his neck, realizing that she’s shaking like a leaf and that she’s way too relieved to even begin to care.
Gold joins them soon: Emma hears him mumble a lot of nonsense, and Neal is soon holding each of them with one arm, leaving them pressed against each other in a big messy bag of tears and tremors.
(She doesn’t care, right now she’d accept a sandwich hug with Lord Voldemort himself if that were the only thing standing between her and Neal.)
(He’s alive, he’s alive, alive, alive—)
“Well,” Neal snorts, after minutes or maybe hours have passed, and she isn’t showing any intention of easing her hold, not one bit. “That was close.”
Just like that, something in Emma snaps – she’s fairly sure she heard a crack in her head –, and she suddenly pulls away, her hand still gripping his shoulder and his hand moving from her back to her hip.
“You—” she growls, unsure of what it is exactly that she’s trying to get out, but positive that there isn’t enough anger in her tone yet. “I’m going to kill you!” she finally declares, even if the phrase makes her want to throw up and saying it doesn’t make her feel much better about the fire burning in the pit of her stomach.
“That would be a little counterproductive,” Neal comments, a bit amused. The asshole.
Gold doesn’t seem to care about their little squabble: he’s still hugging him and he doesn’t even turn in her direction.
“You are—” she tries again, her fingers grasping Neal’s jacket. “You are an idiot!” she finally yells. “What did you think you were doing?! Why would you do something like that?! Oh my god, you are so stupid! So horribly, completely and senselessly stupid!”
A grin bubbles at his lips, and she wants to slap him.
“I love you too,” he declares, his grin turning into a fonder smile, as he gives her that very familiar ‘Oh, you beautiful creature’ look that used to sweep her off her feet.
That’s more than enough for a new wave of tears to fill her eyes in under two seconds, and she can’t quite suffocate a sob as she rushes forward again, burying her face in his neck.
“I know you do,” she mumbles, and it comes out thin and whiny as she sniffles, but who cares right now. Who cares.
(He’s alive, he was dying in her arms like five minutes ago and now he’s alive and making stupid comments and saying that he loves her, what else is there to give a shit about.)
“Don’t do that again,” she says, quietly, and it sounds a little miserable, but she’s pretty sure that there are a few pieces of her still scattered to the ground, it’s hardly surprising.
“Definitely not planning on it,” he assures, giving her a squeeze and laying a small kiss on her head.
Emma closes her eyes for a moment and breathes.