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"Do you see it?"
"I see it," Neal murmurs, lowering the brass-and-gold telescope. "Venus looks pretty bright tonight."
"Aye, it 'tis. Can you map the stars?"
"Thanks to you."
Hook doesn't say anything about it, tipping back an uncapped flask into his mouth. Neal doesn't know why he bothers when there's a entire bottle of pirate's rum. Sitting out. Waiting to be used. Instead of waiting for permission, Neal has a mouthful, swallowing, groaning a little.
Perfect.
They're on the deck of the Jolly Roger anchored, occasionally walking, and the air feels frigid on Neal's cheeks.
Neal adjusts his scarf, pulling it up, breathing out a cloud of pale frost.
He's trying to understand…
But…
"I got an old roommate out in New York City I called before service went down… told me that nobody's making it through the night…"
"Alas, I suspect they're right," Hook solemnly says.
Taking back the telescope, Hook peers into the lens, glimpsing a streak of burning-hot, bright comet getting nearer and nearer.
Brighter than Venus.
"NASA officials aren't coming forward about who knew first. The government's shut down. Yesterday's news keeps playing over and over. I wouldn't blame Storybrooke if they felt like looting and setting everything on fire, like New York City is, but it's kinda nice that it's quiet out here…"
"Fear is a powerful motivator," Hook answers Neal's observation, frowning. "Regardless if the outcome is violence or peace."
Guess that's true.
It's inevitable.
No magic in Storybrooke to protect them.
No giant's beans to teleport anyone to the Enchanted Forest.
No hope.
"Where's the lad?"
Neal clears his throat, emptying half of the rum bottle. "Henry's with his moms."
"I wagered you might have fought being parted with him."
He shakes his head, leaning on the port-side, glancing up at the endless stars. Peace. Peace in the heart, in the mind, would be nice. "S'not like that. I hugged him goodnight and… you know, I think Henry feels safer with Emma. And with Regina. He's known Regina longer."
"You're his father, Neal."
"And I wasn't there," Neal says matter-of-factly. "It's okay. I'm okay."
Even if they're about to die.
Hook grunts.
It's more silhouette than anything of him before Hook lights a lantern by the wheel. Neal's eyes squint.
"Rumpelstiltskin?"
"Papa's convinced he will bring back magic in time. To save us. Even though it's impossible." Neal lets out a scoff. "He told me to not worry and go home. Belle stopped me at the door and promised she won't leave his side… so that's good. I know Belle will take care of him."
Neal's not worried about him. Or Henry. They have people who love them in the end.
He glances up when Hook closes his telescope and reaches for Neal's bottle, setting it aside. His hook also lowers.
The lantern-light reflects in blue eyes.
"And you thought drinking under the stars… with a pirate… better suited your final moments?"
"With an old friend, yeah," Neal rasps, his chest nice and warm, and everything else, when Hook looks him over with a smirk. "I do."
For a moment, one of Hook's silver rings brushes against Neal's face.
His thumb stroking.
"Got anymore of the rum?" Neal murmurs, unmoving.
"In my cabin."
"Hm." Neal eyes him, faintly returning the smirk. "It's getting late, Killian. And cold."
"Aye, that it is."
Hook's arm slips around him, and Neal slips his own arm carefully to Hook's shoulders, as they walk.
There's no need to understand more than they do…
Not long after, the night stars vanish from a bright, deadly atmosphere.
Fairy tales end.
It's inevitable.